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A UTHOR: 
 
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THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 NOW FULLY COLLECTED, 
 WITH SELECTIONS FROM HIS UNPUBLISHED LETTERS. 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 NOTES AND SUPPLEMENTARY DISSERTATIONS, 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, BART, 
 
 :" ADVOCATE, MASTER OF AUTS (OXFORI)), ETC. ; 
 «„v.. OF T..F INSTITUTE OF FUANCF, OF THE LATIN SOCIETY Ol- J.-NA, 
 MEMBER OF THE iNSiiiu^r .,.„., .„„ n»iTl<;(4 • 
 
 AND OF MANY OTHER LIFERARY BODIKS, FOREIGN AND BRITISH , 
 AND OF MANY O ^„^^^„„„,„« ,N tHK UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF IX>aiC AND METAPHYSICS IN THI. 
 
 LEADING WORDS AND PROPOSITIONS MARKED OUT , 
 ALLUSIONS indicated; QUOTATIONS FILLED UP. 
 
 'prefixed, 
 8TE^VAI^T'B 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF RElI>;j 
 WITH NOTES BY 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 COPIOUS INDICES SUBJOINED. 
 
 ,,X^ 
 
 FOURTH EB 
 
 ?:b Aloil. 
 
 X, 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ^ P .l._J&i.,- |j. V, . tla^;*!-**-*-'' 
 
 MACLACHLAN AND STEWART. 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 
 
 MDCCGLIV. 
 
ON EARTH. THERB IS NOTHING GREAT BUT MAN; 
 IN MAN, THERB IS NOTHING GREAT BUT MIND. 
 
 Hil^^l 
 
 
 TO 
 VICTOR COUSIN, 
 
 PEER OF FKANCE, LATE MINISTER OE PUBLIC ^«J^^™ 
 MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 ETC., ETC., 
 
 THIS EDITION OF THE WORKS OF REID 
 
 IS DEDICATED; 
 
 NOT ONLY, 
 
 IN TOKEN OF THE EDITOR'S ADMIRATION 
 
 OF 
 THE FIRST PHILOSOPHER OF FRANCE, 
 
 AS A TRIBUTE, DUE APPROpStELY AND PRE-EMINENTLY 
 
 TO 
 THE STATESMAN, 
 THROUGH WHOM 
 SCOTLAND HAS BEEN AGAIN IINITED INTELI^CTUALLY 
 TO HER OLD POLITICAL ALLY, 
 AND 
 THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS, 
 «,TT.. nv^T RESULT OF SCOTTISH SPECUIATION,) 
 'TnZJ^^l^^^ INSTRUCTION IN PHILOSOPHY 
 
 "^' TJ^:Z.tZc..^^^^ NATION OF EUROPE. 
 
 
 151 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 ) 
 
 The present issue (ending with page 914) contains the whole 
 Works of Reid, hitherto pubhshed, with many of his writings, print- 
 ed or collected for the first time. The text has been collated, revised 
 ind corrected ; useful distinctions and supplements inserted ; the 
 leading words and propositions marked out ; the allusions indicated ; 
 the quotations filled up. It contains also, the Foot-Notes of the Edi- 
 tor on the texts of lleid and Stewart, and a large proportion (in 
 length) of the Editor's Supplementary Dissertations. There remain 
 [tlie sequel of these Dissertations, the General Preface, and the In- 
 idices ; — all of which are either prepared, or their materials collected, 
 'hese (Deo volente) will be comprised in a concluding issue, and 
 title-pages for two volumes then given. The l^otes and Disserta- 
 tions have insensibly increased to a size and importance far beyond 
 [what was ever anticipated ; but the book having been always des- 
 tined primarily for academical use, the price of the whole will not 
 jxceed thirty shillings. Being stereotyped, what additions may be 
 lade to any subsequent edition, will be published also apai^t. 
 
 It is proper to state : — that the Foot-notes were written, as the 
 lexts passed through the press, in 1837 and 1838 ; that the Supple- 
 lentary Dissertations, to the end of D*, were written and stereotyped 
 1841 and 1842 ; the rest being added recently. 
 
 November 1846. 
 
 [ugmt 1849. — Circumstances have prevented the completion of the 
 with this new issue. 
 
CORRIGENDA 
 
 Not worth noticing in detail:— In Greek words (among other inaccuracies 
 the accent and breathing are, in one or two places, over the first, instead of ovej 
 the second vowel, of an initial diphthong ; in oxytones, the common practice | 
 accentuation has been partially, and only partially, superseded by the Reitzia 
 and in the minute type of the foot-notes to Reid's text, the resembling forms o 
 and r have been repeatedly commuted. 
 
 \ 
 
 1 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 DSDICATION, ••..•. 
 
 Table of Contents, • . . . , 
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE, . ... 
 
 DUGALD STEWART'S ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 SvcTiON I. From Br Reid's birth till the date of his latest publication, 
 
 II. Observations on the Spirit and scope of Br Reid's philosophy, 
 
 III. Conclusion of tfis Narrative, . , , 
 
 Notes, .... 
 
 fA6R 
 
 ■ 
 
 1 
 
 • •• 
 
 HI 
 
 3 
 
 II 
 29 
 U 
 
 RE ID'S 
 
 (h^ WRITINGS NOT INTENBEB FOR PUBLICATION,) 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 [A. — To Brs Andrew and Bavid Skene, 1764 — 1770, . . 
 
 B.^To Lord Kcfmes, 1772— 1782, . . 
 
 \C To Br James Gregory, 1783 — 1793, 
 
 [D. — To the Rev. Archibald Alison, 1790, 
 
 — To Prof. Robison, 1792, ..... 
 
 P. — To Bavid Hume, 1763, . • . . 
 
 39 
 
 60 
 62 
 89 
 89 
 91 
 
 [IL— WRITINGS INTENBEB ANB PREPAREB FOR PUBLICATION.) 
 A^INQUIRY INTO THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 [Dedication, 
 
 95 
 
 CHAPTER I. — iNTnoDucTioN. 
 
 Jkction I. The Importance of the subject, and the Means of prosecuting it, 97 
 
 II. The Impediments to our knowledge of the mind, . 98 
 
 III. The Present State of this part of philosophy. Of Bes Cartes, Male- 
 
 branche, and Locke, • ... 99 
 
 Vf . Apology for those philosophers, . . 101 
 
 V. Of Bishop Berkeley ; the " Treatise of Human Nature " {by Hume ;] 
 
 and of Scepticism, . . . .101 
 
 Yl. Of the " Treatise of Human Nature,*' . . 102 
 
 VII. The system of all these authors is the same, and leads to Scepticism, 103 
 
 VIII. We ought not to despair of a better, . . , 103 
 
 CHAPTER II.— Of Smelling. 
 
 licTioN I. The Order of proceeding. Of the medium and organ of Smell, 104 
 
 JI. The Sensation considered abstractly^ . . 105 
 
 11^. Sensation and Remembrance, natural principles of Belief , 106 
 
 IV. Judgment and Belief in some cases precede Simple Apprehension, 106 
 V. ' Two Theories of the nature of Belief refuted. Conclusions from 
 
 \ what hath been said, . . . 107 
 
IV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SioTiow VI. Apology for metaphysical ahsurditUi. Serration without a smtimU, 
 m consequence of the theory of Ideas. Consequencei of this strange 
 opinioHf ..... 
 
 The conception and belief of a sentient being or Mind, is suggested 
 by our constitution. The notion of Relations not always got by 
 Comparing the related ideas, 
 
 There is a quality or virtue in bodies, which we call their Smell. 
 How this is connected in the imagination with the sensation, 
 
 That there is a principle in human nature, from which the notion 
 of this, as well as all oth*ir natural virtues or causes, is derived. 
 
 Whether in Sensation the mind is Active or Passive, 
 
 Paos 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 
 CHAPTER in.-^Op TisTiM®, 
 
 106 
 
 110 
 
 112 
 
 112 
 114 
 
 11'' 
 
 CHAPTER IV — Of Heaeimo. 
 
 SicTioM I. Variey of Sounds. Their place and distance learned by Custom, 
 without reasoning, • . , . 
 
 II. Of Natural Language, .... 
 
 CHAPTER v.— Of Touch. 
 
 SiCTiOH I. Of Heat and Cold, . • 
 
 11. Of Hardness and Softness, 
 
 III. Of Natural Signs, 
 
 IV. Of Hardness and other Primary Qualities, • 
 
 V. Of JExtension, .... 
 
 VI. Of Extermon, . . • 
 
 Vll. Of the eteistence of a Material World, 
 
 VIII. Of the Systeme of Philosophers concerning the Senses, 
 
 SiCTHiN 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 
 JL* 
 
 XI. 
 
 Jm El* 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 mm vj V 1 f 
 
 CHAPTER VI —Of Skbimh. 
 
 The excellence and dignity of this faculty, 
 
 Sight discovers almost nothing which the Blind may not compre~ 
 
 hend. The reason of this, 
 Of the Visible Appearances of objects, 
 
 That Colour is a quality of bodies, not a sensation of the mind^ 
 An inference from the preceding. 
 That none of our sensations are Resemblances of any of the quali^ 
 
 ties of bodies, . • • . 
 
 Of visible Figure and Extension, . . , 
 
 Some Qmries conc^tming Visible Figure answered, • 
 Of the Geometry of Visibles, . , 
 
 Of the Parallel Motion of the eyes. 
 Of our seeing objects Erect by inverted images, 
 Tlic same subject continued. 
 Of seeing objects Single with two eys, 
 Of the laws of vision in Brute animcds, 
 Siptinting considered hy pathetically, 
 Facts relating to Squinting, 
 Of the effect of Custom in seeing objects Single, 
 
 135 
 
 Of Br Porterfield's account of single and double vision, > 
 Of Br Briggsh theory, and Sir Isaac Netvton's conjecture 
 
 on this 
 
 s ubjeet, 
 
 Of Perception in gt>Mr(d, 
 
 [ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Paok 
 186 
 
 Section XXI. Of the Process of Nature m perception, . . 
 
 XXII. Of the Signs by which we learn to perceive Distance from the eye, 188 
 
 XXIII. OftJie Signs used in other acquired perceptions, . 193 
 
 XXIV. Of the Analogy between Perception, and the credit we give to 
 
 Human Testimony, . . . 194 
 
 { 
 
 CHAPTER VII.— Conclusion. 
 CotUaining Refactions upon the opinions of Philosophers on this subject, 
 
 201 
 
 B^ESSAYS ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN. 
 
 Dedication, 
 Preface, 
 
 215 
 216 
 
 ESSAY I. — Prki.iminauv 
 
 Chapter I. Explication of Words, .... 219 
 
 II. Principles taken for granted, . . . 230 
 
 III. Of Hypotheses, .... 234 
 
 IV. Of Analogy, .... 236 
 V, Of the proper means of Knowing the operations of the mind, 238 
 
 VI. Of the difficulty of Attending to the operations of our own minds, 240 
 
 \ II. Division of the powers of the mind, . . . 242 
 
 VIII. Of Social [and Solitary^ operations of mind. . 244 
 
 ESSAY II. — Of *ruE Powers avk iiavi: uy meanm of our Kxtuhnal ShNsr.s. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 I. 
 
 IL 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VL 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 IX. 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 Xlll. 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 
 XV n. 
 
 XVIH. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Of the Organs of Sense, .... 245 
 
 Of the Impressions on the organs, nerves, and brain, 247 
 
 Hypothesis concemmig the Nerves and Brain, . 248 
 False Concludons drawn from the impressions before mentioned, 253 
 
 Of Perception, .... 258 
 
 What it is to Account for a Phcenomenon in Nature, 260 
 Sentiments of Philosophrs about the Perceptions of External 
 
 objects; and first f of the theory of Father MaUbranche, 262 
 Of the Common Theory of Perception ; and of the sentiments of 
 
 the Peripatetics, and of Des Cartes, . . 267 
 The sentiments of Mr Locke, . . . 275 
 The sentiments of Bishop Berkeley, ... . 280 
 Bishop Berkeley's sentiments of the nature of Ideas, 287 
 The sentiments of Mr Hume, . . . 292 
 The sentiments of Anthony Amauld, . . 295 
 Reflections on the Common Theory of Ideas, . . 298 
 Account of tfie system of Leibnitz, . . 306 
 Of Sensation, . . . 310 
 Of the Objects of Perceutlon ^ and first, of Prnnary and Second- 
 ary Qualities, . . . . 313 
 Of otlier objects of Perception, . . . 319 
 Of Matter and of Space, . , • 322 
 Of the Evidence of Sense, and of Belief in general, . 326 
 Of the Improvemnt of the Senses, . , . 330 
 Of the Fallacv of the Senses, , . , 334 
 
 h 
 
VI 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 ESSAY III Of Memort. 
 
 Fa<m 
 
 CiiAPTBR I. Things obvious and certain with regard to Memory, . 339 
 
 II. Memory an original facvlty, . . . 340 
 
 III. Of Duration, ..... 342 
 
 IV. Of Identity, ..... 344 
 V. Mr Locke's account of the Origin of our Ideas, and particularly 
 
 of the idea of Duration, . . • 346 
 
 VI. Mr Locke's account of our Personal Identity, , 360 
 
 VII. Theories concerning Memory, , . . 363 
 
 ESSAY IV. — Of Cohcbptiom. 
 
 (Chapter I. Of Conception, or Simple Apprehension in generai, 
 II. Theories concerning Conception, 
 
 III. Mistakes concerning Conception, . . 
 
 IV. Oft}^ Train of Thought in the mind, , 
 
 360 
 368 
 376 
 379 
 
 ESSAY V. — Of Abstraction. 
 
 Chaptkr I. Of General Words, . . • • 389 
 
 II. Of General Conceptions, . . . 391 
 
 III. Of general conceptions formed by Analysing objects, . 394 
 
 IV. Of general conceptions formed by Combination, . 398 
 V. Observations concerning the Names given to our general notions, 403 
 
 VI. Opinion of philosophers about Universals, . . 406 
 
 ESSAY VI. — Of Judgment. 
 
 CaiPTER I. Of Judgment in general, . . . • 
 
 II. Of Common Seiue, .... 
 
 III. Sentiments of philosophers concerning Judgment, 
 
 IV. Of First Principles in general, 
 
 V. The frst principles of Contingent Truths. [On Consciousness,} 
 
 VI. First principles of Necessary Truths, 
 
 VII. Opinions, ancient and modem, about First Principles, 
 
 VOL Of Prejudices, the causes of error, . # 
 
 
 ESSAY VIL— Of Reasoning. 
 
 Chapter I. Of Reasoning in general, and of DemonstrcUiom, 
 II. Whether Morality be capable of demonstration, 
 
 III. OfPrc^bU Reasoning, 
 
 IV. Of Mr Hume's Scepticism with regard to Reason, 
 
 /• 
 
 413 
 421 
 426 
 434 
 441 
 462 
 462 
 468 
 
 476 
 478 
 481 
 484 
 
 ESSAY VIII—Of Taste. 
 
 Chapter I. Of Tmte in general, 
 
 II. Cfthe Objects of taste, and first of Novelty, 
 
 III. Of Grandeur, . • • 
 
 IV. Of Beauty, . 
 
 490 
 493 
 494 
 49{ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 vu 
 
 C— ESSAYS ON THE ACTIVE POWERS OF THE HUMAN 
 
 MIND. 
 
 Introduction, 
 
 611 
 
 ESSAY I. — Of Active Power in General. 
 
 ;uAPTBB I. O^ the Notion of Active Power, . . . 612 
 
 II. The samA subject, . . . .616 
 
 III. Of Mr Locke's account of our Idea of Power, , 618 
 
 / IV. Of Mr Hume's opinion of the Idea of Power, . , 620 
 
 V. Whether beings that have no Will nor Understanding may have 
 
 Active Power ? . . . . 622 
 
 VI. Of the Efficient Causes of tlie phcenomena of nature, . 625 
 
 VII. Of the Extent of Humxin Power, . . 627 
 
 ESSAY II.— Op the Will. 
 
 I Chapter I. Observations concerning the Will, 
 
 II. Of the influence of Incitements and Motives upon the Will, 
 
 III. Of operations of mind which may be called Voluntary, 
 
 IV. Corollaries, 
 
 630 
 533 
 637 
 641 
 
 ESSAY III.— Op the Principles of Action. 
 PART I. — Of the Mechanical Puinciples of Action. 
 
 Jh after I. Of the Principles of Action in general, 
 II. Of Instinct, 
 III. Of Habit, .... 
 
 PART II. — Op the Animal Principles of Action. 
 
 [Chapter I. Of Appetites, 
 
 II. Of Desires, .... 
 
 III. Of J^enevolent Affection in general 
 
 IV. Of the particular Benevolent Affections, 
 V. Of Malevolent Affections, 
 
 VI. Of Passion, .... 
 
 VII. Of Disposition, 
 VIII. Of Opinion, .... 
 
 PART III.— Of the Rational Principles of Action. 
 
 iJh AFTER I. There are Rational Principles of action in man, 
 II. Of regard to our Good upon the Whole, 
 
 III. The Tendency of this Principle, 
 
 IV. Defects of this Principle, 
 V. Of the notion of Duty, Rectitude, Moral Obligation, 
 
 VI. Of the Sense of Duty, 
 
 VII. Of Moral Approbation and Disapprobation, 
 VIII. Observations concerning Conscience, 
 
 ESSAY IV Of the Liberty of Moral Agents. 
 
 It AFTER I. The notions of Moral Liberty and Necessity stated, 
 
 II. Of (he words, Cause and Effect, Action, and Active Pouter, 
 
 546 
 
 
 660 
 
 
 661 
 
 1 
 
 654 
 
 1 
 
 658 
 
 1 
 
 660 
 
 1 
 
 666 
 
 1 
 
 570 
 
 1 
 
 575 
 
 
 677 
 
 
 579 
 
 /< 
 
 680 
 
 
 682 
 
 
 584 
 
 
 688 
 
 
 589 
 
 
 692 
 
 
 694 
 
 
 599 
 
 
 603 
 
 
VIll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chaptbb III. Canms of the Amhigmty of those word$, 
 IV. Of the infiuefiice of Motives t 
 V. Liberty consistent with Govemmenif 
 VI. First Argument for Liberty, , 
 
 VII. Second Argument, 
 VIII. Third Ar^ment^ , , 
 
 IX. Of Arffitments for Necesiitff, . 
 
 X. The satne subject, . , , 
 
 XL Of the Permission of Evil, 
 
 Pa«1 
 605 
 608 
 613 
 616 
 620 
 622 
 624 
 629 
 632j 
 
 ESSAY v.— Of Mobals. 
 
