METAPHYSICS.

Metaphysics ^[1. This treatise was written for and published in the third edition of this work. Though the greater part of it is, notwithstanding the title, devoted to the Philosophy of the Mind, it does not adequately appreciate or discuss the doctrines of the Scottish School— that School in which this important branch of Philosophy has been, as we think, most soundly and persuasively taught, and best illustrated. It however presents a collection and collation of opinions so extensive and elaborate as fully to justify its republication. It had the disadvantage, we may observe, of having been at least partly written before the publication of even the first volume of Mr Stewart’s invaluable Elements of the Philosophy of the Mind. Had circumstances permitted the change, we should have separated this subject from Metaphysics, confining the article on the latter to that science alone, in as far as any appropriate or definite meaning can now be assigned to its name, and discussing the former, of new, under its proper head. But not being able, consistently with other considerations, to accomplish this, we here reprint the Treatise nearly as it originally appeared. The reader will be the better able to judge of its compass by being informed, that it not only includes a view of the principal speculations respecting the Intellectual Powers, and respecting Body or Matter and its adjuncts, but also discusses some fundamental portions of Moral Philosophy and Natural Religion,—such as Libertv and Necessity, the Immateriality and Immortality of the Soul, and the Existence and Attributes of the Deity. ] has been defined, by a writer deeply versed in the ancient philosophy, “the science of the principles and causes of all things existing.” This definition we think extremely proper; and hence it is, that mind or intelligence, and especially the Supreme Intelligence, which is the cause of the universe, and of every thing which it contains, is the principal subject of this science; and hence, too, the science itself has received its name. Aristotle, indeed, who, of all the ancient metaphysicians whose works have come down to us, was unquestionably the greatest, calls this science the First Philosophy, as being not only superior, but also prior in the order of nature, to the whole circle of the arts and sciences. But what is first in nature is not first to man. Nature begins with causes, which produce effects. Man begins with effects, and by them ascends to causes. Thus all human study and investigation proceed of necessity in the reverse of the natural order of things, from sensible to intelligible, from body the effect, to mind, which is both the first and the final cause. Now Physics being the name given by the Stagyrite to the philosophy of body, some of his interpreters, from this necessary course of human studies, called that of mind Metaphysics; implying by that term not only that its subject is more sublime and difficult, but also that the study of it would be most properly and successfully entered upon after that of physics. To this name, which, though it has sometimes been treated with ridicule, is abundantly significant, the followers of Aristotle were led by their master, who, to the books in which he pretends to elevate the mind above things corporeal to the contemplation of God and things spiritual, prefixed the Greek words μετα τα φ υσι ϰ α.

The science of Metaphysics has been divided, according to the objects which it considers, into six principal parts, which are denominated, 1. Ontology; 2. Cosmology; 3. Anthroposophy; 4. Psychology; 5. Pneumatology; and, 6. Metaphysical Theology.

That part of the science which is named Ontology investigates and explains the nature and essence of all beings, as well as the qualities and attributes which essentially pertain to them. Hence it has been said that ontology should proceed in its operations from the most simple ideas; such as do not admit of any other qualities of which they may be compounded. These simple ideas are, those of being, of essence, of substance, of mode, of existence as well with regard to time as place, of a necessary cause of unity; the idea of negation; the difference between a being that is simple or compound, necessary or accidental, finite or infinite; the ideas of essential and abstract properties, such as of the greatness, perfection, and goodness of beings, &c. The business, therefore, of ontology is to make us acquainted with every kind of being in its nature and essential qualities, by which it is distinguished from all other beings. This knowledge being once established on simple principles, just consequences may thence be drawn, and those things proved into which the metaphysician inquires, and which it is the business of his science to prove.

It is easy to conceive, that even a clear knowledge of beings, and their essential properties, would be still defective and useless to man, if he did not know how to determine and fix his ideas by proper denominations, and consequently to communicate his perceptions to those whom he would instruct, or against whom he is obliged to dispute. To render our ideas intelligible to others, therefore, we must have determinate words or denominations for each being, and the qualities of each being; and ontology teaches us those terms which are so necessary to fix our ideas, and to give them the requisite perspicuity and precision, that when we endeavour to extend the sphere of our knowledge, we may not waste our time in disputes about words.

Metaphysics having, in as solid a manner as possible, explained and established the principles above mentioned, continues its inquiries into the second part, which is called Cosmology, and examines into the essence of the world and all that it contains; its eternal laws; the nature of matter and of motion; the nature of tangible bodies, their attributes and adjuncts; and all that can be known by reasoning and experience. It is also in cosmology that the metaphysicians of this school examine the Leibnitzian system; that is, whether God, in creating the world, must necessarily have created the best world; and if this world be so in fact. In this manner they pursue the argument, from consequence to consequence, to its last resort, frequently with very little advantage to truth and science.

Anthroposophy, or the knowledge of man, forms the third branch of metaphysics. It is subdivided into two parts. The first, which consists in the knowledge of the exterior parts of the human frame, belongs not to this science, but to anatomy and physiology. The business of the metaphysician is here to ascertain the nature of those powers by which all the motions essential to life are produced; and to discover, if possible, whether they be corporeal or spiritual. This inquiry leads at the same time to psychology.

Psychology consists in the knowledge of the intellectual soul in particular; concerning which the most profound, the most subtile, and most abstract researches have been made that human reason is capable of; and concerning the sub stance of which, in spite of all these efforts, it is yet extremely difficult to support any positive opinion with conclusive or probable arguments.

The fifth part√of metaphysics is called Pneumatology. By this term, which has not been long in use, metaphysicians mean the knowledge of all spirits, angels, &c. It is easy to conceive what infinite art is necessary to give an account of that of which nothing positive can ever be known in the present state of human existence. But the metaphysician of this school readily offers to show us what is the idea of a spirit, and the effective existence of a spirit; what are its general qualities and properties; that there [7:14:600]are rational spirits, and that these rational spirits have qualities which are founded in the moral attributes of God; for this is in so many words what is attempted to be taught in pneumatology.

Metaphysical Theology, which Leibnitz and some others call Theodicy, is the sixth and last branch of the science of metaphysics. It teaches us the knowledge of the existence of God; to make the most rational suppositions concerning his divine essence; to form a just idea of his attributes and perfections, and to demonstrate them by abstract reasoning. Theodicy differs from natural theology, inasmuch as this last borrows, in fact, from theodicy, proofs and demonstrations to confirm the existence of a Supreme Being; but after having solidly established that great truth, natural theology, by extending its consequences, teaches us what are the relations and connexions which subsist between the Supreme Being and men, and what are the duties which result from these relations.

We have briefly mentioned these divisions of the science, because they were once prevalent in the schools. The greater part of them, however, appears tous to be not only superfluous, but such as can serve no other purpose than to perplex the mind. The only beings of which we know any thing are mind and body; and we have no reason to think that there are any other beings in the universe. Of bodies indeed there are various kinds, endowed with different properties; and it is also extremely probable, that, of minds endowed with different powers, the variety maybe equally great. Our own minds we know to be united in one system with bodies by which they perform all their operations; and we can demonstrate that there is another mind, which is independent of all body, and is the cause of all things. Between these there may be numberless orders of minds; but their energies are wholly unknown to us, and therefore they can never become the objects of science.

Mind and body, therefore, that is, the minds and bodies which we know to exist, together with their powers and properties, essential and accidental, can alone be the subjects of rational inquiry. We may inquire into the essence of mind and the essence of body, and endeavour to ascertain in what respects they differ; we may examine the nature of different bodies, in order to discover whether all bodies, however modified, have not something in common; and we may consider the properties, relations, and adjuncts of bodies, and endeavour to distinguish those which are accidental from such as appear to be so necessary that without them body itself could not exist. But of minds we cannot make the same comparison. In this part of the science we have not sufficient data for an accurate and complete induction. We can only examine the powers of our own mind, and by probable analogy make some estimate of the powers of superior minds, as observation will help us to guess at the powers of those which are placed beneath us in the scale of existence.

If this be so, cosmology, as distinguished from ontology, cannot properly be a branch of metaphysics; for if mind and body, with their several powers, properties, and adjuncts, compose the universe, it is obvious, that when we have ascertained, as well as we are able, the essence of mind and the essence of body, together with the powers and properties of each, and have traced them all to the first cause, we have done every thing in the science of the universe, if we may use the expression, which belongs to the province of the metaphysician. The particular laws of motion on the earth and in the planetary system belong to the natural philosopher and the astronomer.

In like manner, anthroposophy, psychology, or pneuιna-tology, if these be not words expressive of distinctions where there is no difference, appear to be at least very needlessly disjoined from one another. Of the nature of spirits we can know nothing but from contemplating the powers of our own minds; and the body of man is in the province, not of the metaphysician, but of the anatomist and physiologist. Anthroposophy, psychology, and pneumatology, if they be used to denote our knowledge of all minds except the Supreme, are words of the same import; for of no created minds except our own can we acquire such knowledge as deserves the name of science.

Ontology has sometimes been defined the science of being in the abstract ; but in the course of our inquiries it will be seen, that being in the abstract is a phrase without meaning. Considered as the science of real beings and their properties, ontology is a very significant word, of the same import with metaphysics, and comprehending in itself the knowledge of the nature of all things existing. Or if it be thought proper to make a distinction between ontology and theology, the former branch of the science will teach the knowledge of body and created minds, whilst it is the province of the latter to demonstrate the existence and attributes of that mind which is uncreated.

Body and mind, therefore, with their properties, adjuncts, and powers, comprehend the whole subject of the science of metaphysics; and as we are more early acquainted with body than with mind, the natural order of conducting our inquiries seems to be, to begin with the former, and thence proceed to the latter. It is obvious, however, that if we would pursue these inquiries with any hopes of success, we must first trace human knowledge from its source; ascertain the nature of truth; and show what kind of evidence on each topic to be treated ought to enforce conviction. In this view of the science, metaphysics appears to be divided into three parts; the first treating of Human Understanding; the second of Body, with its adjuncts; and the third of Mind, withits powers.

Previously to entering upon such inquiries, some philosophers of great merit have thought it expedient to explain the terms which they might have occasion to use. Their conduct is judicious, and worthy of imitation; for the objects of metaphysics being, for the most part, such as do not fall under the cognizance of the senses, are liable to be differently apprehended by different men, if the meanings of the words by which they are expressed be not ascertained with the utmost precision. We intend, however, to use very few words except in the common acceptation; and we therefore hope, that as terms of science are explained under different words in the dictionary, to which references are made, we shall have little or no occasion for swelling the article by previous definitions. There are indeed two words which have given rise to much useless disputation, which yet cannot be banished from speculative philosophy, and which it will therefore be proper here to define. The words to which we allude are idea and notion. These are very generally considered as synonymous; but we think that much logomachy might have been avoided by assigning to each a determinate signification. We know not any philosopher who made much use of the word idea before Plato; but with his mysterious doctrine concerning ideas we have here nothing to do. Our present business is to ascertain the precise meaning of the word, which is evidently derived from ἐ ιδω, to see, as the word notion is from “nosco, novi, notum” and that from γινωσ ϰ ω, to know or understand. ^[2. The metaphysical student will do well to peruse the learned observations on the history and fortune of the word Idea, contained in an article on the Philosophy οf l Perception, in the fifty-second volume of the Edinburgh Review, page 182.— Note to die present Edition. ] In the original sense of the two words, therefore, notion is more comprehensive than idea, because we know many things which cannot be [7:14:601]seen. We have not a doubt but that at first the word idea was employed to denote only those forms of external objects which men contemplate in their imaginations, and which are originally received through the sense of sight. Its signification was afterwards extended to the relicts of every sensation, of touch, taste, sound, and smell, as well as of sight; and at last it was confounded with notion, which denotes the mental apprehension of whatever may be known. In our use of the word idea, except when we quote from others, we shall employ it only to denote that appearance which absent objects of sense make in the memory or imagination; and by the word notion we shall denote our apprehension or knowledge of spirits, and all such things as, though they be the objects of science, cannot be perceived by the external senses. Having said this, we proceed to our inquiries, beginning with that into human understanding.

PART I.

OF HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.

Preliminary Observations on the Origin of our Ideas and Notions.

That the mind of man has no innate ideas or notions, but comes into the world ignorant of every thing, is a truth which, since the days of Locke, has been very little disputed. In the first book of his Essay on Human Understanding, that very acute philosopher has demonstrated, that the rudiments or first principles of all our knowledge are communicated to us by sensation; and he has compared the mind, previously to the operation of external objects upon the senses, to a tabula rasa, or sheet of white paper. To repeat his arguments would swell this article to no purpose. There is not a man capable of attending to his own ideas, who can entertain a doubt in what manner he received them. Without the sense of sight, we could never have known colours; nor sound, without hearing; nor hardness, softness, smoothness, bodily pain or pleasure, without touch; nor odours, without smell, &c.

Self-evident as these facts arc, objections have been started to the inferences drawn from them; and Locke has been accused of advancing principles subversive of all distinction between truth and falsehood, and favourable of course to universal scepticism. “The first book of his Essay, which, with submission,” says Dr Beattie,^[3. Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth. ] “I think the worst, tends to establish this dangerous doctrine, that the human mind, previous to education and habit, is as susceptible of one impression as of another; a doctrine which, if true, would go near to prove that truth and virtue arc no better than human contrivances; or at least that they have nothing permanent in their nature, but may be as changeable as the inclinations and capacities of men; and that there is no such thing as common sense in the world. Surely this is not the doctrine which Mr Locke meant to establish.” We are so thoroughly satisfied that it is not, that we cannot help wondering how such inferences could, by a man of learning, genius, and candour, be drawn from any thing which is to be found in the Essay on Human Understanding.

But the doctor thinks Mr Locke’s “simile of the mind to white paper one of the most unlucky allusions that could have been chosen; because the human soul, when it begins to think, is not extended, nor of a white colour, nor incapable of energy, nor wholly unfurnished with ideas, nor as susceptible of one impression or character as of any other.” And it has been observed by another objector,^[4. Usher, author of Clio. See a volume of Fugitive Pieces, printed for J. Davies, London, 1774. ] that “on a sheet of white paper you may write that sugar is bitter, wormwood sweet, fire and frost in every degree pleasing and sufferable; that compassion and gratitude arc base; treachery, falsehood, and envy, noble; and that contempt is indifferent to us.”

All this is true, but we apprehend it is not to the purpose. Mr Locke has nowhere expressed himself in such a manner as to lead us to suppose that he believed the soul to be extended or coloured, or, when it begins to think, incapable of energy, and wholly unfurnished with ideas; but he certainly did believe that it does not begin to think at the first instant of its existence, and that it acquires all the ideas of which it is ever possessed. We may undoubtedly write upon a piece of white paper that sugar is bitter, and that wormwood is sweet; but how the capacity of paper to receive the symbols of false propositions should make Mr Locke’s comparison improper or dangerous, we cannot comprehend. Mr Usher t indeed says, that it is improper on this account, “that no human art or industry is able to make those impressions upon the mind; in respect of them, the mind discovers not a passive capacity, but resists them with the force of fate.” Does it indeed? Does the mind reject the idea of sugar or of bitterness, of contempt or of indifference? May not any man have the idea of sugar, and at the same time the idea of bitterness, and compare the one with the other in his mind, as well as the word sugar may be written beside the word bitter, and connected with it on the same piece of paper? In all this we perceive nothing that is impossible, nor even difficult. The mind cannot indeed be made to feel that sugar has the same taste with wormwood; but who ever thought that it could? Not Mr Locke, we shall be bold to say; nor does his simile give the smallest countenance to such an absurdity. The great author of the Essay on Human Understanding understood his subject too well to imagine that either truth or falsehood could be communicated to paper, or that paper is capable of comparing ideas. Paper is capable of receiving nothing but lines or figures, and it passively receives whatever lines or figures we may choose to inscribe upon it; yet if a pen be carried over it in a circular direction, the figure impressed will not be a square; just as, to the mind of one eating sugar, the taste communicated is not that of wormwood.

On a piece of paper a circle may be described, and close beside it a square; in like manner an agreeable sensation may be communicated to the mind, and immediately afterwards a sensation that is disagreeable. These two sensations, or the ideas which they leave behind them, may be compared together; and it is certainly true that no art or industry can make them appear similar in the mind. But is it not equally true that no art or industry can make the circle and the square similar on the paper? The paper ií susceptible of any sort of plain figures, and the mind is equally susceptible of any sort of ideas or sensations; but figures dissimilar cannot be made to coincide, neither can discordant ideas be made to agree. Again, one may write upon paper that a circle is a square, and likewise that a circle is not a square; and both these propositions may be communicated to the mind by the organs of sight or of hearing. The paper receives the words expressive of the false as well as those expressive of the true proposition; and the mind receives the ideas and relations signified by the one cluster of words as well as those signified by the other; but in the mind the idea of a square is very different [7:14:602]from that of a circle, and on the paper the figure of a square is very different from the figure of a circle. The great difference between the mind and the paper is, that the former is conscious of its ideas, and perceives their agreement or disagreement; whereas the paper is not conscious of the figures drawn upon it, nor perceives any thing about them. But still these figures are what they are; they either agree or disagree on the paper, as well as the ideas either agree or disagree in the mind. It is not in the power of the mind to alter the ideas of the square and the circle, nor in the power of the paper to alter the forms of these figures.

It appears, then, that the principles of Mr Locke, and the comparison by which he illustrates them, have no more tendency to subvert the difference between truth and falsehood, right and wrong, than the passiveness of paper has to subvert the difference between a straight line and a crooked, a circle and a square; and with a view to establish the doctrine of innate ideas and instinctive principles of knowledge, we might with as much propriety ask, whether it be possible to imagine that any mode of manufacture could make paper of such a nature as that a pen drawn over it in a circular direction would leave the figure of a square, as, whether it be possible to imagine that any course of education could ever bring a rational creature to believe that two and two are equal to three.

The mind being thus, as we may say, originally white paper, void of all characters, without ideas or notions of any kind, the first question which we have to consider is, whence and in what manner it derives the materials of all its knowledge? To this question the only answer which can be given is, that it derives them from observation and experience; from observation, either employed upon external objects of sense, or turned inwardly upon its own operations. Our senses, conversant about particular external objects, convey into the mind several distinct perceptions; such as those of colour, figure, heat, cold, bitterness, sweetness, and all those things which are usually called sensible qualities. The notions, ideas, or whatever else they may be called, which are acquired in this manner, may be called sensible knowledge; and the source of that knowledge is termed sensation.

The other fountain from which experience furnishes the understanding with knowledge, is that attention which we are capable of giving to the operations of our own minds when employed about those ideas which were originally suggested by objects of sense. These operations, when the soul comes to reflect on them, furnish us with a set of notions entirely different from the ideas of sense; such as the notions of perception, thinking, doubting, believing, reasoning, knowing, willing, and all the different energies and passions of our own minds. Of these operations we are always conscious when we are awake; but it requires, as shall be shown afterwards, no inconsiderable effort to set them, as it were, at a distance, to reflect on them, and consider what they are. When we have made this effort, however, we acquire notions as distinct, and perhaps more important, than those ideas which we receive through the medium of the senses.

Sensation and reflection, then, furnish mankind with the first materials of all their knowledge. The mind seems not to have ideas or notions of any kind which it did not receive by one or other of these modes. By means of the senses it perceives external objects; and by that power which it has of turning its attention upon itself, it discovers the nature and manner of its own operations.

Although the knowledge which we acquire from reflection be of equal importance, and perhaps of greater certainty than that which we receive through the medium of the senses, it comes into the mind at a much later period; both because it is impossible that the faculties of the mind should operate without materials, and because it is much more difficult to attend to these operations, even whilst they are going on, than to the objects of sense which solicit our attention. It is for this reason pretty late before children have any notions whatever of the operations of their own minds; and of the greater part of these operations the bulk of mankind have no clear or accurate notions during the whole of their lives. On the other hand, every human being is so surrounded with bodies, which perpetually and variously affect his senses, that a variety of sensible ideas force an entrance even into the minds of children. In order therefore to trace the procedure of the understanding, and to ascertain the extent and limits of human knowledge, it should seem that we must begin with considering the external senses, that we may discover the manner in which we receive knowledge by means of them, the objects of that knowledge, and its certainty. It is to be observed, however, that though we consider the mind as possessed of many powers or faculties, and inquire first into the nature of that faculty which we conceive to be first exerted, this is done merely for the sake of proceeding in our subject with method and perspicuity. The mind is one simple and undivided being; and in every mental energy it is the whole mind, and not any part or portion of it, that is energetic. On this account it is impossible to explain even the nature of sensation and perception to him who knows not what is meant by will or understanding; but to every one who is acquainted with the common import of these words, and who has read the treatise on Logic inserted in this work, we hope that our theory of perception will be intelligible and convincing.

CHAF. I.—OF SENSATION AND PEUCEPTION.

Sect. I.— Of Sensation.

The Supreme Being, who made us and placed us in this world, has given us such powers of mind as he saw to be suited to our state and rank in his creation. He has given us the power of perceiving many objects around us; but that power is limited in various ways, and particularly in this, that without the organs of the several senses we perceive no external object. The senses, as every one knows, are five in number, and each communicates its proper sensation. It is by the eyes alone that we see, by the ears that we hear, by the nose that we smell, and by the tongue and palate that we taste; the sense of feeling or touch is spread over the whole body, for we feel equally by our hands and by our feet, &c. To the powers of perception by the senses it is necessary not only that we have all the organs enumerated, but that we have them also in a sound and natural state. There are many disorders of the eye which cause total blindness, as well as others which impair without destroying the power of vision. The same thing is true of the organs of all the other senses. ’

All this is so well known from experience, that it needs no proof; but it may be worth while to observe, that it is known from experience only.^[5. Reid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] For any thing that we know to the contrary, our Creator might have endowed us with the power of perception by a thousand organs of sense, all different from those which we possess; and it is certain that he himself perceives every thing more perfectly than we do without bodily organs. For it is to be observed, that the organs of sense are different from the being which is sentient. It is not the eye which sees, nor [7:14:603] the ear which hears; these are only the organs by which we see and hear. A man cannot see the satellites of Jupiter except by means of a telescope, nor hear a low voice except by means of an ear-trumpet. Does he from this conclude that it is the telescope which sees those satellites, or the trumpet which hears that voice? Such a conclusion would be evidently absurd. It is no less absurd to conclude that it is the eye which sees, or the ear which hears. The telescope and the trumpet are artificial organs of sight and of hearing, of which the eye and ear are natural organs; but the natural organs see and hear as little as the artificial.

That this is the case with respect to the eye and the ear, is so obvious, that, as far as we know, it has never been denied. But'with respect to the senses of touch, taste, and smell, the truth at first view does not appear so evident. A celebrated writer has observed,^[6. Kames’s Elements of Criticism. ] that “after the utmost efforts, we find it beyond our power to conceive the flavour of a rose to exist in the mind; we are necessarily led to conceive that pleasure as existing in the nostrils, along with the impression made by the rose upon that organ;^[7. Another eminent writer thinks very differently on this subject, and in our opinion much more justly. “Suppose,” says Dr Reid, “a person who never had this sense (smelD before, to receive it ail at once, and to smell a rose; can he perceive any similitude or agreement between the smell and the rose, or indeed between it and any other object whatever? Certainly he cannot. He finds himself affected in a new way, he knows not why, or from what cause. He is conscious that he is not the cause of it himself; but he cannot, from the nature of the thing, determine whether it be caused by body or spirit, by something near or by something at a distance. He cannot give it a place, any more than he can give a place to melancholy or joy; nor can he conceive it to have any existence but when it is smelled.” (Inquiry into the Human Mind, ch. ii. sect, ii.) . ] and the same will be the result of experiments with respect to every feeling of taste, touch, and smell. Touch,” he says, “affords the most satisfactory evidence, and philosophy detects the delusion.” To detect this delusion requires, indeed, no great depth in philosophy; for it is so far from being true that we are necessarily led otherwise than by association, of which the laws shall afterwards be explained, to conceive the pleasure or pain of touch as existing at that part of our body upon which the impression is made, that, as every man must have observed, children, previously to experience, cannot distinguish the precise place of their bodies which is affected by the touch of any external object» Nay, we believe it will be found upon trial, that if a full-grown man, with all the experience of age to guide him, be pricked with a pin on any part of his body which he has seldom handled, and never seen, he will not readily, norat first, put his finger upon the wound, nor even come very near to the wound. This, however, he would certainly and infallibly do were the sense of touch necessarily conceived as existing in the organ. To these observations objections may perhaps be made, which we cannot stay to obviate; but the following, we think, will admit of none. We appeal to every man who has experienced that particular sensation of touch which Scaliger has dignified with the name of a sixth sense, whether, whilst those sensations were new to him, he was necessarily led to conceive them as existing in any particular organ. If he was not, it then follows undeniably that the organs of sensation are different from the being which is sentient; that it is not the eye which sees, the ear which hears, the nostrils which smell, the tongue which tastes, nor any part of the body which feels; and that it is by experience alone that we learn to associate our several sensations with those organs upon which the impressions are made.

It is, however, certain that we receive no sensation from external objects, unless when some impression is made upon the organ of sense, either by the immediate application of the object itself, or by some medium which passes between the object and the organ.^[8. Reid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, and Hartley’s Observations on Man. ] In two of our senses, viz. touch and taste, there must be an immediate application of the object to the organ. In the other three the sensation is occasioned by the impression of some medium passing from the object to the organ. The effluvia of bodies drawn into the nostrils with the breath are the medium of smell; the undulations of the air are the medium of hearing; and the rays of light passing from visible objects to the eye arc the medium of sight. These are facts known from experience to hold universally both in men and in brutes. It is likewise a law of our nature perfectly known to all who know any thing of anatomy, that, in order to actual sensation, the impressions made upon the external organs must be communicated to the nerves, and from them to the brain. First, the object, either immediately, or by some medium, makes an impression upon the organ; the organ serves as a medium by which the impression is communicated to the nerves; and the nerves serve as a medium to carry it on to the brain. Here the corporeal part ends; at least we can trace it no farther. The rest of the process is purely intellectual. The proof of these impressions upon the nerves and brain in sensation is this, That from many observations and experiments it is found, that when the organ of any sense is perfectly sound, and has the impression made upon it by the object ever so strongly, yet if the nerve which serves that organ be cut or tied hard, there is no sensation; and it is well known that disorders in the brain deprive us of sensation, whilst both the organ and its nerve remain sound.

There is sufficient reason, therefore, to conclude, that in sensation the object produces some change in the organ; that from the organ the change proceeds to the nerve, and from the nerve to the brain. Hence it is that we have positive sensations from negative objects or mere nonentities, such as darkness, blackness, and vacuity. For, sensation resulting from changes in the brain, whatever produces any change must of course occasion a new sensation; but it is obvious that the mere absence of any impression, by the removal of the object which produced it, must as necessarily cause a change in the organ, nerves, and brain, as the presence of a new impression from a new object. To these changes, or that which immediately produces them, we give the name of impressions; because we know not how, in a general manner, to express more properly any change produced by an external cause, without specifying the nature of that cause. Whether it be pressure, or attraction, or repulsion, or vibration, or something unknown, for which we have no name, still it may be called an impression.

Sir Isaac Newton was perhaps the first who supposed that the rays of light falling upon the bottom of the eye excite vibrations in the tunica retina; and that these vibrations, being propagated along the solid fibres of the optic nerves into the brain, cause the actual sensation of seeing. This hypothesis was adopted by Dr Hartley, applied to the other senses, and shown to be at least as probable as any which has yet been invented to account for the perception of external objects by means of the organs of sense. Be this as it may, experience informs us, that whatever be the nature of those impressions and changes which are made by external objects upon the senses, nerves, and brain, we have without them no actual sensation, and of course perceive [7:14:604]nothing ab extra. Hence it has been supposed that the mind is wholly passive in sensation, and that sensation is necessarily produced by those impressions. But this we believe to be a mistake. Every man who has been attentive to his own thoughts and actions, must know instances of impressions having been certainly made upon his organs of sense without producing any sensation, or suggesting to his mind the perception of the particular objects by which the impressions were caused. He whose mind is intensely employed in any particular pursuit may have his eyes open upon an object which he does not see, or he may not hear the sound of a clock striking within two yards of him; nay, we will venture to affirm, that there is hardly one reader of this article to whom such absences of sensation have not often occurred. Now, as there is no reason to suppose, that in the one case the undulations of the air caused by the striking of the clock did not reach his cars, or that in the other the rays of light reflected from the object did not fall upon his eyes, which were open to receive them, the only reason which can be assigned for his not having, in these instances, had audible and visible sensations, is, that his mind was so engaged in something else as not to pay to the vibrations in his brain that attention, if we may so express it, without which impressions ab extra can produce no sensation. There are, indeed, some impressions on the organs of sense so violent and so sudden as to force themselves upon the mind, however employed. Such are those made on the ear by thunder, and on the eye by strong light. In these cases, sensation is involuntary and unavoidable; whence we conclude, not that in such instances the mind is passive or destitute of energy, but that, by the violent agitation given to the brain, it is roused from its reverie, and compelled to give attention. It appears, therefore, that in sensation the mind exerts some kind of energy; for in nothing but in the sentient being itself can we seek for the cause why, when all external circumstances are the same, organical impressions sometimes produce sensations and sometimes not; and that cause can only be the energy of the mind, though of what kind that energy is we pretend not to say.

Sect. II.— Of Perception by the Senses.

How the correspondence is carried on between the thinking principle within us and the material world without us, has always, as Dr Reid observes, been found a very difficult problem to those philosophers who consider themselves as obliged to account for every phenomenon in nature. It is, indeed, a problem of which we do not expect ever to see a complete solution. A few steps beyond the vulgar we may certainly go; but the nature of that connection by which the mind and body are united will probably remain for ever unknown. One question, however, which has employed much of the attention of philosophers, both ancient and modern, appears to be not wholly unanswerable. It is, whether, by means of our senses, we perceive external objects mediately or immediately; or, in other words, whether sensation and pereeption be one and the same thing, or two things succeeding each other? On this subject, till of late, there appears to have been in the main a great uniformity in the sentiments of philosophers, notwithstanding their variations respecting particular points. Of some of the most eminent of them we shall give the opinions, as we find them collected by one^[9. Dr Reid in his Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] who was well acquainted with their writings, who was thoroughly qualified to estimate their respective merits, and who cannot be suspected of partiality to that theory which we feel ourselves compelled to adopt.

“Plato illustrates our manner of perceiving external objects thus: He supposes a dark subterraneous cave, in which men lie bound in such a manner as that they can direct their eyes only to one part of the cave. Far behind there is a light, of which some rays come over a wall to that part of the cave which is before the eyes of our prisoners. A number of men variously employed pass between them and the light, whose shadows are seen by the prisoners, but not their persons themselves. In this manner did that philosopher conceive that by our senses we perceive not things themselves, but only the shadows of things; and he seems to have borrowed his notions on this subject from the disciples of Pythagoras.

“If we make due allowance for Plato’s allegorical genius, his sentiments with respect to sensation and perception correspond very well with those of the Peripatetics. Aristotle, the founder of that school, seems to have thought that the soul consists of two or three parts; or rather that we have three souls, the vegetable, the animal, and the rational. The animal soul is held to be a certain form of the body, which is inseparable from it, and perishes at death. To this soul the senses belong; and he defines a sense to be that which is capable of receiving the sensible forms, or species of objects, without any of the matter of them; as wax receives the form of the seal without any of its matter. Of this doctrine it seems to be a necessary consequence, that bodies are constantly sending forth, in all directions, as many different kinds of forms without matter as they have different sensible qualities. This was accordingly maintained by the followers of Aristotle, though not, as far as we know, taught by himself They disputed concerning the nature of these forms or species, whether they were real beings or nonentities; but of matter and form we shall have occasion to speak afterwards.

“After Aristotle had kept possession of the schools for more than a thousand years, his authority, which had often supplied the place of argument, was called in question by Lord Bacon and others. Descartes, however, was the first philosopher who, convinced of the defects of the prevailing system, attempted to form another entirely new; but on the nature of perception by means of the senses he differs little or nothing from those who had preceded him in that department of science. He denies, indeed, and refutes by solid reasoning, the doctrine which maintains that images, species, or forms of external objects, come from the objects themselves, and enter into the mind by the avenues of the senses. But he takes it for granted, as all the old philosophers had done, that what we immediately perceive must be either in the mind itself, or in the brain, in which the mind is immediately present. The impressions made upon our organs, nerves, and brain, can be nothing, according to his philosophy, but various modifications of extension, figure, and motion. There can be nothing in the brain like sound or colour, taste or smell, heat or cold. They are sensations in the mind, which, by the laws of the union of the soul and body, are raised on occasion of certain traces in the brain; and although he sometimes gives the name of ideas to these traces, he does not think it necessary that they should be perfectly like the things which they represent, any more than that words and signs should resemble the things which they signify.

“According to this system, it would appear that we perceive not external objects directly by means of our senses; but that these objects, operating either mediately or immediately upon the organs of sense, and they again upon our nerves and brain, excite in the mind certain sensations; whence we infer the existence of external objects from our sensations, of which they are the cause. Perception[7:14:605] of external objects, therefore, according to Descartes, is not one simple original act of the mind, but may be resolved into a process of reasoning from effects to causes.”

The doctrines of Malebranche, Locke, and Hartley, respecting perception, differ not essentially from that of Descartes. Malebranche, indeed, supposes that external objects are not themselves the causes of perceptions; but that the Deity, being always present to our minds more intimately than any other being, does, upon occasion of the impressions made upon our organs of sense, discover to us, as far as he thinks proper, and according to fixed laws, his own ideas of the object; and thus, according to him, we see all things in God, or in the divine ideas. He agrees, however, with Descartes and the ancient philosophers, in considering it as a truth which it is impossible to refute, that we perceive not the objects without us, the sun, moon, and stars, &c., because it is not likely that the soul sallies out of the body, and takes a walk, as it were, through the heavens to contemplate these objects. She sees them not therefore by themselves; and the immediate object of the mind, when it sees the sun, is not the sun itself, but something which is intimately united to the mind, and is that which he calls an idea.

Locke, speaking of the reality of our knowledge, says: “It is evident the mind knows not things immediately, but only by the intervention of the ideas it has of them. Our knowledge, therefore, according to him, is real only so far as there is a conformity between our ideas and the things which they represent.” And the manner of our perceiving external objects he illustrates by the following similitude: “Methinks the understanding is not much unlike a closet wholly shut from light, with only some little opening left, to let in external visible resemblances, or ideas of things without. Would the pictures coming into such a dark room but stay there, and he so orderly as to be found upon occasion, it would very much resemble the understanding of a man in reference to all objects of sight, and the ideas of them.”^[10. Essay on Understanding, book ii. chap. xi. ] He has elsewhere^[11. Book ii. chap. viii. ] defined an idea thus: “Whatsoever the mind perceives in itself, or is the immediate object of perception, thought, or understanding, that I call an idea ; and the power to produce any idea in our mind I call quality of the subject wherein the power is.” He likewise thinks it easy to draw this observation, that the ideas of what he calls primary qualities of bodies, viz. extension, solidity, figure, mobility, &c. are resemblances of these qualities as they really exist in the bodies themselves.

This unguarded expression, which affirms that ideas in the mind are the resemblances of external things, has brought upon Mr Locke much undeserved ridicule. That upon this and other occasions he uses the word idea with too great latitude, and that he often confounds ideas with sensations, and even with the causes of sensation, must be admitted by his warmest admirers; but we believe that by an attentive reader, who peruses his whole work, and compares such passages as are obscure with those which are clearer, his meaning may always be discovered, and, with respect to sensation and perception, will generally be found just. That by calling the ideas of primary qualities resemblances of the qualities themselves, he meant nothing more than that bodies in all possible states impress the senses, nerves, and brain, in such a manner as to produce in the mind certain sensations, between which and those impressions there is an inseparable though unknown connection, is evident from the account which he gives of the manner of perception. “Our senses,” says he, “conversant about particular sensible objects, do convey into the mind several distinct perceptions of things, according to those various ways in which these objects affect them; and thus we come by those ideas we have of yellow, white, heat, cold, soft, hard, bitter, sweet, and all those which we call sensible qualities; which, when I say the senses convey into the mind, I mean they, from external objects, convey into the mind what produces those perceptions.” And as bodies can act only by impulse, he adds, that “those perceptions can be produced only by an impression made upon the senses, and some motion thence continued by our nerves to the brain or seat of perception.”

Dr Hartley was the pupil of Locke and Newton; and, in a more satisfactory manner than all who had preceded or have since followed him, explained the material part of the process of perception. His principles we shall have occasion, during the course of this article, to develope pretty fully. For our present purpose it is sufficient to say, that all his observations and arguments evidently suppose, that nothing distant from the mind can be perceived in the immediate act of sensation; but that the apparently immediate perception of external objects is an instance of early and deep-rooted association.

In this sentiment Mr Hume agrees with his predeces-. sors; but he obscures his philosophy, and misleads his reader, by confounding sensations with the impressions from which they proceed. “Every one,” says he,^[12. Inquiry concerning Human Understanding, sect. iii. ] “will allow that there is a considerable difference between the perceptions of the mind when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination.” The less forcible and lively of these perceptions he with great propriety calls ideas ; but it is either through wilful perverseness, or confusion of intellect, that he chooses to call the others impressions. Sensation and perception are caused by impressions ; but they are no more impressions themselves than the pain occasioned by the stroke of a bludgeon is the stroke itself, or the bludgeon with which it was struck. But more of this afterwards.

Thus far, then, that we perceive not external objects directly, but infer their existence from certain sensations' excited in our minds by the operation of these objects upon our senses, nerves, and brain, seems to have been the opinion of almost every philosopher from Pythagoras^[13. ‘ See Mosheim’s edition of Cudworth’s Intellectual System, where the opinions of the philosophers of antiquity are more faithfully collected than in any other work with which we are acquainted- ] to Mr Hume. For an opinion so universal, and at the same time so contrary to the persuasion of the multitude, some cogent reason must have been assigned. That reason has been given by many philosophers, but by none with greater perspicuity than Dr Porterfield, in his Essay concerning the Motion of the Eyes. “How body acts upon the mind, or mind upon body,” says he, “I know not; but this I am very certain of, that nothing can act, or be acted upon, where it is not; and therefore our mind can never perceive any thing but its own proper modifications, and the various states of the sensorium to which it is present. So that it is not the external sun and moon, which are in the heavens, that our mind perceives, but only their image or representation impressed on the sensorium. How the soul of a seeing man sees those images, or how it receives those ideas from such agitations in the sensorium, I know not; but I am sure it can never perceive the external bodies themselves, to which it is not present.”

This reasoning appears to have force, and perhaps the [7:14:606]unanimous agreement of thinking men in all ages has still greater force; yet the doctrine which prevailed so long, and which to Locke appeared so evident as to need no proof, has since been called in question by some eminent philosophers in our own country, who, though they allow that we cannot perceive external objects except by means of the senses, yet affirm that they are the objects themselves which we perceive directly, and that in perception there is no association which can be resolved into a process of reasoning from sensations the effects, to external objects the causes. Dr Reid, who was perhaps the first of this class of philosophers, had expressed himself distinctly on this subject.

“If we attend to the act of our mind which we call the perception of an external object of sense, we shall find it in these three things: First, some conception or notion of the object perceived; secondly, a strong and irresistible conviction and belief of its present existence; and, thirdly, that this conviction and belief are immediate, and not the effect of reasoning.”^[14. Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, essay ii. chap. v. ] To the first and second of these propositions we are persuaded that Descartes and Locke would readily have assented; nor do we imagine that they would have denied the third, had the author allowed that this strong and irresistible conviction is the consequence of an early and deep-rooted association, resolvable into a process of reasoning. This, however, the learned professor does not allow, for he repeatedly affirms that it is instinctive and original, and that “the constitution of our power of perception determines us to hold the existence of what we distinctly perceive as a first principle, from which other truths may be deduced, but it is deduced from none.” With this view of the matter, he could with no propriety attempt to support his own opinion by argument; but to the reasonings of Dr Porterfield and others in defence of the Cartesian theory, he replies in the following words: “That nothing can act immediately where it is not, I think must be admitted; for I agree with Sir Isaac Newton, that power without substance is inconceivable. It is a consequence of this, that nothing can be acted upon immediately where the agent is’not present; let this, therefore, be granted. To make the reasoning conclusive, it is farther necessary, that when we perceive objects, either they act upon us, or we act upon them. This does not appear self-evident, nor have I ever met with any proof of it.”^[15. Ibid, essay ii. chap. ∑iv. ]

Of the profundity of Dr Reid’s understanding we have the most firm conviction; nor is there any metaphysician, ancient or modern, from whom we differ with greater reluctance; but we cannot help thinking this a rash assertion, as his own works appear to us to afford complete proof that, in perception, the mind both acts and is acted upon. Let us attend, however, to the reasons which, on this occasion, induced him to think that in perception there is no action either of the object on the mind or of the mind on the object.

“When we say that one being acts upon another, we mean that some power or force is exerted by the agent which produces, or has a tendency to produce, a change in the thing acted upon. If this be the meaning of the phrase, as I conceive it is, there appears no reason for asserting that, in perception, either the object acts upon the mind or the mind upon the object. An object, in being perceived, does not act at all. I perceive the walls of the room where I sit; but they are perfectly inactive, and therefore act not upon the mind. To be perceived, is what logicians call an external denomination, which implies neither action nor quality in the object perceived.”

This last sentence we do not pretend to understand. Substance without qualities is to us inconceivable, and certainly is no object of perception; for Dr Reid himself has told us, and told us truly, that “the objects of perception are the various qualities of bodies.” That an object, in being perceived, does not act at all, is directly contrary to what the ingenious author has taught us, both in his Inquiry and in his Essays, viz. that “it is a law of our nature that we perceive not external objects, unless certain impressions be made by the object upon the organ, and, by means of the organ, upon the nerve and brain for if the external object, in being perceived, make impressions, it is certainly not true that it does not act at all. It is indeed readily acknowledged, that when one perceives the walls of the room where he sits, these walls do not act immediately upon the organs of sight; but it does not therefore follow that they are perfectly inactive; for it is known to all mankind, that from every point of the wall which is seen, rays of light are reflected to the eye; that these rays make upon the retina tunica an impression, which is conveyed by the optic nerve to the brain; and that this impression on the brain is one of the immediate causes of vision. In what particular manner it causes vision, we shall never be able to discover, till we know more of the laws which unite mind and body, and by which one of these is qualified to act upon the other; but, because we know not the manner of this operation, to affirm that there is no operation at all, seems to be as absurd as it would be to affirm, because we perceive no necessary connection between a stroke and the sensation of sound, that the sound of a musical string is not caused by the· stroke of a plectrum. That God might have given us powers of perception of a different kind from those which we possess, there can be no doubt; but with what we might have been we have no concern. As we are, we know perfectly that the eye is an instrument of vision, because without it nothing can be seen; we know also that the retina and optic nerves are equally necessary, because, if they be disordered, vision is still wanting; we know likewise that the brain is necessary to all perception, because, when it is disordered, thinking either entirely ceases or is proportionably disturbed. Aird, lastly, we are not more certain of our own existence, than that actual perception does not take place except when the object makes an impression upon some organ of sense; for when no rays of light fall upon the eye, we see nothing; when no sapid body is applied to the tongue and palate, we taste nothing; and if we could be removed from every thing solid, we should feel nothing.

These are conclusions which cannot be controverted. They are admitted equally by the philosopher and by the plain unlettered man of common sense; nor are they rendered one whit less certain by our not being able to go a step farther, so as to discover in what manner the brain or the affections of it can be the immediate instrument of sensation and perception. For, as Dr Reid observes, in the spirit of true philosophy,^[16. Inquiry into the Human Mind, 4th edit. p. 258. ] in the operation of mind, as well as in those of bodies, we must often be satisfied with knowing that certain things are connected and invariably follow one another, without being able to discover the chain that connects them. It is to such connections that we give the name of laws of nature ; and when we say that one thing produces another by a law of nature, this signifies no more than that one thing which we call in popular language the cause, is constantly and invariably followed by another which we call the effect ; and that we know not how they are connected.

In the preceding section we have observed, that in sensa [7:14:607]tion the mind exerts some energy; and therefore as, upon every hypothesis, perception is a consequence of sensation, it follows, that in perception the mind cannot be wholly inactive. Dr Reid, in his Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, seems to affirm that it is. “I see no reason,” says he, “to believe that in perception the mind acts upon the object. To perceive an object is one thing, to act upon it is another. Nor is the last at all included in the first. To say that I act upon the wall by looking at it, is an abuse of language, and has no meaning.” This is indeed true; it would be a great abuse of language to say that by looking at the wall a man acts upon it; but we do not believe that any man ever said or supposed such a thing. The philosophers whose opinion he is combating might argue in this manner: We arc conscious that in perception the mind is active; but nothing can act immediately where it is not; the mind cannot act immediately upon external existence; external existence therefore is not the immediate object of that energy which is exerted in perception. As Dr Reid affirms that external existence is the immediate object of perception, he must deny the first proposition in this argument; for if it be granted, as we have just seen, that in his reply to Dr Porterfield he admits the second, the laws of reasoning will compel him to admit the third.

To say that in perception the mind acts not upon external objects, is a truth in which all mankind are agreed; and it is the very principle from which his antagonists infer that the conviction of the present existence of external objects is not an original and instinctive consequence of sensation, but an early and deep-rooted association, which may be resolved into a process of reasoning. His meaning therefore must be, that in perception the mind does not act at all. But this is directly contrary to his definition of perception, which he calls an act of the mind; and it is likewise contrary to his theory of perception, as it is detailed in the Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense. We are there taught, with equal elegance and perspicuity, “that an impression made by an external object upon the organ, nerves, and brain, is followed by a sensation, and that this sensation is followed by the perception of the object.” We are likewise taught, that “although the Peripatetics had no good reason to suppose an active and passive intellect, they yet came nearer the truth in holding the mind to be, in sensation, partly passive and partly active, than the moderns in affirming it to be purely passive. Sensation, imagination, memory, and judgment, have, by the vulgar, in all ages, been considered as acts of the mind. The manner in wh’ich they are expressed in all languages shows this; for when the mind is much employed in them, we say it is very active, whereas if they were impressions only, we ought to say that the mind is very passive.” All this is undeniable; but if sensation necessarily precede perception, and if in sensation the mind be active, what becomes of the assertion that in perception it does not act at all? Indeed we may appeal to the common sense of mankind, whether any thing can be perceived without some mental energy of the percipient. For when the impressions made upon the external senses are faint, in order to be conscious of them an evident exertion is requisite, not of the organ only, but also of the mind, as in perceiving very remote objects and sounds; but when the impressions arc stronger, the perception is involuntary and unavoidable, as has been already explained in the preceding section.

It being thus certain that in perception the mind both acts and is acted upon, and it being universally acknowledged that nothing can act where it is not, we feel ourselves compelled to admit, with the Cartesians, that in perception the conviction of the present existence of external objects is not original and instinctive, but the consequence of an early and unavoidable association of certain sensations with the causes which produce them. In this opinion we are still more confirmed by the well-known fact, that particular pressures upon the organ, nerves, and brain, excite not only sensations, but even - perceptions of objects apparently external, when no such objects are within the reach of our senses. Thus,^[17. Hartley’s Observations on Man. ] if a man in the dark press either corner of his eye with his finger, he will see a circle of colours like those in the feather of a peacock’s tail, though no such external object be before him, and though the room be so dark that nothing external could possibly be discerned. Again, if a burning coal be nimbly moved round in a circle, with gyrations continually repeated, the whole circumference of the circle will at once appear on fire, though it is certain that there can really be no fire but in one portion of that circumference, equal in length to the diameter of the coal. These are facts known to all mankind, and they are perfectly irreconcileable with the supposition, that the perception of external objects by the sense of sight is original and instinctive; but they are at once accounted for, if it be true that rays of light falling from external objects upon the tunica retina agitate the optic nerves and brain, and that such agitations excite sensations in the mind which experience has taught us to refer to external objects, as, under God, their ultimate cause.

But although we have declared ourselves to be in this instance Cartesians, we do not admit all the absurdities which have sometimes been imputed to that system of perception. We do not believe that external objects are perceived by means of images of them in the mind or the brain; nor do we think that Descartes or Locke has anywhere affirmed that they are, otherwise than by an expression obviously figurative, denoting, not that the actual shapes of things are delineated in the brain or upon the mind, but only that impressions of some kind or other are conveyed to the brain by means of the organs of sense and their corresponding nerves; and that between these impressions and the sensations excited in the mind, there is a real, and in our present state a necessary, though unknown, connection.^[18. As the view here given of the opinions entertained by Descartes and Locke in regard to the nature of Ideas is altogether erroneous, we think it right to refer, for sounder information, to the profound and elaborate article on the Philosophy of Perception, contained in the52d volume of the Edinburgh Review.—Note to the present Edition. ]

Upon the whole, we think that there is good evidence for believing, that in perception the process of nature is the following: First, if the object be not in contact with the organ of sense, there must be some medium which passes between them; as, in vision, the rays of light; in hearing, the vibrations of elastic air; and in smelling, the effluvia of the body smelled; otherwise we have neither sensation nor perception. Secondly, there must be some action or impression upon the organ of sense, either by the immediate application of the object, as in the two senses of touch and taste; or by the medium interposed between them, as in the other three senses. Thirdly, the nerves which go from the brain to the organ must receive some impression by means of that which was made upon the organ; and by means of these nerves that impression must be carried to the brain. Fourthly, the impression made upon the organs, nerves, and brain, rouses the dormant energy of the mind; and this double action of the mind and the object produces a sensation. And, lastly, as we know by experience that the mind alone cannot, by any exertion of its own, produce one sensation, [7:14:608] and are intuitively certain that nothing can begin to exist without a cause, we infer from the existence of any new sensation the existence of some other cause than the internal energy of the mind from which that sensation proceeds; and this cause experience teaches us to be the external object. This process is carried on so rapidly, and the several parts of it, by being continually repeated, are so closely associated, that, except by a reflex act of the mind, we do not distinguish them from one another, and therefore denominate the whole perception.

It is with extreme diffidence that we advance a doctrine which Dr Reid has controverted; but he differs from us only in the last stage of the process,^[19. See Inauiry into the Human Mind, 4th edit p. 383. ] where he supposes sensation and perception to be two simple and independent acts of the mind. Yet he sometimes expresses himself as if he thought, as we do, that in perception the belief of the present existence of external objects is rather the result of experience, than an instinctive persuasion. Thus, speaking of the perception which we have in smelling a rose, he says,^[20. Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, essay ii. chap. xv. and xxi. ] “Perception has always an external object, and the object of my perception in this case is that quality in the rose which I discern by the sense of smell. Observing that the agreeable sensation is raised when the rose is near, and ceases when it is removed, I am led by my nature [we think by experience would have been more proper] to conclude some quality to be in the rose, which is the cause of this sensation. This quality in the rose is the object perceived; and that act of my mind, by which I have the conviction and belief of this quality, is what in this case I call perception.” Again, he says that “three of our senses, viz. smell, taste, and hearing, originally give us only certain sensations, and a conviction that these sensations are occasioned by some external object. We give a name to that quality of the object by which it is fitted to produce such a sensation, and connect that quality with the object and with its other qualities. Thus we learn, that a certain sensation of smell is produced by a rose; and that quality in the rose by which it is fitted to produce this sensation we call the smell of the rose. Here it is evident that the sensation is original. The perception that the rose has that quality which we call its smell, is acquired.”

To this doctrine no Cartesian could reasonably object; for it is the very account which Descartes himself would have given of perception by the organ of smell, as it resolves such a perception into an early association between a certain sensation and that external quality fYom which we know by experience that the sensation proceeds. Indeed this excellent author repeatedly affirms that every different perception is conjoined with a sensation which is proper to it; and that the one is the sign, and the other the thing signified. He likewise douhts^[21. E ssays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] whether children, from the time that they begin to use their senses, make a distinction between things which are only conceived or imagined, and things which really exist. But if the conviction of the present existence of external objects were in perception instinctive, we cannot see how there could be room for such a doubt; for the mere senses of children are as perfect as those of full-grown men, and they know well the difference between actually sucking their nurses and only thinking of that operation, though they be not capable of expressing that difference in language.

But if in perception our conviction of the present existence of external objects be not instinctive, what, it may be asked, is the evidence that such objects really exist? This question we shall partly answer in the following section, and more completely when we come to examine Berkeley’s theory of the non-existence of matter; but, from what has already been said, it is sufficiently evident, that every sensation compels us to believe in the present existence of something different from ourselves, as well as from our sensations.

Sect. III.— Of the Objects of each Sense respectively.

Hitherto we have considered sensation and perception in general, and shown that it is not by instinct that we perceive the existence of external objects. This will appear more clearly, if we can ascertain the precise nature of that information which each sense affords us; and in order to this, we shall begin with the sense of touch, not only because it is that which is certainly first exercised, but also because there is a meaning, in which all the others may be resolved into it.

By means of touch we perceive many things, of which the chief are, heat and cold, hardness and softness, roughness and smoothness, extension, figure, solidity, and motion. Of these perceptions, some are immediate; and others, as we are persuaded, early associations, which may be resolved into a process of reasoning. The perceptions of heat and cold are immediate. When a person for the first time in his life approaches the fire, he feels heat; and when he is first exposed to the frost, he feels cold. What then are heat and cold, and where do they reside? They are obviously the reverse of each other; but are they external objects, or mere sensations in the mind? They are undoubtedly sensations which have no existence but when they are felt. To every man not altogether a stranger to these speculations, this proposition is self-evident; but to the bulk of the people it appears an extravagant paradox. To make it plain, however, to the meanest capacity, it is sufficient to observe, that at a certain distance the fire has no perceptible influence upon any person; if that distance be lessened, we feel an agreeable warmth; approach a little nearer, and the warmth becomes disagreeable; and, still nearer, it will rise to pain. No man supposes the pain inflicted by a sword to exist in the sword, or anywhere else but in a sentient being. It is equally absurd to suppose pain to exist in fire, or anywhere else but in a sentient being. But that which at one ' distance is pain, at another is only agreeable warmth; and since warmth and pain are only different degrees of the same feeling, it is equally absurd to suppose the one, as the other, in the fire. What then is the object of sense when we feel heat? There is obviously no object whatever beyond the present sensation.

But has the sensation of heat no cause independent of us? Undoubtedly it has, and experience teaches ns that the cause is in the fire. We know that we cannot produce the sensation of heat in ourselves by any mental energy of our own; and we are intuitively certain that nothing can begin to exist without some cause. A man upon the top a mountain covered with snow may imagine or remember what he felt when in the neighbourhood of fire, and thus have in his mind what is called an idea of heat; but that idea will not warm him like the actual sensation, which no exertion of his own can in such circumstances produce. When he leaves the mountain, however, and approaches the fire, he feels the sensation actually produced as often as he makes the experiment. He is, therefore, under the necessity of inferring, that in the fire there is some power or quality which, acting either mediately or immediately upon his sense of touch, excites the feeling [7:14:609]which is called heat. What that power is, we shall perhaps never be able to discover; but it is self-evident, that it is neither heat nor the resemblance of heat, though in vulgar language it is known by that name.

The same reasoning holds good with respect to cold. There is at certain times, and in certain countries, some power in the air which congeals water and causes cold; but that power is as different from the sensation of cold, as the power of fire is different from the sensation of heat, or the point of a sword from a flesh wound..

By the sense of touch we perceive extension, figure, ‘solidity, &c.; but we do not perceive them immediately, as we perceive heat and cold, for extension, figure, and solidity are not sensations. Those perceptions, then, must be acquired; and to ascertain more clearly the manner in which we acquire them, let us suppose a man from his birth destitute of the sense of sight and the power of local motion, but possessed of intellect and every other faculty which we enjoy. Such a person, it is obvious, would be capable of every sensation and perception which is original to us, except the perception of colours; but we doubt whether it would be possible to give him perceptions of extension, figure, and solidity. Let us try; and as he cannot move a single limb or member of himself, let us suppose a solid substance of small dimensions to be gently pressed against any part of his body. What would such pressure communicate to him? We think it could communicate nothing but a new sensation, to which, as it is neither pleasing nor painful, no name has hitherto been given, except the general one of feeling. This sensation he would not know whether to refer to an external or internal cause, or rather he could have no notion whatever of an external cause, though he would at the same time be conscious that the new sensation was not excited by any energy of his own will. Were the pressure to be gradually increased till it rose to pain, our blind man would still be conscious of nothing but a sensation, which could not lead him to the notion of extension, figure, or solidity, because mere sensations cannot be conceived as either solid or extended. Let us next suppose the pressure to be applied successively to different parts of his body; he would now indeed be conscious of successive sensations, but he could not assign to them either extension or place; for it has been already shown that the external parts of the body are not themselves sentient, and it shall be shown afterwards, that to a man who has never perceived motion, place is absolutely inconceivable. Lastly, let us suppose the dimensions of the pressing substance to be greatly enlarged; what would then follow? Nothing, we apprehend, but an increase of pain; for though his whole body were pressed ab extra, the pressure could affect the individual being which is sentient, not more extensively, but only more violently. It appears, therefore, that a man blind from his birth, and destitute of the power of local motion, could never be made to perceive extension, figure, or solidity.

Let us now suppose this man to receive by a miracle the use of his limbs, and to be suddenly prompted, by some instinctive impulse, to arise and walk. As long as he met with no obstacle in his way, he would not, we apprehend, acquire by this exercise any correct notions of extension or figure; but were a stone or log of wood of considerable dimensions to be laid across his usual walk, the case would soon be altered. He would feel himself interrupted in his course, and he would at the same instant recognise his wonted sensations of touch. After being twice or thrice thus interrupted, he would learn from experience that the interruption or resistance proceeded from the same cause which in this instance communicated to him the sensation of feeling; and were he to run his hand along the surface of the los or stone, he would perceive the resistance and the sensation continued. As every effect must have an adequate cause, this continued resistance would compel him to believe the continuity of something external in every direction in which he felt his hand resisted; but such continuity of being is all that is meant by the word extension. At the very same time, and by the very same means, he would gradually acquire the perception of figure; for, by running his hand in every direction over the surface of the obstacle which opposed him, he would soon perceive it on all sides limited; but the limits of extension is a phrase of precisely the same import with figure. It appears, therefore, that without the power of local motion, men could never, by the sense of touch, acquire the notions of extension and figure; and the same will be found to be the case with respect to hardness and softness.

When we press oπr hand gently against a stock or a stone, we feel a sensation which is neither painful nor pleasing. When we press it more violently, the sensation becomes painful, and we experience in the object a resistance which we have not power to overcome. When we press butter or pomatum very gently, we have a sensation in all respects similar to that which we felt when we gently touched the stock or the stone. But when we press the butter with violence, we feel no pain, and experience little resistance; for the parts of which it is composed give way before the hand, though the parts of the stock or the stone remain fixed and immoveable·. That the parts of one body should thus resist a pressure to which the parts of another so readily yield, must proceed from some difference in the texture of the two bodies; for by the sense of touch we perceive the effects to be different, and are therefore certain that they must proceed either from different causes, or from the same cause operating with different degrees of force. That particular texture which makes the parts of a stone resist the pressure of touch, we call hardness; and the texture which makes the parts of butter or pomatum give way to touch, we call softness. But what hardness and softness are in themselves, touch cannot inform us; for they are neither sensations, nor similar to sensations. We acquire, however, by experience, so complete notions of hardness and softness, that every one who understands the English language perfectly knows the meaning of these words as soon as he hears them; and when he is told that one body is hard and another soft, he knows with absolute certainty that the meaning of the assertion is, that the parts of the body which is said to be hard are held together by some unknown causé operating forcibly, and that the parts of the other are held together by the same or a similar cause operating with less force.

We acquire the notions of roughness and smoothness in the very same way and by the very same means that we acquire ideas of extension and figure. To describe the process at large would certainly be superfluous; for if what we have said concerning our perceptions of extension and figure be just and intelligible, every one will, without further assistance, discover for himself how he perceives roughness and smoothness. Motion shall be considered amongst the adjuncts of body; but in order to understand what body itself is, it will be necessary, before we dismiss the sense of touch, to inquire how we come by the notion of solidity.

Solidity is one of those notions, or, in the language of Locke, one of those ideas, which are commonly said to be acquired by the sense of touch. That touch gives the first hint towards our notion of solidity is certainly true, but that hint must be afterwards improved by the intellect, or we never could have an adequate knowledge of what is meant when any thing is said to be absolutely solid. We know by experience that we can at pleasure open [7:14:610]and shut our empty hand without meeting with any resistance. We know likewise, that when we grasp an ivory ball of three or four inches diameter, no force which we can exert will bring together the several parts of the hand, which were easily brought together when we grasped nothing. In this way do we acquire our first notion of solidity, for the word denotes nothing more in this instance than the power or property of the ball by rvhich our fingers are excluded from the place which it occupies. Solidity differs from hardness in this respect, that hardness results from the strong cohesion of the parts of a hard body, which renders it difficult to change the places of those parts, as they respect one another; whereas solidity respects the whole mass, and is as essential a quality of water as of adamant. A drop of water, indeed, placed between two plain surfaces of marble, will not, like adamant, preclude their contact, because the parts of a drop of water, cohering but loosely to one another, give way to the pressure, and escape in every lateral direction. But if a drop of water be confined on all sides, as in a globe of gold, we know from experience that no force will bring the sides of the globe together without forcing the water through the pores of the metal, and hence we infer solidity to be essential to every eorporeal substance.

Thus, then, it appears, that of the objects perceived by touch, not one is immediately perceived except heat, cold, and other sensations. The sensations, as they are not excited by any internal energy of our own, lead us indeed to something external as their cause; and by comparing the different sensations with each other, and observing what effects their external causes have upon our own motions, we are naturally led to conceive these causes as extended, figured, solid, hard or soft, rough or smooth; but it is obvious that this conception is the result of experience, and a process of mental reasoning.

On the senses of taste, smell, and hearing, it is needless to say much. The immediate objects of these are· confessedly sensations which have no existence but when they are perceived, though experience teaches us to refer them all to externa] objects as their respective causes. With respect to smell, this has been made sufficiently evident in the preceding section; and it is not less evident with respect to taste and hearing.

Certain bodies applied to the tongue and the palate, and moistened with the saliva, excite certain sensations, which we call tastes. These sensations, however, are not in the bodies, nor can they have any existence but in a sentient being. They are produced in consequence of impulses on the nerves of the tongue and palate, exciting certain agitations in the brain; but the sensation itself is neither impulse nor agitation. Some substances excite tastes which are agreeable, and others such as are disagreeable, and there are not a few which excite no taste at all. Bodies which applied to the tongue and palate of one man produce tastes that are agreeable, applied to the same organs of another man give him tastes which are disagreeable; and we have all experienced, that the same substance which, when the organs are sound, excites a sweet or pleasant taste, has, when the organs were disordered, excited a taste which was bitter or unpleasant. These facts, which cannot be controverted, afford the fullest evidence, if evidence were rvanted, that taste, as we feel it, is no quality of bodies, nor has any existence out of the mind.

The organ of hearing is the ear, and its object is sound. It is well known that sound is produced by certain vibrations of the air striking the tympanum of the ear, and that these vibrations are caused by the sonorous body. Sound, however, is not vibration, nor the idea of sound the idea of vibration. Sound considered by itself is a mere sensation, which can have no existence but in a sentient being. We know by experience that it is caused by something external, but we know likewise that the effect has no resemblance to the cause. Previously to experience we could not refer sound to any external cause, far less could we discern whether it proceeded from an object above us or below us, on our right hand or on our left. It appears to us self-evident, that if a man born deaf were suddenly made to hear, he would consider his first sensation of sound as originating wholly within himself. Between that sensation and the sensations of touch, taste, smell, and sight, there is no resemblance, nor are there any relations amongst them, which, previously to experience, could induce him to trace them all to external objects as their several causes. Our deaf man might have learned to refer all his other sensations to their true causes, in some such way as we have described under the sense of touch; but sound would be something so new to him, and so totally different from touch, taste, and smell, that he could attribute it to nothing external.

Experience, however, would soon teach him that the ear is its organ, and the sonorous body its cause; and he would in time learn to distinguish one sound, that of a trumpet, for instance, from another, suppose the sound of a bell, and to attribute each to its proper cause, even when neither the trumpet nor the bell was perceived by his other senses. With respect to sounds which we have been accustomed to hear, this is done so instantaneously, that some philosophers have imagined it to be the effect of an instinctive principle in our nature, totally different from experience, and independent of reason. But the fact is not so. Long before we are capable of making sensation and perception objects of reflection, we have heard the sound produced by the ringing of a bell, and seen the object which produced the sound, so often, that, when we hear a similar sound again, we instantly refer it to a bell, though we see not the bell from which it proceeds; but this is the effect of habit, and not of instinct. Had we never perceived a bell whilst ringing, by either of our senses of sight or touch, we could not by the sense of hearing acquire any notion of the figure or texture of the body from which the cause of the sound proceeds, though we had heard that sound every day of our lives. It is, indeed, by experience only that we learn to distinguish by the ear whether a sonorous body be before or behind us, on our right hand or on our left; for we find it always difficult to say from what precise quarter a strange sound proceeds, and this difficulty would be heightened to impossibility had not all sounds something in common. Dr Sparrman relates, that when he first heard the roaring of a lion, he did not know on what side of him to apprehend danger, as the sound seemed to proceed from the ground, and to en-elose a circle of which he and his companions stood in the centre. The same thing has happened to every man, when the sound was such as he had never heard before, even though it was neither so loud nor so terrific as the roaring of a lion in a desert wilderness; but with respect to sounds which we are daily hearing on every side of us, we soon learn to distinguish with tolerable accuracy whether they be before or behind us, above or below, on our right hand or on our left. All this, however, is the effect, not of instinct, but of experience improved into habit.

Sight is justly considered as the noblest and most comprehensive of all our senses. The reason is obvious; for i when a full-grown man opens his eyes, he perceives houses, trees, rivers, the earth, sun, moon, stars, &c. and to each of these objects belong figure, extension, colour, &c. which are all perceived instantly by means of this sense. Yet it is certain that the sense of sight does not originally communicate to us so many perceptions; and there is abundant evidence that an infant cannot at first, or for some weeks after its birth, distinguish by vision one object from [7:14:611] another. Colour is the proper object of sight, and for some time its only object; but colour, as perceived by us, is a mere sensation, which can have no existence but in a sentient being. If this proposition stood in need of proof, we might observe that there are men, and even whole families, who possess the sense of sight in a degree of perfection sufficient for all the purposes of life, and yet cannot distinguish certain colours from each other, blue, for instance, from green, or perhaps from red; and there is no man who can distinguish between some particular shades of blue and green by the feeble light of a candle. Were colours the real qualities of body, this mistake of one for another could never be experienced. No man who possesses the sense of touch ever confounded hardness with softness, a sphere with a cube, or an ell with an inch. The reason is, that hardness and softness, figure and extension, are the qualities of things external; whereas colour being a mere sensation, is nothing but an affection or modification of the sentient being. But it is obvious that sentient beings, according as they differ from one another, may be differently affected by the same external cause, so that one man may perceive that to be green which all other men perceive to be blue. The immediate external cause of the sensation of colour is the rays of light reflected from the body, which in common language is said to be coloured. These rays, falling upon the pupil of the eye, are refracted differently, according as their incidence is more or less oblique, into points on the retina, where they form a picture of the external object; and from the picture, by means of the optic nerve, is communicated to the brain some impulse or agitation, which produces vision, or the perception of colour. As rays of light are corporeal substances, it is obvious that they can act upon body only by impulse; but between impulse and the various sensations of red, green, blue, yellow, &c. there is no resemblance. (For the laws of reflection and refraction, and for the structure of the eye, see Optics and Anatomy.) That which we have to inquire into at present is, how we learn, by means of the sense of sight, to perceive the figure, magnitude, motion, and distance of external objects, or indeed to distinguish one object from another.

A ray of light proceeding, as all rays do, in a straight line, must, however great its length, affect the eye, retina, and optic nerve, as if it were a single point. From this obvious and undeniable fact Bishop Berkeley predicted,^[22. Essay towards a New Theory of Vision. ] that a man born blind, who should be suddenly made to see, would at first perceive nothing without him, would distinguish neither the distance, size, figure, nor situation, of external objects; that he would only see in his eyes themselves, or, to speak more properly, would only experience new modifications in his mind, until, joining touch to sight, he thus formed a communication with the external world, and learned, by the simultaneous exercise of the two senses, that natural language in which the visible is the sign of the tangible. This truth, which was discovered by the bishop merely by contemplating in his own mind the nature of sensation, and the known laws of optics, after having been laughed at for more than twenty years as one of the many dreams of a visionary genius, was completely confirmed by the case of the famous patient whom Cheselden cured of a cataract, and that, too, though the cataract does not produce total blindness; which makes it evident that the first visual perceptions of the patient after his recovery could not be wholly new and unmixed. It may indeed be confirmed at any time by a simple experiment made upon an infant. For several weeks after birth, a child shuts not its eyes upon the sudden approach of an object to them, nor shows the least symptom of distinguishing one distance from another; and it is easy, by a little attention, to observe how it gradually learns to distinguish objects at greater and greater distances. Indeed colour, or the immediate object of sight, being a mere sensation or affection of the mind, can have no natural relation whatsoever to any thing external.

It is plain, therefore, that distance is in its own nature imperceptible to the eye, and yet it is often perceived by sight. How is this done? We think, in the following manner. Distance is one mode of extension, which, as we have already seen, is perceived by means of touch. Of short distances, our first ideas are doubtless acquired by the stretching out and drawing back of our arms; and these ideas are soon so connected with certain sensations which we have in actual vision, that the latter instantly suggests the former. Thus it is a fact known by experience, that when we look at a near object with both eyes, according as it approaches or recedes from us, we alter the disposition of our eyes, by lessening or widening the interval between the pupils. This disposition or turn of the eye is attended with a sensation of which every man is conscious at the time of vision; and this sensation seems to us to be that which in this case suggests the idea of greater or less distance to the mind. Not that there is any natural or necessary connection between the sensation of which we are conscious, and greater or less distance; for the sensation is wholly internal, and the distance is external: but, because the mind has, by constant experience, found the different sensations occasioned by different dispositions of the eyes to correspond to different degrees of distance in the object, there has grown a habitual or customary connection between those sensations and the notions of greater or less distance. Hence the mind no sooner perceives the sensation arising from the different turn it gives the eyes in order to bring the pupils nearer or farther asunder, than it is instantly impressed with a certain notion of the distance which was wont to be connected with that sensation. Again, an object placed at a certain distance from the eye, to which the breadth of the pupil bears a sensible proportion, being made to approach nearer, is seen more confusedly; and the nearer it is brought, the confusion is always the greater. The reason of all this is known to every optician; but it being constantly experienced by those who never dipped into optics, there arises in the mind of every man an habitual connection between the several degrees of confusion and distance, the greater confusion still implying the less distance, and the less confusion the greater distance. It is of no avail to say, that between confused vision and distance, great or small, there is no necessary connection; for there is as little connection between a blush in the face and the mental feeling of shame, and yet no sooner does a man of observation perceive that particular colour in the face of another, than it suggests to him the notion of that feeling or passion with which he has constantly observed it accompanied.

In these ways, however, we perceive only small distances. Of distances more remote our judgment is formed from other data, and happily these data are not far to seek. It is a fact known to every man who is not totally ignorant of the science of optics, that a greater number of rays fall upon the eye when reflected from a body near at hand, than can fall from the same body at a distance; and as these rays operate by impulse, it is self-evident that the impression must be stronger, and of course the sensation or colour more vivid, when the body is near than when it is distant. Now, having acquired the notion of the true distance of objects by motion and by the sense of touch, and finding, by an uniform experience, that as they are near or far off, [7:14:612] the sensation or colour which they excite in the mind through the organ of vision is more or less vivid, these degrees of sensation come to be so closely associated with the respective distances of the object, that the one instantly suggests the other.

It is just so that we perceive figure by sight. Having experienced by the sense of touch that one surface is a square and another a circle, that one body is a cube and another a sphere; and finding our sense of sight differently affected by the square and the circle, by the cube and the sphere; these different affections come to be so closely connected in our minds with the figures of the respective bodies, that, long before we are capable of reasoning on the subject, the one is never present to us without suggesting the other. Nay, so complete in this case is the connection or association, that we cannot even in idea abstract the colour from the figure, though it is certain that colour is a mere sensation, and figure an external quality; that colour alone is immediately perceivable by the eye, and the notion of figure suggested by the colour. We are aware that it has been affirmed, and affirmed with great vehemence, that figures of two dimensions are immediately perceived by the eye, and perceived with greater accuracy than by the sense of touch. But they who insist upon this doctrine affirm likewise, contrary to experience and the clearest reasoning, that the immediate objects of sight are external, and that colour is a quality of bodies. In the arguments, too, by which they support their hypothesis, they seem to confound sight as an affection of the mind, with the picture on the bottom of the eye, as if the retina were the sentient being; whereas the retina and the picture are no more than instruments of sensation. It is indeed a fact that the picture has the same figure nearly with the plane of the object which is presented to the eye; as when the object seen is a sphere, the picture is a circle variously shaded in colour. It is likewise a fact that the picture is enlarged in proportion as the object is brought near, and diminished as it is carried to a distance. But these facts are known only to persons who are skilled in optics; and therefore it is evident, that though calculations may be raised from them by mathematicians to determine the distance and figure of external objects, they cannot possibly be the data from which distance and figure are inferred by the vulgar, who know not that such pictures on the retina exist. And besides all this, it is universally known that a painter, by laying on his colours properly, can make a plain square surface appear to the eye in certain positions as an oblong or as a cube, and a plain circular surface as a concave or a convex hemisphere. But not one of these things could possibly be done were figure, or indeed any thing else than colour, the immediate object of vision.

As we see distance and figure, so we see magnitude; and we see both in the same way that we see shame or anger in the looks of a man. The impression made upon the bottom of the eye by rays reflected from a large magnitude, must necessarily be different from the impression made by rays reflected from a magnitude that is less. This is self-evident; and since the impression ab extra is in some way or other the cause of that sensation, which is all of which we are originally conscious in vision, it is obvious that the sensation, like every other effect, must correspond to the cause from which it proceeds. Being therefore conscious of different sensations, and having, at an earlier period than we distinctly remember, learned by experience to refer them to different magnitudes, no sooner is each sensation excited than it suggests the notion, or, if you please, the perception, of that magnitude with which it is connected. So completely is this association fixed in the mind, that when we look at a known object, its real magnitude appears to be as instantly observed as its colour, whilst i we hardly attend at all to the particularity of the sensation by which the magnitude is suggested. It is, indeed, customary with writers on optics to distinguish between tangible and visible magnitude, as if any kind of magnitude were the immediate object of vision. But this is not so; for magnitude is something external, whereas the immediate object of vision is a mere sensation. What has introduced into science this mode of speaking is probably the fact, that, as we approach a distant object, it appears to the eye larger and larger at every step, and less and less as we recede from it; whereas the tangible magnitude of an object remains always the same. The reason of this apparent change of magnitude to the eye, according to the distance at which any particular object is viewed, is, that from a near object rays of light fall in greater numbers and more diverging than from the same object viewed at a distance. This of course alters the nature of the visible sensation. Each common sensation is in the mind closely linked with a particular notion of magnitude; and by the exercise of sight and touch we have learned from experience that the particular sensation caused by diverging rays must be referred to a larger magnitude than that which is caused by parallel rays proceeding from the same distance.

Upon the whole, then, we think ourselves entitled to conclude, that the proper and original objects of vision constitute an universal language of the Author of Nature, by which we are instructed how to regulate our actions, in order to attain those things which are necessary to the preservation and well-being of our bodies, as also to avoid whatever may be hurtful or destructive to them. It is principally by the information of this language that we are guided in all the transactions and concerns of life; and the manner in which it signifies and marks to us the objects which are at a distance, is similar to that of languages and signs of human appointment, which do not suggest the things signified by any likeness or identity of nature, but only by a habitual connection, which experience has made us to observe, between them. This language of the eye, like the language of the tongue, suggests by one sensation what may be resolved into a variety of perceptions. A tree is composed of a trunk, branches, leaves; it has colour, figure, size; and all these things are at once suggested to the mind by the two words spreading oak. Just so it is with respect to vision; the sensation received by the eye suggests at once the trunk, branches, leaves, colour, figure, and size of the oak, and suggests them all as the qualities of one object.

CHAP. II.—OF RETENTION AND IDEAS.

From the experiment with the burning coal already mentioned, it is apparent the sensations excited through the eye, together with their corresponding perceptions, remain in the mind for a short time after the external exciting cause is removed. The same thing appears from another experiment, which was first made by Sir Isaac Newton, and which every man may repeat for his own satisfaction. It is universally known,^[23. Hartley on Man. ] that a proper mixture of the seven original colours, red, yellow, green, blue, &c. constitutes that uniform appearance which we call white. But when these colours are made to pass in rapid succession before the eye, they excite the very same perception as when they are properly mixed, which is a satisfactory proof that the impression made by each separate colour remains in the brain until a revolution of all the colours is completed; [7:14:613]for nothing but the impression of all the colours at once can produce the sensation and perception of white. Indeed no person capable of paying the proper attention to these things can keep his eye fixed upon a luminous object, and afterwards shut it, without experiencing that the sensation and perception remain for some time after the external object is shut out, and that they go off gradually till they leave behind them the mental appearance, which is properly called an idea of the object.

The same continuance of the sensation after the removal of its cause is equally observable in the sense of hearing; for every sound which we hear is reflected by the neighbouring bodies, and therefore consists in reality of a variety of sounds succeeding each other at different distances of time, according to the distances of the several reflecting bodies. Yet this causes no confusion or apparent complexity of sound, unless when the distance of the reflecting bodies is very considerable, as in spacious buildings.

With respect to the continuance of the sensation of touch, doubts have been started; but for these there is as little room as for doubts as to the continuance of the sensations of seeing and hearing. The continuance of heat after the heating body is removed, and of the smart of a wound after the instant of infliction, are proofs that every sensation of touch does not vanish with its cause. A man unused to the motion of a ship or coach, after having been a day at sea or on the road, feels or imagines he feels the rolling of the ship or the jolting of the coach after he is in bed and actually at rest. Of these facts we know not what other account can be given, than that the agitation in the brain, which is the immediate cause of the sensation of touch, remains for some time after the external cause of the agitation is removed.

As to the senses of taste and smell, Dr Hartley seems to think that there is no clear and direct evidence for the continuance of their sensations after their proper objects are removed; but in this instance the ingenious author does not do justice to his own theory. Let any man eat onions, garlic, or any other thing of a very pungent taste, and immediately wash his mouth with fresh water, so that he may be sure no part of the sapid body remains on his tongue or palate. According to this doctrine, the taste of the onion or garlic should instantly vanish with its object; but the fact is otherwise. Whoever shall make the experiment, will find that the sensation remains a considerable time; not indeed in its original force, but weakened no more than what it must necessarily be by the introduction of a new sensation excited by the water. It is more difficult to ascertain the permanency of smell; but analogy inclines us to believe, that in this particular it resembles the other senses, though we know not how to direct the reader to an experiment which will give him absolute conviction.

Whether the cause of these continued sensations, after the removal of their objects, be in the brain alone, in the mind alone considered as an immaterial being, or in both together, is of very little importance; because, taking the mind and its internal organs as one metaphysical whole,^[24. See an Essay on the Reduction of the Faculties of the Mind, by Μ. Schwab. ] it matters not to our present inquiry where this retentive power resides, as long as it can be proved to exist within us. For it seems evident, that what has the faculty of retaining a sensation when no longer acted upon by the object which excited it, must also have a power to preserve the vestiges of that sensation, even after the sensation itself shall be entirely obliterated. This is in fact the case with the mind. When an object which we have once perceived is most remote from our thoughts, we are certain that there is within us a capacity, disposition, tendency, or power, by which a representation of that object may be at any time revived and presented to the intellect. Thus the same inherent power of the mind and its internal organs, which retains a sensation and perception in the absence of the object by which they were excited, can also reproduce that perception, or bring into the view of the intellect something exactly similar to it. The reproduction will not indeed be so lively as the original perception when accompanied with its corresponding sensation, because sensation and actual perception are effected by a double cause, the action of the external object upon the organ, nerves, and brain, and the corresponding energy of the mind or sentient principle; whereas, in the reproduction, the mind seems to act solely ,by its own power, and certainly without the assistance of external objects. This reproductive power is commonly called memory. By many of the ancient philosophers, and by Μ. Schwab with one or two others amongst the moderns, it is called imagination. We do not choose either to revive antiquated modes of expression, or to introduce innovations of our own; but as we cannot disapprove of the ancient phraseology, after the definitions which the reader will by and by find of imagination, and memory, and recollection, as given by Mr Harris, we have prefixed to this chapter the general title of retention, which comprehends them all.

When one recalls an object of sight by the power of memory, it appears to him precisely the same as in the origi- ι nal survey, only less distinct, and witha conviction (which is perhaps the result of experience) that the real object is not immediately before him. How is any object recalled by the power of memory? Docs the man endeavour to form in his mind a picture or representative image of the object? Let us listen to the answers given by different philosophers to this question.

The sentiments of the Peripatetics, as expressed by Alexander Aphrodisiensis, one of the earliest commentators on Aristotle, are thus translated by Mr Harris in his Hermes. “Now, what fancy or imagination is, we may explain as follows: We may conceive to be formed within us, from the operation of the senses about sensible objects, some impression (as it were) or picture in our original sensorium, being a relict of that motion caused within us by the external object; a relict which, when the external object is no longer present, remains, and is still preserved, being as it were its image; and which, by being thus preserved, becomes the cause of our having memory. Now such a sort of relict, (and as it were) impression, they call fancy or imagination.” A passage from the Alcinous of Plato, as rendered into English by Dr Reid,^[25. Essavs on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] shows that, in this theory, as well as in that of perception, the Platonists agreed with the Peripatetics. “When the form or type of things is imprinted on the mind by the organs of the senses, and so imprinted as not to be deleted by time, but preserved firm and lasting, its preservation is called memory?

Mr Harris, who was deeply read in the ancient philosophy, and who considered the authority of Aristotle and Plato as superseding all reasoning and all inquiry, after justly observing, that if the soul had no other faculties than the senses, it could never acquire the least idea of time, expresses himself thus on the subject before us. “But, happily for us, we are not deserted here. We have, in the first place, a faculty called imagination or fancy, which, however as to its energies it may be subsequent to sense, yet is truly prior to it both in dignity and use. This it is which retains the fleeting forms of things, when things themselves are gone, and all sensation is at an end. That this faculty, however connected with sense, is still perfectly different, may be seen from hence. We have an imagination of things that are gone and extinct; but no such things [7:14:614] can be made objects of sensation. We have an easy command over the objects of our imagination, and can call them forth in almost what manner we please; but our sensations are necessary when their objects are present, nor can we control them except by removing either the objects or ourselves. As wax would not be adequate to its business of signature, had it not a power to retain as well as receive, the same holds of the soul with respect to sense and imagination. Sense is its receptive power; imagination its retentive power. Had it sense without imagination, it would not be as wax, but as water; where, though all impressions may be instantly made, yet as soon as made they are entirely lost. Thus, then, from a view of the two powers taken together, we may call sense, if we please, a kind of transient imagination; and imagination, on the contrary, a kind of permanent sense.”

Great part of the office which is here assigned to imagination is in common English attributed to memory; but between these two faculties, as well as between them and recollection, the author accurately distinguishes thus. “When we view some relict of sensation reposed within us, without thinking of its rise, or referring it to any sensible object, this is fancy or imagination. When we view some such relict, and refer it withal to that sensible object which in time past was its cause and original, this is memory. Lastly, the road which leads to memory through a series of ideas, however connected, whether rationally or casually, this is recollection.”

Of this theory we shall only remark, that if we could understand the words picture and form in a metaphorical sense, as candour obliges us to understand Locke’s images in the mind, then the doctrine of Alexander Aphrodisiensis would be very little wide of the truth. Experience teaches us that memory as well as perception depends upon the state of the brain; and as it is undeniable, that when a man to-day contemplates an object which he perceived yesterday, or at any former period, he has a view of it in all respects similar to the original perception, only fainter and less distinct, it is extremely probable, that an impression ab extra, which produces a sensation and perception, leaves behind it some tendency in the brain to vibrate, as in the actual sensation, and that this tendency is carried into effect by the internal energy of the mind itself. But in the Peripatetic philosophy, pictures and forms in the sensorium were considered as real things, and by no means as metaphorical expressions. This is evident from their being constantly compared to the impression of a seal upon wax, and from their converting the materia prima from something which can neither be seen nor felt, into visible and tangible body, of which we shall treat afterwards. Now it being certain, that upon a being immaterial no corporeal form can be impressed, and repeated dissections having shown that no such forms are in fact impressed upon the brain, this whole theory is at once overturned.

Modern philosophers, having denied that there are real images or forms in the mind during the immediate act of perception,cannot, consistently with themselves, admitsuch images in the act of retention, or when those things which were formerly objects of perception are recalled to the mind by the power of memory. Mr Locke’s doctrine is, “that the mind retains these simple ideas which it first received from sensation or reflection, two ways: first, by keeping the idea which is brought into it for some time actually in view, which is called contemplation ; and, secondly, by the power which we have to revive again in our minds those ideas which, after imprinting, have disappeared, or have been, as it were, laid out of sight; as when we conceive heat or light, yellow or sweet, the object being removed. This,” he says, “is memory; which is, as it were, the storehouse of our ideas.”^[26. Essay, book ii. chap. x. ]

To explain this more fully, he immediately adds the following observation. “But our ideas being nothing but actual perceptions in the mind, which cease to be any thing where there is no perception of them, this laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no more than this, that the mind has a power in many cases to revive perceptions which it has once had, with this additional perception annexed to them, that it has had them before. And in this sense it is that our ideas are said to be in our memories, when indeed they are actually nowhere; but only there is an ability in the mind, when it will, to revive them again, and, as it were, paint them anew on itself, though some with more, some with less difficulty, some more lively and others more obscurely. And thus it is, by the assistance of this faculty, that we are said to have all those ideas in our understandings, which, though we do not actually contemplate them, yet we can bring in sight, and make appear again, and be the objects of our thoughts, without the help of those sensible qualities which first imprinted them there.”

To attempt a defence of the accuracy of this language would be vain; but as the author’s meaning is sufficiently obvious, his expressions may be easily and certainly corrected. Had Mr Locke said, “But our ideas being nothing but scenes or appearances in the mind, which cease to be any thing when there is no perception of them, thus laying up of our ideas in the repository of the memory signifies no more but this, that the mind has a power, in many cases, to revive scenes which it has once viewed, with this additional perception annexed to them, that it has viewed them before,” there would have been no room for the many petulant remarks which have been made upon the passage. But against this account of memory a much heavier charge has been brought than that which regards the propriety of the language. It has been said, that the additional perception, which, according to Locke, attends the revival of our ideas by the power of memory, “would be a fallacious perception, if it led us to believe that we had them before, since they cannot have two beginnings of existence: nor can we believe them to have two beginnings of existence; we can only believe that we had formerly ideas or perceptions very like to them, though not identically the same.” Let us examine this question somewhat narrowly; for if it be really true, that, in the sense in which the word same is here used, we cannot twice contemplate the same idea, all confidence in memory would seem to be at an end.

Suppose a man to stand upon some of the rising grounds about Edinburgh, the Calton Hill, for instance, and from that eminence to view the glorious prospect of the coast of Fife, the ocean, the Frith of Forth, and the little islands scattered in the Frith. Let him go away, and return next day to the same place and look the same way; we would ask whether he has the same view or perception which he had the day before? The man must surely be very captious who would say that he has not; and yet it is certain that the energy of mind by which he perceives on one day cannot be identically the same with that by which he perceived on another; nor are the rays of light which fall upon his eyes on the second day, identically the same with those which fell upon his eyes and occasioned vision on the first day. Let the same man now shut his eyes, and contemplate the various objects at which he had been just looking. They will appear to him in every respect the same as when viewed by means of his organs of sight, only fainter and less distinct, with this additional convic [7:14:615] tion, that the immediate objects of his present contemplation are not real external things, but ideas or mental representations of those things which had so lately been the objects of his sight. Let him think no more about the matter for some days, and then exert his powers of memory. We have no hesitation in saying, that, in the sense of the word same, as used by Mr Locke, the very same ideas will recur and be present to his intellect which were present to it at the former contemplation. The second energy of memory or imagination, or whatever it may be called, is not indeed identically the same with the first; nor is that agitation or motion, or whatever other affection of the brain is necessary to memory, identically the same at the second time as at the first; but the mind, exerting itself in the very same manner at the one time as at the other, produces the same kind of agitation in the brain, and is itself affected in the very same way at the second as at the first exertion. Whence it follows, that the second ideal scene will be as much the same with the first, as the second actual perception is the same with the first; and the two ideal scenes, and the two actual perceptions, are respectively said to be the same with each other, only because they impress the mind with a conviction that they were occasioned by the same external objects.

But though we think Mr Locke’s doctrine with respect to memory may be thus easily vindicated from the charge of fallaciousness, we must acknowledge that to us it appears not to be of much value. It teaches nothing, but that the mind has a power to retain ideas of those objects which it formerly perceived, and in many instances to recall them as occasion may require. But these are truths known to all mankind, to the clown as well as to the philosopher.

Philosophers in general have paid less regard to the retentive faculties of the mind than to its original powers of perception. Perhaps they imagined, that as memory depends upon perception, and in some respects appears to resemble it, a competent knowledge of the nature of the former faculty would lead to that of the second. Be this as it may, Mr Hume, who was at some pains to detail his notions of perception, has, in his Philosophical Essays, only dropt, concerning memory and imagination, a few hints, so loosely thrown together, that, if he had not elsewhere expressed himself with more precision, it would have been difficult to discover his real meaning. According to him, that which is commonly called the perception of an external object, is nothing but a strong impression upon the mind; and that which is called the remembrance of a past object, is nothing but a present impression or idea weaker than the former. Imagination is an idea weaker than the idea or impression which he calls memory. This seems to be a wonderful abuse of language. Impressions are not perceptions; and, if possible, they can still less be called ideas, which are but secondary perceptions. It is likewise far from being true, that an idea of imagination has necessarily less vivacity than an idea of memory. We have seen Mr Hume, and have at the present moment an idea of his form and dress. We can likewise imagine to ourselves a centaur; and though a centaur was never seen, and therefore cannot be an impression repeated by memory, our idea of the monster is much more lively and distinct than that of the philosopher.

Dr Reid, having observed of memory,^[27. Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] that it is by it we have an immediate knowledge of things past; that it must have an object; that in this respect it agrees with perception, but differs from sensation, which has no object but the feeling itself; and that every man can distinguish the thing remembered from the remembrance of it; proceeds to inquire what memory is. And, “First,” says he, “I think it appears that memory is an original faculty given us by the Author of our being, of which we can give no account but that we are so made. The knowledge,” continues he, “which I have of things past by my memory, seems to me as unaccountable as an immediate knowledge would be of things to come; and I can give no reason why I should have the one and not the other, but that such is the will of my Maker. I find in my mind a distinct conception and a firm belief of a series of past events; but how this is produced I know not. I call it memory; but this is only giving a name to it; it is not an account of its cause. ì believe most firmly what I distinctly remember; but I can give no reason of this belief. It is the inspiration of the Almighty which gives me this understanding. When I believe the truth of a mathematical axiom or of a mathematical proposition, I see that it must be so; every man who has the same conception of it sees the same. There is a necessary and an evident connection between the subject and the predicate of the proposition; and I have all the evidence to support my belief which I can possibly conceive. When I believe that I washed my hands and face this morning, there appears no necessity in the truth of the proposition. It might be or it might not be. A man may distinctly conceive it without believing it at all. How then do I come to believe it? I remember it distinctly. This is all I can say. This remembrance is an act of my mind. Is it impossible that this act should be, if the event had not happened? I confess I do not see any necessary connection between the one and the other. If any man can show such a necessary connection, then I think that belief which we have of what we remember will be fairly accounted for; but if this cannot be done, that belief is unaccountable, and we can say no more than that it is the result of our constitution. Our original faculties are all unaccountable. Of these memory is one. He only who made them comprehends fully how they are made, and how they produce in us not only a conception, but a firm belief and assurance, of tnings which it concerns us to know.”

On this account of memory we shall not make any remarks. There is a certain sense of the words, in which every thing which the author has said on the subject is undoubtedly just; and it would be very uncandid to take his words in any other sense. But though memory, as it is the result of that constitution which was given us by God, and not the offspring of habit or human contrivance, is unquestionably an original faculty, and though it is therefore impossible to account for it so fully as to silence every inquiry which may be made, yet we could wish that Dr Reid had bestowed a little more pains upon it, in order to discover if possible in what respects it resembles or differs from perception. He has well observed, that there are laws of nature by which the operations of the mind are regulated, as well as laws of nature which govern the material system. As the latter are the ultimate conclusions which the human faculties can reach in the philosophy of bodies, so the former are the ultimate conclusions which we can reach in the philosophy of minds. The more general that tliese laws are in both cases, the more useful they are, and the more satisfactory; for as they are themselves inexplicable, the fewer they are in number, and the more comprehensive each is, the fewer will those phenomena be for which we can give no account. Thus, as we know not what makes the planets tend to the centre of the sun, or heavy bodies tend to the centre of the earth, we can give no other account of these phenomena but that, as they appear to be of the same kind, it is reasonable to conclude [7:14:616]that they proceed from similar causes. What the cause is of this tendency of bodies towards each other, we know not. We call it gravitation, and employ it to account for all phenomena of the same kind. In like manner it is universally allowed, that as we know not how mind and matter operate upon each other, there is something in perception wholly unaccountable. That perception follows sensation, and that there is no sensation which is not occasioned by some affection of the brain, proceeding from some impression ab extra, we have the evidence of experience; but how a particular affection of the brain should excite a sensation in the mind, we know not, though we may here, as in the corporeal system, attribute similar effects to the same or to similar causes. Thus, if, when we exert an act of memory, we have the same appearance of things as in the original act of perception, the rules of philosophizing authorize us to refer both phenomena to the same general law, just as they authorize us to refer the motion of the planets and of projectiles to the same general law. On the other hand, if we perceive no similarity between memory and perception, we have made no progress in the philosophy of mind; for in that case we have discovered two phenomena proceeding from two causes totally different from each other, and both inexplicable. Although we scarcely hope to throw any light upon a subject which Dr Reid has not attempted to illustrate, we shall state a few facts respecting the memory, and submit to the reader the conclusions to which we think these facts naturally lead.

1. Objects once perceived by the senses, when recalled to the mind by the power of memory, appear precisely the same as in the original perception, only less distinct. For example, having seen yesterday a spreading oak growing on the bank of a river, and having heard a shepherd play, and handled a square stone, we endeavour to recall to our mind these objects, which are now absent. But how is this operation performed? Do we endeavour to form in our minds pictures of them, or representative images? or does our intellect survey the types or forms which, according to Aristotle, those objects left in the imagination when they were originally perceived? Neither of these things is done. We conceive ourselves as standing in the same place where we stood yesterday; upon which we have perceptions of the objects similar in all respects to the perceptions which we had when we employed our eyes, our ears, and our hands. The tree appears, as it were, before us; faint, indeed, but attended with all the objects which we observed around it yesterday; we seem to hear the sound of the pipe confusedly, and at a distance; to move our hands over the stone, and to feel the same surfaces and the same angles which we felt in the original perception. In this recollection we are not conscious of pictures or images more than in the original survey. The perceptions seem to be those of the tree and river themselves, of the sound itself, and of the stone itself, exactly as at the first; and yet we are satisfied that in the act of remembrance we perceive no such object as a real tree, pipe, or stone. That these are facts, every man must be convinced who attends to the energies of his own mind when exerting the powers of retention; and therefore it is, in our opinion, with no iTn-propriety that Mr Harris says we may call sense, if we please, a kind of transient imagination; and imagination, on the contrary, a kind of permanent sense; for if these two faculties, as far as the mind or intellect is concerned, be not the same, they seem to resemble each other much.

2. The primary perception of a visible object is more complete, lively, and distinct, and remains longer in the sensorium, than that of any other object. We know likewise by experience, that an idea or secondary perception of a visible object is as much more complete, lively, and distinct, than the idea of any other object, as was the primary perception; and that we remember things which we have seen for a longer time than sounds which we have heard, or than tangible objects which we have only handled. Yet there seems to be a constant decay of all our ideas, even of those which have struck deepest, and in minds, the most retentive; so that if they be not frequently renewed by repeated exercise of the senses, or by reflection on those objects which,at first occasioned them, the print wears out, and at last there remains nothing to be seen. Concerning ideas, it is easy to remark, that those remain longest and clearest in the memory which are derived from two or more senses, especially if the sense of sight be one of the number, or which are most often refreshed by a return of the objects which produced them. Hence a man has a longer and more distinct remembrance of what he has seen than of what he has only heard, of what he has both seen and felt than of what he has only seen; and the ideas which we have of heat and cold, of hunger and thirst, and of all those things which most frequently affect our senses, are extremely clear, and are never quite lost whilst the mind retains any ideas at all.

3. Memory appears to be a kind of habit, which is not always in exercise with regard to things we remember, but is ready to suggest them when there is occasion. The most perfect degree of this habit is, when the thing presents itself to our remembrance spontaneously, and without labour, as often as there is occasion. A second degree is, when the thing is forgotten for a longer or shorter time, even when there is occasion to remember it, and yet at last some incident, such as a violent passion,^[28. Reid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man; Locke’s Essay, &c.; and Harris’s Hermes. ] which agitates the whole mind and sensorium, tumbles the idea, as it were, out of its dark corner, and brings it into view without any search. A third degree is, when we cast about and search for what we would remember, and after some labour find it out. This searching faculty of the soul is by Aristotle called άναμνησις, by Dr Reid and others reminiscence, and by Mr Harris recollection. Should it be said, that what we will to remember we must already conceive, as we can will nothing of which we have not a conception; and that, therefore, a will to remember a thing seems to imply that we remember it already; we answer, with Dr Reid, that when we will to remember a thing, we must indeed remember something relating to it, but we may have no positive idea or conception of the thing itself, but only of the relation which it bears to that other thing which we do remember. Thus, one remembers that a friend charged him with a commission to be executed at such a place, but he has forgotten what the commission was. He applies himself to discover it, and recollects that it was given by such a person, upon such an occasion, in consequence of such a conversation; and thus by a train of thought he is led to the very thing which he had forgotten and wished to remember. To this operation it is not always necessary that the relations between the various ideas which the mind turns over be very close, or have their foundation in nature; for a casual connection is often sufficient. Thus, from seeing a garment, we think of its owner; thence of his habitation; thence of woods; thence of timber; thence of ships; thence of admirals; thence of cannons, iron, furnaces, and forges, &c.

That, in the process of recollection, one idea should suggest another, may be easily accounted for. When, in perception, our minds are exposed to the influence of external objects, all the parts and properties, and even the accidental variable adjuncts, of these objects, are perceived by full-grown men at the same time; so that the whole group makes but one impression upon our organs of sense, [7:14:617]and consequently upon the mind. By these means all the parts of the simultaneous impression,^[29. Hartley on Man. ] and consequently of the perception occasioned by that impression, are so intimately associated or linked together, that the idea of any one of them recurring at any future period generally introduces the ideas of all the rest. But as the necessary parts and properties of any thing are more closely linked together, and occur more frequently, than any particular variable adjuncts, it is obvious, that by the idea of any one of these properties, the idea of the rest, and of the object itself, will be more readily introduced than by the idea of any variable adjunct. It seems, however, to be certain, that we have no power of calling up any idea at pleasure, but only such as have a connection, either in nature or by means of former associations, with those which are at any time present to the mind. Thus the sight, or the idea, of any particular person, generally enables us to recollect his name, because his name and his person have been constantly associated together. If that fail to introduce the name, we are at a loss and cannot recollect it at all, till some other associated circumstance help us. In naming a number of words in a sentence, or lines in a poem, the end of each preceding word or line being connected with the beginning of the word or line which succeeds it, we can easily repeat them in that order; but we are not able to repeat them backwards with any ease, nor at all till after many fruitless efforts. By frequent trials, however, we acquire at last a íaciĭity in doing it, as maybe found by making the experiment upon the names of number from one to twenty. It is indeed, probable, that in the wildest flights of fancy, no single idea occurs to us but such as had a connection with some other idea, perception, or notion, previously existing in the mind, as shall be shown more fully in a subsequent chapter.

4. “Memory appears to depend entirely or chiefly upon th.e state of the brain. For diseases, concussions of the brain, spirituous liquors, and some poisons, impair or destroy it; and it generally returns again with the return of health, from the use of proper medicines and methods. It is observable, too, that in recovering from concussions and other disorders of the brain, it is usual for the person to recover the power of remcmbering the then present common incidents, for minutes, hours, and days, by degrees; also the power of recalling the events of his life preceding his illness. At length he recovers this last power perfectly, and at the same time forgets almost all that passed in his illness, even those things which at first he remembered for a day or two. Now the reason of this seems to be, that upon a perfect recovery the brain recovers its natural state, and all its former affections and tendencies; but that such affections or tendencies as took place during the preternatural state, i.e . during the patient’s illness, are obliterated by the return of the natural state.”^[30. Ibid. ] All this we are induced to believe; because, though it is a fact incontrovertible, that in certain diseases the memory is impaired, and recovers its vigour with the return of health, it is not conceivable that the mind itself should suffer any change by diseases, concussions, spirituous liquors, or the like.

From these facts we are strongly inclined to conclude, that the power of the mind, or immaterial principle, by which it remembers past events, differs not from that by which it perceives present objects. In perception, impressions are made upon the organs of sense, which are communicated to the brain, and, by some unknown means, occasion sensations which are followed by the perception of the external object. When by the power of memory we recall past objects of sense, the mind has the same view of them as in the original perception, except that they appear fainter, less distinct, and generally more distant. We have, therefore, reason to conclude, that in the act of remembrance the brain is affected in the same way, although not so forcibly, as in perception. That memory depends as ’ much as perception upon the state of the brain, is confirmed by daily experience; and therefore there cannot be a doubt but that external objects, operating upon the senses, nerves, and brain, leave some permanent effect behind them. What that effect preciscly is we cannot know, and we need not desire to know; but that they leave some effect we have as good evidence as that the planets are moved round the sun by forces of the same kind with those by which projectiles are moved on the earth. Could we suppose that they leave real prints or impressions behind them, which we confess to be very little probable, memory would seem to be nothing but the perceptive power of the mind turned to those impressions. If the permanent effect of impressions by external objects be, as Dr Hartley supposes, only a tendency in the brain to vibrate as in the original perception, remembrance will result from the mind’s operating upon tl ’.e brain as in actual perception; and the reason that ideas of memory are fainter than perceptions of sense is, that the former are produced by a single, and the latter by a double operation.

This theory appears to be greatly confirmed by the well-known facts, that in general children soon commit to their memory any thing which they understand, and as soon forget it; that the powers of memory gradually advance to perfection, and then gradually decay; and that i old men remember more distinctly what they perceived in their youth than what they perceived a year ago. For if the memory belonged wholly to the pure intellect, and had no dependence upon the brain, it is not easy to conceive how it should advance towards a state of perfection, and afterwards decay. A being which is unextended and indivisible can suffer no change either in its essence or in its faculties; the ideas which it had once retained it would retain for ever. But if memory be occasioned by some relict of sense left in the brain, it is easy to see how all those changes should take place; and therefore, though we. have the weight of Dr Reid’s authority against us, we cannot help thinking that Aristotle was in the right when he imputed the shortness of memory in children to this cause, that their brain is too moist and soft to retain impressions made upon it; and that he was likewise in the right when he imputed the defect of memory in old men to the hardness and rigidity of the brain, which hinders it from receiving any durable impression.

Another argument to prove that in remembrance the mind acts upon something left in the brain by the impressions of sense is this, that nothing can act but where it is present. The truth of this axiom is acknowledged by Dr Reid, and we believe by all mankind, except Dr Priestley and one or two others, whose paradoxes we shall afterwards consider. Now it is confessed, that in recollection at least the mind is active; and therefore it must act, not upon an object which has now perhaps no existence, and certainly no immediate existence, but upon something left by that object in the brain or sensorium, to which the mind is intimately present.

But if this be so, we may be asked how it comes to pass that men never confound memory with perception, nor fancy that they perceive things which they only remember? If perception be an inference drawn from certain sensations excited by an impression on the brain, and if remembrance result from the mind’s operating upon relicts of those impressions, one would think it natural to suppose that in both cases we have actual perceptións, though in the one case the perception must be much more vivid and distinct than in the other. To this we answer, that, previously to all experience, perception and memory are very [7:14:618]probably confounded; and that we believe a man brought into the world with all his faculties in their full natural perfection would not instantly be able to distinguish what he remembered from what he perceived. This we know to be the case with respect to imagination, a faculty which strongly resembles memory; for in dreams, and sometimes even in waking reveries, we fancy actually that we perceive things which it is certain we can only imagine. A very short experience, however, would enable this newly-created man to make the proper distinction between remembrance and perception. For, let us suppose him to be brought into a dark room, and soon afterwards a candle to be introduced. The candle would give him a visible sensation, though not at first the perception of an external object. Let the candle after some time be carried out; in that case the man would retain a visible idea, which he might confound with the actual sensation. But if, whilst this idea remained in his mind, the candle were brought back, he would instantly feel a difference between the real sensation and the idea, when both were together present in his mind. And having, in some such manner as we have already described, acquired the power of perceiving external objects by means of his senses, he would soon discover, without any effort of his own, the difference between actual perceptions and the ideas treasured up in his memory.

The only remaining difficulty which seems to encumber this theory of remembrance is, to account for the order of succession in which objects recur to the memory, and to which we give the name of time. But this difficulty will vanish when we have once ascertained what time is. At present it is sufficient to observe, that our perceptions of external objects remain a certain space of time in the mind; that this time is different according to the strength and other circumstances of the impression which occasioned the perception; and that traces of those perceptions or ideas may be recalled after the intervention of other trains of ideas, and at very different intervals. If one look upon a house, and then shut his eyes, the impression which is made upon his mind will not instantly vanish. He can contemplate the house almost as long as he pleases; and, by the help of various associated circumstances, he may recall the idea several years afterwards, and refer it to the original perception.

Before we dismiss the subject of retention, it may not be improper to take notice of the retentive powers of inferior animals. Aristotle, Locke, Dr Reid, and almost every philosopher of eminence, both amongst the ancients and moderns, have maintained that inferior animals have memory as well as men; and indeed we do not perceive how the fact can be denied of the more perfect animals, and those with whose operations we are best*acquainted. A dog knovys his master again after a long absence; a horse will trace back a road which he has but once travelled, often with more accuracy than his rider; and it is well known that many species of singing birds have a capacity to learn tunes from the human voice, and that they repeat the notes again and again, approaching nearer and nearer to perfection, till at last they sing the tune correctly. These phenomena can be accounted for only by supposing, that in the brains of the several animals traces are left by perception, of the same kind with those which perception leaves in the brain of man, and which are the cause or occasion of his remembrance. With respect to this point, the learned author of Ancient Metaphysics differs from his master Aristotle. He allows that brutes have imagination, but denies that they have memory; “for,” says he, “memory necessarily implies a sense of time, and what is first and last; but brutes have no iilea of time, or of first and last; and it is certain that they have not consciousness or reflection, by which only they could review their own ope-: rations.” At the same time he admits, that imagination in the brute serves the purpose of memory in us; for “whenever he sees the object that is painted on his phantasia, he knows it again, but without any perception of the time when he first saw it.” Butthat a brute, when he sees the object which is painted on his phantasia, should know it again without referring it to a former perception, is plainly impossible. The recognisance of any thing consists in a consciousness of its having been perceived before; and nothing more than such recognisance is essential to memory. The author’s mistake seems to lie in supposing that memory necessarily implies a sense of some determinate portion of past time; but we surely remember many things of which we can only say that we have formerly perceived them, without being able to ascertain the precise period at which we had such perceptions. A child has the use of memory sooner than he acquires the faculty of speech; but he must have spoken and even reasoned before he can have an accurate notion of time, which, as shall be afterwards shown, arises from comparing the fleeting succession of our own ideas with the permanence of ourselves and other objects. The author’s distinction between memory and imagination seems to be in every view improper. Aristotle has said, and said truly, that there is memory of ideas as well as of sensible objects, meaning by ideas general conceptions or propositions; but this reviver of his philosophy is inclined to say, “that memory is only of ideas, and consequently belongs only to man; and that imagination is only of sensible objects, and consequently belongs both to man and brute.” But surely man remembers what he has seen and felt as well as what he has conceived or thought; and if imagination and memory be properly distinguished by Mr Flarris, the reverse of this writer’s doctrine must be true, viz. that imagination belongs only to man, and memory of sensible objects both to man and brute. We can contemplate in imagination the idea of a centaur or of a golden mountain; but we cannot be said to remember them, for they were never perceived. That a dog can contemplate in his imagination the idea of a centaur or of a golden mountain, we have not the least reason to suppose; but were he not capable of viewing relicts of sense reposed with him, and referring them to their original causes, he could not possibly recognise his master after a day’s absence.

Dr Reid and the same author agree with Aristotle in thinking it probable that brutes have not reminiscence, or the power of reflection; but there are many well-attested facts which seem to prove the contrary. We shall here mention one which fell under our own observation. One of the persons concerned in this work was, when a young man, absent for five months from the house of his father. Upon his return, a dog of that species which is commonly called the shepherd’s cur, and which had been in the possession of his father only a few months before his departure, gazed at him for a few minutes as at any other stranger. The animal then began to walk round him with looks which very soon attracted his notice. This made him call the dog by the name which he bore in the family, and stretch out his hand to caress him, when the creature instantly leaped upon him with all that appearance of attachment which these animals so commonly exhibit upon the return of their master after a few days’ absence. If this was not recollection, we should be glad to know what it was, not being able to distinguish it from recollection in men. Indeed, if dogs and some other animals possess, as Aristotle, Locke, and others allow them to possess, the power of memory, and something of ratiocination; and if, as Dr Reid expressly says,^[31. Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] “they ex [7:14:619]pect events in the same order and succession in which they happened before,” it is not conceivable that they can be wholly destitute of reminiscence, or the power of recollection.

That memory is a faculty of the first importance, cannot be denied; since it is obvious that, without the power of retaining the ideas and notions which we receive by the senses and other faculties, we never could make any progress in the acquisition of knowledge, but should begin every day, nay, every hour, in the same state of ignorance in which we were born. That it is a faculty capable of improvement by exercise, and that there are some methods of exercise better adapted for this purpose than others, has been shown elsewhere. (See Memory.)

CHAP. III.—OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION AND CONCEPTION.

The ideas received into the mind by the senses, and treasured up in the memory and imagination, are the original materials of human knowledge. It is by comparing those ideas with one another, or by analyzing them into their first principles, that we acquire all our knowledge in mathematics and philosophy, and indeed all that knowledge which regulates our conduct throughout life. It must therefore be of importance to trace the progress of the mind in her various operations upon these materials; beginning, as she certainly does, with that which is most simple, and proceeding regularly to those which are more complex and difficult.

Now th⅛ first operation of the mind about her ideas appears plainly to be that which logicians term simple apprehension, Having yesterday observed a tree or any other object, if we contemplate the idea of that tree to-day as it remains in the imagination, without comparing it with any other idea, or referring it to any external object, we perform the operation which is called simple apprehension. We consider simple apprehension as an operation, because the mind in the apprehension of her own ideas is certainly active; she turns them as it were round and round, and views them on every side.

Simple apprehension is a phrase which is very commonly taken to be of the same import with the word conception, and in the ordinary affairs of life no confusion can arise from an indiscriminate use of the two words; but in this article we think it expedient to employ the phrase simple apprehension to denote the view or contemplation of those ideas only which the mind by sensation has actually received from external objects; and the word conception to denote the view, not only of those ideas, but also of such as the mind fabricates to herself. Thus, a man may conceive a centaur, but we would not choose to say that he may apprehend a centaur; not that there is any impropriety, perhaps, in this last expression, but as there is certainly a difference between apprehending the idea of what has been seen or felt, and conceiving that which never existed, perspicuity requires that these different operations be expressed by different names.

We have said that the mind may conceive what never existed; and every man may easily satisfy himself that what we have said is true. But although this has been frequently called the creative power of the mind, it has in fact no resemblance to creation. The materials of all our most complex and fantastic conceptions are furnished to our hands by sensation and. reflection; nor can we form one simple idea which was not originally received by some of our senses from external objects, or, as shall be shown afterwards, one intellectual notion which was not acquired by reflecting on the operations of our own minds. To explain the process of fantastic conception, it is to be observed, that in every sensible object we perceive at once several things, such as colour, figure, extension, and motion or rest, &c. These are the objects of different senses; but they are not, at least by full-grown men, perceived in succession, but all at once; whence it comes to pass that the memory or the imagination retains not several distinct and disjointed ideas, but the idea of one coloured, figured, and extended object. But when we compare together various objects, or the ideas of various objects, we find that in some respects they agree, and in others disagree; in other words, that several objects affect some of our senses in the same way, and other senses differently. Thus, one globe is black and another white, one black substance is circular and hard, and another square and soft. In the first instance, the two globes affect our sense of touch in the same way, and our sense of seeing differently; in the second, the two black substances affect our sense of sight in the same way, and our sense of touch differently.

From observing this difference amongst objects by means of the different sensations received from them, the mind learns to analyze its original ideas, which are copies of those sensations, into their first principles, and to combine those principles in such a manner as to form complex ideas of objects which were never actually perceived by the senses. Of the simple and unmixed principles which compose those complex ideas, there is not indeed one which was not originally received by some sense, so that the whole difference between complex ideas fabricated by the mind and those which are the relicts of sensation, consists in the order in which the constituent simple ideas of each are put together. Thus, no man ever saw a mountain of pure gold, and therefore the idea of such a mountain can be in no human mind as a relict of sensation; but we have all seen pieces of gold of different sizes, and we have all seen mountains, and nothing is more easy than to conceive a piece of gold extended on all sides to the size of a mountain, and rising out of the earth. Again, though no person ever saw a centaur, yet it is easy to conceive the upper parts of a man joined to the breast and shoulders of a horse. In these instances the complex conceptions are of things which it is in the highest degree probable never had a real existence, and which it is certain we never perceived as existing; but the simple ideas of which they are composed are the relicts of actual sensations, for every one has perceived as really existing the body of a horse and the upper parts of a man, and when conceiving a centaur, he only conceives them to exist united. That we have not in the imagination one simple and unmixed idea which was not left there as a relict of sense, every man will be convinced who shall try to conceive a simple colour or taste which is totally different from all the colours and tastes, and all the shades and varieties of them, which he has received by sensation; but his simple ideas, though all received from without, he may put together in innumerable ways or modes, differing from any order in which he has ever actually perceived the qualities of external objects existing.

Yet even this power of the mind is limited. It is impossible to put together a number of contrary and inconsistent ideas, in such a manner as to form of them one complex conception. No man, for instance, can conceive a thing to be at once white and black, round and square, hard and soft, in motion and at rest. Hence it is a maxim almost universally received amongst philosophers, that although we can conceive many things which never actually existed, yet we can form no ideas but of such things as .might possibly exist. A centaur never existed, but it may be conceived; for it is by no means impossible that the head of a man might be joined to the body of a horse; but black snow cannot be conceived, for, in the complex idea denoted by the word snow, whiteness is an essential part, and nothing can be conceived to be both black and white [7:14:620]at the same time. From this undoubted fact, that we cannot conceive impossible existence, the power of conception has by some writers been in certain instances made a test of truth. “In every idea is implied,” says Dr Price,^[32. Review of the Principal Questions and Difficulties in Morals. ] “the possibility of the existence of its object; nothing being clearer than that there can be no idea of an impossibility, or conception· of what cannot exist.” “It is an established maxim in metaphysics,” says Hume, “that whatever the mind conceives, includes the idea of possible existence; or, in other words, that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible.”^[33. ä Essays. ] In a word, it has been admitted by all philosophers, from Pythagoras to Dr Reid, that whatever we can distinctly conceive is possible, although many things may be possible, nay, may really exist, of which we can form no conception.

This axiom has been denied by the author of the Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, who affirms that “any two sides of a triangle may be conceived to be equal to the third,” as distinctly as “any two sides of a triangle may be conceived to be greater than the third.” This assertion proceeding from such a man surprised us as much as any paradox which we ever read; for nothing is more certain than that we ourselves can form no conception of a triangle of which two of the sides are only equal to the third. We can indeed resolve the proposition into its different parts, and form the distinct and independent ideas of a triangle, two sides, and one side, and we can likewise form the general notion of equality; but to combine these ideas and this notion into one individual complex conception is absolutely impossible. A man who knows nothing of triangles, if such a man there be, might believe Dr Reid that it is a figure of which one of its sides is equal to the other two; but such a person would have no conception of the figure itself, and only a confidence in the doctor’s veracity.

What is it to conceive a corporeal thing to exist? Is it not to fancy that we view it on all sides as what may be seen, or felt, or smelled, or tasted? The doctor, indeed, repeatedly reprobates, as the source of much error, the notion of ideas as images in the mind; and if ideas he taken as real material figures, he is certainly in the right; but we appeal to the common sense of mankind, whether every person who distinctly conceives a triangle is not at the time conscious that his mind is affected in a similar manner, although not so forcibly, as when he actually views a triangle with his eyes? What other men may feel they know best; but we are as certain that this is the case with respect to ourselves, as we are certain of our own existence. That this affection of the mind is occasioned by some agitation in the brain, of the same kind with that which occasions actual perception, is highly probable; but whatever be the cause, the fact is undeniable.

The doctor’s words, indeed, taken by themselves, would lead one to think that by conception he means in this case nothing more than the understanding of the terms of a proposition; but if that be his meaning, there was no room for controversy, as the great philosophers Cudworth, Clarke, Price, and Hume, whose opinion he is combating, would have been as ready as himself to allow, that when a man is thoroughly master of any language, he will not find any difficulty in understanding the meaning of any particular words in that language, however absurdly these words may have been put together. When Dr Price says, that “in every idea is implied the possibility of the existence of its object, nothing being clearer than that there can be no idea of impossibility, or conception of what cannot exist,” his meaning evidently is, that we cannot mentally contemplate nor fancy ourselves viewing any thing corporeal, which we might not actually view with our eyes, or perceive by some other sense. This is the true meaning of conception, which is something very different indeed from understanding the separate meaning of each word contained in a proposition.

The learned professor, however, appeals to the practice of mathematicians for the truth of his opinion; and if they be on his side, we must give up the cause, for in no science have we such clear ideas, or such absolute certainty, as in mathematical reasoning. But it is to be observed that the word conception is not with any propriety applied to abstract truth, but to real or possible existence; nor can we be said to conceive distinctly a real or possible object, unless we are able to turn it round and round, and view it on all sides. The faculties which are conversant about abstract truth are the judgment and the reason; and truth itself consists in the agreement, as falsehood does in the disagreement, of two or more ideas or terms when compared together. If those ideas about which a judgment is ío be formed can be immediately brought together, without the intervention of a third idea, it is impossible that we should judge, or, if Dr Reid will have it so, conceive that to be true which is really false. If the two ideas cannot be immediately brought together, it is impossible that we should form any judgment or conception at all about their agreement or disagreement; but we may suppose or admit, for the sake of argument, that they agree or disagree, and if that supposition conduct to a manifest absurdity, we then know that the supposition was false. It is therefore perfectly agreeable to the maxim of Price and of Hume, that mathematicians should in many cases prove some things to be possible and others impossible, which without demonstration would not have been believed; because if the ideas compared cannot be immediately brought together, no judgment, previously to the demonstration, can be formed of the truth or falsehood of the proposition; and if it concern not real or possible existence, it is a proposition with which conception has nothing to do.

“But,” says Dr Reid, “it is easy to conceive, that in the infinite series of numbers and intermediate fractions, some one number, integral or fractional, may bear the same ratio to another as the side of a square bears to its diagonal.” We are so far from thinking this an easy matter, that if the word conceive be taken in the sense in which it is used by the philosophers whose opinion he is combating, we must confess that we can form no adequate conception at all of an infinite series. When we make the trial, we can only bring ourselves to conceive the real numerical figures 1, 2, 3, &c., or the fractional parts ⅜, ½, ½, &c.; and even here our conception reaches but a small way. We have reason to believe that minds of a larger grasp can conceive at once more of the series than we can, and that the Supreme Mind conceives the whole of it, if the whole of a mathematical infinity be not a contradiction in terms; but surely no man will say that he can conceive an infinite series as he conceives a centaur, and have an adequate and distinct view of it at once. If, by conceiving that in an infinite series some one number may bear the same ratio to another that the side of a square bears to its diagonal, the doctor only means that such a supposition may be made, his observation is not to the purpose for which it is brought; for the question is not about our power to make suppositions of this kind, but about our power to raise in our imaginations an adequate and distinct mental view of possible or impossible existence. “T<ι suppose,” says Johnson, “is to advance by way of argument or illustration, without maintaining the truth of the position.” ln this sense a man may suppose that in an infinite series there may be some [7:14:621]one number which bears the same ratio to another that the side of a square bears to its diagonal; but such a supposition contains in it nothing that is positive, which conception always does; it is only admitting, for the sake of argument, a position, of the truth or the falsehood of which the person who makes the supposition knows nothing. He is only talking of ratios as a blind man may talk of colours. A man born blind may be made to comprehend many of the laws of optics, and may even make suppositions about colours, and reason from such suppositions to a certain extent, as clearly and justly as one who sees; but will any person say that a man blind from his birth can conceive red or green? It is much the same with respect to an infinite series. We can follow such a series so far, and may know the ratio by which it increases or decreases, and reason irom what we know with the utmost certainty; but no man ever conceived the whole of an infinite series as he conceives an individual object, nor can any reasonings upon the nature of it be applied to the question of conceiving impossible existence.

But “mathematicians often require us,” says Dr Reid, “to conceive things that are impossible, in order to prove them to be so. This is the case in all their demonstrations ad absurdum. Conceive, says Euclid, a right line drawn from one point of the circumference of a circle to another, to fall without the circle. I conceive this, I reason from it, until I come to a consequence that is manifestly absurd, and from thence conclude that the thing which I conceived is impossible.” If it be indeed true that Euclid desires his readers to conceive a mathematical circle with a line drawn from one point of its circumference to another, and that line lying without the circle; if he really desires them to form such a complex conception as this, we have no hesitation in affirming that he requires them to do what is manifestly impossible. The writer of this article has not in his custody any copy of the Elements in the original Greek, and therefore cannot say with certainty what are Euclid’s words; nor is it of much importance what they be; for upon a question which every man may decide for himself, by merely looking into his own mind, the authority of Euclid is nohing. The proposition to which the doctor refers is the second of the third book, and, in the edition of Simpson, is expressed thus: “If any two points be taken in the circumference of a circle, the straight line which joins them shall fall within the circle.” Every mathematician who can form an adequate conception of a circle and a straight line perceives the truth of this proposition instantly, for it results necessarily from his conception; but he who has not an adequate conception of a circle may stand in need of a demonstration to show him the truth; for it is to be observed, that demonstration does not make truth, it only points it out to those who cannot perceive it intuitively, just as a microscope does not make the hairs on a mite’s back, but only brings them within the field of vision.

Were a man who never examined a mite through a microscope, and who has no adequate ideas of the insect kingdom, to be asked whether there be hairs on a mite’s back, he would probably answer that he did not know, but he could conceive no such hairs. In like manner, were a man who has no adequate conception of a mathematical circle, to' be asked whether a straight line, which joins any two contiguous points in the circumference, could lie without the circle, be would probably answer that he did not know. Now it is to be remembered, that the reader of the Elements can have no very adequate conception of a circle when he comes to the second proposition of the third book. The definition of a circle was indeed given him in the introduction to the first book; but of that definition he has hitherto had occasion to make very little use, so that his idea of a circle will be little more accurate than that of an illiterate clown, who has no other idea of the figure than what he takes from a halfpenny or a shilling. Dr Reid himself has elsewhere^[34. See Lord Kames’s Sketches of the History of Man, appendix to the first Sketch on the Sciences. ] well observed, that “when a youth of moderate parts begins to study Euclid, every thing at first is new to him. His apprehension is unsteady; his judgment is feeble, and rests partly upon the evidence of the thing, and partly upon the authority of his teacher; but every time he goes over the definitions, the axioms, the elementary propositions, more light breaks in upon him, the language becomes familiar, and conveys clear and steady conceptions.” In this state he certainly is when be reads foï· the first time the second proposition of the third book; his conception of a circle can then be neither clear nor steady. Our young geometrician, however, must allow, that the proposition is either true or false; and if he has read the preceding books with any advantage, he must have clear and steady conceptions of angles and triangles, and be able to demonstrate many of their properties. “Well,” says Euclid, “though you have no adequate conception of a circle, you are well acquainted with plane angles and triangles, and many of their properties: Let us suppose, if that be possible, that my proposition is false, and I wi∏ show you that the supposition is absolutely inconsistent with what you know to be demonstrable or self-evident truth.” This is all which Euclid can be supposed to require, when, in the words of his excellent translator, he says, “If. it (the straight line) do not fall within (the circle), let it fall, if possible, without.” He could not possibly desire a man who has an adequate idea of a circle, to form the positive and complex conception of that figure, with a straight line touching two points of the circumference, and yet lying on the outside of the circumference; because all his figures and lines are mere conceptions, and not real material things; and such a request would have been the same thing as if he had said, Conceive what cannot be conceived.^[35. Principal Campbell, in treating of the commonly received doctrine of abstraction, has shown, that though Locke has in one passage of Ins immortal work expressed himself on the subject in terms unintelligible, his sentiments on the whole differed little from those of Berkeley and Hume: “Some,” says he, “of the greatest admirers of that eminent philosopher seem to have overlooked entirely the preceding account of his sentiments on this subject; and, through 1 know not what passion for the paradoxical (I should rather say the impossible and unintelligible), have shown an amazing zeal lor defending the propriety of the hasty expressions which appear in the passages formerly referred to. Has not the mind of man, say they, an unlimited power in moulding and combining its ideas? The mind, it must be owned, hath an unlimited power in moulding and combining its ideas. It often produces wonderful forms of its own, out of the materials originally supplied by sense; forms indeed of which there is no exemplar to be found in nature,—centaurs and griffins, ‘ Gorgons and hydras, and chimeras dire.’ But still it must not attempt absolute impossibilities, by giving to its creature contradictory qualities. It must not attempt to conceive the same thing to be black and white at the same tune; to be no more than three inches long, and yet no less than three thousand; to conceive two or more lines to be both equal and unequal; the same angle to be at once acute, obtuse, and right or, we may add, the two sides of a triangle to be not greater than the third. (See Philosophy of Rhetoric, vol· ii∙ p∙ ∙ ,,fi ∙ et seq.) ]

We have insisted the longer on this point, because we think it one of the highest importance; for were it indeed true, that we could conceive impossible existence, the consequences would be very melancholy. These consequences it is needless to enumerate. Our readers will perceive, that if we could put together inconsistent ideas of sensible objects, and view them so united as one consistent whole, nothing is clearer than that our faculties would be [7:14:622] contrived to deceive us, and we would be doomed to cheerless and universal scepticism.

CHAP. IV.—∙OF ABSTRACTION AND GENERAL IDEAS.

Every sensible object is an individual, and it differs in many respects from every other object. As such it is perceived by the senses; and ideas being nothing more than relicts of sensation preserved in the imagination or memory, every idea must of course be an individual, as much as the object to which it refers. But all science, whether mathematical, moral, or metaphysical, is conversant about general truths; and if truth consist, as we have already observed, and shall more fully evince afterwards, in the agreement or coincidence of ideas, how, it may be asked, can general truth result from the comparison of particular ideas? To get rid of this difficulty, many philosophers, both ancient and modern, pretend that the mind is furnished with general ideas, from a comparison of which result general propositions applicable to many individuals. Philosophers, indeed, have differed in opinion respecting the source of those ideas, some of the ancients deriving them immediately from the Supreme Mind to the human, whilst almost all the moderns say that? they are framed by abstraction, and therefore call them abstract ideas.

The doctrine of abstract ideas has been so fairly stated, and, in our opinion, so completely overturned, by Bishop Berkeley, that we shall content ourselves with abridging what he has said on the subject, and obviating some cavils which have latterly been urged against his reasoning. “It is agreed on all hands,” says that learned and ingenious prelate,^[36. Introduction to the Principles of Human Knowledge. ] “that the qualities or modes of things do never really exist each of them apart by itself and separated from all others; but are mixed, as it were, and blended together, several in the same object. But, we are told, the mind being able to consider each quality singly, or abstracted from those other qualities with which it is united, does by that means frame to itself abstract ideas. For example: There is perceived by sight an object extended, coloured, and moved: this mixed or compound idea, the mind resolving into its simple constituent parts, and viewing each by itself exclusive of the rest, does frame the abstract ideas of extension, colour, and motion. Not that it is possible for colour or motion to exist without extension; but only that the mind can frame to itself, by abstraction, the idea of colour exclusive of extension, and of motion exclusive of both colour and extension. Again, the mind having observed, that in the particular extensions perceived by sense, there is something common and alike in all, and some other things peculiar, as this or that figure or magnitude, which distinguish them from one another, it considers apart, or singles out by itself, that which is common, making thereof a most abstract idea of extension, which is neither line, surface, nor solid, nor has any figure or magnitude, but is an idea entirely prescinded from all these. So likewise the mind, by leaving out of the particular colours perceived by sense that which distinguishes them one from another, and retaining that only which is common to all, makes an idea of colour in the abstract, which is neither red, nor blue, nor white, nor any other determinate colour. And as the mind frames to itself abstract ideas of qualities or modes, so does it by the same precision or mental separation attain abstract ideas of the more compounded beings, which include several co-existent qualities. For example, the mind, having observed that Peter, James, and John, resemble each other in certain common agreements of shape and other qualities, leaves out of the complex or compounded idea it has of Peter, James, and any other particular man, that which is peculiar to each, retaining only what is common to all, and so makes an abstract idea wherein all the particulars equally partake, abstracting entirely from and cutting off all those circumstances and differences which might determine it to any particular existence. After this manner, it is said, we come by the abstract idea of man, or, if you please, humanity or human nature, in which, it is true, there is included colour, because there is no man but has some colour; but then it can be neither black nor white, nor any particular colour, because there is no one particular colour wherein all men partake. So likewise there is included stature; but then it is neither tall stature, nor low stature, nor middle stature, but something abstracted from all these; and so of the rest. Moreover, there being a great variety of other creatures that partake in some parts, but not all, of the complex idea of man, the mind, leaving out those parts which are peculiar to man, and retaining those only which are common to all the living creatures, frameth the idea of animal; which abstracts not only from all particular men, but also from all birds, beasts, fishes, and insects. The constituent parts of that abstract idea of animal are body, life, sense, and spontaneous motion. By body is meant body without any particular shape or figure, there being no one shape or figure common to all animals, without covering, either of hair, or feathers, or scales, &c. and yet not naked; hair, feathers, scales, and nakedness, being the distinguishing properties of particular animals, and for that reason left out of the abstract idea. Upon the same account, the spontaneous motion must be neither walking, nor flying, nor creeping: it is nevertheless motion; but what that motion is, it is not easy to conceive.

“Whether others have this wonderful faculty of abstracting their ideas,” continues the bishop, “they best can tell; for myself, I find indeed that I have a faculty of imagining or representing to myself the ideas of those particular things which I have perceived, and of variously compounding and dividing them. I can imagine a man with two heads, or the upper parts of a man joined to the body of a horse. I can consider the hand, the eye, the nose, each by itself abstracted or separated from the rest of the body. But then, whatever hand or eye I imagine, it must have some particular shape, and some particular colour. Likewise the idea of man that I frame to myself, must be either of a white, or a black, or a tawny, a straight or a crooked, a tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man. I cannot by any effort of thought conceive the abstract idea above described. To be plain, I own myself able to abstract in one sense, as when I consider some particular parts or qualities separated from others with which, though they are united in some objects, yet it is possible they may really exist without them. But I deny that I can abstract one from another, or conceive separately those qualities which it is impossible should exist so separated; or that I can frame a general notion by abstracting from particulars in the manner aforesaid; and there are grounds to think most men will acknowledge themselves to be in my case.”

To think this, there are indeed such good grounds, that it is probable some of our readers, little conversant with the writings of modern metaphysicians, are by this time disposed to suspect, that the bishop, in his zeal, may have misrepresented the doctrine of abstraction; as no man in his senses, who is not perverted by some darling hypothesis, can suppose himself capable of tagging together such monstrous inconsistencies, as magnitude which is neither great nor small, and colour which is neither white, red, green, nor black, &c. But that the ingenious [7:14:623]prelate, in his account of this process of looping and pruning, as Mr Harris contemptuously but most properly terms it, has not exaggerated in the smallest degree, is apparent from the following account of abstraction given by Mr Locke. “Abstract ideas,” says that writer, "are not so obvious or easy to children, or the yet unexercised mind, as particular ones. If they seem so to grown men, it is only because by constant and familiar use they are made so; for when we nicely reflect upon them, we shall find that general ideas are fictions and contrivances of the mind, that carry difficulty with them, and do not so easily offer themselves as we are apt to imagine. For example, does it not require somè pains and skill to form the general idea of a triangle (which is yet none of the most abstract, comprehensive, and difficult)? for it must be neither oblique nor rectangle, neither equilateral, equicrural, nor scalenon, but all and none of these at once. In effect, it is something imperfect that cannot exist, an idea wherein some parts of several different and inconsistent ideas are put together.” “Surely,” to use the words of Principal Campbell,^[37. Philosophy of Rhetoric. ] “the bare mention of this hypothesis is equivalent to a confutation of it, since it really confutes itself.” But if any man has the faculty of framing in his mind such an idea of a triangle as is here described, it would be vain in us to dispute with him; for we are possessed of no such faculty, and therefore would fight on unequal terms. All we have to desire is, that the reader would fully and certainly inform himself whether he has such an idea or not; and this can be no hard task to perform. What is more easy for any one than to look a little into his own thoughts, and there try whether he has, or can attain to have, an idea of colour separated from all extension; of extension which is neither great nor small; of taste which is neither sweet, nor bitter, nor acid, nor agreeable, nor disagreeable; or the general idea of a triangle which is neither oblique nor rectangle, equicrural, equilateral, nor scalenon, but all and none of these at once?^[38. “If such an extraordinary faculty (abstraction) were possible, I cannot for my part conceive what purpose it could serve. What is the use or power of that idea to which there neither is nor can be any archetype in nature, which is merely a creature of the brain, a monster that bears not the likeness of any in the universe ?” (Philosophy of Rhetoric, vol. ii. p. 110.) ]

Dr Reid having denied that there are or can be in the mind any ideas of sensible objects, rejects of course the doctrine of abstract general ideas, whilst he maintains in fact the very same thing, only substituting the word conception for the word idea. “What hinders me,” says he, “from attending to the whiteness of the paper before me, without applying that colour to any other object?” We know nothing indeed which can hinder any man from performing this operation, which is daily and hourly performed by infants; but will the doctor say that he can attend to colour, or conceive it, abstracted from the paper and every other surface? We are persuaded that he will not, though he immediately adds, “the whiteness of this individual object is an abstract conception.” Now we should rather have thought, that, consistently with his own notions of colour, he would have called the whiteness of the paper a concrete quality, and his own conception of it a particular and concrete conception. If he conceives the whiteness as separated from the paper, it is no longer the whiteness of that individual object; and he must either conceive it as abstracted from all objects, which is plainly impossible; or he must conceive it as inhering in some other object, and then neither the quality of whiteness, nor his conception of it, is abstract in general, but concrete and particular. He affirms, however, “that in abstraction, strictly so called, he can perceive nothing that is difficult either to be understood or practised.” This is going much farther into the doctrine than Mr Locke went; for he owned that there was much difficulty in it. But let us see how it becomes so easy to Dr Reid. “What can be more easy,” says he, “than to distinguish the different attributes which we know to belong to a subject? In a man, for instance, to distinguish his size, his complexion, .his age, his fortune, his birth, his profession, and twenty other things that belong to him.” All this indeed, and much more, we can do with the utmost ease; but this is not abstraction strictly so called, nor any thing like abstraction. We distinguish the size, the complexion, the age, and other attributes, of the man, from one another; but still we conceive them all as his qualities; nor is it possible, at least for us, to abstract them from him, without conceiving them as the qualities of some other man; so that our conceptions are all concrete and particular. “It ought likewise to be observed,” says the professor, “that attributes may with perfect ease be distinguished and disjoined in our conception, which cannot be actually separated in the subject.” They maybe so in his conception, but certainly not in ours; for we can conceive nothing which may not actually exist. “Thus,” continues he, “I can in a body distinguish its solidity from its extension, and its weight from both. In extension I can distinguish length, breadth, and thickness; yet none of these can be separated from the body, or from one another. It is therefore certain, that attributes which in their nature are absolutely inseparable from their subject, and from one another, may be disjoined in our conception; one cannot exist without the other, but one can be conceived without the other.” So far is this from being a matter of certainty, that in every possible sense in which we can understand the word conception, it appears to us as evidently false as that three and two are equal to nine. It is indeed not difficult to distinguish in a body its solidity from its extension, and its weight from both; but can we distinguish them out of the body?.or, to speak in plain language, can we conceive solidity as separated from all extension and all weight? Unless this can be done, and by us it cannot be done, there is no abstraction strictly so called. It is indeed easy to conceive solidity or extension abstracted from any one individual object; but how is it done? Why, by transferring your attention to some other individual object. Thus we can easily conceive solidity or extension separated from a guinea, for instance; but it is only by transferring our thoughts to another body, a piece of silver, or a ball of lead, &c. and our conceptions in both cases are particular and concrete.

As we think this opinion of Dr Reid’s respecting abstraction both ill founded and of dangerous consequences, we have expressed our dissent from it in strong terms; and in doing so we have only followed the example set us by himself when dissenting from the theories of Hume and Berkeley. But we are so thoroughly convinced that the doctor’s acuteness is superior to our own, that we are not without our fears that we may have mistaken bis meaning. We are conscious that we have not wilfully misrepresented it; and to enable our readers to judge for themselves between him and us, we shall lay before them his definition of general conceptions, in his own words.

That there are in every language general terms, is known to all mankind; for such indeed are all substantives, proper names excepted, and all adjectives. But “it is impossible,” says the doctor,^[39. Essay on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] “that words can have a general signification, unless there be conceptions in the mind of the speaker and of the hearer, of things that are general.
[7:14:624]

It is to such that I give the name of general conceptions; and it ought to be observed, that they take this denomination, not from the act of the mind in conceiving, which is an individual act, but from the object or thing conceived, which is general.'’ Now, whatever is conceived must either be external to the mind, or present with it. But the doctor himself acknowledges, “that all the objects we perceive are individuals. Every object of sense, of memory, or of consciousness, is an individual object. All the good things we enjoy or desire, and all the evils we feel or fear, must come from individuals; and I think I may venture to say, that every creature which God has made in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth, is an individual.” If this be so, and no man can call it in question, it is obvious that we can have no general conception of any thing external. The act of conceiving is an individual act; and therefore the only thing which can be general must be something present with the mind, and different from the mere act of conceiving. But what can this be, if not what Berkeley and others call an idea? and how can we have an idea of which we are not conscious? Yet every thing of which we are conscious, Dr Reid himself acknowledges to be an individual.

But if the doctrine generally received respecting abstract ideas be so very absurd as it has appeared in our representation, how comes it to be so prevalent amongst the most acute philosophers? To this we answer, that those philosophers have certainly in this instance been imposed upon by the structure of language. Every adjective and every substantive, proper names excepted, are words of general signification; and all science is conversant about general truth; but as words are said to be significant, not of things, but of ideas, and as truth results from the agreement or coincidence of ideas, it has been hastily supposed, that, without general ideas, there could have been neither general terms nor general truth. This is plausible, but it is not solid. Every object which affects our senses is an individual object; but we perceive that two or more objects which affect some of our senses very differently, affect others of them in precisely the same way. Thus, the paper upon which one writes, the snow which he perceives from his window, and the milk which he may use at breakfast, affect his senses of touch and taste very differently, but they present the same appearances to his eye. This diversity in the one case he believes to proceed from different powers or qualities in the several objects; and the sameness of appearance in the other, from similar qualities in these objects. To the similar qualities, though he can frame no idea of them abstracted from every individual object, he gives one common name, and calls every object which presents the same appearance to his eye that snow does, a white object; in which case the word white does not stand for an abstract idea, but for a quality inherent in one or more objects. Hence the origin of adjectives in ianguage, which denote more than can be expressed by any class of substantives; for every adjective, besides the power of a name, includes in itself the force of a conjunction. (See Grammar.)

The other class of general terms comprehends substantives, of which the origin is as follows. The objects about which we have occasion to speak or write are so numerous and so fluctuating, that if every individual had a proper name, a complete language could never be formed. But as there are not perhaps in nature two objects that appear to us similar in all respects, so are there not in nature two objects which affect all our senses differently. The mind, therefore, either actually perceiving two or more objects at once, or contemplating the ideas left by two or more objects in the memory, perceives, by its intellectual power, in what respects they agree and in what they disagree.

If the agreement be striking, and hold in more qualities than one, it combines the several individuals into one class or species, giving to the whole a common name, which equal- 1 ly denotes the species and every individual belonging to it. Thus, observing that Peter, James, and John, agree in having the same erect form, in walking on two legs, in having two hands, &c., and being endowed with reason, we combine these three, and all other individuals which we perceive to agree in the same striking and important qualities, into one species, to which we give the name of man, a word which equally denotes the whole species and every individual of it. Again, contemplating a number of figures, which all agree in the circumstance of being bounded by three straight lines meeting one another so as to form three angles, we call the whole class of figures and each individual by the name of triangle, although it may be impossible to contemplate any number of triangles without perceiving that all the angles of one are acute; that one angle of another is a right angle; and that in the third there is one angle obtuse; but the word triangle, unless it be limited in its signification by the addition of an adjective, is equally expressive of an acute-angled triangle, a right-angled triangle, and an obtuse-angled triangle. By thus arranging individuals according to their most conspicuous qualities, we may combine all the objects existing into so many classes or species, which shall be afterwards known by as many names; but of each species we neither have nor can have any other idea than that of a multitude of similar individuals.

As our acquaintance with nature enlarges, we discover resemblances, striking and important, between one species and another, which naturally begets the notion of a higher class called a genus. From comparing man with beasts, birds, fishes, and reptiles, we perceive that they are all alike possessed of life, or a principle of sensation and action, and of an organized body; hence we rank them ail under a higher class or genus, to which we give the name of animal ; which equally denotes the whole genus, each species comprehended under that genus, and every individual of every species. Thus, animal is a genus: man, beast, bird, are so many species comprehended under that genus; and Peter, James, and John, are individuals of the species man. Peter, James, and John, are proper names, denoting each an individual; man, beast, bird, are specific terms, denoting each a whole species, comprising many individuals; and animal is a general term, because it denotes a whole genus, comprehending under it several species, of which each consists of many individuals; and the general term denotes either the whole genus, all the species, or any individual of all the species. This is the whole mystery of abstraction; they are merely terms that in strictness of speech are general and abstract; and even these are general only as signs, of which the full signification cannot always be represented by any conceivable idea.