 Tb AFTER I. Of the First Principles of Morals, . , , 63l 
 
 II. Of Systems of Morals, ... 64< 
 
 III. Of Systems of Natural Jurisprudence, . . 64i 
 
 IV. Whether an action deserving Moral Approbation, must be done 
 
 with the Belief of its being Morally Good, . 64( 
 
 V. Whether Justice be a Natural or an Artificial Virtue, . 651 
 
 VI. Of tfie nature and obligation of a Contract, . 662 
 
 VJI. That Moral Approbation implies a real Judgment, . 670 
 
 D—ACCOUNT OF ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 CHAPTER I — Or the Fibst Thbik Treatises. 
 
 Section I. Of the Author, .... 
 
 II. Of the Porphyry's Introduction, . 
 
 III. Of the Categories, 
 
 IV. Of the book Concerning Interpretation, . , 
 
 CHAPTER IL-Rbmarks. 
 
 St OTiow I. On the Five Predicables, 
 
 liy On the Tea Categories, and on Divisions in general, 
 
 I I I. \ On Distinctions, • . , . 
 
 IV. V)« Definitions, 
 
 y. hn the structure of Speech, . . ' . 
 
 VI On Propositions, , 
 
 CHAPTER III. — Account of the First Analytics. 
 
 Section I. Of the Conversion of Propositions, 
 
 II. Of the Figures <ind Modes of Pure Syllogisms, 
 in. Of the\ Invention [Discovery] of a Middle Term, 
 IV. Of the remaining part of the First Book, 
 V. Of the Seamd Book of the First Analytics, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. — Remarks. 
 Section I. Of the Conversion of Projm.<ition.% 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Seotioh II On Additions made to Aristotle's Theory, . 
 IV n« fj''';^^^'' «*«^ fo illustrate this Theory, 
 V* n li^ demonstration of the Theory, *^ . ' 
 
 VII. On SyUoffi.ms that do not belong to Figure and Mode 
 
 9 
 
 6; 
 
 696 
 
 699 
 
 701 
 
 702 
 
 704 
 
 as OF the Oboanon. 
 
 CHAPTER V.~AccoDNT op the Remaining Boo 
 
 Section I. OftU Last Analytics, 
 
 II. Of the Topics, . ' . * 
 
 ni. Of the book concerning Sophisms, 
 
 CHAPTER VI.-RErLECTioN8 on the Utility of Logic, and thp 
 
 ITS Improvement. 
 
 Section I. Of the mHity of Logic, 
 
 II. Of the Improvetnent of Logic, 
 
 705 
 706 
 707 
 
 Me 
 
 ans of 
 
 703 
 711 
 
 E — ESSAY ON QUANTITY 
 
 ifccasion and grounds of the Discussion,! 
 Jftf^ Newtonian Measure of Force, . 
 yfthe Leibnitzian Measure of Force 
 
 ^Mtions on this Controversy, 
 
 715 
 717 
 718 
 719 
 
 F.-.ACCOUNT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 I ntroduction, 
 
 ' TT^* £^?**y ^f^^ ^^ Reformation, , ' 
 
 IV. Modem Constitution, 
 V. Donations, 
 [VI. Present State, . ' . 
 
 ^I. Conclusion, 
 
 721 
 721 
 722 
 727 
 
 729 
 730 
 732 
 
 738 
 
 EDITOR'S SUPPLEMENTARY DISSERTATIONS. 
 0.---ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMMON SENSE- OR OUR PRTmapv 
 ELIEFS CONSIDERED AS THE ULTIMATE CRmR^ON ^^^^^^ 
 
 "• "^''t^:^gZ::{ '"^ '^^''^^ -^ ^^^^^^ mMcakon, of ''' 
 
 IV T^'i\lTi '!S''^^ P^^^ophical and scientific, ' l^ 
 
 IV. Th^ Essential Characters by which our primary beliefs 'or th. 
 V ThTNT^'r of Common Sense, are di^crLinated, ^' "" '^ 7.4 
 
 • ^'^i^:ZnTs^;^tT ''' ^"'^'"^ ^^^^^«^**^- ^ *^^-^ ^^- 
 
 ' * • • '765 
 
 \ 
 
 ^. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 P40fc 
 
 ^ 
 
 lOTioN V .. * "^'^^^^■fif.n in reality and m naiMj snovm v^f thp nre- 
 
 '^^trT'^Zn^from th, dawn of ^culM*o»io the pre ^^ 
 
 Milt daft 
 
 ,„)_OF PRESENTATIVE AND KEPKESENTAT.VE KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 ,. . .• ./ Jh-^mntatim, Intuitive or Immediate, and of 
 
 " ing distinctions, 
 
 (a>-ON THE VARIOUS THEORIES OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 II. mat is the character m this respect, of mms ^ g^g 
 
 %wmf • • 
 
 ,a..mPTION OF THE PRIMARY AND SECONDARY QUALITIES 
 (D.)— DISTINCTION Olf ^^^ oF BODY. 
 
 825 
 II. OV*^'^y^^^ Quolitie.,) establuhed, . 
 
 ,„ ..)-PEHCEPTION PROPER AND SENSATION PROPER. 
 
 , ./ th^ Editor's doetnne of Perception, (A) m 
 S..TIOM I. Pr-n|>a --/p^/J^^f^T tAae o/ fci^, f-J*> ^oyer 
 
 Itself and W *"JV.„„/igr, o/'t/ie Scottish School, » 
 
 „ H.-.^X<^« .^ "^^-^^ '"•-•-'■°» "/^^'^'"^ ^"■'^ 88 
 an<« Sensation proper, • 
 
 .., ,«,. AF A THEORY OF MENTAL REPRODUCTION, 
 (D "*)-0"^"l^GGEST™N OR ASSOCIATION. | 
 
 Sbotion 
 
 I. X«i.* of Mental Successim, <^Ge^^^^ 
 
 Hon proper, ^'''f'*V^'---^f,i^^al • ^ direct,-^ Abstract or 
 unif^mn : as possible; as «/ "^^^.^^''l^ft^^ice or Primary 
 Primary law of RepetUton^Btn^^^^ ^^^ p^^_ 
 
 law of Redintegration, Concrete or aeco y ^ ^ 
 
 ference, • . ' a^j,^„j 'of Retyroduction : — (A.) 
 
 II. Lam of Mental S^eemon, a^^m?. /^^f^^ j^^^tion and 
 
 Abstract or .^"'""/^rJJ'Z./B. j ConcreU or Secondary,^ 
 Redintegration, one or both ,--( ^J 
 modes of the law of Preference. 
 
 ACCOUNT 
 
 t»p 
 
 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 THOMAS REID, D.D., F.R.S.E., 
 
 L.\TE PROFES.SOR OP' iMOBAI. PHILOSOPHV IN THE U.NIVKRSITY OF GLASISOW. 
 
 BY, 
 
 DUGALD STEWART, Esq., F.R.SS L. & E., 
 
 PROFESSOR O.^ MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 READ AT DIFFERENT MEETINGS OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBLROH, 
 
 AND 
 
 PUBLISHED IN 1803. 
 
 ; i 
 
 I J I 
 
 '' 1. • 
 
ACCOUNT 
 
 OP 
 
 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OP 
 
 THOMAS REID D.D. 
 
 \ 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 FROM DR REID's BIRTH TILL THE DATE OP 
 HIS LATEST PUBLICATION. 
 
 The life of which I am now to present to 
 the Royal Society a short account, although 
 it fixes an era in the history of modern 
 philosophy, was uncommonly barren of 
 tho-e incidents which furnish materials for 
 biography— strenuously devoted to truth, 
 to virtue, and to the best interests of man- 
 kind, but spent in the obscurity of a learned 
 retirement, remote from the pursuits of 
 ambition, and with little solicitude about 
 literary fame. After the agitation, however, 
 of the political convulsions which Europe 
 has witnessed for a course of years, the 
 simple record of such a life may derive an 
 interest even from its uniformity; and, 
 when contrasted with the events of the 
 passing scene, may lead the thoughts to 
 some views of human nature on which it is 
 not ungrateful to repose. 
 
 Thomas Reid, D.D., late Professor of 
 Moral Philosophy in the University of Glas- 
 gow, was born, on the 26th of April I7IO, 
 at Strachan, in Kincardineshire, a country 
 parish, situated about twenty miles from 
 Aberdeen, on the north side of the Gram- 
 pian mountains. 
 
 His father, the Rev. Lewis Reid, was 
 minister of this parish for fifty years. He 
 was a clergyman, according to his son's 
 account of him, respected by all who knew 
 him, for his piety, prudence, and benevo- 
 lence ; inheriting; from his ancestors (most 
 of whom, from the time of the Protestant 
 establishment, had been ministers of the 
 Church of Scotland) that purity and sim- 
 plicity of manners which became his station ; 
 
 and a love of letters, which, without attract- 
 ing the notice of the world, amused his 
 leisure and dignified his retirement. 
 
 For some generations before his time, a 
 propensity to literature, and to the learned 
 professions— a propensity which, when it 
 has once become characteristical of a race, 
 is peculiarly apt to be propagated by the 
 influence of early associations and habits — 
 may be traced in several individuals among 
 his kindred. One of his ancestors, .James 
 Reid, was the first minister of Banchory- 
 Ternan after the Reformation, and trans- 
 mitted to four sons a predilection for those 
 studious habits which formed his own hap- 
 piness. He was himself a younger son of 
 Mr Reid of Pitfoddels, a gentleman of a very 
 ancient and respectable family in the county 
 of Aberdeen. 
 
 James Reid was succeeded as minister of 
 Banchory by his son Robert. Another 
 son, Thomas, rose to considerable distinc- 
 tion, both as a philosopher and a poet ; and 
 seems to have wanted neither ability nor 
 inclination to turn his attainments to the 
 best advantage. After travelling over 
 Europe, and maintaining, as was the cus- 
 tom of his age, public disputations in seve- 
 ral universities, he collected into a volume 
 the theses and dissertations which had been 
 the subjects of his literary contests ; and 
 also published some Latin poems, which 
 may be found in the collection entitled, 
 " Delilia Potlarum Scofonirn.** On his 
 return to his native country, he fixed his 
 residence in London, where he was ap- 
 pointed secretary in the Greek and Latin 
 tongues to King James T. of Eng'and,* 
 and lived in habits of intimacy with some 
 
 « * yf^Ii^ EnglUh works he, along with theJeamed 
 Patrick Young, translated into Latin.— H. 
 
 B 2 
 
 _£^^MijB!ift> 
 
Tie LIFE AND WRITINT.S 
 
 [of the moet iiiiitingui»hed duimctew of that 
 'period. Little more, I believe, i« known 
 of Thomas Reid's hiatorj', excepting that 
 he bequeathed to the Marigchal CoUege of 
 Aberdeen a cufiowi colleciftn of books and 
 mamiBcripts, witli a fnnii for eatablisliing a 
 salary to a Ubranan. 
 
 Alexander Reid, the third sou, was phj-si- 
 eian to King Charles L, and published 
 sevenl books on anrgery and medicine. 
 Jhm iiftoiiB he aoqiiwd in the course of 
 Ilia practice was considerable, and enabled 
 him (bwide many topMsfes to his lelatioiis 
 and friends) to leave various lanliiig and 
 iononrable memorials, both of hfa benero- 
 leiDee and of his attachment to letters. 
 
 A fourth son, whose name was Adam, 
 ttandated into English Buchanan's His- 
 tory of Scotknd Of this tranaktion, 
 wMA was never published, there fa a 
 manuscript copy in the possession of *he 
 University of Glasgow. 
 
 A giandson of Robert, the eldest of these 
 ions, wwi Ae third minister of Banchory 
 after the Reformation, and was great- 
 gtmndfather of Thomas Reid, the subject of 
 this , nenioir.* 
 
 'The particulars hitherto mentioned, are 
 stated on the authority of sonie short 
 nenionindums written by Dr Reid a few 
 weeks before his death. In consequence 
 of a suggestion of his friend, Dr Gregory, 
 he had resolved to amus© himaelf with col- 
 lecting such facts as his papers or memory 
 could supply, with respect to his life, and 
 the pfogress of his studies ; but, unfortun- 
 ately, Wore he had fairly entered on the 
 ■abject, his design was interrupted by hit 
 last ainess. If ne had lived to complete 
 it, I might have entertained hopes of pre- 
 senting to the nublic some details with 
 lespeet to the hMory of his opinions and 
 fpeeulations on those important subjects to 
 which he didi«at«<l hm talents— the most 
 Interesting of all articles in the biography 
 of a philosopher, and of which it is to be 
 kimeuted that so few authentic records are 
 to be found in the annals of letteca. All 
 the Inlbfination, however, which I have 
 derived from these notes, is exhausted m 
 the foregoing Rages ; and I must content 
 myself, ia the oontinuation of my narrative, 
 with those indhEect aids which tradition, 
 and tlw recollection of a few old acquaint- 
 mi nt ^ iliird ; added to what I myself have 
 feamed from Dr Reld's conversation, or col- 
 lected from a careful peru«al of his wrttuigi. 
 His mother, Mawaret Gregory, was a 
 daughter of David Gregory, Esq. of Kin- 
 naipliA, in Banflbhire, elder brother of 
 James Grcg«>ry, the inventor of the reflect- 
 ing tdeeeope, and the antagonist of Huy- 
 ghewasonooftwenty-nmechildreni 
 
 the most remarkable of whom was David 
 Gregory, Savilian Professor of Astronomy 
 at Oxford, and an intimate friend of Sir 
 Isiae Newton. Two of her younger brothers 
 were at the same time Professors of Mathe- 
 matics—the one at St Andrew's, the other 
 at Edinburgh— and were the first persona 
 who taught the Ncwtonianjphilosophy in 
 our northern universities. The hereditary 
 worth and genius which have so long dis- 
 tinguished, and which still distingubh, the 
 descendants of this memorable family, are 
 well known to all who have turned theur 
 attention to Scottish biography ; but it is 
 not known so generally, that, through the 
 female line, the same characteristical endow- 
 ments have been conspicuous in various 
 instances; and that to the other monuments 
 which illustrate the race of the Gregories, 
 is to be added ths Fhilomphp of Reid, 
 
 With respect to the earlier part of Dr 
 Reid*8 life, all that I have been able to 
 learn amounts to this :— That, after two 
 years spent at the parish school of Kincar- 
 dine, he was sent to Aberdeen, where he 
 had the advantage of prosecuthig his class- 
 ical studies under an able and diligent 
 teacher ; that, about the age of twelve or 
 thirteen, he was entered as a student in 
 Miirisclial College ; and that his master in 
 pliiloHophy for three years was Dr George 
 Tunibull, who afterwards attracted some 
 degree of notice as an author ; particularly 
 by a book entitled, " Principles of Moral 
 Philosophy ;" and by a voluminous treatise 
 (long ago forgotten) on " Ancient Paint- 
 ing."" The sessions of the College were, 
 at that time, very short, and the educa- 
 tion (according to Dr Reid's own account) 
 slight and superficial. 
 
 It does notappear, from the information 
 which I have received, that he gave any 
 early indications of future eminence. His 
 industry, however, and modesty, were con- 
 spicuous from hia childhood ; and it was 
 foretold of him, by the parish schoolmaster, 
 who initiated him in the first principles o- 
 learning, " That he would turn out to be 
 a man of good and wcU-weaiing parts T a 
 prediction which touched, not unhappily, 
 on that capacity of " patient thought" 
 which so peculiarly charaoteriaed his philo- 
 sophical genius. 
 
 His residence at the University was pro- 
 longed beyond the usual tenn, m conse- 
 quence of his appointment to the office oi 
 Ubranan, which had been endowed by one 
 pf his ancestors about a century before. 
 The situation was acceptable to him, as it 
 afforded an opportunity of indulging his 
 passion for study, and united the charms 
 of a learned society with tlie quiet .of an 
 academical retreat. 
 
 • fiiitc A • 
 
 I 
 
 * NotsB. 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 5 
 
 During this period, he formed an intimacy 
 with John Stewart, afterwards Professor of 
 Mathematics in Marischal College, and 
 author of ** A Commentary on Newton's 
 Quadrature of Curves." His predilection 
 for mathematical pursuits was confirmed 
 and strengthened by this connection. I have 
 often heard him mention it with much 
 pleasure, while he recollected the ardour 
 with which they both prosecuted these fas- 
 cinating studies, and the lights which they 
 imparted mutually to each other, in their 
 first perusalof the " Prtncipitf,** at a time 
 when a knowledge of the Newtonian dis- 
 coveries was only to be acquired in the 
 writings of their illustrious author. 
 
 In 1736, Dr Reid resigned his office of 
 librarian, and accompanied Mr Stewart on 
 an excursion to England. They visited 
 together liondon, Oxford, and Cambridge, 
 and were introduced to the acquaintance of 
 many persons of the first literary eminence. 
 His relation to Dr David Gregory procured 
 him a ready access to Martin Folkes, whose 
 house concentrated the most interesting 
 objects which the metropolis had to off'er to 
 his curiosity. At Cambridge he saw Dr 
 Bentley, who delighted him with his learn- 
 ing, and amused him with his vanity ; and 
 emoyed repeatedly the conversation of the 
 bifid mathematician, Saunderson— apheno- 
 meiion in the history of the human mind to 
 wh)[ch he has referred more than once m 
 hiBLpl'ilosopliical speculations. 
 
 Tvith the learned and amiable man who 
 was his companion in this journey, he main- 
 taii^ed an uninterrupted friendship till I7ti6, 
 D Mr Stewart died of a malignant fever. 
 Hi| death was accomimnied with circum- 
 ( deeply afflicting to Dr Reid's sensi- 
 bili^-; the siime disorder proving fatal to 
 his|^ifc and daughter, both of whom were 
 burW with him in one grave. 
 
 1V1737, Dr Reid was presented, by the 
 Kii#8 C*ollcge of Aberdeen, to the living of 
 Ne*^lfti-liur, in the same county ; but the 
 circlnstances in which he entered on his 
 preKment were far from auspicious. ITie 
 ■ Rperate zeal of one of his predecessors, 
 Ian aversion to the law of patronage, had 
 Inflamed the minds of his parishioners 
 fnst him, that, in the first discharge of 
 clerical functions, he had not only to en- 
 iter the most violent opposition, but was 
 j)sed to personal danger. His unwearied 
 liDtion, however, to the duties of his 
 le, the mildness and forbearance of his 
 [per, and the active spirit of his humanity, 
 k overcame all these prejudices; and, 
 'many years afterwards, when he was 
 3d to a different situation, the same per- 
 ^ who had sufiei-ed themselves to be so 
 misled as to take a share in the outrages 
 linst liim, followed him, on his departure, 
 Ith tlieir blessings and tears. 
 