“It is a received opinion,” says Bishop Berkeley, “that language has no other end but the communicating of our ideas, and that every significant name stands for an idea. This being so; and it being withal certain, that names, which yet are not thought altogether insignificant, do not always mark out particular conceivable ideas; it is straightway concluded that they stand for abstract notions·. That there are many names in use amongst speculative men, which do not always suggest to others determinate particular ideas, is what nobody will deny; and a little attention will discover, that it is not necessary, even in the strictest reasonings, that significant names, which stand for ideas, should, every time they are used, excite in the understanding the ideas they are made to stand for. In reading and discoursing, names are for the most part used as letters in algebra; in which, though a particular quantity[7:14:625] be marked by each letter, yet, to proceed right, it is not requisite that in every step each letter suggest to our thoughts that particular quantity it was appointed to stand for.” The same thing is true of ideas, which, as well as names, are often used merely as signs representing a whole class; and hence they may on that account be called general, though every idea is in itself strictly particular. Thus, “an idea, which considered in itself is particular, becomes general by being made to represent or stand for all other particular ideas of the same sort. To make this plain by example, suppose a geometrician is demonstrating the method of cutting a line in two equal parts: he draws, for instance, a black line of an inch in length; this, which in itself is a particular line, is nevertheless, with regard to its signification, general, since, as it is there used, it represents all particular lines whatsoever; and hence what is demonstrated of it is demonstrated of all lines, or, in other words, of a line in general. And as that particular line becomes general by being made a sign, so the name line, and the idea of a line in the imagination, either of which taken absolutely is particular, by being signs are made general likewise. And as the former owes its generality, not to its being the sign of an abstract or general line, but of all particular right lines that may possibly exist, so the latter, the name and the idea, must be thought to derive their generality from the same cause, namely, the various particular lines which each of them indifferently denotes.” Again, when one demonstrates any proposition concerning triangles, it is to be supposed that he has in view to demonstrate an universal truth; yet the particular triangle which he considers must be either equilateral, isosceles, or scalenon; for a plain triangle, winch is none of these, can neither exist nor be conceived. But whether it be of this or that sort is of no importance, as any of them may equally stand for and represent all rectilineal triangles, and on that account be denominated universal.

This doctrine respecting names and ideas being used merely as signs, has been adopted by almost every sub-sequert t philosopher; and by Principal Campbell it has been illustrated with a perspicuity and acuteness every way worthy of the author of the Dissertation on Miracles. “In confirmation of this doctrine,” says he,^[40. Philosophy of Rhetoric. ] “it may be observed, that we really think by signs, as well as speak by them. All the truths which constitute science, which give exercise to reason, and are discovered by philosophy, are general; all our ideas, in the strictest sense of the word, are particular. All the particular truths about which we are conversant are properly historical, and compose the furniture of memory. Nor do I include under the term historical the truths which belong to natural history, for even these too are general. Now, beyond particular truth or historical facts, first perceived and then remembered, we should never be able to proceed one single step in thinking, any more than in conversing, without the use of signs.

“When it is affirmed that the whole is equal to all its parts, there cannot be an affirmation which is more perfectly intelligible, or which commands a fuller assent. If, in order to comprehend this, I recur to ideas, all that I can do is to form a notion of some individual whole, divided into a certain number of parts of which it is constituted, suppose of the year divided into the four seasons. Now all that I can be said to discern here is the relation of equality between this particular whole and its component parts. If I recur to another example, I only perceive another particular truth. The same holds of a third and of a fourth. But so far am I, after the perception of ten thousand particular similar instances, from the discovery of the universal truth, that if the mind had not the power of considering things as signs, or particular ideas as representing an infinity of others, resembling in one circumstance though totally dissimilar in every other, I could not so much as conceive the meaning of an universal truth. Hence it is that some ideas, to adopt the expression of Berkeley, are particular in their nature, but general in their representation.”

But if, in universal propositions, ideas particular in themselves be used only as the signs of others, it may be demanded, how we can know any proposition to be true of all the ideas which are represented by the sign. For example, having demonstrated that the three angles of an isosceles rectangular triangle are equal to two right ones, how can we conclude that this affection therefore agrees to all other triangles which have neither a right angle nor two equal sides? To this question Bishop Berkeley and Principal Campbell give the same answer. Although the idea we have in view whilst we make the demonstration be that of an isosceles rectangular triangle, whose sides are of a determinate length, we may yet be certain that the demonstration extends to all other rectilineal triangles, of what sort or bigness soever, for this plain reason, that neither the equality nor the determinate length of the sides, nor the right angle, are at all concerned in the demonstration. It is true, the idea or diagram we have in view includes all these particulars; but then there is not the least mention made of them in the proof of the proposition. It is not said the three angles are equal to two right angles, because one of them is a right angle, or because the sides comprehending it are of equal length; which sufficiently shows that the right angle might have been oblique and the sides unequal, and for all that the demonstration have held good. In every one of Euclid’s theorems, a particular triangle, and a particular parallelogram, and a particular circle, are employed as signs to denote all triangles, all parallelograms, and all circles. When a geometrician makes a diagram with chalk upon a board, and from it demonstrates the property of a straight-lined figure, no spectator ever imagines that he is demonstrating a property of nothing else but'that individual white figure, five inches long, which is before him. Every one is satisfied that he is demonstrating a property of all of that order, whether more or less extensive, of which it is both an example and a sign; all the order being understood to agree with it in certain characters, however different in other respects. Nay, what is more, the mind with the utmost facility extends or contracts the representative power of the sign as the particular occasion requires. Thus the same equilateral triangle will with equal propriety serve for the demonstration, not only of a property of aD equilateral triangles, but of a property of all isosceles triangles, or even of a property of all triangles whatsoever. Nay, so perfectly is this matter understood, that if the demonstrator in any part should recur to some property belonging to the particular figure he has constructed, but not essential to the kind mentioned in the proposition, and which the particular figure is solely intended to represent, every intelligent observer would instantly detect the fallacy; so entirely for all the purposes of science does a particular serve for a whole species or genus. Now, why one visible individual should in our reasonings serve, without the smallest inconvenience, as a sign for an infinite number, and yet one conceivable individual, or a particular idea of imagination, should not be adapted to answer the same end, it will, we imagine, be utterly impossible to say.
[7:14:626]

It must, however, be confessed that there is a considerable difference in kind between ideas used as signs and the general terms of any language. Amongst all the individuals of a species, or even of the highest genus, there is still a natural connection, as they agree in the specific or generic character; and when the mind makes use of any positive idea as the sign of the species or genus, that idea appears in the imagination as an exact resemblance of some one individual. But the connection which subsists between words and things, or even between words and ideas, is in its origin arbitrary; and yet its effect upon the mind is much the same with that of the natural connection between ideas and things. For having often had occasion to observe particular words used as signs of particular things, and specific terms used as signs of a whole species, we contract a habit of associating the sign with the thing signified, insomuch that, either being presented to the mind, necessarily introduces or occasions the apprehension of the other. Custom in this instance operates precisely in the same manner as natural resemblance in the other, so that certain sounds, and the ideas of things to which they are not naturally related, come to be as thoroughly linked together in our conceptions as the ideas of things and things themselves. Nay, so completely are they linked together, that we often use, throughout long chains of reasoning, certain sounds or words, without attending at all to the ideas or notions of which they are signs. “I believe,” says the author of a Treatise on Human Nature, “that every one who examines the situation of his mind in reasoning will agree with me that we do not annex distinct and complete ideas to every term we make use of; and that in talking of government, church, negociation, conquest, we seldom spread out in our minds all the simple ideas of which the compound notions signified by these terms are composed. It is, however, observable, that notwithstanding this imperfection, we may avoid talking nonsense on these subjects, and may perceive any repugnance amongst the ideas, as well as if we had a full comprehension of them.” This remark generally holds true; but then it is to be observed that all the words used as signs, and which yet do not denote any one conceivable determinate idea, must be capable of definition. Thus, in matters that are perfectly familiar, in simple narration, or in moral observations on the occurrences of life, a man of common understanding may be deceived by specious falsehood, but is hardly to be gulled by downright nonsense or a repugnance of ideas. Almost all the possible applications of the terms, or, in other words, all the acquired relations of the signs, have become customary to him. The consequence is, that an unusual application of any of them is instantly detected; this detection breeds doubt; and this doubt occasions an immediate recourse to definition, which, proceeding through species and genera, resolves complex terms into others less complex, until it ends at last in simple ideas and relations, which can neither be defined nor misunderstood.^[41. For a further view of this subject, see some excellent observations on the common doctrine concerning abstraction, by Mr Du∙ gald Stewart. {Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind. JEssavs. ]

Thus, then, we see, that though there are no ideas, properly speaking, general and abstract, a man may, by terms and particular ideas, used as signs, arrive at the knowledge of general truth. In neither case is it the matter, if we may be allowed the expression, but the power of the sign that is regarded by the mind. We find that, even in demonstrative reasonings, signs the most arbitrary, or mere symbols, may be used with as little danger of error as ideas or natural signs. The operations both of the algebraist and arithmetician are strictly of the nature of demonstration. The one employs as signs the letters of the alphabet, the other certain numerical characters. In neither of these arts is it necessary to form ideas of the quantities and sums signified; in some instances it is even impossible, without resolving the quantity or sum into parts, in a manner analogous to definition, and then the mind comprehends not the whole quantity or number at once, but the several parts of which it is composed, which it connects by the relation of junction or addition. Yet without this resolution the equations and calculations carried on by means of the letters and figures significant of the whole quantity or of the whole sum, are not the less accurate or convincing. And so much for abstraction, generalization, and the power of signs, whether natural or artificial.

chap. V.—OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

Every man whilst awake is conscious of a continued train of thought spontaneously arising in his mind and passing through it, nor could a single now or instant be pitched upon in which some idea is not present in his memory or imagination. No one idea, however, unless detained by a voluntary exertion of the mind, or unless productive ofin-tense pleasure or pain, remains long in the imagination; but each hastens off the stage to make way for another, which takes its turn, and is succeeded by a third, &c. We are not to imagine that this train of thought is altogether fortuitous and incoherent. “It is evident,” says Mr Hume, 2 “that there is a principle of connection between different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that, in their appearance to the memory or imagination, they introduce each other with a certain degree of method and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse this is so observable, that any particular thought which breaks in upon the regular track or chain of ideas is immediately remarked and rejected. Even in our wildest and most wandering reveries, nay, in our very dreams, we shall find·, if we reflect, that the imagination ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still a connection upheld amongst the different ideas which succeeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversation to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed something which connected it in al 1 its transitions; or, where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of discourse might still inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his mind a succession of thoughts, which had gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Amongst different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least connection or communication, it is found that words expressive of ideas the most compounded do yet nearly correspond to each other; a certain proof that the simple ideas comprehended in the compound ones were bound together by some universal principle, which had an equal influence on all mankind.”

That these observations are well founded, every man may be satisfied by looking attentively into his own thoughts; but when the author reduces the principles of this association of ideas to three, viz. resemblance, contiguity in time and place, and cause or effect, he certainly contracts them within too narrow a compass. That these principles often serve to connect ideas, will not indeed be denied. A picture leads our thoughts to the original; the mention of one apartment in a building introduces an inquiry or discourse concerning the others; and if we think of a wound, we can hardly forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it. But surely ideas sometimes succeed each other without resemblance, without contiguity in time or in place, and without being connected by the relation of a cause to its [7:14:627]effect. Besides all this, there are other associations than those of ideas. Ideas are associated with passions and emotions, and passions and emotions are associated together. A particular idea is associated with a proper name, and often with the general name of the species. General conceptions, such as those which Mr Locke calls mixed modes, are associated with signs both audible and visible, and signs are associated with each other. Surely virtue, as it consists in action and intention, does not resemble the sound virtue, is not contiguous to it in time or in place, and is neither its cause nor its effect; noris it conceivable that the arbitrary signs of different things should have any natural relation to one another.

But were the enumeration complete, the bare mention of these principles does not account for the phenomena; for, granting the fact, it may still be asked, why does a picture lead our thoughts to the original, or the mention of one apartment in a building introduce an inquiry concerning the others? To these questions our author has given no answer; nor are we acquainted with any writer who can be said to have attempted it, excepting Dr Hartley and his ingenious editor. There may be some of our readers whom the names of these men will prejudice against their theory; but, doubtless, the greater part are willing to adopt truth, or to examine an ingenious speculation, from whatever quarter it comes. To such as feel themselves otherwise disposed, we beg leave to say, that if they allow the name of Priestley to disgust them at what follows, they will furnish him with a new proof of the truth of the doctrine which they reject.

That ideas should be associated together, seems to be inevitable from the manner in which the mind acquires them. All our ideas, properly speaking, are those of sensible objects, and by far the greater part of them of visible objects. But every sensible object conveys at once various sensations and perceptions to the mind, which appear not only united in fact, but inseparable in imagination. Thus, when a man looks at any particular object, a tree, for instance, he perceives the trunk, branches, leaves, size, shape, and colour, &c. of the whole at once; he does not first perceive the figure of the trunk, then its size, then its colour, then the branches, &c. all in succession; but a perception of the whole is conveyed to the mind by one simultaneous impression. We have already seen that the senses, in fact, convey nothing to the mind but their respective sensations, and that the perception of the external object instantly follows the sensation. We have likewise seen that sensation is occasioned by some impression, concussion, or vibration, given to the nerves and brain, and by them communicated to the mind or percipient being. We have likewise seen that memory depends as much upon the brain as original sensation, and is always attended or occasioned by similar concussions or vibrations, &c. These are facts proved by universal experience, and which, we believe, no thinking man has ever called in question. It follows, therefore, that every actual sensation must leave some effect in the brain, either an actual print, which seems to be impossible, or a tendency to vibrate or be agitated in the same way as when the original impression was made. This being the case, it is natural to conclude, that when any part of the original perception is revived in the memory, the whole perception should be revived at once, so as that we cannot have an idea of the trunk of a tree without perceiving the ideas of the branches associated with it. This is indeed not merely natural, but the contrary seems to be impossible; for as the original agitation or vibration was occasioned by the whole tree, it is evident, that whatever effect or tendency that agitation or vibration left behind it, must be left by the whole vibration, and therefore be equally related to the whole tree.

But no object stands single in nature. When we view a tree, or any thing else, we always notice, however transiently, the field where it grows and the objects around it. These two leave effects in the brain at the same time that the tree does so, and therefore make their appearance with it in the memory or imagination; but if the tree was the object to which we principally attended during the actual sensation, the idea of it will be much more vivid than the idea of its adjuncts, and remain much longer in the imagination or memory; because the original sensation by which it was perceived had struck much deeper than the sensation by which its adjuncts were perceived. All this must be intelligible to every one who attends to what we have already said of sensation, perception, and memory.

Thus we see why a picture leads our thoughts to the original, and why the mention of one apartment in a building introduces an inquiry concerning the others. It is not merely because the picture resembles the original, and because the apartments of a building are contiguous. Between a plain surface, variously coloured and shaded, and the contour of the human face, there is certainly very little real resemblance, as any man may be convinced who places his eye within six inches of a good picture. But the painter having, by his skill in perspective, contrived to lay his colours on the plain canvass in such a manner as that they reflect the same rays of light with the original, provided the spectator stand at the proper distance; these rays proceeding from the picture fall upon the eye in the same direction, and therefore give to the nerves and brain the very same impulse which was given by the original. When one apartment of a building is mentioned, we inquire concerning the others from the very same cause that, when we think of the trunk of a tree which we have seen, we cannot avoid thinking likewise of its branches.

But the principle of association takes place amongst things not naturally connected, as the apartments of a building, and a substance with its attributes and adjuncts. It is association which is the original source of all the general or complex conceptions which we have, and which even gives meaning to the words of every language. Between sounds considered in themselves, and things, or the ideas of things, every one knows that there is no natural connection; yet the idea of every known object is in the mind of every man so strictly associated with the name which it bears in its native tongue, that the presence of the one always suggests the other. It cannot indeed be otherwise, if we attend to the manner in which a child learns to affix a meaning to the words which he hears. A child knows his mother and nurse, and indeed almost every visible object in the family, long before he acquires the power of articulation. The impressions made by these objects, and repeated daily and hourly on his brain, every one of which excites a sensation, must soon become so deep as not to be easily effaced. Numbers of them, too, are associated together, so that the presence of one introduces the other. It has been already observed, that ideas of sight are the most vivid and the most lasting; but the child hearing the same sound often repeated, even that sound comes in time to leave in his memory a permanent idea. He then hears the sound nurse, for instance, uttered at the time when he is earnestly looking at the person of the nurse, with whom he is well acquainted, and to whom he is strongly attached; and having the two ideas repeatedly excited together, they soon become so associated, that the one necessarily excites the other; the word nurse calls into view the idea of the woman treasured up in his imagination.

But we need not have recourse to children for the proof of our assertion. It is obvious that the name of every simple and uncompounded idea can be significant only by association. Of a complex conception the name may be made intelligible by a definition; but simple ideas cannot be defined, and between ideas and sounds there is no natural[7:14:628] connection, so as that the one previously to association should suggest the other. Even of complex conceptions and mixed modes, the meaning of the names is generally acquired by association; for though it is certainly true that all such names are capable of definition, they are yet used with sufficient propriety by thousands who know not what a definition is. Were a plain unlettered man asked to define virtue, it is not probable that he could do it so as to make himself understood, yet having ideas of the practice ofjustice, charity, fortitude, &c. strictly associated in his mind with the word virtue, he may understand the general meaning of that word as well as the most acute grammarian or the most profound philosopher.

An alms is a donation to a poor man; but a child who never heard of this definition knows perfectly what an alms is, from having often seen his parents give money to a beggar, and call what they were doing by the name alms. The sound of the word, after having seen the first alms given, will excite in his mind an idea of the individual object who received it, and of the action of him by whom it was given; but after having seen several poor men relieved, he comes to associate with the word alms any thing given to any person who needs it, or appears to be in want.

So completely does this association take place between ideas or clusters of ideas, and the words by which they are expressed, that even men of letters hear and understand perfectly many words, without reviewing in their minds all the ideas and relations of which they are the signs. It has been already observed, that in talking of government, church, negociation, conquest, we seldom spread out in our minds all the simple ideas of which the compound notions signified by these terms are composed; and we now add, that the terms may be used with sufficient propriety, and be perfectly understood, by those who never attempted to analyze the notions of which they are significant, into their primary and constituent parts. Every man has read numberless details of the transactions of one court with another; he has heard such transactions universally called by the term negociation. The term and the transactions signified by it are so closely associated in his mind, that they are in a manner inseparable, and by this association he knows the meaning of the term better than he could have done by the most complete definition, which, perhaps, he would find it difficult to give, or even to comprehend.

We have said that the meaning of the word virtue is acquired by association, by having often heard that sound applied to certain actions; but it is extremely probable that the very notion of virtue, simple and uncompounded as it appears to be, is acquired in the very same manner. The first rudiments of the notions of right and wrong and obligation seem to be acquired by a child when he finds himself checked and controlled by superior power. At first he feels nothing but mere force, and consequently has no notion of any kind of restraint but that of necessity. He finds he cannot have his will, and therefore he submits. Afterwards he attends to many circumstances which distinguish the commands of a father, or of a master, from those of any other person. Notions of reverence, love, esteem, and dependence, are connected with the idea of him who gives those commands; and by degrees the child experiences the peculiar advantages of filial subjection. He sees also that all his companions who are noticed and admired by others obey their parents, and that those who are of a refractory disposition are universally disliked. These and other circumstances now begin to alter and modify the notion of mere necessity, till by degrees he considers the commands of a parent as something that must not be resisted or disputed, even though he has a power of doing it; and all these ideas coalescing, form the notions of moral right and moral obligation, which are easily transferred from the commands of a parent to those of a magistrate, of God, and of conscience. This opinion of the gradual formation of the ideas of moral right and wrong, from a great variety of elements associated together, perfectly accounts for that prodigious diversity in the sentiments of mankind respecting the objects of moral obligation; nor do we see that any other hypothesis can account for the facts. If the notion of moral obligation were a simple uncompounded idea, arising from the view of certain actions or sentiments; or were it acquired, as it certainly might be, by a chain of reasoning from the nature of God and the nature of man; why should it not in the one case be as invariable as the perception of colours or sounds, and in the other as our judgments of mathematical or physical truths? But though the shape and colour of a flower appear the same to every human eye; though every man of common understanding knows, that if a billiard ball be struck by another, it will move from its place with a velocity proportioned to the force of the impulse; and though all mankind who have but dipped into mathematics perceive that any two sides of a triangle must be greater than the third side; yet one man practises as a moral duty what another looks upon with abhorrence, and reflects on with remorse. Now, a thing that varies with education and instruction, as moral sentiments are known to do, certainly has the appearance of being generated by a series of different impressions and associations in some such manner as we have endeavoured to describe. Let not any man imagine that this account of the origin of moral sentiments endangers the cause of virtue; for whether those sentiments be instinctive or acquired, their operation is the very same, and in either case their rectitude must often be tried by the test of reason, so that the interests of virtue are equally safe on this as on any other scheme.

This principle of association has so great an influence over all our actions, passions, reasonings, and judgments, that there is not perhaps any one thing which deserves more to be looked after in the education of youth. Some of our ideas, such as those of a substance and its attributes, a genus and the species contained under it, a species and its several individuals, have a real connection with each other in nature. These it is the office of our reason to trace out and to hold together in that union and order in which nature presents them to the view of the mind; for such associations constitute perhaps the greatest part of necessary and of useful truths. But there are others formed by custom and caprice, which are too often the sources of error, superstition, vice, and misery; of errors the more dangerous, and of vice the more deplorable, that if the associations have been long formed without an attempt to dissolve them, they generally become at last too strong to be broken by the most vigorous effort of the best-disposed mind. Thus, let a foolish maid^[42. Locke’s Essay, and his Conduct of the Understanding. ] amuse or rather frighten children with stories of ghosts appearing in the dark, let her repeat these fictions till they have made a deep impression on the young minds, and the notion of ghosts will in time become so closely associated with the idea of darkness, that the one shall always introduce the other; and it may not be in the power of the children, after they have become men, and are convinced in their judgments of the falsehood and absurdity of the tales which originally frightened them, to eparate entirely the notion of ghosts from the idea of darkness, or with perfect ease to remain alone in a dark room. Again, let the idea of infallibility be annexed to any person or so.
[7:14:629]

ciety, and let these two inseparably united constantly possess the mind, and then one body in ten thousand places at once shall, unexamined, be swallowed as an incontrovertible fact, whenever that infallible person or society dictates or demands assent without inquiry.

Some such erroneous and unnatural combinations of ideas will be found to establish the irreconcileable opposition that we find between different sects in philosophy and religion; for we cannot imagine every individual of any sect to impose wilfully upon himself, and knowingly to reject truth offered by plain reason. That which leads men of sincerity and good sense blindfold, will be found, when inquired into, to be some early and erroneous association. Ideas independent and of no alliance to one another, are by education, custom, and the constant din of their party, so linked together in their minds, that they can no more be separated from each other than if they were but one idea; and they operate upon the judgment as if they really were but one. This gives sense to jargon, the force of demonstration to absurdities, and consistency to nonsense: it is the foundation of the greatest and most dangerous errors in the world; for, as far as it obtains, it hinders men from seeing and examining

Before we dismiss the subject of association, it may be proper to inquire how far it is agreeable to the account which we have given of the manner in which external objects are perceived by means of the senses, and the ideas of such objects retained in the memory. It has been proved, we think, by arguments unanswerable, that by the organs of sense nothing is conveyed immediately to the mind but sensations which can have no resemblance to external objects, and that the perception of an object may be resolved into a process of reasoning from effects to causes. But children, it will be said, do not reason from effects to causes, and yet they soon acquire the faculty of perceiving and distinguishing the objects with which they are surrounded. This is an undoubted truth; and it can be accounted for only by the principle of association. A child has as much the use of his senses as a full-grown man. By his eye he has the sensation of colour; by his nose, that of smell; by his ear he has the sensation of sound; and by his hand he feels heat and cold, resistance and bounded resistance. Every object which is presented to him impresses his mind with various sensations; and these sensations combined together are probably all that he perceives for some years, for there is no reason to imagine that a boy of one or two years old has the slightest notion of what we mean by solidity, hardness, softness, or indeed of that which is termed substance. Yet when two or more objects are present, he may easily distinguish the one from the other, because the sensations excited by the one must differ from those excited by the other, as much as the real qualities of the one are different from the real qualities of the other; and by distinguishing between his own sensations, he in effect distinguishes between the objects which produce these sensations. His sensations, too, being frequently excited, leave behind them ideas in his memory or imagination; and those ideas, from having been imprinted together and never separated, become in time so closely associated, that whenever one of them is called into view, the others necessarily make their appearance with it. Thus a child has a set of combined sensations excited in his mind by the presence of his nurse; he has a different cluster excited, suppose by the presence of his mother. These are often repeated, and leave deep traëes behind them, so that when the mother or the nurse makes her appearance, she is immediately recognised as a known object; or, to speak more correctly, the child feels the very same sensations which he has felt before, from which he has experienced pleasure, and of which he has the ideas treasured up in his memory or imagination. A stranger, on the other hand, must affect him with a set of new sensations, and of course will be distinguished from a known object as accurately as if the child were possessed of the notions of solidity, substance, qualities, and distance. A man born blind, who knew not that such things as fire and snow had never existed, would yet distinguish the one from the other the moment that he should be brought within their influence. He could not indeed apply their names properly, nor say which is the fire and which is the snow, nor would he at first have any notion of either of them as a real, external, and distant object; but he would certainly distinguish his own sensations, the sensation of heat from that of cold. It is just so with a child. At first he perceives nothing but different sensations. These he can distinguish; and as they are caused by different objects, in distinguishing between the sensations he will appear to distinguish between the objects themselves. In a short time, however, he acquires, by a natural process, some inaccurate notions of distance. He looks, for instance, earnestly in his nurse’s face, and at the same time touches her cheek perhaps by accident. He repeats this operation frequently, till the sensation communicated by his eye comes to be associated with that of his touch, and with the extending of his arm; and being all treasured up as associated ideas in the memory, the sight of his nurse makes him ever afterwards stretch out his hands with a desire to touch her. All this while there is not the slightest probability that the child has any notion of substance or qualities, or of any thing beyond his own sensations, and the means by which he has experienced that sensations which are pleasant may be obtained, and that such as are painful may be avoided. The precise time at which a child begins to think of external things we cannot pretend to ascertain; but we are persuaded that it is later than many persons imagine, and certainly not until he has made considerable progress in the exercise of reason. Prior to that period the things whiclι men know to be bodies, are known to children only as sensations and ideas strongly bound together by the tic of association.

But if association be of such importance in the act of sensation, it is of still greater in that of retention; for it seems to constitute the whole difference that there is between imagination and memory. By many of the ancient, as well as by some modern philosophers, .these two faculties seem to have been confounded with each other; but between them there is certainly a great difference, though they likewise resemble each other in some respects. An idea of memory, considered by itself, makes the very same appearance to the intellect as an idea of imagination. We contemplate both as if they were equal, though faint and distant, perceptions; but. the one is attended with the conviction that it is the idea of an object which has really been perceived at some period of past time; whilst the other is attended with no conviction, except that the idea itself is actually present to the mind. Mr Hume has said that ideas of memory differ from those of imagination only in being more vivid and distinct; but certainly this is not always the case. An idea of imagination has sometimes been taken for a real perception, which an idea of memory can never be. The difference between these two kinds of ideas, we are persuaded, arises chiefly, if not wholly, from association. Every idea of memory is associated with many others, and those again with others, down to the very moment of the energy of remembrance; whereas ideas of imagination are either the voluntary creatures of the fancy at the moment of their appearance, in which case we should call them conceptions, or they are ideas which we have actually received from sensation, but which, on account of some link being broken in the vast chain of association, we cannot refer to any real objects.
[7:14:630]

What gives probability to this conjecture is, that ideas often appear in the mind which we know not whether to refer to the memory or imagination; nothing being more common than to hear a person say, I have in my head the idea of such or such an object, but whether I remember or only imagine the object, I am very uncertain. Afterwards, however, by turning the idea over and over in the mind, he finds that other ideas make their appearance, till at last clusters of them come into view, and associate so closely with the principal idea, which was the object of doubt, as to convince the judgment that it is an idea of memory.

It has been asked, Why we believe what we distinctly remember? and to that question it has been supposed that no answer can be given. But it appears to us that association is the ground of belief in this, as it will be found to be in other instances; and that a man believes he washed his hands and face in the morning, because the idea of that operation is so strongly linked in his mind to the whole train of ideas which have arisen in it through the day, that he cannot separate the first from the last, that which was a sensation in the morning, from the sensations which are present at the instant of remembrance. As those ideas are associated by nature, each must pass in review in its proper order, so that in so short a space of time there is no danger, and hardly a possibility, of taking the first for the last, or the last for the first. Nay, more, we will venture to hazard an opinion that every past event of a man’s life, which he distinctly remembers, is tied by the chain of association to his present perceptions. That this is possible is certain, since it is not difficult to conceive how it may be done. The principal events of a single day may surely be so linked together as to be all distinctly viewed in a cluster of ideas on the morrow. Of these events some one or other must be the most important, which will therefore make its appearance as an idea more frequently than the rest, and be more closely associated with the events of next day. Some event of that day will, for the same reason, be more closely associated with it than the others, and these two, dropping perhaps all the rest of their original companions, will pass on together to the third day, and so on through weeks, and months, and years. In the compass of a year, several things must occur to make deep impressions on the mind. These will at first be associated together by events of little importance, like the occurrences of a single day. Whilst these feeble chains, however, continue unbroken, they will be sufficient to link the one important event to the other, and to bring them both into view at the same time, till at last these two, from appearing so often together, will in time unite of themselves, and the intermediate ideas be completely effaced. Thus may two or three important events of one year be associated with such a number of similar events of another year, so that the ideas of the one shall always introduce to the mind the ideas of the other; and this chain of association may pass from the earliest event which we distinctly remember, through all the intermediate years of our lives, down to the instant when memory is exerted.

To this account of memory it may perhaps be objected, that it gives us no distinct notion of time. Every thing that is remembered is necessarily believed to have been present in some portion of past time; but association brings into view nothing but a series of events. This objection will be seen to have no weight when we have inquired into the nature of time, and ascertained what kind of a thing it is. It will then perhaps appear, that duration itself, as apprehended by us, is not distinguishable from a series of events; and that if there were no train of thought passing through our minds, nor any motion amongst the objects around us, time could have no existence. Meanwhile, whatever become of thisoninion, we beg leave to observe, that our theory of remembrance is perfectly consistent with the commonly-received notions respecting time; and indeed that it is the only theory which can account for numberless phenomena respecting past duration. It is universally allowed, that if motion, or a succession of events, do not constitute time, it is the only thing by which time can be measured. Now it is a fact which no man will deny, that the distance of time from the present now or instant to the earliest period which he distinctly remembers, appears to his view extremely short, much shorter than it is said to be in reality; and that one year, when he looks forward, appears longer than two, perhaps longer than ten when he looks backward. Upon our principles this fact is easily accounted for. We remember nothing which is not linked by a chain of associations with the perceptions of the present moment; and as none but a few of the most important events of our lives can be linked together in this manner, it hence follows, that events which, in the order of succession, were far distant from one another, must thus be brought together in the memory, and the whole chain be contracted within very short limits. But when we figure Jo ourselves a series of future events, we employ the active power of fancy instead of the passive capacity of retention; and can therefore bring within the compassof one periodical revolution of the sun, a longer series of imaginary events succeeding each other, than is preserved of real events in our memory from the earliest period of our existence. So perfectly does our theory accord with this well-known fact. On the other hand, if memory be an original faculty of the mind, totally independent of association, and of which no other account is to be given than that it necessarily commands our belief, why is it a faculty which, with regard to duration, thus uniformly deceives us? and how comes it to pass, that to a man whose memory is tenacious, who has read much, seen many countries, and been engaged in various occurrences, any determinate portion of past time always appears longer than to another man whose memory is feeble, and whose life has been wasted in ease and idleness? To these questions we know not what answer can be given, upon any other principle than that which makes the evidence of memory depend upon association. But if we remember nothing but what is linked to the perception or idea which is present with us at the time of remembrance, and if duration be measured by the succession of events, it is obvious that any portion of past time must necessarily appear longer to him who has many ideas associated in the mind than to him who has but few.

There is not perhaps a single fact of greater importance in the philosophy of the human mind than the association of ideas; which, when thoroughly understood, accounts for many of those phenomena which some distinguished writers have, with injury to science and danger to morality, attributed to a number of distinct and independent instincts. It is for this reason that we have considered it so minutely, and dwelt upon it so long; and, in addition to what we have said on the subject, we beg leave to recommend to our more philosophical readers the diligent study of Hartley’s Observations on Man. In that work, we think, several things are taken for granted which require proof; and some which, we are persuaded, have no foundation in nature; but, with all its defects, it has more merit than any other treatise on the sensitive part of human nature with which we are acquainted.

CHAP. VI. OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND REFLECTION.

Sensation, remembrance, simple apprehension, and conception, with every other actual energy or passion of the mind, is accompanied with an inward feeling or perception [7:14:631]of that energy or passion; and that feeling or perception is termed consciousness. Consciousness is the perception of what passes in a man’s own mind at the instant of its passing there; nor can we see, hear, taste, smell, remember, apprehend, conceive, emploj⅛our faculties in any manner, enjoy any pleasure, or suffer any pain, without being conscious of what we arc doing, enjoying, or suffering. Consciousness is only of things present;^[43. Reid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] and to apply it to things past, is to confound consciousness with memory or reflection. One cannot say that he is conscious of what he has seen or heard and now remembers; he is only conscious of the act of remembrance, which, though it respects a past event, is itself a present energy. It is likewise to be observed, that consciousness is only of things in the mind, or conscious being, and not of things external. It is improper in any person to say tha l the is conscious of the table before him; he perceives it, he sees it, and he may with great propriety say that he is conscious he perceives or sees it; but he cannot say that he is conscious of the table itself, for it is only his immediate energy of perception that can be the object of consciousness. All the operations of our minds are attended with consciousness, which is the only evidence that we have or can have of their existence. Should a man take it into his head to think or to say that his consciousness may deceive him, and to require a proof that it cannot, we know of no proof that can be given him; he must be left to himself as a man who denies first principles, without which there can be no reasoning. Every attempt to prove this point, or to set it in a clearer light, would only serve to render it more dark and unintelligible. I think, I feel, I exist, are first truths, and the basis of all human knowledge.

This has given rise to the question, whether Descartes did not fall into an absurdity when, inferring his own existence from his actual thought, he said, Cogito, ergo sum. This argument has been called a pitiful sophism, and a petitio principii ; because, before a man take it for granted that he thinks, he must also, it is said, take it for granted that he exists, since there cannot be thought where there is no existence. Now it must be confessed, that if Descartes pretended by this argument to give us a fresh conviction of our own existence, his endeavours were useless and puerile; because a man capable of being convinced by the arguments of another must have a previous conviction of his own existence. But the argument itself is neither a sophism nor a petitio principii. Those^[44. See Buffer’s First Truth. ] who defend Descartes assert, and there is no reason to doubt the truth of their assertion, that his only view in urging such an argument was not to prove the truth of our existence, but to exhibit the order of that process by which we arrive at the knowledge of the fact; and this he has very clearly done by analyzing the truth into its first principles. A stone exists as well as the human mind; but has the stone any knowledge of its own existence? No man will say that it has; and neither should we have any knowledge of ours, did we think as little as the stone. We certainly might exist without thinking, as it is probable that we do in very sound sleep; and in that state our existence might be known to other beings, but it could not possibly be known to ourselves; for the only things of which the mind is conscious, or has immediate knowledge, are its own operations. “I exist”is therefore a legitimate inference from the proposition “I think ;” and the observation that it is so may be useful to show us the procedure of the mind in the acquisition of knowledge; but it has little merit as an argument, and still less as a discovery, though, being strictly true and just, it should never have been exposed to ridicule.

It is to be observed, however, that we are conscious of many things to which we give very little attention. We can hardly attend to several things at the same time; and our attention is commonly employed about that which is the object of our thought, and rarely about the thought itself. It is in our power, however, when we come to the years of understanding, to give attention to our own thoughts and passions, and the various operations of our minds. And when we make these the objects of our attention, either whilst they are present, or when they are recent and fresh in our memory, we perform an act of the mind which is properly called reflection. This reflection ought to be distinguished from consciousness,^[45. Reid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man. ] with which it is sometimes confounded by Locke, and often by the very learned author of Ancient Metaphysics. All men are conscious of the operations of their own minds at all times whilst they are awake, nor does it appear that brutes can be wholly destitute of consciousness; but there are few men who reflect upon the operations of their minds, or make them the objects of thought; and it is not probable that any species of brutes do so.

From infancy until we attain to the years of understanding, we are employed solely about sensible objects. For, although the mind is conscious of its operations, it does not attend to them; its attention is turned solely to the objects about which these operations are employed. Thus, when a man is angry, he is conscious of his passion; but his attention is turned to the person who offended him and the circumstances of the offence, whilst the passion of anger is not in the least the object of his attention. The difference between consciousness and reflection is like the difference between a superficial view of an object which presents itself to the eye, whilst we are engaged about something else, and that attentive examination which we give to an object when we arc wholly employed in surveying it. It is by consciousness that we immediately acquire all the knowledge which we have of mental operations; but attentive reflection is necessary to make that knowledge accurate and distinct. Attention is a voluntary act; it requires some exertion to begin and to continue it, and by great exertion it may be sustained for a considerable time; but consciousness is involuntary, and of no continuance, changing with every thought. The power of reflection upon the operations of their own minds does not at all appear in children. Men must have come to some ripeness of understanding before they are capable of it. Of all the powers of the human mind, it appears to be the last that unfolds itself. Most men seem incapable of acquiring it in any considerable degree; and many circumstances conspire to make it to all men an exercise of difficulty. The difficulty, however, must be conquered, or no progress can be made in the science of our own or of other minds.

All the notions which we have of mind and of its operations are got by reflection; and these notions are by Mr Locke termed ideas of reflection. This appellation we think extremely ill chosen; and we believe it has been the source of much error and confusion amongst Locke’s followers. A man, by attending to the operations of his own mind, may have as distinct notions of remembrance, of judgment, of will, and of desire, as of any object whatever; but if the secondary perception of a sensible object, that appearance which it has to the mind when viewed in the memory or imagination, be properly called an idea, it is certain that of the operations of the mind itself there can be no ideas; for these operations, when reflected on, make no appearance without their objects, either in the memory or in the imagination. Nothing is more evident, in fact, than that we have no ideas, in the original and proper meaning of [7:14:632]the word, but of sensible objects upon which the mind exerts its first operations. Of these operations we have indeed a consciousness; but, abstracted from their objects, we cannot frame any idea or resemblance of them. We are conscious to ourselves of thinking, willing, remembering, discerning, reasoning, judging, &c.; but let any one look into himself, and try whether he can there find any idea of thinking, or willing, &c. entirely separate and abstracted from the object of thought or will. Every man who has seen a tree or a house, will find in his mind ideas of these objects, which he can contemplate by themselves, independently of every thing else; but no man can contemplate the idea of thinking or desiring without taking into view the thing thought or desired. It is plain, therefore, that the energies of thinking, willing, and desiring, with all their various modifications, are not themselves ideas, or capable of communicating ideas to be apprehended, as the ideas of bodies are apprehended by the pure intellect. They are the actions and workings of the intellect itself upon ideas which we have received from the objects of sense, and which are treasured up in the memory or imagination for the very purpose of furnishing the intellect with materials to work upon. Between ideas and the energies of thinking there is as great and as obvious a difference as there is between a stone and the energies of him by whom it is cast. Ideas are the passive subjects; but the energies of thinking are the operations of the agents. Ideas are relicts of sensation, and have a necessary relation to things external; the energies of thinking are relicts of nothing, and they are wholly and originally internal.

That we cannot in any sense of the word be said to have ideas of the operation of the intellect, will be still more evident, if we consider by what means wo acquire the knowledge which we have of those operations. It has been already observed, that when our thoughts are employed upon any subject, though we are conscious of thinking, yet our attention is commonly employed upon the object of our thought, and not upon the thought itself; and that if we would give attention to our thoughts and passions, we must do it by a reflective act of the mind, whilst the act of thinking is still recent and fresh in our memory. Thus, if a man wishes to know what perception is, it is not the time to make the inquiry whilst he is looking at some rare or beautiful object; for though he is conscious of the energy of perceiving, the object of perception employs all his attention. But the time to make this inquiry is either when the object has become familiar to him, or presently after it is removed from his sight. In the former case, he can look upon it without emotion, pay attention to every step in the process of perception, and be immediately conscious what perception is. In the latter case, by turning his attention inwards, and reflecting on what he did or felt when the object was before him, he will find clear and vivid ideas of every thing which he perceived by his sense of sight; but he will find no idea of the act of seeing or perceiving. On the contrary, if he be capable of sufficient attention, he will observe that his intellect is employed in the very same manner upon the idea that it was upon the original sensations; and of that employment, and the manner of it, he will be equally conscious as he was of the original energy exerted in sensation. There is indeed this difference between the two, without which reflection could make no discoveries, that the most vivid ideas being still faint when compared with actual sensations, the intellect is not so wholly engrossed by them as it was by the original objects, nor is it so rapidly carried from idea to idea as it was from sensation to sensation. It is thus at leisure to attend toits own operations, and to know what they are; though to form ideas of them as separate from their objects is absolutely impossible. Every man capable of paying attention to what passes within himself when he sees, hears, and feels, may have very accurate notions of seeing, hearing, and feeling; but he cannot have ideas of them as he has of the objects of sight, of hearing, and of touch.

The same is the case with respect to the exertion of our reasoning faculties. A man must have distinct and clear ideas to reason upon, but he can have no idea of reasoning itself, though he must be conscious of it, and by attention may know what it is. When a man sits down to study for the first time a proposition in the Elements of Euclid, he certainly employs his reasoning faculty, and is conscious that he is doing so; but his attention is wholly turned to the diagram before him, and to the several ideas which that diagram suggests. Afterwards, when he has mastered the proposition, he may go over it again, with a view to discover what reasoning is; but he will not find that he has any idea of reasoning as he has of the diagram. He will only exert that faculty a second time, and perceive one truth linked to and depending upon another in such a manner that the whole taken together forms a complete demonstration. In a word, the operations of our own minds, when attention is paid to them, are known immediately by consciousness; and it is as impossible that we should have ideas of them, as that a living man should be a picture upon canvass. He who attends to what passes in his own mind when he perceives, remembers, reasons, or wills, must know by consciousness what these operations are, and be capable of forming very accurate notions of them, as connected with their objects; and he who does not attend to what passes in his own mind will never acquire any notions of them, although he were to read all that has been written on the subject from the days of Pythagoras to those of Dr Reid.

As we acquire ideas of external objects by means of our senses, and notions of perceiving, remembering, reasoning, and willing, &c. by reflecting on the operations of our own minds, so there are other things of which we acquire notions, partly by sensation, partly by reflection, and partly by means of that faculty of which it is the more peculiar office to compare ideas and to perceive truth. Such are substance, body, mind, with their several qualities, adjuncts, and relations; the knowledge of which, as has been already observed, constitutes what in strictness of speech is termed the science of metaphysics. These shall be considered in order, after we have investigated the nature of truth, and inquired into the several sources of evidence; but there is one notion, about the origin and reality of which there have been so many disputes, which in itself is of so great importance, and which will be so intimately connected with all our subsequent inquiries, that it may not be improper to consider it here. The notion to which we allude is that of power.

Amongst the objects around us we perceive frequent changes, and one event regularly succeeding another. Gold∣ thrown into the fire is changed from a solid to a fluid body. Water exposed to a certain degree of cold is changed from a fluid to a solid body. Night succeeds to day, and summer succeeds to winter. We are conscious of new sensations in ourselves every hour. We are likewise conscious of reasoning, willing, and desiring; and we know that by an exertion of will we can rise or sit, stand still or walk, call one idea into view, and dismiss others from our contemplation, Experience teaches us, that it is not occasionally, but always, that gold is changed into a fluid by being thrown into the fire, and water into a solid body by being exposed to a certain degree of cold; that night succeeds to day, and summer to winter. These changes have regularly taken place since the creation of the world; and it has never once been observed that water was made solid by fire, or. gold rendered liquid by cold. Were we not instructed by experience that our own voluntary motions [7:14:633] are produced by exertions of our minds, of which we are conscious, and that without such exertions those motions would never have taken place, we should probably have considered the liquefaction of gold as an event equally independent of fire, though uniformly conjoined with it, as night is independent of day, and day of night. But having experienced that we can move or not move our bodies as we please, that when it is our will to sit we never get up to walk, and that when we wish to walk we always do it except prevented by external violence; having likewise experienced that by a thought, by some internal and inexplicable exertion of our minds, we can call up in our memory or imagination one idea, and dismiss others from our mental view; we are led to believe with the fullest conviction, that all those motions of our bodies which in common language are termed voluntary, and that succession of ideas which follows a conscious exertion of the mind, depend entirely upon ourselves. In other words, we are necessitated to believe that we have a power to move or not to move our bodies in many cases, and a power to turn our attention to one idea in preference to others.

It is in this way that we acquire the notion of power in ourselves, which we easily transfer to other objects. Knowing that the various motions of our bodies thus effected proceed from power, we are naturally led to inquire whether the changes which we perceive in other bodies may not proceed from power likewise, or from something analogous to that power, of the exertions of which we are conscious in ourselves. Now uniform experience teaching us that gold is liquefied by being thrown into the fire, and that water is made solid by being exposed to cold, we infer with the utmost certainty that there are powers in fire and cold to produce these changes, and that without the exertion of such powers these changes would not be produced. We cannot indeed say of external powers, as we can of our own, in what substance they inhere. We know with the utmost certainty that the voluntary motions of our hands, &c. are produced by a power not inherent in the hands, but in the mind, for of the exertion of that power we are conscious; but we do not know whether the power which liquefies gold be inherent in that sensible object which we call fire, or in something else to which fire is only an instrument. We learn by observation, that the minute particles of fire or heat insinuate themselves between the particles of gold, and, if we may use the expression, tear them asunder; but whether they do this in consequence of a power inherent in themselves, or only as instruments impelled by another power, is a question which observation cannot enable us to answer.

Were we not conscious of the exertion of our own powers, it seems scarcely conceivable that we could ever have acquired any notion of power at all; for power is not an object of sense, nor, independent of its operations, is it indeed an object of consciousness. In external operations, all that we perceive is one thing, in which we suppose the power to reside, followed by another, which is either the change or that on which the change is produced; but the exertion of the power itself we do not perceive. Thus we perceive gold, after it has been some time in the fire, converted from a solid to a fluid body; but we perceive not by our senses either the power or the energy of the power which operates to this conversion. In the exercise of our own powers, the case is otherwise. When a man puts his hand to his head, and afterwards thrusts it into his bosom, he not only perceives by his senses the change of position, but he is also conscious of the energy or exertion by which the change was produced.

“Suppose,” says Mr Hume, “a person, though endowed with the strongest faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world, he would indeed immediately observe a continual succession of objects, and one event following another, but he would not be able to discover any thing farther. He would not at first by any reasoning be able to reach the idea of cause and effect, since the particular powers by which all natural operations are performed never appear to the senses. The impulse of one billiard ball is attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses. The .mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of objects; consequently there is not, in any single particular instance of cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary connection. From the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will result from it; but, were the power or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience, and might at first pronounce with certainty concerning it by the mere dint of thought and reasoning. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies in single instances of their operations; because no bodies ever discover any power which can be the original of this idea.”

There is a sense in which this reasoning is unquestionably just. A man who had never been conscious of exerting power in himself would certainly not acquire the notion of power from observing a continual succession of external objects. The impulse of one billiard ball being followed by the motion of another, would no more lead him to the notion of power in the former than the succession of night to day would lead him to the notion of a power in light to produce darkness. When Mr Hume says, “that, from the first appearance of an object, we can never conjecture what effect will result from it,” he uses language that is ambiguous, and utters an assertion which is either true or false according to the sense in which it is understood. If it be meant, that after having reflected upon the operations of our own minds, and learned by experience that motion is communicated by impulse from one ball of ivory to another, we could not conjecture whether a similar effect would be produced by the impulse of balls made of other hard bodies which we had never before seen, the assertion is manifestly false. A man who had but once seen motion communicated in this manner from one ivory ball to another, would certainly conjecture that it might be communicated from one wooden ball to another; and if he had observed it repeatedly communicated from one ball to another of different substances, he w0uld infer, with the utmost confidence, that it might be communicated from ball to ball, of whatever substance composed, provided that substance be hard, or of a similar texture with the balls to the impulse of which he had formerly paid attention. If by this ambiguous phrase the author only means, as is probably the case, that from the first appearance of an object to which we had never before observed any thing in any respect similar, we could not conjecture what effect would result from it; or if his meaning be, that a man suddenly brought into the world, who had never acquired such a notion of power as may be had from attention to the energies and operations of our own minds, would not, by observing an effect to result from one body, conjecture from the first appearance of another similar body what effect would result from it;—in either of these cases his assertion is certainly true, and tends to prove, that without the consciousness of the operations of our own minds, we could never acquire a notion of power from the changes perceived by our senses in external objects.

But Mr Hume, not contented with denying, which he might justly do, that we could ever have derived the idea of power merely from observing the continual succession of external objects, labours hard to prove that we have r.o notion of power at all, and that when we employ the word [7:14:634]power, we do nothing more than utter an insignificant sound. To pave the way for the arguments by which so extravagant a paradox is to be supported, he lays it down as a “proposition which will not admit of much dispute, that all our ideas arc nothing but copies of our impressions; or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to think of any thing that we have not antecedently felt either by our external or internal senses.” As this proposition, however,, will, it seems, admit of some dispute, he takes care, before applying it to the purpose of demolishing all power, to support it by two arguments. “First,” says he, “when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however compounded or sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Those who would assert that this position is not universally true nor without exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting it, by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source. Secondly, if it happen, from a defect of the organ, that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, we always find that he is as little susceptible of the correspondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of colours, a deaf man of sounds. And though there are few or no instances of a like deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt, or is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species, yet we find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and generosity.”

As these propositions are the engines by which all power is banished from the world, it may not be improper, before we proceed to inquire by what means they perform so arduous a task, to consider their own inherent strength; for if they be weak in themselves, their work, however dexterously they may be employed, can have no stability. We have already noticed the perverseness of this writer’s language, when it confounds sensations with impressions; but here it is still more perverse, for passions, sentiments, and even consciousness, are styled impressions. When sensations are confounded with impressions, the effect is only mistaken for the cause, it being universally known that sensations proceed from impressions made upon the organs of sense. When consciousness is confounded with an impression, one thing is mistaken for another, to which it is universally known to have neither resemblance nor relation. But, not to waste time upon these-fallacies, which, though dangerous if admitted, are yet too palpable to impose upon a reader capable of the slightest attention, let us examine the propositions themselves. The most important, and that for the sake of which alone the others are brought forward, is, “that it is impossible for us to think of any thing that we have not antecedently felt, either by our external or internal senses.” Did Mr Hume, then, never think of a mathematical point, or a mathematical line? Neither of these things is capable of being felt, either by making an impression upon the organs of sense or as an object of consciousness, and therefore it is impossible that he should ever have had ideas of them such as he doubtless had of sensible objects; yet in the most proper sense of the word think, he certainly thought of both points and lines; for he appears to have made considerable progress in the science of geometry, in which he could not have proceeded a single step without a perfect knowledge of these things, on which the whole science is built. It is not therefore true, that our thoughts or ideas, when analyzed, always resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment; for every mathematical figure of which we can think resolves itself into a point and motion; and a point having no parts and no magnitude, cannot possibly be the object of feeling to any of our senses.

If, therefore, ideas alone be the objects of thought, we have refuted Mr Hume’s position by the very method which he himself lays down; for we have produced an idea which is not derived either from a precedent feeling or a precedent sentiment. By sentiment, we suppose to be here meant that which by other philosophers is denominated consciousness; and of consciousness it is undeniable that nothing is the object but the actual energies of our own minds.

But ideas are not the only objects of thought. We have already given our reasons for restricting the word idea to that appearance which an object of sense, when reflected on, makes, either in the memory or imagination. Such was undoubtedly its original signification; and had it never been used to denote other and very different objects, much error and perplexity would have been avoided, which now disgrace the science of metaphysics. Things may themselves be the objects of thought; and when that is the case, to think of their ideas, were it possible to do so, would be worse than useless; for we may certainly know a man better by looking at himself than by looking at his picture. Of things which are themselves the objects of thought, we have either a direct or a relative knowledge. We know directly the actual operations of our own minds by the most complete of all evidence, that of consciousness; and we have a relative notion of mathematical points and lines, but neither of mental energies nor of these external things can we possibly have any idea.

It is well observed by Dr Reid, that our notions both of body and of mind are nothing more than relative. “What is body? It is, say philosophers, that which is extended, solid, and divisible. Says the querist, I do not ask what the properties of the body are, but what is the thing itself? let me first know directly what body is, and then consider its properties. To this demand I am afraid the querist will meet with no satisfactory answer; because our notion of body is not direct, but relative to its qualities. We know that it is something extended, solid, and divisible, and we know no more. Again, if it should be asked, what is mind? It is that which thinks. I ask not what it does, or what its properties arc, but what it is. To this I can find no answer; our notion of mind being not direct, but relative to its operations, as our notion of body is relative to its qualities.” {Essay on the Active Powers of Man.')

Our notion of a mathematical point is of the very same kind. What is a point? It is, says Euclid, that which has no parts and no magnitude. Replies the querist, I ask not either what it has or what it has not; let me first know what it is. To this second question, it might perhaps be answered, that a mathematical point is that which by motion generates a line. But, rejoins the querist, I am not inquiring what it generates; give me a direct idea of the point itself; or, if that cannot be done, as assuredly it cannot, tell me what its offspring a line is. A line, says Euclid, is length without breadth. I have no idea, replies the querist, of length without breadth. I never felt an impression from a sensible object which did not suggest length, breadth, and thickness, as inseparably united; and I can have no idea which is not the copy of a former impression. To assist the querist’s conception, it may be said that lines are the boundaries of a superficies, and that superficies are the boundaries of a solid body; and of a solid body every man has a clear and direct idea, in the most proper sense of the word. Here then arc several things, namely, points, lines, and superficies, of not one of which is it possible to form a direct notion; and yet we know them so thoroughly, from the relation which they bear to other subjects, that we can reason about them with a precision and certainty which the mathematical sciences alone admit of.

The great advantage of these sciences above the moral Mr Hume himself expressly admits; but he attributes it [7:14:635]to a wrong cause when he says it consists in this, that the “ideas of the former being sensible, are always clear and determinate;” for we see that the notion of a point or of a line is merely relative, and cannot possibly be the copy of a sensation, or, in his language, of a sensible impression. If, then, we have clear and determinate notions of points and lines, and may reason about them without ambiguity, as he acknowledges we may, what is there to hinder us from having an equally clear and determinate notion of power, or from reasoning about it with as little ambiguity?^[46. “There are some things of which we can have both a direct and relative conception. I can directly conceive ten thousand men, or ten thousand pounds, because both are objects of sense, and may be seen. But whether I see such an object, or directly conceive it, my notion of it is indistinct; it is only that of a great multitude of men, or of a great heap of money; and a small addition or diminution makes no perceptible change in the notion I form in this way. But I can form a relative notion of the same number of men or of pounds by .attending to the relations which this number has to other numbers greater or less. Then I perceive that the relative notion is distinct and scientific; for the addition of a single man, or a single pound, or even of a penny, is easily perceived. In like manner, I can form a direct notion of a polygon of a thousand equal sides and equal angles. This direct notion cannot be more distinct when conceived in the mind, than that which I get by sight when the object is before me; and I find it so indistinct that it has the same appearance to my eye, or to my direct conception, as a polygon of a thousand and one, or of nine hundred and ninety nine sides. But when I form a relative conception of it, by attending to the relation it bears to i polygons of a greater or less number of sides, my notion of it becomes distinct and scientific, and I can demonstrate the properties by which it is distinguished from all other polygons From these instances it appears, that our relative conceptions of things are not always less distinct, nor less fit materials for accurate reasoning, than those that are direct; and that the contrary may happen in a remarkable degree." (Reid’s Essays οη the Active Powers of Man.” ] Why, says he, we are not conscious of power. And to prove this position, which needs no proof, he makes many observations that, however just, might certainly have been spared. Of these, one is not a little curious. “ A man suddenly struck with a palsy in the leg or arm,” says he, “or who has now lost these members, frequently endeavours at first to move them, and employ them in their usual offices. Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently, neither in the one ease nor in the other are we ever conscious of any power.” This is true; we are never conscious of any power; but we are frequently conscious of actual energies; and the man who, after being suddenly struck with a palsy, endeavours in vain to move his leg or arm, is as conscious of energy as he who in health makes the same attempt with success. Nor let it be imagined that his consciousness deceives him; for, as Mr Hume justly observes, consciousness never deceives. He is certain of the energy, but finds by experience that the instrument of this energy has suddenly become disordered and unfit for its usual office. In this and this alone consists the difference between the paralytic and the man whose limbs are sound. The one may be as conscious of energy as the other, and his consciousness may be equally infallible. But what then is this energy? Mr Hume will not say that it is an idea, for it is not the copy of any antecedent impression; besides, he has somewhere allowed that ideas are never active. Is it then a substance? Impossible, for it is not permanent; and we believe no man will venture to affirm, or even to suppose, that the same substance can be repeatedly annihilated, and as often created. Is it, then, the occasional exertion of some substance? This must be the truth, for no other supposition remains to be made. If so, that substance must be possessed of power; for a capacity of exerting actual energy is all that is meant by the word power. “Wherever there is a capability of energy or exertion, there must be power; for though there can be no exertion without power, there may be power that is not ex-reted. Thus a man may have power to speak when he is silent; and he may have power to rise and walk when he sits still. But though it be one thing to speak and another to have the power of speaking, we always conceive of the power as something which has a certain relation to the effect; and of every power we form our notion by the effect which it is capable of producing. Nor is it only in speaking and moving his limbs that a man is conscious of energy. There is as much energy, though of a different kind, in thinking as in acting. Hence the powers of the human mind have been divided into active and speculative. By the former we move the body; and by the latter we see, hear, remember, distinguish, judge, reason, and perform upon our notions and ideas every other operation which is comprehended under the general word to think .”^[47. Reid’s Essays on the Active Powers of Man. ] i

Mr Locke^[48. Essay, book ii. chap. xxi. ] has introduced into his theory of power another distinction than that which we have here made between active and speculative powers. Observing by our senses, under which on this occasion memory is certainly included, various changes in objects, we collect, says he, a possibility in one object to be changed, and in another a possibility of making that change, and so come by that idea which we call power. Thus we say that fire has a power to melt gold, and that gold has a power to be melted. The first he calls active, the second passive power. But to say that the possibility of being changed is power, seems to be a very improper mode of speaking, and such as may lead to consequences which the excellent author certainly held in abhorrence. It tends to make unwary readers imagine that the passive subject is as necessary to the existence of power as the active being of which power is an attribute; but if the universe had a beginning, and if its Creator be immutable, two propositions which Mr Lockc firmly believed, there certainly was power when there was no change, nor any thing existing which was capable of change. He owns, indeed, that active power is more properly called power than the other; but we see no propriety at all in what he calls passive power. “It is,” in the language of Dr Reid, “a powerless power, and a contradiction in terms.”

But although Locke here us¢ss improper terms, he makes some other observations with which we have the honour fully to agree, and which lead to consequences the reverse of that impiety which seems to follow f rom the notion of passive power. He observes, that “we have from body no idea at all of thinking, nor 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 stroke of a billiard stick, it is not any action of the ball, but a 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 moving in body, whilst we observe it only to transfer, but not to produce, any motion. 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 of motion or thought.” He thinks [7:14:636]it evident, however, “that we find in ourselves a power to begin or forbear, continue or end, several actions of our minds and motions of our bodies, barely by a thought or preference of the mind ordering, or, as it were, commanding, the doing or not doing such or such a particular action. -This power which the mind has thus to order the consideration of any idea, or the forbearing to consider it, or to prefer the motion of any part of the body to its rest, and vice versa, i∏ any particular instance, is that which we call will. The actual exercise of that power, by directing any particular action, or its forbearance, is that which we call volition or willing.”

According to Mr Locke, therefore, the only clear notion or idea we have of power is taken from the power which we find in ourselves to give certain motions to our bodies, or certain directions to our thoughts; and this power in ourselves can be brought into, action only by willing or volition. This is exactly our doctrine, where we have endeavoured to prove, that without the consciousness of actual energy in ourselves, we never could have acquired any notion at all of power from observing the changes which take place amongst external objects. But if this be so; if the power, of which alone we know any thing, can be brought into action only by willing or volition; and if will necessarily implies some degree of understanding, as in us it certainly does; it comes to be a question of the first importance, whether any being which possesses not will and understanding can be possessed of real power, or be the efficient cause of any action. This question we feel ourselves compelled to answer in the negative. If we had not will, and that degree of understanding which will necessarily implies, it is evident that we could exert no power, and consequently could have none; for power that cannot be exerted is no power. It follows also, that the power, of which alone we can have any distinct notion, can be only in beings who have understanding and will. Power to produce any effect, implies power not to produce it; and we can conceive no way in which power may be determined to one of these rather than the other in a being who has not will. We grow from infancy to manhood; we digest our food, our blood circulates, our heart and arteries beat; we are sometimes sick and sometimes in health; all these things must be effected by the power of some agent, but they are not done by our power. And if it be asked how we know this, the obvious answer is, because they are not subject to our will. This is the infallible criterion by which we distinguish what is our doing from what is not, what is in our power from what is not. Human power can be exerted only by will; and we are unable to conceive any active power to be exerted without will. If, therefore, any man affirms that a being may be the efficient cause of an action which that being can neither conceive nor will, he speaks a language which we do not understand. If he has any meaning, he must take the words power and efficiency in a sense very different from ours; for the only distinct notion, indeed the only notion, which we can form, of real efficiency, is a relation between the cause and effect similar to that between us and our voluntary actions. It seems, therefore, most probable that such beings only as have some degree of understanding and will can possess active power, and that inanimate beings must be merely passive. Nothing which we perceive without us affords any good ground for ascribing active power to any inanimate being; and we can as little conceive such a being possessed of power, as we can conceive it capable of feeling pain. On the other hand, every thing which we discover in our own constitution leads us to think that active power cannot be exerted without will and intelligence; and to affirm that it can, is to affirm what, to us at least, is a contradiction in terms.

To this reasoning, which is Dr Reid’s, and which to us appears to be unanswerable, we have heard it objected, that a man born blind has the same evidence for the non-existence of colour that is here urged for the impossibility of power being exerted without will and understanding. If the objection had not been made by a very acute man, we should have deemed it altogether unworthy of notice; for between the two cases supposed to be similar there is hardly any analogy. A man born blind has no notion whatever of colour. If you describe it to him in the best manner you can, and refer it to any of the senses which he possesses; if you say that it is the object of feeling, and that by feeling it one may perceive things at the distance of many miles; the blind man has reason to say that you are uttering a proposition which he knows with the utmost certainty cannot possibly be true. But if you tell him that colour is the object of the sense of sight, a sense which he possesses not; that it has not the least resemblance to the objects of the other senses; and that persons endowed with the sense of sight perceive coloured objects at the distance of many miles; the blind man cannot know whether what you say be true or false, because he has no idea or conception of the things of which you speak. This is not the case with respect to power; for every man who has reflected on the operations of his own mind has a very distinct notion of power, and knows perfectly, that to the actual exertion of the only power which he can conceive, will and understanding are necessary. Should it be said that there may be power altogether different from that of which we have a distinct conception, we think it sufficient to reply, that of a thing which cannot be conceived, nothing can be either affirmed or denied; that activity exerted without will and understanding ought not to be called an exertion of power, because power is the name already appropriated to the attribute of a being, by which he can do certain things if he wills; that as we cannot form any notion of a real efficient cause which has not will and understanding, so we have no reason to believe that such a cause anywhere exists; and to say that power, such as we can conceive, may be exerted without will and understanding, is as great an absurdity as to say that there may be velocity without space.

But if active power, in its proper meaning, requires a subject endowed with will and intelligence, what shall we say of those active powers which philosophers teach us to ascribe to matter, the powers of corpuscular attraction, magnetism, electricity, gravitation, and others? These powers, as they are called, shall be considered when we come to treat of the nature and source of corporeal motion. In the mean time, it is sufficient to observe, that whatever may be the agents in the operations of nature, whatever the manner of their agency or the extent of their power, they depend upon the First Cause, and are all under his supreme control.

chap. vir.— of truth and the different sources of evidence. Sect. I.— Of Truth.

By pursuing these inquiries in the order which to us appears most natural, we are now led to the contemplation of those faculties of the human mind of which truth is properly the object. But what is truth? This was a famous question amongst the Greek sophists, which had been so often agitated, and to which so many absurd answers had been given, that it came at last to be doubted by men of the world whether a satisfactory answer could be given to it, or indeed whether the matter was worthy of investigation. It is well known, that amongst the ancient philosophers there was a sect called from their principles Sceptics, and [7:14:637] from their founder Pyrrhonists, who openly avowed their opinion that truth, like virtue, is nothing but a name;— that all things are equally true, or rather equally doubtful ;—and that it is in vain for man to hope for certainty in any inquiry in which he can be engaged. Such scepticism as this no modern philosopher has professed; but many have had enough of it to make sober men hesitate about defining truth, and even insinuate that of truth no definition can be given. This, however, is surely a mistake. If truth cannot be defined, it still wanders at large and in disguise, and vain must be the pursuit of everyman who endeavours to obtain it, for he is pursuing he knows not what.

So obvious and so solid is this reflection, that almost every philosopher of merit who has latterly written on the nature of evidence, has begun his work, if not with a formal definition, with something at least equivalent to a definition, of the object of his pursuit. To repeat all these definitions could serve no other purpose than to swell this article to a disproportioned bulk, and to perplex perhaps the mind of the reader. We shall therefore content ourselves with that which is given by Mr Wollaston. “Those propositions,” says he, “are true which represent things as they are, or truth is the conformity of those words or signs by which things are expressed to the things themselves.” Notwithstanding the objections of Dr Tatham, the acute author of the Chart and Scale of Truth, this is the best definition of truth which we have yet met with in any language. It is concise and perspicuous. It comprehends all kinds of truth, as well that which is merely mental, the subject of silent contemplation, as that which is communicated either by written language or by the living voice; and it makes truth itself immutable, as depending, not upon the arbitrary constitution of this or that individual, or even of the whole human race,^[49. Dr Beattie, in his Essay, has given a definition of truth very different from this, though it is possible that his meaning may be the same with Mr Wollaston’s. “I account that to be truth,” says he, “which the constitution of our nature determines us to believe, and that to be falsehood which the constitution of our nature determines us to disbelieve.” But if truth be really immutable, as he teaches or wishes to teach, it must depend upon the nature of things, and not upon the instinctive impulse of any particular constitution. It is always difficult, often impossible, to distinguish between the constitution of our nature as it came from the hand of God, and the same constitution as it is moulded by arbitrary and capricious associations of our own. A sincere member of the church of Home certainly believes the doctrine of transubstantiation. How he may do so we have already shown. Were all mankind sincere members of that church, it would be said and thought, “that the constitution of human nature determines men to believe transubstantiation a doctrine which, though it is rejected by millions, Père Buffier has laboured hard to reconcile with common sense. Yet it is certain that the same body cannot be in different places at the same time; and that therefore transubstantiation must be false, although believed by all mankind. Our believing any thing does not make it true, nor our disbelieving any thing make it false. W e must, indeed, act according to our belief; but in every instance truth and falsehood would have been what they are although we had never existed. ] but upon the nature of things as established by the Almighty Creator of all.

According to this definition, every proposition which can be expressed or apprehended is necessarily either true or false, whether its truth or falsehood be perceived or not, either by him who hears or by him who utters it. All propositions are either affirmative or negative; but before any thing can with certainty be affirmed or denied of another, we must know those things as they are in themselves, as well as the established use of the signs by which they are expressed. He who affirms or denies without this knowledge, speaks at random, and has no distinct meaning.

Every faculty which we possess is in some way or other an instrument of knowledge; for we know by our senses, by our memory, and by our intellect. Every one of our faculties, therefore, is concerned in the acquisition of truth, and furnishes the mind with the materials of propositions. These propositions are indeed of various kinds; but they are all certainly true or certainly false, though the certainty of the truth or falsehood of every one it is not always in our power to perceive.

When a man affirms that red is a quality inherent in a soldier’s coat, he utters a proposition which every one of the vulgar firmly believes to be true, but which every philosopher knows to be false. This diversity of belief, however, does not affect the truth of the proposition itself. All mankind know that it is either true or false, independently of them or their perceptions; and it is easy, by a few optical experiments, and by an explanation of terms, to convince them all, that what they have agreed to call red is no quality inherent in external objects, but only a sensation caused by the impulse of certain rays of light reflected from certain objects to the eye of the percipient. The contrariety, therefore, in this case of vulgar to philosophical belief, does not result from any ambiguity in the nature of truth itself, but from the different means of perception which the clown and the philosopher possess.

Again, were a man looking at a red and a green object, to affirm that they are both of the same colour, he would affirm what in one sense may be true, what in another is undoubtedly false, and what in a third may be either true or false. If it be his meaning that the two objects give to him the same sensation, he may know with the utmost certainty that what he says is true; if he mean that they affect all mankind precisely as they affect him, he utters what all mankind with the most absolute certainty know to be false; if he mean that the texture of the two bodies (that particular disposition of parts on their surfaces which makes them reflect certain rays of light and absorb others) is exactly similar, so that the one must reflect the very same kind of rays with the other, he utthrs what all mankind must believe to be false, although still it is possible that what he affirms may be true. This diversity of belief affects not the truth itself. The two objects are what they are, by whomsoever perceived, or whether perceived or not. The rays of light reflected by each are what they are, whether they fall upon this, upon that, or upon any other eye; and the sensation communicated to this singular man is certainly what he is conscious it is, as those of the rest of mankind are with equal certainty what they are conscious of. This being the case, it is obvious and undeniable, that the organs of sight in this individual of the human race are somehow differently formed from those of other men; and the only question which can occasion a doubt in the mind of the sceptic is, whether his or their eyes be so formed as to represent things falsely; for that by the one or the other things are falsely represented, is as evident as that two contradictory propositions cannot both be true. Now, although for any thing we know it is certainly possible, as to us it appears not to imply any contradiction, that the eyes of but one man are formed in a manner suitable to their objects, whilst the eyes of all other men are formed to deceive them; yet the contrary is so highly probable, that no man really doubts of it, any more than he doubts whether three and two be equal to five.

This last proposition is indeed said to express a truth absolutely certain, whilst the former expresses a truth which is called morally certain; not that there is any difference or degrees of certainty in the nature of truths themselves; the only difference consists in our power of [7:14:638]perceiving them. That three and two are equal to five is said to be an absolute truth, because we perceive the whole of it as it is in itself, and are convinced that every intelligence, from the highest to the lowest, who understands the terms in which it is expressed, perceives it as we do; whereas of moral or of physical truths, as they are called, we only perceive a part, and may therefore mistake for want of evidence. Thus, in the case of the two objects exhibiting the same colour to one man, whilst they exhibit different colours to all other men, could we see into the objects themselves, and comprehend them immediately with our intellect as we comprehend our own ideas, it might, and no doubt would, appear as palpable a contradiction to say that the particular disposition of the parts on the surfaces, which reflect the rays of light, are the same in both, as it is now to affirm that three and two are not equal to five. Between truth and falsehood there is no medium. All truths are in themselves equally certain; and to the Supreme Being, who knows the nature of every thing more fully and intimately than we know our own ideas, they must all appear equally certain; but yet we may without absurdity speak of probable truth as well as of certain truth, provided always that we make the difference to result, not from the nature of things, but from the power of our understanding, which comprehends the one kind of truth wholly and the other only partially.

There is another division made of truth into that which is eternal and necessary, and that which is temporary and contingent. Though we do not approve of applying the epithets temporary and eternal to any thing but real existences, yet as this manner of speaking has been used by all philosophers, we shall give instances of each kind of truth, and endeavour to ascertain in what the distinction consists. “The three angles of a plain triangle are equal to two right angles,” is a proposition expressive of a necessary and eternal truth. “The world exists,” is a contingent and temporary truth. Here it is very obvious, that if both these propositions be true, there is no distinction between them, so far as mere truth is concerned; for truth admits not of degrees of comparison. It is however said, that the first proposition depends not upon time, nor will, nor any thing else, and that the Supreme Being himself could not make it false: whereas it is certainly possible, that he who created the world could annihilate it, and thus reduce what is now a truth to an absolute falsehood. This difference between the two propositions is thought a sufficient ground for calling the former a necessary and eternal truth, and the latter a temporary and contingent truth. But is the difference itself real? In the present instance we cannot think that it is; for if the right angles and triangles, which constitute the materials of the former proposition, be real corporeal things, they may be annihilated as well as the rest of the world; and then the truth of the proposition will cease, for there can be neither equality nor inequality between nonentities. If the angles and triangles be merely ideas in the mind of a rational being, it is not to be denied that the proposition must be true, independently of all will, whenever those ideas exist, or whenever right angles and triangles arc thought upon; but if all reasonable creatures were to be annihilated, and the Supreme Being never to think of triangles, the proposition would unquestionably cease to be either true or false. The world may indeed be annihilated; but it certainly is not annihilated whilst any one creature exists to contemplate even that which is called necessary and eternal truth; and therefore, whilst any truth exists in a mind not divine, it must be necessarily true that the world exists; for the individual being by which truth is perceived would then constitute the whole world.

But if in a somewhat different manner we compare the former of these propositions with this, “The solar system consists of the sun and at least seven primary planets,” we shall at once perceive the difference between necessary and contingent truths. Both propositions we know to be true at this moment; but there is this difference between them, that a plain triangle can neither actually exist ι at any period of duration, nor be conceived by any one mind, divine nor human, of which the three internal angles are not precisely equal to two right angles; whereas the solar system may easily be conceived, and might certainly have been formed, with a smaller number of primary planets rolling round the central orb. This needs no proof, as it is well known that till very lately we conceived the system to consist of the sun and only six primary planets; and it has been already shown, that whatever we can positively conceive may possibly exist. Thus, then, every proposition, of which the contrary is clearly and distinctly perceived to be impossible, is a necessary truth; and it may likewise be said to be eternal, because at every period of duration it must of necessity when thought upon be perceived to be true. On the other hand, every proposition of which the contrary may be clearly and distinctly conceived, is, if true, only a contingent truth, because its contrary might have existed; and it may likewise be called temporary, because what might have been false in time past may yet be false in time to come.

Though all ouι∙ faculties, our senses, our memory, and our intellect, furnish materials for propositions, and are therefore all subservient to the investigation of truth, yet the perception of truth, as it is in itself, is commonly ascribed to our rational faculties; and these have by Locke and others been reduced to two, namely, reason and judgment. The former is said to be conversant about certain truths, the latter chiefly about probabilities.

Some modern philosophers of great merit, dissatisfied with this analysis of the intellect, have added to reason and judgment a third faculty, to which they have given the name of common sense, and of which the proper object is such truths as neither admit nor stand in need of evidence. By common sense they mean “that degree of judgment which is common to men with whom we can converse and transact business.” Whether the introduction of such a term into metaphysics was proper or improper, we do not think it of importance to inquire. According to this definition of it, which is Dr Reid’s, it differs not from the reason and judgment of Locke;^[50. This is expressly acknowledged by Dr Reid. “It is absurd,” says he, “to conceive that there can be any opposition between reason and common sense. It is indeed the first-born of reason; and as they are commonly joined together in speech and in writing, they are inseparable in their nature. We ascribe to reason two offices or two degrees: the first is to judge of things self-evident; the second to draw conclusions that are not self-evident from those that are. The first of these is the province, and the sole province, of common sense; and therefore it coincides with reason in its whole extent, and is only another name for one branch or one degree of reason.” Père Buffier talks nearly the same language; but Dr Beattie expresses himself very differently. “That there is a real and essential difference between these two faculties; that common sense cannot be accounted for by being called the perfection of reason, nor reason by being resolved into common sense; will appear,” he thinks, “from the following remarks: 1. We are conscious, from internal feeling, that the energy of understanding which perceives intuitive truth, is different from that other energy which unites a conclusion with a first principle by a gradual chain of intermediate relations. 2. We cannot discern any necessary connection between reason and common sense.” Nay, he says that “we often find men endued with the one who are destitute of the other and he instances dreams and certain kinds of madness where this is the case; adding, “that a man who believes himself made of glass, shall yet reason very justly concerning the means of preserving his supposed brittleness from flaws and fractures.” ] ' agreeing with the former [7:14:639]when its object is certain truth, and with the latter when it is conversant about probabilities. Nothing indeed is more evident, than that, in the assent of the mind to every proposition, some energy of the judgment is exerted; and upon every proposition not self-evident, reasoning of some kind or other must be employed to procure that assent. Instead therefore of perplexing ourselves and our readers with various analyses of the human understanding, or rather with various names to what after all is perhaps but one individual power, it will surely be of more importance to the cause of truth to examine the different sources of evidence by which the assent of the reason, or judgment, or common sense, is determined.

Sect. II.— Of Intuitive Evidence and Demonstration.

Intuitive evidence is that which arises from the comparison of two or more ideas or notions when their agreement or disagreement is perceived immediately, without the intervention of any third idea or notion. Of this kind is the evidence of these propositions: One and four make five ∙,^[51. Campbell’s ^Philosophy of Rhetoric. ] things equal to the same thing are equal to one another; the whole is greater than any of its parts; and, in a word, all the axioms in arithmetic and geometry. All these are in reality propositions in which the subject and predicate appear upon comparison to be nothing more than the same thing taken in different views, or expressed by different terms. In fact, they are all in some respect reducible to this axiom: “Whatever is, is.” We do not say that they are deduced from it; for they have in themselves that original and intrinsic evidence which makes them, as soon as the terms are understood, to be perceived intuitively. And if they be not thus perceived, no deduction of reason will ever confer on them any additional evidence. But although not deduced from the general axiom, they may be considered as particular exemplifications of it; inasmuch as they are all implied in this, that the properties and relations of our clear and adequate ideas can be no other than what the mind clearly perceives them to be.

It may perhaps be thought that if axioms were propositions perfectly identical, it would be impossible by their means to advance a single step beyond the simple ideas first perceived by the mind. And it would indeed be true, that if the predicate of the proposition were nothing but a repetition of the subject under the same aspect, and in the same or synonymous terms, no conceivable advantage could be made of it for the furtherance of knowledge. Of such propositions as these, for instance, “Seven are seven, eight are eight, the three angles of a triangle are the three angles of a triangle, two right angles are two right angles,” it is manifest that we could never avail ourselves for the improvement of science. But when the thing, although in effect coinciding, is considered under a different aspect; when that which is single in the subject is divided in the predicate, and conversely; or when what is a whole in the one is regarded as a part of something else in the other; such propositions lead to the discovery of innumerable and apparently remote relations. It is by the aid of such simple and elementary principles that the arithmetician and the algebraist proceed to the most astonishing discoveries. Nor are the operations of the geometrician essentially different; for to this class belong all propositions relating to number and quantity; that is, all which admit of mathematical demonstration. If the truth of a mathematical proposition be not self-evident; in other words, if the subject and predicate do not appear at first sight to be different names for the same thing; another term must be found which shall be synonymous to them both. Thus, to prove that the three internal angles of a right-lined triangle are equal to two right angles, I produce the base of the triangle; and by a very short process I discover that the exterior angle, so formed, is equal to the two interior and opposite angles. By a process equally plain and short, I perceive that the exterior angle and the interior adjacent angle are equal to two right angles. But I have already seen, that the exterior angle is neither more nor less than the two interior and opposite angles under a different aspect; whence it appears that the three internal angles of the triangle are nothing else than two right angles under a different aspect. In a word, all demonstration is founded on first principles or primary truths, which neither admit nor stand in need of proof, and to which the mind is compelled to give its assent by a bare intuition of the ideas or terms of which these primary truths are composed. Nothing is susceptible of demonstration, in the rigid sense of the word, but general, necessary, and eternal truths; and every demonstration is built upon intuition, and consists in a series of axioms or propositions of the very same kind with the first principle or truth from which the reasoning proceeds. That propositions formerly demonstrated are taken into the series, does not in the least invalidate this account; inasmuch as these propositions are all resolvable into axioms, and are admitted as links in the chain; not because they are necessary, but merely to avoid the useless prolixity which frequent and tedious repetitions of proofs formerly given would occasion. But it is obvious that such truths only as result from the comparison of ideas and notions are necessary, and of course that such truths only are capable of strict demonstration. The truths which relate to real existences are all contingent, except that which affirms the existence of the Supreme Being, the parent of all truth.

The mathematical sciences, categorical logic, and that part of metaphysics which demonstrates the being of God, are therefore the only branches of human knowledge which admit of strict demonstration. The longest demonstration in the mathematical sciences may be traced to this general and necessary truth, “Whatever is, is,” or to some particular exemplification of it: the longest train of categorical syllogisms terminates in this general principle, “What is affirmed or denied of a whole genus, may be affirmed or denied of all the species, and all the individuals belonging to that genus and the metaphysical demonstration of the being of God rests upon this foundation, “Whatever had a beginning must have had a cause.” That these are truths absolutely certain, which can neither be proved nor called in question, every man may be satisfied, merely by attending to the ideas or notions which the terms of each proposition express. The two first are merely identical propositions, of the truth of which no man has ever pretended to doubt; and though the last is not identical, it is a necessary and self-evident truth, as its contrary implies, that in the same thing there is power and no power, change and no change, action and inaction, at the same instant of time.

Before we dismiss the subject of intuition, it may not be improper to observe, that it is by this faculty or power of the mind contemplating its ideas and comparing one idea with another, that we acquire all our notions of relation; such as identity and diversity, resemblance, co-existence, relations of space and time, relations of quantity and number, of a cause to its effect, and many more which it would be useless as well as tedious to enumerate.

Sect. III.— Of Experience and Analogy.

It has been just observed, that intuition and demonstration are applicable only to general and necessary propositions, [7:14:640]of which the contrary are not only false, but absurd and impossible. The great business of life, however, is with facts and contingent truths, which admit not of demonstration, but rest upon other evidence. The senses, external and internal, are the inlets to all our knowledge of facts; and the memory is the storehouse where that knowledge is proserved.. Of what a man sees or feels, he can at the instant of seeing or of feeling entertain no doubt; and whilst the ideas of what he has seen or felt, with all their associated circumstances, remain vivid and distinct in his memory, he is conscious that he possesses so much real knowledge. But all our knowledge, as it is derived from the senses, is of particular facts or particular truths; and the man who has in certain circumstances observed one particular phenomenon, for the existence of which he perceives no necessity, has not sufficient ground to conclude, that in similar circumstances similar phenomena will always occur. Milton, who surpassed the greater part of his contemporaries in philosophical science almost as far as he has surpassed all succeeding poets in the sublimity of his genius, represents Adam, when first falling asleep, as under apprehensions that he was about to sink into his original state of insensibility.

Gentle sleep

First found me, and with soft oppression seiz’d My droused sense, untroubled; 1 hough I thought I then was passing to my former state Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve.

Apprehensions similar to these would take place in his mind when he first perceived that darkness had overspread the earth. In his circumstances, he could have no ground to expect that the sun when once set would rise again to re∙ illumine the world, as he had not then experienced the alternate succession of light and darkness, and probably knew not whence light proceeded. After some time, however, having observed day and night regularly to succeed each other, these two appearances, or the ideas of them, would be so associated in his mind, that each setting sun would suggest the idea of next sunrising, and lead him to expect that glorious event with the utmost confidence. He would then consider the alternate succession of day and night as a law of nature, which might be affirmed in a proposition expressive of a certain truth.

This continued observation of the same event happening in the same or similar circumstances is what we call experience; and it is the only evidence which we have for all the general truths in physics, even for those which we are apt to think intuitively certain.^[52. Campbell’s Philosophy of Rhetoric, and Priestley’s Remarks on the Drs Reid, &c. ] Thus, that milk is white, and that gold is yellow, arc supposed to be universal and necessary truths; but, for any thing that we know, they may be particular truths; and they are certainly contingent, as the contrary to either of them may be supposed without absurdity. We have indeed always observed that the milk of animals of every species is white; and therefore the idea of whiteness becomes a necessary part of our idea of the substance milk, of which we call whiteness an essential property. This, however, respects only the milk of those animals with which we are acquainted. But since the milk of all the animals with which we are acquainted, or of which we have heard, is white, we can have no reason to suspect that the milk of any new and strange animal is of any other colour. Also, since, wherever there has been the specific gravity, ductility, and other properties of gold, the colour has always been yellow, we conclude that these circum-. stances are necessarily united, although by some unknown bond of union, and that they will always go together.

The proper proof, therefore, of such universal propositions as that “milk is white,” that “gold is yellow,” or that “a certain degree of cold will freeze water,” consists in what is called an induction of particular facts of precisely the same nature. Having found, by much and various experience, that the same events never fail to take place in the same circumstances, the expectation of the same consequences from the same previous circumstances is necessarily generated in our minds; and we can have no more suspicion of a different event than we can separate the idea of whiteness from that of the other properties of milk. When the previous circumstances arc precisely the same, we call the process of proof by the name of induction, and expect the event from experience; but if they be not precisely the same, but only bear a considerable resemblance to the circumstances from which any particular appearance has been found to result, we call the argument analogy; and it is stronger in proportion to the degree of resemblance in the previous circumstances. Thus the milk of all the cows that we have seen, or upon which we have made the experiment, having been found nutritious, we confidently expect that the milk of all other cows will prove nourishing likewise; and this confidence of expectation is the result of uniform experience. But if, from having found the milk of all the animals with which we are acquainted to be nourishing, however different the nature of these animals, we infer that the milk of any strange animal will likewise be nourishing, the inference is drawn by analogy, and by no means carries with it the conviction of experience. A proof from real experience can leave no doubt in the mind; an argument from analogy always must. In the one case, we only infer that two events of precisely the same nature, and in precisely the same circumstances, have been produced by the same kind of cause; in the other, we infer that two events similar in most respects, although, for any thing that we know, dissimilar in others, have been produced by the same kind of cause; and it is obvious that between these cases the difference is great.

Thus, after having observed that all the projectiles tø which we have paid any attention, a stone thrown from the hand, a ball from a gun, and an arrow from a bow, describe a certain curve, and are impelled in that curve by two powers acting in different lines of direction, which form with each other a certain angle, we infer that all projectiles which on the surface of the earth describe the same curve, are impelled by the same or by similar powers acting in the same or similar lines of direction. This inference is the result of experience, and carries with it the fullest conviction to the mind. But when, from having observed that the curves described by the planets arc of the same kind with those described by projectiles on the earth, Sir Isaac Newton inferred that these vast bodies are impelled in their orbits by forces of the very same kind, and acting in the same manner, with the forces which impel a ball from a cannon or an arrow from a bow, his argument was founded only on analogy, and even that analogy was very remote. We know by experience that all projectiles which fall under our immediate cognizance are of the very same kind and in the very same circumstances; that every one of them has a tendency, from whatever cause, to the centre of the earth, and is preserved from falling by the force of projection. We know likewise that they are all moved through the medium of the atmosphere, which at the surface of the earth is considerably dense, and that a dense medium must occasion much resistance. But we do not know that the planets have a tendency to the centre of the sun, that they arc preserved from falling into that luminary by a projectile force, or whether they move through a medium or in [7:14:641]vacuo ; so that we are not certain that the motion of the planets is perfectly similar to that of terrestrial projectiles in any other circumstance than the form of the curve which they all describe; and from this single case of coincidence no inference can be drawn which carries to the mind absolute conviction.

When a man reasons from experience, he infers, that what has uniformly happened hitherto, will happen always in the very same circumstances; or that what is known to be the cause of various phenomena of the same kind is the cause of every other phenomenon in all respects similar to these. Such an inference is foundedon thcunited and complete evidence of sense, memory, and reason. When a man reasons from analogy, he infers, that what has generally happened hitherto, will happen again in circumstances nearly similar; or that what is known to be the cause of various phenomena of the same kind, is the cause of other phenomena in some respects similar to these. This inference is likewise founded on the united evidence of sense, memory, and reason; but here the evidence of sense is not complete, and it can be strengthened only by finding more facts of the same or of a similar nature.

Sect. IV.— Of Testimony.

The last source of evidence which we proposed to consider is testimony, or the report of men concerning events which have fallen under the observation of their senses. That we are all ready to believe the information which we receive from the testimony of our fellow-creatures, is undeniable; and indeed, without such belief, every man’s knowledge of facts and events would be confined to those only of which he himself had been a personal witness. In that case, no man who had not travelled would believe that there are such cities as Rome and Constantinople; and no man whatever could now believe that such heroes as Hannibal and Caesar had ever existed.

Between words and things there is no natural connection; and although we are all accustomed to give to things the names by which they are known in the language that we speak, and to express their mutual relations by the words appropriated for that purpose, yet it is obviously impossible to denote one thing by the name of another, and to express by words relations which have no existence. This being the case, it may be asked, upon what principle do we give credit to human testimony? To this question various answers have been given, which have produced much controversy on one of the most important subjects which can employ the mind of man.

“We may observe,” says Mr Hume,^[53. Essay on Miracles. ] “that there is no species of reasoning more common, more useful, and even necessary to human life, than that which is derived from the testimony of men and the reports of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning perhaps one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be sufficient to observe, that our assurance in any argument of this kind is derived from no other principle than our observation of the veracity of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim that no objects have any discoverable connection together, and that all the inferences which we can draw from one to another are founded merely on our experience of their constant and regular conjunction, it is evident that we ought not to make an exception to this maxim in favour of human testimony, whose connection with any event seems in itself as little necessary as any other. Were not the memory tenacious to a certain de gree; had not men commonly an inclination to truth, and a principle of probity; were they not sensible to shame when detected in falsehood; were not these, I say, discovered by experience to be qualities inherent in human nature, we should never repose the least confidence in human testimony. And as the evidence derived from witnesses and human testimony is founded on past experience, so it varies with that experience, and is regarded either as a proof or probability, according as the conjunction between any particular kind of report and any kind of object has been found to be constant or variable. There are a number of circumstances to be taken into consideration in all judgments of this kind; and the ultimate standard by which we determine all disputes that may arise concerning them, is always derived from experience and observation. The reason why we place any credit in witnesses and historians, is not derived from any connection which we perceive a priori between testimony and reality, but because we are accustomed to find a conformity between them. But when the fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under our observation, here is a contest of two opposite experiences, of which the one destroys the other as far as it goes, and the superior can only operate on the mind by the force which remains. The very same principle of experience which gives us a certain degree of assurance in the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another degree of assurance against the fact which they endeavour to establish; from which contradiction there necessarily arises a counterpoise, and mutual destruction of belief and authority.”

This account of the origin of our faith in testimony has been controverted with much success by the Doctors Campbell and Reid. “That the evidence of testimony is derived solely from experience,” says the former of these writers,^[54. Dissertation on Miracles, and The Philosophy of Rhetoric. ] “is at least not so incontestable a truth as Mr Hume supposes it; that, on the contrary, testimony hath a natural and original influence on belief antecedent to experience, will, I imagine, easily be conceived. For this purpose, let it be remarked, that the earliest assent which is given to testimony by children, and which is previous to all experience, is, in fact, the most unlimited; that by a gradual experience of mankind, it is gradually contracted, and reduced to narrower bounds. To say, therefore, that our diffidence in testimony is the result of experience, is more philosophical, because more consonant to truth, than to say that our faith in testimony has this foundation. Accordingly, youth, which is unexperienced, is credulous; age, on the contrary, is distrustful. Exactly the reverse would be the case were this author’s doctrine just.” This is a complete confutation of the reasoning of Mr Hume; but in order to prevent all cavilling, it is to be wished that the very acute author had explained more fully what he means by saying that testimony has a natural and original influence on belief; for these words may be taken in different senses, in one of which what he affirms is true, and in another it is false.

Dr Campbell’s omission is amply supplied by Dr Reid, who gives the following account of testimony, and of the credit which it obtains. “The wise and beneficent Author of nature, who intended that we should be social creatures, and that we should receive the greatest and most important part of our knowledge by the information of others, hath, for these purposes, implanted in our nature two principles that tally with each other. The first of these principles is a propensity to speak truth, and to use the signs of language so as to convey our real sentiments. This principle has a powerful operation even in the greatest liars; for where they lie once, they speak truth a hundred [7:14:642]times. Truth is always uppermost, and is the natural issue of the mind. It requires no art or training, no inducement or temptation, but only that we yield to a natural impulse. Lying, on the contrary, is doing violence to our nature, and is never practised, even by the worst men, without some temptation. Speaking truth is like using our natural food, which we would do from appetite, although it answered no end; but lying is like taking physic, which is nauseous to the taste, and which no man takes but for some end which he cannot otherwise attain. When we are influenced by any motive, we must be conscious of that influence, and capable of perceiving it upon reflection. Now, when I reflect upon my actions most attentively, I am not conscious that in speaking truth I am influenced on ordinary occasions by any motive moral or political. I find that truth is always at the door of my lips, and goes forth spontaneously, if not held back. It requires neither good nor bad intention to bring it forth, but only that I be artless and undesigning. There may indeed be temptations to falsehood, which would be too strong for the natural principle of veracity, unaided by principles of honour or virtue; but where there is no such temptation, we speak truth by instinct. By this instinct, a real connection is formed between our words and our thoughts; and thereby the former become fit to be signs of the latter, which they could not otherwise be.” (Inquiry into the Human Mind.')

Such is the account which Dr Reid gives of the truth of human testimony; and he adds, that there is anotherori-ginal principle implanted in us by the Supreme Being, to tally with it, viz. a disposition to confide in the veracity of others, and to believe what they tell us. “This,” he says, “is the counterpart to the former; and as that may be called the principle of veracity, we shall, for the want of a more proper name, call this the principle of credulity. It is unlimited in children until they meet with instances of deceit and falsehood; and retains a very considerable degree of strength through life.”

It is ever with extreme reluctance that we controvert the opinions of this able writer; and that reluctance cannot be lessened in the present instance, when we are conscious that great part of what he says is unanswerable. That truth is always at the door of the lips; that it requires no effort to bring it forth; that in ordinary cases men speak truth uninfluenced by any motive moral or political; that the greatest liars speak truth a hundred times where they lie once; and that lying is never practised by the worst men without some temptation; are positions which daily experience renders it impossible to question. But, notwithstanding this, we do not think that truth is spoken by an instinctive principle; because it is inconceivable that instinct should teach the use of arbitrary and artificial signs, such as the words of every language undoubtedly are; or that between such signs and ideas any instinctive connection should ever be formed, “Truth,” as we have defined it, “is the conformity of those words or signs by which things are expressed, to the things themselves ;” and things themselves are what they are, independently of us, our instincts, and perceptions. When we have precise and adequate ideas of objects, and when those ideas are related to one another as the objects themselves are related, we are in possession of mental truth; and in this case there is a real and natural connection between the signs and the things signified. For we cannot frame original and simple ideas which have no archetype in nature; nor can one object, distinctively perceived, generate in our minds the ideas that are generated by other objects. Here external things are the objects, and ideas are the signs, which, when they are in conformity to the things signified by them, constitute truth.

But, in human testimony, the ideas in the mind of the speaker are the things signified, and the^words of language are signs by which they are expressed; and when these things and signs are in conformity to each other, the words uttered express so much truth. Now, though in this case there is no natural connection between the sign and the thing signified, yet it is obvious, that without a violent effort of the speaker to the contrary, they must always be in conformity with each other; because in every language there are words appropriated for the purpose of denoting every idea and relation which can be expressed; and in the mind of every man these ideas, relations, and words, have been constantly associated, from the time that he learned to speak. So intimate is this association, and so impossible to be broken, that whoever will pay sufficient attention to the operations of his own mind, will find that he thinks as well as speaks in some language; and that in cogitation he sup. poses and runs over, silently and habitually, those sounds which in speaking he actually utters. If this be so, it is impossible that a man without some effort should ever speak any thing but truth: for the ideas of what he has seen or heard, &c. are not of his manufacture; they are generated by external objects, and, till they be effaced from the memory, they must always, by the law of association, make their appearance there, with all their mutual relations, and in their proper dress. In the very act of learning to speak, we necessarily learn to speak the truth; for were we not to employ words exactly as they are employed by those with whom we converse, our language, if language it might be called, would be unintelligible; and we could neither declare our wants nor ask relief with any hopes of success. Children beginning to speak may indeed utter untruths without any motive, and merely from mistake, because the ideas and words of children have neither been long nor closely associated; but it is impossible that a man, however wicked, should habitually and without motives lie on ordinary occasions, unless the fundamental principles of his nature have been totally altered; unless his brain has been disordered by disease; unless his ideas have been disarranged, and all his original associations broken.

We know indeed by woful experience, that immoral men occasionally utter falsehoods with a view to deceive. But on these occasions they are influenced by some motive either of hope or terror. The falsehood is always uttered with an effort; and so strong is the association between words and ideas, that the truth will at times break out in spite of all their endeavours to suppress it; so that the end or middle of a false narrative, if it be of any length, is commonly inconsistent with the beginning. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when those who relate it contradict each other; when they are but few in number, or of a doubtful character; when they have an interest in what they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with hesitation, or, on the contrary, with too violent asseverations; because these are circumstances which we have generally experienced to accompany false evidence. It is likewise with reluctance that we admit a narrative of events entirely different from every thing which hitherto we have seen or heard; because we may not be certain that the narrator is not under some influence to deceive us in matters concerning which we have nothing but his testimony upon which to ground our judgment. But in every case where the fact recorded is in itself possible, and attributed to an adequate cause; where a competent number of witnesses had sufficient means of information, and are certainly' under no inducement to deceive, testimony is complete evidence, however extraordinary the fact may be; because no fact which is known to have an adequate cause can be so incredible, as that a number of men of sound understandings should act contrary to the fundamental principles of human nature, or [7:14:643]be able, if so disposed, to dissolve associations which had been formed in the mind of each from his infancy, and to form new ones, all agreeing exactly with one another, but all contrary to truth.

PART II.

OF BODY WITII ITS ADJUNCTS.

CHAP. I.—OF THE COMPOSITION OF BODIES; OR, OF MATTER AND FORM.

Hitherto we have contemplated only the powers of our minds by which we acquire a stock of ideas, and the various operations of the intellect upon those ideas, as treasured up in the memory or imagination. In the course of the inquiry we have found, that every idea and notion which we have was suggested by something independent of us; and in order to discover what those things are, we have investigated the nature of each sense, as it is by the senses only that we have any communication with the external world. By touch we perceive heat and cold, hardness and softness, figure and solidity, motion and extension; by the organ of smell we perceive odours; by the tongue and palate, tastes; by the ear, sounds; and by the sight, colours. We have likewise seen, that heat and cold, odours, tastes, sounds, and colours, are mere sensations, which have no existence but whilst they are perceived. On the other hand, hardness and softness, figure and solidity, motion and extension, are neither sensations, nor like sensations; but arc conceived to be something external and independent of our faculties, which may operate in a desert wilderness as well as in a populous city; although, for want of sentient beings to operate upon, it cannot in the wilderness produce the same effects as in the city.

Of things perceived by the senses we find the greater part always united; for when a man perceives a ρiece of sealing-wax, if he makes use of all his senses, he perceives at once cold, taste, colour, hardness, roughness or smoothness, figure, solidity, motion or rest, and extension. That the powers or qualities which in this instance produce the sensations of heat or cold, taste, odour, and colour, are so united to the hardness, figure, solidity, and extension of the wax, that they cannot exist alone, is very evident; because it is impossible to remove any one of these things, or to conceive it removed, without removing with it all the rest. What then is the bond of this union? Do these tilings necessarily accompany one another, so that one of them cannot exist without bringing all the rest along with it? No. There is no necessary connection amongst them; for by the operation of fire the wax maybe rendered liquid, when the hardness and cold are gone, although every thing else remains the same, or nearly the same, as it was before. By a still further operation of fire the appearance may be entirely changed; and that which was formerly a piece of hard red wax, may be reduced to smoke and ashes, in which there is neither hardness, colour, odour, nor figure; at least there is not in the smoke and the ashes such hardness, colour, odour, or figure, as was in the wax. The solidity and extension, however, remain; for we perceive ashes and smoke to be extended and solid, as much as wax or adamant; nor is it possible to do any thing with the wax, or with any other sensible object, which shall deprive it of extension or solidity.

Thus, then, extension and solidity may exist and be perceived, when separated from hardness, colour, and odour; but none of these can exist, nor be conceived to exist, independently of extension and solidity. Hardness, colour, odour, taste, and figure, or the things which suggest these notions to us, have with great propriety been termed accidents or qualities; because they cannot exist nor be conceived to exist by themselves, but require for their support one common subject. Extension and solidity can exist independently of them, but they cannot exist independently of solidity and extension.

Is then solidity the basis of these qualities, so that they necessarily result from it? No. There are many things solid and extended which are neither hard, nor coloured, nor odorous, nor sapid; which could not be if these qualities were the necessary effect of solidity. Besides, all mankind conceive of solidity and extension as qualities of something else; for we never say that solidity is extended or coloured, or hard or odorous, but that something solid has these qualities; and hence it is evident that we consider solidity as a quality itself. In what, then, does solidity and all the other sensible qualities inhere, since they cannot exist separately, and do not support each other? This is a question which modern philosophers do not pretend to answer. But some of the ancients were not so modest. Aristotle and his followers resolved every bodily substance into matter and form; making matter the basis or substratum, and under form comprehending all sensible qualities.

As attempts have latterly been made to revive this philosophy, it may not be improper to give a short view of the doctrine of matter and form, if it were only to discover whether the speculations of Aristotle and his adherents on this subject deserve to be preferred to those of Newton and Locke.

The most perspicuous, and by far the most elegant writer, among the moderns, who has adopted the ancient philosophy, is Mr Harris; and, lest we should be accused by others of doing injustice to a subject above the reach of ordinary comprehension, we shall transcribe so much of what he has said of matter and form in his Philosophical Arrangements as seems necessary to make our readers understand' his meaning, as far as it is intelligible. “Matter,” says this writer, “is that elementary constituent in composite substances which appertains in common to them all, without distinguishing them from one another. Every thing generated or made, whether by nature or art, is generated or made out of something else; and this something else is called its subject or matter. Sueh is iron to the saw; such is timber to the boat. Now this subject or matter of a thing being necessarily previous to that thing’s existence, is necessarily different from it, and not the same. Thus iron, as iron, is not a saw; and timber, as timber, is not a boat. Hence, then, one character of every subject or matter, that is, the character of negation or privation. [He means negation or privation of what is to be made out of it].

“Again, though the subject or matter of a thing be not that thing, yet, were it incapable of becoming so, it could not be called its subject or matter. Thus iron is the subject or matter of a saw, because, though not a saw, it may still become a saw. On the contrary, timber is not the subject or matter of a saw, because it not only (as timber) is no saw, but can never be made one from its very nature and properties. Hence, then, besides privation, another character of every subject or matter, and that is the character of aptitude or capacity. [He means aptitude or capacity to be that which is made out of it.]

“Again, when one thing is the subject or matter of many things, it implies a privation of them all, and a capacity to them all. Thus iron being the subject or matter of the saw, the axe, and the chisel, implies privation and capacity with respect to all three. Again, we can change a saw into a chisel, but not into a boat; we can change a boat into a box, but not into a saw. The reason is, there can be no change or mutation of one thing into another where the two changing beings do not participate the same [7:14:644]matter.^[55. In a note, he says, “This reasoning has reference to what the ancients called ὑλϰ πϑoσεχϰς , the immediate matter, in opposition to ὑλϰ πϑωτη , the remote or primary matter. ” ] But even here, were the boat to moulder and turn to earth, and that earth by natural process to metallize and become iron; through such progression as this we might suppose even the boat to become a saw. Hence therefore it is, that all change is by immediate or mediate participation of the same matter. Having advanced thus far, we must be careful to remember, first, that every subject or matter implies, as such, privation and capacity; and, next, that all change or mutation of beings into one another is by means of their participating the same common matter. This we have chosen to illustrate from works of art, as falling more easily under human cognizance and observation. It is, however, no less certain as to the productions of nature, though the superior subtlety in these renders examples more difficult. The question then is, whether, in the world which we inhabit, it be not admitted from experience, as well as from the confession of all philosophers, that substances of every kind,^[56. He must mean only bodily substances; for it is not admitted by such philosophers as make a distinction between mind and body, that the one ever passes into the other. ] whether natural or artificial, either immediately or mediately pass into one another; and whether, in that case, there must not be some one primary matter common to all things. I say some one primary matter, and that common to all things, since, without some such matter, such mutation would be wholly impossible. But if there be some one primary matter, and that common to all things, this matter must imply, not (as particular and subordinate matters do) a particular privation and a particular capacity, but, on the contrary, universal privation and universal capacity. If the notion of such a being appear strange and incomprehensible, we may farther prove the necessity of its existence from the following considerations: either there is no such general change as here spoken of, which is contrary to fact, and would destroy the sympathy and congeniality of things: or, if there be, there must be a matter of the character here established; because, without it (as we have said), such change would be impossible. Add to this, however hard universal privation may appear, yet had the primary matter, in its proper nature, any one particular attribute, so as to prevent its privation from being unlimited and universal, such attribute would run through all things, and be conspicuous in all. If it were white, all things would be white; if circular, they would be circular; and so as to other attributes; which is contrary to fact. Add to this, that the opposite to such attribute could never have existence, unless it were possible for the same thing to be at once and in the same instance both white and black, circular and rectilineal, &c. since this inseparable attribute would necessarily be everywhere; because the matter, which implies it, is itself everywhere, at least may be found in all things that are generated and perishable.

“Here then we have an idea (such as it is) of that singular being υλη πgωτη, the primary matter ; a being which those philosophers who are immerged in sensible objects know not well how to admit, though they 7 cannot well do without it; a being which flies the perception of every sense, and which is at best, even to the intellect, but a negative object, no otherwise comprehensible than either by analogy or abstraction. We gain a glimpse of it by abstraction, when we say that the first matter is not the lineaments and complexion which make the beautiful face, nor yet the flesh and blood which make those lineaments and that complexion; nor yet the liquid and solid aliments which make that flesh and blood; nor yet the simple bodies of earth and water which make those various aliments; but something which, being below all these, and supporting them all, is yet different from them all, and essential to their existence. We obtain a sight of it by analogy when we say, that as is the brass to the statue, the marble to the pillar, the timber to the ship, or any one secondary matter to any one peculiar form, so is the first and original matter to all forms in general.”

Such is the doctrine of the Peripatetics concerning the primary matter or the basis of bodily substances. We forbear to make any remarks upon it until we have seen what they say of form, the other essential part of every body; for what is meant by matter and form will be most completely seen when they are viewed together.

“Form,” says the same elegant writer, “is that elementary constituent in every composite substance, by which it is distinguished, characterized, and known from every other. But to be more explicit: the first and most simple of all extensions is a line; this, when it exists, united with a second extension, makes a superficies, and these two existing together, with a third, make a solid. Now this last and complete extension we call the first and simplest form; and when this first and simplest form accedes to the first and simplest matter, the union of the two produces body, which is for that reason defined to be matter triply extended. And thus we behold the rise of pure and original body.^[57. “Original body,” he says, “when we look downward, has reference to the primary matter, its substratum: when we look upwards, it becomes itself a matter to other things; to the elements, as commonly called, air, earth, water, &c. and in consequence to all the variety of natural productions.” ] It must be remembered, however, that body, under this character, is something indefinite and vague, and scarcely to be made an object of scientific contemplation. It is necessary to this end that its extension should be bounded; for as yet we have treated it without such regard. Now, the bound or limit of simple body is figure, and thus it is that figure, with regard to body, becomes the next form after extension.

“But though the boundary of body by figure is one step towards rendering it definite and knowable, yet is not this sufficient for the purposes of nature. It is necessary here, that not only its external should be duly bounded, but that a suitable regard should likewise be had to its internal. This internal adjustment, disposition, or arrangement (denominate it as you please), is called organization, and may be considered as the third form which appertains to body. By its accession we behold the rise of body physical or natural ; for every such body’ is some way or other organized. And thus may we affirm, that these three, that is to say, extension, figure, and organization, are the three original forms to body physical or natural; figure having respect to its external, organization to its internal, and extension being common both to one and to the other. It is more than probable, that from the variation in these universal and (as I may say) primary forms, arise most of those secondary forms usually called quantities sensible, because they are the proper objects of our several sensations. Such are roughness and smoothness, hardness and softness; the tribes of colours, savours, odours; not to mention those powers of character more subtile, the powers electric, magnetic, medicinal, &c.

“Here therefore we may answer the question, how natural bodies are distinguished. Not a single one among them consistsof materials in chaos, but of materials wrought up after the most exquisite manner, and that conspicuous in their organization, or in their figure, or in both. As therefore every natural body is distinguished by the differences just described, and as these differences have nothing to do with the original matter, which, being everywhere[7:14:645] similar, can afford no distinction at all; may we not here infer the expediency of essential forms, that every natural substance may be essentially characterized? These forms, though they differ from matter, can yet never subsist without it; but, united with it, they help to produce every composite being, that is to say, in other words, every natural substance in the visible world. It must be remembered, however, that it is the form in this union which is the source of all distinction. It is by this that the ox is distinguished from the horse, not by that grass on which they subsist, the common matter to both. To which also may be added, that as figures and sensible qualities are the only objects of our sensations, and these are all parts of natural form; so therefore (contrary to the sentiment of the vulgar, who dream of nothing but of matter) it is form which is in truth the whole that we either hear, see, or feel; nor is mere matter any thing better than an obscure imperfect being, knowable only to the reasoning faculty by the two methods already explained, I mean that of analogy and that of abstraction. Here, therefore, we conclude with respect to sensible forms, that is to say, forms immerged in matter and ever inseparable from it. In these and matter we place the elements of natural substance.'’

If this extract appear long, let it be remembered that it contains the fullest and most perspicuous detail which is to be found in the English language, of a doctrine of which the author of Ancient Metaphysics supposes Mr Locke to have been ignorant; and for which ignorance he affects to treat the English philosopher with supercilious contempt. Had Mr Locke really been ignorant of the ancient doctrine of matter and form, it is probable that most people will be of opinion that the contempt expressed by his censurer might have been spared; but if it should appear that, as far as this theory is intelligible, it differs not, excepting in words, from the doctrine laid down in the Essay concerning Human Understanding, what shall we think of that zeal for ancient phrases which had influence sufficient to make one respectable philosopher pour contempt upon another who was an ornament to his country?

What Mr Harris has said of matter and form respecting works of art, is sufficiently intelligible, and extremely just. Nor should we object to the account which he gives of the origin of natural body, if he had not divested his first matter of every power and every quality, solidity and extension not excepted. But though we can suppose body divested of any one particular figure, and of every sensible quality, such as colour, odour, tastes, &c. and the substratum or basis or matter of it still remain the same, yet it seems impossible to conceive it divested of solidity without supposing it totally annihilated. Nay, if we have any just notion at all of solidity, it is evidently inseparable from the substratum of body, whatever that substratum may be; and indeed, though Mr Harris divests his first matter of every attribute, the argument by which he proves the necessary existence of such a being does not require its privation to be so universal. “Had the primary matter,” says he, “in its proper nature, any one particular attribute, so as to prevent its privation from being unlimited and universal, such attribute would run through all things, and be conspicuous in all.” This indeed is obvious and undeniable; but solidity and extension do in fact run through all things into which the substratum or matter of body is ever formed, or ever can be conceived to be formed; and therefore there is no necessity for supposing the first matter divested of these attributes.^[58. Nor does it appear that it was divested of them by all the ancient philosophers. We learn from Cudworth, that “the atomical physiology, the most ancient perhaps of any, teaches that body is nothing else but '3 l αστοοτον αι><nruwov, extended t>ulk ; and that nothing is to be attributed to it but what is included in the nature and idea of it, viz. greater or less magnitude, with divisibility into parts, figure, and position, together with motion or rest, but so as that no part of body can ever move itself.” And, consequently, this philosopher supposes that “there is no need of any thing else besides the simple elements of magnitude, figure, site, and motion (which are clearly intelligible, or different modes of extended substance), to solve the corporeal phenomena by; and therefore not of any substantial forms distinct from the matter; nor of any other qualities really existing in the bodies without, besides the results or aggregates of those simple elements, and the disposition of the insensible parts of bodies in respect of figure, site, and motion; nor of any intentional species or show propagated from the objects to our senses; nor, lastly, of any other kind of motion or action really distinct from local motion (such as generation and alteration), they being neither intelligible as modes∙of extended substance, nor any way necessary: Forasmuch as the forms and qualities of bodies may well be conceived' to be nothing but the result of those simple elements of magnitude, figure, site, and motion, variously compounded together, in the same manner as syllables and words in great variety result from the different combinations and conjunctions of a few letters, or the simple elements of speech; and the corporeal parts of sensation, and particularly that of vision, may be solved only by local motion of bodies, that is, either by corporeal effluvia (called simulacra, mcmbranx, and exuviae) streaming continually from the surface of the objects, or rather, as the later and more refined atomists conceived, by pressure made from the object to the eye, by means of light in the medium. So that ⅛ ìi* β a χτnζ oo f το» τα⅛=nτ<∣s aiζi s το βλiτoμivoν ίναγγεκκιται, the sense taking cognizance of the object by the subtile interposed medium, that is tense and stretched (thrusting every way from it upon the optic nerves), doth by that, as it were by a staff, touch it. Again, generation and corruption may be sufficiently explained by concretion and secretion, or local motion, without substantial forms and qualities. And, lastly, those sensible ideas of light and colours, heat and cold, sweet and bitter, as they are distinct things from the figure, site, and motion of the insensible parts of bodies, seem plainly to be nothing else but our own fancies, passions, and sensation, however they be vulgarly mistaken for qualities in the bodies without us.” (Cudworth’s Intellectual System, book i. chap, i.) 1his, as will be seen by and by, is the philosophy of Newton, Locke, and all their followers. And that it is the genuine philosophy of the ancient atomists, we may safely take the word of the author whom we have quoted; for no modern has been more conversant with their writings, more completely master of their language, or has given their sense with greater accuracy· Those authors, therefore, who in their zeal for ancient metaphysics would explode the physiology of Newton and Locke, and substitute in its stead the Aristotelian doctrine of matter and form, belie their own pretences; for the theory which they would banish is more ancient than that which they introduce, and we appeal to our readers if it be not more intelligible. ]

Mr Harris mentions that both Timaeus and Plato drop expressions as if they considered matter to be place; but place, as will afterwards be seen, can be the basis of nothing. He likewise quotes a passage from Ammonius on the predicaments, in which it is said “that there never was in actuality either matter without body, or body without quality ;” and we appeal to our readers if it be not absolutely impossible to contemplate such a thing even in idea. To the question, whether the first matter has a separate existence by itself, distinct from all the qualities of body, the author of Ancient Metaphysics answers thus: “We have no idea of it existing separately, because we find no such a thing in nature, from which we draw all our ideas; but whether there may not be such a thing existing in the regions of infinite space, as matter without form and dimensions, is what I think no man can take upon him to decide.” But, with all submission, if a man cannot decide this question with the utmost certainty, his three ponderous volumes are nothing better than useless paper; for the subject of them is things existing; and concerning existence we know nothing with greater certainty than that a being of which nothing positive can be affirmed, cannot possibly have any existence.

That, in the world which we inhabit, bodily substances of every kind, whether natural or artificial, either immediately or mediately pass into one another, is a truth which [7:14:646]cannot be denied; and therefore it follows, that there must be some one primary matter common to all things. In the modern philosophy this primary matter is considered as solid, and as the substratum of all bodies; and all those things which, in the language of Mr Harris, are comprehended under the appellation of form, are called qualities; so that on this subject the ancient and the modern philosophy differ in nothing but in the latter using the word qualities instead of the word form; and defining the first matter to be, “a solid substance everywhere the same,” whilst the ancient philosophy considers it as void of solidity.

Of the nature of this first matter all philosophers are equally ignorant; for, as Mr Harris says, it is in truth form; or, as modern philosophers would say, they are in truth qualities, which are the whole that we either hear, or see, or fee], or of which we have either idea or conception. Mr Locke says expressly, “that if any one will examine himself concerning his notion of pure substance in general, he will find that he has no other idea of it at all, but only a supposition of he knows not what support of such qualities as are capable of producing simple ideas in us.”

But how, it has been asked, do we know that the things which we perceive are qualities, and cannot exist without a subject? We answer, because every one of them, except solidity, may be changed or destroyed, and the subject in which they inhere still remain. Thus, though wax may be melted or burned, and be no longer a hard red substance of such a figure and such a smell, the matter which supported the hardness, figure, colour, and smell, still remains; for melted wax or ashes is as much a solid substance as is that which may be used for the sealing of letters or documents. It has been said that solidity is the substratum of body;^[59. The philosophers of most eminence who have maintained this opinion are,,Dr Watts, the author of Procedure, Extent, and Limits, of the Human Understanding; and Dr Law, the bishop of Carlisle, who, in a note upon King’s Origin of Evil, gives the opinion of the triumvirate in the following words. “We find by experience, that a thing will always exhibit the same appearances in some respects, though it admit of changes in others; or, in Mr Locke’s language, that certain numbers of simple ideas go constantly together, whereas some others do not. The former of these we call the substance, thing, or being, itself; the latter are termed its modes or accidents. Thus the substance of body, as far as we know of it, consists in solidity and extension; which being necessarily finite, it also becomes capable of division, figure, and motion. 'These are its original inseparable qualities, which constitute the thing, and seem not to depend on any thing else as a subject. But a particular figure, motion, &c. are only accidents or modes of its existence; which do not necessarily attend it, though they themselves cannot be supposed to exist without it. The substance of spirit consists in the powers of thinking and acting, which likewise admit of various modifications. This seems to be all that we can learn concerning the nature of things from observation and experience. To inquire into the manner how these, which we call properties, exist together, or to attempt to explain the cause, ground, or reason of their union, is in vain. To assign the word substance for a representation of it, is saying nothing; it is setting a mere word for what we have neither any idea of nor occasion for. Indeed if we consider these primary qualities as needing something to inhere in, we are obliged to seek for something to support them; and, by the same way of reasoning, we may seek for something else to support that other something, and so on; and at last shall find no other support for the whole but the cause which produced it.” “Dr Watts,” continues the Bishop, “is of opinion, that it is introducing a needless scholastic notion into the real nature of things, and then fancying it to have a real existence.” {Logic, p. 14.) The author of the Procedure, Extent, &c. affirms, “that, as far as we directly know the essential properties of any substance, so far we have a direct knowledge of the substance itself; and if we had a direct knowledge of all the essential properties of any substance, we should have an adequate knowledge of that substance; for surely, if there be any meaning in words, the knowing any thing of the essential properties of a thing is knowing so much of its very substance.” That the substance of body consists in solidity and extension, and nothing more, and that these depend not upon any thing else as a subject, cannot be true; for solidity, in our conception, is nothing but impenetrability; but whoever uses the word impenetrability, certainly means that there is something impenetrable. That there is some real thing or being different from solidity and extension, which impresses us with the notion that it is solid and extended, is self-evident to all mankind. If it be not matter, these conceptions must be communicated to us by the immediate agency of the Deity, which seems to have been the real opinion of the Bishop of Carlisle. But this differs not from the theory of Berkeley, which we shall consider by and by. ] and men have been probably led into this notion from a conviction that such substratum, whatever it be, is and must be solid; but that solidity is only a quality inseparable from the first matter, and not that matter itself, must be evident from this consideration, that solidity is the same in all bodies, and incapable of producing by itself any other effect than that of excluding from the place occupied by it every other solid substance. It could not of itself be the substratum of colour, taste, or smell, otherwise all bodies would be coloured, sapid, and odorous; and as, according to all our notions of it, it is incapable of any change, it could not by itself be so modified as to excite in us these sensations.

The things, then, immediately perceived by us, or of which we have any adequate idea or conception, are only qualities which must belong to a subject; and all that we know about this subject is, that it is that to which such qualities belong. From this it is evident, that our notion of matter, as distinguished from its qualities, is a relative^[60. Reid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Mau. ] and obscure notion, and must remain such until men receive other faculties. In this the philosopher seems to have no advantage above the vulgar; for as the latter perceive colour, and figure, and motion, by their senses, as well as he does, and as both are equally certain that there is a subject of those qualities, so the notions which both have of this subject are equally obscure; or, to speak more properly, they have no positive notion of it at all. When a philosopher calls it the first matter, a substratum, or a subject of inhesion, those learned words convey no meaning but what every man understands and expresses, by saying, in common language, that it is a thing extended, solid, and moveable.

They are therefore qualities, or, in the language of ancient philosophy, forms alone, about which, in corporeal substance, we can reason with precision and certainty; and it is sufficient for all the purposes of life that we have of them an adequate knowledge. For as the first matter or original substratum of all bodies seems to be the same, although we know not what it is, and as one body is distinguished from another only by its qualities or powers, a knowledge of the nature of these is all that can be necessary to direct our conduct with respect to the various objects with which we are surrounded.

Qualities thus considered in bodies are, first, such as are utterly inseparable from the body, in what state soever it is; such as, in all the changes and alterations which it suffers, and under all the force which can be employed upon it, it constantly exhibits. Thus, in the instance already given, a stick of sealing-wax may, by the operation of fire, be rendered liquid, or reduced to smoke and ashes; and when it has undergone these changes, it has lost many of the sensible qualities which it had when a long round substance, fit for the purpose of sealing letters; but other qualities which were then perceivable in it still remain; for not only liquid wax, but every particle of smoke and ashes, is solid and extended, as well as the hardest or the largest body; and every such particle has likewise some figure, and is capable of motion or rest. Again, if a grain of wheat, or any other corporeal substance, be divided into [7:14:647] two parts, and each part be again divided without end, still the smallest particle of it will be solid, extended, of some figure, and capable of further division. Solidity, extension, divisibility, and motion or rest, are therefore qualities inseparable from body, and have on that account been with great propriety called its original or primary qualities.

There are other qualities, which in truth are nothing in the bodies themselves, but powers, arising from the magnitude, the figure, the texture, and the motion, of their insensible parts, to produce in us various sensations. Such are colours, sounds, tastes, and odours. These have been denominated secondary qualities; and to them may be added a third sort, which are universally allowed to be barely powers, though they are in fact as much real qualities in the subject as those we have just mentioned. Thus the power in fire to produce by its primary qualities a new colour or consistency in wax or clay, is as much a quality in the fire as the power which it has to produce in us a new sensation of warmth or burning. That colours, tastes, sounds, and odours, as they arc perceived by us, are mere sensations, has been already proved; and that the powers in the bodies which produce these sensations are not, like solidity and extension, inseparable from the body to which they may belong, is evident, because a piece of red wax may be reduced to black ashes, and because, by pounding an almond, we may change its clear white colour into a dirty hue, and its pleasant taste into one that is oily and rancid; and a single rent through the body of a bell destroys its sound.

The primary qualities of body have a real existence independently of us and of every other creature. Thus the particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of the parts of fire or snow are really in the fire or snow, whether any man’s senses perceive them or not; and therefore these may be called real qualities, because they really exist in the bodies. But light, heat, whiteness, or cold, as they are perceived by us, are no more really in fire or in snow, than sickness is in tartar or pain in a sword. Take away the sensations of them; let not the eyes see light or colours, nor the cars hear sounds; let not the palate taste nor the nose smell; and all colours, tastes, odours, and sounds, as they are such particular sensations, vanish and cease, and are reduced to their causes, that is, to the bulk, figure, and motion of the parts of the body.

The qualities, then, which are in bodies, rightly considered, are of three sorts. 1. The bulk, figure, number, situation, and motion or rest, of their solid parts. Of these, as they are in themselves, we have clear and distinct notions. We know that they are in the body whether we perceive them or not, and we call them primary or essential qualities. 2. The power that is in any body, by reason of its internal texture and insensible primary qualities, to operate upon our senses in a peculiar manner, producing in us the different sensations of colours, sounds, tastes, or smells, &c. These we have denominated secondary qualities, but they are often termed sensible qualities. 3. The power that is in any body, by reason of the particular constitution of its primary qualities, to effect such a change in the bulk, figure, texture, and motion of another body, as to make it operate on our senses differently from what it did before. Thus, the sun has a power to make wax white, and fire to make lead fluid. These are universally called powers; but we have no such notions of them as we have of the primary qualities of bodies. We know that they exist, but we know not what they are. It has indeed been discovered that the sensation of smell is occasioned by the effiuvia of bodies;^[61. Heid’s Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man, and Locke’s Essay on Human Understanding. ] that of sound by their vibration. The disposition of bodies to reflect a particular kind of light occasions the sensation of colour; and the operation of the minute parts of bodies upon the nerves of the tongue and palate is the cause of tastes. Very curious discoveries have been made as to the nature of heat and its manner of operating, and an ample field still remains. We are likewise intuitively certain, that body can operate upon body only by impulse; but how certain impulses upon certain organs should produce sensations in us to which there is nothing similar in the impelling body, is equally unknown to the clown and the philosopher.

Such is the distinction which in modern philosophy is made between primary and secondary qualities; but it is a distinction which was likewise well known to that sect of ancient philosophers who were denominated atomists. At the head of these were Thales and Pythagoras; and .we may infer from Aristotle, that the sect comprehended almost all the physiologists who had taught before himself and Plato; for he says,^[62. Lil. de Sensu et Sensibili, cap. iv. ] “Democritus, and most of the physiologists, fall into a great absurdity, since they make all sense to be touch, and resolve sensible qualities into the figures of insensible atoms.” And he adds, that “the former physiologists (without exception) said not well, that there is no black and white without the sight, nor bitter and sweet without the taste.” He elsewhere^[63. De Generatione et Corruptione, lib. i. cap. ii. ] tells us, that those philosophers explained generation and alteration without forms and qualities, by figures and local motion. “Democritus and Leucippus having made figures (or variously figured atoms) the first principles, make generation and alteration out of these, namely, generation together with corruption from the concretion and secretion of them, but alteration from the change of their order and position.” By the atomic physiologists the name of quality was very generally applied to those things only which we have called secondary qualities. The primary, being considered as essential to matter, were seldom, if ever, called qualities. That the atoms, which they held to be the first principles of bodies, were figured, solid, extended, and moveable, is apparent not only from the short view of their system which we have given from Cudworth, but likewise from the passages which we have just quoted from Aristotle; but the question debated between them and their antagonists was, whether those atoms had smell, taste, and colour, or, as it was commonly expressed, whether they had qualities. Democritus, Leucippus, and the other atomists, we see, maintained that they bad not; and the following account of the doctrine of Protagoras, another philosopher of that school, shows that on this subject at least the ancient advocates for the atomic system reasoned as justly as any of the moderns, and much more justly than the Peripatetics and Platonists, by whom they were opposed. Plato having in his Theoetetus first said in general that the philosophy of Protagoras made all things to consist of a commixture of atoms and local motion, represents his doctrine concerning colours in particular after this manner: “First, as to that which belongs to the sight, you must conceive what is called a white or black colour not to be any thing absolutely existing either without your eyes or within your eyes; but black and white, and every other colour, are caused by different motions made upon the eye, from objects differently modified; so that it is nothing either in the agent or patient absolutely, but something which arises from between them both.” From this passage it is plain that Protagoras thought of colours exactly as Mr Locke thought, that they are not real qualities existing in bodies, but merely sensations excited in our minds; and indeed he is presently after represented as having called them τινα εν ημw φασματα, certain fancies or [7:14:648]appearances in us. But there is in the Theoetetus another passage, in which a fuller account is given of the atomic philosophy, to this purpose: “The principle upon which all these things depend is this, that the whole universe is motion of atoms, and nothing else, which motion is considered two ways, and is accordingly called by two names, action and passion. From the mutual congress, and, as it were, attrition of these together, are begotten innumerable offsprings, which, though infinite in number, yet may be reduced to two general heads, sensibles and sensations, which are both generated at the same time. The sensations are seeing, hearing, and the like; and the corresponding sensibles are colours, sounds, &c. Wherefore, when the eye and its proper object meet together, both the αiσ- 0jjrwand theaiσ0ησις, the sensible idea of white and black, and the sensation of seeing, are generated together, neither of which would have been produced if those two had not met. The like is to be conceived of all other sensibles, as hot and cold, &c. None of these are absolutely things in themselves, or real qualities in external objects; but they are begotten from the mutual congress of agent and patient, and that by motion: so that neither the agent has any such thing in it before its congress with the patient, nor the patient before its congress with the agent. But the agent and patient meeting together, and begetting sensation and sensibles, both the object and the sentient are forthwith made to be so and so qualified; as when honey is tasted, the sensation of tasting and the quality of sweetness are begotten together, though the sensation be vulgarly attributed to the taster, and the quality of sweetness to the honey.” The conclusion of all which is summed up thus: “Not one of these sensible things is any thing absolutely in the object without, but they are all generated or made relative to the sentient.”

The language of the ancient philosophy was defective in precision; terms were used vaguely and improperly, so that the meaning of the author is often to be collected only from the context. When Protagoras is here made to say, that when the agent and patient meet together, both the object and the sentient are forthwith made to be so and so qualified, as, when honey is tasted, the sensation of tasting and the quality of sweetness are begotten together, it could not be his meaning that any real change is made upon the external object merely by our tasting it, but only that the actual sensation and the sensible idea of sweetness arc produced at once; just as he had said before that the sensible idea of white or black, and the sensation of seeing, are generated together. If his words be thus interpreted, they express a noble truth; and the whole passage shows that the ancient atomic theory differed little, if at all, from the theory of Descartes, Newton, and Locke, being the most rational, as well as the earliest, system of physics with which we have any acquaintance. By divesting body of essential forms distinct from matter and motion, and by giving to the first matter extension and solidity, it renders the corporeal world intelligible, and accounts for tho⅛e appearances which are called secondary qualities in a manner perfectly satisfactory. Aristotle indeed opposed the atomic philosophy, and had influence enough to bring it into disrepute for many ages; but when he insisted that the two constituent principles of body are matter and form, both independent of all sentient beings, and which maybe conceived as existing distinct from each other, he substituted for a simple and sublime theory an absurd and incomprehensible fiction.

CHAP. II. OF THE ESSENCES OF BODIES.

Having treated of the substance, qualities, and powers of body, we may seem to have exhausted this part of our subject; but there is still more to be done. Metaphysicians, ancient and modern, have introduced another term into the science to denote that which distinguishes one species or sort of bodies from all other species or sorts; and this term we shall briefly explain. Gold is apparently different from lead, and from every other species of metal; a horse is apparently different from an ox, and from every other species of animals; and all animals apparently differ from all vegetables, as vegetables differ from metals.

It is only with the bodies, not the minds, of animals, that we£are at present concerned; and we have seen that all bodies are composed of the same matter. What then is it that makes different bodies exhibit to us such different appearances, or, in other words, how come they to be possessed of such different qualities and powers? It is, say theζfollowers of Plato and Aristotle, from their having different essential forms, by which every natural substance is essentially characterized; for of every animal, vegetable, or metal, &c. there is a form conceived, as existing before the individuals in which it is incorporated, from i which result all the properties of that animal, vegetable, or metal, such as figure, size, colour, and the other qualities perceptible by our senses; but this internal and essential form itself, from which all other forms result, is not perceptible by our senses, nor even by our understanding directly and immediately, nor otherwise than by the analogy formerly mentioned. These essential forms, we arc told, mean something, which, although different from matter, can yet never subsist without it; something which, united with it, helps to produce every composite being, that is to say, in other words, every natural substance in the visible world.

This assertion Mr Harris submits with deference to his contemporaries; because, says he, “I speak perhaps of spectres as shocking to some philosophers as those were to Aeneas which he met in his way to hell, Terribiles visu formacy The elegant author’s unwillingness to frighten his contemporaries, was a proof of his amiable and benevolent disposition; but there was no need for his suffering from any such apprehension. Those spectres, apparently so dreadful, had long before been laid to rest by the incomparable Cudworth, who has demonstrated that essential forms different from matter and motion, as they have no real existence, had no place in the most ancient philosophy; and that the different appearances or sensible qualities which different bodies exhibit .are the result of the different contexture of their insensible parts. Thus gold and lead are composed of the same primary matter, but the atoms or minute parts of that matter are in the one substance differently combined from what they are in the other; and this different combination is the sole cause that gold is specifically heavier than lead, more ductile, and of a different colour, &c. For the very same reason, iron is harder than either gold or lead, specifically lighter, and possessed of many other sensible qualities which are not Found in either of these substances. One vegetable differs from another externally in size, colour, taste, smell, rapiditv of growth, and proportion of parts, &c.; but all vegetables are composed of the same matter, and the external difference which prevails among them is the result of a different structure and motion of their insensible parts. The same is to be said of the differences which prevail amongst the bodies of animals; they all result from internal organization and motion, and from nothing else, whatever be the immediate cause of that motion.

This particular internal texture and motion of insensible parts is that which makes one sort of bodies differ externally from every other sort of bodies, and it is by modern metaphysicians called the real essence of bodies. Thus, that internal texture of minute parts, which makes gold of [7:14:649]a bright yellow, extremely ductile, specifically heavier than all other metals, and soluble in aqua regia, is the real essence of gold; but what that essence is in itself no man can tell, as we perceive only the qualities which result from it. We are, however, certain that it is different from the real essences of lead and iron, because it produces different effects from those which are produced by these essences, and different effects are never produced in the same circumstances by the same cause.

We have called the internal texture and motion of the insensible parts of bodies their real essences, to distinguish them from other essences which are only nominal, and with which we are perfectly acquainted, because they are the fabrication of our own minds. Thus, a beautiful bright yellow, a certain specific gravity, extreme ductility, and solubility in aqua regia, are the qualities by which we distinguish gold from all other metals. Of these qualities we frame a sort of general conception, which we call the essence of gold, and every substance in which we find this essence we class under the specific name of gold. For though it is obvious that our conceptions cannot be the real essences of things external, yet are they sufficient guides to these essences, as we know that bodies which, being all formed of the same matter, have the very same sensible qualities, must likewise have the same internal organization or texture of parts, because it is only in that organization or texture that one body can differ from another. So much for bodily substance, qualities, and essences.

CHAP. III.—OF THE EXISTENCE OF MATTER.

We have endeavoured to prove that all corporeal substances consist of minute atoms, solid and extended; and that the sensible qualities of every body result from the combination and motion of the atoms of which such body is composed. The celebrated Berkeley, bishop of Cloyne, however, attempted to demonstrate that these atoms have no real existence, and that the very supposition of a solid, extended, and inert substance, being the archetype of our ideas, involves in it an absurdity and contradiction.

It is universally allowed that all our knowledge of matter is derived through the senses, either immediately in the very act of sensation, or mediately by an association which is resolvable into a process of reasoning. According to the principles which we have stated and laboured to establish, matter itself is no immediate object of the senses; and as these are the principles upon which the bishop erected his demonstration, it will be incumbent upon us to consider his theory, because it has been represented as in the highest degree pernicious, and as leading to universal scepticism.

The author of the Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth represents Berkeley as teaching us, “that external objects (that is, the things which we take for external objects) are nothing but ideas in „our minds; in other words, that they are in every respect different from what they appear to be; that matter exists not but in our minds, and that, independent on us and our faculties, the earth, the sun, and the starry heavens have no existence at all; that a lighted candle hath not one of those qualities which it appears to have; that it is not white nor luminous, nor round, nor divisible, nor extended, but that, for any thing we know, or can ever know, to the contrary, it may be an Egyptian Pyramid, the king of Prussia, a mad dog, the island of Madagascar, Saturn’s ring, one of the Pleiades, or nothing at all.” With respect to the consequences of this theory, he affirms that “it is subversive of man’s most important interests as a moral, intelligent, and percipient being; and not only so, but also, that if it were universally and seriously adopted, the dissolution of society, and the destruction of mankind, would necessarily ensue within the compass of a month.”

The dissolution of society and the destruction of mankind are indeed dismal consequences, enough to make a man shudder in his closet. But do they really flow from Berkeley’s system? They certainly do, if it be the aim of that system to prove that a candle has not any one quality which it appears to have, and that it may be a mad dog; for should all philosophers, by some means or other, become converts to the theory of Berkeley, as we know that the Bishops Sherlock, Smalridge, and others, actually did, the dissolution of society and the destruction of mankind would indeed be inevitable.

But, not to dwell upon such considerations, we beg leave to affirm, that the theory of Berkeley is here totally and grossly misrepresented, and that not one of those dangerous consequences which flow from that misrepresentation can be fairly deduced from any thing taught in the Principles of Human Knowledge, and the Dialogues on the Existence of Matter. So far is Berkeley from teaching that external things are nothing but ideas in our minds, and that they are in every respect different from what they appear to be, that he teaches the very reverse of this in the plainest language possible. “I am of a vulgar cast,” observes he, “simple enough to believe my senses, and leave things as I find them. It is my opinion, that the real things are those very things I see and feel and perceive by my senses. That a thing should really be perceived by my senses, and at the same time not really exist, is to me a plain contradiction. When I deny sensible things an existence out of the mind, I do not mean my mind in particular, but all minds. Now it is plain they have an existence exterior to my mind, since I find them by experience to be independent of it. There is, therefore, some other mind wherein they exist during the intervals between the times of my perceiving them, as likewise they did before my birth, and would do after my annihilation. And as the same is true with regard to all other finite created spirits, it necessarily follows there is an omnipotent eternal mind, which knows and comprehends all things, and exhibits them to our view in such a manner, and according to such rules, as he himself hath ordained, and are by us termed the laws of nature.”

So far is Berkeley from teaching that, independently of us and our faculties, the earth, the sun, and the starry heavens have no existence at all, and that a lighted candle has not one of those qualities which it appears to have, that he repeatedly affirms the direct contrary; that the universe has a real existence in the mind of that infinite God, in whom, according to the scriptures, we all live, and move, and have our being; that a lighted candle has not only all those qualities which it appears to have, but that with respect to us it has nothing else; that, so far from being continually deceived by our senses, we are never deceived by them; and that all our mistakes concerning matter are the result of false inferences from true sensations.

The bishop makes the same distinction which we have made between ideas and notions, restraining the use of the former t term to denote the relicts of sensation, and employing the latter to denote our knowledge or conception of spirits, and all such objects as are not perceived by sense. He likewise affirms that we can have no idea of an external inert substance, because an idea can be like nothing but another idea, or the sensation of which it is a relict; and as all mankind admit that ideas and sensations can have no existence but in the mind of a percipient being, he therefore infers that we can have no idea of any thing existing unperceived, and by consequence can have no idea of matter in the philosophical sense of that word. Solidity, extension, divisibility, motion, figure, colour, taste, and all those things which are usually called qualities[7:14:650] primary and secondary, being, according to him, mere ideas, can have no existence but in a mind perceiving them; but so far is he from supposing their existence to depend upon the perception of our minds, that he says expressly, “When in broad day-light I open my eyes, it is not in my power to choose whether I shall see or no, or to determine what particular objects shall present themselves to my view; and so likewise as to the hearing and other senses, the ideas imprinted on them are not creatures of my will. There is, therefore, some other will or spirit that produces them. The question between the materialists and me is not, whether things have a real existence out of the mind of this or that person; but whether they have an absolute existence, distinct from being perceived by God, and exterior to all minds. I assert, as well as they, that since we are affected from without, we must allow powers to be without in a being distinct from ourselves. So far we are agreed. But then we differ as to the kind of this powerful being. I will have it to be spirit; they matter, or 1 know not what third nature. Thus I prove it to be spirit: From the effects I see produced, I conclude there are actions; and because actions, volitions (for 1 have no notion of any action distinct from volition), and because there are volitions, there must be a will. Again, the things I perceive must have an existence, they or their archetypes, out of my mind; but being ideas, neither they nor their archetypes can exist otherwise than in an understanding; there is, therefore, an understanding. But will and understanding constitute in the strictest sense a mind or spirit. The powerful cause, therefore, of my ideas is, in strict propriety of speech, a spirit.”

This is a faithful abstract of Berkeley’s theory, given in his own words. Matter, according to him, cannot be the pattern or archetype of ideas, because an idea can resemble nothing but another idea, or the sensation of which it is a relict. Matter, he thinks, cannot be the cause of ideas; for every cause must be active, and matter is defined to be inert and incapable of action. He therefore infers that all our sensations of what we call the qualities of body are the effects of the immediate agency of the Deity upon our minds; and that corporeal substance has no existence, or at least that we have no evidence of its existence. That such may possibly be the origin of onr sensations no man will deny who reflects upon the infinité power and wisdom of the Agent from whom they are conceived to proceed. Dr Reid himself, the ablest of all Dr Berkeley’s opponents, frankly acknowledges that no man “can show, by any good argument, that all our sensations might not have been as'they are, though no body or quality of body had ever existed.”

In its consequences we do not perceive that this theory can be hurtful either to religion, to virtue, or to the business of common life; for it only explodes the notion of a substratum, which, though it may have a real existence, was never thought of by the generality of mankind in any nation under heaven. Dr Beattie indeed affirms, that in “less than a month after the non-existence of matter should be universally admitted, he is certain there could not, without a miracle, be one human creature alive on the face of the earth.” But this assertion must be the consequence of bis mistaking Berkeley’s non-existence of matter for the non-existence of sensible objects, the reality and existence of which the bishop never denied. On the contrary, he expressly says, “We are sure that we really see, hear, feel; in a word, that we are affected with sensible impressions; and how are we concerned any farther? I see this cherry, 1 feel it, I taste it; and I am sure nothing cannot be seen, or felt, or tasted; it is therefore real. Take away the sensation of softness, moisture, redness, tartness, and you take away the cherry.” All this is equally true, and equally conceivable, whether the combined sensations which indicate to us the existence of the cherry be the effect of the immediate agency of God or of the impulse of matter upon our minds; and to the lives of men there is no greater danger in adopting the former than the latter opinion.

But it has been said that Berkeley’s doctrine necessarily leads to scepticism in religion, as the same kind of reasoning which he employs to prove the non-existence of matter operates equally against the existence of mind, and consequently against the possibility of a future state of rewards and punishments. “The rational issue of this system,” we are told, “is scepticism with regard to every thing excepting the existence of our ideas and their necessary relations. For ideas being the only* objects of thought, and having no existence but when we are conscious of them, it necessarily follows that there is no object of our thought which can have a continued and permanent existence. Body and spirit, cause and effect, time and space, to which we were wont to ascribe an existence independent of our thought, are all turned out of existence by this short dilemma. Either those things are ideas of sensation or reflection, or they are not.: If they are ideas of sensation or reflection, they can have no existence but when we are conscious of them: If they are not ideas of sensation or reflection, they are words without any meaning.”

This sophism was advanced as a consequence of Berkeley’s principles by Mr Hume; and upon these principles it has been deemed unanswerable by subsequent philosophers of great merit. But is it really a part of Berkeley’s system, or can it be fairly inferred from the principles on which that system is built? These questions it is fit that Berkeley should answer for himself; and we shall venture to assert that his answer will be perfectly satisfactory to every reader who attends to the distinction which, after the bishop, we have stated between ideas and notions.

Though we believe that this dangerous inference from Berkeley’s principles is commonly attributed to Hume as its author, it did not escape the sagacity of the bishop himself. In the third dialogue, Hylas, who pleads for the existence of matter, thus objects to the reasoning of his antagonist. “Notwithstanding all you have said, to me it seems that, according to your own way of thinking, and in consequence of your own principles, it should follow that you are only a system of floating ideas, without any substance to support them. Words are not to be used without a meaning. And as there is no more meaning in spiritual substance than in material substance, the one is to be exploded as well as the other.” To this Philonus answers: “How often must I repeat, that I know or am conscious of my own being; and that I myself am not my ideas, but somewhat else, a thinking active principle, that perceives, knows, wills, and operates about ideas; I know that I, one and the same self, perceive both colours and sounds; that a colour cannot perceive a sound, nor a sound a colour; that I am therefore one independent principle, distinct from colour and sound, and, for the same reason, from all other sensible things and inert ideas. But I am not in like manner conscious either of the existence or essence of matter. Farther, I know what I mean when I affirm that there is a spiritual substance or support of ideas; i. e. that a spirit knows and perceives ideas. But I do not know what is meant when it is said that an unperceiving substance hath inherent in it, and supports, either ideas or the archetypes of ideas. In the very notion or definition of material substance there is included a manifest repugnance and inconsistency. But this cannot be said of the notion of spirit. That ideas should exist in what doth not perceive, or be produced by what doth not act, is repugnant. But it is no repugnancy to say that a perceiving thing should be the subject of ideas, or an active being the cause of them. That I, who am a spirit or thinking substance, exist, I know as certainly[7:14:651] as I know that my ideas exist. I know likewise what I mean by the terms Zand myself ; and I know this immediately or intuitively, though I do not perceive it as I perceive a triangle, a colour, or a sound. Ideas are things inactive and perceived; and spirits a sort of beings altogether different from them, by which they arc perceived. I do not therefore say that my soul is an idea, or like an idea. However, taking the word idea in a large sense, my soul may be said to furnish me with an idea, that is, an image or likeness of God, though indeed extremely inadequate. For all the notion I have of God is obtained on reflecting on my own soul, heightening its powers, and removing its imperfections. I have, therefore, though not an inactive idea, yet in myself some sort of an active thinking image of the Deity. And though I perceive him not by sense, yet I have a notion of him, or know him, by reflection and reasoning. My own mind and my own ideas I have an immediate knowledge of, and by the help of these do immediately apprehend the possibility of the existence of other spirits and ideas. Farther, from my being, and from the dependency I find in myself and my ideas, I do by an act of reason necessarily infer the existence of a God, and of all created things in the mind of God. It is granted that we have neither an immediate evidence nor a demonstrative knowledge of the existence of other finite spirits; but it will not therefore follow that such spirits are on a footing with material substances; if to suppose the one be inconsistent, and if it be not inconsistent to suppose the other; if the one can be inferred by no argument, and there is a probability of the other; if we see signs and effects indicating distinct finite agents like ourselves, and see no sign nor symptom whatever that leads to a rational belief of matter. I say, lastly, that I have a notion of spirit, though I have not, strictly speaking, an idea of it. I do not perceive it as an idea, or by means of an idea; but know it by reflection. Whereas I neither perceive matter objectively as I do an idea, nor know it as I do myself by a reflex act; neither do I mediately apprehend it by similitude of the one or the other, nor yet collect it by reasoning from that which I know immediately. All which makes the case of matter widely different from that of the Deity and all spirits.”