 Dr Reid's popularity at New-Machar (as 
 I am informed by the respectable clergy- 
 man* who now holds that living) increased 
 greatly after his marriage, in 1740, with 
 Elizabeth, daughter of his uncle, Dr George 
 Reid, physician in London. The accom- 
 modating manners of this excellent woman, 
 and her good offices among the sick and 
 necessitous, are still remembered with gra- 
 titude, and so endeared the family to the 
 neighbourhood, that its removal was re- 
 garded as a general misfortune. The simple 
 and affecting language in which some old 
 men expressed themselves jxi this subject, 
 in conversing with the present minister, 
 deserves to be recorded : — " We fought 
 againa Dr Reid when he came, and would 
 have fought /or him when he went away." 
 In some notes relative to the earlier part 
 of his history, which have been kindly com- 
 municated to me by the Rev. Mr Davidson, 
 minister of Rayne, it is mentioned, as a 
 proof of his uncommon modesty and diffi- 
 dence, that, long after he became mmister of 
 New-Machar, he was accustomed, from a 
 distrust in his own powers, to preach the 
 sermons of Dr Tillotson and of Dr Evans. 
 I have heard, also, through other channels, 
 that he had neglected the practice of cona- 
 position to a more than ordinary degree in 
 the earlier part of his studies. The fact is 
 curious, when contrasted with that ease, 
 perspicuity, and purity of style, which he 
 alterwards attained. From some informa- 
 tion, however, which has been lately trans- 
 mitted to me by one of his nearest relations, 
 I have reason to believe that the number 
 of original discourses which he wrote while 
 a country clergyman, was not inconsider- 
 able. 
 
 The satisfaction of his own mind was 
 probably, at this period, a more powerful 
 incentive to his philosophical researches, 
 than the hope of being able to instruct the 
 world as an author. But, whatever his views 
 were, one thing is certain, that, during his 
 residence at New-Machar, the greater part 
 of his time was spent in the most intense 
 study ; more particularly in a careful exa.mi- 
 nation of the laws of external perception, 
 and of the other principles which form the 
 groundwork of human knowledge. His 
 chief relaxations were gardening and botany, 
 to both of which pursuits he retained his 
 attachment even in old age. 
 
 A paper which he published in the Phi- 
 losophical Transactions of the Royal Society 
 of London, lor the year 1748, affords some 
 light with respect to the progress of his 
 speculations about this period. It is en- 
 titled, "An Essay on Quantity, occasioned 
 by reading a Treatise in which Simple and 
 Compound Ratios are anplied to Virtue and 
 
 • The Rev. William Stronacii. 
 
ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITING8 
 
 Merit i** uidilwiit plainly, by its contents, 
 tlwt, alUiootfli lie had not yet enttfely «- 
 liiMliinhed the favourite raiisarchee <tl hie 
 youth, he waa beginning to direct hia thoughta 
 
 'to iPdMff' objeeta^ 
 
 flM tiwtiiie aUudedto intlietitle of thia 
 p|Mr, was nuuiifeetly the « Inquiry into 
 the Origin of our Ideas of Bemut^ and Fir* 
 Iwf ;*' by Dr Mutcheson of Glasgow. Ae- 
 eofding to this very ingenious writer, the 
 wmmmioi pubUc good produced by an indi- 
 vidual, depending pwirtly on his ben«volmm^ 
 wi p»lly on hk abitify, the relation between 
 
 tlMw diffbrent nionl idMM may be expressed 
 
 in lie teefanieal form of algebimsts, by say- 
 lug' 'llial ilie int is in the oom.pound pro- 
 Mlion of the two othera Henee, Dr 
 ButflMson inlBnii that ** the henev^d^ne^ of 
 m ■ agwt (wiioli in this^ system is synony- 
 mous with Ms moroimmi) is proportional 
 to a fifaetion, having the moment of good 
 ftif lh« aMnonitor, and the ability of the 
 ifnt for the denominator. ** Various other 
 •■■■plea of a aimilar nature occur in the 
 ■Mao wofii and tM stated with a gravity 
 not altogether worthy of the author. It is 
 probable thai they were intended merely as 
 UiuMta^om of his general reaaonmgs, not as 
 ••iiffl of investigation for the discovery of 
 new conclusions ; but they appeared to Dr 
 Maid to be an innovation which it was of 
 unportance to r«sisl» on account of the ten- 
 d«ii«r it might hive (by confounding the 
 evidence of diiferent branches of science) to 
 vtlard the progress of knowledge. The very 
 liigh reputation which Dr Hutcheson then 
 fosiessed in the universities of Scothuid, 
 addbd to the recent attempts of Pitcaim and 
 Cheyne to apply mathematical reasoning to 
 medicine, would bestow, it is likely, an m- 
 lerost on Dr Reid's Essay at the time of 
 its publication, which it can scarcely be 
 •xpeeted to possess at present Many of 
 the observations, however, which it contains, 
 are aoute and original ; and all of them are 
 •xpwiied with that clearness and precision 
 so conspicuous in his subsequent composi- 
 tions. The circumstance which renders a 
 ■nhjeotiueeeptiWeofnMithematicalconsider- 
 UfaOi IS accurately stated ; and the proper 
 fwvlnce of that science defined m such a 
 manner as sufficiently to expose the absur- 
 dly of those abuses of its technical phrase- 
 dlify which were at that tune prevalent. 
 From some passages k it, there is, I think, 
 ground for concluding that the author*s 
 ■iidini ^^ no* been very extensive pre- 
 tiOMto this period. The enumeration, in 
 pMWOular, which he has given of the differ- 
 ent kinds of pmper quantity^ affords a proof 
 that he was not acquainted with the re- 
 ined yet sound disquisitions concerning the 
 Minn of mrnkm- and of propariian, which 
 l»d •ppeand, almost a century before, in 
 the "Aiathematical Lectures" of Dr Bar- 
 
 row ; nor with the remarln on th« tame 
 subject introduced bv Dr Clarke in one of 
 his controversial letters addressed to 
 Leibnitz. 
 
 ^ In the same paper, Dr Reid takes ooea- 
 sion to offer some reflections on the dispute 
 between the Newtonians and Leibnitzians, 
 concerning the measure of forces. The 
 fundamental idea on which these reflections 
 proceed, is just and important ; and it 
 leads to the correction of an error com- 
 mitted very generally bv the partisans of 
 both opinions—that of mistaking a questaon 
 concerning the comparative advantages of 
 two dffinUiom for a difference of statement 
 with respect to a physical fact. It must, I 
 think, be acknowledged, at the same time, 
 tlmt the whole merits of the controversy 
 are not here exhausted j and that the hon- 
 our of placmg this very subtle and abetruse 
 question in a point of view calcukted to 
 reconcile completely the contending parties, 
 was reserved for M. D'Alembert. To have 
 fallen short of the success which attended 
 the inquiries of that eminent man, on a 
 subject 80 congenial to his favourite habits 
 of study, will not reflect any discredit on the 
 poweH of Dr Reid's mind, in the judgment 
 of those who are at all acquainted with ihe 
 history of this celebrated discussion. 
 In 1752, the professors of King's Obl- 
 
 lege elected Dr Reid Professor of Philt 
 
 phy, in testimony of the high opinion tEey 
 had formed of his learning and abiliUes. 
 Of the particular plan which he foUolved 
 in his academical lectures, while he held 
 this office, I have not been able to nl ' -, 
 any satisfactory account; but the dejlrt- 
 ment of science which was assigned to Kim 
 *>y l*>o general system of education in 
 university, was abundantly extensive j 
 prehending Mathematics and Phyau 
 well as Logic and Ethica A similar T 
 was pursued formerly in the other ui 
 sities of Scotland ; the same professoil 
 conducting his pupil through all f 
 branches of knowledge which are nonap- 
 propriated to different teachers. And ifliere 
 he happened fortunately to possess 
 various accomplishments which '. 
 pished Dr Reid in so remarkable a dt 
 It cannot be doubted that the unity 
 comprehensiveness of method of which t. 
 academical courses admitted, must nej 
 sarily have possessed important advan< 
 over that more minute subdivision of 1 
 ary labour which has since been iutrodi 
 But, as public establishments ought to a 
 themselve^s to what is ordinary, rather 
 to what is possible, it is not surprising 
 experience should have gradually sugge 
 an arrangement more suitable to the nai 
 limits which commonly circumscribe hui 
 genius. 
 Soon after Dr Reld's lemoval to Al 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 deen, he projected (in conjunction with his 
 friend Dr John Gregory) a literary society 
 which subsisted for many years, and which 
 seems to have had the happiest effects in 
 awakening and directing that spirit of plulo- 
 aophical research which has since retiected 
 BO much lustre on the north of Scotland. 
 The meetings of this society were held 
 weekly ; and afforded the members (beside 
 the advantages to be derived from a mutual 
 communication of their sentiments on the 
 common objects of their pursuit) an oppor- 
 tunity of subjecting theur intended publica- 
 tions to the test of friendly criticism. The 
 number of valuable works which issued, 
 nearly about the same time, from mdividuals 
 connected with this institution-.more par- 
 ticularly the writings of Reid, Gregory, 
 Campbell, Beattie, and Gerard-furnish the 
 best panegyric on the enlightened views of 
 those under whose direciion it was ongmally 
 
 formed. . • ■% 
 
 Among these works, the ij««t o^g^;! 
 and profound was unquestionably the in- 
 quiry into the Human Mind," published by 
 Dr Reid in 1764. The plan appears to have 
 een conceived, and the subject deeply medi- 
 ixated, by the author long before ; but it is 
 doubtful whether his modesty would have 
 ever permitted him to present to the world 
 the fruits of his solitary studies, without the 
 mcouragement which he received from the 
 eneral acquiescence of his associates m the 
 aost important conclusions to which he had 
 
 From 'a passage in the dedication, it would 
 jeem that the speculations which termi- 
 aated in these conclusions, had commenced 
 early as the year 1739 ; at which period 
 khe publication of Mr Hume's ''J^^^^l^ 
 turaan Nature," induced him, ^rtl^e first 
 time, (as he himself informs us,) "to call 
 , question the principles commonly received 
 th regard to the human understanding, 
 [his ^^Essays on the InteUectual Powers, 
 acknowledges that, in his youth, he had, 
 About exammation, admitted the esta- 
 rshed opinions on which Mr Hume s sys- 
 of scepticism was raised; and that it 
 B the consequences which these opmions 
 ^med to involve, which ^OHf ed h« suspi- 
 lons concerning theur truthV* 1^ ^ ""^^ 
 presume," says he, « to speaW diy own sen. 
 J,iment8, I once believed the doctrine oj Ideas 
 Ifio firmly as to embrace the whole of Berke- 
 lley's system along with it ; till, finding other 
 ^ onsequences to follow from it, which gave 
 le more uneasiness than the want of a ma- 
 terial world, it came into my mmd, more 
 khan forty years ago to put the question, 
 What evidence have I for this doctrine, that 
 mil the objects of my knowledge are ideas m 
 Kny own mind ? From that time to tlie pre- 
 sent, 1 have been candidly and impartiy,aU 
 ^aa I think, seeking foi* the evidence of this 
 
 principle ; but can find none, excepting the 
 authority of philosophers." 
 
 In following the tram of Dr Reid s re- 
 searches, thU last extract merits attention, 
 as it contains an explicit avowal, on his 
 own part, that, at one period of his life, he 
 had been led, by Berkeley's reasonmgs, to 
 abandon the belief of the existence of matter. 
 The avowal does honour to his candour, 
 and the fact reflects no discredit on his sa^ 
 city. The truth is, that this article of the 
 Berkleian system, however contrary to the 
 conclusions of a sounder phUosophy was 
 the error of no common mind. Considered 
 in contrast with that theory of materialism 
 which the excellent author was anxious to 
 supplant, it possessed important advantages, 
 not only in its tendency, but in its scientific 
 consistency ; and it affonled a proof, wher- 
 ever it met with a favourable reception, of 
 an understanding superior to those casual 
 associations which, in the apprehensions of 
 most men, blend indissolubly the pheno- 
 mena of thought with the objects of external 
 perception. It is recorded as a saymg of 
 M Turgot, (whose philosophical opinions m 
 some unportant points approached very 
 nearly to those of Dr Reid,') that he 
 who had never doubted of the existence of 
 matter, might be assured he had no turn for 
 metaphysical disquisitions." 
 
 As the refutation of Mr Hume s sceptical 
 theory was the great and professed object of 
 Dr Reid's '* Inquiry," he was anxious, before 
 taking the field as a controversial writer, to 
 guard against the danger of misapprehend- 
 ing or misrepresenting the meanmg of his 
 adversary, by submitting his r^^^onrngs to 
 Mr Hume's private examination. With 
 this view, he availed himself of the good 
 offices of Dr Blair, with whoni both he and 
 Mr Hume had long lived m habit-s of friend- 
 ship. The communications which he at 
 first transmitted, consisted only of detached 
 parts of the work ; and appear evidently, 
 from a correspondence which I have per- 
 used, to have conveyed a very miperfect 
 idea of his general system. In one of Mr 
 Hume's letters to Dr Blair, he betrays some 
 want of his usual good humour, m looking 
 forward to his new antagmiist. 1 wish, 
 savs he, " that the parsons would confine 
 themselves to their old occupation of worry- 
 ing one another, and leave ph^los«P^\«" ^^ 
 arlue with temper, moderation, and good 
 manners." After Mr Hume however, had 
 read the manuscript, he addressed hunself 
 directly to the Author, in terms so ^ndid 
 and liberal, that it would be unjust to his 
 memory ti withhold from the public so 
 pleasmg a memorial of his character :-- 
 « By Dr Blair's means I have been 
 
 . see. in particular, tne article " ExWence" Ui 
 the •• Encyclopedic." 
 
ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D. D. 
 
 iifVNiPti with the perasftl of your perform- 
 anflo^ wliiisli | have read with great pleasure 
 ■ii4 aHaiitioii. It ia certoiuly very rare 
 that a fiaoe mi deeply philosophical 'm wiote 
 with so much apiiity and affords so much 
 mtertatmiieiit to tlie leader ; though I must 
 still regret the disadvantages under which I 
 f«Bd it, as I never had im whole perform- 
 ance at once before me, and could not be 
 Ahte fnily to compare one part with another. 
 To this reason, chiefly, I ascribe some 
 oboonrities, which, in spite of your short 
 aaalysii or abstract, stUl seem to hang over 
 jmt tgntem ; for I must do you the jus- 
 tico to own that, when I enter into your 
 ideas, no man appears to express himself 
 witli greater perspicuity than you do — a 
 talent which, above all others, is requisite 
 ill tiiat aipeeiai of literature which you have 
 cultivated. There are some objections 
 which I would willingly propose to the chap- 
 ter, * Of Sight,* did 1 not suspect that they 
 ffwaed from my not sufficiently under- 
 standing it s and I am the more confirmed 
 in this suspicion, as Br fihur tells me that 
 the former objections I made had been 
 derived cfaieiy from that cause. I shall, 
 themibn^ forbear tUl the whole can be 
 belMw m% and shall not at present propose 
 any farther difficulties to your reasonings. 
 I shall only say that, if you have been able 
 to clear up these abstruse and important 
 subjects, instead of being mortified, I shall 
 be ao Villi as to pretend to a share of the 
 
 Crake ; and shall think that my errors, by 
 avinff at least some coherence, had led you 
 te' maJb^ a more strict review of my prin- 
 ciples, which were the common ones, and to 
 perceive their fatility. 
 
 '' As I was desirous to be of some use to 
 you, I kept a watchfal eye all along over 
 your style t but it is really so correct, and 
 ■o good English, that I found not an vthiug 
 worth iie remarking. There is only one 
 paaiMn in this dupter, where you make 
 ma of 'the phiase hiu-h r to t/o, instead of 
 teilfr ftmn. Mm§, which is the English 
 one ; but I could not find the passage when 
 I sought for it. You may judge how un- 
 exceptionable the whole appei^ to me, 
 when I could remark so small a blemish. 
 I beg my compliments to my fiiendly adver- 
 saries, Dr Campbell and Dr Gerard ; and 
 also to Dr Gregorjr, whom I suspect to be 
 of the same dispomtion, though he has not 
 openly deckir«jd himself such. '^ 
 
 Of the particular doctrines contained in 
 Dr Eeid*s " Inquiry,*' I do not think it 
 necessary here to attempt any abstract; 
 nor, indeed, do his speculations (conducted, 
 as they were, in sMet conformity to the 
 rales of inductive philosophizing) afford a 
 nbjpst: foT' the same species of rapid out- 
 line which is so osefnl in facilitating the 
 study of a merely hypothetical the'iry. 
 
 I Their great object was to record and to 
 I classify the pheuomeha which the operations • 
 of the human mind present to those who 
 reflect carefully on the subjects of their 
 consciousness ; and of such a history, it is 
 manifest that no abridgement could be 
 offered with advantage. Some reflections 
 on the peculiar plan adopted by the author, 
 and on the general scope of his researches 
 in this department of science, will after- 
 wards find a more convenient place, when I 
 shall have finished my account of his subse* 
 q[Uent publications. 
 
 The idea of prosecuting the study of the f 
 human mind, on a pUn analagous to that 
 which had been so successfully adopted in 
 physics by the followers of Lord liacon, if 
 not first conceived by Dr Reid, was, at least, 
 first carried successfully into execution in 
 his writings. An attempt had, long before, 
 been announced by Mr Hume, in the title- 
 page of his " Treatise of Human Nature,'* 
 to mtroduce the experimental method of 
 reasoning into moral subjects; and some 
 admirable remarks are made in the intro- 
 duction to that work, on the errors into 
 which his predecessors had been betrayed^ 
 by the spuit of hypothesis ; and yet it 1^ 
 now very generally admitted, that the wholel 
 of his own system rests on a principle fo» 
 which there is no evidence but the autlioritfi 
 of philosophers ; and it is certain that, im 
 no part of it has he aimed to investigate, by 
 a systematical analysis, those general prin? 
 ciples of our constitution which can alon^ 
 afford a synthetical explanation of its com* 
 plicated phenomena. 
 