Thus far we consider Berkeley’s theory tenable, and its consequences harmless. That by the immediate agency of the Deity all our sensations might be what they are, although matter bad no existence, we think he has proved by arguments unanswerable; and we are likewise of opinion, that by admitting the evidence of sense, consciousness, and reason, in their fullest extent, and by distinguishing properly between those things of which we have ideas and those of which we have notions, he has sufficiently secured the existence of spirits or percipient beings, and obviated the irreligious sophistry of Hume before it was conceived by that author. But the good bishop does not stop here. Not satisfied with proving that all our sensations lead us immediately to the Deity, and that, for aught we know, matter, as defined by philosophers, may have no separate existence, he proceeds farther, and endeavours to prove that matter cannot possibly exist. This appears even in the extracts which we have quoted from his book, in which he talks of the repugnance and inconsistency of the notion. In this part of his system we think he errs greatly, and advances an opinion altogether inconsistent with his own just principles.

The repugnance of which he speaks arises solely from considering solidity and extension as relicts of sensation, or as ideas of the same kind with those of heat and cold, tastes and sounds. “Light and colours, heat and cold, extension and figures; in a word, the things we see and feel; what are they,” says his lordship, “but so many sen sations, notions, ideas, or impressions, on sense: and is it possible to separate, even in thought, any of these from perception? Some there are who make a distinction betwixt primary and secondary qualities; by the former, they mean extension, figure, motion, rest, solidity or impenetrability, and number; by the latter, they denote all other sensible qualities, as colours, sounds, tastes, and so forth. The ideas we have of these they acknowledge not to be the resemblances of any thing existing without the mind, or unperceived; but they will have our ideas of the primary qualities to be patterns or images of things which exist without the mind, in an unthinking substance which they call matter. But it is evident that extension, figure, and motion, are only ideas existing in the mind; that without extension, solidity cannot be conceived; that an idea can be like nothing but another idea; and that consequently neither they nor their archetypes can exist in an unperceiving substance. Hence it is plain, that the very notion of what is called matter or corporeal substance involves a contradiction in it.”

This account of extension and solidity affords a striking instance how much the most vigorous and upright mind is liable to be warped by prejudice in behalf of a darling theory, and how apt the clearest understanding is to be blinded by the equivocal use of terms. That Bishop Berkeley possessed a vigorous and perspicacious mind, his most vehement antagonists are eager to admit; and that his intentions were good, is known to all Europe. Yet by the' equivocal use of the word idea, which the writings of Mr Locke had then introduced into the language of philosophy, he has here suffered himself to lose sight of a very proper and accurate distinction, which, as far as we know, was amongst the moderns first made by himself between ideas and notions. According to the bishop, “we have a notion of power and a notion of spirits, but we can have no idea either of the one or the other; for all ideas bein-r

, , . O

passive and inert, they cannot represent unto us by way of image or likeness that which acts. Such is the nature of spirit, or that which acts, that it cannot be of itself perceived, but only by the effects which it produceth. It must be owned, however, that we have some notion of soul, spirit, and the operations of the mind, such as willing, loving, hating, inasmuch as we know or understand the meaning of these words.”

Now, we beg leave to state, that what is here said of spirits, and of which we readily admit the truth, is equally true of material or solid substances. We have no ideas of solidity and extension, because these things arc not originally impressed upon the senses; but we have very distinct though relative notions of them, for they are clearly perceived by the effects which they produce. That this is at least possible, we have the acknowledgment of Bishop Berkeley himself; for he “freely owns, that from a cause, effect, operation, sign, or other circumstance, there may reasonably be inferred the existence of a thing not immediately perceived; and that it were absurd for any man to argue against the existence of that thing, from his having no direct and positive notion of it.” This is exactly the case with respect to solid substances. These substances we do not immediately perceive; but we infer their existence from effects, signs, and other circumstances, and we have very clear though relative notions of them. Thus a man can open and shut his empty hand; but when he grasps an ivory ball of three or four inches diameter, he feels, that though the same power be exerted, his hand cannot then be shut. He is conscious that there is no change in himself; and being intuitively certain that every effect must have a cause, he infers, with the utmost confidence, that the cause which prevents his hand from shutting is in the ball; or, in other words, that the thing which communicates to his eye the sensation of [7:14:652]colour, and impresses upon his hand a sensation of touch, must be solid or impenetrable. Solidity, however, is not the sensation itself; it is only the cause of the sensation; and therefore it is so far from being an idea in our minds, that we are conscious our notion of it is of a thing totally different from all our ideas of a thing external, at least to our minds. Indeed the notion itself is not positive; it is only relative, and inferred from the effects which are produced upon our senses. That it is the same thing which communicates to the eye the sensation of colour, and has the power of resisting the compression of our hand, is evident, because, when the ball is thrown away, the resistance as well as the actual sensation vanishes at once.

From this fact, which a less acute man would think a proof that the resistance was not occasioned by the immediate agency of the Supreme Being, but by the impenetrability of a solid substance of small dimensions, the bishop argues thus against the possibility of such a substance: “They who assert that figure, motion, and the rest of the primary or original qualities, do exist without the mind in unthinking substances, do at the same time acknowledge that colours, sounds, heat, cold, and such like secondary qualities, do not; which they tell us are sensations existing in the mind alone, that depend on and are occasioned by the different size, texture, and motion, of the minute particles of matter. This they take for an undoubted truth, which they can demonstrate beyond all ‘exception. Now, if it be certain, that those original qualities are inseparably united with the other sensible qualities, and not even in thought capable of being abstracted from them, it plainly follows that they exist only in the mind. But 1 desire any one to reflect and try whether he can, by any abstraction of thought, conceive the extension and motion of a body, without all other sensible qualities. For my own part, I see evidently that it is not in my power to frame an idea of a body extended and moved, but I must withal give it some colour or other sensible quality, which is acknowledged to exist only in the mind. In short, extension, figure, and motion, abstracted from all qualities, are inconceivable. Where, therefore, the other sensible qualities are, there must be these also, to wit, in the mind, and nowhere else.”

In this reasoning, although plausible, there is an unintentional fallacy. It is indeed true that we cannot contemplate in imagination a solid substance without conceiving it to have some colour; but there is sufficient reason to believe that this union of colour and solidity in our minds is not the effect of nature as it operates at first upon our senses, but merely the consequence of early and deep-rooted association. Bishop Berkeley has himself taught us that the objects of sight are not at a distance; and that if a man born blind were suddenly made to see, he would conceive the objects of his sight as existing either in his eye or in his mind. This is a truth which no man will controvert who has dipt into the science of optics, or who has even paid the slightest attention to the perceptions of infants; and if so, it follows, that to a man born blind and suddenly made to see, colour and solidity would not appear united. Were such a person to lay hold of an ivory ball and raise it to the elevation of his eye, he would perceive whiteness as a new sensation existing in his eye or his mind, but he would feel resistance at the extremity of his arm. He would not have the least reason to conclude, that this whiteness was inseparably united to the cause of this resistance; and he would, in fact, draw no such conclusion, till experience had taught him, that by removing the ball or cause of resistance from his hand, he at the same time removed the sensation from his eye. After repeated experiments, he would indeed discover, that the cause of colour to the eye was likewise by some means or other the cause of resistance to the hand; and he would so associate these in his mind, that the one would never afterwards make its appearance as an idea or a notion without bringing the other along with it. The whole difficulty, therefore, in this case, is to break an early and deep-rooted association; for it is plain that the associated ideas were not originally united, and that solidity and colour were at first conceived as separate.

If the reader perceive not the force of this reasoning, we beg leave to recommend to him the following experiment, which, if we mistake not, will carry conviction to his judgment, that in the last-quoted passage Bishop Berkeley has argued fallaciously, and that extension and colour are not inseparably united as ideas in the mind. Let him go into a dark room, containing a number of spherical bodies of various colours; let him take one of these into his hand, and he will instantly feel resistance, and have a notion of extension and solidity; but will he likewise have the idea of colour inseparably united with . this notion? The bishop says he will; and if so, it must be the idea of some particular colour; for his lordship has taught us that the abstract and general idea of colour, which is neither red, nor green, nor blue, &c. cannot possibly be formed. The man, then, we shall suppose, whilst he feels resistance, conceives the resisting body to be green; and holding it still in his hand, walks into the light of day. The resistance, and consequently thecause of resistance, remain unchanged; but what becomes of the inseparable union of those with colour, when the body, upon being actually seen, proves to be black, that is, to have no colour at all? It appears, therefore, undeniable, that solidity and colour are not united in nature; that the one is an essential quality of something external to us, of which we have no idea, but a very distinct· though relative notion; and that the other is an actual sensation in our minds, caused by the impression of something external upon the organ of sense, which leaves behind it in the memory or the imagination a positive and direct idea that exists nowhere else.

Solid substance, therefore, may exist; for although it is not immediately perceived by the senses, and is a thing of which we can have no idea, we acquire a clear and distinct notion of it, by the very same means which Bishop Berkeley thinks sufficient to give us distinct notions of power and of spirits; and, therefore, that notion cannot involve in it a contradiction. Still, however, we would not say with Dr Beattie, “that we could as easily believe that two and two are equal to ten, or that whatever is, is not, as that matter has no separate existence.” For it is certainly possible, that the Supreme Being, without the instrumentality of matter, could communicate to our minds all the sensations and notions from which we infer the reality of solid substance. All that we contend for, as having the evidence of demonstration, is the possibility of solid and extended substance; and if the thing be possible, the general voice of mankind proclaims its probability. We are conscious of our actual sensations, and we know by experience that they are caused by something distinct from ourselves. When a man grasps an ivory ball, he feels that he cannot shut his hand, and he knows that the resistance which prevents him proceeds not from himself. Thus far indeed all mankind are agreed. But Bishop Berkeley says, that the resistance proceeds immediately from the Supreme Being, or some other spirit; whilst we, without pretending that his scheme is im possible, think it more natural to suppose that the man’s hand is kept from shutting by the resistance of a solid substance of four inches diameter, of which substance, although we have no idea of it, we have as distinct a notion as Berkeley had of spirits. From one or other of these causes this effect must proceed; and it is of little importance to life or happiness which of them be the true [7:14:653]cause, since it is with the effect only that we are immediately concerned. Still, however, a philosopher would choose to adopt the easiest and most natural side of every alternative, which, if our notion of solidity he just, is certainly, in the present case, the existence of matter.

After treating so largely of the composition of bodies, and showing the general agreement of metaphysicians, ancient and modern, with respect to the notion of their solidity, it will appear strange to the less philosophical part of our readers, that we should now express a doubt of that notion being well founded. We have ourselves no doubt, but on the contrary are fully convinced, that solidity is essential to matter. This, however, has been denied by philosophers of great merit. Dr Priestley, after Mr Mitchell and Father Boscovich, affirms that matter is not solid nor impenetrable to other matter; and that it has, in fact, no properties but those of attraction and repulsion.^[64. Disquisitions on flatter and Spirit, and Correspondence with Dr Price. ] The proofs of this position, which appears so paradoxical, he draws from optical experiments, from electricity, and from the effects of heat and cold upon substances usually conceived to be solid.

The appearances from which the solidity of matter is inferred, are nothing more, he says, than superficial appearances, and therefore have led to superficial and false judgments, which the real appearances will not authorize. “Resistance, on which alone our opinion concerning the solidity or impenetrability of matter is founded, is never occasioned by solid matter, but by something of a very different nature, viz. a power of repulsion, always acting at a real, and in general an assignable distance, from what we call the body itself. When I press my hand against the table, I naturally imagine that the obstacle to itsgoing through the table is the solid matter of which it consists; but a variety of philosophical considerations demonstrate that it generally requires a much greater power of pressure than I can exert to bring my fingers into actual contact with the table. Electrical appearances show that a considerable weight is requisite to bring into seeming contact even the links of a chain hanging freely in the air, they being kept asunder by a repulsive power belonging to a very small surface, so that they do not actually touch, though they arc supported by each other. It has been shown from optical considerations, that a drop of water rolls upon a cabbage leaf without ever coming into actual contact with it; and indeed all the phenomena of light are most remarkably unfavourable to the hypothesis of the solidity or impenetrability of matter. When light is reflected back from a body on which it seems to strike, it was natural to suppose that this was occasioned by its impinging against the solid parts of the body; but it has been demonstrated by Sir Isaac Newton, that the rays of light are always reflected by a power of repulsion acting at some distance from the body. Again, when part of a beam of light has overcome this power of repulsion, and has entered any transparent substance, it goes on in a right line, provided the medium be of a uniform density, without the least interruption, and without a single particle being reflected, till it comes to the opposite side, having met with no solid particles in its way, not even in the densest transparent substances, as glass, crystal, or diamond; and when it is arrived at the opposite side, it is solely affected by the laws of attraction and repulsion.

“Nay, that the component particles of the hardest bodies themselves do not actually touch one another, is demonstrable from their being brought nearer together by cold, and by their being removed farther from each other by heat. The power sufficient· to overcome these internal forces of repulsion, by which the ultimate particles of bodies are prevented from coming into actual contact, is what no person can pretend to compute. The power requisite to break their cohesion, or to remove them from the sphere of each other’s attraction, may in some measure be estimated; but this affords no data for ascertaining the force that would be necessary to bring them into actual contact, which may exceed the other almost infinitely.”

From these facts Dr Priestley infers, that the mutual resistance of bodies proceeds in all cases from powers of repulsion acting at a distance from each body; that the supposition of the solidity or impenetrability of matter is destitute of all support whatever; and that matter itself is nothing but powers of attraction and repulsion, and several spheres of them, one within another. As other philosophers have said, “Take away solidity, and matter vanishes ;” so he says expressly, “Take away attraction and repulsion, and matter vanishes.”

To illustrate this strange notion, “Suppose,” says he, “that the Divine Being, when he created matter, only fixed certain centres of various attractions and repulsions, extending indefinitely in all directions, the whole effect of them to be upon each other, these centres approaching to or receding from each other, and consequently carrying their peculiar spheres of attraction and repulsion along with them, according to certain definite circumstances. It cannot be denied that these spheres may be diversified infinitely, so as to correspond to all the kind of bodies that we are acquainted with, or that are possible. For all effects in which bodies are concerned, and of which we can be sensible by our eyes, touch, &c. may be resolved into attraction or repulsion. A compages of these centres, placed within the spheres of each other’s attraction, will constitute a body that we term compact; and two of these bodies will, on their approach, meet with a repulsion or resistance sufficient to prevent one of them from occupying the place of the other, without a much greater force than we are capable of employing; so that to us they will appear perfectly hard.

“As in the constitution of all actual bodies that we are acquainted with, these centres are placed so near to each other, that in every division that we can make we still leave parts which contain many of these centres; we, reasoning by analogy, suppose that every particle of matter is infinitely divisible; and the space it occupies is certainly so. But, strictly speaking, as those centres which constitute any body arc not absolutely infinite, it must be naturally possible to come by division to one single centre, which could not be said to be divisible, or even to occupy any portion of space, though its sphere of action should extend ever so far; and had only one such centre of attraction, &c. existed, its existence could not have been known, because there would have been nothing on which its action could have been exerted; and there being no effect, there could not have been any ground for supposing a cause.”

In answer to this reasoning against the solidity of matter, Dr Priestley was frequently asked by his candid and masterly antagonist,^[65. Free Discussion between Dr Price and Dr Priestley. ] “What it is that attracts and repels, and that is attracted and repelled ?” But to this question he was never able to give a satisfactory answer. Indeed, how could he have been able? For, as Dr Price argues, “exclusive of attraction and repulsion, he affirms matter to be absolutely nothing; and therefore, though we were to allow it the power of attracting and repelling, yet, as it is nothing but this power, it must be the power of nothing, and the very idea of it be a contradiction.”

If there be any class of truths intuitively certain, that class comprehends the two following propositions: Power [7:14:654]cannot be without a subject ; and Nothing can act where it is not. If, therefore, there be powers of attraction and repulsion (which shall be considered afterwards in the chapter on Motion), there must be a subject of those powers; and if matter, whether solid or unsolid, be the subject, it cannot possibly attract or repel at a distance. Sir Isaac Newton, in his letters to Dr Bentley, calls the notion that matter possesses an innate power of attraction, or that it can act upon matter at a distance, and attract and repel by its own agency, “an absurdity into which, he thought, no one could possibly fall.” Hence it follows, that the appearances from which Dr Priestley infers the penetrability of matter must be fallacious appearances, since they contradict an intuitive and necessary truth. The facts which he instances are, indeed, such as would make most other men suspicious of fallacy; and in his reasonings from them he sometimes takes for granted the truth to be proved. The links of a chain used for electrical purposes, supposing them to be in contact with each other, can touch only with very small surfaces. The electrical fluid is of considerable density, and incapable of being absorbed within a very narrow compass. This is evident, because it passes not through paper and other porous bodies without making a passage for itself, and leaving a visible aperture behind it; and although it assimilates with metals, and passes through them more easily than through other bodies, yet it is plain that it requires a certain quantity of metal to conduct it; for when the conductor falls short of the necessary quantity, it is melted or dissipated by the force of the fluid. This being the case, it follows that the links of a chain may be in actual contact (we do not positively affirm that they are), and yet the fluid become visible in passing from link to link; for if the point of contact be too small to absorb the whole fluid, part of it must pass without any metallic conductor through the atmosphere, and thus become apparent to the eye of the spectator.

With ‘respect to light, it is obvious that there cannot possibly be any demonstration, in the logical sense of the word, that it is reflected by a power of repulsion acting at some distance from the body; for, in the opinion of all mankind, the primary and solid atoms of matter are too minute to fall under the cognizance of our senses, however assisted by art; and therefore, if light appears to be reflected at a distance from the surface of the body, we must conclude, either that between the point of reflection and the apparent surface of the body there are solid atoms unperceived by us, or that light is reflected by the agency of some other substance than matter. One of these conclusions, we say, must be drawn, because they are both possible; and there is no other alternative but to admit one of them, or to suppose that a thing may act where it is not, which is as clearly absurd and impossible as that whatever is, is not. Again, when part of a beam of light has entered any transparent substance, how does Dr Priestley know that it goes on in a right line, without the least interruption, till it comes to the opposite side? This he can know only by his senses; but the beam may meet with ten thousand interruptions from objects which the senses cannot perceive, and may describe a zig-zag line, of which the deflections are so small as to elude the keenest eye aided by the most powerful glass.

That the component particles of the hardest bodies do not all actually touch one another, is indeed evident from the effects of cold and heat upon those bodies; but it does not therefore follow that those bodies have no component particles, but only that they are fewer in number than we are apt to imagine; that all the solid matter in the universe might possibly be compressed within a very narrow sphere; and that it is held together in different bodies and different systems by a power foreign from itself. These are truths which all philosophers have admitted who have thought sufficiently on the subject; but who will admit Dr Priestley’s proposition when it is translated into common English, viz. “that the component nothings of the hardest bodies do not actually touch one another, is demonstrable from their being brought nearer together by cold, and by their being removed farther from each other by heat ?”

Dr Priestley owns, that if matter be solid it could act upon other matter by impulse. But we are certain that, whatever it be, it can act upon nothing in the manner which he describes; and therefore, to use the words of Dr Price, “matter, if it be any thing at all, must consist of solid particles or atoms occupying a certain portion of space, and therefore extended, but at the same time simple and uncompounded, and incapable of being resolved into any other smaller particles. It must likewise be the different form of these primary particles, and their different combinations and arrangement, that constitute the different bodies and kinds of matter in the universe.” This is exactly agreeable to the doctrine of Newton, who, after considering the question in every point of view, concludes, that “in the beginning God formed matter in solid, massy, hard, impenetrable, moveable particles, of such sizes and figures, and with such other properties, as most conduced to the end for which he formed them; and that those primary particles being solid, are incomparably harder than any porous bodies compounded of them, even so very hard as never to wear or break in pieces, no ordinary power being able to divide what God himself made one in the creation.” To talk, as Dr Priestley does, of matter being certain centres of various attractions and repulsions extending indefinitely in all directions, and to describe these centres as not being physical points or solid atoms, is either to say that nothing attracts and repels, or it is to introduce the divine agency as the immediate cause of all our sensations. The former branch of the alternative Dr Priestley disclaims, the latter he seems willing to admit. But if it be his meaning that all our sensations are caused by the immediate agency of God or created spirits, his scheme differs not from that of Berkeley, except in being less elegantly expressed and less ingeniously supported. Berkeley’s scheme is evidently possible. The commonly-received scheme is likewise possible. It remains, therefore, with the reader, whether he willadopt the system of the Bishop of Cloyne, or admit, with all other philosophers, that matter exists; that it consists of parts actually distinct and separable; and that each of these parts is a monad or solid atom, which requires no foreign agency to keep it united.

CHAP. IV.—OF SPACE AND ITS MODES.

Having considered bodies in their substance, essences, and qualities, and proved that they have a real existence independently of us and our conceptions, we proceed now to inquire into the nature of space, motion, number, and duration. These are commonly called the adjuncts of body, and are supposed to be absolutely inseparable from its existence. It does not indeed appear that actual motion is a necessary adjunct of body, considered as a mere solid, extended, and figured substance; but it is certainly necessary to the existence of organized and animated bodies, and the capability of being moved enters into our conceptions of all bodies whatever. Of these adjuncts, that which first demands our attention is space; for without a knowledge of its nature we could not have an adequate idea of motion, and without motion we could have no idea of time.

Every body is extended; and between two bodies not in actual contact, we perceive that a third body may be easily introduced. That which admits of the introduction of the third body is what we call space, and if it be totally [7:14:655] void of matter, it is called pure space. Whether there be any space absolutely pure, has been disputed; but that such space is possible admits of no dispute. Were any one body, a cannon ball, for instance, to be annihilated, and the circumambient air, with every other material substance, kept from rushing into the space which the ball bad occupied, that portion of space, with respect to matter, would be empty or pure space; whether it would necessarily be filled with mind, shall be considered afterwards. Pure space, therefore, is conceivable; and it is conceived as having three dimensions, length, breadth, and depth, which are generally called the three simple modes of space. In this respect it agrees with body; but the agreement proceeds no farther, for space is conceived as destitute of solidity, without which the existence of body is inconceivable. It has been formerly observed, that whatever may be distinctly conceived may possibly exist; but with respect to the existence of pure space, whatever is possible is real, for it shall be shown in the next section, that were there no space absolutely pure or void of matter, there could be no motion. Our business at present is to inquire what the nature of space is, and what notion we ought to have of its existence.

Many modern philosophers consider space as something entirely distinct both from body and mind; some of them ascribe to it no less than four of the attributes of the Deity, eternity, immobility, infinity, and necessary existence; and a few of them have gone so far as to call infinite space the sensorium of the Deity. “The supposal of the existence of any thing whatever,” says Dr Clarke,^[66. Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, and Correspondence with a Gentleman in Gloucestershire, passim. ] “necessarily includes a presupposition of the existence of space. Nothing can possibly be conceived to exist without thereby presupposing space, which, therefore, I apprehend to be a property or mode of the self-existent substance; and that, by being evidently necessary itself, it proves that the substance of which it is a property must be also necessary.” Elsewhere he says, that “space is a property or mode of the self-existent substance, but not of any other substances. All other substances are in space, and are penetrated by it; but the self-existent substance is not in space, nor penetrated by it, but is itself (if I may so speak) the substratum of space, the ground of the existence of space itself.” He acknowledges, however, that such expressions as “the self-existent substance is the substratum of space, or space is a property of the self-existent substance, are not, perhaps, very proper; but what 1 mean,” says he, “is this: The idea of space (as also of time or duration) is an abstract or partial idea; an idea of a certain quality or relation, which we evidently see to be necessarily existing, and yet which (not being itself a substance) at the same time necessarily presupposes, a substance, without which it could not exist.”

These opinions respecting space have been adopted by succeeding philosophers of great merit, and particularly by Dr Price, who says, that “it is a maxim which cannot be disputed, that time and place are necessary to the existence of all things. Dr Clarke,” continues he, “has made use of this maxim to prove that infinite space and duration are the essential properties of the Deity, and I think he was right.”

Had authority any weight in philosophy, we know not what modern writers we could oppose to the celebrated names of Clarke and Price, unless it were Bishop Berkeley, Dr Law, bishop of Carlisle, and the author of Ancient Metaphysics. But the question is not to be decided by authority. Learned and acute as Dr Clarke was, his assertions respecting space are contradictory and inconsistent.

If nothing can possibly be conceived to exist without thereby presupposing the existence of space, how can space be a property or mode of the self-existent substance? Are properties piioι in the older of nature, or even in our conceptions, to the substances in which they inhere? Can we frame an abstract idea of figure, or extension, or solidity, before we conceive the existence of any one figured, extended, or solid substance? These are questions which every man is as capable of answering as Doctors Clarke and Price, provided he can look attentively into his own mind, and trace his ideas to their source in sensation; and if he be not biassed by the weight of great names, we are persuaded he will find, that if it be indeed true, that the supposition of the existence of anything whatever necessarily includes a presupposition of the existence of space, space cannot possibly be a property or mode of the self-existent substance, but must of necessity be a substance itself.

It is, however, not true, that the supposal of the existence of any thing whatever necessarily includes a pre-supposition of the existence of space. The idea of space is indeed so closely associated with every visible and tangible object, that we cannot see the one nor feel the other without conceiving them to occupy so much of space. But bad we never possessed the senses of sight and touch, we could not have supposed the existence of space necessary to the existence of any thing whatever. The senses of smelling, tasting, and hearing, together with our internal powers of consciousness and intellect, would certainly have compelled us to believe in our own existence, and to suppose the existence of other things; but no object either of consciousness, smelling, tasting, or hearing, can be conceived as occupying space. Space and every thing which fills it are conceived as of three dimensions; but whoever supposed or can suppose an odour, a taste, or a sound, to have length, breadth, and depth; or an object of consciousness to be an ell or an inch in length?

Let us suppose that body and all the visible world had a beginning, and that once nothing existed but that Being who is alone of necessary as well as eternal existence; space, say the followers of Dr Clarke, would then exist likewise without bounds or limits. But we desire to know of these gentlemen what sort of a being this space is. It is certainly not substance; neither is it a property; for we have seen that the very notions of it, which lead men to suppose its existence necessary, render it impossible to be a property of the self-existent Being. Is it then nothing? It “is in one sense;^[67. Ancient Metaphysics. ] it is nothing actually existing; but it is something potentially; for it has the capacity of receiving body whenever it shall exist. It is not, and cannot become, any thing itself, nor hath it any actual existence; but it is that without which nothing corporeal could exist.” And for this reason it was that Democritus and Epicurus made space one of the principles of nature; nay, for the same reason, Aristotle has made privation one of his three principles of natural things, matter and form being the other two. But although the privation of one form be doubtless necessary belòre matter can receive another (for a piece of wax or clay cannot receive the form of a globe before it lose the form of a square), yet Aristotle never dreamed that the privation of the square was any property of the globe, or that privation itself was to be reckoned a real being. On the contrary, he expressly calls it το μr l δν, or the no being. In this way, if we please, we may consider space, and call it the privation of fulness or of body. We have indeed a positive idea of it, as well as of silence, darkness, and other privations; but to argue from such an idea of space, th at space itself is something [7:14:656]real, seems altogether as good sense as to say, that because we have a different idea of darkness from that of light, of silence from that of sound, of the absence of any thing from that of its presence; therefore darkness, silence, absence, must be real things, and have as positive an existence as light, sound, and body; and to deny that we have any positive idea, or, which is the very same thing, any idea at all, of the privations above mentioned, will be to deny what is capable of the most complete proof, and to contradict common sense and daily experience. There are therefore ideas, and simple ones too, which have nothing ab extra correspondent to them; no proper archetype, or objective reality; and we do not see why the idea of space may not be reckoned of that number. To say that space must have existence because it has some properties (for instance, penetrability, or the capacity of receiving body), seems^[68. See Notes on King’s Origin of Evil, and Law’s Inquiry into the Ideas of Space, &c. ] to be the same thing as to urge that darkness must be something because it has the capacity of receiving light; silence the property of admitting sound; and absence the property of being supplied by presence. To reason in this manner is to assign absolute negations; and such as, in the same way, may be applied to nothing, and then call them positive properties; and so infer that the chimera, thus clothed with them, must needs be something.

But it is said, that as we cannot conceive space to be annihilated, it must be some real thing of eternal and necessary existence. If this argument had not been used by writers of great merit, and with the best intention, we should not have scrupled to call it the most contemptible sophism that ever disgraced the page of philosophy. Whatever has now an actual existence, must from eternity have had a possible existence in the ideas of the divine mind. Body, as an extended substance, has now an actual existence, and therefore it must from eternity have had a possible existence in the ideas of the divine mind; but the possible existence of body is all that we can conceive by space, and therefore this argument, upon which so much stress has been laid, amounts to nothing more, than that what has from eternity been possible, can at no period have been impossible. It is evident that the capacity or potentiality of every thing existing must have been from eternity; but is capacity or potentiality, a real being? All the men and women who shall succeed the present generation to the end of time have at this moment a possibility of existence, nor can that possibility be conceived as an impossibility; but is it therefore any thing actually existing, either as a substance or a quality?

It has been urged that space must be something more than the mere absence of matter, because if nothing be between bodies, such as the walls of a room, they must necessarily touch. But surely it is not self-evident that bodies must necessarily touch if nothing be between them; nor of the truth of this proposition can anything like a proof be brought. It is indeed intuitively certain, that “things, when they are in contact, have nothing between them and hence it has rashly been inferred, that things, when they have nothing between them, are in contact; but this is an illegitimate conversion of the proposition. Every logician knows, that to convert a proposition, is to infer from it another whose subject is the predicate, and whose predicate is the subject, of the proposition to be converted; but we are taught by Aristotle, and by common sense, that an universal affirmative can only be converted into a particular affirmative. “Things, when they are in contact, have nothing between them,” is an universal affirmative proposition; and therefore it can only be converted into the following particular affirmative: “Some things, when they have nothing between them, are in contact ;” a proposition which by no means includes in it the contact of the walls of an empty room. The reason why the walls of an empty room do not touch, is that they are distant; but is distance, in the abstract, any thing really existing? Two individuals differ, or there is a difference between them; but is difference itself any thing really external? Bodies are long, broad, thick, heavy; but are length, breadth, density, weight, properly any thing? Have they any real separate archetypes or external archetypes? Or can they exist but in some substances?

The reason why so many philosophers have considered space as a real external thing, seems to be this. Every bodily substance is extended; but space is conceived to be that which contains body, and therefore to space we likewise attribute extension. Extension is a quality which can have no existence but as united with other qualities in some substance; and it is that of which, abstracted from all substances, we can, properly speaking, form no idea. We understand the meaning of the word, however, and can reason about that which it denotes, without regarding the particular substance in which extension may inhere; just as we can reason about whiteness without regarding any one white object, though it is self-evident that whiteness, abstracted from all objects, cannot figure in the mind as an idea. Qualities considered in this manner are general and relative notions, the objects of pure intellect, which make no appearance in the imagination, and arc far less, if possible, to be perceived by sense; but it is extremely painful to the mind to dwell upon such notions, and therefore the. ever-active fancy is always ready to furnish them with imaginary substrata, and to make that which was a general and invisible notion be conceived as a particular ideal object. In the case of extension this is the more easily done, that the notion which we have of a real substratum or substance, the support of real qualities, is obscure and relative, being the notion of something we know not what. Now, by leaving, if we can, solidity and figure entirely out of our conception, and joining the notion of something with the notion of extension, we have at once the imaginary substratum of an imaginary quality, or the general notion of extension particularized in an imaginary subject; and this subject we call space, vainly imagining that it has a real external and independent existence. Whether this be not all that can be said of space, and whether it be not absurd to talk of its having any real properties, every man will judge for himself, by reflecting upon his own ideas, and the manner in which they are acquired. We ourselves have no doubt about the matter. We consider pure space as a mere notion relative to the existence of corporeal substance, as in truth nothing more than the absence of body, where body is possible; and we think the usual distinction between absolute and relative space, if taken as real, the grossest absurdity. We do not, however, pretend to dictate to others, but recommend it to every man to throw away all respect for great names, to look attentively into his own thoughts, and on this, as on all metaphysical subjects, to judge for himself.

Having said so much of space in general, we need not waste much time upon its modes. Indeed the only mode of space, after considering it with respect to the three dimensions of body, which now demands our attention, is that which we call place. For, as in the simplest mode of space we consider the relation of distance between any two bodies or points; so, in our idea of place, we consider the relation of distance between any thing, and any two or more points, which, being considered as at rest, keep the same distance one from another. Thus, when we find any thing at the same distance now at which it was yesterday[7:14:657] from two or more points with which it was then compared, and which have not, since the comparison was made, changed their distance or position with respect to each other, we say that the thing has kept its place, or is in the same place; but if it has sensibly altered its distance from either of these points, we then say that it has changed its place.

From this view of the nature of place, we need not observe that it is a mere relation; but it may be worth while to advert to this circumstance, that a thing may without falsehood be said to have continued in the same place, and at the same time to have changed its place according to the different objects with which it is compared. Thus, if two persons find a company of chess-men standing each upon the same square of the chess-board where they left them, the one may with truth affirm that they are all in the same place, or unmoved, and the other may with equal truth affirm that they have all changed place. The former considers the men only with respect to their distances from the several parts of the chess-board, which have kept the same distance and position with respect to one another. The latter must consider the men with respect to their distance from something else; and finding that the chessboard, with every thing upon it, has been removed, we shall suppose, from one room to another, he cannot but say that the chess-men have changed their place with respect to the several parts of the room in which he formerly saw them.

This modification of distance, however, which we call place, being made by men for their common use, that by it they may designate the particular position of objects where they have occasion for such designation, they determine this place by reference to such adjacent things as best serve their present purpose, without regarding other things which, for a different purpose, would better determine the place of the same object. Thus, in the chess-board, the use of the designation of the place of each chess-man being determined only within that chequered piece of wood, it would cross that purpose to measure it by any thing else; but when these very chess-men are put up in a box, if any one should ask where the black king is, it would be proper to determine the place by reference to something else than the chess-board, such as the parts of the room or closet which contain the box.

That our idea of place is nothing but such a relative position of things as we have mentioned, will be readily admitted, when it is considered that we can have no idea of the place of the universe. Every part of the universe has place, because it may be compared with respect to its distance from other parts supposed to be fixed. Thus the earth and every planet of our system has a place, which may be determined by ascertaining its distance from the sun, and from the orbits of the other planets; and the place of the system itself may be ascertained by comparing it with two or more fixed stars; but all the systems taken as one whole can have no place, because there is nothing else to which the distance and position of that whole can be referred. It is indeed true that the word place is sometimes used, we think improperly, to denote that space or portion of space which any particular body occupies; and in this sense, no doubt, the universe has place, as well as the earth or solar system; but to talk of the place of the universe in the other and proper sense of the word, is the grossest absurdity.

CHAP. V. OF MOTION.

Mobility, or a capacity of being moved, is essential to every corporeal substance; and by actual motion are all the operations of nature performed. Motion, therefore, if it may be called an adjunct of body, is certainly the most important of all its adjuncts; and to ascertain its nature and origin demands the closest attention of the metaphysician, as well as of the mechanician and astronomer. With the laws of motion, as discovered by experience, we have at present no concern; they are explained and fully established in other treatises of this work. (See Mechanics, Motion, and other articles.) The principal questions which we have to consider are, “What is motion? and by what power is it carried on ?”

For an answer to the first of these questions, the modern metaphysician refers every man to his own senses, because, in his apprehension, the word motion denotes a simple idea which cannot be defined. Amongst theancients, the Peripatetics were of a different opinion; and Aristotle, whose love of dialectics made him define every thing, has attempted to give two definitions of motion. As some learned men have laboured to revive this system, we shall, out of respect to them, mention those definitions, and make such remarks upon them as to us appear proper.

The author of Ancient Metaphysics having observed, that both nature and art propose some end in all their operations; that when the end is obtained, the thing operated upon is in a state of perfection or completion; and that in the operations of both nature and art there is a progress, and by consequence a change from one thing to another; adds, that this change is motion. Motion, therefore, according to him, is a change or progress to the end proposed, or to that state of perfection or completion which Aristotle calls iντελεχεια. It is not enough, however, that we know to what the change or progress is made; to have an adequate idea of motion, we must likewise know from what it proceeds. Now, it is evident that every thing existing, whether by nature or art, had, before it existed, a possible existence; and therefore, adds the same author, things do in some sort exist even before they exist. This former kind of existence is said by Aristotle to be εν δυνάμει, that is, in power or capacity. In this way, plants exist in their seeds; animals in the embryo; works of art in the idea of the artists and in the materials of which they are made; and, in general, every thing in the causes which produce it. From this power or capacity there is a progress to energy or to actual existence; so that we are now able to answer the question, “from what and to what motion is a change ?” for it is universally true of all motion, that it is a change from capacity to energy.

“Having thus discovered that motion lies betwixt capacity and energy, it is evident,” he says, “that it must have a connection with each of them; and from this double connection Aristotle has given us two definitions of it; one of them taken from the energy, or end to which it tends; the other from the capacity from which it begins. The first is expressed in two words, viz. ivεgγεια ατε∖ης, or imperfect energy; the other is εvτε∖εχεια του εν δυναμει, η εν δυναμει, “The perfection of what is in capacity, considered merely as in capacity.” The meaning of the last words is, that nothing is considered in the thing that is moved but merely its capacity; so that motion is the perfection of that capacity, but not of the thing itself. It is something more, adds the learned author, than mere capacity; for it is capacity exerted, which, when it has attained its end, so that the thing has arrived at that state to which it is destined by nature or art, ceases, and the thing begins to exist εvεξγεια, or actually.

By all the admirers of Aristotle, this latter definition has been preferred to the former; for what reason, it is difficult to say. They both involve in the thickest obscurity that which, viewed through the senses, is very easily understood; and on this, as on many other occasions, Aristotle was certainly guilty of darkening counsel by words without knowledge. The author, whose comment on this [7:14:658]wonderful definition we have faithfully abridged, admits that it is not intelligible till we know what change and progress are: but is it possible to conceive any change to take place in bodily substances without motion? or, if we were called upon to explain what progress is, could we do it better than by saying that it is motion from something to something? It is likewise very obvious, that before we can have an adequate idea of motion, we must, according to this definition, know perfectly what the words capacity, energy, and perfection denote; and yet nothing can be more true than that perfection denotes a complex conception, which may be easily defined by resolving it into the simple ideas and notions of which it is compounded, whilst motion is not susceptible of any such resolution. The perfection of a knife is compounded of the temper of the steel and the sharpness of the edge; the perfection of a system of philosophy consists of the importance of the subjects treated, the strength of the author’s arguments, and the perspicuity of his style and manner; but of what is the motion of a ball, or an atom, or any thing else, compounded? We are aware that to this question the modern Peripatetics will reply, that it is not the motion of a ball or an atom, nor of any one thing, that their master has so learnedly defined, but motion abstracted from all individuals, and made an object of pure intellect; and they will likewise affirm, that by the word perfection used in the definition, he does not mean any one kind of perfection as adapted to any particular object or end, but perfection abstracted from all objects and all ends. The perfection of nothing and the motion of nothing (for such surely are that motion and that perfection which are abstracted from all objects and ends) are strange expressions. To us they convey no meaning; and we have reason to think that they are equally unintelligible to men of greater acuteness. In a word, motion must be seen or felt; for it cannot be defined. To call it the act of changing place, or a passage from one place to another, gives no information; for change and passage cannot be conceived without previously conceiving motion.

The Peripatetics, having idly attempted to define motion, proceed next to divide it into four kinds or classes. This division was by the father of the school pretended to be made from the effects which it produces, and was said by him to belong to three categories, viz. quality, quantity, and where (see Category). The first kind is that well-known motion from place to place, which falls under the category last mentioned; the second is alteration, by which the quality of any thing is changed, the substance remaining the same. This belongs to the category of quality. The third is increase, and the fourth diminution, both belonging to the category of quantity. The ancient atomists, and all the modern metaphysicians of eminence, have with great propriety rejected this division, as being nothing but a collection of absurd distinctions where there is in nature no difference. It has already been shown, that body has no other real qualities than solidity, extension, and figure; but of these the first cannot be altered without destroying the substance; for every thing which is material is equally solid. The extension of a body may indeed be enlarged, and its figure may be altered, whilst the substance re mains the same; but that alteration can be made only by moving from their places the solid atoms of which the body is composed. Aristotle’s second kind of motion, therefore, does not differ from the first; nor do the third and fourth differ from these two. For a body cannot be increased without acquiring new matter, nor diminished without losing some of the matter of which it was originally composed; but matter can neither be added nor taken away without motion from place to place; for there is not now any creation de novo ; and we have no reason to imagine that, since the original creation, a single atom has ever been annihilated. It is therefore beyond dispute, that local motion is the only motion conceivable; and indeed, as far as we are capable of judging from what we know of body, it is the only motion possible.

This has given rise to a question which has been debated amongst modern philosophers, though, as far as we know, it was never agitated amongst the ancients, viz. “Whether, if there were but one solid body existing, that body could possibly be moved.” Bishop Berkeley seems to be of opinion that it could not; because no motion can be conceived but what has a direction towards some place, and the relation of place necessarily supposes the existence of two or more bodies. Were all bodies, therefore, annihilated excepting one globe, it would be impossible, he thinks, to conceive that globe in motion. With respect to the origin of our ideas of motion, his reasoning appears unanswerable; but we do not perceive how it concludes against the possibility of motion itself as existing in a single body. It has been already shown in the chapter on Simple Apprehension and Conception, that although nothing can be conceived which may not possibly exist, yet many things may be possible which we have not faculties or means to conceive. In the present instance, were this solitary globe animated as our bodies arc, were it endowed with all our senses and mental powers, it certainly would not acquire any idea of motion, though impelled by the greatest force. The reason is obvious. It would have no objects with which to compare its place and situation at different periods of time; and the experience of a ship at sea in calm weather affords sufficient proof that motion which is equable cannot be perceived by any other means than by such a comparison. When the waves swell and the ship pitches, it is indeed impossible that those who are on board should not perceive that they are actually in motion; but even this perception arises from comparing their position with that of the waves rising and falling around them; whereas, in the regions of empty space, the animated globe could compare its position with nothing, and therefore, whether impelled by equal or unequal forces, it could never acquire the idea of motion. It may perhaps be thought, that if this solitary globe were a self-moving animal, it might acquire the idea of motion by inferring its existence from the energy which had produced it. But how, we would ask, could any animal in such circumstances be self-moving? Motion is the effect of some cause; and it has been already shown that we have no reason whatever to suppose that any being can be the real and primary cause of any effect which that being can neither conceive nor will; but, as motion can be perceived only by the senses, a solitary animal could have no idea of motion previously to its own exertions, and therefore could neither conceive nor will any exertion to produce it. Let us, however, suppose, that without any end in view it might spontaneously exert itself in such a manner as would produce sensible motion were it surrounded with other corporeal objects; still we may venture to affirm, that, as long as it should remain in absolute solitude, the being itself would acquire no idea of motion. It would indeed be conscious of the mental energy, but it could not infer the existence of motion as a consequence of that energy; for the idea of motion can be acquired only by sense; and by the supposition there are no objects from which the senses of this spherical animal could receive those impressions, without which there can be no perception, and of course no ideas.

Let us now suppose that, whilst this animated globe is under the influence either of external impulse or of its own spontaneous energy, other bodies are suddenly brought into existence; would it then acquire the idea of motion? It certainly would, from perceiving its own change of place with respect to those bodies; and although at first it would not perhaps be able to determine whether itself or the bodies around it were moving, yet a little experience [7:14:659]would decide this question likewise, and convince it that the motion was the effect either of its own mental energy, or of that external impulse which it had felt before the other bodies were presented to its view. But it is obvious that the creation of new bodies at a distance can make no real alteration in the state of a body which had existed before them; and, therefore, as this animated globe would now perceive itself to be moving, we may infer, with the utmost certainty, that it was moving before, and that the motion of a single body, though not perceivable by the senses, might possibly be produced in empty space.

Having thus seen that a single body is capable of motion in empty space, the next question that occurs on this subject is, whether it would be possible to move a body injspace that is absolutely full? Such are the terms in which this question is usually put; and by being thus expressed, it has'given rise to the dispute amongst natural philosophers about the existence of a vacuum. Perhaps the dispute might have been avoided had the question been more accurately stated. For instance, had it been asked, whether motion would be possible, could matter be supposed absolutely infinite, without any the least interstice or vacuity amongst its solid parts? We apprehend that every reflecting man would have answered in the negative. At any rate, the question ought to be thus stated in metaphysics, because we have seen that space, though a positive term, denotes nothing really existing. Now it being of the very essence of every solid substance to exclude from the place which it occupies every other’solid substance, it follows undeniably, that not one particle of an infinite solid could be moved from its place without the previous ∙annihilation of another particle of equal extent, but that annihilation would destroy the infinity. Were matter extended to any degree less than infinity, the motion of its parts would undoubtedly be possible, because a sufficient force could separate those parts, and introduce amongst them vacuities of any extent; but without vacuities capable of containing the body to be moved, it is obvious that no force whatever could produce motion. This being the case, it follows, that however far we suppose the material universe to be extended, there must be vacuities in it sufficient to permit the motion of the planets and all the other heavenly bodies, which we plainly perceive to revolve round a centre; and, if so, the next question to be determined is, what can operate in vacuo upon such immense bodies, so as to produce a regular and continued motion?

That all bodies are equally capable of motion or of rest, has been as completely proved by natural philosophers as any thing can be proved by observation and experience. It is indeed a fact obvious to the most superficial observer; for if either of these states were essential to matter, the other would be absolutely impossible. If rest were essential, nothing could be moved; if motion were essential, nothing could be at rest, but every the minutest atom would have a motion of its own, which is contrary to universal experience. With respect to motion and rest, matter is wholly passive. No man ever perceived a body inanimate begin to move, or, when in motion, to stop without resistance. A billiard ball laid at rest on the smoothest surface, would continue at rest to the end of time, unless moved by some force extrinsic to itself. If such a ball were struck by another ball, it would indeed be moved with a velocity proportioned to the impetus with which it was struck; but the impelling ball w∙ould lose as much of its own motion as was communicated to that upon which the impulse was made. It is evident, therefore, that in this instance there is no beginning of motion, but only the communication of motion from one body to another; and we may still ask, where had the motion its origin? If the impelling ball was thrown from the hand of a man, or struck with a racket, it is plain, that by a volition of the man’s mind the motion was first given to his own arm, whence it proceeded through the racket from one ball to another; so that the ball, the racket, and the arm, were mere instruments, and the mind of the man the only agent or first mover. That motion can be begun by any being which is not possessed of life, consciousness, and will, or what is analogous to these, is to us altogether inconceivable. Mere matter or inanimate body can operate upon body only by impulse; but impulse, although from the poverty of language we are sometimes obliged to talk of its agency, is itself merely an effect; for it is nothing more than the contact of two bodies, of which one at least is in motion. An infinite series of effects without a cause is the grossest absurdity; and therefore motion cannot have been communicated from eternity by the impulse of body upon body, but must have been originally produced by a being who acts in a manner analogous to the energies of the human will.

But though motion could not have been begun except by the energy of mind, it is generally believed that it might be continued by the mere passiveness of body; and it is a law of the Newtonian philosophy, that a body projected in empty space would continue to move in a straight line for ever. The only reason which can be assigned for this law is, that since body continues to move at all after the impetus of projection has ceased, it could not of itself cease to move without becoming active; because as much force is required to stop a body in motion as to communicate motion to the same body at rest. Many objections have been made to this argument, and to the law of which it is the foundation; but as we do not perceive their* strength, we shall not undertake any formal examination of them. If a single body could exist and have motion communicated to it in vacuo by the force of projection, we are persuaded that, from the very passiveness of matter, that motion would never have an end; but it is obvious that it could be moved only in a straight line, for an impulse can be given in no other direction.

The heavenly bodies, however, are not moved in straight lines, but in curves round a centre; and therefore their motion cannot have been originally communicated merely by an impressed force of projection. This is admitted by all philosophers; and therefore the Newtonians suppose that the planets are moved in elliptical orbits by the joint agency of two forces acting in different directions. One of these forces makes the planet tend directly to the centre about which it revolves; the other impels it to fly off in a tangent to the curve described. The former they call gravitation, which some of them have affirmed to be a property inherent in all matter; and the latter, which is a projectile force, they consider as impressed ab extra. By the joint agency of such forces, duly proportioned to each other, Sir Isaac Newton has demonstrated, that the planets must necessarily describe such orbits as by observation and experience they are found actually to describe. But the question with the metaphysician is, whether such forces be real?

With respect to projection, indeed, there is no difficulty; but that bodies should mutually act upon each other at a distance, and through an immense vacuum, seems at· first sight altogether impossible. If the planets are moved by the forces of gravitation and projection, they must necessarily move in vacuo ; for the continual resistance of even the rarest medium would in time overcome the force of the greatest impetus; but if they move in vacuo, how can they be attracted by the sun or by one another? It is a self-evident truth, that nothing can act but where it is present, either immediately or mediately; because every thing which operates upon another must perform that operation either by its own immediate agency or by means of some instrument. The sun and planets are not in contact; nor, [7:14:660]if the motion of these bodies be in vacuo, can any thing material pass as an instrument from the one to the other. We know indeed by experience, that every particle of unorganized matter within our reach has a tendency to move towards the centre of the earth; and we are intuitively certain, that such a tendency must have some cause; but when we infer that cause to be a power of attraction inherent in all matter, which mutually acts upon bodies at a distance, drawing them towards each other, we employ a language which is perfectly unintelligible.^[69. A different opinion on this point is held by Mr Dugald Stewart in his Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind. We shall, however, claim the same liberty of dissenting occasionally from him that he has claimed of dissenting from Newton, Locke, Clarke, and Cudworth, from whom he differs widely in thinking it as easy to conceive how bodies can act upon each other at a distance, as how one body can communicate motion to another by impulse. “I allow,” says he (p. 70), “that it is impossible to conceive in what manner one body acts upon another at a distance through a vacuum; but 1 cannot admit that it removes the difficulty, to suppose that the two bodies are in actual contact. That one body may be the efficient cause of the motion of another body placed at a distance from it, I do by no means assert; but only that we have as good reason to believe that this may be possible, as to believe that any one natural event is the efficient cause of another.” If by efficient cause be here meant the first and original cause of motion, we have the honour to agree with the learned professor; for we are persuaded, that body inanimate is not, in this sense of the word, the cause of motion either at hand or at a distance. But if he mean (and we think he must, because such was the meaning of Newton, from whom he professes to differ), that we can as easily conceive one body to be the instrumental cause of the motion of another from which it is distant, as we can conceive it to communicate motion by impulse, we cannot help thinking him greatly mistaken. We will not indeed affirm, with the writer whom he quotes, “that although the experiment had never been made, the communication of motion by impulse might have been predicted by reasoning a priori because we are not certain, that without some such experiment we should ever have acquired adequate notions of the solidity of matter. But if all corporeal substances be allowed to be solid, and possessed of that negative power to which philosophers have given the name of vis inertiae, we think it may be easily proved a priori, that a sufficient impulse of one hard body upon another must communicate motion to that other; for when the vis inertiae, by which alone the one body is kept in its place, is less than the vis impetus with which the other rushes to take possession of that place, it is evident that the former body must give way to the latter, which it can do only by motion, otherwise the two bodies would occupy one and the same place, which is inconsistent with their solidity. But that a substance possessed of a vis inertiae should make another substance possessed of the same negative power quit a place to which itself has no tendency, is to us not only inconceivable, but apparently impossible, as implying a direct contradiction. ] Nay, more; we may venture to affirm that such an inference is contrary to fact. The particles of every elastic fluid fly from each other; the flame of a fire darts upwards with a velocity for which the weight of the circumambient air cannot account; and the motion of the particles of a plant, when growing, is so far from tending towards the centre of the earth, that when a flower-pot is inverted, every vegetable in it, as soon as it is arrived at a sufficient length, bends itself over the side of the pot, and grows with its top in the natural position.

Sensible of the force of these arguments against the possibility of an attractive power in matter which operates at a distance, other philosophers have supposed that the heavenly bodies are moved in elliptical orbits by means of two forces originally impressed upon each planet, impelling it in different directions at the same time. But if the tendency of the planets towards the centre of the sun be of the same kind with that of heavy bodies towards the centre of the earth (and if there be such a tendency at all, we have no reason to suppose it different), it cannot possibly be the effect of impulse. A body impelled or projected in vacuo would continue to be moved with an equable velocity, neither accelerated nor retarded as it approached the object towards which it was directed; but the velocity of a body tending towards the centre of the earth is continually accelerated; and as we cannot doubt but that the same thing takes place in the motion of a body tending towards the centre of the sun, that motion cannot be the effect of impulse or projection.

Some of the Newtonians therefore have supposed “that all kinds of attraction consist in fine imperceptible particles or invisible effluvia, which proceed from every point in the surface of the attracting body, in rectilineal directions every way, which, in their progress, lighting on other bodies, urge and solicit them towards the superior attracting body; and therefore,” say they, “the force or intensity of the attracting power in general must always decrease as the squares of the distances increase.” The inference is fairly drawn from the fact, provided the fact itself were real or possible. But it is obvious, that if fine imperceptible particles or invisible effluvia were thus issued from every point in the surface of the sun, the earth and other planets could not move in vacuo, and therefore the projectile motion would in time be stopped by the resistance of this powerful medium. Besides, is it not altogether inconceivable, nay impossible, that particles issuing from the sun should draw the planets towards that centre? would they not rather of necessity drive them to a greater distance? To say that after they have reached the planets, they change their motion, and return to the place whence they set out, is to endue them with the powers of intelligence and will, and to transform them from passive matter to active mind.

These difficulties in the theories of attraction and impulse have set philosophers upon fabricating numberless hypotheses. Even Sir Isaac Newton himself, who never considered gravitation as any thing more than an effect, conjectured that there might be a very subtile fluid or ether pervading all bodies, and producing not only the motion of the planets, and the fall of heavy bodies to the earth, but even the mechanical part of muscular motion and of sensation. Others, again, have supposed that fire, or light, or the electric fluid, is the universal agent; and some few have acknowledged, that nothing is sufficient to produce the phenomena but the immediate agency of mind.

With respect to the interposition of any material fluid, whether ether, fire, light, or electricity, it is sufficient to say that it does not remove any one difficulty which encumbers the theory of innate attraction. All these fluids are elastic; and of course the particles of which they are composed are distant from each other. Whatever motion, therefore, we may suppose to be given to one particle or set of particles, the question still recurs, how is it communicated from them to others? If one body can act upon another at the distance of the ten thousandth part of an inch, we can perceive nothing to hinder its action from extending to the distance of ten thousand millions of miles. In the one case as well as in the other, the body is acting where it is not present; and if that be admitted to be possible, all our notions of action are subverted, and it is vain to reason about the cause of any phenomenon in nature.

This theory of the intermediate agency of a subtile fluid differs not essentially from the vortices of Descartes, which appeared so very absurd to Cudworth, that, with a boldness becoming a man of the first genius and learning, he rejected it, and adopted the plastic nature of Plato, Aristotle, and other Greek philosophers. That incomparable scholar observes, that matter, being purely passive, the motion of the heavenly bodies, the growth of vegetables, and even the formation of animal bodies, must be the effect either of the immediate agency of God, or the agency of a plastic [7:14:661]nature employed as an instrument by Divine Wisdom. That they are not the effect of God’s immediate agency, he thinks obvious from several circumstances. In the first place, they are performed slowly and by degrees, which is not suitable to our notions of the agency of Almighty Power. Secondly, many blunders are committed in the operations of nature, such as the formation of monsters, &c. which could never be were things formed by the immediate hand of God. He is therefore of opinion, that after the creation of matter, God employed an inferior agent to give it motion and form, and to carry on all those operations which have been continued in it since the beginning of the world. This agent he calls plastic nature; and considers it as a being incorporeal, which penetrates the most solid substance, and, in a manner which he pretends not to explain otherwise than by analogy, actuates the universe. He does not look upon it as a being endued with perception, consciousness, or intelligence, but merely as an instrument which acts under Divine Wisdom, according to certain laws. He compares it to art embodied; and, quoting from Aristotle, says, “If the art of the shipwright were in the timber itself, operatively and effectually, it would there act just as nature does.” He calls it a certain lower life than the animal, which acts regularly and artificially for ends of which it knows nothing. It maybe, he says, either a lower faculty of some conscious soul, or else an inferior kind of life or soul by itself, but depending in either case upon a higher intellect. He is aware with what difficulty such a principle will be admitted by those philosophers who have divided all being into such as is extended and such as is cogitative; but he thinks this division improper. He would divide beings into those which are solid and extended, and those which have life or internal energy. Those beings which have life or internal energy he would again divide into such as act with consciousness, and such as act without it; the latter of which is this plastic life of nature. To prove that such an instrument is possible, or that a being may be capable of operating for ends of which it knows nothing, he instances bees and other animals, who arc impelled by instinct to do many things necessary to their own preservation, without having the least notion of the purpose for which they work. (See Instinct.) He observes, that there is an essential difference between reason and instinct, although they are both the attributes of mind or incorporeal substance; and that therefore, as we know of two kinds of mind differing so widely, there is nothing to hinder us from inferring a third, with powers differing as much from instinct as instinct differs from reason. Mankind are conscious of their own operħtions, know for what purpose they generally act, and can, by the power of reflection, take a retrospective view of their actions and thoughts, making as it were the mind its own object. Brutes are conscious of their own operations, but they arc ignorant of the purposes for which they operate, and altogether incapable of reflecting either upon their past conduct or their past thoughts. Between their intellectual powers and those of man there is a much greater difference than there is between them and a plastic nature, which acts as an instrument of Divine Wisdom, without any consciousness of its own operations. Aristotle, from whom principally the learned author takes this notion of this plastic nature, compares it, with respect to the Divine Wisdom which directs and superintends its operations, to a mere builder or mechanic working under an architect, for a purpose of which the mechanic himself knows nothing. The words of the Stagyrite are, “We account the architects in every thing more honourable than the mere workmen, because they understand the reason of the things done; whereas the other, as some inanimate things, only work, not knowing what they do, just as the fire burns; the difference between them being only this, that inanimate things act by a certain nature in them, but the workman by habit.”^[70. Metaphys. lib. i. cap. i. ]

Still further to prove that a being may be endowed with some vital energy of a subordinate kind, and yet be destitute of consciousness and perception, the learned author observes, that there is no reason to think that the souls of men in sound sleep, lethargies, or apoplexies, are conscious of any thing; and still less, if possible, to suppose that the souls of embryons in the womb are, from the very first moment of their arrival there, intelligent and conscious beings; neither can we say how we come to be so differently affected in our souls by the different motions made upon our bodies, nor are we always conscious of those energies by which we impress fantastic ideas on the imagination. But if it be possible for the souls of men to be for one instant void of consciousness and intelligence, it follows that consciousness is not absolutely necessary to those energies and motions by which life is preserved. To this it maybe added, upon the best authority,^[71. Gregory’s Philosophical and Literary Essays. ] “that where animal or vegetable life is concerned, there is in every case a different relation between the cause and effect, and seemingly depending upon the concurrence or influence of some farther principle of change in the subject than what subsists in inanimate matter, or in the causes and effects that are the objects of mechanical and chemical philosophy.” Now to this principle of vegetable life, without which, in a seed or in a plant, vegetation will neither begin nor continue, though light, heat, air, earth, and water, should concur in the utmost perfection, Cudworth expressly compares his plastic nature in the universe. It is so far, says he, from being the first or highest life, that it is indeed the last and lowest of all lives, being really the same thing with the vegetative.

These arguments, if the phenomena of elective attractions in chemistry be added to them, demonstrate, we think, the possibility of such a principle; and to those who are inclined to affirm that no such thing can .exist, because, according to the description of it given by Cudworth and the ancients, it is neither body nor spirit in the proper sense of the words, we beg leave to ask, in the words of Locke, “who told them that there is and can be nothing but solid beings which cannot think, and thinking beings that are not extended, which is all that they mean by the terms body and spirit?” All the Greek philosophers who were not materialists, and even the inspired writers of the Old and New Testaments, constantly distinguish between the spirit and the soul of a man, calling the former sometimes νους, and sometimes πνεύμα, and the latter ∙ψυχη ; and St Paul, who, before he was a Christian, was learned in philosophy, describes the constituent parts of man as three, πνεύμα, ψυχη, σωμa, spirit, soul, and body. This distinction, setting aside the authority with which it comes to us, seems to be well founded; for there are many operations carried on in the human body without any conscious exertion of ours, and which yet cannot be accounted for by the laws of mechanism. Of these, Cud worth instances the motion of the diaphragm and other muscles which cause respiration, and the systole and diastole of the heart, neither of which, he thinks, can be the effect of mere mechanism. But, as we are not conscious of any energy of soul from which they proceed, even whilst we are awake, and still less, if possible, whilst we are asleep, he attributes them, not to the intellect or rational mind, but to this inferior vital principle called ∙^υχη, which, in his opinion, acts the same part in the system of the human body which the plastic nature acts in the system of [7:14:662]the world. To make the resemblance still tore striking, he observes, that even the voluntary motion f our limbs, although it proceeds ultimately from an enrgy of will, seems to be the effect of that energy employig some instrument which pervades the sinews, nerves, and muscles of the body; and if the human spirit or τrνευμ employ the instrumentality of a plastic nature or ψυχη i moving the small machine of the body, it seems to be fa from incredible that the Divine Wisdom should emplo the instrumentality of a plastic nature in moving the geat machine of the universe.

But we need not insist further on the possnlity of such an instrument. Whatever may be thought f the arguments of Cudworth, of which some are, to sr the least of them, plausible, though others appear to us ^ have very little strength, Dr Clarke has proved, with a bree of reasoning not inferior to mathematical demon ration, that the motions of the heavenly bodies are carrid on by the ageney of something very different from mtter, under every possible form. “For, not to say that seeing matter is utterly incapable of obeying any laws ι the proper sense of the word, the very original laws of otion themselves cannot continue to take place but by smething superior to matter continually exerting on it a ertain force or power, according to such certain and detιmined laws, it is now evident beyond question, that the odies of all plants and animals could not possibly have cen formed by mere matter according to any general lars of motion; and not only so, but that most universal priciple of gravitation itself, the spring of almost all the cat and regular inanimate motions in the world, anseing not at all the surfaces of bodies, by which alone they an act upon one another, but entirely to their solid con≡nts, cannot possibly be the result of any motion origina y impressed upon matter.” For although it is true that to most solid bodies with which we are acquainted are al very porous, and that therefore a subtile material fluid miht penetrate the bodies of the planets, and operate upon hem with a force exerted internally, still it is self-evi nt that the greatest quantities of such a fluid could nt enter into those bodies which arc least porous, and wh - e the greatest force of gravitation resides; “and, then ire, this motion must of necessity be caused by someth g which penetrates the very solid substance of all bod s, and continually puts forth in them a force or power ctirely different from that by which matter acts upon mater.”^[72. Evidence of Natural and Revealed Religion. ] This, as the same able writer observes, is an evidet demonstration, not only of the world’s being original! made by a Supreme Intelligent Cause; but, moreover, tat it depends every moment upon some superior being for he preservation of its frame, and that all the great mot ms in it are caused by some immaterial power perpetuali and actually exerting itself every moment in every part the corporeal universe. This preserving and govening power, whether it be the immediate power and actio of the same Supreme Cause that created the world, or ae action of some subordinate instruments appointed by im to direct and preside respectively over certain parts ιereof, gives us equally in either way an elevated idea o Providence. We know with certainty that real and origial power can belong only to a being endowed with intelligace and will; and, therefore, if the existence of Cud worth’s plastic nature be admitted, and we see not why it should be called in question, l it can be considered only as an instrument employed by Divine Wisdom, as a chisel or a saw is employed by the wisdom of the mechanic.

Nor let it be imagined, that this ancient theory of motion is in any degree inconsistent with the mathematical principles of Sir Isaac Newton’s astronomy, or with thecalculations derived from those principles. Having founded his astronomy on analogy between the phenomena of projectile and planetary motions, he assigned the same or similar forces existing in nature as the efficient causes of both. And indeed, both in the act of deriving his principles from the projectile phenomena, and afterwards for the purpose of applying them to the planetary, it was necessary to analyze the elliptical motion of the heavenly bodies into a compound of two simple motions in right lines, produced by the action of these different forces; and this might also be useful for the purposes of teaching and demonstration, just as we find it necessary, in almost all parts of science, to separate what in nature is inseparable, for the convenience and assistance of the understanding. The planetary motions, however, are very probably simple and uncompounded, for no experiments can be tried in those distant regions; and the astronomy of Newton, which is only the application of his mathematical principles to their mensuration from their analogy to projectile motions, does not at all require that the forces of gravitation and projection be assigned as their real existent causes.^[73. Indeed Sir Isaac himself is very far from posifvely assigning them as the real causes of the phenomena. The purpose for which they were introduced into his philosophy he clear! explains in the following words: u Eadem ratione qua projectile vi gravitatis in orbem flecti posset et terram totam circumire, [ .est et luna, vel vi gravitatis, si modo gravis sii, vel alia quacunque vi qua in terram urgeatur, retrahi semper a cursu rectilineo teram versus et in orbem suum flecti; et absque tali vi luna in orbe suo retineri non potest. Haec vis, si justo minor esset, non satis cteret lunam a cursu rectilineo: si justo major, plus satis flecteret, ac de orbe terram versus deduceret. Requiritur quippe ut sit v toe magnitudinis: et mathematicoum est invenire vim, qua corpus in dato quovis orbe data cum velocitate accurate retineri possit; vicissim invenire viam curvilineam, in quam corpus e dato quovis loco data cum velocitate egressum data vi flectatur.” (Principi Mathem. def. v.) ] It is sufficient for the analogy, on which the whole philosophy is founded, that the phenomena of motion are known from experiments and observations to be the same in both instances; that the principles or general laws mathematically established from the forces of the one are transferred to the phenomena of the other; and that the proofs and operations deduced from these principles in the latter case, are confirmed by facts and experience, the first and final test of truth.^[74. Tatham’s Chart and Scale of Truth. ]

CHAP. VI. OF NUMBER.

“Amongst all the ideas that we have, as there is none,” says Mr Locke,^[75. Essay, book ii. chap. xvi. ] “suggested to the mind by more ways, so there is none more simple, than that of unity, or one. It has no shadow of variety or composition in it. Every object our senses are employed about, every idea in our understandings, every thought of our minds, bring this idea along with it; and therefore it is the most intimate to our thoughts, as well as it is, in its agreement to all other things, the most universal idea we have; for number applies itself tomen, angels, actions, thoughts, every thing that either doth exist or can be imagined.” He seems likewise to be of opinion, that we have the idea of unity before that of many; and that it is by repeating the simple idea of unity in our own minds that we come by the complex ideas of two, three, or more. In this opinion he is joined by Père fluffier,^[76. First Truths. ] who observes, that it is impossible to explain the nature of unity, because it is the most simple idea, and that which perhaps first occurred to the mind.

That unity is a simple idea, must be granted; but it certainly[7:14:663] did not first occur to the mind, nor can it be abstracted from all individuals, and apprehended, in Locke’s sense of the word, as a general idea. Let any man look into his own mind, and then say whether he has a general idea of one or of unity as abstracted from every individual object mental and corporeal. In particular, when he thinks he has completely abstracted it from body and mind, sensations, ideas, actions, and passions, &c. let him be sure, before he pronounce it a general abstract idea, that he is not all the while contemplating the idea of its name, or of that numerical figure by which it is marked in the operations of arithmetic. Both these ideas are in themselves particular; and become general in their import, only as representing every individual object to which unity is in any sense applicable. But, in the chapter on Abstraction, we have said enough to convince every person capable of conviction, that they are employed as signs for whole classes of objects.

Instead of being an abstract general idea, unity, as the basis of number, is in fact nothing but a mere relation, which cannot be conceived without the related objects; and so far is it from being the first idea that occurred to the mind, that it is certainly the result of a comparison, made by the intellect, of two or more objects. The ideas which first occur to the mind are, beyond all doubt, those which are called ideas of sensation; and many such ideas every child receives before he is capable of comparing objects and forming to himself notions of number. Unity, or the idea of one, is indeed the element of the science of arithmetic, just as a mathematical point is the clement of the science of geometry; but accurate notions of these elements are, in the progress of knowledge, subsequent to ideas of many and of surfaces. There is reason to believe that persons totally illiterate have no notion at all of mathematical points; and we think it possible to conceive an intelligent and conscious being in such a situation as that he could not acquire a notion of unity or one. Were a child never to sec or feel two objects of the same kind, we doubt if he would think of numbering them, or of making such a comparison of the one with the other as would suggest to his mind the relations of one and two; for these relations imply both a sameness and a difference of the objects beyond the power of a child to ascertain. The difference indeed would be perceptible to the senses, but the senses would perceive no sameness or agreement. A guinea, a shilling, and a ball of lead, impress upon the mind different sensations; and therefore a child undoubtedly distinguishes these objects from one another; but what could make him derive from this his first idea of the relation of number? A guinea, a shilling, and a ball of lead, are not one, two, three, in any sense which a child can comprehend. To be convinced of this, let any man throw a guinea, a shilling, and a ball of lead upon a table, and ask a clown what is their number, From being accustomed to retail the names of number as signs, without affixing to them any idea of the things signified, he will probably answer with quickness three, or perhaps one, two, three. But if he be further asked in what respect they are one, two, three, we believe his answer will not be so ready. They are not one, two, three guineas, or shillings, or balls of lead. A philo sopher knows thm to be three pieces of the same first matter under dií rent forms, and can therefore apply to them the relatio of number with truth and propriety; but of the first m; ter a clown is entirely ignorant, and of course cannot call hem one, two, three, in any sense which is at once true an to him intelligible.

To make it sti more evident that it is only by comparing together tkigs of the same kind that our first ideas of unity and num r are formed, let us suppose that no created being had . therto existed except the animated and intelligent globe mentioned in the last chapter, and we think it will be grr ted that such a being in solitude could never acquire the lea of unity. Let us next suppose a cubical body to be reated, and exhibited to the senses of this spherical man The consequence would be a sensation or feeling entirely ew, but that feeling would not be one of unity; for, as ιe author of Ancient Metaphysics has somewhere well oberved, unity is no object of sensation. The sensation word be one of colour, hardness, softness, roughness or smoo mess, &c. for beyond these the empire of the senses doe-not reach. Again, let another body be created of a comr and figure totally different from the colour and figure o the cube, and the spherical man would then experience no sensations having no agreement with those which he ha formerly felt. These different kinds of sensations migh be compared together; but the result of the comparison ould not be the ideas which are denoted by the wore one and two, but merely that which is expressed by dií rence or dissimilarity. Were another cube, however, of xactly the same size and colour with the former to be bi ught into existence, and both to be at once presented to e view of the spherical man, the rudiments of the id of number would then be generated in his mind, becau > he could not but perceive the cubes to be in one respet different and in another the same; different as being >tinct from each other, and agreeing in their effects upo the organs of sensation.