 I have often been disposed to think that Mr 
 Hume*s inattention to those rules of philwo- 
 phizing which it was his professed intentioii 
 to exemplify, wss owing, in part, to some 
 indistinctness in his notions concemli^g their 
 import. It does not a[>pear that, m 
 earlier part of his studies, he had paid mi 
 attention to the models of investigation ^ 
 hibited in the writings of Newton and] 
 his successors ; and that he was by 
 means aware of the extraordinary meritt 
 Bacon as a philosopher, nor of the influenl- 
 which his writings have had on the sulWl 
 quent progress of physical discovery, \ ij 
 demonstrated by the cold and quaJifieT 
 encomium which is bestowed on his geniul 
 in one of the most ekborate passages o| 
 the « History of England." ^ 
 
 In these respects, Dr Reid poesesse 
 important advantages; famiUarized, froi 
 his early years, to those experiments 
 inquiries which, in the course of the tw^ 
 last centuries, have exalted natural phih 
 sophy to the dignity of a science, an< 
 determined strongly, by the peculiar benl 
 of his genius, to connect every step in thi 
 progress of discovery with the hifttory of thi_ 
 human mind. The influimce of the generaT 
 
 viewk opened in the " Novum Organon"" 
 may'be traced in almost every page of his 
 writings ; and, indeed, the circumstance by 
 which these are so strongly and character- 
 istically distinguished, is, that they exhibit 
 the first systematical attempt to exemplify, 
 in the study of human nature, the same 
 plan of investigation which conducted 
 Newton to the properties of light, and to 
 the hiw of gravitation. It is from a steady 
 adherence to this plan, and not from the 
 superiority of his inventive powers, that he 
 claims to himself any merit as a philosopher ; 
 and he seems even willing (with a modesty 
 approaching to a fault) to abandon the 
 praise of what is commonly called qenius^ 
 to the authors of the systems which he was 
 anxious to refute. " ft is genius," he ob- 
 serves in one passage, ** and not the want 
 of it, that adulterates philosophy, and fills 
 It with error and false theory. A creative 
 
 /Imagination disdains the mean offices of 
 digging for a foundation, of removing rub- 
 bisli, and carrying materials : leaving these 
 servile employments to the drudges in 
 icianoe, it plans a design, and raises a fa- 
 bric Invention supplies materials where 
 they are wanting, and fancy adds colouring 
 and every befitting ornament. The work 
 pltiases the eye, and wants nothing but 
 solidity and a good foundation. It seems 
 mvkn to vie with the works of nature, till 
 . some succeeding architect blows it into 
 ruins, and builds as goodly a fabric of his 
 owi.' in its place.'* 
 
 '•'Success in an inquiry of this kmd,** he 
 obeerveis farther, " it is not in human power 
 to command ; but perhaps it is possible, by 
 ca"ti'>" and humility, to avoid error and 
 H The labyrinth may be too intri- 
 
 cate, and the thread too fine, to be traced 
 throv)gh ail its windings ; but, if we stop 
 whefc we can trace it no farther, and secure 
 puud we have gained, there is no harm 
 a quicker eye may in time trace it 
 
 unassuming language with which 
 tid endeavours to remove the preju- 
 jaturally excited by a new attempt to 
 ^phize on so unpromising, and hitherto 
 ».-ateful a subject, recalls to our recol- 
 i those passages in which Lord Bacon 
 led as liis own imagination was with the 
 ./e grandeur of the fabric founded by 
 iiis^iand— bespeaks the indulgence of his 
 reaJ»»re, for an enterprise apparently so 
 hopplesfc and presumptuous. The apology 
 he (iffcrs for himself, when compared with 
 the height to which the structure of physical 
 knowledge has since attained, may perhaps 
 hai^e some effect in attracting a more gene- 
 nu attention to pursuits still more im- 
 mediately interesting to mankind; and, at 
 any rate, it forms the best comment on the 
 ipheiic suggestions in which Dr Reid 
 
 occasionally indulges himself concerning the 
 future progress of moral speculation : — 
 
 " Si homines per tanta annorum spatia 
 viam veram inveniendi et colendi scientias 
 tenuissent, nee tamen ulterius progredi po- 
 tuissent, audax procul dubio et temeraria 
 foret opinio, posse rem in ulterius provehi. 
 Quod si in via ipsa erratum sit, atque homi- 
 num opera in iis consumpta in quibus minime 
 oportebat, sequitur ex eo, non in rebus 
 ipsis difflcultatem oriri, quae potestatis nos- 
 treenon sunt ; sed in intellectu humane, ejus- 
 que usu et applicatione, quae res remedium 
 et medicinam suscipit."* — "De nobis ipsis 
 silemus : de re auteni qua? agitur, petimus ; 
 Ut homines earn non opinionem, sed opus 
 esse cogitent ; ac pro certo habeant, non 
 sectse nos alicujus, aut placiti, sed utilitatis 
 et amplitudinis humani* fundamenta molirl 
 Prceterea, ut bene sperent ; neque Instau- 
 rationem nostram ut quiddam infinitum et 
 ultra mortale fingant, et animo concipiant ; 
 quum revera sit infiniti erroris finis et ter- 
 minus legitimus."t 
 
 The impression produced on the minds of 
 speculative men, by the publication of Dr 
 Reid's " Inquiry," was fully asgreatas could 
 be expected from the nature of his under- 
 taking. It was a work neither addressed 
 to the multitude, nor level to their compre- 
 hension ; and the freedom with which it 
 canvassed opinions sanctioned by the highest 
 authorities, was ill calculated to conciliate 
 the favour of the learned. A few, however, 
 habituated, like the author, to the analytical 
 researches of the Newtonian school, soon 
 perceived the extent of his views, and re- 
 cognised in his pages the genuine spirit and 
 language of inductive investigation. Among 
 the members of this University, Mr Fergu- 
 son was the first to applaud Dr Reid's 
 success; warmly recommending to his pu- 
 pils a steady prosecution of the same plan, 
 as the only effectual method of ascertainuig 
 the general principles of the human frame: 
 and illustrating, happily, by his own pro- 
 found and eloquent disquisitions, the appli- 
 cation «»f such studies to the conduct of the 
 understanding and to the great concerns of 
 life. I recollect, too, when I attended (about 
 the year 1771) the lectures of the late Mr 
 Russell, to have heard high encomiums on 
 the philosophy of Reid, in the course of 
 those comprehensive discussions concerning 
 the objects and the rules of experimental 
 science, with which he so agreeably diversi- 
 fied the particular doctrines of physics. Nor 
 must I omit this opportunity of paying a 
 tribute to the memory of my old friend, Mr 
 Stevenson, then Professor of Logic ; whose 
 candid mind, at the age of seventy, gave a 
 welcome reception to a system subversive 
 of the theories which he had taught for 
 
 * Nov. Org. 94. t liift«ur. Umg—VtmiaU 
 
10 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 iwty jmmi wad. whom weal for the id- 
 miMMiiMliI of knowledge prompted him, 
 'idMll lit' 'tmwm wis abnosfe finish^ed, to 
 iBilnlake ^m Uwriim ia«k of oew-model- 
 liqg that useful oompUation of elementary 
 initruction to which a lingular diffidence 
 •f hia own poweis limited his literary exer- 
 
 / 
 
 It is with no common feelings of respect 
 ■nd of gratitude, that I now recall the names 
 of those to whom I owe my first attach- 
 
 nisil tn these stradie% 'Snd the happiness^ 
 'Of 'ft' Mheral 'Oeemps^im superior to the more 
 aspiring aims of a servile airibition. 
 
 From the University of Glasgow, Br 
 Reid's " Inquiry** received a still more 
 substantial testimony of approbation ; tne 
 Mthor having been invited, in 17fi3, by 
 that learned body, to the Professorship of 
 ]f#fa] Philosophy, then vacant by the 
 .lesignation of Mr Smith. The preferment 
 wm, in many respects, advantageous ; 
 ftftirdiiig an income considerably greater 
 than he enjoyed at Aberdeen ; and enabluig 
 him. U wiicentntte' to his laviMirite objects, 
 ihst ^aliention which had 'been hitlierto dis. 
 'iMStisi by the m^isceliaBeous nature of his 
 aeademical engagement& It was not, how- 
 mm, without iW uctaiice, that he consented 
 to tear himself from a spot where lie had 
 so long been fastening km roots; and, 
 much as he loved the aoeisty in which he 
 puned the remainder of his days, I am 
 •buhlful if, in hb mind, it oompensated the 
 ■terliee of 'earlier habits and eonnectiona 
 
 Abstracting from the eharm of local 
 ■tlichment, the University of Glasfjow, at 
 tliA time when Or Keid was adopted as one 
 of its membe:rS|. presented strong attrac. 
 tions to reconcile him to hia change of 
 situation. Robert Sirason, the great re- 
 storer of ancient geometry, was still alive ; 
 sndi altliough lar .advanced in yea.rs, pre- 
 ■iwed unim'paured. his ardour in study, his 
 velish for social relaxation, and his amusing 
 ■iqgiilarities of humour. Dr Moor com- 
 IJaed. with a gaiety and a levity foreign to 
 ills eihnate, the profound attainments of a 
 ■chohir and of a mathematician. In Dr 
 Black, to whose fortunate genius a new 
 world of science had Just opened, Beid 
 ■flfamwhidgad an, instnictor and a gui'dei 
 and nel a etniiicitir of manners congenial 
 to his own. The Wilsims (both father and 
 son) were fonncd to attach his heart by the 
 similarity of their seientific pursuits, and 
 an entire sympathy 'with his views and sen- 
 llnwntiL Nor was he less deKghted with 
 the good-humoured opposition which his 
 Hfinions never failed to encounter in the 
 aantaiMli of MOlar — then in the vigour of 
 yvmlUlil genius, and warm from tlie lessons 
 ©f a different school Dr Leeehman, the 
 friend and biocnnher of Hutcheson, was 
 ih« oilaial haad of the College ; and added 
 
 the weight of a venerable name to the itpn- 
 tation of a community which he had horn 
 adorned in a more active station.* 
 
 Animated by the zeal of such associates, 
 and by the busy scenes wliich his new resi* 
 denee presented in every department of 
 useful industry, Dr Reid entered on his 
 functions at Glasgow with an ardour not 
 common at the period of life which he had 
 now attained. His researches coDceming 
 the human mind, and the principles <3 
 morals, which had occupied but an incon* 
 siderable space in the wide circle of science 
 allotted to him by his former office, were 
 extended and methodized in a course which 
 employed five hours every week, during six 
 months of the year ; the example of his 
 illustrious predecessor, and the prevailing 
 topics of coHverhation around him, ocea* 
 sionaliy turned his thoughts to commercial 
 politics, and produced some ingenious essays 
 on different questions connected with trade, 
 which were coininunicuted to a private 
 society of his academical friends; his early 
 passion for the mathematical sciences was 
 revived by the conversation of Simson, 
 Moor, and the Wilsons ; and, at the ago of 
 fifty-five, he attended the lectures of Black, 
 with a juvenile curiosity and enthusiasm. 
 
 As the substance of Dr Reid*s lectures at 
 Glasgow (at least of that part of them 
 which was most important and original) 
 lias been since given to the public in a more 
 improved fomi, it is unnecessary for m© to 
 enlarge on the plan which he followed in 
 the discharge of his official duties. I sJiall 
 therefore only observe, that, beside his ape- 
 cuktions on the intellectual and active 
 powers of man, and a system of pi-seti- 
 cal ethics, his course comprehended some 
 general views witli respect to natural juris- 
 prudence, and the fundamental principles of 
 politics. A few lectures on rhetoric, 
 were read, at a separate hour, to ai' 
 advanced class of students, formed a •{ 
 tary addition to the appropriate fui 
 of his office, to which it is proba 
 was prompted, rather by a wish to i 
 what was then a deficiency in theestaf (hed 
 course of education, than by any prrt^ec- 
 tion for a branch of study so foreign^ ' his 
 ordinary pursuita *• * 
 
 The merits of Dr Reid asa public tea^ler 
 were derived chiefly from that ririi T::? 'of 
 original and instructive philosopliN \\hit j is 
 to be found in his writings, and from his 
 unwearied assiduity in inculcating Drinciitles 
 which he conceived to be of essentiai .:i;j ypt, 
 ancc to human happiness. In his elocution 
 and mo<le of instruction, there was nothing 
 peculiarly attractive. He seldom, if erCS 
 indulged himself in the warmth of exteC 
 pore discourae; nor was his manner of 
 
 • NoteC. 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 II 
 
 reading calculated to increase the effect of 
 what he had committed to writing. Such, 
 however, was the simplicity and perspicuity 
 of his style, such the gravity and authority 
 of his character, and such the general in- 
 terest of his young hearers in the doctrines 
 which he taught, that, by the numerous 
 audiences to which his instructions were 
 addressed, he was heard uniformly with the 
 most silent and respectful attention. On 
 this subject, I speak from personal know- 
 ledge ; having had the good fortune, during 
 a considerable part of winter 1772, to be 
 one of his pupils. 
 
 It does not appear to me, from what I 
 am now able to recollect of the order which 
 he observed in treating the different parts 
 of his subject, that he liad laid much stress 
 on systematical arrangement. It is pro- 
 bable tliat he availed himself of whatever 
 materials his private inquiries afforded, for 
 hisacademical compositions, without aiming 
 at the merit of combining them Into a whole, 
 by a comprehensive and regular design — an 
 undertaking to which, if I am not mistaken, 
 Ihe established forms of his university, 
 eonsecrated by long custom, would have 
 presented some obstacles. One thing is 
 certain, that neither he nor his immediate 
 predecessor ever published any general pro- 
 spectus of their respective plans, nor any 
 hemds or outlines to assist their students in 
 tracing the trains of thought which suggested 
 their vaiious transitions. 
 
 k The interest, however, excited by such 
 details as these, even if it were in my power 
 to render them more full and satisfactory, 
 must necessarily be temporary and local ; 
 and I, therefore, hasten to observations of 
 a more general nature, on the distinguishing 
 cbaraoteristics of Dr Reid's philosophical 
 genius, and on the spirit and scope of those 
 riieearches which he has bequeathed to 
 p^terity concerning the phenomena and 
 laws of the human mind. In mentioning 
 his first performance on this subject, I have 
 already anticipated a few remarks which 
 are equally applicable to his subsequent 
 l^blicatious ; but the hints then suggested 
 w re too slight to place in so strong a 
 H lit as I ctuld wish the peculiarities of 
 f at mode of investigation which it was the 
 i, jeat object of his writings to recommend 
 a^d to exemplify. Hb own anxiety to 
 neglect nothing that might contribute to its 
 farther illustration induced him, while his 
 health and faculties were yet entire, to 
 ithdraw from his public labours, and to 
 
 ievote himself, with an undivided attention, 
 a task of more extensive and permanent 
 
 itility. It was in the year 1781 that he 
 
 rried this design into execution, at a 
 
 mod of life (for he was then upwards of 
 
 sventy) when the infirmities of age might 
 supposed to account sufficiently for his 
 
 retreat ; but when, in fact, neither the 
 vigour of his mind nor of his body seemed 
 to have suffered any mjury from time. The 
 works which he published not many years 
 afterwards, afford a sufficient proof of the 
 assiduity with which he had availed himself 
 of his literary leisure — his " Essays on tb** 
 Intellectual Powers of Man" appearing in 
 1785, and those on the " Active Powers" 
 m 1788. 
 
 As these two performances are, both of 
 them, parts of one great work, to which his 
 " Inquiry into the Human Mind" may be 
 regarded as the introduction, I have re- 
 served for this place whatever critical refie •- 
 tions I have to offer on his merits as an 
 author; conceiving that they would be more 
 likely to produce their intended effect, when 
 presented at once in a connected form, than 
 if interspersed, according to a chronological 
 order, with the details of a biographical 
 narrative. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS ON THB SPmiT ANn SCOPE OP 
 UR REm'S PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 I HAVE already observed that the dis- 
 tinguishing feature of Dr Reid's philosophy, 
 is the systematical steadiness with which 
 he has adliered in his inquiries, to that plan 
 of investigation which is delineated in the 
 " Novum Organon,'* and which has been so 
 happily exemplified in physics by Sir Isaac 
 Newton and his followers. To recommend 
 this plan as the only effectual method of 
 enlarging our knowledge of nature, was the 
 favourite aim of all his studies, and a topic 
 on which he thought he could not enlarge 
 too much, in conversing or corresponding 
 with his younger friends. In a letter to Dir 
 Gregory, which I have perused, he particu- 
 larly congratulates him upon his acquaint- 
 ance with Lord Bacon's works ; adding, 
 " I am very apt to measure a man's under- 
 standing by the opinion he entertains of 
 that author." 
 
 It were perhaps to be wished that he had 
 taken a little more pains to illustrate the 
 fundamental rules of that logic the value 
 of which he estimated so highly ; more 
 especially, to point out the modifications 
 with which it is applicable to the science of 
 mind. Many important hints, indeed, con- 
 nected with this subject, may be collected 
 from different parts of his writings ; but I 
 am inclined to think that a more ample 
 discussion of it, in a preliminary dissertation, 
 might have thrown light on the scope of 
 many of his researches, and obviated some 
 of the most plausible objections which have 
 been stated to his conclusions. 
 
IS 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 II M not, hmmwWf mf intenlioo si pro-' 
 .jBl to tMempI to wipply a d§9ideratum of 
 m gTCftI » ;iiiigiiitaao---aii undertaking 
 wMdi, I triiet, will find a more ooavenieot 
 f 1ms0^ In Hm iMFthiff froaecution of those 
 ■peemtaiiiiiM widt. tmpmk to the intellectual 
 powets whieh I have already aubmitted to 
 tbe public The dtiielied remarks which 
 follow, are oifend meralj as a supplement 
 to what I lave staled ooneeming the nature 
 and objeel of this branch of study, in the 
 Introduction to the " Philoeophy of the 
 Human Mind." 
 