It appears, theref 'e, that mankind must have made some progress in classim filings according to their genera and species, before the; acquired any correct ideas of the relation of number, c thought of using numerical names or figures as general aι discriminating signs; for we say one, two, three, &c. onl with respect to the species or genus of which each of tl things denoted by these numbers is an individual; and there be any thing which has no genus or species, neit :r number nor unity can, in the original sense of the w< fis, be predicated of it.^[77. We are happy to find our notions on this subject confirmed by Mr Dugald Stewart “Without the power of attending separately to things which our senses present to us in a state of union, we never,” says this ble writer, “could have had any idea of number: for, before we can consider different objects as forming a multitude, it is necessaι that we should be able to apply to all of them one common name; or, in other words, that we should reduce them all to the same mus. The various objects, for example, animate and inanimate, which are at this moment before me, I may class and number in a ariety of different ways, according to the view of them that I choose to take. I may reckon successively the number of sheep, of c s, of horses, of elms, of oaks, of beeches; or I may first reckon the number of animals, and then the number of trees; or I may at < e reckon the number of all the organized substances which my senses present to me. But whatever be the principles on which my ι ∙sification proceeds, it is evident that the objects numbered together must be considered in those respects only in which they agree ' h each other; and that if I had no power of separating the combinations of sense, I could never have conceived them as forming plurality.” (Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, chap, iv.), ] We say indeed that there is ue God; but perhaps we do not always attend to the caning of the expression. Language was formed to answ r the common purposes of life; and those purposes are est answered by denoting individuals by the name of the >ecies or genus to which they belong. But God belongs to o species or genus, unless he be said improperly to be c the universal genus of Being; and therefore the true waning of the word “one,” when joined to the verb “is,” aι transferred from the creature to the Creator, in such a st tence as “There is one God,” seems to be nothing mor than an affirmation that God exists, and that to him the elation of number cannot be applied. In a word, unity am lumber are merely relations between [7:14:664]the individuals of the same species or genus of being; and men acquire ideas of these relations at the same time and by the same means that they are led to class things into species and genera. As to the processes of addition and subtraction, and the various purposes to which number is applied, these things belong to the science of arithmetic, and do not fall under the province of the metaphysician, whose sole object is to ascertain the real nature and causes of things. It may, however, be worth while to observe, that Locke, whose notions of number seem to have been different from ours, owns, that a man can hardly have any ideas of numbers of which his language does not furnish him with names. But if units were either real things, or even positive ideas, we see not how names could be necessary to their existence; whereas, if they be nothing more than mere relations, it is obvious that they cannot be conceived but as relative either to beings actually existing, or to names which are the signs of actual beings.

CHAP. VII OF TIME.

When St Augustin was asked what time is, he replied, “ Si non roges, intelligo an answer from which it may be inferred that he thought the nature of time could not be explained by a logical definition. Time and eternity are commonly considered as the two modes of duration; and if duration be taken in what Locke thinks its true and original sense, to denote permanence of existence, with a kind of resistance to any destructive force, the distinction seems to be sufficiently proper. It is indeed the best that we can make or comprehend; for duration, time, and eternity, are subjects which have perplexed philosophical minds in all ages, and of which, if we have any adequate notions, it is verydifficultto express these notions inffanguage. Instead of attempting it by previous definitions, the method in which the ancients generally began their inquiries, we shall pursue the better course of induction recommended by Lord Bacon, and endeavour to show by what means we acquire the notion of that mode of duration which is called time, in contradistinction to eternity. We begin with time, because we ourselves exist in it, and it is in some sense familiar to us. If we be able to trace our notions of this mode of duration to their source, we may then give a definition of it founded upon fact and universal experience, and afterwards proceed to consider the other mode in conjunction with infinity, to which it is nearly allied.

It has already been observed, that every man, whilst awake, has a train of sensations and ideas constantly passing through his mind, in such a manner that the one succeeds the other in a regular order. It is not possible, either by detaining in the mind one idea to the exclusion of all others, to stop the course of this succession entirely; or, by hurrying some ideas off the stage, and calling others in their place, to quicken its progress beyond a certain degree. One man indeed has naturally a quicker succession of ideas than another; and all men can, by great exertions, accelerate or retard in a small degree the natural current of their thoughts. A studious man lays hold, as it were, of a particular idea, which he wishes to contemplate, and detains it in the imagination, to the exclusion of all others; a man of wit calls remote ideas into view with a rapidity of which a cool and phlegmatic reasoner cannot form any conception; and a forcible sensation takes full possession of the mind, to the exclusion of all ideas whatever. Whilst the attention is wholly occupied by one idea, or by one sensation, the mind has no notion whatever of time; and were it possible to detain such idea or sensation alone in the mind till the hand of a clock should move from the number of one hour to that of another, the hour, as marked on the dial-plate and measured by the motion of the hand, would appear but as one instant absolutely void of duration. For the truth of this assertion we appeal to the experience of our readers. Such of them as have ever been engaged in deep study must often have had their attention so fixed upon one object, that large portions of time, as measured by the clock, have passed away wholly unheeded; and every man who has seen a very striking and uncommon object, must remember that when the sensation was first impressed upon his mind, all other objects, ideas, and notions, and amongst the rest the notion of time, were for a while excluded.

No sensation, however, keeps possession of the whole mind after it has ceased to be new; nor can the most vigorous exertions long preserve any one idea from being driven off' the stage by the succeeding train. Now this succession of ideas appearing and disappearing in their turns, is that which, when compared with the permanency of ourselves and other things, gives us our first and justest notion of time; for whilst we - are thinking, or whilst a series of ideas is successively passing through our mindsand vanishing, we know that we ourselves and the things around us exist; and this existence, or continuation of existence, commensurate with the train of our fleeting ideas, is what we call the duration of ourselves and the things around us.

We are aware that the first notions of time have been often said to be derived from motion as perceived by our senses in the objects around us. It is observed by Euclid, that “if there were no motion, there could be no sound, nor any sense of hearing.” “He might have added,” says the author of Ancient Metaphysics, “nor any other perception of sense. Further, without motion there would have been no visible world, nor generation or production of any kind here below; and, among other things, time could have had no existence.” All this is certainly true; but that corporeal motion, though the original source of all our ideas, is not that which immediately suggests to us the notion of time, will be readily granted by him who considers that motion itself is perceived by us only when it excites or accompanies a constant succession of perceptions and ideas. Motion, when equable and very slow, such as that of the hour-hand of a common watch, is not perceived by us in its course; nor can we discover that the thing has moved at all, till after we have been sensible of the lapse of a considerable portion of what is commonly called time, when we discover that the hand of the watch has changed its place with respect to other objects which we know to be fixed. The same is true of motion remarkably quick: « Let a cannon ball,” says Locke, “pass through a room, and in its way take with it any limb or fleshy parts of a man; it is as clear as any demonstration can be, that it must strike successively the two sides of the room; it is also evident that it must touch one part of the flesh first, and another after, and so in succession; and yet I believe nobody who ever felt the pain of such a shot, or heard the blow against the two distant walls, could perceive any succession either in the pain or sound of so swift a stroke.”

Of these two phenomena a satisfactory account may be easily given ;,from which we think it will at the same time be apparent, that the succession of the train of ideas in the mind is the measure and standard of all other successions. We know that the energy of mind which reviews a train of sensible ideas is of the very same kind with that which attends to a series of passing sensations; and therefore it is natural to suppose that we can pay attention to sensations and ideas passing with nearly equal velocities. But it has been shown, that every sensation remains in the mind or sensorium for a very short space after the object which excited it is taken away; whence it follows, that a body communicating to*the organs of sense a series of similar impressions succeeding each other with remarkable [7:14:665]rapidity, cannot possibly excite a train of similar and distinct sensations; because the effects of the first and second impressions not having vanished when those of the third and fourth arrive, the whole train of effects must necessarily coalesce into one uniform sensation. This reasoning is confirmed by experience. Similar sounds succeeding each other at considerable intervals are all distinctly perceived, and if the motion be accelerated gradually, it may be carried to a great degree of velocity before the sounds be confounded and coalesce into one. Sir William Herschel having, by means of a clock, produced sounds or clicking noises, which succeeded each other with such rapidity that the intervals between them were, as far as could be judged, the smallest possible, found that he could evidently distinguish one hundred and sixty of them in a second of time; but beyond that he could by no effort of attention distinguish one sound from another. The same philosopher tried another experiment on visible sensations. By means of the same handle and work of the clock, he caused a wheel in it to turn till it acquired the velocity of once in a second. He continued to increase the velocity, and observed it whilst revolving at the rate of twenty times round in thirteen seconds, and could still distinguish the teeth and spaces from each other; whence it appears, by a computation given at length, that he had two hundred and forty-six distinct visible sensations generated by equable motion in a second of time. The teeth of the wheel, he owns, were not so far visible as to show their shape distinctly, much less could they have been counted; but he very plainly distinguished the circumference to be divided into teeth and spaces; and he supposes that the same division might still have been seen though the motion had been a little faster, as far perhaps as two turns in a second, equal to three hundred and twenty sensations.^[78. Watson’s Treatise on Time. ] The reason why the division could not be seen whilst the wheel moved more rapidly than twice round in a second of time, was doubtless the continuance of that agitation in the brain from which each sensation proceeded, until a new impression caused a new agitation, which coalesced with the former and removed all distinction. Hence it is plain, that no external succession can be perceived which moves with a greater velocity than that of which the internal train of sensations and ideas ⅛ capable. On the other hand, an external succession which moves with less rapidity than that to which the internal flow of ideas may be reduced, either has not sufficient force to generate sensations at all, or the successive impressions from which the sensations proceed follow one another at such distances as to permit the natural train of ideas to intervene between them, and thus destroy the perception of the succession entirely.

To us, therefore, it seems evident that the constant and regular succession of ideas in the mind of a waking man is the measure and standard of all other successions; of which, if any one either exceeds the pace which our ideas are capable of, or falls short of it, the sense of a constant and continued succession is lost, and we perceive it not except with certain intervals of rest between. Hence it is not motion, but the constant train of ideas in our minds, that suggests to us our first notion of time, of which motion no otherwise gives us any conception, than as it causes in our minds a constant succession of sensations; and we have as cleaι∙ a notion of time by attending to the train of ideas succeeding each other in our minds, as by a train of sensations excited by constant and perceptible motion.

That it is merely by comparing the permanent existence of things with the fleeting succession of ideas in our own minds that we acquire our notions of time, may perhaps be still more evident from the following narrative quoted by Dr Beattie,^[79. Essay on Truth. ] from E Histoire de l ’ Académie Royale des Sciences pour l’ Année 1719. “A nobleman of Lausanne, as he was giving orders to a servant, suddenly lost his speech and all his senses. Different remedies were tried without effect. At last, after some chirurgical operations, at the end of six months, during all which time he had appeared to he in a deep sleep or delirium, his speech and senses were suddenly restored. When he recovered, the servant to whom he had been giving orders when he was first seized with the distemper, happening to be in the room, he asked whether he had executed his commission, not being sensible, it seems, that any interval of time, except perhaps a very short one, had elapsed during his illness.” If this story be true, here was a man, who, by the train of ideas vanishing at once from his mind, lost the perception of what was to others six months of time; and had all mankind been in this state, the same portion of time would have been irrecoverably lost even to the annals of chronology.

We are aware of an objection to any inference which may be drawn respecting the present question, from the case of this nobleman. It may be said that he had lost, together with the perception of time, the perception of every thing besides; and that, therefore, motion may still be the cause from which a waking man derives his notions of time. But, in reply to this objection, we beg leave to ask, whether, if a ball had been put in motion on a table, and the nobleman had been told, that a body moved with the velocity of that ball would have been carried over so many thousand miles of distance during the time that he lay in a state of insensibility, he could from such information alone have formed any tolerable notion of the length of time during which he was insensible? He certainly could not, for want of a standard by which to measure the rapidity of the motion. He would, indeed, have known instantly that he had been insensible for a very considerable length of time, because he had the evidence of former experience that a body carried by perceptible motion over a great extent of distance would have generated in his mind a vast train of successive sensations; but unless he had attended this ball during part of its course, and compared with the permanency of other objects the series of sensations which it generated in his mind, he would not have been able to guess, with any thing approaching to accuracy, the length of time it would take to pass over a thousand miles. The same insensibility of duration happens to every man in sound sleep. From having notions of time, such as they are, formed in our minds, we never indeed suppose, however soundly we may have slept, that the moment at which we awake in the morning is contiguous to that in which we fell asleep at night. The reason is obvious. Every man has been awake whilst others were sleeping, and has known by experience, that if they had been awake likewise, a train of ideas would have passed through their minds which must have suggested to them the notions of time. Most men, too, have been frequently awake for entire nights, and have thus acquired a notion of time as going on incessantly, whether perceived by them or not; and this motion being closely associated with our ideas of night and morning, we inevitably suppose a portion of time to have elapsed between them, though unperceived by us in our sleep. But were a man to sleep without dreaming from Sunday night till Tuesday morning, and then to awake at his usual hour as marked on the clock, there are numberless instances on record to convince us, that he would not of himself suppose, nor perhaps be very easily persuaded, that more than one night had elapsed between the time of his falling asleep and the moment at which he awoke.

It being thus evident, that our conception of time is suggested by that comparison which we inevitably make of [7:14:666]the existence of things permanent with the train of ideas incessantly passing through our minds, we may now perhaps be able to answer the question, “What is time?” It must of necessity be one of three things, viz. either the ideal succession itself; or a certain quality inherent in all objects; or merely the relation of co-existence between things that are permanent and the trains of fleeting ideas which succeed each other on the theatre of the imagination. It is not the first of these; for in every train of thought, the appearance of any one idea in the mind occupies no more of the extension of time, than a mathematical point occupies of the extension of distance. Ten thousand mathematical points added together would make no part of a line; and ten thousand ideas made to coalesce, if that were possible, would not occupy any part of that mode of duration which is called time. A point is the boundary of a line, but no part of it; the appearance of an idea in the mind is instantaneous; and an instant is the boundary, but no part of time. Hence it follows, that were every thing instantaneous, like ideas in a train, there could be no such thing as time, since nothing could be said to have, in that sense of the word, any duration. That time is not a quality inherent in all objects, is likewise obvious; for we have seen, that were ideas as permanent as objects, the notion of time could never have been acquired. Succession, although it does not itself constitute time, is essential to its existence; and were all motion to cease, and the attention of men to be immoveably fixed upon one invariable object or cluster of objects, time would likewise cease.

It remains, therefore, that time can be nothing else than the relation of co-existence apprehended between things that are permanent and those trains of fleeting ideas which incessantly succeed each other on the theatre of the imagination. Thus, whilst a man is steadily looking at one ob-ect, which, from its being common, does not occupy his vhole mind, he may be conscious of a thousand ideas staring up in his imagination, and each in its turn vanishing the nstant in which it appeared. Every one of these ideas had in existence as well as the object at which he is looking; mt the existence of each of them was instantaneous and n succession, whilst the existence of the external object is permanent. The object, therefore, as contrasted with a train of ideas, is said to endure or to exist i'n time, whilst each idea is destitute of duration, and exists in no time.

To this theory some objections occur, which it will be incumbent upon us to obviate. It may be said, that although each idea considered by itself is instantaneous, and occupies no time; yet the whole train, when taken together, without being compared with any thing external, is perceived to occupy a considerable portion of that mode of duration; and that, therefore, time itself must be something more than a mere relation between a fleeting succession of ideas and objects of more permanent existence. But how, we beg leave to ask, is the whole train perceived to occupy any portion of time? Is it not by being compared with our own existence? A man, whilst a train of ideas is passing through his mind, may be suddenly deprived of all his external senses, and then indeed it will be impossible for him to compare the fleeting existence of this internal succession with the more permanent existence of external things; but, whilst he thinks at all, he must be conscious of his own existence, and cannot avoid perceiving, that whilst his ideas pass in constant succession, each making an instantaneous appearance in his mind, he himself remains unchanged. Now, what is it that this perception suggests to the mind? Evidently nothing more than the relation of co-existence between a fleeting succession and a permanent object; for were it possible that the man could be deprived of memory as well as of his senses, and still have ideas succeeding each other in his mind, he would then think all objects equally fleeting; he would indeed be himself a mere succession of instantaneous distinct persons, and could have no notion whatever of time. His existence, though it should seem to endure half a century as estimated by others, must to himself appear to pass away like a flash of lightning.

It may be still further objected to our theory, that time is measured by motion; and that it seems very absurd to talk of measuring a relation, especially a mere ideal relation, by a real external thing. In answer to this objection, which at first sight appears formidable, we beg leave to observe, that all relations are equally ideal; and that many of them may yet be said to be measured by real external things, with as much propriety as time can be said to be measured by motion. When a man wishes to ascertain the relation of quantity which one body bears to another, though he knows that such a relation has no other than an ideal existence, and cannot be conceived but in conjunction with the related bodies, he applies to them successively some common standard; and having discovered the relation which each bears to that, he compares the one relation with the other, and thus ascertains the relation sought. Just so it is with respect to motion measuring time. That which to each individual constitutes real time, is the relation of co-existence between the fleeting succession of his own ideas and other things of a more permanent nature. But a man has often occasion to ascertain the time of things external which fall not under the inspection of his senses; and in society all men have transactions with one another to be performed in some determinate portion of time, although there are not, perhaps, two men existing whose ordinary trains of thought flow with precisely the same rapidity. To remedy these inconveniences, it was necessary to invent some common standard, by means of which men might ascertain the duration of actions performed at a distance, and be able to keep appointments made with each other. The only standard proper for these purposes is such a constant and equable motion as has suggested a flux of perceptions common to all men in ail ages and countries; and hence motions of the heavenly bodies have been universally made use of as the common regulators of time. These motions, however, do not constitute real and natural time, any more than a foot or a yard applied to two distant bodies constitutes the relation of quantity which these bodies bear to each other. They are merely stated measures, to be differently applied according to the different, purposes which we have in view.

Thus, if a man in Europe wishes to know what would to him have been the real and natural time of an action performed in the East Indies, he has only to be told that it was co-existent, we shall suppose, with a diurnal revolution of the earth; and by comparing this common measure with his usual flow of thought, he can form some notion of the extent of that train of ideas which, had he been present, would to him have been successively co-existent with the action in question. But when persons have an appointment to keep, this common measure of motion must be differently, or rather partially, applied. In such cases, it is no part of their intention to compare their own existence with that of the whole train of ideas which may pass in the mind of each; for the result of such a comparison, which alone constitutes true and natural time, would not be the same in perhaps any two men; but their purpose is, to compare their own permanent existence only with that train of sensations which shall be excited in the mind by the perceptible motion of the sun, or any other body fixed upon, which moves equably; and such a train must consist of an equal number of instants in all men. Neither the sun nor the hour-hand of a common watch moves with such apparent rapidity as to keep pace with the internal flow of thought of which the most phlegmatic man is conscious. That these bodies move at all, is known only by [7:14:667]their visible change of place during the lapse of a considerable portion of real time; and as there is in their course a certain number of places distinctly marked, to which alone it is agreed that the attention is to be turned, it is impossible that of time so computed two men can have different notions. Such time, however, is but partial; and the method of ascertaining it, when compared with that by which we ascertain real time, has a striking resemblance to that by which we ascertain the relation of partial quantity between two distant bodies. When it is our purpose to ascertain the relation of real quantity which one body bears to another, we apply the common standard to each in every dimension of length, breadth, and depth; but when we have no other vieψ than to ascertain the relation of length which the one bears to the other, we apply the common standard to each in that dimension only. Just so it is with regard to real and partial time. When an individual wishes to ascertain what would to him have been the duration of any action which he did not see performed, he applies the common standard to the existence of that action, and to the usual flow of his own thoughts; but when two men talk of the duration of any action, or agree to meet upon such a day, they compare the existence of the action, or the distance intervening between the present moment and the day of meeting, only with that partial train of sensations which by the common standard is generated in an equal number, and in the same order, in the minds of both.

It will be said, that if time be nothing more than a mere relation subsisting between trains of ideas or other fleeting objects, and things of a more permanent existence, and if the universe really had a beginning, either time must have had a beginning likewise, or the Deity cannot be immutable. We allow the force of the argument; but instead of an objection, we consider it as a confirmation of the truth of our theory. The Deity, who is immutable, exists not in time, but in eternity; and that these, though from the poverty of language they are both called modes of duration, are yet very different from each other, we shall endeavour to prove in the next chapter.

chap. vin. — of infinity and eternity.

As corporeal substance is certainly not infinite, and as the present material system has in itself every evidence of its not being eternal, it may seem strange, perhaps, to the reader, that we should treat of infinity and eternity amongst the adjuncts of body. But in modern metaphysics these words are used in a vague sense to denote the extent of space and time; and in this chapter it is our intention to do little more than ascertain their meaning, and to show, in opposition to some celebrated names, of what subjects they may not be predicated. There is a mathematical and a metaphysical infinity, which, although often confounded, ought to be kept distinct. In mathematics, extension is said to be divisible in infinitum, and number is sometimes considered as infinite; but in metaphysics these modes of expression are extremely improper. A positive and metaphysical infinite is that which has no limits, and to which no addition can be made; but it is obvious that there is no number which may not be enlarged, nor any positive idea of extension which has not limits, and which may not be either increased or diminished. The infinity of the mathematician is termed infinity of power, and that of the metaphysician absolute infinity. The first consists in this, that a being, however great or small it be supposed, may still be conceived to possess more greatness or minuteness than we can form an idea of, even after the utmost stretch of human thought. Thus, when it is said, that all extension as such is infinitely divisible, it is not meant that every extended substance contains an infinite number of real parts; for then the parts of an inch would be equal to those of a league; but the meaning is, that in ideal extension we can never reach the end of ideal division and subdivision. In like manner, when it is said that number is infinite, the meaning is not that any positive number is without limits, or the possibility of increase, but that we might go on for ever, adding unit to unit, without approaching nearer to the end of the process. If, therefore, the mathematician would speak properly, and without the affectation of paradox, he ought to say that all extension, as such, is indefinitely divisible, and that unit might be added to unit without end; but these phrases suggest notions very different from that of a metaphysical infinite, which is something positive to which nothing can be added.^[80. Aristotel. Phys. Auscult. lib. ix. cap. ix, page 492. ]

That there is something positively infinite, has been very seldom questioned; but it has been warmly disputed amongst metaphysicians what subjects are infinite. Dr Clarke and his adherents have contended that space and time are real things; that they arc bodies of necessary existence; that the former impresses us with the idea of its infinity, and that the latter is positively eternal. “Time and space,” say> ’ Dr Clarke,^[81. Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, and Correspondence with a Gentleman of Gloucestershire. ] “are the sine qua non of all other things, and of all other ideas. To suppose either of them finite, is an express contradiction in the idea itself. No man does or can possibly imagine either of them to be finite; but only either by non-attention or by choice he attends perhaps to part of his idea, and forbears attending to the remainder. They who suppose space to be nothing but a relation between two bodies, are guilty of the absurdity of supposing that which is nothing to have real qualities; for the space which is between two bodies is always unalterably just what it was, and has the very same dimensions, quantity, and figure, whether these or any other bodies be there or anywhere else, or not at all; just as time or duration is the same, whether you turn your hour-glass or no, or whether the sun moves or stands still, or whether there was or was not any sun, or any material world at all. To set bounds to space is to suppose it bounded by something which itself takes up space, and that is a contradiction; or else that it is bounded by nothing, which is another contradiction. To suppose space removed, destroyed, or taken away, amounts to the absurd supposition of removing a thing away from itself; that is, if in your imagination you annihilate the whole of infinite space, the whole of infinite space will still remain; and if you annihilate any part of it, that part will still necessarily remain, as appears by the unmoved situation of the rest; and to suppose it divided or divisible amounts to the same contradiction.”

The absurdity of considering space as a real external thing has been already evinced in Chapter IV. where it was shown how we acquire the notion, and what kind of notion it is. Space, as was there observed, may be conceived either as the mere absence and possibility of body; or as ideal extension, united to and inhering in an ideal substratum. Taken in the former sense, it is an object of pure intellect; in the latter it is an idea or form in the imagination. That the absence of body or matter is the sine qua non of all other things, and all other ideas, Dr Clarke was not disposed to affirm, when he made the divine substance to pervade every material atom in the universe[7:14:668]; and to talk of the absence of body being infinite is a palpable contradiction, unless Berkeley’s doctrine be true, that the material world has no existence. To say that the possibility of matter is infinite, is to use language which has no other meaning than that, however far the material world be on all sides extended, its extension may still be conceived greater and greater in infinitum. This is a position which no philosopher, ancient or modern, has ever denied; but it is so far from implying that we have a positive idea of the infinity of the material world, or of any adjunct of the material world, that it is absolutely inconsistent with such infinity. Whatever is capable of perpetual increase must certainly have limits, and every new addition is the limit of that to which the addition was made.

Taken in the second acceptation as an ideal extension united with an ideal substratum, space is so far from being infinite in any sense of the word, that we will venture to assert no man ever contemplated such a form in his own imagination, without conceiving it to be bounded. Of this, at least, we are certain, that when we have attempted to frame a positive idea of pure space, it'has not been in our power to divest that idea of limits. Those who can frame in their minds real and positive ideas wholly abstracted from every individual object, may indeed perform in this way many feats above our abilities; but as we possess no such powers of abstraction, every thing which we can call an idea is limited in the same manner that the object itself is limited from which the idea was derived. Thus the largest expansion that we ever beheld is that of the concave hemisphere; and when we try to form the largest positive idea of pure space, all that we can do is to figure to ourselves that concave empty of body. We may, indeed, suppose its diameter to be either a million or ten thousand millions of miles, and we may go on enlarging it in infinitum ; but when we return from this process of intellect to the contemplation of the ideal forms of the imagination, none of these forms appears to us larger or more extended than the hemisphere, which is the object of sense, and they all appear to be bounded, and bounded in the very same way.

With respect to the eternity of time, again, we think Dr Clarke equally mistaken as with respect to the infinity of space. Of time, indeed, we cannot, properly speaking, have any idea or mental form. Time, as we have seen, is a mere relation, and is in itself the creature of the mind, which has no external idiatum. It is suggested, however, by the fleeting succession of our ideas, compared with the more permanent existence of other objects; and therefore succession is essential to it. But nothing which has parts, whether co-existent or in succession, can be positively infinite. For, in an infinite series of successive generations of men, for instance, there will be several infinites that are parts of one another, and by consequence one greater than another which, as has been well argued,^[82. Dr Law’s Inquiry into the Ideas of Space, Time, Immensity, and Eternity. See also the same writer’s translation of King’s Origin of Evil. ] is an express contradiction, since the greater must necessarily bound the less, and exceed its limits by so’ much as it is greater than it; that is, must make it not infinite. Infinite generations contain an infinitely greater infinity of particular men. An infinite number of men must have twice as many hands, and ten times as many fingers, and so on. Infinite time has an infinity of ages; these a much greater infinity of years, days, hours, &c. Space likewise, according to Dr Clarke, has three dimensions, all infinite. It must therefore contain an infinity of surfaces, an infinitely greater infinity of lines, and a still infinitely greater infinity of physical points. The case is the same in number itself, which, if we suppose it to contain an absolute infinity of thousands (and we may as well do that as imagine it to comprehend an infinity of units), will contain ten times as many hundreds, fifty times as many scores, and so on. All this is only the indefiniteness of number, which we in vain attempt to turn into a positive infinite, with which it is totally incompatible. For let us add one to any of these infinite series of generations, ages, lines, or numbers, which we know to be always in our power, and if it was absolutely infinite before, here is one more than infinite. If it only becomes infinite now, then one finite added to another finite makes infinity. If it be no larger after the addition than it was before, then one part added to another adds nothing; all which are absurdities. The same will appear if we subtract a part from this supposed absolute infinite, which may be done in any of the before-mentioned subjects, as well as in every thing which admits of parts, or may be taken in pieces by the mind.

To this kind of reasoning Dr Clarke replies as follows: “To endeavour to prove that there cannot possibly be any such thing as infinite time or space, from the impossibility of an addition of finite parts ever composing or exhausting an infinite, or from the imaginary inequality of the number of years, days, and hours, that would be contained in the one, or of the miles, yards, and feet, that would be contained in the other, is supposing infinites to be made up of numbers of finites; that is, it is supposing finite quantities to be aliquot or constituent parts of infinite, when indeed they are not so, but do all equally, whether great or small, whether many or few, bear the very same proportion to an infinite, as mathematical points do to a line, or lines to a superficies, or as moments do to time, that is, none at all. No given number or quantity can be any aliquot or constituent part of infinite, or be compared at all with it, or bear any kind of proportion to it, or be the foundation of any argument in any question concerning it.”

If it be indeed true, and it is that for which we contend, that no given number or quantity can be any aliquot or constituent part of infinite, or be compared at all with it, then it undeniably follows, not that miles, yards, and feet are no constituent parts of space, or years, days, and hours constituent parts of time, but that space and time cannot possibly be positive infinites. This, we say, follows undeniably; for nothing is more evident than that all quantities of the same kind, from the largest to the least, bear a certain proportion to each other; and upon the supposition that space is a real extending thing, miles, yards, and feet are included in it, and bear to it the relation of parts to a whole. The same is true of time, days, and hours. To affirm, for no proof is offered, that all finite quantities, whether great or small, whether many or few, do equally bear the very same proportion to an infinite, as mathematical points do to a line, or as moments do to time, is plainly to beg the question, “that space considered as a real extended thing is infinite,” and to beg it, too, in opposition to the common sense and reason of mankind.· Mathematical points we all know to be nothing real, but merely negations of extension; but supposing space to be something real and extended, can any man persuade himself that a mile or a million of miles of this space is likewise a mere negation of extension? With him who can bring himself into this persuasion, we do not pretend to argue. He is possessed of faculties, whether true or false, of which we are destitute.

That finite quantities, whether these be great or small, do [7:14:669]all equally bear the same proportion to an infinite in power, is indeed true; but it is no great discovery; for such an infinite, as we have seen, is nothing but the continued possibility of repeating the same mental process of addition or multiplication; and he who can go on for ever adding, in his own imagination, foot to foot, or hour to hour, will find it equally easy to add, in the same manner, league to league, or age to age. If he can perform the one operation, he must likewise have power to perform the other; and he cannot but perceive that it is as impossible to come to an end of adding league to league, or age to age, as of adding foot to foot, or hour to hour; but then he must know that these leagues, and feet, and ages, and hours, are not real external things, but mere ideas and notions in his mind. If such powers of ideal multiplication and addition be what Dr Clarke means by the ideas of space and time, it is indeed a contradiction to suppose either of them limited; for that would be to suppose our powers different from what we know them to be by consciousness and experience. But to confound powers with the objects of those powers, is certainly very inaccurate; and to suppose, because we can go on for ever adding one portion of ideal space or time to another, that therefore our ideas of space and time are in themselves positively infinite, is a contradiction; for to an idea positively infinite it is obvious that nothing can be added. Either, therefore, space and time do not impress us with the ideas of their positive infinity; or we cannot have the power of adding league to league, and age to age, without end.

“But,” says Dr Clarke, “to suppose space removed, destroyed, or taken wholly away, amounts to the absurd supposition of removing a thing from itself; that is, if in your imagination you remove the whole of space, the whole of space will still remain.” True, every man has ideas of space treasured up indfis imagination, which the sound of the very word space will at all times bring into his immediate view; and whilst he has such ideas, it is impossible that he should not have them; which is all the mystery of the matter, and amounts to nothing more than that a thing cannot be and not be at the same instant. When the doctor affirms, that if “you annihilate any part of space, that part will necessarily remain, as appears by the unmoved situation of the rest,” we are not certain that we perfectly understand him. A man may’ surely think of a cubical inch without also thinking of a foot or a yard; and he may suppose the inch taken away from the foot or the yard, and diese ideal quantities so much lessened by the subtraction. But if the doctor be here again confounding the powers of the mind with the positive ideas of space, the sentence when explained will be found to contain nothing to his purpose. Every man has the power of contemplating in idea millions of miles, and millions of ages, and of adding mile to mile, and age to age, without end; and if he try to deprive himself of any part of this power, or to fix a limit to the mental process of addition, he will find that in spite of himself his imagination will ramble beyond the limit assigned, and that he has attempted an utter impossibility. This, however, is so far from being a proof that his ideas of space and time are positively infinite, that, as we have already observed, it is a proof of the contrary.

But, says this great man and his followers, “space and time are the sine qua non of all other things and all other ideas. The supposal of the existence of any thing whatever includes necessarily a presupposition of the existence of space and time and, therefore, if there be any thing infinite and eternal, space and time must likewise be so.

To every corporeal substance, and every idea of such substance, space and time are indeed necessary; for every body has extension and duration, and every idea of a particular body, being nothing but a secondary perception in the imagination· or the memory, must have the same relation to imaginary extension that the object from which it was derived has to extension which is real. Every idea, too, which remains in the imagination whilst a train of other ideas passes successively in view, or whilst external things are perceived to change, has real time. But will any man pretend that consciousness, our notion of power, our acts of willing, or even tastes, sounds, and smells, are extended, or that the supposition of their existence necessarily implies a presupposition of the existence of space? We acquire our ideas of extension and of space by means of our senses of touch and sight; and we learn from experience that things external and extended are the causes of our sensations of taste, and sound, and smell. The effects are in our minds closely associated with the ideas of their causes; and it is not perhaps easy to think of a particular sound, taste, or smell, without at the same time thinking of the object by which it was first excited in the mind; but if we had been originally formed with the powers of consciousness, thinking, and willing, and with no other senses than those of tasting, smelling, and hearing, it is obvious that we never could have had the idea of space; and therefore, that idea cannot possibly be necessary to the presupposition of every thing else. To consciousness, thinking, and willing, space is so far from being necessary, that we cannot perceive any the most distant relation between them. It is not more difficult to conceive a part greater than the whole, than it is to conceive an ell of consciousness, of thought, or of will; nor is it in the power of any man to make space and sweetness coalesce in his mind so as to form of these two simple ideas one complex conception. The very reverse is the case with respect to the objects of sight and touch. The idea of every thing which we see and handle necessarily coalesces in the mind with the idea of space, nor can we possibly separate the one from the other; but the things which we see and handle are neither infinite nor capable of infinity.

With respect to time, the same observations will be found to be as applicable as with respect to space. Whatever is liable to change exists in time, and cannot be eternal; but if there be any immutable being who views at once all things which to us are past, present, and to come, the existence of such a being is not commensurable with time. That such a being is possible, no man can doubt who reflects, that if we had one permanent idea invariably in the mind, we should never have acquired the notion of succession or of time; and that if there were actually no change in nature, there could not possibly be in nature any such thing as time. Every man, therefore, who can conceive existence without change must be convinced, that the supposition of the existence of any thing whatever does not necessarily include the presupposition of the existence of time, and that there may be an eternity distinct from time, as well as an infinity distinct from space; nay, that that which is properly infinite and eternal cannot possibly occupy either space or time.

If it be asked, What kind of infinity and eternity they are which have no relation to space and time? Cudworth, treading in the footsteps of the ancients, has long ago answered, that they are “absolute perfection and necessary existence.” For, according to him, infinite understanding and knowledge are nothing else but perfect knowledge, which has in it no defect or mixture of ignorance, but knows whatsoever is knowable. In like manner, infinite power is nothing else but perfect power, which has in it no defect or mixture of impotency; a power which can do every thing which is possible or conceivable. Lastly, infinity of duration, or eternity, is really nothing else but perfection, as including in it necessary existence and immutability; so that it is a contradiction to suppose such a being to have had a beginning, to cease to be, or to suffer or be affected by any change whatsoever. And because infinity is perfec [7:14:670]tion, therefore, whatever includes in its idea or essence any thing of imperfection, as every positive idea of number, corporeal magnitude, and successive duration evidently does, cannot be truly and properly infinite.

It must indeed be confessed, that the idea of succession so insinuates itself into our usual ideas of existence, and is so closely connected with the existence of all finite beings, that we find it extremely difficult to imagine the eternal existence of God any otherwise than as an eternally continued series or succession. Our constant conversation with material objects, and the associations thence arising, make it almost impossible for us to consider things abstracted from time and space; yet we have the evidence of experience and consciousness that an idea may be conceived without relation to space and time, and that space and time cannot be made to coalesce with some of our notions. The same must be true with respect to infinity and eternity; for we have seen that neither space, nor time, nor any thing else which consists of parts, whether continuous or successive, can be supposed to be positively infinite, as the supposition implies the most palpable contradiction. But that there may be perfect power, perfect knowledge, and permanent invariable existence, is so far from implying any contradiction, that even we, whose faculties are all so very limited, can yet make some advances towards the conception of such perfections. Thus, every man of common understanding knows that some things are in themselves possible, and others impossible, to be performed by any power. Of these possibilities and impossibilities a philosopher knows more than an illiterate man; and one philosopher knows more than another. An intellect more perfect knows more of them than any man; and that intellect which knows them all must be absolutely perfect, and incapable of improvement, because it knows every thing which is to be known. The same is true of perfect power; but we shall treat of real infinity and eternity more at large when we come to demonstrate the being and attributes of God. At present it is sufficient to have shown that nothing can be positively infinite but a being absolutely perfect, which can produce all things possible and conceivable, and upon which all other things must depend.

PART III.

OF MINDS AND THEIR POWERS.

CIIAP. I.—OF MIND IN GENERAL.

The science of metaphysics comprehends every thing into the existence, the nature, or the causes of which any inquiry may be made. But all things of which we have any notion or idea may be divided into mind and body, with their various powers, and qualities, and adjuncts. By body is meant that which is solid, extended, inert, and divisible; and its several adjuncts arè space, motion, number, and time. The only mind with which we are intimately acquainted is our own; and we know that it is possessed of the powers of sensation, perception, retention, consciousness, reflection, reason, and will. These are totally different from extension, solidity, divisibility, and motion; and therefore it is proper to distinguish the being of which they are powers by another name than that of body.

Of bodies there are various kinds, possessing various sensible qualities; and hence from analogy it is reasonable to conclude, that there may be various classes of minds endowed with different kinds or degrees of power. For this indeed we have much stronger evidence than that of analogy. Brute animals evidently possess the powers of perception and spontaneity, with some degree of consciousness; but as they do not appear to reflect upon their own conduct, or to have their actions influenced by motives, their minds are inferior to ours, although still perfectly distinct from mere extended, inert, and divisible substances. Mind, therefore, considered with respect to its powers, is evidently different from body, considered with respect to its qualities. This is indeed a truth which has seldom or never been controverted; but it has been long and warmly disputed, whether mind and body be not both composed of the same first matter.

Hobbes supposed that every material atom is endowed with the faculty of sensation, but that for want of memory each sensation is momentaneous, being instantly and wholly effaced as soon as its cause is removed. Though this hypothesis is too absurd to require a formal and laboured confutation, it may not be improper to observe, that, if it were true, the hairs of a man’s head would feel extreme pain when pinched by the hot iron of the hair-dresser, and that the nails of his fingers would be severely tortured when under the operation of the knife or the file.

Others, again, have supposed that each atom of matter has a tendency towards sensation and perception; and that when a sufficient number of these atoms are brought together in a certain order, the united tendencies produce the actual powers which distinguish'mind from gross body. This supposition is, if possible, more absurd than that of Hobbes. Sensation and perception are of such a nature, that a mere tendency towards them is inconceivable. A thing must either be sensible and percipient, or insensible and inert; there is evidently no medium. Or if we could suppose each individual atom to have a tendency towards sensation, it would by no means follow that a number of such atoms brought together in any possible order would become one sentient, thinking, and active being. A number of bodies laid upon an inclined plane have each a tendency to roll downwards; but if th¾declivity of the plane be not such that their separate tendencies may overcome the resistance opposed to each individual body by friction, the united tendencies of all these bodies when brought together will not be sufficient to overpower the resistance of their united frictions. It is just so with respect to sensation and perception. If the tendency of one atom cannot overcome one degree of inertness, the tendency of a thousand atoms will not overcome a thousand degrees of the same inertness.

We have just mentioned these absurd suppositions, that our article might be complete; but it is proper to inform the reader, that, so far as we know or are aware, neither of them has for many years been maintained by any philosopher of eminence either at home or abroad. The opinions on this subject which at present divide the republic of letters are two, and these alone are worthy of examination. One party maintains that perception, memory, reason, and will, &c. are the powers of a being which must be immaterial and indivisible; the other alleges, that as we know nothing of these powers but from our own consciousness, and as we can trace them in ourselves to the brain and no farther, we have no reason to suppose that they are the powers of any substance distinct from matter. Both parties, however, distinguish that which in man is the subject of thought from his external organs of sense, and agree to call it by the name of mind ; although the one considers it as composed of the same first matter with the dust of the ground, whilst the other believes it to have no property whatever in common with that matter.

Were we to adopt some of the ancient methods of philosophizing, this important question might soon be decided. A most respectable writer, who has laboured to restore the metaphysics of Plato and Aristotle, attempts to confute the materialists, by laying down what they must think arbitrary definitions of mind and matter, and then show [7:14:671]ing that the one is not the other. “In all the parts of the material world,” says he, “there is a perpetual motion; for the celestial bodies move constantly in one respect or another, and all here below is in a continual vicissitude of generation^and corruption, which cannot be without motion. Now, where there is motion, there must be something that moves. What is moved I call body ; what moves I call mindl ’ From this definition he undertakes to prove that mind must be immaterial. “That there is a relation between moving and being moved,” says he, “nobody can deny; and the relation is no other than that of action and passion. But the nature of relation is such, that it must necessarily be between two things at least; and it is further necessary, that the two things related should exist together. Hence,∙if there be that which moves, there must be a different thing that is moved; and wherever the one is, the other must necessarily be; so that nothing can move itself. This being established, I say that what moves must be either material or immaterial; for the one of these being the negation of the other, there can be no middle betwixt them, because a thing must necessarily be or not be. If then it be immaterial, there is an end of the question; but if it be said to be material, then I say that it must be moved itself before it can move any thing else, for it is only in that way that body can move body. If then it must be first moved itself, but cannot itself move itself, what is it that moves itself? If it be answered that it is another material mover, then I repeat the same question, to which the same answer must be given; and so we have an infinite series of material movers, without any beginning or principle of motion. Now this is absurd, and contradictory to this first principle of natural philosophy, admitted by all philosophers ancient and modern, that nothing can be produced without a causey

For the immateriality of the human mind, and of every being endowed with the powers of perception and thought, the learned writer has better arguments; but it is upon this chiefly that he rests his persuasion, that mind is the only mover in the universe. It is needless to observe, that in the very definitions and axioms upon which this reasoning is built, the thing to be proved is taken for granted; for if it be self-evident that what moves is, in the author’s sense of the word, mind, that what is moved is body, and that nothing can move itself, all reasoning on the subject is superfluous. This, however, is so far from being self-evident, that a materialist may reply, that “every animal moves itself, and yet every animal is nothing more than a system of matter.” This position, whether true or false, can neither be proved nor confuted by arguments a priori founded on general definitions. That animals move themselves, and that to the senses they appear to be nothing else than systems of matter, are facts which cannot be controverted. If we would know whether they have in them a principle of motion which is not material, we must submit to the laws of induction, and, by investigating the essential qualities of matter, endeavour to ascertain whether a material system can be rendered active. That we ourselves have active powers, we know by the most complete of all evidence, our consciousness of their energies; and it has been already shown, that such powers as we experience in ourselves cannot exist but in a subject possessed of will and understanding. The question, therefore, to be first decided between the materialists and immaterialists is, whether the powers of consciousness, understanding, and will, can result from the particular organization of a system of matter. If they can, then we have no reason to attribute them in man to any other source. If these powers appear necessarily to require an immaterial principle for their support, it will probably be granted that an immaterial principle is the source of every power and every motion in the universe; and the doctrine of mind, in the strictest sense of the word, will be sufficiently established.

CHAP. II.—OF THE SUBSTANCE OF THE HUMAN MIND.

The most celebrated materialist of this, or perhaps of any other century, was Dr Priestley, who having in his own imagination divested matter of solidity, and reduced it to mere centres of attraction and repulsion, observed, that “if one kind of substance be capable of supporting all the known properties of man, that is, if those properties have nothing in them that is absolutely incompatible with one another, we shall be obliged to conclude (unless we openly violate the rules of philosophizing, which will not authorize us to multiply causes or kinds of substance without necessity), that no other kind of substance enters into bis composition; the supposition being manifestly unnecessary, in order to account for any appearance whatever. All the properties that have hitherto been attributed to matter may be comprised under those of attraction and repulsion. Besides these, man is possessed of the powers of sensation or perception, and thought. But if, without'giving the reins to our imaginations, we suffer ourselves to be guided in our inquiries by the simple rules of philosophizing above mentioned, we must necessarily conclude that these powers also may belong to the same substance that has also the properties of attraction, repulsion, and extension, which I as well as others call by the name of matter. The reason of the conclusion is simply this, That the powers of sensation or perception, and thought, as belonging to man, have never been found but in conjunction with a certain organized system of matter; and therefore that those powers necessarily exist in, and depend upon, such a system. This at least must be our conclusion, till it can be shown that these powers are incompatible with the other known properties of the same substance; and for this I see no sort of pretence.”

This is what Dr Priestley has called the proper and direct proof that the sentient principle in man is the material substance of the brain; and he enforces it by the following observations: “Had we formed a judgment concerning the necessary seat of thought by the circumstances that universally accompany it, which is our rule in all other cases, we could not but have concluded that in man it is a property of the nervous system, or rather of the brain; because, as far as we can judge, the faculty of thinking, and a certain state of the brain, always accompany and correspond to one another, which is the very reason why we believe that any property is inherent in any substance whatever. There is no instance of any man retaining the faculty of thinking when his brain was destroyed; and whenever that faculty is impeded or injured, there is sufficient reason to believe that the brain is disordered in proportion; and therefore we are necessarily led to consider the latter as the seat of the former. Moreover, as the faculty of thinking in general ripens and comes to maturity with the body, it is also observed to decay with it; and if, in some cases, the mental faculties continue vigorous when the body in general is enfeebled, it is evidently because in those particular cases the brain is not much affected by the general cause of weakness. But, on the other hand, if the brain alone be affected, as by a blow on the head, by actual pressure within the skull, by sleep, or by inflammation, the mental faculties are universally affected in proportion. Likewise, as the mind is affected in consequence of the affections of the body and brain, so the body is liable to be reciprocally affected by the affections of the mind, as is evident in the visible effects of all strong passions, hope or fear, love or anger, joy or sorrow, exultation or despair. These are certainly irrefragable argu [7:14:672]ments, that it is properly no other than one and the same thing that is subject to these affections, and that they are necessarily dependent upon one another. In fact, there is just the same reason to conclude, that the powers of sensation and thought are the necessary result of a particular organization, as that sound is the necessary result of a particular concussion of the air. For in both cases equally the one constantly accompanies the other; and there is not in nature a stronger argument for a necessary connection of any cause and any effect. To adopt an opinion different from this, is to form an hypothesis without a single fact to support it.”

Although the ingenious author thinks, that if there be any foundation for the established rules of philosophizing, this reasoning ought to be conclusive, he yet subjoins, for the greater satisfaction of his readers, some additional arguments, or rather, as he says, distinct illustrations of the great argument. They are as follow:

1. “That the faculty of thinking necessarily depends, for its exercise at least, upon a stock of ideas, about which it is always conversant, will hardly be questioned by any person. But there is not a single idea of which the mind is possessed but what may be proved to have come to it from the bodily senses, or to have been consequent upon the perceptions of sense. The notion, therefore, of the possibility of thinking in man, without an organized body, is not only destitute of all evidence from actual appearances, but is directly contrary to them; and yet these appearances ought alone to guide the judgment of philosophers.

2. “The only reason why it has been so earnestly contended for, that there is some principle in man that is not material, is, that it might subsist, and be capable of sensation and action, when the body is dead. But if the mind was naturally so independent of the body as to be capable of subsisting by itself, and even of appearing to more advantage after the death of the body, it might be expected to discover some signs of its independence before death, and especially when the organs of the body were obstructed, so as to leave the soul more at liberty to exert itself; as in a state of sleep or swooning, which must resemble the state of death, in which it is pretended that the soul is most of all alive, most active, and vigorous. But, judging by appearances, the reverse of all this is the case.

3. “If the mental principle was, in its own nature, immaterial and immortal, all its particular faculties would be so too; whereas we see that every faculty of the mind without exception is liable to be impaired, and even to become wholly extinct, before death. Since, therefore, all the faculties of the mind, separately taken, appear to be mortal, the substance or principle in which they exist must be pronounced to be mortal too.

4. “If the sentient principle in man be immaterial, it can have no extension; it can neither have length, breadth, nor thickness; and consequently every thing within it, or properly belonging to it, must be simple and indivisible. Let us now consider how this notion agrees with the phenomena of sensation and ideas. It will not be denied, but that sensations or ideas properly exist in the soul, because it could not otherwise retain them, so as to continue to perceive and think after its separation from the body. Now, whatever ideas are in themselves, they are evidently produced by external objects, and must therefore correspond to them; and since many of the objects or archetypes of ideas are divisible, it necessarily follows, that the ideas themselves are divisible also. But how is it possible that a thing (be the nature of it what it may) that is divisible should be contained in a substance, be the nature of it likewise what it may, that is indivisible? If the archetypes of ideas have extension, the ideas which are expressive of them, and are actually produced by them according to certain mechanical laws, must have extension likewise; and therefore the mind in which they exist, whether it be material or immaterial, must have extension also. But how any 7 thing can have extension and yet be immaterial, without coinciding with our idea of mere empty space, I know not.”

To the argument, which is here chiefly insisted upon as being agreeable to the established rules of philosophizing, a very able reply has been made, which we shall give in the words of its elegant and spirited author. But before we attempt to dig up the foundation of the doctor’s system, it may not be improper to demolish, if possible, the additional buttresses by which it is strengthened. An experienced general, before he storms a citadel which he knows to be strongly fortified and skilfully defended, will take care to raze every less important redoubt from which the enemy might annoy him in his rear.

Because the faculty of thinking in general ripens, comes to maturity, and decays with the body, and the body, on the other hand, is affected by the affections of the mind, Dr Priestley affirms that we have the same reason to conclude, that the powers of sensation and thought are the necessary result of a particular organization, as that sound is the necessary result of a particular concussion of the air. This argument is conclusive only upon the supposition that there is no positive evidence whatever of the immateriality of the being which is the subject of thought. If the other reasonings for the materiality or immateriality of the mind be of equal weight, this argument ought doubtless to turn the balance; but if there be the smallest prepon-derancy in behalf of the immaterialists, it is a mere begging of the question to attempt to counteract it by any inference which can be drawn from the mutual affections of the body and mind. If two such heterogeneous beings as an immaterial mind and an organized body can be supposed united in one person, they must necessarily affect each other; and to affirm, on account of this reciprocal affection, that they are one and the same, is equally absurd as to say that an electrician and his apparatus are one and the same. Dr Priestley himself did not at first perform his electrical experiments with so much ease as after he had acquired facility by long practice, nor could he even yet perform them so neatly with a bad as with a good apparatus.

That which the doctor calls the first illustration of his argument might be admitted, and the force of the argument itself be consistently denied. Some kind of organized body may be necessary to the mind as an instrument without which it could not exert its faculties; but it would certainly be rash to infer that the mind must therefore be a system of matter. An anvil and a hammer are necessary to the exercise of the blacksmith’s craft; but what would be thought of him who should from this fact conclude, that the blacksmith himself must be a system of iron. This, therefore, instead of illustrating the great argument, appears to be wholly foreign to the question in debate; and it has in fact been admitted by Dr Price,^[83. Correspondence with Dr Priestley. ] and thousands of others who reject the doctrine of materialism, as an impious absurdity. The second illustration, however, is more to the purpose; and as it is not new, we shall give it an old answer.

Why do not we perceive external objects in our sleep or in a swoon? “Because,” says Mr Wollaston,^[84. Religion of Nature Delineated. ] “the passages are become impracticable, the windows shut, and the nerves, being obstructed, or somehow rendered for the [7:14:673]time useless, can transmit no information to it. Why, however, does it not reason and think about something or other? Because all the marks by which things are remembered being for the present choked up or disordered, the remembrance of those objects about which it is wont to employ itself, and even of the words (or other signs) in which it uses to reason, and to preserve the deductions and conclusions it makes, are all suspended, at least for the time; and so its tables being covered, its books closed, and its tools locked up, the requisites for reasoning are wanting, and no subject offers itself to exercise its thoughts, it having yet had little or no opportunity to take in higher objects and more refined matter for contemplation. And, to conclude, if it be demanded, why any one should imagine that the soul may think, perceive, act, after death, when it doth not do this in sleep, &c.? The answer is, because those enclosures and impediments which occasioned the forementioned intermissions, and those great limitations under which it labours at all times, will be removed with its enlargement out of the body. When it shall in its proper vehicle be let go, and take its flight into the open fields of heaven, it will then be bare to the immediate impressions of objects; and why should not those impressions which affected the nerves, that moved and affected the vehicle and soul in it, affect the vehicle immediately when they are immediately made upon it, without the interposition of the nerves? The hand which feels an object at the end of a staff, may certainly be allowed to feel the same much better by immediate contact without the staff.” Nor was the opinion, that the soul is united to some fine vehicle, which dwells with it in the brain, and goes off with it at death, peculiar to Mr Wollaston. It was thought extremely probable by Dr Hartley, and shall afterwards be shown to have been a very ancient opinion; but we do not quote it at present as either well or ill founded, but only as sufficient, in conjunction with the reasoning of its author, to obviate the force of Dr Priestley’s second illustration of his argument for the materiality of mind, provided the argument itself be not more powerful than any which the immatcrialists can bring against it.

The doctor’s third illustration we have already obviated, when we accounted for the mind and the body mutually affecting each other; and we might refer to Dr Price’s answer to the fourth, as being, in our opinion, a full confutation of it. But as that author’s notions of mind and ideas differ in some respects from our own, we shall examine this objection to the doctrine of the immaterialists, upon principles which Dr Priestley would perhaps have been more inclined to admit.

That the sentient principle in man, if it be immaterial, can have no extension, is a truth which,χwe think, cannot be controverted; and if so, every thing in that principle must be simple and indivisible. Thus far we agree with Dr Priestley; but with respect to what follows we differ from him entirely. The agitation in the brain, which is the immediate cause of sensation, must indeed correspond to the impression ab extra by which it is produced, and therefore must have the property of extension; but that agitation, whatever it be, is not itself sensation, any more than a bludgeon is a blow, or a sword is a wound. Dr Priestley, indeed, in answer to Dr Price, affirms that, according to Hartley’s theory, ideas are only vibrations in the brain; but whoever shall take the trouble to examine that theory himself, will not find that its author ever advances such an opinion, or considers vibrations as‘any thing more than the instruments by which sensations and ideas are excited in the sentient principle. A real and proper idea, as we have often repeated, is nothing else than a fainter sensation; but no sensation, from whatever cause it may proceed, is itself extended; nor could we, without memory, the reasoning faculty, and the power of local motion, have acquired from mere sense any notion of extension at all. (See Sect. III. Chap. I. Part I.) Sensations and ideas are those appearances, if we may say so, which vibrations or some other motion in the brain excite in the mind; but a half appearance is an absurdity. A man may view half a tree with his eyes, and he may contemplate the idea of half a tree in his mind, but he cannot have half a view or half an idea of any thing. Sensations and ideas result from the mutual agency of the brain and sentient principle upon each other; and if the agency of the brain be vibration, more of it may vibrate at one time than at another; but surely the mere relation between its agency at any time and the agency of the mind, can neither have extension nor be divisible, for who ever thought of extending or dividing relations? On this subject it is extremely difficult to write with perspicuity and precision, and what we have said may very possibly be misunderstood. Our notion is to our own mind clear and determinate; but language, which was not invented by metaphysicians, wants words in which it may be properly expressed. Perhaps the reader may understand what we mean, when we say that a sensation or an idea is the instantaneous effect of the mutual agency of the brain and sentient principle. Of this we think every man, by a little attention, may be perfectly convinced, though it may be impossible ever to discover the precise nature of this agency; and if so, it is plain that sensations and ideas cannot be divided, for no instantaneous effect of any kind is divisible. A sensation, and of course a simple and original idea, neither has extension itself, nor suggests the notion of extension ab extra. By running the hand or any other member along a solid body, we feel continued resistance; this feeling, or the idea of this feeling, becomes in time so closely associated with all our sensations of touch and sight, that the one cannot be separated from the other, and these associations are what Dr Priestley calls extended ideas. Upon the whole, then, we think it apparent that our sensations, and the relicts of our sensations, are unextended and indivisible; and that though they suggest to us the existence of extended things ah extra, the sentient being may be unextended and indivisible.

Having thus examined Dr Priestley’s auxiliary arguments for the materiality of mind, we now proceed to consider his main and direct proof. To this, as we have observed, so able a reply has been made, that it would be injustice to our readers not to lay it befofe them, in the words of its author. “I readily acknowledge,” says this acute and spirited essayist,^[85. Essays, Philosophical, Historical, and Literary, vol. ii. ] “that the power of sensation or perception never having been found but in conjunction with a certain organized system of matter, we ought, as philosophers, to conclude that this power necessarily exists in, and results from, that organized system, unless it can be shown to be incompatible with other known properties of the same substance. On the other hand, it must be admitted, that constant conjunction implies necessary connections only when reasons cannot be discovered to prove the conjunction to be accidental and arbitrary. In the present instance it is alleged, that discerptibility is a property of matter absolutely incompatible with the property of sensation or perception; or, in other words, that sensation is a power or property incapable of division. But as the power of the entire system is clearly nothing more than the sum or aggregate of the powers of all the parts, it necessarily follows, that the primary particles of which the system is composed must, upon the material hvpothesis, possess[7:14:674] distinct powers of sensation, and that those powers combined constitute the indivisible power of sensation belonging to the system ;,or, in other words, that the indivisible power of sensation is a divisible power, nay, an infinitely divisible power, if matter be, as philosophers in general allow, an infinitely divisible substance, a conclusion obviously and grossly ridiculous. We are then compelled to acknowledge that sensation or perception is not the property of a material substance; that is, if the common mode of expression be retained, it is the property of an immaterial substance; or, to avoid verbal contention, it is a property not resulting from, or necessarily connected with, the organical system, but a property wholly foreign, superinduced, and adventitious.

“In opposition to this reasoning, the materialists affirm, that entire systems may possess, and they think themselves warranted to pronounce that organized systems of matter actually do possess, powers essèntially different from those which inhere in the several parts. Amongst various familiar though striking illustrations of this truth, it has been said, that a rose possesses the property of sweetness or fragrance, a globe the property of sphericity, a harpsichord the property or power of producing harmony, aqua regia the property of dissolving gold, &c. though the component particles of these different organized systems arc themselves totally destitute of the powers and properties here enumerated.

“The immaterialists, in reply, assert that it is not only false in fact, but a direct contradiction, and an absolute impossibility in the nature of things, that a system should possess any property which does not inhere in its component parts. To assert that the power of the whole is the sum or aggregate of the powers of all the parts, is an identical and self-evident proposition, the whole and all the parts being terms precisely synonymous. Whoever, therefore, calls in question the truth of this axiom, must maintain that the power of the whole is something different from the power of all the parts, or that the power of the whole is not the power of the whole.

“It will be easy to demonstrate the correspondence of facts with this plain and simple theory. For this purpose, it is necessary to observe, that the properties of matter, or what are generally denominated such, may be divided into real and nominal, which Locke and others have called primary and secondary qualities. Figure, magnitude, and motion, are qualities really inherent in matter; but figure, magnitude, and motion, eternally varied, can produce only different combinations of figure, magnitude, and motion. There are also powefs or qualities, vulgarly considered as inherent properties of matter organically disposed, which are really and truly qualities or affections of the mental or percipient principle, and have no existence when not perceived. Thus the sweetness or fragrance of the rose, considered as mere sweetness and fragrance, can be nothing but an affection of the mind; considered as a quality of the rose, they can mean nothing more than a certain arrangement, configuration, and motion of parts, which in some inexplicable manner produces the sensation of sweetness. In this instance, therefore, the power of the whole is plainly the aggregate of the powers residing in the parts, by the motion and organization of which a certain effect is produced upon a foreign and percipient substance.

“But a globe, we are told, possesses the property of sphericity, though not a single particle amongst that infinite number of which the globe is constituted is itself of a spherical form. The fallacy of this illustration is, however, as easily demonstrable as that of the former. The sphericity of a globe is evidently the sum or aggregate of the curvilineal or convex parts which compose its surface; and the property of the whole is neither more nor less than the combined properties of all its parts. No one doubts, that by new compositions or arrangements of material particles possessing magnitude, figure, and motion, an endless diversity of phenomena may be produced, to which it may be necessary to apply new names. New names, however, do not constitute new properties; and though we give to a globe the appellation of an entire system, and ascribe to it the property of sphericity, we know at the same time that it is really nothing more than a collection of thousands of millions of particles, actually separate and distinct, arranged in that particular form which we denominate spherical. But this can never be regarded as in the remotest manner analogous to the creation of the power of perception, in consequence of a certain organical arrangement or disposition of impercipient particles. Though sphericity is, indeed, the property of the entire sphere, yet every part of the sphere, if divided, possesses its share of sphericity. But if the percipient principle be divided, what would become of the power of perception? A sphere equally divided becomes two hemispheres; does a perception, when divided in like manner, become two demi-perceptions?

“The same reasonings may easily be transferred, and applied to the harpsichord. Can any one be absurd enough to affirm that the power of harmony resides in the harpsichord, as the power of perception does in the mind? After the utmost skill of the artificer has been exerted, we discover nothing more in the harpsichord than new modifications of the old properties of figure, magnitude, and motion, by means of which certain vibrations are communicated to the air, which, conveyed by the medium of the auditory nerve*s to the sensorium, produce the sensation of harmonic sounds. These new modifications are therefore attended, indeed, with new and very wonderful effects; but then those effects are produced upon, and are themselves modifications of, the sentient or percipient faculty. And though it is wholly incomprehensible to us in what manner these effects, that is, these sensations, are produced, we well know, and perfectly comprehend, that they arc not new powers belonging to any organized system of matter; that they have no existence but in a mind perceiving them; and that they are far from militating against that grand and universal axiom, that the power of the whole is nothing more than the united powers of all the parts.

“As to the last instance adduced, of the power of aquo regia to dissolve gold, though neither the spirit of salt, nor the spirit of nitre of which it is compounded, separately possesses that power, it is plain, that from the union of these two substances, certain new modes of configuration and motion result; and the solution of gold is the consequence of this new arrangement and motion of the parts. But the particles of which the menstruum is composed were always possessed of the properties of figure and motion; and what is styled a new property is clearly nothing more than a new effect of the old properties differently modified. In a word, the advocates for materialism may safely be challenged to produce, in the whole compass of nature, a case which bears the least analogy to that which these instances are most unphilosophically adduced to prove and to illustrate. It is an absurdity which transubstantiation itself does not exceed, to maintain that a whole is in reality any thing different from its component parts; and all nature rises up in confutation of an assertion so monstrous and extravagant To affirm that perception can arise from any combination of impercipient particles, is as truly ridiculous as to affirm that a combination of the seven primary colours with the four cardinal virtues may constitute a planet. It is equivalent to an assertion, that an epic poem might be composed of parallelograms, cones, and triangles. In a word, it is an absurdity not less real, and a little less obvious, than that of the blind man who thought that the idea of a scarlet colour resembled the sound of a trumpet.” [7:14:675]If matter be taken in the common acceptation to be a solid, extended, and inert substance, this reasoning for the immateriality of the sentient principle in man appears to us to have the force of demonstration, which no difficulties or partial objections, arising from our inability to conceive the band of union between two such heterogeneous substances as mind and body, can ever weaken, and far less overturn. But the modern materialists deny that matter is either solid or inert. “All those facts,” say they, “which led philosophers to suppose that matter is impenetrable to other matter, later and more accurate observations have shown to be owing to something else than solidity and impenetrability, viz. a power of repulsion, which fot that reason they would substitute in its place. The property of attraction or repulsion, says Dr Priestley, appears to me not to be properly what is imparted to matter, but what really makes it to be what it is; insomuch that, without it, it would be nothing at all; and as other philosophers have said, ‘ Take away solidity, and matter vanishes,’ so I say, ‘ Take, away attraction and repulsion, and matter vanishes.’” If this be admitted, the ingenious author hopes that we shall not consider matter with that contempt and disgust with which it has generally been treated, there being nothing in its real nature that can justify such sentiments respecting it.

We know not why, upon any hypothesis, matter should be viewed with contempt and disgust. Whether penetrable or impenetrable, every consistent theist considers it as one of the creatures of God, perfectly fitted to answer all the purposes for which' it was intended; but were it really destitute of solidity, and endowed with the powers of attraction and repulsion, we should still be obliged to consider it as incapable of the powers of sensation and thought. If we have any notion at all of what is meant by centres of attraction and repulsion (of which indeed we are far from being confident), it appears to us to be intuitively certain, that nothing can be the result of any possible combination of such centres, but new and more enlarged spheres of attraction and repulsion. But surely consciousness, sensation, and will, are as different from attraction and repulsion, as a cube is from the sound of a trumpet, or as the sensations of a felon in the agonies of death are from the attraction of the rope by which he is hanged. If this be admitted, and we are persuaded that it will not be denied by any man whose understanding is not clouded by an undue attachment to paradoxes, the sentient principle cannot possibly be matter; for if, when the powers of attraction and repulsion are taken away, matter vanishes, and if consciousness and sensation are not attraction and repulsion, it is not more evident that three and two are not nine, than that the substance which attracts and repels cannot be that which is conscious and percipient.

Locke, who was certainly no materialist, as he repeatedly affirmed, and indeed demonstrated, that thought could never be the result of any combinations of figure, magnitude, and motion, Was nevertheless of opinion that God by his almighty power might endow some systems of matter with the faculties of thinking and willing. It is always with reluctance that we controvert the opinions of so great a man; and it is with some degree of horror that we venture in any case to call in question the power of Omnipotence. But Omnipotence itself cannot work contradictions; and it appears to us nothing short of a contradiction to suppose the individual power of perception inhering in a system which is itself extended and made up of a number of separate and distinct substances. For let us suppose such a system to be six feet long, three feet broad, and two feet deep (and we may as well suppose a system of these dimensions to be percipient as one that is smaller), then it is plain that every idea must be extended, and that part of it must be in one place and part in another. If so, the idea of a square inch will be six feet long, three feet broad, and two feet deep; and, what is still harder to be digested, the several parts of this idea will be at a great distance from each other, without any bond of union amongst them. The being which apprehends one extremity of the idea is, by the supposition, six feet distant from the being which apprehends the other extremity; and although these two distinct beings belong to one system, they are not only separable, but actually separated from each other, as all the particles of matter are. What is it, then, that apprehends as one the whole of this extended idea? Part of it may be apprehended by one particle of matter, and part of it by another; and there is nothing which apprehends or can apprehend the whole. Perhaps it will be said, that the power of apprehension is not divided into parts, but is the power of the one system, and therefore apprehends at once the whole idea. But a power ór faculty cannot be separated from its subject, power which inheres in nothing being confessedly impossible; and a material system is not one subject in which any individual power or faculty can inhere. There must, therefore, be united to the system some one being, which is the subject of thought, and which is unextended as well as indivisible. This, we say, follows undeniably. For let us suppose that an extended being without separate parts is possible, and that such a being is percipient; it is obvious that the whole of any one of its perceptions could not be in one place. Now, although we should grant to Dr Priestley and other materialists that every idea of an extended substance has itself three dimensions, and is incorporated and commensurate with the whole percipient system; what, upon this supposition, shall we think of consciousness and of the perception of truth? Is consciousness or truth extended? If so, one side or superficies of consciousness, or of a truth, may be greater or less than another, above or below, to the right or to the left; and it will be very proper and philosophical to speak of the length, breadth, and depth, of consciousness or of truth. But surely to talk of the place or the extension of these things, is as absurd as to talk of the colour of sound, or the sound of a triangle; and we might as well say that consciousness is green or red, as that it is an ell or an inch long; and that truth is blue, as that it has three dimensions.

This reasoning is somewhat differently stated by Cudworth, who observes, that if the soul be an extended substance, “it must of necessity be either a physical point (that is, the least extension possible, if there be any such least extension), or else it must consist of more such physical points joined together. As to the former of these, it is impossible that one single atom, or smallest point of extension, should be able to perceive distinctly all the variety of things, that is, take notice of all the distinct and different parts of an extended object, and have a description or delineation of the whole of them upon itself (for that would be to make it the least, and not the least, possible extension at the same time). Besides, to suppose every soul to be but one physical point, or the smallest possible extension, is to suppose such an essential difference in matter or extension, as that some of the points thereof should be naturally devoid of all life, sense, and understanding; and others, again, naturally sensitive and rational. And evert should this absurdity be admitted, it would yet be utterly inconceivable hoav there should be one, and but one, sensitive and rational atom in every man; how this atom of so small dimensions should actuate the whole system, and how it should constantly remain the same from infancy to old age, whilst all the other parts of the system transpire perpetually, and are succeeded by new matter.

“But if, according to the second hypothesis, souls be extended substances, consisting of many points one without another, and all concurring in every sensation, then must every one of these points perceive either a point only of the object, or else the whole. Now, if every point of the ex [7:14:676]tended soul perceives only a point of the object, then there is no one thing in us that perceives the whole, or that can compare one part of the object with another. On the other hand, if every point of the extended soul perceive the whole object at once, then would there be innumerable perceptions of the same object in every sensation, as many, indeed, as there are points in the extended soul. And from both these suppositions it would alike follow that no man is one single percipient or person, but that in every man there are innumerable distinct percipients or persons; a conclusion directly contrary to the infallible evidence of consciousness.”

Cogent as these arguments for the immateriality of the sentient principle appear to be, they have nevertheless been treated with the most sovereign contempt by a writer who professes to be a disciple of Dr Priestley’s, but who seems not to have learned the modesty or the candour of his master. Dr Priestley labours to prove, that to account for the phenomena of perception and volition, &c. it is not necessary to suppose an immaterial principle in man. Mr Cooper with greater boldness affirms, and undertakes to demonstrate, with all the parade of mathematical precision, that such a principle is impossible.^[86. Tracts Ethical, Theological, and Political, vol. i. ] Though the authority of this philosopher in such inquiries as depend not immediately upon the retort and the furnace, is certainly not great, he yet utters his dogmas with such confidence, that it may not be improper to examine the chief arguments upon which they rest.

“Suppose,” says he, “the soul to have no common property with matter, then no thing can act upon any other but by means of some common property. Of this we have not only all the proof that induction of known and acknowledged cases can furnish, but that additional proof also which arises from the impossibility of conceiving how the opposite proposition can be true. But by the supposition the soul has no property in common with matter, and therefore the soul cannot act upon matter. But by the supposition of every system of immaterialism (except those of Malebranche, Berkeley, and Leibnitz), it is deemed an essential property of the soul that it acts upon the body, or upon matter; therefore the soul can and cannot act upon matter at the same time, and in the same respect. But this is a contradiction in terms; and as two contradictions cannot both be true at the same time, the supposition of the existence of an immaterial soul cannot be true; that is, the soul does not exist.”