 The influence of Bacon^s genius on the 
 ■nlMqiient progress of physical discovery, 
 liaabeen^dom fairly appreciated— by some 
 Wfiten^' alliifMt' entirely overlooked, and by 
 otlMn' flOHidefed m the sole cause of the 
 'lelwinilkm in scienoe: which has since taken 
 placob Of these two extremes, the hitter 
 eertainly is the least wide of the truth ; for, 
 in the whole hiato^ of letters, no other 
 individual can Imi mentioned, whose exer- 
 tions have had so indisputable an effect in 
 forwarding the intellectual progress of man- 
 kind. On the other hand, it must be w> 
 knowle«ip»d, that, before the era when Bacon 
 ■ffM»n% various philosophers in different 
 parts of Europe had struck into the right 
 path; and it may perhaps be doubted 
 whether any onC' importanl rule with respect 
 to Hw' 'true method of investigation be con- 
 tained in his works, of which no bint can 
 be traced in those of his predecessors. His 
 great merit ky .in eoneentrating their' feeble 
 and icattored lights $ Iidng the attention 
 of philosophers on the distingubhing eha- 
 n4iriBti« of true and of false science, bv 
 « Micity of illitatatiim peeniar to himself, 
 :Misoiided by ths wnmaiidlnf powers of a 
 bold and %utall?» ■dofience. The method 
 of investigation which he recommended had 
 been previously followed in eve^ instance 
 in wMcli any solid discovery had been made 
 with lespect to the laws of nature ; but it 
 had been followed accidentally and without 
 any regukr, preconceived design ; and it 
 was leierved lor htm to reduce to rule and 
 nwllMMi. what othen 'had effected, either 
 fortnitonsly, or from some momentary 
 glimpse of the truth. It is justly observed 
 by Br Reid, that '''the man who first dis- 
 'Oovered that eold freeacs water, and that 
 heal liifns it into vapour, proceeded on the 
 same general principle by which Newton 
 discovered the law of gravitation and the 
 properties of light ilis « Regul^ Philo- 
 sopltandi' are maxims of comraonsense, and 
 are practised every day in common life; 
 and tie who philosophizes by other rules, 
 «ilher «<moeniin| the material system or 
 eooMmlllg HiA' mind, mistakes his aim.** 
 
 ThiMi tsniarks are not intended to detract 
 from the just glory of Bacon ; for they 
 apply to all those, without exception, who 
 
 have systematized the principles of any of 
 the arts. Indeed, they apply leas forcibly' 
 to him than to any other philosopher whose 
 studies have been directed to objects analo- 
 gous to his ; inasmuch as we know of no 
 art of which the rules have been reduced 
 successfully into a didactic form, when the 
 art itself was as much in infancy as expe- 
 rimental philosophy was when Bacon wrote. 
 Nor must it be supposed that the utility 
 was small of thus attempting to systematize 
 the accidental processes of unenlightened 
 ingenuity, and to give to the noblest exer- 
 tions of human reason, the same advan- 
 tages of scientific method which have 
 contributed so much to msure the success 
 of genius in pursuit.s of inferior importance. 
 The very phOosophical motto which Rey- 
 nolds has 80 happily prefixed to lus 
 *' Academical Discourses,** admits, on this 
 occasion, of a still more appropriate appli- 
 cation : — " Omnia fere quie prsDceptis con- 
 tiuentur ab ingeniosis hominibus fiunt ; sed 
 casu quodam magis quam scientia. Ideoque 
 doctrina et animadversio adhibenda est, ul 
 ea quse interdum sine ratione nobis occur- 
 runt, semper in nostra protestate sint ; el 
 quoties res postulaverit, a nobis ex prsepa- 
 rato adliibeantur.** j 
 
 But, although a few superior minds seem 
 to have been, in some measure, predisposed 
 for that revolution in science which Bacoii 
 contributed so powerfully to accomplish, 
 the case was very different with the great 
 majority of those who were then most di|- 
 tinguished for learning and talents. His 
 views were pUinly too advanced for the ag« 
 in which he lived ; and, that he was sen- 
 sible of this himself, appears from thosf 
 remarkable passages in which he styles 
 himself " the servant of posterity," and 
 " bequeatlis his fame to future times.'* 
 Hobbes, who, in his early youth, haid 
 enjoyed his friendship, speaks, a consider- 
 able time after Bacon*8 death, of experi- 
 mental philosophy, in terms of contempt ; 
 influenced, probably, not a little by the 
 tendency he perceived in the inductive 
 method of inquiry, to undermine the foui»j| 
 ations of that fabric of scepticism whic^^ 
 was the great object of his labours to 
 Nay, even during the course of the li 
 century, it has been less from Bacon's o^ 
 speculations, than from the examples 
 sound Investigation exhibited by a few emi- 
 nent men, who professed to follow him as 
 their guide, that the practical spirit of his 
 writings has been caught by the multitud^ 
 of physical experimentalists over Europe i 
 truth and good sense descending graduullyi 
 in this as in other uistances, by the force of 
 imitation and of early liabit, frum thc| 
 higher orders of intellect to the lower. Ink 
 some parts of the Continent, more espe- 
 cially, the circuUtion of Bacon*s philoeo- 
 
 OF THOMAS RFJD, D.D. 
 
 13 
 
 phical works has been surprisingly slow 
 It is doubtful whether Des Cartes himself 
 ever perused them ;• and, as late as the 
 year 1759, if we may credit Montuela, they 
 ire very little known in France.^ The 
 Iroductory discourse prefixed by D*Alera- 
 Vt to the «* Encyclopedic," first recom- 
 ended them, in that country, to general 
 
 Ctention. 
 
 The change which has taken place, dur- 
 [ine the two last centuries, in the plan of 
 physical research, and the success which 
 "^80 remarkably attended it, could not 
 M to suggest an idea, that something 
 talogous might probably be accomplislied 
 a future period, with respect to the 
 lenomena of the intellectual worid. And, 
 Bordingly, various hints of this kmd may 
 «; traced in different authors, since the 
 era of Newton*8 discoveries. A memorable 
 instance occurs in the prediction with which 
 that great man concludes his " Optics : --- 
 «* That, if natural philosophy, m all its 
 parts, by pursuing the inductive method, 
 SShall at length be perfected, the bounds of 
 moral philosophy will also be enlarged. 
 Similar remarks may be found m other 
 publications ; particularly in Mr Hume s 
 " Treatise of Human Nature,'* where the 
 subject is enlarged on with much ingenuity. 
 As far, however, as I am able to judge, Dr 
 Reid was the first who conceived justly and 
 clearly the analogy between these two dif- 
 ferent branches of human knowledge ; de- 
 fining, with precision, the distinct provinces 
 of observation and reflection,t in furnish- 
 ing the data of all our reasonings concemuig 
 matter and mind ; and demonstrating the 
 necessity of a careful separation between the 
 phenomena which they respectively exhibit, 
 while we adhere to tbe same mode ot philo- 
 sophizing in investigating the laws of both. 
 That so many philosophers should have 
 thus missed their aim, in prosecuting the 
 Btudyof the human mind, will appear the 
 less surprising when we consider in how 
 \ roany difficulties, peculiar to uself, tins 
 
 • ThU U a mistake, which it is the more rccjimite 
 
 tocoriS^t. because ^^^ ^^-^-''l^^f^^l^Z^^tc^ 
 cal DoiiUs i«. in consequence of his hibi ual accuracv , 
 Sft^vedly hiRh. It is repoate^i. if I recollect anght, 
 S^ore iJncJlate terms \n the " «'«r'tJ^ra; ^^ 
 ProRre>«of MelaphyMcal P'V'rt ^ p.tiJs " maS 
 in three or four passages oi his •' Letters^ rnakea 
 konouJabl/meni^nof Hacon -nd »>»« "j^^lf ^^ ; hu. 
 work* t>e ^eems not only to haveperusetl but Mudie<l 
 There » however, no reason to suppose that De, Car. 
 ?e. was acquainted uith the unungs of h.s great 
 mid^^or in the early part ot bis »'fe ;«"i^;«««" 
 Viewri!; philosophy were probably not affected by 
 ThU influence. Mr Stewart, hkew.se. greatly under. 
 t« es S"1nfluence of the Haconianwnt.ngs.n gene- 
 ral previous to the lecominendation of D Alein- 
 Urt^ On this subject, the reader i. referred .o a 
 Sliuable paper by Professor Nnpier on the //.Scope 
 Ind Influwe of the Baconian Plilosophv," in the 
 tfi- «cl oSfof the Royal Society of Minburgh--H. 
 + $*«!« note on Reid's >ixth " Essay on the Intel. 
 lectualPowmrchap I..«nd of theoriginal edition, 
 p. 517.-H 
 
 science is involved. It is sufficient at 
 present to mention those which arise from 
 the metaphorical origin of all the words 
 which express the intellectual phenomena ; 
 from the subtle and fugitive nature of the 
 objects of our reasonings; from the habits 
 ofinattention we acquire, in eariy life, to the 
 subjects of our consciousness ; and from the 
 prejudices which early impressions and asso- 
 ciations create to warp our opinions. It 
 must be remembered, too, that, m the 
 science of mind, (so unperfectly are its logi- 
 cal rules as yet understood !) we have not 
 the same checks on the abuses of our rea- 
 soning powers which serve to guard us 
 against error in our other researches. In 
 physics, a speculative mistake is abandoned 
 when contradicted by facts which strike 
 the senses. In mathematics, an absurd or 
 inconsistent conclusion is admitted as a 
 demonstrative proof of a faulty hypothesis. 
 But, in those inquiries which relate to the 
 principles of human nature, the absurdities 
 and inconsistencies to which we are led by 
 almost all the systems hitherto proposed, 
 instead of suggesting corrections and im- 
 provements on these systems, have too 
 frequently had the effect of producing 
 scepticism with respect to all of them alike. 
 How melancholy is the confession of 
 Hume ♦— " The intense view of these 
 manifold contradictions and imperfections 
 in human reason, has so wrought upon me, 
 and heated my brain, that I am ready to 
 reiect all belief and reasoning, and can 
 look upim no opinion even as more prob- 
 able or likely than another." . 
 Under these discouragements to this 
 branch of study, it affords us some conifort 
 to reflect on the great number of important 
 facts with respect to the mmd, which are 
 scattered in the writings ot philosophei-s. 
 As the subject of our inquiry here lies 
 within our own breast, a considerable mix- 
 ture of truth may be expected even m those 
 systems which are most erroneous; not 
 only because a number of men can scarcely 
 be long imposed on by a hypothesis which 
 is pertlctly groundless, concerning the oh- 
 iects of then- own consciousness, but because 
 it is generally by an alliance with truth, 
 and x^th the original principles of human 
 nature, that prejudices and associations 
 produce their effects. Perlmps it may even 
 be affirmed, that our progress in this re- 
 search depends less on the degree of our 
 industry and invention, than o" o"'f£: 
 city and good sense in separatmg old d»- 
 coveries from the errors which have be. n 
 blended with them; and on that candid 
 and dispassionate temper that miy prevent 
 us from being led astray by t^^^*«^'^.f 
 novelty, or the affectaton of Bin|ulmty. 
 In thk respect, the science ol mmi pos- 
 sesses a veVy important advantage over 
 

 ACCOUNT OP THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 tiist wMtk wtMm to tlio kws of the male- 
 ■ial woiiiL. 'Tb« former hiui been cnlti- 
 vsted. "«ili^ more or lem emxem in all ages 
 and coiiiitfiMi':' tlie 'laota whkli serve as 
 tlie iMisis of the latter hare, with a very few 
 eiMptioiig,. heen. eollected duringrthe course 
 of' the two 'last 'Centuries, An obserration 
 similar to thia is applied to systems of 
 ethics by Mr Smith, in his account of the 
 theory of Mandeville ; and the Ulustration 
 he gif •■ of it may be extmided with equal 
 pnoriety to the leieiice of mind in general : 
 — ** A. qrilflm. of natural philosophy," he 
 Mmarlis, " may appear very plausible, and 
 be, for a long time, very generally received 
 in the world, and yet have no foundation in 
 nature, nor any sort of resemblance to the 
 truth. But it is otherwise with systems of 
 moral philosophy. When a traveller gives 
 ^aaaceonnt of some distant country, he may 
 iapMa upon our erednity the most' ground- 
 !«■• and abRird. ietioni at 'the moat certain 
 natters of fact ; but when a person pretends 
 to inform us of what passes in our neig^hbour- 
 hood, and of the aiUni of the very parish 
 we Ive in—thongh, here, too, if we are so 
 cafoless as^ not to examine thmgs 'with our 
 own eyes, he may deceive us in many re- 
 ■peets— yet the greatest falsehoods which 
 he imposes on us m.ust bear ^aoroe .resem- 
 bbuiM: to the truth, and mmt^ even have a 
 eonsidenble mimture of truth in them.** 
 
 These considerations demonstrate the es- 
 sential importance, iu this branch of study, 
 of forming, at the commencement of our 
 inquiries, just notions of the eriterM of true 
 and false science, and of the rules of philoso- 
 phical inveatigation. They demonstrate, at 
 the same tim%. 'that an attention to the rules 
 of fhifanphizing, as they are exemplified in 
 thephysiail researches of Newton and his fol- 
 lowem, altbough the best of all preparations 
 for an examinalionof tbemntal^phenomena, 
 is but one of 'the steps neeeaaafj' to uMure 
 our success. On an accurate comparison of 
 the two subjects, it might probably appear, 
 that,, altar this ;|inliiin»iy step has been 
 gaiiH^ tiM' 'UMBt sntnonS' part of the process 
 ■tn ranaiiH. Qm Ihmg is certain, that it 
 is not from any defect in the power of ratio- 
 eination or dednetion, that our speculative 
 errors ehieiy aiite— -a fact of which we 
 have a deelsliw proof in the facilitv with 
 which most stndenta may be taught the 
 mathematical and physical sciences, when 
 compared with the difficulty of ImOmg their 
 minds to the truthj on quflHiioiM of morals 
 and 'poHtici. 
 
 The logical roks which ky the foundation 
 of sound and useful conclusions concerning 
 the laws of this internal world, although 
 not alto^ther overlooked by Lord Bacon, 
 were plamly not the principal object of his 
 work ; and what he has written on the sub- 
 jeelfOonsists chiefly of detached hints dropped 
 
 casually in the course of other speculations. 
 A comprehensive view of tlie sciences and 
 arts dependent on the philosophy of the 
 human mind, exhibiting the relations whipli 
 they bear to each other, and to the genej 
 system of human knowledge, would forai a 
 natural and useful introduction to the sti 
 of these logical principles ; but such a viJ 
 remains still a desideratum^ after all ij 
 advances made towards it by Bacon anc 
 D*Alembert, Indeed, in the present im- 
 proved state of things, much is wanting 
 complete and perfect that mure simple p^ 
 of their intellectual map which relates 
 the material universe. Of the inconsid< 
 able progresw hitherto made towards a ju 
 delineation of the method to be pursued : 
 studying the mental phenomena, no <)th< 
 evidence is necessary than this, That tl.^ 
 sources of error and false judgment, so pe^ 
 cnliarly connected, in consequence of the 
 association of ideas, with studies in which 
 our best interests are immediately and deeply 
 concerned, have never yet been investigated 
 with such accuracy as to afford effectual 
 aid to the student, in his attempts to coun- 
 teract their influence. One of these sources 
 alone— that which arises from the imper- 
 fections of language — ^furnishes an exception 
 to the general remark. It attracted, fortu- 
 nately, the particukr notice of Locke, whoso 
 observations with respect to it, compose, 
 perhaps, the most valuable pari of his philo- 
 sophical writings; and, since the time of 
 CondiUae, the subject has been still more 
 deeply analyzed by others. Even on this 
 article, much yet remains to be done ; but 
 enough has been already accomplished to 
 justify the profound aphorism in which Bacon 
 pointed it out to the attention of his follow- 
 ers : — " Credunt homines rationem suam 
 verbis imperare ; sed fit etiam ut verba vim 
 auam super rationem retorqueant."* 
 
 Into the^e logical discussions concerning 
 the means of advancing the philosophy of 
 human nature, Dr Reid lias seldom entered j 
 and still more rarely has he indulged him- 
 self in- tracing the numerous relations by 
 which this philosophy is connected with the 
 practical business of life. But he has done 
 what was still more essential at the time he 
 wrote ; he has exemplified, with the happiest 
 success, that method ot investigation by 
 which alone any solid progress can be made ; 
 directing his inquiries to a subject which 
 forms a necessary groundwork for the labours 
 of his successors — an anal^'sis of the various 
 powers and principles belonging to our con- 
 stitution. Of the importance of this under- 
 taking, it is suflicient to observe, that it 
 
 • ThkpMMige or Bacon fnmiitb* motto to a very 
 kntcnioui and phiUMn|>hical dlwenation, (lately ptilh. 
 liahed by M. PrcvoM ot Gencvi,) entitled, •* Dei 
 Signet eiiviaag^i relativeinent k U'ur lofluence tur la 
 Furmation det LMca." Fans, an d. 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 15 
 
 stands somewhat, although I confess not 
 altogether, in the same relation to the dit- 
 ferent branches of mtellectual and moral 
 science, (such as grammar, rhetoric, logic, 
 ethics, natural theology, and politics,) n 
 which the anatomy of the human body 
 stands to the different branches ot physio- 
 logy and pathology. And, as a course of 
 medical education naturally, or rather ne- 
 cessarily, begins with a general survey of 
 man's animal frame, so 1 apprehend that 
 the proper, or rather the essential prepara- 
 tion f of those studies which regard our 
 nobler concerns, is an examination of the 
 principles which belong to man as an intel- 
 ligent, active, social, and moral being. Nor 
 does the importance of such an analysis rest 
 here ; it exerts an influence over all those 
 sciences and arts which are connected with 
 the material world ; and the philosophy ot 
 Bacon itself, while it points out the road to 
 physical truth, is but a branch of the philo- 
 sophy of the human mind. . 
 
 The substance of these remarks is admir- 
 ably expressed by Mr Hume in the follow- 
 ine passage -allowances being made tor a 
 few trifling peculiarities of expression, bor- 
 rowed from the theories which were pre- 
 valent at the time when he wrote :— lis 
 evident that all the sciences have a relation, 
 ereater or less, to human nature ; and that, 
 however wide any of them may seem to run 
 from it. they still return back by one pass- 
 age or another. Even mathematics, natural 
 phUosophy, and natural religion, are in some 
 measure dependent on the science of man ; 
 since they lie under the cognizance of men, 
 and are judged of by their powers and facul- 
 ties. It is impossible to teU what changes 
 and improvements we might make in these 
 sciences, were we thoroughly acquainted 
 with the extent and force of human under- 
 standing, and could explam the nature of 
 the ide^ we employ, and of the operations 
 we perfonn in our reasonings. 
 