This reasoning, as the reader will observe, is carried on with all the pomp of mode and figure. The propositions hang upon each other like the several steps of an algebraical process; but as in such processes one error unwarily admitted produces a false result, so in demonstrative reasonings one unsound argument admitted into the premises is necessarily productive of error in the conclusion. When the author affirms, “that no thing can act upon any other but by means of some common property,” he affirms, without the shadow of proof, what is certainly not self-evident. He says, indeed, that of this we have all the proof that induction of known and acknowledged cases can furnish; but unless consciousness be calculated to deceive us, this is unquestionably a mistake. Matter, he repeatedly affirms, has no other properties than those of attraction and repulsion; but a man moves his arm by a mere energy of will, and, therefore, according to this demonstrator, an energy of will must be either material attraction or material repulsion. If so, it is reasonable to conclude that when a man draws his hand towards his head, the centre of his brain exerts its power of attraction; and that when he extends his arm at full length before him, the same centre exerts its power of repulsion. We beg pardon of our readers for detaining them one moment upon such absurdities as these; yet we cannot dismiss the argument without taking the liberty to ask our all-knowing author, how it comes to pass that the same centre sometimes attracts and sometimes repels the same substance at the same distance; nay, that it both attracts and repels substances of the same kind, at equal distances, and at the very same instant of time? This must be the case when a man puts one hand to his head and thrusts another from him; and, therefore, if these operations be the effect of attraction and repulsion, it must be of attraction and repulsion to which induction of known and acknowledged cases furnishes nothing similar or analogous, that is, of such attraction and repulsion as, according to Mr Cooper’s mode of reasoning, does not exist. The truth is, that we are not more certain that we ourselves exist, than that an energy of will is neither attraction nor repulsion; and, therefore, unless all matter be endued with will, it is undeniable that, whatever be the substance of the soul, one thing acts upon another by a property not common to them both. In what manner it thus acts, we pretend not to know; but our ignorance of the manner of any operation is no argument against the reality of the operation itself, when we have for it the evidence of consciousness and daily experience; and when the author shall have explained to general satisfaction how material centres attract and repel each other at a distance, we shall undertake to explain how one thing acts upon another with which it has no common properties.

Suspicious, as it should seem, that this reasoning has not the complete force of mathematical demonstration, the author supports his opinion by other arguments. “Whatever we know,” says he, “we∖know by means of its properties, nor do we in any case whatever certainly know any thing but these; and we infer in all cases the existence of any thing which we suppose to exist from the existence of its properties. In short, our idea of any thing is made up of a combination of our ideas of its properties. Gold is heavy, ductile, tenacious, opaque, yellow, soluble in aqua regia, &c. Now, let any one suppose for an instant that gold is deprived of all these, and becomes neither heavy, nor ductile, tenacious, opaque, yellow, soluble, &c.; what remains? will it be gold? Certainly not. If it have other properties, it is another substance. If it have no properties remaining, it is nothing. For nothing is that which hath no properties. Therefore, if any thing lose all its properties, it becomes nothing; that is, it loses its existence. Now the existence of the soul is inferred, like the existence of every thing else, from its supposed properties, which are the phenomena of thinking, such as perception, recollection, judgment, and volition. But in all cases of perfect sleep, of the operation of a strong narcotic, of apoplexy, of swooning, of drowning where the vital powers are not extinguished, of the effects of a violent blow on the back part of the bead, and all other leipothymic affections, there is neither perception, recollection, judgment, nor volition; that is, all the properties of the soul are gone, are extinguished. Therefore, the soul itself loses its existence for the time. If any man shall say, that these properties are only suspended for the time, I would desire him to examine what idea he annexes to this suspension; whether it be not neither more nor less than that they are made not to exist for the time. Either no more is meant, or it is contradictory to matter of fact; and, moreover, if more be meant, it may easily be perceived to involve the archetypal existence of abstract ideas, and to contradict the axiom impossibile est idem esse et non esse." [7:14:677]For the benefit of short-sighted inquirers, it is to be wished that the author had favoured the public with this proof, which might have been so easily brought forward; for we can discern no connection whatever between the suspension of the exercise of the powers of the mind, and the archetypal existence of abstract ideas, or the absurd proposition that it is possible for the same thing to be and not to be. We think, however, that we understand enough of this reasoning which he has given us, to be able to pronounce with some confidence that it is nothing to the purpose. For, in the first place, we beg leave to observe, that between the properties of gold and the powers of thinking, &c. there is no similarity; and that what may be true when affirmed of the one, may be false when affirmed of the other. The powers of the mind are all more or less active; but the enumerated properties of gold are all passive. We know by the most complete of all evidence, that the exercise of power may be suspended, and yet the power itself remain unimpaired; but to talk of the suspension of the energies of what was never energetic, if it be not to contradict the axiom, impossibile est idem esse et non esse, is certainly to employ words which have no meaning. Yet even this argument from the properties of gold might have led the author to suspect that something else may be meant by the suspension of the exercise of powers, than that those powers are made not to exist for the time. In a room perfectly dark, gold is not yellow; but does it lose any of its essential properties, and become a different substance, merely by being carried from light to darkness? Is a man, whilst in a dark room, deprived of the faculty of sight, and is one of the powers of his mind made not to exist for the time? The author will not affirm that either of these events takes place. He will tell us that gold exhibits not its yellow appearance merely because the proper medium of light passes not from it to. the eye of the percipient, and that it is only for want of the same medium that nothing is seen by us in perfect darkness. Here, then, by his own confession, is a power of the mind, and a property of an external object, both suspended in their energies, without being annihilated; and no proof has yet been brought that all the powers of the mind may not in the same manner be suspended in their energies without being made not to exist. As light is necessary to vision, but is not itself either the thing which sees or the thing which is seen, so may the brain be necessary to the phenomena of thinking, without being either that which thinks, or that which is thought upon; and as actual vision ccases when light is withdrawn, although the eye and the object both continue to exist, so may the energy of thinking cease when the brain is rendered unfit for its usual office, although the being which thinks, and the power of thought, continue to exist, and to exist unimpaired. That this is actually the case, every man must be convinced who believes that in thinking he exerts the same powers to-day which he exerted yesterday; and therefore our author’s second demonstration of the nonexistence of mind is, like his first, founded upon assertions which cannot be granted.

Another of these pretended demonstrations is as follows: “If the soul exist at all, it must exist somewhere; for it is impossible to frame to one’s self an idea of any thing existing, which exists nowhere. But if the soul exist somewhere, by the terms it occupies space, and therefore is extended; but whatever has extension, has figure in consequence thereof. The soul, then, if it exist, hath the properties of extension and figure in common with matter. Moreover, by the supposition of every immaterial hypothesis (except those of Malebranche, Berkeley, and Leibnitz), it acts upon body, or upon matter; that is, it attracts and repels, and is attracted and repelled, for there is no conceivable affection of matter but what is founded on its properties of attraction and repulsion; and if it be attracted and repelled, its re-action must be attraction and repulsion. The soul, then, has the properties of extension, figure, attraction, and repulsion, or solidity. But these comprise every property which matter, as such, has ever been supposed to possess. Therefore the soul is matter, or material. But by the supposition it is immaterial; therefore it does not exist. For nothing can exist whose existence implies a contradiction.”

Mr Cooper, we see, still proceeds in the direct road of mathematical demonstration; but in the present instance we beg leave to stop him in the very beginning of his course, and to ask him whère the universe exists? When he shall have given such an answer to this question as men of common sense may be able to comprehend, we may perhaps attempt to tell him where an un extended soul exists. If this demonstration be not a collection of words without meaning, the existence of space as a real thing is taken for granted. Space, therefore, has extension, and of course figure; but we believe Mr Cooper will find some difficulty in ascertaining the figure of infinite space. The mind certainly acts upon body. For this we have the evidence of consciousness and experience; but we have no evidence whatever that it must therefore attract and repel, and be attracted and repelled. It has been already observed, that the mind, whatever be its substance, acts upon the body by energies of will. What these are, every man knows with the utmost certainty and precision; whilst we may venture to assert, that no man knows precisely what corpuscular attraction and repulsion are, even supnposig the existence of such powers to be possible. When we speak of attraction and repulsion, we have some obscure notion of bodies acting upon each other at a distance; and this is all that we know of the matter. But when we think of an energy of the human will, the idea of distance neither enters nor can enter into our notion of such an energy. These are facts which we pretend not to prove by a mathematical or a chemical process. Every man must be convinced of their truth by evidence more complete than any proof, viz. immediate consciousness of his own thoughts and volitions. This being the case, we may turn Mr Cooper’s artillery against himself, and, because mind acts upon body by powers different from attraction and repulsion, argue that body neither attracts nor repels; and were it true, as it is certainly false, that one thing could not act upon another but by means of some property common to both, we might infer that every atom of matter is endowed with the powers of volition and, intelligence, and, by consequence, that every man is not one but ten thousand conscious beings; a conclusion which our philosopher seems not inclined to admit.

Having finished his demonstrations, the author states other objections to the doctrine of immaterialism, which, as they are not his own, nor new, have greater weight. “It appears no more than reasonable,” says he, “that if the doctrine of materialism be rejected as inadequate to explain the phenomena, these latter should at least be explained in some manner or other better upon the substituted than rejected hypothesis; so that it is reasonable to require of an immaterialist that his supposition of a distinct soul should explain the rationale of the phenomena of thinking. But, strange to say, so far from attempting to explain these phenomena on the immaterial hypothesis, it is acknowledged on all hands, that, even on this hypothesis, the phenomena are inexplicable.” This objection it would certainly be no difficult task to obviate; but from that trouble, small as it is, we are happily exempted by the objector himself. “I would have it understood,” says he, “that no materialist ever undertook to say how perception results from our organization. What a materialist undertakes to assert is, that perception, whatever it be, or however it results from, does actually result from our organization.” According to Mr [7:14:678]Cooper, then, the rationale of thinking is equally inexplicable by materialists and immaterialists; and the truth is, that we know the rationale of hardly any one operation in nature. W e see that the stroke of a racket produces motion in a billiard ball; but how it does so, we believe no man can say. Of the fact, however, we are certain; and we know that the motion is produced by some power, about the effects of which we can reason with precision. In like manner we know with the utmost certainty, that we ourselves possess the powers of perception and volition; and that these powers cannot be conceived as either an ell or an inch in length. How they resdlt from the mutual agency of an immaterial and material substance upon each other, we are indeed profoundly ignorant; but that such is the fact, and that they are not the result of mere organization, we must necessarily believe, so long as it is true that the power of the entire system is nothing more than the sum or aggregate of the powers of all its parts. The immaterial hypothesis contains in it something inexplicable by man. The material hypothesis likewise contains, by the confession of its advocates, something that is equally inexplicable; and is, besides, burdened with this glaring contradiction, that the whole is something different from all its parts. It is therefore no “singular phenomenon in literary history, that one hypothesis should be rejected as inadequate to account for appearances, and that the hypothesis substituted should, even by the acknowledgment of its abettors, be such as not only not to explain the rationale of the appearances, but, from the nature of it, to preclude all hopes of such an explanation.” This is exactly the case with respect to a vacuum in astronomy. That hypothesis does not in the least tend to explain the rationale of the motions of the planets; but yet it must be admitted in preference to a plenum, because upon this last hypothesis motion is impossible.

“Supposing the existence of the soul, it is an unfortunate circumstance,” says Mr Cooper, “that we cannot properly assert positively any thing of it at all. Were this the case, it would indeed be a very unfortunate circumstance; but can we not assert positively as many things of the soul as we can of the body? Can we not say with as much propriety and certainty, that the soul has the powers of perception and volition, &c. as that the body is solid and extended, or as that matter has the powers of attraction and repulsion ?” We know perfectly what perception and volition are, though we cannot have ideas or mental images of them; and if our author knows what attraction and repulsion are, we believe he will not pretend to have ideas of them entirely abstracted from their objects. “But granting the soul’s existence, it may be asked,” says he, “of what use is an hypothesis of which no more can be asserted than its existence?” We have just observed that much more can be asserted of the soul than its existence, viz. that it is something of which perception and will are properties; and he himself asserts nothing of matter, but that it is something of which attraction and repulsion are properties.

“This soul, of which these gentlemen (the immaterialists) are conscious, is immaterial essentially. Now I deny,” says our author, “that we can have any idea at all of a substance purely immaterial.” He elsewhere says, that nothing can exist which is not extended, or that extension is inseparable from our notions of existence. Taking the word idea in its proper sense, to denote that appearance which external objects make in the imagination, it is certainly true that we can have no idea of an immaterial substance; but neither have we, in that sense, any idea of matter abstracted from its qualities. Has Mr Cooper any idea of that which attracts and repels, or of attraction and repulsion, abstracted from their objects? He may perhaps have, although we have not very adequate ideas of bodies acting upon each other at a distance; but as he takes the liberty to substitute assertions for arguments, we beg leave in our turn to assert, that those ideas neither are, nor can be, more, clear and adequate than our notion of perception, consciousness, and will, united in one being.

That extension is no otherwise inseparable from our notions of existence than by the power of an early and perpetual association, is evident from this circumstance, that, had we never possessed the senses of sight and touch, we never could have acquired any idea at all of extension. No man who has thought on the subject will venture to affirm, that it is absolutely impossible for an intelligent being to exist with no other senses than those of smell, taste, and hearing. Now it is obvious that such a being must acquire some notion of existence from his own consciousness. But into that notion extension could not possibly enter; for neither sounds, tastes, smells, nor consciousness, are extended; and it is a fundamental article of the materialist’s creed, that all our ideas are relicts of sensation. Since, then, existence may be conceived without extension, it may be inferred that they are not inseparable from each other; and since cogitation cannot be conceived with extension, we may reasonably conclude, that the being which thinks is not extended.

Mr Cooper, indeed, with his master, talks of extended ideas and extended thoughts. But we must assert, in the words of Cudworth, that “we cannot conceive a thought to be of such a certain length, breadth, and thickness, measurable by inches, feet, and yards; that we cannot conceive the half, or third, or twentieth part of a thought; and that we cannot conceive every thought to be of some determinate figure, such as round or angular, spherical, cubical, cylindrical, or the like. Whereas if extension were inseparable from existence, thoughts must either be mere nonentities, or extended into length, breadth, and thickness; and consequently all truths in us being nothing but complex thoughts, must be long, broad, and thick, and of some determinate figure. The same must likewise be affirmed of volitions, appetites, and passions, and of all other things belonging to cogitative beings, such as knowledge and ignorance, wisdom and folly, virtue and vice, that these are either all of them absolute nonentities, or else extended into three dimensions, and measurable not only by inches and feet, but also by solid measures, such as pints and quarts. But if this be absurd, and if these things belonging to soul and mind, though doubtless as great realities at least as the things which belong to body, be unextended, then must the substances of souls or minds be themselves unextended, according to that of Plotinus, νους où διαστuς α<ρ ’ iαuπoυ, and therefore the human soul cannot be material.”

Mr Cooper employs many other arguments to prove the materiality of the sentient principle in man; but the force of them extends no farther than to make it in the highest degree probable, that the mind cannot exert its faculties except in union with some organized corporeal system. This is an opinion which we do not feel ourselves inclined to controvert; and therefore we shall not make any particular remarks upon that part of our author’s reasonings. That an immaterial and indiscerptible being, such as the soul, is not liable to be dissolved with the body, is a fact which cannot be controverted; for that which has no parts can perish only by annihilation; and of annihilation the annals of the world afford no instance. That an immaterial being, endowed with the powers of perception and volition, &c. may be capable of exerting these powers in a state of separation from all body, and that at least one immaterial Being does actually so exert them, or other powers analogous to them, are truths which no man whose arrogance does not surpass his judgment will venture to deny; but the question at present between the most rigid immaterialists and their [7:14:679] opponents is, whether there be ground to think that the human soul is such a being?

Now, when Mr Baxter and his followers confidently affirm, that human perception must necessarily subsist after the dissolution of the present mortal and perishable system, and that the soul, when disencumbered of all body, will have its faculties greatly enlarged, they affirm what to us appears incapable of proof. That a disembodied soul may perceive, and think, and act, and that its powers of intellection may have a wider range than when they were circumscribed by a corporeal system, which permitted their action upon external objects only through five organs of sense, is certainly possible; and the argument by which the materialists pretend to prove that it is not possible, is one of the most contemptible sophisms that ever disgraced the history of philosophy. To affirm, that because our intellectual powers, Jn their embodied state, seem to decay with the system to which they are united, the mind, when set free, must therefore have no powers at all, is equally absurd as to say, that because a man shut up in a room which has but one window sees objects less and less distinctly as the glass becomes more and more dimmed, he must in the open air be deprived of the power of vision. But because the human soul may, for any thing that we see to the contrary, subsist, and think, and act, in a separate state, it does not therefore necessarily follow that it will do so; and every thing that we know of its nature and its energies leads us to think, that without some kind of body by which to act as by an instrument, all its powers would continue dormant. There is not the shadow of a reason to supposé that it existed and was conscious in a prior state; and as its memory at present unquestionably depends upon the state of the brain, there is all the evidence of which the case will admit, that if it should subsist in a future state divested of all body, though it might be endowed with new and enlarged powers of perception, it could have no recollection of what it did and suffered in this world, and therefore would not be a fit object either of reward or of punishment.

This consideration has compelled may thinking men, both Pagans and Christians, to suppose that at death the soul carries with it a fine material vehicle, which is its immediate sensorium in this world, and continues to be the seat of its recollection in the next. Such, as we have seen, was the opinion of Mr Wollaston and Dr Hartley; it was likewise the opinion of Cudworth and Locke, who held that the Supreme Being alone is the only mind wholly separated from matter; and it is an opinion which even Dr Clarke, one of the ablest advocates for immaterialism, would not venture positively to deny. Nor is this opinion peculiar to a few moderns. Cudworth, after giving a vast number of quotations from Pythagoreans and Platonists, which prove to a demonstration that they held the Deity to be the only mind which perceives and acts without the instrumentality of matter, observes, “From what hath been said, it appeareth that the most ancient asser tors of the incorporeity and immortality of the human soul yet supposed it to be always conjoined with some body.” Thus Hierocles plainly: “The rational nature having always a kindred body, so proceeded from the demiurgus, that neither itself is body, nor yet can it be without body; but although itself be incorporeal, yet its whole form is terminated in a body.” Agreeably to this, the definition which he gives of a man is, “a rational soul, together with a kindred immortal body ;” and he affirms, that our present animated terrestrial body, or mortal man, is nothing but s'ιδωλov αh)gωnou, “the image of the true man,” or an accession from which it may be separated. Neither does he affirm this only of human souls, but also of all other rational beings whatsoever below the Supreme Deity, that they always naturally actuate some body.

Wherefore a demon or angel, which by Hierocles are used as synonymous words, is also defined by him, after the i same manner, to be “a rational soul, together with a lucid* body.” And accordingly, Proclus upon Plato’s Timaeus affirms, “That every demon, superior to human souls, hath both an intellectual soul and an ethereal vehicle, the entireness thereof being made up or compounded of these two things.” So that there is hardly any other difference between demons or angels and men, according to these philosophers, but only this, that the former are lapsable into aerial bodies only, and no further; but the latter into terrestrial also. Now, Hierocles positively affirms this to have been the true cabbala and genuine doctrine of the ancient Pythagoreans, entertained afterwards by Plato: “And this was the doctrine of the Pythagoreans, which Plato afterwards declared; he resembling every soul both human and divine (that is, in our modern language, every created rational being) to a winged chariot and a driver or charioteer both together ;” meaning by the chariot an animated body, and by the charioteer the incorporeal soul actuating it.

That this Pythagorean opinion of the Deity’s being the only mind which thinks and acts without material organs was very generally received by the ancient Christians, might be proved by a thousand quotations. We shall content ourselves with producing two from the learned Origen: “Solius Dei,” says this philosophic father of the church, “id est, Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, naturae id proprium est, ut sine materiali substantia, et absque ulla corporeae adjectionis societate, intelligatur subsistere.” “Materialem substantiam opinione quidem et intellectu solum separari, a naturis rationalibus, et pro ipsis, vel post ipsas affectam videri; sed nunquam sine ipsa eas vel vixisse, vel vivere: solius namque Trinitatis incorporea vita exis-tere putabitur.” Should Mr Cooper and his friends ask, What is the use of a soul which cannot act without the instrumentality of matter? or why we should suppose the existence of such a substance? we beg leave, in our turn, to inquire of these gentlemen, What is the use of a brain which cannot see without eyes? and why they should suppose all our sensations to terminate in such an internal system, since the vulgar certainly suppose their sensations to subsist in their respective organs? How this ancient notion, which makes body so essential a part of man, is consistent with the immortality of the human soul, we shall inquire in a subsequent chapter; in which we shall endeavour to ascertain what kind of immortality we have reason to expect, and upon what evidence our expectation must rest. Previously to this inquiry, however, it is necessary to enter upon another, which is of the first importance, and which every materialist has endeavoured to perplex; we mean that which concerns personal identity; for if, as has been often said, no man is the same person two days successively, it is of but little importance to us whether the soul be mortal or immortal.

c∏AP. III.—OF PERSONAL IDENTITY.

Whether we are to exist in a future state, as it is the most important question which can possibly be asked, so it is the most intelligible one which can be expressed in language. Vet strange perplexities have been raised about the meaning of that identity or sameness of person which is implied in the notion of our living now and hereafter, or indeed in any two successive moments; and the solution of these difficulties has been stranger than even the difficulties themselves. To repeat all that has been said on the subject would swell this chapter to a disproportionate bulk. We shall therefore content ourselves with laying before our readers the sentiments of Bishop Butler, and the fancies[7:14:680] and demonstrations of the philosopher of Manchester. We are induced to adopt this course, because we think that the illustrious Bishop of Durham has exhausted the subject, by stating fairly the opinions which he controverts, and by establishing his own upon a foundation which cannot be shaken, and which are certainly not injured by the objections of Mr Cooper.

“When it is asked,” says this philosophical prelate,^[87. Dissertation first, subjoined to the Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed. ] “in what personal identity consists? the answer should be the same as if it were asked in what consists similitude or equality? that all attempts to define would but perplex it. Yet there is no difficulty at all in ascertaining the idea or notion: For as, upon two triangles being compared or viewed together, there arises to the mind the notion of similitude, or upon twice two and four the notion of equality; so likewise, upon comparing the consciousness of one’s self or one’s own existence in any two moments, there as immediately arises to the mind the notion of personal identity. And as the two former comparisons not only give us the notions of similitude and equality, but also show us that two triangles are similar, and that twice two and four are equal; so the latter comparison not only gives us the notion of personal identity, but also shows us the identity of ourselves in these two moments, the present, suppose, and that immediately past, or the present and that a month, a year, or twenty years past. In other words, by reflecting upon that which is myself now, and that which was myself twenty years ago, I discern they are not two, but one and the same self.

“But though consciousness of what is present and remembrance of what is past do thus ascertain our personal identity to ourselves, yet, to say that remembrance makes personal identity, or is necessary to our being the same persons, is to say that a person has not existed a single moment, nor done one action, but what he can remember, indeed none but what he reflects upon. And one should really think it self-evident, that consciousness of personal identity presupposes, and therefore cannot constitute, personal identity, any more than knowledge, in any other ease, can constitute truth, which it presupposes.

“The inquiry, what makes vegetables the same in the common acceptation of the word, does not appear to have any relation to this of personal identity; because the word same, when applied to them and to person, is not only applied to different subjects, but is also used in different senses. When a man swears to the same tree, as having stood fifty years in the same place, he means only the same as to all the purposes-of property and uses of common life, and not that the tree has been all that time the same in the strict philosophical sense of the word; for he does not know whether any one particle of the present tree be the same with any one particle of the tree which stood in the same place fifty years ago. And if they have not one common particle of matter, they cannot be the same tree in the proper and philosophie sense of the word same ; it being evidently a contradiction in terms to say they are, when no part of their substance and no one of their properties is the same; no part of their substance, by the supposition; no one of their properties, because it is allowed that the same property cannot be transferred from one substance to another; and, therefore, when we say that the identity or sameness of a plant consists in a continuation of the same life, communicated under the same organization to a number of particles of matter, whether the same or not, the word same, when applied to life and to organization, cannot possibly be understood to signify what it signifies in this very sentence, when applied to matter. In a loose and popular sense, then, the life, and the organization, and the plant, are justly said to be the same, notwithstanding the perpetual change of the parts. But, in a strict and philosophical manner of speech, no man, no being, no mode of being, no any thing, can be the same with that with which it has indeed nothing the same. Now sameness is used in this latter sense when applied to persons. The identity of these, therefore, cannot subsist with diversity of substance.

“The thing here considered, and demonstratively, as I think, determined, is proposed by Mr Locke in these words: Whether it (that is, the same self or person) be the same identical substance? And he has suggested what is a much better answer to the question than that which he gives it in form; for he defines a person a thinking intelligent being, &c. and personal identity, the sameness of a rational being; and then the question is, whether the same rational being is the same substance? which needs no answer; because being and substance are in this place synonymous terms. The ground of the doubt, whether the same person be the same substance, is said to be this, that the consciousness of our own existence in youth and in old age, or in any two joint successive moments, is not the same individual action, that is, not the same consciousness, but different successive consciousnesses. Now it is strange that this should have occasioned such perplexities; for it is surely conceivable that a person may have a capacity of knowing some object or other to be the same now which it was when he contemplated it formerly; yet in this case, where, by the supposition, the object is perceived to be the same, the perception of it in any two moments cannot be one and the same perception. And thus, though the successive consciousnesses which we have of our own existence are not the same, yet are they consciousnesses of one and the same thing or object; of the same person, self, or living agent. The person of whose existence the consciousness is felt now, and was felt an hour or a year ago, is discerned to be, not two persons, but one and the same person; and therefore is one and the same.

“Mr Locke’s observations upon this subject appear hasty; and he seems to profess himself dissatisfied with the suppositions which he has made relating to it. But some of those hasty observations have been carried to a strange length by others, whose notion, when traced and examined to the bottom, amounts, I think, to this: ‘ That personality is not a permanent, but a transient thing; that it lives and dies, begins and ends, continually; that no one can anymore remain one and the same person two moments together, than two successive moments can be one and the same moment; that our substance is indeed continually changing; but whether this be so or not, is, it seems, nothing to the purpose, since it is not substance, but consciousness alone, which constitutes personality; which consciousness, being successive, cannot be the same in any two moments, nor consequently the personality constituted by it.”^[88. Answer to Dr Clarke’s third Defence of his Letter to Mr Dodwell, second edition, p. 44, 56, et seq. ] Hence it must follow, that it is a fallacy upon ourselves to charge our present selves with any thing we did, or to imagine our present selves interested in any thing which befell us yesterday; or that our present self will be interested in what will befall us to-morrow; since our present self is not in reality the same with the self of yesterday, but another self or person coming in its stead, and mistaken for it; to which another self will succeed to-morrow. This, we say, must follow; for if the self or person of to-day and that of to-morrow are not the same, but only similar persons, the person of to-day is really no more interested in what will befall the person of to-morrow, than in what will befall any other person. It may be thought, perhaps, that this is not [7:14:681]a just representation of the opinion we are speaking of, because those who maintain it allow that a person is the same as far back as his remembrance reaches; and indeed they employ the words identity and same person, nor will language permit these words to be laid aside. But they cannot, consistently with themselves, mean that the person is really the same; for it is self-evident, that the personality cannot be really the same, if, as they expressly assert, that in which it consists is not the same. “And as, consistently with themselves, they cannot,” says Butler, “so I think it appears they do not, mean that the person is really the same, but only that he is so in a fictitious sense, in such a sense only as they assert; for this they do assert, that any number of persons whatever may be the same person. The bare unfolding this notion, and laying it thus naked and open, seems the best confutation of it. However, since great stress is said to be put upon it, I add the following things:

“ First, This notion is absolutely contradictory to that certain conviction, which necessarily and every moment rises within us, when we turn our thoughts upon ourselves, when we reflect upon what is past, and look forward to what is to come. All imagination of a daily change of that living agent which each man calls himself, for another, or of any such change throughout our whole present life, is entirely borne down by our natural sense of things. Nor is it possible for a person in his wits to alter his conduct with regard to his health or affairs, from a suspicion, that though he should live to-morrow, he should not however be the same person he is to-day.

“ Secondly, It is not an idea or abstract notion, or quality, but a being only, which is capable of life and action, of happiness and misery. Now all beings confessedly continue the same during the whole time of their existence. Consider, then, a living being now existing, and which has existed for any time alive: this living being must have done, and suffered, and enjoyed, what it has done, and suffered, and enjoyed, formerly (this living being, I say, and not another), as really as it does, and suffers> and enjoys, what it does, and suffers, and enjoys this instant. All these successive actions, sufferings, and enjoyments, are actions, enjoyments, and sufferings, of the same living being; and they are so prior to all considerations of its remembering or forgetting, since remembering or forgetting can make no alteration in the truth of past matter of fact. And suppose this being endued with limited powers of knowledge and memory, there is no more difficulty in conceiving it to have a power of knowing itself to be the same being which it was some time ago, of remembering some of its actions, sufferings, and enjoyments, and forgetting others, than in conceiving it to know, or remember, or forget, any thing else.

“ Thirdly, Every person is conscious that he is now the same person or self he was as far back as his remembrance reaches; since, when anyone reflects upon a past action of his own, he is just as certain of the person who did that action, namely, himself (the person who now reflects upon it), as he is certain that the action was at all done. Nay, very often a person’s assurance of an action having been done, of which he is absolutely assured, arises wholly from the consciousness that he himself did it; and this he, person, or self, must either be a substance or the property of some substance. If he, if person, be a substance, then consciousness that he is the same person, is consciousness that he is the same substance. If the person, or he, be the property of a substance, still consciousness that he is the same property is as certain a proof that his substance remains the same, as consciousness that he remains the same substance would be; since the same property cannot be transferred from one substance to another.

“But though we are thus certain that we are the same agents, living beings, or substances, now, which we were as far back as our remembrance reaches, yet it is asked whether we may not possibly be deceived in it. And this question may be asked at the end of any demonstration whatever, because it is a question concerning the truth of perception by memory; and he who can doubt whether perception by memory can in this case be depended upon, may doubt also whether perception by deduction and reasoning, which also include memory, or indeed whether intuitive perception itself, can be depended upon. Here, then, we can go no farther; for it is ridiculous to attempt to prove the truth of our faculties, which can no otherwise be proved than by the use or means of those suspected faculties themselves.”

This reasoning, which we believe will to most men appear unanswerable, Mr Cooper hopes to overturn by the following observations^[89. Tracts, &c. ]: If all imagination of a daily change in us be borne down by our natural sense of things, then,” says be, “does our natural sense of things positively contradict known fact; for a daily, a momentaneous, change in us, that is, in our bodies, does actually take place.” True, a daily change in our bodies does take place, and so likewise does a daily change in our clothes; but surely no man was ever led by his natural sense of things to suppose that his limbs or external organs were the seats of sensation and will, any more than that his coat or his shoes were any real parts of his trunk or of his feet. But it is only that which thinks and wills that any man considers, in this case, as himself or his person; and if our natural sense of things, or consciousness, tells us, that what thinks and wills has continued the same from a distance of time as far back as we can remember, it is certain, that whether it be material or immaterial, it has continued from that period, otherwise we cannot be certain of any thing. “But,” says our philosopher, “other known and ascertained facts are frequently borne down by our natural sense of things: For how many thousand years before the days of Copernicus was the motion of the earth round the sun entirely borne down by our natural sense of things, which made us give full credit to the motion of the sun round the earth? Do not the generality of mankind believe, upon the evidence of their natural sense of things, that every part of their body remains exactly the same to-day as it was yesterday ?”

To the former of these questions we answer positively, that before the days of Copernicus the motion of the earth round the sun was not borne down by our natural sense of things, but by ill-founded hypotheses and inconclusive reasonings. By the natural sense of things, nothing can be meant, in this place, but the evidence of consciousness, or of external sensation; but the actual motion either of the sun or of the earth is not perceived either by consciousness or by sensation. Of consciousness nothing is the object but the internal energies and feelings of our own minds; and, with regard to the motion of the sun or of the earth, nothing is perceived by the sense of sight but that, after considerable intervals of time, these two great bodies have repeatedly changed their places in the heavens with respect to each other. This is all that on this subject our natural sense of things leads us to believe; and is not this infallibly true? Afterwards, indeed, by taking for granted the truth of propositions, for which neither sense nor consciousness affords the shadow of evidence, the vulgar now, and all mankind formerly, reasoned themselves into the opinion, that the earth stands still, and that the sun moves round it. In vulgar philosophy it is taken for granted, [7:14:682]that in the universe there is not a relative but an absolute upwards and an absolute downwards; that our heads are absolutely upward, and our feet downward; and that were the earth to revolve round its axis, these positions would be reversed, that our heads would be placed beneath our feet, and that we ourselves would fall from the earth into empty space. Upon these false hypotheses the vulgar reason correctly. They know that bodies cannot change their place without motion; they know that in the time of their remembrance the sun and the earth have been perpetually varying their places with respect to each other; they know that they themselves have never fallen, nor had a tendency to fall, into empty space; and hence they infer that it is the sun, and not the earth, that moves. But will any man say that the absurd suppositions from which this conclusion is logically deduced, have the evidence either of sensation or of consciousness, as the permanency of that living agent which each man calls himself has?

To our author’s second question we likewise reply with confidence, that the generality of mankind do not believe, upon their natural sense of things, that every part of their body remains exactly the same to-day as it was yesterday. It would be strange indeed if they did, after having repeatedly experienced the waste of increased perspiration or sweating; after having witnessed men emaciated by sickness, and again restored to plumpness in health; and after having perhaps lost whole limbs, which certainly their natural sense of things teaches them to consider as parts of their body. In all these cases the generality of mankind are as sensible of changes having taken place in their bodies as he who has attended ever so closely to physiological inquiries, although not one of them has the least imagination of a change having taken place in the living agent which each man calls himself.

Bishop Butler observes, that if the living agent be perpetually changing, it is a fallacy upon ourselves to charge our present selves with any thing which we did, to imagine our present selves interested in any thing which befell us yesterday, or that our present self will be interested in what will befall us to-morrow. To this judicious observation our daring philosopher replies, “that as the man of to-morrow, though not in all points the same with, yet depends for his existence upon, the man of to-day, there is sufficient reason to care about him.” Could he have said, that as the man of to-day depends for his éxistence on the man of to-morrow, there is sufficient reason for the present man to care about the future man; or that as the man of to-morrow depends for his existence on the man of today, there is to-day sufficient reason for the future man to care about the present man; we should, in either case, if the anachronism had been kept out of sight, have seen the force of his argument. Every man has sufficient reason to care about the ox upon which he is to be fed; but we cannot so clearly perceive what reason the ox has to care about the man.

Not satisfied, it would seem, with this reply, our author proceeds to affirm, “that the man of to-morrow, possessing a reminiscence of the actions of the man of to-day, and knowing that these actions will be referred to him both by himself and others (which is certainly knowing that both himself and others are most iniquitous wretches), they cannot be indifferent to the man of to-day, who looks forward to the properties of the man of to-morrow that is, the reminiscence and knowledge of a future man constitute all the relation that subsists between a present man and his actions, a discovery worthy of an original genius. But as on the subject of personal identity we pretend to no originality, we shall leave this proposition to the meditation of our readers, and take the liberty to ask our autho¢ a question or two respecting this same reminiscence.

which he is graciously pleased to acknowledge as a property.

He defines identity, “the continued existence of any being unaltered in substance or in properties ;” and he repeatedly acknowledges that no identical quality or property can be transferred from one subject to another. Let us now suppose that a man has a reminiscence of an individual action performed a month ago, and that this reminiscence is accompanied with a consciousness that the action was performed by himself. This supposition, whether true or false, may certainly be made; for it implies nothing more than what every man firmly believes of himself in every act of remembrance. Let us again suppose, that, at the distance of ten or of twenty years, the man known by the same name has a reminiscence of the same action, with a consciousness that he himself performed it. Is this reminiscence the same with the former, or is it a different reminiscence? If it be the same, either the person remembering at the distance of ten or twenty years is the same with him who remembered at the distance of a month, or there is an identical quality transferred from one substance to another, which is admitted to be impossible. If reminiscence be itself a real and immediate quality of any substance, and not the mere energy of a power, and if the one reminiscence be different from the other, the subjects in which these two different qualities inhere must likewise be different. Yet the man who has the reminiscence at the distance of a month, has the evidence of consciousness that the action was performed by him; and the man who has the reminiscence at the distance of ten or twenty years, has likewise the evidence of consciousness that the same action was performed by him, and not by another. By the confession of Hume and of all philosophers, consciousness never deceives; but here is the evidence of one consciousness in direct opposition to another; and therefore,, as two contradictory propositions cannot both be true, either the one reminiscence is the same with the other, or reminiscence is no real quality. That one act of reminiscence should be numerically the same with another which followed it at the distance of twenty years, is plainly impossible; whence it should seem, that reminiscence itself is no real and immediate quality of any substance. But if this be so, what is reminiscence? We answer, It is plainly neither more nor less than the energy of a power which, though dormant between its energies, remains unchanged from the one to the other, and which being itself the real and immediate quality of a subject, that subject must likewise remain unchanged. That powers may remain dormant, and yet unchanged, every man must be convinced, who, having struck any thing with his hand, knows that he has power to repeat the stroke, and yet does not actually repeat it. Two blows with the hand immediately following each other arc numerically different, so that the one cannot with truth be said to be the other; but we have the evidence of external sense, that they are both struck by the same member. In like manner, two energies of reminiscence directed to the same object, and succeeding each other at any interval of time, cannot possibly be one and the same energy; but as the latter energy may include in it the former as well as the object remembered by both, we have the evidence of consciousness that both are energies of the same power; and we have seen, that to suppose them any thing else, may be demonstrated to involve the grossest absurdities and contradictions.

Mr Cooper has other arguments to obviate the force of Bishop Butler’s demonstration of personal identity; such as, that a “high degree of similarity between the two succeeding men is sufficient to make the one care about the other; and, that “a good man, knowing that a future being will be punished or rewarded as the actions of the present man deserve, will have a sufficient motive to do right and [7:14:683]to abstain from wrong.” But if there be any one of our readers who can suffer himself to be persuaded by such assertions as these, that the living agent which he calls himself is perpetually changing, and at the same time that such change is consistent with the expectation of future rewards and punishments, he would not be reclaimed from his error by any reasoning of ours. We shall therefore trust such trifling to every man’s judgment, and proceed to examine our author’s demonstration, that personal identity has no existence. But here it is no part of our purpose to accompany him through his long chemical ramble, or to controvert his arguments for the non-identity of vegetable and animal bodies. The only thing to which, after Bishop Butler, we have ascribed identity, is that which in man is sentient and conscious; and the non-identity of this thing, whatever it be, Mr Cooper undertakes to demonstrate from the known properties of sensations and ideas.

This demonstration sets out with a very ominous circumstance. The author, after conducting impressions ab extra from the extremities of the nerves to the brain, affirms, that sensations and ideas are nothing hut “motions in the brain perceived ;” that is, when a man thinks he is looking at a mountain, not only at rest, but to appearance immoveable, he is grossly deceived; for he perceives nothing all the while but motion in his brain. Were not the desirc of advancing novelties and paradoxes invincible in some minds, we should be astonished at finding such an assertion as this fall from the pen of any man who had paid the slightest attention to the different energies of his own intellect. Motions in the brain, as we have repeatedly observed, arc the immediate causes of our sensations; but is it conceivable, is it possible, that any thing should be the cause of itself? The motion of a sword through the heart of a man is the immediate cause of that man’s death; but is the sword or its motion death itself, or can they be conceived as being the sensations of the man in the agonies of death? But sensations and ideas, whatever they be, exist in succession; and therefore, argues our demonstrator, no two sensations or ideas can be one and the same sensation or idea. The conclusion is logically inferred; but what purpose can it possibly serve? What purpose? Why, it seems “sensations and ideas are the only cxistences whose existence we certainly know (a charming phrase, the existence of existences, and as original as the theory in which it makes its appearance); and therefore, from the nature of sensations and ideas, there is no such thing as permanent identity. Indeed! what then, we may be permitted to ask, is the import of the word we in this sentence? Does it denote a series of sensations and ideas, and does each sensation and each idea certainly know not only itself, but all its ancestors and all its descendants? Unless this be admitted, we are afraid that some other existence besides sensations and ideas must be allowed to be certainly known, and even to have something of a permanent identity. Nay, we think it has been already demonstrated (see the Chapter on Time), that were there not something permanent, there could he no time, and of course no notion of a first and last, or indeed of succession, whether of sensations or ideas. And therefore, if we have such a notion, which the author here takes for granted, and upon which, indeed, his demonstration rests, it follows undeniably that there is something permanent, and that we know there is something permanent, which observes the succession of sensations and ideas.

All this, indeed, Mr Cooper in effect grants; for he is not much startled at the appearance of contradictions in his theory. “I find,” says he, “by perpetually repeated impressions which I perceive, that my hands, body, limbs, &c. are connected, are parts of one whole. I find, by perpetually repeated perceptions, also, that the sensations excited by them are constantly similar, and constantly different from the sensations excited by others.” He has, then, repeated perceptions; but how can this be possible, if he be not different from the perceptions, and if he do not remain unchanged whilst the perceptions succeed each other at greater or less intervals of time? A striking object passing with rapidity before the eyes of a number of men placed beside each other in a line of battle, would undoubtedly excite a succession of sensations; but surely that succession would not take place in the mind of any individual in the line, nor could any single man in this case say with truth that he had repeated perceptions of the object. In like manner, were that which is sentient perpetually changing, no man could possibly say or suppose that he had repeated perceptions of any thing; for, upon this supposition, the man of to-day would have no more connection with the man who bore his name yesterday, or twenty years ago, than the man in the line had with the first.

Upon the whole, we cannot help thinking that Bishop Butler’s demonstration of personal identity remains unshaken by the batteries of Mr Cooper. It rests, indeed, upon the solid basis of consciousness and memory; and if implicit credit be not given to the evidence of these faculties, we cannot proceed a single step in any inquiry whatever, nor be certain of the truth even of a mathematical demonstration.

But as we have ourselves supposed, that to sensation, reminiscence, and every actual energy of the mind of man, the instrumentality of some material system is necessary, it may perhaps be thought incumbent on us to show how the perpetual flux of the particles of matter which compose the brain, as well as all the other parts of the body, can consist with the identity of the person who perceives, remembers, and is conscious. If this cannot be done, our hypothesis, ancient and plausible as it is, must be given up; for of personal identity it is impossible to doubt. In this case, however, we perceive no difficulty; for if there be united to the brain an immaterial being, which is the subject of sensation, consciousness, and will, it is obvious that all the intellectual powers which properly constitute the person must be inherent in that being. The material system, therefore, can be necessary only as an instrument to excite the energies of those powers; and since the powers themselves remain unchanged, why should we suppose that their energies may not be continually exerted by successive instruments of the same kind, as well as by one permanent instrument? the powers of perception and volition are not in the material system, any more than the sensation of seeing is in the rays of light, or the energy of the blacksmith in the hammer with which he beats the anvil. Let us suppose a man to keep his eye for an hour steadily fixed upon one object. It will not surely be denied, that if this could be done, he would have one uninterrupted and unvaried perception of an hour’s duration, as measured by the clock. Yet it is certain that the rays of light which alone could occasion that perception would be perpetually changing. In like manner, a blacksmith, whilst he continues to beat his anvil, continues to excrt the same power, whether he uses one hammer all the time, or a different hammer at each stroke. The reason is obvious. The eye, with all its connections of brain and mind in the one case, and the person of the smith in the other, remain unchanged; and in them alone reside the faculty of sensation, and the power of beating, though neither the faculty nor the power can be exerted without material instruments. But were it possible that millions of men could in the space of an hour take their turns in rotation with each new ray of light, it is self-evident that in this case there would be nothing permanent in sensation; and therefore there could not be one uninterrupted and unvaried perception, but millions of perceptions, during the hour, totally distinct from and unconnected with each other. Let us now suppose a man [7:14:684] to fix his eye upon an object for the space of a minute, and at the distance of a day or a month to fix it upon the same object a second time. He could not, indeed, in this case, have one uninterrupted and unvaried perception, but he would be conscious of the energy of the very same faculty the second time as well as the first. Whereas, were one man to view an object to-day, and another to view the same object to-morrow, it is obvious that he who should be last in the succession could know nothing of the energy of that faculty by which the object was perceived the first day, because there would not be anything common to the two perceptions.

Thus, then, we see that personal identity may with truth be predicated of a compound being, though the material part be in a perpetual flux, providod the immaterial part remain unchanged; and that of such a being only is a resurrection from the dead possible. For since the motions of the brain do nothing more than excite to energy the permanent powers of the mind, it is of no sort of consequence to that energy whether there motions be continued by the same numerical atoms, or by a perpetual succession of atoms arranged and combined in the very same manner. We shall, therefore, be the same persons at the resurrection as at present, whether the mind be united to a particular system composed of any of the numberless atoms which have in succession made parts of our present bodies, or to a system composed of totally different atoms, provided that new system be organized in exactly the same manner with the brain or material vehicle which is at present the immediate instrument of perception. This, we say, is self-evident; but were the immaterial part to change with the changing body, a resurrection of the same persons would be plainly impossible.

CHAP. IV.—OF THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

Wherever men have been in any degree civilized, and in some nations where they have been in the most savage state, it has been the general persuasion that the mind or soul subsists after the dissolution of the body. The origin of this persuasion, about which disputes have been raised, no Christian hesitates to attribute to revelation. The Egyptians, from whom the Greeks derived many of their theological and philosophical principles, appear to have taught the immortality of the soul, not as a truth discovered by the exertions of human reason, but as a dogma derived to them from the earliest ages by tradition. This indeed may be confidently inferred from the character and conduct of their first Greek disciples. Those early wise men who fetched their philosophy immediately from Egypt, brought it'home as they found it, in detached and independent portions. 2lfterwards, when schools were formed, and when man began to philosophize by hypothesis and system, it was eagerly inquired upon what foundation in nature the belief of the soul’s immortality could rest; and this inquiry gave rise to the various disquisitions concerning the substance of the soul, which have continued to exercise the ingenuity of the learned to the present day. It was clearly perceived, that if consciousness, thought, and volition, be the result of any particular modification of matter and motion, the living and thinking agent must perish with the dissolution of the system; and it was no less evident, that if the being which perceives, thinks, and wills, be not material, the mind of man may subsist after the resolution of the body into its component particles. Ihe discovery of the immateriality of the mind was therefore one step towards the proof of its immortality; and, in the opinion of many philosophers, whose hopes ought to rest upon a surer basis, it was alone a complete proof. “They who hold sensitive perception in brutes,” says a pious writer,^[90. See the Procedure, Extent, and Limits of the Understanding. ] “ to be an argument for the immateriality of their souls, find themselves under the necessity of allowing those souls to be immortal.”

The philosophers of ancient Greece, however, did not feel themselves under any such necessity. Whatever were their opinions respecting the souls of brutes, they clearly perceived that nothing which had a beginning of existence could be naturally immortal, whether its substance were material or immaterial. “There never was any of the ancients before Christianity,” says the accurate Cudworth, “that held the soul’s future permanency after death, who did not likewise assert its pre-existence; they clearly perceiving, that if .it were once granted that the soul was generated, it could never be proved but that it might be also corrupted. And therefore, the assertors of the soul’s immortality commonly began here, first to prove its preexistence, proceeding thence to establish its permanency after death. This is the method of proof used in Plato: “Our soul was somewhere before it came to exist in this human form, and thence it appears to be immortal, and as such will subsist after death.”

To give this argument for immortality any strength, it must be taken for granted, not only that the soul existed in a prior state, but that it existed from all eternity; for it is obvious, that if it had a beginning in any state, it may have an end either in that state or in another. Accordingly, Plato asserts in plain terms its eternity and self-existence; which, as we learn from Cicero, he infers from its being the principle of motion in man. “Quin etiam caeteris, quae moventur, hic fons, hoc principium est movendi. Principii autem nulla est origo. Nam ex principio oriuntur omnia: ipsum autem nulla ex re alia nasci potest: nec enim esset id principium, quod gigneretur aliunde.”^[91. Quaest. l’uscul. lib. i∙ cap. xxiii. ] This, it must be acknowledged, is very contemptible reasoning; but the opinion which it was intended to prove was held by all the philosophers. They were unanimous in maintaining the substance of the soul, though notitsper- sonality, to be eternal a parte ante, as well as αd partem post ; and Cicero, where he tells us that this opinion passed from Pherecydes Syrus to Pythagoras, and from Pythagoras to Plato, expresses their notion of the soul’s duration by the word sempiternus ; ^[92. Qyaest. Tuscul∙ lib. i. ] which, in its original and proper sense, is applicable only to that which has neither beginning nor end.

Indeed, none of the philosophers of ancient Greece appear to have believed a creation (see Creation) possible; for it was a maxim universally received amongst them, De nihilo nihil jit, in nihilum nil posse reverti, that nothing can come from nonentity or go to nonentity. This maxim, as held by the theistical philosophers, the learned Cudworth labours to interpret in a sense agreeable to our notions of the origin of the world; but even the questions urged by himself must convince every competent reader that on this occasion he labours in vain. For instance, when Aristotle writes of Parmenides and Melissus, that “They say that no real entity is either made or destroyed,” what can be his meaning, except that those philosophers taught that nothing could be either created or annihilated? He testifies the same thing of Xenophanes and Zeno, when he says that it was a fundamental principle of their philosophy, “That it is impossible that any thing should be made out of nothing ;” and of Empedocles, when he relates, “That’ he acknowledges the very [7:14:685]same thing with other philosophers, namely, that it is impossible that any thing should be made out of nothing, or perish into nothing.” But it is needless to multiply quotations respecting the opinions of single philosophers. Of all the physiologers before himself and Plato, Aristotle says, without exception, “That they agree in this opinion, that it is impossible that any thing should be made out of nothing;”^[93. Physic, lib. i. cap. v. ] and he calls this the common principle of naturalists, plainly intimating, that they considered it as the greatest absurdity to suppose that any real entity in nature could either be brought from nothing or reduced to nothing.

The author of the Intellectual System, in order, perhaps, to hide the impiety of this principle, endeavours to persuade his readers that it was urged only against the hypothesis of forms and qualities of bodies considered as real entities, distinct from matter. But how it could be supposed to militate against that particular opinion, and not against the possibility of all creation, is to us perfectly inconceivable. The father of the school which analyzed body into matter and form, together with by far the greater part of his followers, taught the eternity of both these principles, and therefore maintained, as strenuously as any atomist, the universal maxim, De nihilo nihil jit. Even Plato himself, whose doctrine of ideas is supposed to wear a more favourable aspect than Aristotle’s forms, to the truths of revealed religion, taught the eternity of matter; but whether as a self-existing substance, or only as an emanation from the Deity, is a question which has been disputed. That he admitted no proper creation, may be confidently inferred from Plutarch, who, writing upon the generation of animals, according to the doctrine laid down in the Timaeus, has the following passage: “It is therefore better for us to follow Plato, and to say and sing that the world was made by God. For as the -world is the best of all works, so is God the best of all causes. Nevertheless, the substance or matter out of which the world was made, was not itself made, but was always ready at hand, and subject to the artificer, to be ordered and disposed by him. For the making of the world was not the production of it out of nothing, but out of an antecedent bad and disorderly state, like the making of a house, garment, or statue.”^[94. Plut. Op. tom. ii. p. 1014. ]

If, then, this be a fair representation of the sentiments of Plato, and surely the author understood those sentiments better than the most accomplished modern scholar can pretend to do, nothing is more evident than that the founder of the academy admitted of no proper creation, but only taught that the matter which had existed from eternity in a chaotic state, was in time reduced to order by the Demiurgos or Supreme Being. And if such were the sentiments of the divine Plato, we cannot hesitate to adopt the opinion expressed by the excellent Mosheim, which the reader will probably bo pleased to have in his own words: “Si a Judaeis discedas, nescio an ullus antiquorum philosophorum mundum negaverit aeternum esse. Omnes mihi aeternum professi videntur esse mundum: hoc uno vero disjunguntur, quod nonnulli ut Aristoteles, formam et materiam simul hujus orbis, alii vero, quorum princeps facile Plato, materiam tantum aeternam, formam vero, a Deo comparatam, dixerunt.”^[95. Notes on Cud worth’s Intellectual System. ]

Now, it is a fact so generally known, as not to stand in need of being proved by quotations, that there was not amongst them a single man who believed in the existence of mind as a being more excellent than matter, and essentially different from it, who did not hold that the superior was at least of equal antiquity with the inferior substance. So true is this, that Synesius, though a Christian, yet having been educated in one of the schools of philosophy, could not be induced, even by the hopes of a bishopric, to dissemble this sentiment: “I shall never be persuaded to think my soul younger than my body.”^[96. Epist. 105. ] This man probably believed, upon the authority of the Scriptures, that the matter of the visible world was created in time; but he certainly held, with his philosophic masters, that his own soul was as old as any atom of it, and that it had consequently existed in a prior state before it animated his present body.

Those who maintained that the world was uncreated, maintained upon the same principle that their souls were likewise uncreated; and as they conceived that all bodies were formed of one first matter, so they conceived all souls to be either emanations from the one first Mind, or discerpted parts of it. Aristotle, who distinguishes between the intellectual and the sensitive souls, says expressly of the former, that it “enters from without, and is divine ;” adding this reason for his opinion, that “its energy is not blended with that of the body.”^[97. De Generatione Animalium, lib. ii. cap. iii. ] As to the Stoics, Cleanthes held, as Stobaeus informs us,^[98. Eclog. Phys. c. xx. ] that “every thing was made out of one, and would again be resolved into one.” But let Seneca speak for them all. “Quid est autem, cur non existimes in eo divini aliquid existere, qui Dei pars est? Totum hoc, quo continemur, et unum est, et Deus: et sor cii ejus sumus, et membra.”^[99. Epist. 92. ] “Why should you not believe something to be divine in him, who is indeed part of God? That whole in which we are contained is one, and that one is God; we being his companions and members.” Epictetus says, “The souls of men have the nearest relation to God, as being parts or fragments of him, discerpted and torn from his substance.” Plato writes to the very same purpose, when, without any softening, he frequently calls the soul God, and part of God. And Plutarch says, that “Pythagoras and Plato held the soul to be immortal; for that, launching out into the soul of the universe, it returns to its parent and original.”^[100. De Placitis Philosophorum, lib. iv. cap. vii. ] He, at the same time, declares his own opinion to be, that “the soul is not so much the work and production of God, as a part of him; nor is it made by him, but from him and out of him.”^[101. Plato, Quaest. ] But it is needless to multiply quotations. Cicero delivers the common sentiments of his Greek masters on this head, when he says,^[102. De Divinatione, lib. i. cap. xlix. ] “A natura deorum, ut doctissimis sapientissi-misque placuit, haustos animos et libatos habemus.” And again: “Humanus autem animus decerptus ex mente divina: cum alio nullo, nisi cum ipso Deo (si hoc fas est dictu), comparari potest.”

Whilst the philosophers were thus unanimous in maintaining the soul to be a part of the self-existent substance, they differed in opinion, or at least expressed themselves differently, as to the mode of its separation from its divine parent. Cicero and the Stoics talk as if the Supreme Mind were extended, and as if the human soul were a part literally torn from that mind, as a limb can be torn from the body. The Pythagoreans and Platonists seem to have considered all souls as emanations from the divine substance rather than as parts torn from it, much in the same way as rays of light are emanations from the sun. Plato, in particular, believed in two self-existent principles, namely, God and matter. The former he considered as the Supreme Intelligence, incorporeal, without beginning, end. or change; and distinguished it by the appellation of το αγa0ον, the Good. Matter, as subsisting from eternity, he [7:14:686]considered as without any one form or quality whatever, and as having a natural tendency to disorder. Of this chaotic mass God formed a perfect world, after the eternal pattern in his own mind, and endowed it with a soul or emanation from himself. In the language of Plato, therefore, the universe, being animated by a soul which proceeds from God, is called the son of God; and several parts of nature, particularly the heavenly bodies, are gods. The human soul, according to him, is derived by emanation from God, through the intervention of this soul of the world; and receding farther from the first intelligence, it is inferior in perfection to the soul of the world, though even that soul is debased by some material admixture. To account more fully for the origin and present state of human souls, Plato supposes,^[103. Enfield’s Abridgement of Brucher’s History of Philosophy. ] that “when God formed the universe, he separated from the soul of the world inferior souls, equal in number to the stars, and assigned to each its proper celestial abode; but that those souls (by what means, or for what reason, does not appear) were sent down to the earth into human bodies, as into sepulchres or prisons.” He ascribes to this cause the depravity and misery to which human nature is liable, and maintains, that it “is only by disengaging itself from all animal passions, and rising above sensible objects to the contemplation of the world of intelligence, that the soul of man can be prepared to return to its original state.” Not inconsistently with this doctrine, the same philosopher frequently speaks of the soul of man as consisting of three parts, or rather he seems to have thought that man has three souls; the first the principle of intelligence, the second of passion, and the third of appetite; and to each he assigns its proper place in the human body. But it was only the intellectual soul that he considered as immortal.

Aristotle taught, in terms equally express, that the human soul is a part of God, and of course that^ts substance is of eternal and necessary existence. Some of his followers, indeed, although they acknowledged two first principles, the active and the passive, yet held, with the Stoics, but one substance in the universe; and to reconcile these two contradictory propositions, they were obliged to suppose matter to be both active and passive. Their doctrine on this subject is thus delivered by Cicero: “De natura ita dicebant, ut eam dividerent in res duas, ut altera esset efficiens, altera autem quasi huic se praebens, ea quae efficeretur aliquid. In eo, quod efficeret, vim esse censebant; in eo autem quod efficeretur, materiam quandam; in utroque tamen udrumque. Neque enim materiam ipsam coherere potuisse, si nulla vi contincretur, neque vim sine aliqua materia; nihil est enim, quod non alicubi esse cogatur.”^[104. Academica, lib. i. cap. vi. ] “They divided nature into two things, as the first principles; one of which is the efficient or artificer, the other that which offers itself to him for things to be made out of it. In the efficient principle, they acknowledged active force; in the passive, a certain matter; but so that in each both of these were together ; forasmuch as neither the matter could cohere together unless it were contained by some active force, nor the active force subsist of itself without matter ; because that is nothing which may not be compelled to be somewhere.” Agreeably to this strange doctrine, Arrian, the interpreter of Epietetus, says of himself, “I am a man (a part of the το παv, or universe), as an hour is part of the day.”

Aristotle himself is generally supposed to have believed in the eternal existence of two substances, mind and matter; but, treating of the generation of animals, he says,^[105. De Generatione Animalium, lib. iii. cap. xi. ] “In the universe there is a certain animal heat, so that after a manner all things are full of mind; wherefore they arc quickly completed (or made complete animals) when they have received a portion of that heat.” This heat, from which, according to Cicero,^[106. Tuscul. lib. i. cap. iii. ] the Stagyrite derived all souls, has, it must be confessed, a very material appearance; insomuch that the learned Mosheim seems to have been doubtful whether he admitted of any immaterial principle in man. But for this doubt there appears to us to be no solid foundation. Aristotle expressly declares, that “this heat is not fire, nor any such power, but a spirit which is in the seeds or elementary principles of bodies.”^[107. De Generatione Areιmalium, lib. ii. cap. iii. ] And as the excellent person himself acknowledges that Aristotle taught the existence of two principles, God and matter, not indeed subsisting separately, but eternally linked together by the closest union, we think it follows undeniably, that this heat, from which he derived all souls, must be that mind which he called God, and which he considered as the actuating soul of the universe.

Upon these principles neither Aristotle nor the Stoics could believe, with Plato, that in the order of nature there was first an emanation from the Supreme Mind to animate the universe, and then through this universal soul other emanations to animate mankind. The Stagyrite believed that the Supreme Mind himself is the soul of the world, and that human souls are immediately derived from him. The genuine Stoics, acknowledging but one substance, of necessity considered both the souls and bodies of men as portions of that substance, which they called το h; though still they affected to make some unintelligible distinction between body and mind. But, however the various schools differed as to those points, they were unanimous as to the soul’s being a part of the self-existing substance; and Cicero gives their whole system from Pacuvianus, in words which cannot be misunderstood:

Quicquid est hoc, omnia animat, format, alit, auget, creat, Sepelit, recipitque in sese omnia, omniumque idem est Pater: Indidemque eadem, quae oriuntur de integro, atque eodem occidunt.

To these verses he immediately subjoins the following query: “Quid est igitur, cur, cum domus sit omnium una, caque communis, cumque animi hominum semper fuerint, futurique sint, cur ii, quid ex quoque eveniat, et quid quamque rem significet, perspicere non possint ?”^[108. De Divinatione, lib. i. p. 57∙ ] And upon the same principle he elsewhere argues, not merely for the immortality, but for the eternity and necessary existence, of the soul: “Animorum nulla in terris origo inveniri potest: His enim in naturis nihil inest, quod vim memoriae mentis, eogitationis habeat; quod et praeterita teneat, et futura provideat, et complecti possit praesentia; quae sola divina sunt. Nèe invenietur unquam, unde ad hominem venire possint, nisi a Deo. Ita quicquid est illud, quod sentit, quod sapit, quod vult, quod viget, caeleste et divinum est; ob camque rem aeternurn sit uccesse est." ^[109. Frag, ãe Consolatione. ] This was indeed securing the future permanency of the soul in the most effectual manner; for it is obvious, that what had not a beginning can never have an end, but must be of eternal and necessary existence. But when the ancients attributed a proper eternity to the soul, we must not suppose that they understood it to be eternal in its distinct and personal existence. They believed that it proceeded or was discerpted in time from the substance of God, and would in time be again resolved into that substance. This they explained by a close vessel filled with sea-water, which, swimming a while upon the occan, does, upon the vessel’s breaking, flow in again, and mingle with the common mass.
[7:14:687]

They only differed about the time of this re-union; the greater part holding it to be at death, but the Pythagoreans not till after many transmigrations. The Platonists went between these two opinions, and rejoined pure and unpolluted souls immediately to the Universal Spirit; but those which had contracted much defilement were sent into a succession of other bodies, to be purged and purified, before they returned to their parent substance.^[110. Warburton’s Divine Legation. ]

A doctrine similar to this of Plato has been held from time immemorial by the Brahmins in India, whose sacred books teach, “That intellect is a portion of the Great Sοιd of the universe, breathed into all creatures, to animate them for a certain time; that after death it animates other bodies, or returns like a dfop into that unbounded ocean from which it first arose; that the souls of men are distinguished from those of other animals, by being endowed with reason and with a consciousness of right and wrong; and that the soul of him who adheres to right as far as his powers extend, is at death absorbed into that divine essence, never more to re÷animate flesh. On the other hand, the souls of those who do evil are not at death disengaged from all the elements, but are immediately clothed with a body of fire, air, and akash (a kind of celestial element, through which the planets move, and which makes no resistance), in which they are for a time punished in hell. After the season of their grief is over, they're-animate other bodies; and when they arrive through these transmigrations at a state of purity, they are absorbed into God, where all passions are utterly unknown, and where consciousness is lost in bliss." ^[111. See Preliminary Dissertation to Dow’s History of Hindustan. ]

Whether the Greeks derived their notions of the divinity and transmigration of souls from the east, or whether both they and the Brahmins brought the same doctrines at different periods from Egypt, it is foreign to the purpose of this article to inquire. Certain it is, that the philosophers of Greece and India argued in the very same manner, and upon the very same principles, for the natural immortality of the soul; and that the immortality which they taught was wholly incompatible with God’s moral government of the world, and with a future state of rewards and punishments. That this is true of the doctrine of the Brahmins, is evident from the last-quoted sentence; for if the soul, when absorbed into the Divine essence, loses all consciousness of what it did and suffered in the body, it cannot possibly be rewarded for the virtues it practised upon earth. That the philosophers of Greece taught the same cessation of consciousness, might be inferred with the utmost certainty, even though we had not Aristotle’s express declaration to that purpose. For as they all believed their souls to have existed before these were infused into their bodies, and as each must have been conscious that he remembered nothing of his former state, it was impossible to avoid concluding, that in the future state of his soul as little would be remembered of the present. Accordingly Aristotle teaches, that “the active intellect only is immortal and eternal, but the passive corruptible.”^[112. De Anima, lib. iii. cap. vi. ] Cudworth thinks this a very doubtful and obscure passage; but Warburton, whose natural acuteness often discovered the sense of ancient authors when it had escaped the sagacity of abler scholars, has completely proved, that by the active intellect is meant the substance of the soul, and by the passive its particular perceptions. It appears therefore that the Stagyrite, from the common principle of the soul’s being a part of the Divine substance, draws a conclusion against a future state of rewards and punishments; which, though all the philosophers, except Socrates, embraced, yet all were not so forward to avow.

That the hypothesis of the soul’s being a part of the Divine substance is a gross absurdity, we surely need not spend time in proving. The argument long ago urged against it by St Augustin must ere now have occurred to every reader. In the days of that learned father of the church, it was not wholly given up by the philosophers; and, in his excellent work of the City of God, he thus exposes its extravagance and impiety: “Quid infelicius credi potest, quam Dei partem vapulare, cum puer vapulat? Jam vero partes Dei fieri lascivas, iniquas, impias, atque omnino damnabiles, quis ferre potest nisi qui prorsus insanit ?”

But although this hypothesis be in the highest degree absurd, and wholly untenable, we apprehend it to be the only principle from which the natural or essential immortality of the soul can possibly be inferred. If the soul had a beginning, it may have an end; for nothing can be more evident, than that the being which had not existence of itself, cannot of itself have perpetuity of existence. Human works, indeed, continue in being after the power of the workman is withdrawn from them; but between human works and the Divine there is this immense difference, that the former receive from the artist nothing but their form, whereas the latter receive from the Creator both their form and their substance. Forms are nothing but modifications of substance; and as substances depend upon God and not upon man, human works are continued in being by that fiat of the Creator, which made the substances of which they are composed susceptible of different forms, and of such a nature as to retain for a period of time whatever form may be impressed upon them. Human works, therefore, are continued in being by a power different from that by which they are finished; but the works of God depend wholly upon that power by which they were originally brought into existence; and were the Creator to withdraw his supporting energy, the whole creation would sink into nothing.

Self-evident as this truth certainly is, some eminent philosophers seem to have questioned it. “No substance or being,” says Mr Baxter,^[113. Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul, vol. i. sect. 3. ] “can have a natural tendency to annihilation, or to become nothing. That a being which once exists should cease to exist, is a real effect, and must be produced by a real cause. But this could not be planted in the nature of any substance or being to become a tendency of its nature; for it could not be a free cause, otherwise it must be a being itself, the subject of the attribute freedom, and therefore not the property of another being, nor a necessary cause, for such a cause is only the effect of something imposing that necessity, and so no cause at all.”

That the author’s meaning in this argument is good, cannot, we think, be controverted; but assuredly he has not expressed himself with his usual accuracy. He seems to confound causes with the absence of causes, and the effects of the former with the consequences of the latter. The visible world was brought into existence by the actual energy of the power of God; and as the visible world had nothing of itself, it can remain in existence only by a continuance of the same energy. This energy, therefore, is at the present moment as real a cause as it was six thousand years ago, or at any period when it may have been.first exerted; and the visible world is its real and permanent effect. But would the ceasing of this energy be likewise a cause? It would certainly be followed by the annihilation of the visible world, just as the withdrawing of the sunbeams would be followed by darkness on the earth. Yet as no one has ever supposed that darkness, [7:14:688]a nonentity, is a positive effect of the sun or of his beams, but only a mere negative consequence of their absence; so, we think, no one who believes in creation can consider that destruction which would inevitably follow the withdrawing of the energy by which all things are supported, as the positive effect of a contrary energy, or as any thing more than a negative consequence of the ceasing of that volition or energy of power by which God at first brought things into existence. For “where the foundation of existence lies wholly in the power of an infinite being producing, the ground of the continuance of that existence must be wholly in the same power conserving; which has, therefore, with as much truth as frequency, been styled a continued creation.”^[114. See Stillingfleet’s Origines Sacra, where this question is treated in a very masterly manner, by one of the ablest metaphysicians of the seventeenth century. ]

The force of this reasoning Mr Baxter certainly saw, when he said, that “a tendency to persevere in the same state of nature, and a tendency to change it, are contradictories, and impossible to be planted in the same subject at once; or, not to urge the contradiction, if the last prevailed, the remaining in the same state for any given time would be impossible. We forget the true cause of all these tendencies, the will of God, which it is absurd to suppose contrary to itself. The tendency in matter to persevere in the same state of rest or motion, is nothing but the will of the Creator, who preserves all things in their existence and manner of existence; nor can we have recourse to any other cause for the preservation of immaterial substance in its existence. Therefore these tendencies are to be ascribed to the will of God, and it is absurd to suppose them contrary.”

All this is unquestionably true. The existence or nonexistence of matter and of created spirits depends wholly upon the will of God; and we cannot suppose him to be willing to-day the reverse of what he willed yesterday, because we know that all his volitions are directed by unerring wisdom. We have likewise the evidence of experience, that nothing is ever suffered to perish except particular systems, which perish only as systems by a decomposition of their parts. A being which, like the soul, has no parts, can suffer no decomposition; and therefore, if it perish, it must perish by annihilation. But of annihilation there has not hitherto been a single instance; nor can we look for a single instance, without supposing the volitions of God to partake of that unsteadiness which is characteristic of man. Corporeal systems, when they have served their purpose, are indeed resolved into their component parts; but the matter of which they were composed, so far from being lost, becomes the matter of other systems in endless succession. Analogy, therefore, leads us to conclude, that when the human body is dissolved, the immaterial principle by which it was animated will continue to think and act, either in a state of separation from all body, or in some material vehicle to which it is intimately united, and which goes off with it at death; or else that it will be preserved by the Father of Spirits, for the purpose of animating a body in some future state. When we consider the different states through which that living and thinking individual, which each man calls himself, goes, from the moment that it first animates an embryo in the womb, to the dissolution of the man of fourscore; and when we reflect likewise on the wisdom and immutability of God, together with the various dissolutions of corporeal systems, in which we know that a single atom of matter has never been lost; the presumption is certainly strong, that the soul shall subsist after the dissolution of the body. But when we take into the consideration the moral attributes of God, his justice and goodness, together with the unequal distribution of happiness and misery in the present world, this presumption from analogy amounts to a complete moral proof that there shall be a future state of rewards and punishments; and if we estimate the duration of the rewards by the benevolence of him by whom they are to be conferred, we cannot imagine them shorter than eternity.

CHAP. V.—OF necessity AND LIBERTY.

In the preceding chapter, we have adverted to that great moral proof of a future state, and the immortality of the soul, which arises from the relation in which man, as a being accountable for hiδ conduct, stands to a God of almighty power, infinite wisdom, and perfect justice. But the circumstance of accountableness implies freedom of agency; for it is contrary to all our notions of right and wrong that a man should be either rewarded or punished for actions which he was necessitated or compelled to perform.

Human actions are of three kinds: One where we act by instinct, without any view to consequences; one where we act by will, in order to obtain some end; and one where we act against will. It is the second kind of actions only which confers upon the agent merit or demerit. With respect to the first, he acts blindly (see Instinct), without deliberation or choice; and the external act follows from the instinctive impulse, no less necessarily than a stone by its gravity falls to the ground. With respect to the last, he is rather an instrument than an agent; and it is universally allowed, that were a strong man to put a sword into the hand of one who is weaker, and then to force it through the body of a third person, he who held the sword would be as guiltless of the murder as the sword itself. To be entitled to rewards, or liable to punishment, a man must act voluntarily; or, in other words, his actions must proceed from that energy of mind which is termed volition; and we believe it has never been denied, that all men have power to do whatsoever they will, both with respect to the operations of their minds and to the motions of their bodies, uncontrolled by any foreign principle or cause. “Every man,” says Dr Priestley, “is at liberty to turn his thoughts to whatever subject he pleases, to consider the reasons for or against any scheme or proposition, and to reflect upon them as long as he shall think proper; as well as to» walk wherever he pleases, and to do whatever his hands and other limbs are capable of doing.” Without such liberty as this, morality is inconceivable.