 "If, therefore, the sciences of mathe- 
 matics natural philosophy, and natuml 
 religion, have such a dependence on the 
 knowledge of man, what may be expected 
 in the other sciences, whose connection with 
 human nature is more close and intimate i 
 The sole end of logic is to explam the prin- 
 cinles and operations of our reasonmg 
 faculty, and the nature of our ideas ; morals 
 and criticism regard our tastes and senti- 
 ments ; and politics consider men as united 
 in society and dependent on each other. In 
 these four sciences of logic, moraU, cnti- 
 eiim, and poUtics, is comprehended almost 
 everything which it can any way unport us 
 to be acquainted with, or which can tend 
 either to the improvement or ornament ol 
 
 the human mind. 
 
 "Here, then, is the only expedient from 
 ih we can hope for success m ourphUo- 
 
 sophical researches : to leave the tedious, 
 HnKeriug method, which we have hitherto 
 followed ; and, instead of taking, now and 
 then, a castle or village on the trontier, to 
 march up directly to the capital or centre 
 of these sciences— to human nature itseli ; 
 which being once masters of, we may every- 
 where else hope for an easy victory. H rom 
 this station, we may extend our conquesis 
 overall those sciences which moremtimately 
 concern human life, and may aiterwards 
 proceed at leisure to discover more fully 
 those which are the objects of pure curiosity. 
 There is no question of importance whose 
 decision is not comprised in the science of 
 man ; and there is none which can be de- 
 cided with any certainty before we become 
 acquainted with that science. 
 
 To prepare the way for the accomplish- 
 ment of the design so forcibly recommended 
 intheforegoingquotation-byexemplifying, 
 
 in an analysis of our most important intel- 
 lectual and active principles, the only method 
 of carrying it successfully mto execution- 
 was the gLt object of Dr Reid m a^l hm 
 various philosophical publications. In ex- 
 amining these principles, he had ch'efly m 
 view a vindication of those fundamental laws 
 of belief which form the groundwork of^ 
 human knowledge, against the attacks made | 
 nn t.l,«ir authoritv in some modern systems 
 
 on their authority in some modern systems 
 of scepticism ; leaving to his successors the 
 more agreeable task of applying the philo- 
 sophy of the mind to its practical uses. On 
 the analysis and classification of our powers, 
 which he has proposed, much room for im- 
 provement must have been left m so vast 
 an undertaking; but imperfections of this 
 kmd do not necessarily affect the justness 
 of his conclusions, even where they may 
 suKsest to future inquirers the advantages 
 of a simpler arrangement, and a more de- 
 finite phraseology. Nor must it bejorf Ue" 
 that, in consequence of the plan he has tol- 
 lowed, the mistakes which may be detected ji 
 iu particular parts of his works imply no i\ 
 such weakness in the fabric he has reared e 
 as might have been justly apprehended, had 
 he presented a connected system founded 
 on gratuitous hypothesis, or on arbitrary 
 definitions. The detections, on the con- 
 trary, of his occasional errors, may be ex- 
 pected, from the invariable consistency and 
 harmony of truth, to throw new lights on 
 those parts of his work where his mquiries 
 have been more successful ; as the correc- 
 tion of a particular mistatement m an 
 authentic history is often found, hy com- 
 pleting an imperfect link, or i^concilmg a 
 S^^Sg cont^ction, to dispel the doubte 
 which hung over the most faithful and 
 accurate details of the narrative. 
 
 In Dr Reid's first performance, he con- 
 fined himself entirely to the five ««°^«J 
 the principles of our nature necessanuN 
 
16 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, B.D. 
 
 17 
 
 with tlMni I raMrviiig the further 
 pilMMCttioii of thesubject for a future period. 
 At that time, indeed, he seems to have 
 tlMif ht, tluit * more oompreheiisive exami- 
 mtifiii nf ' the mind was an. enterprise too 
 
 rat lor one indiTidual. " The powers,** 
 observes, ** of memory, of imagination, 
 df taito| ef fOMoning, of , moral perception, 
 ^m wlil, the 'pasiions, the alfeeti«ms, and all 
 the active powers of the soul, present a 
 boundless leld of phUosophtcal disquisition, 
 which the author of this * Inquiiy* is far 
 frvran tMnldng himself able to explore with 
 •iseofaej. Many authors of ingenuity, 
 aneient and modem, have made incursions 
 into this vast territory, and have commn- 
 nioated useful observatioiW' ; but there is 
 feason to believe that thoie' who have pre- 
 tended to give us a map of the whole, liave 
 'latifii'ed themselves with a very inaccurate 
 .and inedmpiete survey. If Galileo had 
 attenpttd a complete system, of natural 
 pMlMophj, he had pro'bablj done little 
 service to mankind ; but, by confining him- 
 ■elf tO' what' was. within his oomprebenaiiin., 
 lie laid the foundation of a ^yiicm of know- 
 ledge,, which rises by degrees, and does 
 honour to the human undentanding. New- 
 to.1, hu'ldiug upon this foundation, and in 
 like manner, eonfining his inquiries to the 
 law of gravitation, and the properties of 
 light, performed wonders. If he had at- 
 tempted a great deal more, he had done a 
 great deal less, and periiaps n<ith.ing .at all. 
 AmbitiiMi' ^of following such neat examples,. 
 with UMNiiial steps, aks ! and unequal foree, 
 we have attempted an inquiry into one little 
 mriier only of the human mind ; that cor- 
 
 IPpIr lIvlEllSII. flMDC)lllB> iO 110 IIlCMSw '6X.uNQM8Cr0 WQ 
 
 imlgar observation, and to be most easily 
 comprehended ; and yet, if we have deli- 
 ■ealed. it Justly, it must be acknowlecbed 
 Ihat IIm' 'aeetmnts heretofiini given of .it 
 were very hmm^ and wide of the truth," 
 
 From these observations, when compared 
 with the magnitude of the work which the 
 author lived to execute, there is some 
 ground for supposing, that, in the progress 
 of his. reaeareheii, he became more and more 
 sensible of the mutual connection and de- 
 pendence which exitits among the conclu- 
 sions we form conoeming the various prin- 
 ciples of human nature $ even conoeming 
 those which seem, on a Buprfi.eial view, 
 to have the most remote relation to each 
 other I and it 'was Idrtnnate for the world, 
 that, in tlm respeeti 'he 'was induced to ex- 
 tend his views io far beyond the limits of 
 his original design. His examination, in- 
 deed, of the poweft of external perception, 
 and of the questinna immediately connected 
 with them, bean naiica of a still more 
 liliHite diligence and accuracy than appear 
 in flomo of his apMnhitions concerning the 
 .other p»ta nf ear irame ; and what he has 
 
 written on the former subject, in his " In* 
 quiry into the Human Mind," is evidently 
 more highly finished, both in matter and 
 form, than the volumes which be published 
 in his more advanced years. The value, 
 however, of these is inestimable to future 
 adventurers in the same arduous under- 
 taking ; not only in consequence of the aids 
 they furnish as a rough dmught of the field 
 to be examined, but by the example the> 
 exhibit ofa method of investigation on such 
 subjects, hitherto very imperfectly under- 
 stood by philosophers. It is by the origin- 
 ality of this method, so systematically pur- 
 sued in all his researches, still more than 
 by the importance of his particular conclu- 
 sions, that he stands so conspicuously dis- 
 tinguished among those who liave hitherto 
 prosecuted analytically the study of man. 
 
 1 have heard it sometimes mentioned, as 
 a subject of regret, that the writers who 
 have applied themselves to this branch of 
 knowledge have, in general, aimed at a 
 great deal more thau it was possible to ac- 
 complish ; extending their researches to 
 all the different parts of our constitution, 
 while a long life might be well employed in 
 examining and describing the phenomena 
 connected with any one particular Hiculty. 
 Dr Reid, in a passage already quoted from 
 his ** Inquiry,'* might have been supjjosed 
 to give some couutenauce to tlib opinion, 
 if his own subsequent labours did not so 
 strongly sanction the practice in question. 
 The truth, I apprehend, is, that such de- 
 tached researches concerning the human 
 mind can seldom be attempted with much 
 hope of success ; and that those who have 
 recommended them, have not attended suf- 
 ficiently to the circumstances which bo re- 
 markably distinguish this study from tliat 
 which has for its object the philosophy of 
 tlie material world. A few remarks in 
 illustration of this proposition seem to mo 
 to be necessary, in order to justify the rea- 
 scmableness of Dr Reid's undertaking ; and 
 they will be found to apply with still greater 
 force to the kbours of such as may wish 
 to avail themselves of a similar analysis in 
 explaining the varieties of human genius 
 and chamcter, or in developing the latent 
 capacities of the youthful mind. 
 
 One consideration of a more general 
 nature is, in the first place, worthy of 
 notice ; that, in the infancy of every science, 
 the grand and fundamental desidei-atum is 
 a bold and comprehensive outline ; some- 
 what for the same reason that, in the cul- 
 tivation of an extensive country, forests 
 must be cleared and wildernesses reclaimed, 
 befo e the limits of private property are 
 fixed with accuracy ; and long before the 
 period when the divisions and subdivisions 
 of separate powessions give rise to iu£ 
 tails of a curious and refined bust 
 
 ' V. I 
 
 ITie speculations of Lord Bacon embraced 
 all the objects of hnnum knowledge. Those 
 of Newton and Boyle were confined to phy- 
 sics ; but included an astonishing range of 
 the material universe. The labours of their 
 successors, in our own times, have been 
 employed with no less zeal in pursuing 
 those more particular, but equally abstruse 
 investigations, in which they were unable 
 to engage, for want of a sufficient stock 
 both of facts and of general prmciples; and 
 which did not perhaps interest their curio- 
 sity in any considerable degree. 
 
 If these observations are allowed to hold 
 to a certain extent with respect to all the 
 sciences, they apply in a more peculiar 
 manner to the subjects treated of in Dr 
 Reid's writings— subjects which are all 
 BO intimately connected, that it may be 
 doubted if it be possible to investigate any 
 one completely, without some general ac- 
 quaintance, at least, with the rest. Even 
 the theory of the understanding may re- 
 ceive important lights from an examination 
 of the active and the moral powers ; the 
 state of which, in the min^ of every indivi- 
 dual, will be found to have a powerful in- 
 fluence on his intellectual character;— 
 while, on the other hand, an accurate analy- 
 sis of the faculties of the understanding, 
 would probably go far to obviate the scep- 
 tical difficulties which have been started 
 concerning the orij^nn of our moral ideas. 
 It appears to me, therefore, that, whatever 
 be the department of mental science that 
 we propose more particularly to cultivate, 
 it is necessary to begin with a survey ot 
 human nature in all its various parts ; 
 studying these parts, however, not so much 
 on their own account, as with a reference 
 to the applications of which our conclusions 
 are *susceptible to our favourite purpose. 
 The researches of Dr Reid, when consid- 
 ered carefully in the re atiun which they bear 
 to each other, att'ord numberiess illustra- 
 tions of the truth of this remark. His lead- 
 ing design was evidently to overthrow the 
 modern system of scepticism ; and, at every 
 successive step of his progress, new and 
 unexpected lights break in on his funda- 
 mental principles. _ 
 
 It is, however, chiefly in their practical 
 application to the conduct of the under- 
 standing, and the culture of the heart, that 
 "such partial views are likely to be danger- 
 ous ; for here, they tend not only to mislead 
 our theoretical conclusions, but to counter- 
 act our improvement and happiness. Of 
 this I am so fully convinced, that the most 
 faulty theories of human nature, provided 
 only they embrace the whole of it, appear 
 to me less mischievous m their probable 
 eflTeci^l^^At^ more accurate and micro- 
 ^^^^fches which are habitually 
 lie particular corner of our 
 
 constitution. It is easy to conceive that, 
 where the attention is wholly engrossed 
 with the intellectual powers, the moral prhi- 
 ciples will be in danger of running to waste ; 
 and it is no less certain, on the other hand, 
 that, by confining our care to the moral 
 constitution alone, we may sufl*er the under- 
 standing to remain under the influence of 
 unhappy prejudices, and destitute of those 
 just and enlightened views without which 
 the worthiest dispositions are of little use, 
 either to ourselves or to society. An exclu- 
 sive attention to any one of the subordinate 
 parts of our frame — to the culture of taste, 
 for example, or of the argumentative powers, 
 or even to tlie refinement of our moral sen- 
 timents and feelings — must be attended with 
 a hazard proportionally greater. 
 
 " In forming the human character," says 
 Bacon, in a passage which Lord Bolingbroke 
 has pronounced to be one of the finest and 
 deepest in his writings, " we must not proceed 
 as a statuary does in forming a statue, who 
 works sometimes on the face, sometimes on 
 the limbs, sometimes on the folds of the 
 drapery ; but we must proceed (and it is in 
 our power to proceed) as Nature does in 
 forming a flower, or any other of her pro- 
 ductions : she throws out altogether,- and 
 at once, the whole system of being, and 
 the rudiments of all the parts. liwnmtnla 
 pariitim ctviirixin shhul purit et prodttcUy* 
 
 Of this passage, so strongly marked with 
 Bacon's cai)acious intellect, and so richly 
 adorned with his " philosophical fancy,'* I 
 will not weaken the impression by any! 
 comment; and, indeed, to those who do' 
 not intuitively perceive its evidence, noj 
 comment would be useful. 
 
 In what I have hitherto said of Dr Reid'g 
 siieculations, I have confined myself to such 
 general views of the scope of his researches, 
 and of his mode of philosophizing, as seemed 
 most likely to fticilitate the perusal of his 
 works to those readers who have not been| 
 much conversant with these abstract disquif 
 sitions. A slight review of some of the mo« 
 important and fundamental objections whicl 
 have been proposed to his doctrines, may 
 I hope, be useful as a farther preparaiioi 
 for the same course of study. 
 
 Of these objections, the four following 
 appear to me to be chiefly entitled to attend 
 tion : — 
 
 1. That he has assumed gratuitously, ii 
 all his reasonings, that theory concerning 
 the human soul which the scheme oi 
 materiaUsm calls in question. 
 
 2. That his views tend to damp the 
 ardour of philosophical curiosity, by stat-, 
 ing as ultimate facts, phenomena whicl 
 
 • In the foregoing paragraph, 1 have twrrowf 
 (wilh a very trifling alteration) Lord Bolingbrokt 
 words, in a heauliful paraphrase on Dacon's remar 
 —See his •* Idea ol a Patiiol King." 
 
18 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 iiii^bei«ilireiiiiil«i priii«ple» more •impte 
 
 3. That, lij an unneoeasary multiplica- 
 tion of original or iiiBtiiicttvo principlos, be 
 
 .iiaa broufiil the aaieiico of mind .inloa atate 
 inoro pmwxM ^wa maaiialiiBtiifjf tuaii 
 that .in. mA il was IcH %' Iioolii luifl. bit 
 
 ■U0<MB80r8> 
 
 4. Tbat bia philoiiophy, by sanctioning 
 
 an app«Bl. 'imii. Ibe^ decisioixs of the learned 
 to tbe TOiae ^of tba 'multitude, is unfavour- 
 
 •able to a spirit of free inquiry, and. .tends 
 additional stability to popular erroia.. 
 
 1. With Kspeet to Br tkM^ iap|NMed. 
 ^asiiimption of a doubtful bypotbwia «»• 
 vanbif tbe nature of tbe thinking and 
 ieitient prineiple, it is almost sufficient for 
 wm to obwrre, 'tbal^ tbe 'Charge ia directed 
 .ajn^inst that very point of hia philoeophy in 
 miieh it is most completely invuberable. 
 Tbe circtnnatance which peculiarly charac- 
 teriaaa th« indiicti:Te acience of mind is, 
 tbat it proffliiseS' to abstain from all apeeu- 
 iMiona concerning its nature and essence ; 
 oonfining tbe attention entirely to pbeno- 
 ■MUi for which we have tbe evidence of 
 consGiousn6e% and to the kws by which 
 these phenomena are regukted. In this 
 fespeet, it differs equally, in its scope, 
 from the pneumatological discussions of the 
 schools, and from tba so leoa visionary 
 theories so loudly vannted by the physio- 
 logical metapbyaieians of more modem 
 times. Compared with the first, it diffeia 
 as the inquiries of the mechanieal philoso* 
 phera eoneening tbe laws of moving bod.ie8 
 dilfer'Hrnm. tte dlaeussions of the ancient 
 sophists concerning the existence and the 
 nature of motion. Compared with the 
 other, Hm diffirence is analogous to what 
 •xiata^ hetweaii the conclusions of .Newton 
 concerning the law of gravitation, and his 
 query ooncerning tbe invisible ether of 
 |Wbieii, be suppoMi^ it migbt potaibly he 
 ftho' eiMl^ The facta wbieh. thii> lUMluctrve 
 eeienae' aima at aseertaining, real 'On their 
 1 own propr evidence ; an evidence uncon- 
 ■leeied with all these hypotheses, and which 
 ^wonM not, In the smallest degree, be 
 alFeoted, although the truth of any one of 
 
 I them should be fully established. It is not, 
 therefore, on account of its inconsistency 
 
 with any favourite opinions of my own, that 
 
 II would oppose 'tbe disquisitions eitJier of 
 f schohiatie pneumalology, or of pbytwlonsal 
 
 metaphjniei ; but heeauae I consider them 
 as an iole waste of time and genius on ques- 
 tions where our oonelnsiiiiiS: 'Cm. neither be 
 I verified nor overlnfiwd by an appeal, 'to ex- 
 [peiiDMiit or observation. Sir Isaae ICew- 
 [ton*s query concerning the cause of gravis 
 ms eertain.ly not InMfifltlfMl with 
 o«rn dilooireries conoemlng 'its laws; 
 it wfail would bave been tbo consequences 
 
 to the world, if he had indulged himself la 
 tlie prosecution of hypothet cal theories wilb 
 respect to the iuraier, iuutead of directing 
 bis astonishing powers to an investigation 
 of the Utter ? 
 
 That the general spirit of Dr Reid s 
 philosophy is hostile to the conclusious 
 of the materialist, is indeed a fact Not, 
 however, because bis system rests on the 
 contrary hypothesis as a fundamental prin- 
 ciple, but because his inquiries bave a 
 powerful tendency to wean the understand- 
 ing gradually from those obstinate associa- 
 tions and prejudices to which the common 
 mechanical theories of mind owe all their 
 plau^iibility. It is, in truth, much more 
 from such examples of sound research con- 
 cerning the kws of thought, than from 
 any direct metapbpicai refutation, that a 
 change is to be expected in the opinions of 
 those who have been accustomed to con- 
 found together two classes of phenomena, 
 so completely and essentially diflerent. But 
 this view of the subject does not belong to 
 the present argument. 
 
 It has been recommended of late, by a 
 medical author of great reputation, to those 
 who wish to study the human mind, to 
 begin with preparing themselves for the 
 task by the stud> of anatomy. I must con- 
 fess, I cannot perceive the advantages of 
 this order of investigation ; as the anatomy 
 of tbe body does not seem to me more likely 
 to throw light on the philosophy of the 
 inind, than on analysis of the muid to throw 
 light on the pliysiology of the body. To 
 ascertain, indeed, the general laws of their 
 connection from facts established by observ- 
 ation or experiment, is a reasonable and 
 most interesting object of philosophical 
 curiosity ; and in this inquiry, (which was 
 lonif Hgo proposed and recommended by 
 Lord mcon,) a knowledge of the constitu- 
 tion both of mind and body is indispensably 
 requisite ; but even here, if we wish to pro- 
 ceed on finn ground, the two clashes of facts 
 most be kept completely distinct ; so that 
 neither of them may be warped or distorted 
 in consequence of theories suggested by 
 their supposed rektions or analogies.* 
 Thus, in many of the phenomena connected 
 with custom and habit, there is ample scope 
 for investigating general kws, both with 
 respect to our mental and our corporeal 
 frame ; but what light do we derive from 
 such information concerning this part of 
 our constitution as m contained in the fol- 
 lowing sentence of Locke ?^" Habits seem 
 to be but trains of motion in the animal 
 spirits, which, once set a-going, continue i& 
 the same steps they had l^n used to, 
 which, by often treading, are worn into a 
 
 • •' tieintntt or the Pbil 
 lfiiii).**l>|».li,l«. Sdaitit. 
 
 /. 
 
 OF THOxVlAS REID, D.D. 
 
 19 
 
 smooth path." In like manner, the kivs 
 which regukte the connection between the 
 mind and our external organs, in the case 
 of perception, have furnished a very fertile 
 subject of examination to some of the best 
 of o'jr modern philosophers ; but how bn- 
 potent does the genius of Newton itself 
 appear, when it attempts to shoot the gulf 
 which separates the sensible world and the 
 sentient principle » " Is not the sensorium 
 of animals," he asks in one of his queries, 
 " the place where the sentient substance is 
 present, and to which the sensible species 
 of things are brought through the nerves 
 and brain, that they may be perceived by 
 the mind present in that place ?" 
 
 It ought to be remembered, also, that this 
 I inquiry, with respect to the kws regukting 
 I the connection between our bodily organiz- 
 ation, and the phenomena subjected to our 
 ^)wn consciousness, is but one particukr 
 department of the philosophy of the mind ; 
 fend that there still remains a wide, and, 
 indeed, boundless region, where all our (/«/« 
 must be obtained from our own mental 
 operationa In examining, for instance, the 
 powers of judgment and reasoning, let any 
 person of sound understanding, after perus- 
 ing the observations of Bacon on the dirter- 
 it classes of our prejudices, or those of 
 wjke on the abuse of words, turn his atten- 
 i^n to the speculations of some of our con- 
 ' temporary theorists, and he will at once 
 ^perceive the distinction between the two 
 lodes of investigation which I wish at pre- 
 nt to contrast." " Reasoning," says one 
 the most ingenious and original of these, 
 *'* is that operation of the sensorium by 
 
 Shich we excite two or many tribes of ideas, 
 id then re-excite the ideas in which they 
 differ or mirrespond. If we determine this 
 dtfference, it is called Judgment ; if we in 
 7ain endeavour to determine it, it is called 
 Doubting; if we re-excite the ideas in which 
 tliey differ, it is called Distinguishing ; if 
 we re-excite those in which they correspond, 
 , it is called Comparing. " • In what accept- 
 Aation the word t«/ea is to be understood in 
 whe foregoing passage, may be learned from 
 «he following definition of the same author j 
 ^— " The word idea has various meanings in 
 the writers of metaphysic : it is here used 
 simply for those notions of external things 
 which our organs of sense bruig us ac- 
 quainted with originally ; and is defined a 
 contraction, or motion, or configuration, of 
 the fibres which constitute the immediate 
 organ of «ense."t Mr Hume, who was less 
 of a physiologist than Dr Darwin, has made 
 USi||f a language by no means so theoretical 
 anil arbitrary, but still widely removed from 
 lh«ailDplicity and precision essentially neces- 
 
 [Zooiiomla,* vol. L p iSi, 3d edit 
 It vol. I. pp. 1 1, IS, 
 
 sary in studies where everything depends 
 on the cautious use of terms. "Belief*' 
 according to him, is " a lively idea related 
 to or associated with a present impression ; 
 Memory is the faculty by which we repeat 
 our impressions, so as that they retain a 
 considerable degree of their first vivacity, 
 and are somewhat intermedkte betwixt an 
 idea and an impression." 
 
 According to the views of Dr Reid, the 
 terms which express the simple powers of 
 the mind, are considered as unsusceptible 
 of definition or explanation ; the words, 
 Feeling, for example. Knowledge, Will, 
 Doubt, Belief, bemg, in this respect, on the 
 same footing with the words, Green or 
 Scarlet, Sweet or Bitter. To the names of 
 these mental operations, all men annex 
 some notions, more or less distinct; and 
 the only way of conveymg to them notions 
 more correct, is by teaching them to ex- 
 ercise their own powers of reflection. The 
 definiticms quoted from Hume and Darwin, 
 even if they were more uuexceptionable in 
 point of phraseology, would, for these rea- 
 sons, be unphilosophical, as attempts to 
 simplify what is incapable of analysis ; but, 
 as they are actually stated, they not only 
 envelope truth in mystery, but lay a found- 
 ation, at the very outset, for an erroneous 
 theory. It is worth while to add, that, of 
 the two theories in question, that of Darwin, 
 how inferior soever, in the estimation of 
 competent judges, as a philosophical work, 
 is by far the best calcukted to impose on 
 a very wide circle of readers, by the mix- 
 ture it exhibits of crude and visionary me- 
 taphysics, with those important facts and 
 conclusions which might be expected from 
 the talents and experience of such a writer, 
 in the present advanced state of medical 
 and physiological science. The questions 
 which have been hitherto confined to a few, 
 prepared for such discussions by habits of 
 philosophical study, are thus submitted to 
 the consideration, not only of the cultivated 
 and enlightened minds which adorn the 
 medical profession, but of the half-informed 
 multitude who follow the medical trade: 
 nor is it to be doubted, that many of these 
 will give the author credit, upon subjects of 
 which they feel themselves incompetent to 
 judge, for the same ability which he dis- 
 play ■> within their own professional sphere. 
 The hypothetical principles assumed by 
 Hume are intelligible to those only who are 
 familkrized to the language of the schools ; 
 and his ingenuity and elej^ance, captivating 
 as they are to men of taste and refinement, 
 possess slight attractions to tbe majority 
 of such as are most likely to be misled by 
 his conclusions. 
 
 After all, I do not apprehend that the 
 physiological theories concerning the mind, 
 which have made so much noise of ktc^ 
 
 c2 
 
90 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF THOMAS RE ID, D.D. 
 
 21 
 
 will prodii«0 s very lasting impression. 
 Tllesplendotir of Dr Darwin^ accomplish- 
 
 ■Mnto could not fail to Imitiiw a tempomry 
 imiMinaiice on wliatoTer opinim were sane 
 
 'timeil hy M» .ntme ; as tlw eliemical dis- 
 eoveries wMdi kive immortalized that of 
 Priestley, liuve, fur a while, recalled from 
 ohiiirioB the reveries of Hartley, But, ab- 
 ■tfacting frooi these accidental instances, 
 in which human reason seems to have held 
 a retrograde course, there has certainly heen, 
 liuce the time of Des CarteSi a coittinual, 
 ■ai, on the whoi& a very icmarkuble an- 
 iMMch to the inlniitim plan of studying 
 Lman nature. We may trace this in the 
 writings even of those who profess to con- 
 aider ^tttghi merely as an uffiiatiam tf the 
 bi'min—m the writings more particularly 
 of Mmne and of Helvetius ; hotn of whom, 
 ■Itlimigh they may have occasionally ex- 
 |NMMf» themaelTcs in an unguarded man- 
 'Her 'eoneenilng the nature m mind, have, 
 in their mrst useful and practical disquisi- 
 tions, been prevented, hy their own good 
 sense, from blending any theory with re- 
 spect to the cumes of the Intellectual phe- 
 nomena with the history of facts, or tho 
 investigation of geneml laws. The authors 
 who form the most conspicuous exceptions 
 to this gradual progress, consist chiefly of 
 men whose errors may be 'Casily accounted 
 for, by the prejudices connected with tlieir 
 circumscribed habits of observation and 
 Inquiry : of physiologists, accustomed to 
 attend to that part aluue of the human 
 Irame which the knife of the anatomist 
 can lay open ; or of chemists, who enter on 
 the analysis of thought, fresh from the 
 ilacompositions of thelahoratory — carrying 
 into tbe theory of mind itself (what Bacon 
 ttcpTCtsively otills) '* the smoke and tarnish 
 of the furnace.** Of the value of such pur- 
 MiitS) none can think more highly than 
 myself; but I must he allowed to observe, 
 tliat the most distinguished pre-emhience 
 in tiiem does not necessarily imply a capa- 
 city of collected and abstracted reflection, 
 or an nndentaadin^ superior to the preju- 
 diees of early aanciation, and the illusions 
 df 'MmImt' langnacie. I will not go mt far 
 an'OLeni.. when he ascribes to those who 
 -possess tnesO' advantages, a more than 
 •ovdiwury' 'vigour 'Of .intelleet i — " Mugni est 
 .im§mB fmmmmm§mtmmm smtidu^, et cogiia- 
 immem n amsmiudhm abdueerr,** I would 
 only claun for them the merit of patient 
 ani cautions mmmm^i and would exact 
 from their antagonisto the same qnalifica- 
 tinns.* 
 
 In offering these remarks, I have no 
 wiril to exalt any one branch of useful 
 luiowledge at the exfense of another, but 
 to combat prejudicea equally fitol to the 
 
 * KoleO. 
 
 progress of them all. Willi the same vi*w, 
 I cannot help taking notice of a prevailing, 
 but very mistaken idea, that the forniatioo 
 of a hypothetical system is a stronger prool 
 of inventive genius than the patient in- 
 vestigation of Nature in the way of uiduc- 
 tion. To fonn a system, appears to ilic 
 young Slid inexperienced understanding, a 
 siwcies of creation ; to ascend slowly to 
 general conclusious, from the observation 
 and comparison of particular facts, is tc 
 comment servilely on the works of anotlier. 
 
 No opinion, surely, can be more ground- 
 less. To fix on a few principles, or even 
 on a single principle, as the foundation of a 
 theory ; and, by an artful statement of sup- 
 posed facts, aided by a dexterous use ol 
 language, to give a plausible explanation, 
 by means of it, of an immense number of 
 phenomena, is within the reach of most 
 men whose talents have been a little exer 
 eised among the subtilties of the schools 
 whereas, to follow Nature througli all he 
 varieties with a quick yet an exact eye — 
 to record faithfully what she exhibits, and 
 to record nothing more — to trace, amidst 
 the diversity of her operations, the simple 
 and comprehensive hiws by which they are 
 regulated, and sometimes to iruess at th 
 beneficent purposes to which they are su 
 servient— may be safely pronounced to 
 the highest ettbrt of a creatt?d intelligeni 
 And, accordingly, the numl)er of' ingenious 
 theorists has, in every age, been great 
 that of sound philosoiihen: niis been won 
 derfully small ; — or, ratlier, they are onl 
 beginmng now to have a glimpse of the 
 way, in consequence of the combined lightis 
 furnished by llieir predecessors. j 
 
 Des Cartes auned at a cuniplete systdit 
 ofphysics,deducedapri»iifromtheab;trset 
 suggestions of his own reason ; Newton as- 
 pired no higher than at a faithful "intei- 
 pretation of Nature," in a few of the mor» 
 general laws which she presents to our no 
 tice : and yet the intellectual power disp'ayeo 
 in the voluminous writings of the formerj 
 vanishes into nothing when compared wit 
 what we may trace in a single page of th 
 latter. Onthisoeeasion, a remark of Lo 
 Bacon appears singularly apposite -> tha 
 *^ Alexander and Oesar, though they acted 
 without the aid of magic or prodigy, per- 
 formed exploits that are truly greater than 
 what fable reports of King Arthur or Ama- 
 dis de Cjaul." 
 
 I shall only add farther on this bead, 
 that the last observation holds more strictly 
 with respect to the plulosophv of the human 
 mind, than any other branch of scjiice; 
 for there is no subject whatever on which 
 it is so easy io form theories calculated to 
 impose on the multitude ; and none where 
 the discovery of truth is attended 
 many diificultica. One great cause^Bthis 
 
 Is, the analogical or theoretical terms em- 
 ployed in ordinary language to express every 
 thing relating either to our intellectual or 
 active powers ; in consequence of which, 
 specious explanations of the most mysteri- 
 ous phenomena may be given to superficial 
 ijbquirers ; while, at the same time, the la- 
 iour of just investigation is mcreased to an 
 i^icalculabk* degree. 
 
 i 2. 1 o allege that, in this circumscription 
 oi the fioM (€ our inquiries concerning the 
 wind, thcr«' is any tendency to repress a 
 r^asouahk* and philosophical curiosity, is a 
 oharge no less unfounded than the former ; 
 iitamuch as every physical inquiry concern- 
 ing the material world is circumscribed by 
 hniita precisely analogous. In all our in- 
 vestigations, whatever their subject may be, 
 tluejjusiness of philosophy is confined to a 
 nee of particular facts to other facts 
 general ; and our most successful re- 
 lies must at length terminate in some 
 of nature, of which no explanation can 
 given. In its application to Dr Reid's 
 tings, this objection has, I think, been 
 re pointedly directed against his reason- 
 s concerning the process of nature in 
 j^'option ; a part of his writings which 
 it is of fundamental importance in his 
 eral system) he has laboured with pecu- 
 cnre. The result is, indeed, by no means 
 ' < ■■ ' t" the pride of those theorists who 
 \ [>lain everything ; for it amounts 
 acknowledgment that, after all the 
 ligl^ which anatomy and physiology supply, 
 the infonnatic>n we obtain by means of our 
 senses, concerning the existence and the 
 quali^iHt of matter, is no less incomprehen- 
 ur faculties than it appears to the 
 literate peasant ; and that all we 
 fined, is a more precise and complete 
 tance with some particulars in our 
 conomy — highly interesting, indeed, 
 garded in their proper light, as ac- 
 cessions to our physical knowledge, but, 
 wjnsidered in connection with the philoso- 
 phy of the mind, afibrding only a more 
 accurate statement of the astonishing phe- 
 nomena which we would vainly endeavour 
 4o explain. This language has been cliargod, 
 but most unjustly and ignorantly, with nif/s- 
 kcism ; fbr the same charge may be brought, 
 with eiiial fairness, against all the most im- 
 discoveries in the sciences. It was, 
 , the very objection urged against 
 , when his adversaries contended, 
 imtp was to be ranked with the occuft 
 ^Mfl/j/Ar of the schoolmen, till its mechanical 
 caus^^ould be assigned ; and the answer 
 given t^ this objection, by Sir Isaac New- 
 ton*8 commentator, Mr Maclaurin, may be 
 literally applied, in the instance before us. 
 to theiinductive philosophy of the human 
 
 portan 
 in tru 
 New 
 tliat 
 
 mm{ 
 
 b opponents of Newton, finding no- 
 
 thing to object to his observations and reason- 
 ings, pretended to find a resembla nee between 
 his doctruies and the exploded tenets of the 
 scholastic philosophy. They triumphed 
 mightily in treating gravity as an occult 
 quality, because he did not pretend to de- 
 duce this principle fully from its cause. . 
 
 ... I know not that ever it was made 
 an objection to the circulation of the blood, 
 that there is no small difficulty in account- 
 ing for it mechanically. They, too, who 
 first extended gravity to air, vapour, and to 
 all bodies round the earth, had their praise ; 
 though the cause of gravity was as obscure 
 as before j or rather appeorrd more mpstr. 
 /ir<,ms, after they had shewn that there 
 was no body found near the earth, exempt 
 from gravity, that might be supposed to be 
 its cause. Why, then, were his admirable 
 discoveries, by ^^ hich this principle was ex- 
 tended over the universe, so ill relished 
 by some philosophers ? The truth is, he 
 had, with great evidence, overthrown the 
 boasted schemes hy which they pretended 
 to unravel all the mysteries of nature ; and 
 the philosophy he introduced in place of 
 them, carrying with it a sincere confession 
 of our being far from a complete and perfect 
 knowledge of it, could not please those who 
 had been accustomed to imagine themselves 
 possessed of the eternal reasons and primary 
 causes of all things. 
 
 "It was, however, no new thing that 
 this philosophy should meet with oppositioiu 
 All the useful discoveries that were made in 
 former times, and particularly in the seven- 
 teenth century, had to struggle with the 
 prejudices of those who had accustomed 
 themselves, not so much as to think but in 
 a certain systematic way ; w ho could not be 
 prevailed on to abandon their favourite 
 schemes, while they were able to imagine 
 the least pretext for continuing the dispute. 
 Every art and talent was displayed to sup- 
 port their falling cause ; no aid seemed 
 foreign to them that could in any roanr.er 
 annoy their adversary ; and such often w as 
 their obstinacy, that truth was able to make 
 little progress, till they were succeeded by 
 younger persons, who had not so strongly 
 imbibed their prejud tcs^.*' 
 
 These excellent observations are not the 
 less applicable to the subject now under 
 consideration, that the part of Dr Keid's 
 writings which suggested the quotation, 
 leads only to the correction of an inveterate 
 prejudice, not to any new general conclu- 
 sion. It is probable, indeed, (now that tl:e 
 ideal theory has, in a great measure, dis- 
 appeared from our late metaphysical sys- 
 tems,) that those who have a pleasure in 
 detracting from the merits of their prede- 
 cessors, may be disposed to represent it as 
 an idle waste of labour and ingenuity to have 
 entered into a serious refutation of a hypo- 
 
'lywyi] 
 
 ACOOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINOS 
 
 at 'Onise gmtuiiotiS' and inconceivable. 
 A dilRirait jwlgiiierat, however, '«ill be 
 imiefi by sucli as are acquaintei witb the 
 esieuitve iniuenee which, iiiMi. ^fliA ear- 
 lieet acoounla 'Uf 'leieiioe, thli' aliiflB "pfftgu- 
 diee has had hi ▼itiating ahnost every 
 bfanch of the phioeophy of the mind ; and 
 who, at tin mam time, recollect the names 
 of the ittiiatfiiMis men by whom, in more 
 inodnii tiniM, it has been adopted as an 
 ineontfOTertiUe principle. Ills sufficient 
 iir 'UM'to nentimi thuw' of Berkeley, Hume, 
 IiiMki% Clarke, and ll«wton. To the two 
 iMt or these, it has aerred as the basis of 
 tfwiff eoeptieal oonclitsions, which seem, in- 
 deed, to follow from it as necessary conse- 
 f UAiices ; while tlie 'Otheta repeatedly refer 
 Id' 'it in. their rMMntiiiga, as mm of those 
 iMSts eonceming the mind of which it 
 would be equally superfluous to attempt a 
 pgroof or a refutatioii. 
 