But although philosophers have in general agreed with respect to the power which a man has to perform such actions as he wills, they have differed widely in opinion respecting the nature of his volitions. That these are the result of motives, has seldom or never been questioned; but w hether that result be necessary, so that the agent possesses no self-determining power to decide between different motives, has been warmly disputed by men equally candid, impartial, and intelligent. The principal writers on the side of necessity are, Hobbes, Collins, Hume, Leibnitz, Lord Kames, Hartley, Edwards, Priestley, and perhaps Locke. On the other side are, Clarke, King, Law, Reid, Butler, Price, Bryant, Wollaston, Horsley, Beattie, and Gregory. To give a short view of this celebrated question is all that our limits will permit; and as we do not think ourselves competent to settle the dispute, it were perhaps a thing desirable to give the opposite reasonings in the words of those eminent authors themselves. It [7:14:689]must, however, be obvious to the reader, that the style and manner of so many different writers are extremely various, and that to introduce them all into our abstract would render the whole a mass of confusion. We shall, therefore, select one writer to plead the cause of necessity, supplying his defects from those who, though inferior to him on the whole, may yet have argued more ably on some particular points which the question involves; and to this combined reasoning we shall subjoin such answers as to us appear most conclusive. Hartley, Hume, and Priestley, are perhaps the most profound reasoners on the side of necessity; but there is so much more perspicuity in the arguments of Lord Kames, that we cannot help preferring them, as being upon the whole better calculated to give the ordinary reader a fair view of the subject.

“Into actions done with a view to an end,” says his lordship,^[115. Sketches of the History of Man, book iii. sketch ii. part i. sect. 8. ] “desire and will enter; desire to accomplish the end goes first; the will to act, in order to accomplish the end, is next; and the external act follows of course. It is the will, then, that governs every external act done as a mean to accomplish an and; and it is desire to accomplish the end that puts the will in motion; desire, in this view, being commonly termed the motive to act. But what is it that raises desire? The answer is ready: It is the prospect of attaining some agreeable end, or of evading one that is disagreeable. And if it be inquired, what makes an object agreeable or disagreeable? the answer is equally ready: It is our nature that makes it so. Certain visible objects are agreeable, certain sounds and certain smells: other objects of these senses are disagreeable. But there we must stop, for we are far from being so intimately acquainted with our own nature as to assign the causes.

“With respect to instinctive actions, no person, I presume, thinks that there is any freedom. With respect to voluntary actions, done in order to produce some effect, the necessity is the same, though less apparent at first view. The external action is determined by the will, the will is determined by desire, and desire by what is agree-ble or disagreeable. Here is a chain of causes and effects, not one link of which is arbitrary, or under command of the agent: he cannot will but according to his desire; he cannot desire but according to what is agreeable or disagreeable in the objects perceived: nor do these qualities depend on his inclination or fancy; he has no power to 1 make a beautiful woman ugly, nor to make a rotten carcass smell sweetly.

“Many good men, apprehending danger to morality from holding our actions to be necessary, endeavour to break the chain of causes and effects above mentioned; maintaining, that whatever influence desire or motives may have, it is the agent himself who is the cause of every action; that desire may advise, but cannot command; and, therefore, that a man is still free to act in contradiction to desire and to the strongest motives.

“That a being may exist which in every case acts blindly and arbitrarily, without having any end in view, I can make a shift to conceive; but it is difficult for me even to imagine a thinking and rational being, that has affections and passions, that has a desirable end in view, that can easily accomplish this end, and yet after all can fly or remain at rest, without any cause, reason, or motive, to sway it. If such a whimsical being can possibly exist, I am certain that man is not that being. There is not, perhaps, a person above the condition of a changeling but can say why he did so and so, what moved him, what he intended. Nor is a single fact stated to make us believe t⅛at ever a man acted against his own will or desire who was not compelled by external force. On the contrary, constant and universal experience proves that human actions are governed by certain inflexible laws; and that a man cannot exert his self-motive power but in pursuance of some desire or motive.

“Had a motive always the same influence, actions proceeding from it would appear no less necessary than the actions of matter. The various degrees of influence that motives have on different men at the same time, and on the same man at different times, occasion a doubt, by suggesting a notion of chance. Some motives, however, have such influence as to leave no doubt: a timid female has a physical power to throw herself into the month of a lion roaring for food, but she is withheld by terror no less effectually than by cords: if she should rush upon a lion, would not every one conclude that she was frantic? A man, though in a deep sleep, retains a physical power to act, but he cannot exert it. A man, though desperately in love, retains a physical power to refuse the hand of his mistress; but he cannot exert that power in contradiction to his own ardent desire, more than if he were fast asleep. Now, if a strong motive have a necessary influence, there is no reason for doubting but that a weak motive must also have its influence, the same in kind, though not in degree. Some actions, indeed, are strangely irregular; but let the wũldest actions be scrutinized, there will always be discovered some motive or desire, which, however whimsical or capricious, was what influenced the person to act. Of two contending motives, is it not natural to expect that the stronger will prevail, however little its excess may be? If there be any doubt, it must arise from a supposition that a weak motive may be resisted arbitrarily. W*here, then, are we to fix the boundary between a weak and a strong motive? If a weak motive can be resisted, why not one a little stronger, and why not the strongest? Between two motives opposing each other, however nearly balanced, a man has not an arbitrary choice, but must yield to the stronger. The mind, indeed, fluctuates for some time, and finds itself in a measure loose: at last, however, it is determined by the more powerful motive, as a balance is by the greater weight after many vibrations.

“Such, then, are the laws that govern our voluntary actions. A man is absolutely free to act according to his own will; greater freedom than which is not conceivable. At the same time, as man is made accountable for his conduct to his Maker, to his fellow-creatures, and to himself, he is not left to act arbitrarily; for at that rate he would be altogether unaccountable: his will is regulated by desire, and desire by what pleases or displeases him. Thus, with regard to human conduct, there is a chain of laws established by nature, no one link of which is left arbitrary. By that wise system, man is made accountable; by it he is made a fit subject for divine and human government; by it persons of sagacity foresee the conduct of others; by it the prescience of the Deity with respect to human actions is clearly established.”

Of the doctrine of necessity, a more perspicuous or plausible view than this is not to be found in any work with which we are acquainted. It is indeed defective, perhaps, as his lordship only hints at the nature of that relation which subsists between motive and action; but, from his comparing the fluctuations of the mind between two contending motives, to the vibrations of a balance with different weights in the opposite scales, there is no room to doubt but that he agreed exactly in opinion with Mr Hume and Dr Priestley.

Now, both these writers hold, that the relation of motives to volition and action is the very same with that which subsists between cause and effect in physics, as far as they are both known to us. “It is universally allowed,” says [7:14:690] Mr Hume,^[116. Inquiry concerning Human Understanding, sect. 8. ] “that matter, in all its operations, is actuated by a necessary force; and that every natural effect is so precisely determined by the energy of its cause, that no other effect, in such particular circumstances, could possibly have resulted from it. The degree and direction of every motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness, that a living creature may as soon arise from the shock of two bodies, as motion in any other degree or direction than what is actually produced by it. Would we, therefore, form a just and precise idea of necessity, we must consider whence that idea arises when we apply it to the operation of bodies. But our idea of this kind of necessity and causation arises entirely from the uniformity observable in the operations of nature, where similar objects are constantly conjoined together, and the mind is determined by custom to infer the one from the appearance of the other. These two circumstances form the whole of that necessity which we ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant conjunction of similar objects, and the consequent inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any necessity or connection.” He then gives a pretty long detail to prove a great uniformity among the actions of men in all nations and ages; and concludes that part of his argument with affirming, “not only that the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions is as regular and uniform as that between the cause and effect in any part of nature; but also, that this regular conjunction has been universally acknowledged among mankind, and has never been the subject of dispute either in philosophy or common life.” He afterwards observes, “That men begin at the wrong end of this question concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon it by examining the faculties of the soul, the influence of the understanding, and the operations of the will. Let them first discuss a more simple question, namely, the operations of body, and of brute unintelligent matter, and try whether they can there form any idea of causation and necessity, except that of a constant conjunction of objects, and subsequent inference of the mind from one to another. If these circumstances form in reality the whole of that necessity which we conceive in matter, and if these circumstances be also universally acknowledged to take place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end; at least must be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. When we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence link together, and form only one chain of argument, we shall make no scruple to allow that they are of the same nature, and derived from the same principles. Between a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary actions, the mind feels no difference in passing from one link to another; nor is less certain of a future event which depends upon motives and volitions, than if it were connected with the objects present to the memory and senses by a train of causes, cemented together by what we are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced union has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives, volition and action, or figure and motion. We may change the names of things, but their nature and their operation on the understanding never change.”

Dr Priestley, in words a little different, teaches the very same doctrine which was taught by Mr Hume. “In every determination of the mind,” says he,^[117. The Doctrine of Philosophical Necessity illustrated. ] “or in cases where volition and choice are concerned, all the previous circumstances to be considered are the state of mind (including every thing belonging to the will itself), and the views of things presented to it; the latter of which is generally called the motive, though under this term some writers comprehend them both. To distinguish the manner in which events depending upon will and choice are produced, from those in which no volition is concerned, the former are said to be produced voluntarily, and the latter mechanically. But the same general maxims apply to them both. We may not be able to determine a priori how a man will act in any particular case; but it is because we are not particularly acquainted with his disposition of mind, precise situation, and views of things. But neither can we tell in which way the wind will blow to-morrow, though the air is certainly subject to no other than necessary laws of motion.

“It is universally acknowledged, that there can be no effect without an .adequate cause. This is even the foundation on which the only proper argument for the being of a God rests. And the necessarian asserts, that if, in any given state of mind, with respect both to disposition and motives, two different determinations or volitions be possible, it can be so on no other principle, than that one of them shall come under the description of an effect without a cause; just as the beam of a balance might incline either way, though loaded with equal weights. It is acknowledged, that the mechanism of the balance is of one kind, and that of the mind of another; and, therefore, it may be convenient to denominate them by different words; as, for instance, that of the balance may be termed a physical, and that of the mind a moral mechanism. But still, if there be a real mechanism in both cases, so that there can be only one result from the same previous circumstances, there will be a real necessity, enforcing an absolute certainty in the event. For it must be understood, that all that is ever meant by necessity in a cause, is that which produces certainty in the effect.”

Such is the nature of human volitions, according to every necessarian of eminence who has written upon the subject since the days of Hobbes; and if this theory be just, if there be a constant and inseparable conjunction of motives and actions similar to that of cause and effect in physics, it is obvious, that in volition the mind is as inert as body is in motion. This consequence is indeed avowed and insisted upon by Hume, Priestley, and their adherents; whilst the advocates of human liberty, on the other hand, contend for an absolute exemption of the will from all internal necessity, arising from its own frame and constitution, the impulse of superior beings, or the operations of objects, reasons, or motives. By this, however, they do not mean, that between motives and volitions there is no relation whatever, or that a man can ever choose evil as evil, or refuse good as good. Such an assertion would be contrary to consciousness and universal experience. But what they endeavour to prove is, that the conjunction of motive and volition is not inseparable, like that of cause and effect in physics; that a man may in most cases choose according to any one of two or more motives presented to his view; that by choosing any thing, he may make it in some measure agreeable by his own act, or, to speak more properly, may bend his desire to it; that in volition, the mind is not inert; and that, therefore,we are under no necessity to act in a particular manner in any given case whatever.

That the conjunction of motive and action is not constant like that of· cause and effect in physics, and that by consequence the mind in forming volitions is not inert, has been evinced by Dr Gregory with the force and precision of mathematical demonstration. Former writers on the side of liberty had often observed, that upon the supposition of the inertia of mind, a man, with equal and opposite motives presented at once to his view, would, during their continuance, remain perfectly at rest, like a balance equally loaded in both scales. The observation is [7:14:691]admitted to be just by all the advocates for necessity; but they contrive to evade its consequences, by denying that in any given ease a man can be at once assailed by two equal and opposite motives. Thus, when it is said that a porter, standing with his face due north, must remain in that position at perfect rest, as long as equal motives shall at once be offered to him for travelling eastward and westward, the necessarians admit the force of the argument; but when it is added that a guinea, offered for every mile that he should travel in each of these opposite directions, ought therefore to fix him at rest till one of the offers be withdrawn, they deny that the desire of gaining the guineas is the whole of the motives which operate upon his mind. He may have, say they, some secret reason which we cannot discern for preferring the one direction to the other; and that reason, added to the guinea, will make him go eastward or westward, just as an ounce thrown into either scale of a balance poised by equal weights will make that scale preponderate. Though we think that this solution of the difficulty can satisfy no man who is not already biassed to the necessarian system; and though, even were it to be admitted, it seems to militate against the constant conjunction of motives and actions, unless it can be proved that the porter must travel the road which he has been necessitated to choose with reluctance and a heavy heart; yet as it may admit of endless quibbling upon ambiguous words, the philosophical world is much indebted to Dr Gregory^[118. Essay on the Relation between Motive and Action. ] for an argument which, in our opinion, can neither be overturned nor evaded, and which demonstrates that the conjunction of motive and action cannot be constant and inseparable, like that of cause and effect in physics.

His reasoning is to this purpose: Suppose a porter to be offered a guinea for every mile that he shall travel directly eastward. If there be no physical cause or moral motive to keep him at rest, or to induce him to move in another direction, there cannot be a doubt, upon either hypothesis, but he will gladly embrace the proposal, and travel in the direction pointed out to him, till he shall have gained as much money as to satisfy his most avaricious desires. The same thing would have happened if a guinea had been offered for every mile that he should travel due south. In these two eases taken separately, the relation between the man’s motions and his actions would be strikingly analogous to that between a single impulse and motion in physies. Let us now suppose the two offers to be made at the same instant, and the man to be assured, that if he travel eastward he can have no part of the reward promised for his travelling to the south, and that if he travel southward he can have no part of the Reward promised for his travelling to the east. What is he to do in this case? If his mind be inert in volition, and if the two motives operate upon him with the same necessity that causes operate in physics, it is obvious that the man could travel neither towards the east nor towards the south, but in a diagonal direction from north-west to south-east; and this he must do willingly, although perfeetly satisfied that he could gain nothing by his journey. As this inference is contrary to fact and universal experience, the doctor very justly concludes that the premises from which it is deduced by mathematical reasoning must also be false and absurd; or, in other words, that the relation between motive and action cannot be that of constant conjunction, like the relation between cause and effect in physics.

He uses many arguments of the same kind, and equally convincing, to prove the absurdity of supposing the inert-ιess of mind, and only an occasional conjunction of ιno- .ives and actions; but we forbear to quote them, both because we wish his book to be read, and because we think the single argument which we have borrowed from him sufficient to demolish the theory of Priestley and Hume, which rests wholly upon the hypothesis of the constant conjunction of motive and action.

But is it then not really true, that the external action is determined by the will, the will by desire, and desire by what is agreeable or disagreeable? That the external action is universally determined by the will, is certainly true; but that the will is necessitated and universally determined by the desire, is as certainly false. If Potiphar’s wife was handsome, and made her proposals to Joseph with any degree of female address, and if his constitution was like that of other young men, there cannot be a doubt but that he felt a desire to do what she requested of him; yet we know that he willed to do otherwise, and, in direct opposition to his desire, fled from the room. Perhaps it may be said, that his volition to flee was the effect of a contrary and stronger desire not to sin against God; but this is confounding the reader, by calling two energies of mind, between which there is little or no similarity, by the same name. He perceived, or knew, that to comply with his mistress’s request would be to sin against God; he knew that he ought not to sin against God, and therefore he chose or determined himself not to do it. We can easily conceive how the .presence, attitudes, and address, of the lady' might be agreeable to him, and excite desire. There may very possibly be more than one of our readers who, during the course of their lives, have experienced something of the same kind; but could abstract truth be in the same way agreeable, so as to excite in his mind a desire of virtue sufficient to annihilate or banish the desire of the woman? As well may it be said that one sensation can annihilate another, that the beautiful colours of the rainbow can remove the sensation of stench from the mind of him who is plunged into the midst of a dunghill, or that the smell of a rose can make a man insensible to the pain of a stroke inflicted by a bludgeon. In fact, sensual desire, and the perception of duty, are things so totally different, that to consider them as operating against each other, like different weights in the opposite scales of a balance, is as absurd as to suppose that sound can operate against colour, or colour against smell. A man may prefer sound to colour, or colour to smell, and. act accordingly; but the determination must be wholly his own, unless these two sensations be themselves either agents or physical causes of the same kind, like the weights in the opposite scales of the balance.

•The advocates for liberty do not pretend, that in matters of importance a man ever actsavithout some motive or reason for his conduct. All that they insist upon is, that between two or more motives of different kinds he has a liberty of choice, and that he does not always determine himself by that which he knows to be the greatest. Without such freedom, they think men might be often brought into situations where they could not act at all, and where inaction would at the same time be in the highest degree absurd. Thus, were two bags of gold, containing each a thousand or ten thousand guineas, to be placed on the same table, before a man whose family is perishing for want, and were the man to be told that he might take either of them, but not both, is it conceivable that he would be held in perpetual suspense between the two? No; he would instantly and with alacrity take up one of them, without feeling the least regret for the want of the other. This action would, indeed, be the consequence of a very powerful motive, the desire to obtain honestly that wealth of which he and his family stood so much in need. That motive, however, being general, would draw him equally to both [7:14:692]bags; and it remains with the necessarians to say by what else than a self-determining power he could take either the one or the other. When it is affirmed, that such self-determination would be an effect without a cause, the advocates of liberty cannot help thinking that their antagonists are guilty of advancing as an argument a petitio principii ; for the affirmation is true only if the mind in volition be inert, and the inertia of the mind is the sole question at issue. If the mind be not inert, it is plain, that in consequence of a man’s self-determination, no effect'would be produced without a sufficient cause. At any rate, motives cannot be causes. In the proper sense of the word, a cause is that which produces an effect; but the production of an effect requires active power; and power being a quality, must be the quality of some being by whom it may be exerted. Power maybe dormant, and therefore power without will produces no effect. Arc motives, then, real beings endowed with power and will? No; they are only views of things or mental conceptions, which in the strictest sense of the word are passive; and between two motives the mind determines itself, without receiving an impulse from either.

Nor is it only between motives of equal force that men have the power of determining themselves. Whoever believes in a future state of rewards and punishments, and yet acts in a manner which he knows to be offensive to Him who is to be the future and final judge, unquestionably prefers to the strongest of all motives, another which even to himself appears to have comparatively but very little strength. Whether there be men who occasionally act in this manner, is a question which can be decided only by an appeal to every one’s consciousness. That there are, we can have no doubt; for we never met with a single individual, not biassed by system, who was not ready to acknowledge, that during the course of his life he had done many things, which at the time of action he clearly perceived to be contrary to his true interest. Without a self-determining power in his mind, this could never be the case. Did motives operate with the necessity of physical causes, it is obvious that in every possible situation the strongest must constantly prevail; and that he who in certain circumstances had in time past done any particular thing, would on a return of the same circumstances do the very same thing in every time future. Dr Priestley, indeed, wishes to persuade his readers that this is actually the case. “In every determination of the mind,” says he, “or in cases where volition and choice are concerned, all the previous circumstances to be considered are the state of mind (including every thing belonging to the will itself), and the various views of things presented to it ;” and he affirms, that “whenever the same precise circumstances occur twice, the very same determination or choice will certainly be made the second time that was made the first.” This is an assertion of which no man can controvert the truth, for it is an identical proposition. If in the circumstances previous to the determination of the mind, every thing belonging to the will itself must be included, it is self-evident, that he who in any given circumstances has acted a particular part, will, on a return of these circumstances, act the same part a second time; for this is only saying, that he who bn two different occasions shall exert volitions of the same tendency, will not on these occasions exert volitions of which the tendencies are different. But the question to be decided is, whether a man, in the same general state of mind, possessed of the same degree of health, and conscious of the same appetites, must, in external circumstances perfectly alike, necessarily exert at all times the same volitions. That the human mind is under no such necessity, we think every man’s consciousness and experience may abundantly satisfy him; for there arc, perhaps, but very few who have not at one time resisted temptations, to which at another they have chosen to yield.

That there is a relation between motives and actions, must be confessed; but that relation is neither necessity nor constant conjunction. If it were, all actions would be perfectly rational; and folly, as well as merit and demerit, would be banished from the conduct of men. What is the particular nature of that relation which subsists between the voluntary actions of men, and the motives from which they proceed, can be known to every individual only by an attentive and unbiassed reflection on the operations of his own mind. Without this reflection, no man can be made to understand it by the reasonings of philosophers, and with it no man can need the aid of those reasonings. That a self-determining power, such as that for which we plead, contributes to the sum of human happiness, has been shown by Archbishop King and his ingenious translator, who have proved, with the force of demonstration, that the mind can take pleasure in the object of its choice, although that object be in itself neither agreeable nor disagreeable to our natural appetites; and that if it could not, it would be in vain in such a world as ours to hope for any portion of felicity. Into that detail our limits will not permit us to enter; but to the reader who wishes for further information, we beg leave to recommend the last edition of King’s Origin of Evil, by Dr Law, late bishop of Carlisle; without, however, vouching for the truth of all the opinions advanced by either of those learned writers.

Before we conclude this chapter, it may be proper to observe here, that it is only in volition that we are conscious of any original active power in ourselves, and that without such consciousness we could never have acquired the notion of active power. In our desires and appetites, we neither are active nor suppose ourselves active. Lord Kames, and most necessarians, confound desire with volition; but that they are perfectly distinct is plain from this circumstance, that we daily desire many things which we know to be wholly out of our own power,^[119. Reid’s Essays on the Active Powers of Man. ] whereas no man ever willed what he did not believe to be in his own power. We all desire or wish that our children may be virtuous, wise, and happy; and although we are conscious that it is not in our power to make them so, we cannot banish the desire from our breasts. But madmen only have ever willed virtue, and wisdom, and happiness, to any person; and if there ever was a man so extravagantly mad as to exert such a volition as this, he must at the time have fancied himself a divinity, and therefore believed that the object of his volition depended upon himself. When the astronomer, whose character is so admirably drawn by our great master of moral wisdom,^[120. Ilasselas, Prince of Abyssinia. ] fancied himself the regulator of the weather and the distributor of the seasons, he might will either rain or sunshine as he thought proper, because he considered the object of his volition as depending upon a power imparted to him from heaven; but though he might desire, he could notwill, the rising or the falling of winds, for these he confessed were not subjected to his authority. In a word, without freedom in volition, power is inconceivable; and therefore it is as certain that we are free agents, as that we have any notion of active powers.

CHAP. VI. OF THE BEING AND ATTRIBUTES OF GOD.

It has been already observed, that as of bodies there are various kinds, endowed with various properties; so theprobability[7:14:693] is, that of minds endowed with different powers, or different degrees of power, the variety may be as great, or perhaps greater. The existence and powers of our own minds are made known to us by consciousness and reflection; and, from our dependent state, and the mutability of the objects around us, we are necessarily led to infer the existence of another mind, which is independent, unchangeable, eternal, and the cause of all things which have a beginning of existence. Between that mind and our own we can hardly avoid believing that there are many orders of “thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers ;” but as we possess no intuitive knowledge of such intermediate beings, and cannot, from any thing which we perceive, discern the necessity of their existence, they are not properly the object of science. The existence, however, and many of the attributes, of the One First Cause, are capable of the strictest demonstration; “for the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things which are made.”

Of this great truth, the most important by far which can occupy the mind of man, many demonstrations have been given both by divines and by philosophers. We shall lay before our readers such an one as to us appears perfectly conclusive, being founded on the intuitive knowledge which we have of our own existence, and therefore independent of all theories about the nature and reality of the material world.

Every man, whether he adopt the common theory or that of Berkeley respecting matter, is conscious that he himself exists, and must therefore grant that something now exists. But if any thing exists now,^[121. See Mites to King’s Origin of Evil. ] then must something have existed always; otherwise that thing which now exists must either have been created by nothing, that is, have been caused by no cause, or else it must have created itself, acting before it existed. Both these suppositions are so palpably absurd, that no atheist has avowed them, either amongst the ancients or the moderns. We must therefore admit, either that there is some one independent being, which now exists, and always has existed; or that the things which we know to exist at present (every man’s self, for instance) were produced by something which had its existence from something else, which also depended upon some other cause, and so on in an infinite series of caused or successive beings; But this last supposition, though it has been often made, is as grossly absurd as either of the two former. For of this infinite series, either some one part has not been successive to any other, or else all the several parts of it have been successive. If some one part of it was not successive, then it had a first part, which destroys the supposition of its infinity.^[122. T ως ἀπειgωγ ὀυϰ ἐστw ὀυδεv πgωτoγ (Ariεt Phys. lib. viii. cap. v. sect. 4.) ] If all the several parts of it have been successive, then have they all once been future; but if they have all been future, a time may be conceived when none of them had existence; and if so, then it follows, either that all the parts, and consequently the whole of this infinite series, must have arisen from nothing, which is absurd; or else that there must be something in the whole besides what is contained in all the parts, which is also absurd.

As the possibility or impossibility of an infinite series of dependent beings is the main question at issue between the atheists and us, we shall state the preceding reasoning in a manner somewhat different. For this purpose, let us suppose some one to affirm that the course of generation has had no beginning, and consequently that the number of successive births has been infinite. We would ask such a person, whether, before the birth of Abraham, for example,^[123. See an Essay towards an Eviction of the Attributes of God, by Seth Ward. Printed at Oxford, 1055. ] there had passed an infinite series of generations or not? If not, the course of generation must have had a beginning, which is the conclusion for which we contend. But if the series past was infinite, then at the birth of Joseph, the great-grandson of Abraham, it is evident that more generations were past, and that the number then was greater than that which was supposed to be infinite; so that upon this supposition we have a number that is both infinite and not infinite, which is a manifest contradiction. Should it be said that the number of generations was infinite, as well at the birth of Abraham as at the birth of Joseph; it will then follow, that one infinite may be greater than another of the very same kind, and consequently that an infinite may be bounded, that is, be finite. But should it be alleged, that the number of births at Abraham’s was finite, and became infinite when it reached to Joseph’s, it will then follow that one finite number added to another may make an infinite number, which is directly contrary to every possible notion of infinity. We might argue in the same manner against an infinite series of every kind, the very supposition of which involves the most palpable contradictions. (See the Chapter on Infinity and Eternity.)

From the impossibility of an infinite series it necessarily follows, that there exists, and must have existed from eternity, some one independent being, whose duration cannot be commensurate with succession, and to whom the relation of time is not applicable. Here will some atheists presently imagine, that by the same mode of reasoning they may disprove the existence of God; for do not they who thus destroy the eternity of the world, destroy at the same time the eternity of the Creator? If time itself be not eternal, how can the Deity or any thing else be so?

In urging these questions, it must be taken for granted that time is essential to all existence, and that God cannot be eternal otherwise then by a successive flux of infinite time. But it has been already shown, in treating of time, that successive duration is not essential to existence; that we can even conceive existence without succession; and it may here be added, that if we suppose a perfect being alone in nature, we shall find it impossible to imagine any succession of ideas, any flux of moments, or any alteration or increase whatever in his knowledge and essence. Such duration as we are acquainted with can have no relation to an immutable Being, whilst supposed to exist alone; but as soon as he determined to exercise his several attributes in the production of something distinct from himself, then, and not till then, have we reason to think that time, succession, and increase, began. These atheistical questions, therefore, instead of containing an objection to the existence of a Deity, afford a plain demonstration of it; for since it is more evident that something now exists, than that something must have existed from eternity, and since it has been shown, that neither the world in its present state, nor time, nor indeed any thing capable of change or succession, can possibly be eternal, it follows that there must necessarily be some Being who, in the order of nature, is before time, and who, in the stability and immutable perfection of his own intelligence, comprehends at once his yesterday, to-day, and for ever. “The atheists,” says the excellent Cudworth,^[124. Intellectual System, book i. chap. 5. ] “can here only smile, or make wry faces, and show their little wit in quibbling upon minc-stans, or a standing now of eternity; as if that standing eternity of the Deity (which with so much reason hath been contended for by the ancient genuine theists) were nothing but a pitiful small moment of time standing still, and as if the duration of all beings whatsoever must needs [7:14:694]be like our own; whereas the duration of every thing must of necessity be agreeable to its nature; and therefore, as that whose imperfect nature is ever flowing like a river, and consists in continual motion and changes one after another, must needs have accordingly a successive and flowing duration sliding perpetually from present into past, and always hasting on towards the future, expecting something of itself which is not yet in being; so must that whose perfect nature is essentially immutable have permanent and unchanging duration, never losing any thing of itself once present, nor yet running forward to meet something of itself which is not yet in being.”

From the eternity of the Supreme Being we necessarily infer his independence or self-existence; for that which never had a beginning of existence cannot possibly have any cause of that existence, or in any manner depend upon any other being, but must exist of itself, or be self-existent. Eternity ad partem post, or necessary existence, or the impossibility of ever ceasing to be, follows from independence; for to the nature of that which exists without any cause, existence must be essential. But a being whose existence is of itself, and essential to its nature, cannot be indifferent to existence or non-existence, but must exist necessarily. And here it may be proper to observe, that the word necessity, when applied to existence, may be taken in two acceptations very different from each other;^[125. Notes to King on Evil; and Law’s Inquiry into the Ideas of Space, &c. ] either as it arises from the relation which the existence of that being, of which it is affirmed, has to the existence of other things; or from the relation which the actual existence of that thing has to the manner of its own existence.

In the former sense, when necessity of existence has relation to the existence of other things, it denotes that the supposition of the non-existence of that thing of which necessity is affirmed, implies the non-existence of things which we know to exist. Thus, some independent being does necessarily exist; because, to suppose no independent being, implies that there are no dependent beings, the contrary of which we know to be true. In the second sense, when the necessity of existence arises from the relation which the actual existence of any thing has to the manner of its own existence, necessity means, that the thing of which it is affirmed exists after such a manner as that it never could in time past have been non-existent, nor can in time future cease to be. Thus, every independent being, as it exists without a cause, is necessarily existing, because existence is essential to such a being; so that it never could begin to exist, and never can cease to be. For to suppose a being to begin to exist, or to lose its existence, is to suppose a change from nonentity to entity, or vice versa; and to suppose such a change is to suppose a cause upon which that being depends. Every being, therefore, which is independent, that is, which had no cause of its existence, must exist necessarily, and cannot possibly have begun to exist in time past, or cease to be in time future.

These two kinds of necessity, as applied to existence, though they have been often confounded, are in themselves perfectly distinct; for though a being cannot be necessarily existent in the former sense without being so in the latter also, yet may it be necessarily existent in the latter sense without being so in the former. For any thing that we know to the contrary, there may be two or more beings existing necessarily in the latter sense of the word necessity, that is, with regard to independence and the manner of their own existence; but in the former sense of the word, or in relation to this system, there can be but one necessarily existent being; for it is obvious that no more are necessary to account for the production of the dependent beings which we know to exist. To suppose the non-existence of all independent beings, implies the non-existence of all dependent beings, ourselves, and every thing else; but to suppose the non-existence of all independent beings except one, involves in the supposition no such absurdity.

Thus the phenomena of nature lead us, by the strictest reasoning, to one First Cause, which is sufficient for their production; and therefore none but one First Cause canin this sense of the word be necessary. And though several more independent beings might possibly exist, yet they would be no gods to us; they would have no relation to us demonstrable by reason, nor we any thing to do with them. For if the supposition of their existence were not requisite to the production of this system, which it obviously would not be, we could not perceive any necessity for it at all; we could never discover it by our own faculties, and therefore it could be nothing to us. And although two or three such beings should exist, and act in the formation and government of their respective systems, or agree in one; yet, till their existence and operations were made known to us, and a natural relation discovered, nothing could be due from us to them. They would have no religious or moral relations to us; and we should have no reason to call more than one of them our creator, preserver, and governor, which is the proper sense of the word God.

To show in this manner that there is only one eternal self-existent Being, which bears the relation of God to us, seems to be going as far as is necessary, or as natural light will lead us. Those who endeavour to demonstrate that there cannot possibly be more than one self-existent Being, either reason in a circle, or proceed upon principles which their antagonists cannot be compelled to admit. When they deduce the divine unity from independence or omnipotence, they evidently presuppose it in their definition of these attributes; and when they infer it from the nature of space and duration, which they consider as modes of the self-existent Being, they take it for granted that space and duration have a real existence, independently of us and our thoughts; and that the one is infinite and the other eternal, contrary to what has been already proved, we think, with the force of demonstration. The celebrated Dr Clarke made much use of space and duration in his attempt to demonstrate that there can be but one self-existent Being; but he argues for the same thing from the nature of necessity as applied to existence.

“Necessity,” says he,^[126. Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God, Prop. vii. ] “absolute in itself, is simple and uniform and universal, without any possible difference, diffbrmity, or variety, whatsoever; and all variety or différence of existence must needs arise from some external cause, and be dependent upon it, and proportionable to the efficiency of that cause, whatsoever it be. Absolute necessity, in which there can be no variation in any kind or degree, cannot be the ground of existence of a number of beings, however similar and agreeing; because, without any other difference, even number is itself a manifest diffbrmity or inequality (if I may so speak) of efficiency or causality.”

Such is this great man’s first argument from necessity, to prove that there cannot be more-than one self-existent Being. But what is this necessity which proves so much? It is the ground of existence, he says, of that which exists of itself; and if so, it must, in the order of nature, and in that of our conceptions, be antecedent to that being of whose existence it is the ground. Concerning such a principle, there are but three suppositions which can possibly be made; and all of them may be shown to be absurd and [7:14:695]contradictory. We may suppose either the substance itself, some property of that substance, or something extrinsic to both, to be this antecedent ground of existence prior in the order of nature to the first cause.

One would think, from the turn of the argument which here represents this antecedent necessity as efficient and causal, that it were considered as something extrinsic to the first cause.^[127. Dissertation on the Argument a priori, added to Law’s Inquiry into the Ideas of Space, Time, Immensity, &c. ] Indeed, if the words have any meaning in them at all, or any force of argument, they must be so understood, just as we understand them of any external cause producing its effect. But as an extrinsic principle is absurd in itself, and is besides rejected by Dr Clarke, who says expressly, that “of the thing which derives not its being from any other thing, this necessity or ground of existence must be in the thing itself,” we need not say a word more of the last of these suppositions.

Let us then consider the first; let us take the substance itself, and try whether it can be conceived as prior or antecedent to itself in our conceptions, or in the order of nature. Surely we need not observe that nothing can be more absurd or contradictory than such a supposition. Dr Clarke himself repeatedly affirms, and it would be strange indeed if he did not affirm, that no being, no thing whatever, can be conceived as in any respect prior to the first cause.

The only remaining supposition is, that some attribute or property of the self-existent Being may be conceived as in the order of nature antecedent to that being. But this, if possible, is more absurd than either of the two preceding suppositions. An attribute is attributed to its subject as its ground or support, and not the subject to its attribute. A property, in the very notion of it, is proper to the substance to which it belongs, and subsequent to it both in our conceptions and in the order of nature. An antecedent attribute, or antecedent property, is a solecism as great, and a contradiction as flat, as an antecedent subsequent or subsequent antecedent, understood in the same sense and in the same syllogism. Every property or attribute, as such, presupposes its subject, and cannot otherwise be understood. This is a truth so obvious and so forcible, that it sometimes extorts the assent even of those who upon other occasions labour to obscure it. It is confessed by Dr Clarke,^[128. Answer to the Sixth Letter. ] that “the scholastic way of proving the existence of the self-existent Being from the absolute perfection of his nature, is ιιστεgον πgοτεξον. For all or any perfections,” says he, “presupposes existence, which is a petitio principii” If therefore properties, modes, or attributes in God, be considered as perfections (and it is impossible to consider them as any thing else), then, by this confession of the great author himself, they must all or any of them presuppose existence. It is indeed immediately added in the same place, “that bare necessity of existence does not presuppose, but infer existence ;” which is true only if such necessity be supposed to be a principle extrinsic, the absurdity of which supposition has been already shown, and is indeed universally confessed. If it be a mode or a property, it must presuppose the existence of its subject, as certainly and as evidently as it is a mode or a property. It might perhaps a posteriori infer the existence of its subject, as effects may infer a cause; but that it should in the other way a priori, is altogether as impossible as that a triangle should be a square, or a globe a parallelogram.

Doubtful, as it would seem, of the force of his first argument, which even those who pretend to be convinced )y it acknowledge to be obscure, the doctor gives a second, vhich we must confess appears to us to be still more ob scure, and if possible less conclusive. “To suppose two or more distinct beings existing of themselves necessarily and independent of each other, implies,” he says, “this contradiction, that each of them being independent from the other, they may either of them be supposed to exist alone; so that it will be no contradiction to suppose the other not to exist; and consequently neither of them will be necessarily' existing. Whatsoever therefore exists necessarily is the one simple essence of the self-existent Being; and whatsoever differs from that is not necessarily existing, because in absolute necessity there can be no difference or diversity of existence.

“Necessity is used here in two different senses,^[129. Law’s Inquiry into the Ideas of Space, &c· chap, vi. ] both as absolute and relative. In the former, neither of the two beings can exist without the other, that is, without our supposing the other to exist also, since that is equally necessary. In the latter, either of them may exist alone, i. e. as without the help of the other, or without the supposition of the other as requisite to its own existence. The consequence, therefore, that either of them may exist alone, and so neither of them is necessary·, is a mere equivocation on necessity, using it both in an absolute and relative sense at the same time.” But as this is a question of the highest importance., and as the author was a m¾n of great worth, we shall consider his argument upon the supposition that the word necessity has from the beginning to the end of it the same invariable meaning.

It has already been observed, that there are only two senses in which the word necessity can be applied to the existence of any being; and whether it be here used in the one or the other of these senses, the reasoning, if resolved into a syllogism, will appear to be inconclusive. If the word be taken in that sense of necessity which arises from the relation that dependent beings which we know to exist bear to some one independent Being, the argument will stand thus :—From a known effect no more causes can be necessarily inferred than what are sufficient to account for that effect; but one self-existent and independent Being is sufficient to account for all the phenomena of nature; therefore, from the phenomena, &c. no more than one such being can be necessarily inferred to exist.

But although no more than one independent being can in this sense of the word necessarily exist, it by no means follows from this syllogism, that two or more such beings may not possibly exist. It is, indeed, a plain contradiction to say, that two or more self-existent beings are in this sense necessary; but surely there is no contradiction in saying that two or twenty of such beings are possible. We could not, therefore, by this argument convict a person of absurdity, who should affirm that two or more independent beings actually exist. We might indeed deny the existence of them all but one, because one is sufficient to account for those phenomena, from which alone we know that any independent being exists; but because one of them might be supposed to exist alone, so that it would be no contradiction to suppose the other not to exist; we know not how the doctor came to affirm, in direct opposition to his own demonstration, that not one of them would be necessarily existing.

Necessity, as applied to existence, in the other sense of the word, arises, as we have seen, from the relation which the actual existence of the being of which it may be affirmed, has to the manner of that being’s existence. It is the same necessity, we are told,^[130. Answer to the Sixth Letter from a Gentleman in Gloucestershire. ] with that which is the cause of the unalterable proportion between two and four; and it is considered as the formal cause or ground of the existence of an independent being. Were it not for the [7:14:696]strange expressions formal cause and ground of existence, we should have no objection to this account of that necessity by which a being independent undoubtedly exists; but this kind of necessity is a principle which will not support the superstructure which the learned author labours to raise upon it. The same necessity which is the cause of the unalterable proportion between two and four, is likewise the cause of the unalterable proportion between three and six, between four and eight, and between five and ten, &c. But if it can be the cause of so many different proportions of the same kind, why may it not be the formal cause or ground of existence to as many independent beings of the same kind, as well as to one? The following syllogism we apprehend to be legitimate both in mode and figure, and its conclusion is directly contrary to the proposition which the doctor deduces from the same notion of necessity.

If necessity, considered as a formal cause or ground of existence, be in one instance of its causality the formal cause or ground of existence to many things of the same kind, it may likewise, in every other instance of its causality, be the formal cause or ground of existence to many things of the same kind. But such necessity, in that instance ofMts causality where it is the formal cause or ground of existence to the unalterable proportion between two and four, is the formal cause or ground of existence to many proportions of the same kind. Therefore, the same necessity in that other instance of its causality where it is said to be the formal cause or ground of existence to one independent being, may undoubtedly be the formal cause or ground of existence to many independent beings of the same kind.

Thus it appears that necessity, in any sense in which it can be properly affirmed of existence, cannot be the foundation of any argument to prove the impossibility of more than one self-existent being. It is indeed a principle from which we apprehend that no positive conclusion whatsoever can be deduced by reasoning a priori. That necessity of existence may be predicated of a being which is independent and uncreated, is self-evident; because to the nature of such a being existence is essential. But whilst that nature itself remains wholly incomprehensible by us, it is impossible that we should discover, by our own unassisted reason, whether it can be the nature of only one, or of more than one, independent being. To argue from necessity, as if it were the cause or ground of existence to such a being, is certainly absurd, if it be not impious; for if that to which existence is essential, does not exist without any cause efficient or formal, we shall be obliged to inquire after a cause or ground of this cause, and thus be involved in all the absurdities and contradictions of an infinite series. We have insisted the longer on this point, because necessity, as the foundation of the argument a priori, has sometimes been employed to very bad purposes. Attempts have indeed been made, from the notion of necessary existence, to prove that the Supreme Being cannot be a free agent, and to set the first principles of the religion of nature at variance with those which are revealed in the Scriptures.

But although we are firmly persuaded that the divine unity cannot be demonstrated a priori, we are far from thinking it incapable of any proof. On the contrary, the common arguments a posteriori, drawn from the order and harmony of the world, have always satisfied us, and in our opinion must satisfy every person capable of proportioning his assent to evidence, that the Creator and Preserver of such a system has but one will and one intelligence, and therefore is himself but one being. But proof is one thing, and demonstration is, in the proper sense of the word, another.^[131. John Gerhard and John Vossius both cite Gabriel Biel as acknowledging the unity of God to be incapable of rigid demonstration; and with the sentiments of that schoolman those two learned divines profess that their own agree. Sed Biel (1 Sant. Dist. 2 Q. 10, art. 3) statuit “quod tantum unum esse Deum, sit creditum et non demonstratum ratione naturali nobis in via possibili.” Id nos ita interpretamur; etiamsi ex naturae libro rationes non contemnendae pro unitate divinae essentiae asserenda crui possint, eas tamen ad fidei πλτ ζi>φt>ξiαv cordibus nostris ingenerandum, non satis efficaces esse. Ergo mens prius confirmanda est ex verbo Dei, et illustribus testimoniis in quibus se Deus generi humano patefecit: Postea utiliter potest addi consideratio philosophicarum demonstrationum. (Gerhard. Loc. Comm. tom. i. p. 1GG.) Dissentit Gabriel Biel, qui ante annos hosce 140 Tübingens! Gymnasio praefuit. Is censet probabiles magis rationes esse quam evidentes et certas. Verum esto sane, ut solae non sint άπώιιχτιχαι : At magnum iis pondus addit traditio vetus; tum autem quod argumenta isthaec, si non prorsus ίποονχτιχα, saltem usque adeo probabilia sint, ut τ∏s ¶ro×vfuat patroni nihil ullius momenti adferre valeant; cur plusquam unum statuere deum potius conveniat. (Voss. De Idolatria, lib. i. c. ii.) ] And if we cannot arrive at absolute certainty concerning this important truth by the light of nature, we ought to be the more thankful for that revelation, which has put the unity of God beyond dispute to all who believe the holy Scriptures.

The being which is self-existent and independent must be also omnipotent. That such a being has active power in some degree, is shown at the same time and by the same medium that we prove his existence; and since he depends upon no cause for his existence or his power, he cannot depend upon any for the exertion of that power, and consequently no limits can be applied to it. Limitation is an effect of some superior cause, which in the present instance there cannot be; consequently, to suppose limits where there can be no limiter, is to suppose an effect without a cause. For a being to be limited or deficient in any respect,^[132. Notes to King on Evil. ] is to be dependent in that respect on some other being which gave it just so much and no more; consequently that being which in no respect depends upon any other is in no respect limited or deficient. In all beings capable of increase or diminution, and consequently incapable of perfection or absolute infinity, limitation or defect is indeed a necessary consequence of existence, and is only a negation of that perfection which is wholly incompatible with their nature; and therefore in these beings it requires no further cause. But in a being naturally capable of perfection or absolute infinity, all imperfection or finiteness, as it cannot flow from the nature of that being, appears to require some ground or reason; which reason, as it is foreign to the being itself, must be the effect of some other external cause, and consequently cannot have place in the first cause. That the self-existent being is capable of perfection or absolute infinity must be granted, because he is manifestly the subject of one infinite or perfect attribute, namely eternity, or absolute invariable existence. In this respect his existence has been shown to be perfect, and therefore it may be perfect in every other respect also. Now that which is the subject of one finite attribute or perfection, must have all its attributes infinitely or in perfection; since to have any perfections in a finite limited manner, when the subject and these perfections are both capable of strict infinity, would be the absurdity before mentioned of positive limitation without a cause. To suppose this eternal and independent being limited in or by its own nature, is to suppose some antecedent nature or limiting quality superior to that being, to the existence of which no thing, no quality, is in any respect antecedent or superior. And to suppose that there is no such thing as active power in a [7:14:697]being which is evidently the fountain of all power, is the grossest of all absurdities. The same method of reasoning will prove that knowledge and every other perfection is infinite in the Deity, when once we have proved that perfection to belong to him at all; at least it will show, that to suppose it limited is unreasonable, since we can find no manner of ground for limitation in any respect; and this is as far as we require to go, or perhaps as natural reason will lead us.

Of the omnipotence of the Supreme Being, some philosophers, as well theists as atheists, have talked very absurdly. Hobbes,^[133. Leviathan, chap. iii. ] with a view to make this attribute appear impossible and ridiculous, affirms “that God by his omnipotence or infinite power could turn a tree into a syllogism.” And Descartes,^[134. Responsio ad Objectionem Sextam, sect. 6. ] though certainly no atheist, childishly asserts, that all things whatever, even abstract truth and falsehood, do so depend upon the arbitrary will and power of God, as that if he had pleased, “twice two should not have been four, nor the three angles of a plane triangle equal to two right ones.” But the true motion of Omnipotence, so far from implying a power to turn a tree into a syllogism, or to make twice two not equal to four, implies only that the Being possessed of it can actually perform whatever can be conceived by the most perfect understanding, conception in this case being the measure of possibility. Now every thing may be conceived by a mind sufficiently enlarged, which does not involve in it a direct contradiction; but what we clearly discern to imply a contradiction, such as that a thing may be and not be at the same instant, cannot be conceived by any intellect, or made to exist by any power. And thus has this attribute of the Deity been always stated, not only by the wiser Christians, but also by most of the ancient philosophers, who expressly admit that “nothing is exempted from the divine power, but only to make that which has been done to be undone.”

And here it may be asked, whether creation, in the proper sense of the word, be within the compass of infinite power. All the ancient philosophers, who were unenlightened by the rays of divine revelation, held that it is not;^[135. See Mosheim’s Dissertation on this Subject, in his Edition of Cudworth’s Intellectual System. ] grounding their opinion on the well-known maxim, Ex nihilo nihil fit. But this maxim will support no such conclusion. The ancients, or at least the Peripatetic school, with the metaphysics of which we are bestacquainted, considered fortr kinds of causes, the efficient, the material, the formal, and the final; and though they extended the maxim to the first two, if not to all these causes, it is a self-evident truth only when applied to the efficient cause. Without the actual exertion of power, it is indeed most certain that nothing could have been brought into existence; but it is so far from being clear that pre-cxistent matter, or, as Aristotle chose to express himself, a material cause, must be supposed for infinite power to operate upon, that we think every man may discover complete evidence of the contrary in himself. That sensation, intelligence, consciousness, and volition, are not the result of any modifications of figure and motion, is a truth as evident as that consciousness is not swift, nor volition square. If, then, these be the powers or properties of a being distinct from matter, which we think capable of the most complete proof, every man who does not believe that his mind has existed and been conscious from eternity, must be convinced that the power of creation has been exerted in himself. If it be denied that there is any immaterial substance in man, still it must be confessed, that, as matter is not essentially conscious, and cannot be made so by any particular organization,-there is some real thing or entity, call it what you plcase, which has either existed and been conscious from eternity, or which has been in time brought from nonentity into existence by an exertion of infinite power.

To this perhaps some one may object, that upon our own supposition of the inability of the human mind to exert its faculties except in union with some material and organized system, the mind of every man may have existed from eternity without being conscious of its own existence; and that, therefore, we have in ourselves no evidence of creation, but only of the union of two self-existent substances, which, in their prior state, had been distinct and separate from each other. But such an objection as this which we have now stated can arise from nothing but misapprehension of our hypothesis, and of the reasons by which it has been supported. We suppose, that to the exertion of the human faculties, a body of some kind or other may be necessary as an instrument, not merely from what we observe of the dependence of perception and memory upon the state of the brain, but because we cannot conceive a Creator of infinite wisdom and goodness to immerse in systems of matter, minds to which he knows that such systems must always be useless, and often hurtful. We believe, therefore, that our souls and bodies were created and formed for each other; but as our present adversaries admit not of a Creator, we must ask them, How their self-existent souls have been disposed of from eternity, and by what power they have all in due succession been united each to its proper body? As before the union they were not conscious, they could not unite themselves; and to suppose them united by sonic superior intelligence, is to suppose them in some respects dependent upon that intelligence, which seems not to accord with their self-existence. Whatever is self-existent and eternal must be independent; and if possessed of any power, it cannot be conceived to have that power limited. We repeat, therefore, that every man has in himself sufficient evidence that creation is possible; for if infinite power can create an immaterial and percipient being, it may surely be supposed capable of creating dead and unintelligent matter.

But the creation of the material system may be shown to be in the highest degree probable by other arguments. The same reasoning which proves the impossibility of an infinite series and of eternal time, proves that the universe cannot have existed from eternity in its present state. But if it has not existed from eternity in its present state, it belongs to the opponents of creation to say what was its former state. We talk indeed of chaos; but such language, when a Creator is not admitted, is most unphilosophical trifling. It appears from the most accurate inquiries which have been made into the substance and essence of body,^[136. Baxter’s Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul. ] that the atoms of which each mass is composed are held together by a foreign force. If by chaos be meant matter, when this force is supposed to be removed, we must beg leave to say, that of such a substance we have neither idea nor notion, and cannot distinguish it from nonentity. The original atoms of matter we believe indeed to require no other agency to keep each entire than that fiat by which it was created; but still, as those atoms are conceived to be solid and extended, they must be capable of division by infinite power; and if that fiat or influence which makes them solid and extended were removed, they would lose solidity and extension, and of course become nothing. So far is it, thérefore, from being true, that the creation of matter appears to be impossible, that we are compelled by every thing which we know of it to believe that matter cannot possibly be self-existent.

“Because it is undeniably certain, concerning ourselves,” [7:14:698]says Cndworth,^[137. Intellectual System, book i. chap. v. ] “and all imperfect beings, that none of these can create any new substance, men are apt to measure all things by their own scantling, and to suppose it universally impossible for any power whatever thus to create. But since it is certain, that imperfect beings can themselves produce some things out of nothing pre-existing, as new cogitations, new local motion, and new modifications of things corporeal, it is surely reasonable to think that an absolutely perfect being can do something more, that is, create new substances, or give them their whole being. And it may well be thought as easy for God, or an Omnipotent Being, to make a whole world, matter and all, εξ ουκ l>ντων, as it is for us to create a thought or to move a finger, or for the sun to send out rays or a candle light; or, lastly, for an opaque body to produce an image of itself in a glass or water, or to project a shadow; all these imperfect things being but the energies, rays, images, or shadows of the Deity. For a substance to be made out of nothing by God, or a Being infinitely perfect, is not for it to be made out of nothing in the impossible sense, because it comes from Him who is all. Nor can it be said to be impossible for any thing whatever to be made by that which hath not only infinitely greater perfection, but also infinite active power. It is indeed true, that infinite power itself cannot do things in their own nature impossible; and, therefore, those who deny creation, ought to prove, that it is absolutely impossible for a substance, though not for an accident or modification, to be brought from non-existence into being. But nothing is in itself impossible which does not imply contradiction; and though it be a contradiction to be and not to be at the same time, there is surely no contradiction in conceiving an imperfect being, which before was not, afterwards to be.” To call in question the possibility of creation, because we have no adequate conception how a thing can be brought into existence, would be in the highest degree absurd; for it may be doubted whether we have adequate conceptions of any thing excepting our own ideas and their various relations.

That Being which is self-existent, omnipotent, and omniscient, is not a necessary, but a free agent; for active power implies freedom, and infinite power infinite freedom. What, therefore, has no bounds set to its power, what can have no opposition made to its will, nor restraint laid on its actions, must both will and act freely. If the Supreme Cause were not a being endowed with liberty and choice, but a mere necessary agent, then would it follow, as Dr Clarke well observes,^[138. Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God. ] that nothing which is not could possibly have been; and that nothing which is could possibly not have been; and that no mode or circumstance of the existence of any thing could possibly have been in any respect otherwise than it now actually is: all which being evidently most false and absurd, it follows, on the contrary, that the Supreme Cause is not a mere necessary agent, but a Being endued with liberty and choice.

To this reasoning it has been replied,^[139. Cooper’s Tracts. ] that Dr Clarke “must have known, that all those who contend against the free agency of the Deity, do of course acknowledge, that nothing coul d have happened, or does happen, or will happen, but what actually has happened, or doth happen, or will happen; and that it is most false and absurd to deny it.” It is, therefore, according to the necessarians, absolutely impossible that at present there could exist upon this earth more or fewer persons than are now actually , alive; that the earth could move in any other direction than from west to east, or that there could be more or fewer planets in the solar system. Yet it is most certain that there have been fewer persons on the earth than there are now; that there is not a cultivated country in Europe which could not contain more p¾pple than now inhabit it; that the comets move in very different directions from that of west to east; and that as, until lately, we conceived there were only six primary planets in the system, it is evidently possible that the system might contain more. Upon the supposition, therefore, that the Supreme Being acts under a physical necessity, the same things are possible and not possible at the same time, which is the grossest of all absurdities. It might have been objected with much more plausibility, that the First Cause cannot possibly be free, because he must needs do always what is best on the whole; but it will be seen by and by, that amongst different created systems, there is no reason for supposing any one absolutely best.

But although this Being be free, and as such the author of change in other beings, yet he must himself be unchangeable; for all changes have a beginning, and consequently are effects of some prior causes. But there can be nothing prior to the existence of this Being, because he is eternal; neither can there be any cause of his existence, because he is independent; nor consequently any change in it, except we could suppose him to change himself, which is the same absurdity as to produce himself, or to be at the same time both effect and cause.

Omniscience, as well as some of the foregoing attributes of the Supreme Being, may perhaps be more easily deduced in a different manner.^[140. Notes to King on Evil. ] We find in ourselves such qualities as thought and intelligence, power and freedom, &c. for which we have the evidence of consciousness as much as for our own existence. Indeed it is only by our consciousness of these that our existence is made known’ to ourselves. We know likewise that these are perfections, and that to have them is better than to be without them. We find also that they have not been in us from eternity. They must, therefore, have had a beginning, and consequently some cause, for the very same reason that a being which begins to exist in time requires a cause. Now this cause, as it must be superior to its effect, must have those perfections in a superior degree; and if it be the first cause, it must have them in an infinite or unlimited degree, since bounds or limitation without a limiter would, as we have already shown, be an effect without a cause.

It is indeed obvious that the omniscience of the Supreme Being is implied in his very existence. “For all things being not only present to him, but also entirely depending upon him, and having received both their being itself and all their powers and faculties from him, it is manifest that as he knows all things that are, and penetrates every part of their substance with his all-seeing eye, so must he likewise know all possibilities of things, that is, all effects that can be. For, being alone self-existent, and having alone given to all things all the powers and faculties with which they are endued, it is evident that he must of necessity know perfectly what all and each of these powers and faculties, which are derived wholly from himself, can possibly produce. And seeing at one boundless view, or more properly in his own ideas, all the possible compositions and divisions, variations and changes, circumstances and dependencies of things, all their possible relations one to another, and their dispositions or fitnesses to certain and respective ends, he must without possibility of error know exactly what is best and most proper in every one of the numberless possible cases, or methods of disposing things, and understand perfectly how to order and direct the respective means to bring about what he so knows to be in its kind, or upon the whole, the best and fittest in the end. This is [7:14:699]what is meant by infinite wisdom, or omniscience;"^[141. Clarke’s Demonstration, &c. ] and it has been readily admitted by every man who believed in the existence of a God, as the creator and preserver of all things.

Doubts, however, have been entertained by theists, and pious theists, whether omniscience itself can certainly foreknow what are called contingent events, such as the actions of free agents; and some few there are professing even to be Christians, who have boldly pronounced such knowledge to be impossible. That we have no adequate notion how events which are called contingent can be certainly foreknown, must indeed be granted; but we are not, therefore, authorized to say that such knowledge is impossible, unless it can be clearly shown to imply a contradiction. They who suppose that it implies a contradiction, must likewise suppose, that, where there is not a chain of necessary causes, there can be no certainty of any future event; but this is evidently a mistake. “For let us suppose that there is in man a power of beginning motion, and of acting with what has been of late called philosophical freedom; and let us suppose farther that the actions of such a man cannot possibly be foreknown; will there not yet be in the nature of things, notwithstanding this supposition, the same certainty of event in every one of the man’s actions, as if they were everso fatal and necessary? For instance, suppose the man, by an internal principle of motion, and an absolute freedom of mind, to do some particular action to-day, and suppose it was not possible that this action should have been foreseen yesterday, was there not nevertheless the same certainty of event as if it had been foreseen, and absolutely necessary? That is, would it not have been as certain a truth yesterday, and from eternity, that this action was in event to be performed to-day, notwithstanding the supposed freedom, as it is now a certain and infallible truth that it is performed? Mere certainty of event, therefore, does not in any measure imply necessity.”^[142. Ibid. ] And surely it implies no contradiction to suppose, that every future event which in the nature of things is now certain, may now be certainly known by that intelligence which is omniscient. The manner how God can foreknow future events, without a chain of necessary causes, it is indeed impossible for ns to explain; yet some sort of general notion of it may be conceived by us. “For, as a man who has no influence over another person’s actions, can yet often perceive beforehand what that other will do; and a wiser and more experienced man, with still greater probability, will foresee what another, with whose disposition he is perfectly acquainted, will in certain circumstances do; and an angel, with still less degrees of error, may have a further prospect into men’s future actions; so it is very reasonable to conceive that God, without influencing men’s wills by his power, or subjecting them to a chain of necessary causes, cannot but have a knowledge of future free events, as much more certain than men or angels can possibly have, as the perfection of his nature is greater than that of theirs. The distinct manner how he foresees these things we cannot, indeed, explain; but! neither can we explain the manner of numberless other things, of the reality of which, however, no man entertains a doubt.”^[143. Ibid. ] We must therefore admit, as long as we perceive no contradiction in it, that God always knows all the free actions of men, and all other beings endued with liberty, otherwise he would know many things now of which he was once ignorant, and consequently his omniscience would receive addition from events, which has been already shown to be contrary to the true notion of infinity. In a being incapable of change, knowledge has nothing whatever to do with before or after. To every purpose of knowledge and power, all things are to him equally present. He knows perfectly every thing that is; and what to us is future he knows in the very same manner as he knows what to us is present.

We have thus demonstrated the necessary existence of a being who is eternal, independent, unchangeable, omnipotent, free in his actions, and omniscient; and this is the being whom we worship as God. Eternity, independence, immutability, omnipotence, liberty, and omniscience, which seem to be all the natural attributes which we can discover in the divine nature, as they are conceived to be differently combined, make us speak of him in different terms. His enjoying in an absolute manner every conceivable power of perception, makes us call him a Being infinitely perfect. His being capable of no want, no defect, no unhappiness of any kind, denotes him to be all-sufficient in himself; and the unlimited exercise of his knowledge and his power demonstrates him to be omnipresent. That such a Being must be incomprehensible by us, and by every creature, is a truth self-evident; and yet in all ages men of the best intentions have been vainly attempting this impossibility. The manner of his omniscience, for instance, has been the subject of much disputation amongst those who ought to have reflected that they do not know how their own minds are present to their own bodies. The celebrated Dr Clarke and his adherents, who considered space as the sine qua non of all other things, insisted that God must be infinitely extended; and that, as wherever his substance is, there his attributes must be, it is thus that his knowledge and his power are present with every creature. But this notion labours under insuperable difficulties.

For, “if the divine substance be infinitely extended, then will there be part of it in this place and part in that. It must be commensurate with all particular beings, so that some will occupy more and some less of its dimensions. By this account it will be very proper and philosophical to say, that God is not in heaven, but only a part of him; and that an elephant or a mountain, a whale or a wicked giant, have more of the essence or presence of God with them, than the holiest or best man in the world, unless he be of equal size; all which, as has been well observed,^[144. Watts Essays; and I .aw’s Inquiries into the Ideas of Space, Time, Immensity, &c. ] are at least harsh and grating expressions. As the attributes of the Divine Being must be considered in the same manner with his substance, we shall likewise, upon this notion of omnipresence, have a part of his knowledge and power in this place, and a part of them in that; and of these parts the one must be greater or less than the other, according to the dimensions of the place with which it is commensurate; which is a supposition that appears to us harsher, if possible, than even the former.

“Should it be said that the divine attributes are not to be considered as having parts (though we see not how they can be considered otherwise than as their subject), they must then exist completely in every point of this immense expansion. Be it so; and what follows? Why, every point of this infinitely expanded being will be omniscient and omnipotent by itself; an inch of it will have as much wisdom and power as a yard, a mile, or the whole; and, instead of one infinite wisdom and power, we shall have millions. For as these parts of the substance are conceived distinctly, and one individual part is not another, so must the attributes be likewise conceived, and the individual power and knowledge of one part be distinct from that of another.” And if so, then it follows that one point of this expanded being has equal power and intelligence with the whole; so that the notion of extension [7:14:700]being necessary to God’s presence with every creature, involves in it the most palpable contradiction. That God is at all times and in all places so present with every creature as to have an absolute knowledge of and power over it, is indeed capable of the strictest demonstration; but we think it great presumption to assign the particular mode of his presence, especially such an one as is neither agreeable to the nature of an absolutely perfect Being, nor in the least necessary to the exercise of any one perfection which he can be proved to possess. Philosophers and divines have offered several names for the manner in which God is present with his works; but we choose rather to confess that the manner of his presence is to us, and probably to every creature, wholly incomprehensible. Nor need we be surprised or staggered at this, when we reflect that the manner in which our own minds are present with our bodies is to us as incomprehensible as the manner in which the Supreme Mind is present with every thing in the universe. That our minds ’ have a power over our limbs, we know by experience; but that they are not extended nor substantially diffused through them, is certain, because men daily lose arms and legs, without losing any part of their understanding, or feeling their energies of volition in the smallest degree weakened. But we need not pursue this subject farther. It has been confessed by one of the most strenuous advocates^[145. Mr Jackson’s Existence and Unity, &c. p. 110. ] for the extension of the Deity and all minds, that “there is an incomprehensibleness in the manner of every thing, about which no controversy can or ought to be concerned.”

The moral attributes of God may be deduced from his natural perfections, and are immediate consequences of them when exercised on other beings. They may be termed his secondary relative attributes, as they seem to be the perfection of his external acts rather than any new internal perfections. And though the existence of any moral quality or action is not capable ofstrict demonstration, Decause every moral action or quality, as such, depends upon the will of the agent, which must be absolutely free; yet we have as great assurance that there are moral qualities in God, and that he will always act according to these qualities, as the nature of the thing admits, and maybe as well satisfied respecting it, as if it were capable of the most rigid demonstration. This important point, however, cannot be so clearly or so firmly established by abstract reasoning as by taking a scientific view of the works of creation, which evince the goodness, holiness, and justice of their Author, as well as his perfect wisdom and infinite power. The consideration, therefore, of the moral attributes of God, together with his providence and the duties thence incumbent on man, is the proper business of other articles.

At present we shall only observe, that by reasoning a 'priori from his existence and his natural perfections, we must necessarily infer that his actions are all the result of unmixed benevolence. Every wise agent has some end in view in all his actions, it being the very essence of folly to act for no end; but there cannot be an end of action which is not either selfish or benevolent. Selfishness is the offspring of Avant and imperfection, and is therefore the source of most human actions; because men are weak and imperfect beings, capable of daily additions to their happiness. When the thief plunders a house at midnight, when the highwayman robs a traveller on the road, and even when the assassin murders the man who never injured him, it will be found that their actions spring not from an innate desire to inflict misery upon others, but from a prospect of reaping some advantage to themselves. The object of the thief and the robber is obvious; it is to gain money, which is the means of procuring the comforts of life. Even the assassin has always the same selfish end in view; either he is bribed to commit the murder, or he fancies that his horrid deed will remove an obstacle from the way to his own happiness. But they are not vicious men only who act from selfish considerations; for much of human virtue, when traced to its source, will be found to have its origin in the desire of happiness. When a man gives his money to feed the hungry and to clothe the naked, he believes that he is acting agreeably to the will of Him to whom he and the poor stand in the same relation, and he looks for a future and eternal reward. By continuing the practice, he soon acquires the habit of benevolence; after which, indeed, he looks for no further reward, when performing particular actions, than the immediate pleasure of doing good. This selfishness of man is the necessary consequence of his progressive state. But the Being who is independent, omnipotent, omniscient, and, in a word, possessed of every possible perfection, is incapable of progression, or of having any accession whatever made to his happiness. He is immutable, and must of necessity have been as happy from eternity, when existing alone, as after the creation of ten thousand worlds. When, therefore, he willed the existence of other beings, he could have nothing in view but to communicate some resemblance of his own perfectionsand happiness. That he had some end in view, follows undeniably from his infinite wisdom. That he could not have a selfish end, follows with equal certainty from his own infinite perfection; and as there is no medium, in the actions of a wise Being, between selfishness and benevolence, we must necessarily conclude that the creation was the result of unmixed benevolence or perfect goodness. The other moral attributes of the Deity, his justice, mercy, and truth, ought therefore only to be considered as so many different views of the same goodness in the Creator, and various sources of happiness to the creature. These are always subordinate to and regulated by this one principal perfection and brightest ray of the Divinity.

“Thus we conceive his justice to be exerted on any being no farther than his goodness necessarily requires, in order to make that being, or others, sensible of the heinous nature and pernicious effects of sin,^[146. Notes to King on Evil. ] ʹ and thereby to bring them to as great a degree of happiness as their several natures are capable of. His holiness hates and abhors all wickedness, only as its necessary consequences arc absolute and unavoidable misery; and his veracity or faithfulness seems to be concerned for truth, only because it is connected with and productive of the happiness of all rational beings; to provide the properest means for attaining which great end, is the exercise of his wisdom.” Such is the view of God’s moral attributes, which the abstract contemplation of his natural perfections necessarily suggests; and whether this way of conceiving them be not attended with less difficulty than the common manner of treating them under the notion of two infinites diametrically opposite, must be left to the judgment of the reader.

But if the Creator and supreme Governor of all things be a Being of infinite power, perfect Avisdom, and pure benevolence, how came evil into the works of creation? This is a question Avhich has employed the speculative mind from the first dawning of philosophy, and which will continue to employ it until our faculties be enlarged in a future state, when philosophy shall give place to more perfect knowledge. To these meditations, as has been well observed,^[147. Johnson’s Review of a free Inquiry into the Origin of Evil. ] humanity is not equal. Volumes have been written on the subject; but we believe that the following extract from Dr Clarke contains all that can be advanced Avith cer∙
[7:14:701]

tainty, and all that is necessary to vindicate the ways of God to man.

“All that we call evil,” says that able reasoner,^[148. Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God. ] “is either an evil of imperfection, as the want of certain faculties and excellencies which other creatures have; or natural evil, as pain, death, and the like; or moral evil, as all kinds of vice. The first of these is not properly an evil; for every power, faculty, or perfection, which any creature enjoys, being the free gift of God, which he was no more obliged to bestow than he was to confer being or existence itself, it is plain, that the want of any certain faculty or perfection in any kind of creatures, which never belonged to their nature, is no more an evil to them, than their never having been created or brought into being at all could properly be called an evil.” To this we may add, that as no created being can be self-existent and independent, imperfection is unavoidable in the creation, so that the evil of defect (as it is most absurdly called) must have been admitted, or nothing could ever have existed but God. “The second kind of evil, which we call natural evil, is either a necessary consequence of the former, as death to a creature on whose nature immortality was never conferred; and then it is no more properly an evil than the former: or else it is counterpoised in the whole with as great or greater good, as the afflictions and sufferings of good men; and then also it is properly no evil: or else it is a punishment; and then it is a necessary consequence of the third and last sort of evil, viz. moral evil. And this arises wholly from the abuse of liberty, which God gave to his creatures for other purposes, and which it was reasonable and fit to give them for the perfection and order of the whole creation; only they, contrary to God’s intention and command, have abused what was necessary for the perfection of the whole, to the corruption and depravation of themselves. And thus have all sorts of evils entered into the world, without any diminution to the infinite goodness of its Creator and Governor.”

But though evil could not be totally excluded from the universe, are we not authorized to infer, from the infinite power, wisdom, and goodness of the Creator, that the present system is upon the whole the very best system possible? Undoubtedly we are, if of possible systems there can be a best; but this is so far from being evident, that we think it implies a contradiction. A best of beings there is, viz. God, who is possessed of infinite perfections; but there cannot be a best of creatures or of created systems. To prove this, we need only reflect, that wherever creation stops, it must stop infinitely short of infinity; and that how perfect soever we conceive any creature or system of creatures to be, yet the distance between that and God is not lessened, but continues infinite. Hence it follows that the nature of God and his omnipotence is such, that whatever number of creatures he has made, he may still add to that number; and that however good or perfect the system may be on the whole, he might still make others equally good and perfect.

The dispute, whether a being of infinite power, wisdom, and benevolence, must be supposed to have created the best possible system, and the embarrassment of men’s understandings about it, seem to have arisen from their taking the words, good, better, and best, for absolute qualities inherent in the nature of things, whereas in truth they are only relations arising from certain appetites. They have indeed a foundation, as all relations have, in something that is absolute, and denote the thing in which they are founded; but yet they themselves imply nothing more than a relation of congruity between some appetite and its objects. This is evident; because the same object, when applied to an appetite to which it has a congruity, is good; and when applied to an appetite to which it has no congruity, is bad. Thus, the earth and air to terrestrial animals are good elements, and necessary to their preservation; to those animals the water is bad, though it yet affords the best receptacle to fishes. Good, therefore, being relative to appetite, that must be reckoned the best creature by us which has the strongest appetites, and the surest means of satisfying them all, and securing its own permanent happiness. And though the substance of creatures is chiefly to be regarded as contributing to their perfection, yet we have no way of measuring the perfection of different substances, except by their qualities, that is, by their appetites, by which they are sensible of good and evil, and by their powers to procure those objects from which they receive that sense of things which makes them happy.

It is plain, therefore, that whatever system we suppose in nature, God might have made another equal to it; his infinite wisdom and power being able to make other creatures equal in every respect to any that we know or can conceive, and to give them equal or even stronger appetites, and as certain or more certain ways of satisfying them. We see in many cases, that very different means will accomplish the same end. A certain number of regular pyramids will fill a space; and yet irregular ones will do it as well, if what we take from the one be added to another; and the same thing may be done by bodies of the most irregular and different figures in the same manner; and therefore we may very well conceive, that the answering of appetites, which is all the natural good that is in the world, may as well be obtained in another system as in this; provided we suppose, that where the appetites of the sentient beings are changed, the objects are also suited to them, and an equal congruity amongst the parts of the whole introduced. This is so easily conceived, that, in an indefinite number of possible worlds, we do not see why it may not be done in numberless ways by infinite power and wisdom.

If, then, it be plain that there might have been many other worlds, or even but one, equal to this in all respects as to goodness, there could be no necessity, either physical or moral, that God should create the one rather than the other, because nothing could make the one better, or to him more agreeable, than the other, except his own free choice. Either, therefore, God must be possessed of absolute freedom, or, amongst a number of possibilities equally perfect, he could not have made a choice, and so nothing would ever have been created. It is not, then, as Leibnitz and others argue, the natural and necessary goodness of some particular things, represented by the divine ideas, which determines God to prefer them to all others, if understood of his first act of producing them; but it is his own free choice, which, amongst many equal potential goods, makes some things actually good, and determines them into existence. When those are once supposed to exist, every thing or action becomes good which tends to their happiness and preservation; and to suppose that their all-perfect Author had any other end in view than their preservation and happiness, is the same absurdity as to suppose that knowledge may produce ignorance; power, weakness; or wisdom, folly. (h. h. h. h.) [7:14:702]