 I liair%. oaliiKMl. on thiS' part of 0r 
 .Biid% mitiiigii m more fully, as he was 
 himself disposed, on all occasions, to rest 
 upon it his chief merit as an author. In 
 pKNif of l^w^ I ahtM transcribe a few len- 
 taMM' fhfom. '» letter of his to Dr Gregory, 
 dated 20th August 1790 :— 
 
 " It would he want of candour not to 
 vwn. waS' 1 ininm mere is some mem in 
 villi yon are pleaaed to call ntf FAJ/oso- 
 ■pktf { but I thmh it lies chiefly in having 
 call^ in question the common theory of 
 Idem, w Jmmjfm i|f lAti»^« ti» the mlful being 
 the only objects of thought; a theory 
 iMiided on natural prejudices, and so uni- 
 ▼ersaUy received as to be interwoven with 
 the structure of langtiage. Yet, were I to 
 give you a detail of what led me to call in 
 question this theory, after I had long held 
 it aa self-evident i^d unquestionable, you 
 would think, as I do, that there was much 
 of chance in the matter. The discovery 
 the birth of time, not of genius j and 
 dey and Hume did more to bring it 
 to light than the man that hit upon it. I 
 'tiink then is. hardly anything that can be 
 oalM mhm in iho jpMlosophy of the mind, 
 which does not: fblfow with ease from the 
 detection of this prejudice. 
 
 " I must, therefore, beg of you most ear- 
 ViMtlyi. to make no contrast in. my favour 
 to Hit diapaiagement of my predecessors 
 in the same panaii I can truly say of 
 and skul always avow, what vou are 
 ' to say of uM^ thati hnt for the 
 loe I have reoiiftd. 'Iran their 'writ- 
 §m, I nsvor eonld iait wrote or thought 
 what I have done.*^ 
 
 3^ Bomowhat 'OomMldl with the last 
 uibjeetion, are the oemmrea whieh have been 
 ■0 froquantly bestowed on Dr Beid, for an 
 mmmmmmv and unsystematacal multiplica- 
 MiiB ^ Of^pial. or mslinctive principles. 
 
 Ib. Ttqflf to these' oensurei, I have ittlo 
 
 to add to what I liave remarked on the 
 same topic, in the " Philosophy of the 
 Human Mind." That the fault which iii 
 thus ascribed to Dr Reid has been really 
 committed by some ingenious writers in 
 this part of the ishuid, 1 most readily allow (; 
 nor will I take upon me to assert that he 
 has, in no instance, fallen into it himsell^ 
 Such instances, however, will be found, 
 an accurate examination of his works, 
 be comparatively few, and to bear a ver) 
 trifling proportion to tiiose in which he ' 
 most suco^sfully and decisively dispUy^ 
 his aentenesB in exposing the premature 
 and flimsy generalizations of his prede- 
 
 A certain degree of leaning to that ex- 
 treme to which Dr Reid seems to have 
 inclined, was, at the time when he 
 much safer than the opposite bias, 
 the earliest ages, the sciences in genl 
 and more particukrly the science of 
 human mind, have been vitiated by 
 undue love of simplicity ; and, in the coui 
 of the last century, this disposition, 
 having been long displayed in subtle th^ 
 ries concerning the active powers, or 
 principles of human conduct, has 
 directed to similar refinements with rc<^T 
 to the faculties of the understanding, 
 the truths with whicli they are convei 
 Mr Hume himself has coincided so far 
 the Hartleian school, aa to represent^ 
 "principle of union and cohesion anKg* 
 our simple ideas as a kind of attractio^of 
 as universal application in the mental 
 world as in the natural ;*** and Dr Hartley, 
 
 with a still more sangume ima^ 
 looked forward to an era *' whci 
 generations shall put all kinds of ev| 
 and inquiries into mathematical 
 reducing Ari8totle*s ten categoric 
 Bishop Wilkin's forty summa gt 
 the head of quantity alone, so as 
 mathematics and logic, natural historv and 
 eivil history, natural philosophy and philo« 
 sophy of all other kinds, coincide, omni 99 
 
 It is needless to remark the obvious ten- 
 dency of such premature generaliz'ationsi 
 to withdraw the attention from the study off 
 particular phenomena ; while the effect off 
 Reid*s mode of philosophizing, «*en in 
 those instances where it is carried t^n ex« 
 eew, is to detain us, in this prel&inary 
 SqT, a Uttle longer tLn ia abLlullTnS: 
 ceasary. The truth is, that, wlflh the 
 phenomena are once ascertained, geF 
 ation is here of comparatively littli^alno, 
 and a taak of far less difficulty than to 
 observe fiusts with precision, and M record 
 them with lainieM. 
 
 ■ •* Trestitt oC Mumui N«ture,*' vol. f . ] 
 f Hutin " On Man.'* p. 807. 4to edit 
 IHM. 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 
 In no part of Dr Iteid*s writings, I am 
 Inclined to think, could more plausible criti- 
 cisms be made on this ground, than in his 
 classification of our active principles i but, 
 even there, the facts are always placed 
 fully and distinctly before the reader. That 
 aeveral of the benevolent aflections which 
 he has stated as ultimate facts in our con- 
 stitution, might be analyzed into the same 
 general principle differently modified, ac- 
 cording to circumstances, there can, in my 
 opinion, be little doubt. This, however, 
 (as 1 have elsewhere observed,*) notwith- 
 standing the stress which has been some- 
 times laid upon it, is chiefly a question 
 I of arrangement Whether we suppose 
 these affections to be all ultimate facts, or 
 some of them to be resolvable into other 
 facts more general, they are equally to be 
 regarded as constituent parts of human 
 nature ; and, upon either supposition, we 
 have equal reason to admire the wisdom 
 with which that nature is adapted to the 
 situation in which it is phtced. The laws 
 which regulate the acquired perceptions of 
 tight, are surely as much a part of our 
 frame aa those which regulate any of our 
 original perceptions ; and, although they 
 require, for their developement, a certain 
 degree of exiierience and observation in 
 the individual, the uniformity of the result 
 shews that there is nothing arbitrary nor 
 accicental in their origin. In this point of 
 view, what can be more philosophical, as 
 well aa beautiful, than the words of Mr 
 Ferguson, that " natural affection springs 
 up in the soul of the mother, as the milk 
 springs in her breast, to furnish nourish- 
 ment to her child!" "The effect is here 
 to the race,*' as the same author has excel- 
 lently observed, " what the vital motion of 
 the heart is to the individual ; too neces- 
 sary to the preservation of nature's works, 
 to be intrusted to the precarious will or 
 intention of those most nearly concerned. "+ 
 The question, indeed, concerning the 
 origin of our different affections, leads to 
 some curious analytical disquisitions; but 
 is of very subordinate importance to those 
 inquiries which relate to their laws, and 
 uses, and mutual references. In many 
 ethical systems, however, it seems to have 
 been considered as the most interesting 
 subject of disquisition which this wonder- 
 ful part of our frame presents. 
 
 In Dr Reid's " Essays on the Intellec- 
 tual Powers of Man," and in his " Inquiry 
 into the Human Mind," I recollect little 
 
 f « Outline* of Moral Philosophy," pp. 79, 80, 
 edit. Edinburgh, I an. „.,.„_, 
 
 + •• Principles of Moral and Political Science," 
 rt I. chap. I. «««t. 3. " Ol the Principle* of Society 
 
 . Human Nature." The whole discuwinn unites, in 
 
 ffinitular deprer, the •oundcft philosophy with the 
 
 Oft eloquent description. 
 
 that can justly incur a similar censure, 
 notwithstanding the ridicule which Dr 
 Priestley has attempted to throw on the 
 last of these performances, in his " Tabla 
 of Reid*s Instinctive Principles.'** To 
 examine all the articles enumerated in that 
 table, would require a greater latitude oi 
 disquisition than the limits of this memoir 
 allow ; and, therefore, I shall confine my 
 observations to a few instances, where the 
 precipitancy of the general criticism seems 
 to me to admit of little dispute. In this 
 light I cannot help considering it, when 
 applied to those dispositions or determina- 
 tions of the mind to which Dr Reid has 
 given the names of the " Principle of 
 Credulity," and the '* Principle of Vera- 
 city." How far these titles are happily 
 chosen, is a question of little moment ; 
 and on that point I am ready to make 
 every ccmcession. I contend only for 
 what is essentially connected with the 
 objecticin which has given rise to these 
 remarks. 
 
 "That any man," says Dr Priestley, 
 " should imagine that a peculiar instinctive 
 principle was necessary to explain our 
 giving credit to the relations of others, 
 appears to me, who have been used to see 
 things in a different light, very extraordi- 
 nary ; and yet this doctrine is advanced by 
 Dr Reid, and adopted by Dr Beattie. But 
 really," he adds, " what the former says in 
 favour of it, is hardly deservmg of the 
 slightest notice, "-f 
 
 The passage quoted by Dr Priestley, in 
 justification of this very peremptory deci- 
 sion, is as follows :—" If credulity were the 
 effect of reasoning and experience, it must 
 grow up and gather strength in the same 
 proportion as reason and experience do. 
 But, if it is the gift of nature, it will be 
 the strongest in childhood, and limited and 
 restrained by experience; and the most 
 superficial view of human life shews that 
 this last is the case, and not the first." 
 
 To my own judgment, this argument of 
 Dr Reid's, when connected with the ex- 
 cellent illustrations which accompany it, 
 carries complete conviction ; and I am con- 
 firmed in my opinion by finding, that Mr 
 Smith (a writer inferior to none in acute- 
 ness, and strongly disposed, by the peculiar 
 bent of his genius, to sraiplify, as far as 
 possible, the philosophy of human nature) 
 has, in the latest edition of his " Theory 
 of Moral Sentiments," acquiesced m this 
 very conclusion; urging in support of it 
 the same reasoning which Dr Priestley 
 affects to estimate so lightly. "There 
 seems to be in young children an instinctive 
 
 ♦ Examination of Reid's " Inquiry." &c. London 
 f Examination of Reid's •• Inquiry," &c., p. M. 
 
M 
 
 ACCX)UNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITIKOS 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 25 
 
 disiKHilifiii. to believe wliittoirer tliej mm 
 tuA Naiiue aeems to have Judged it ne» 
 mamtj fm their preeerviitton that they 
 ■hmiM, Ibr aome time at least, put implicit 
 '•uniieiiee in those to whom the mm of 
 their childliood, and of the eaflieit and 
 BiMt noeeasiynr part of their education, is 
 intmsted. Their crednlitj, aiscoKlinjly, is 
 excessive; and it requires long and much 
 experience of the falsehood of mankind to 
 ledwse them to a reasonable decree of diffi. 
 donee and distrust '*• That Mr Smith's 
 0pinioii. also coincided with Dr ReidX in 
 what, be baa stated 'Concerning the principle 
 # mrmittf, appears evidently from the 
 ttnarlis which immediately follow the paa- 
 ■■fO' jnst quoted. But 1 must not ada to 
 lb« Miigth of this memoir by unneeessary 
 flitetions.^ 
 
 Another inatinctive principle mentioned 
 by E«id,is " our belief of the continuance 
 of the present eon.rie of nature.** " All our 
 knowledge of nature/'* he observes,. ** be- 
 yond our original perceptions, is got by 
 amperience, and consists in the interpreta- 
 tion of natural, signs. The appearance of 
 the sign is followed by the belief of the 
 thing signified. Upon this principle of our 
 constitution, not only acquired perception, 
 but also inductive reasoning, and all rea- 
 Mning fifom analogy, is grounded ; and, 
 'tiiefciifOt for want of a better niime, we 
 ■hill hm leave to call it the infimiioe prm- 
 dple. It is from the force of this principle 
 that we immediately assent to that axiom 
 upon which all our knowledge of nature is 
 built, that effects of the same kuid must 
 hav« the same cautse. Take away the 
 l%hl of this inductive principle, and ex- 
 prionoe is as blind as a mole. She may 
 itideed feel what is present, and what im- 
 medialiilif touches her, hut she sees nothing 
 that is either before or behind, upon the 
 right hand or upon the left, future or 
 psf* 
 
 On this doctrine, lOtewisei the same 
 critic has expressed himself with much 
 severity; calling it " a mere quibble;*' 
 mnd .adding, ** every stop that I take among 
 th.i8 writer's sophisn% nises my astonish- 
 ment higher tlian before." In this, how- 
 ever, as in many other mstances, he has 
 been led to censure Dr Beid, not because 
 .he was able to see iKiliar' 'than, bis .aotago- 
 nlst, but because be did not see quito so 
 iir. Tii.fgol, in an article inserted m the 
 FfOiah. *' Enqyeloptfiie," and Condoroet, .ui 
 a diseniine' prei.k«d. to one of .his malbe- 
 matical publications,t have, both of lb«m, 
 ■fated the fact with a true philosophical 
 precision, and, after domg so, have de- 
 
 • loitli*! « Tlieorir.'' im fdit pm VIL sect I. 
 f " KMsltur l^pflication de Tanalyae i la pro^ 
 
 mams dw {laeiiiiim midiMt k la 'ulitraliti diit 
 
 WHS." Vsrfi.J1fQk *^ 
 
 dneed from it an inference, not sAh/ tht 
 same in substance with tlmt of Dr Reid, 
 but almost expressed in the same form of 
 words. 
 
 In these referencea, as well as in that 
 already made to Mr Smith's " Theory,'* I 
 would not be understood to lay any undue 
 stress on authority hi a philosophical argu- 
 ment I wish only — by contrasting the 
 modesty and caution resulting from habits 
 of profound thought, with that theoretical 
 intrepidity which a blindness to insuper- 
 able difficulties has a tendency to inspire— 
 to invite those whoso prejudices against this 
 part of Reid's system rest chieHy on the 
 great names to which they conceive it to{ 
 be hostile, to re-examine it with a little 
 more attention, before they pronounce 
 finally on its merits. 
 
 The prejudices which are apt to occur 
 afftinst a mode of philosophizing so morti- 
 fying to scholastic arrogance, are encour- 
 aged greatly by that natural disposition, to 
 refer particular facts to general laws, which 
 is the foundation of all scientific arrange- 
 ment I a principle of the utmost importance 
 to our intellectual constitution, but which 
 re(|uires the guidance of a sound and ex- 
 perienced understanding to accomplish the 
 purposes for which it was destined. Tliey 
 are encouraged also, in no inconsideralle 
 degree, by the acknowledged success tf 
 mathematicians, in mising, on the basis of it 
 few simple dafa, the most magnificent, and, 
 at the same time, the most solid fabric oi 
 science, of which human genius can boast. 
 The absurd references which logicians are 
 accustomed to make to Euclid's " Elements 
 of Geometry," as a model which cannot bo 
 too studiously copiefl, both in physics and 
 in morals, have contributed, in this at in a 
 variety of other instances, to mislead phi- 
 losophers from the study of facts, into the 
 false refinements of hypothetical theory. 
 
 On these misapplications of mathemati- 
 cal method to sciences which rest ulti- 
 mately on exj>eriment and observation, I 
 shall take another opportunity of offering 
 some strictures. At present, it is suffi- 
 cient to remark the peculiar nature of the 
 truths about which pure or abstract mathe- 
 matics are conversant. As these truths 
 have all a necessary connection with each 
 other, (all of them resting ultimately on 
 those definitions or liypotheses which 
 are the principles of our reasoning,) the 
 beauty of the science cannot fail to increase 
 in proportion to the simplicity of the ffaia^ 
 compared with the incalculable variety ^f 
 consequences which they involve : and to 
 the simplifications and generalizations of 
 theory on such a subject, it is perhaps iii 
 possible to conceive any limit. How di'' 
 ferent is the case in those iuquiries whei. 
 our first principles are not dejlnitioru bd 
 
 JkcU^ and wnere our business is not to 
 traoe necessary connections, but the laws 
 which regulate the established order of the 
 
 universe ! 
 
 In various attempts which have been 
 lately made, more especially on the Conti- 
 nent, towards a systematical exposition of 
 r/ the elements of physics, the effects of the 
 
 mistake I am now censuring are extremely 
 remarkable. The happy use of mathema- 
 tical principles, exhibited in the writings 
 of Newton and his followers, having ren- 
 dered an extensive knowledge of them an 
 indispensable preparation lor the study of 
 the mechanical philosophy, the early habits 
 of thought acquired in the former pursuit 
 are naturally transferred to the latter. 
 Hence the illogical and obscure manner in 
 which its elementary principles have fre- 
 qu,ently been stated; an attempt bemg 
 inside to deduce, from the smallest possible 
 nulnber of data, the whole system of truths 
 which it comprehends. The analogy exist- 
 ing among some of the fundamental laws of 
 mechanics, bestows, in the opinion of the 
 filtituile, an a]>pearanee of phiusibility on 
 ch attempts ; and their obvious tendency 
 ^0 withdraw the attention from that unity 
 iesign which it is the iiollcst employ- 
 of philosophy to illustrate, by dis- 
 _c it under the sembUiuce of an eter- 
 Ind necessary order, similar to what 
 fuithematician delights to trace among 
 nmtual rektions of quantities and 
 
 »s. 
 
 tsQ slight hints may serve as a reply m 
 
 h wliat Dr Priestley has suggested 
 
 with respect to the consetiuences likely to 
 follow, if the spirit of Reid's philosophy 
 should be introduced into physics.* One 
 consequence would unquestionably be, a 
 careful separation between the principles 
 which we learn from experience alone, and 
 those which are fairly resolvable, by ma- 
 thematical or physical reasoning, into other 
 facts still more general ; and, of course, a 
 correction of that false logic which, while 
 it throws an air of mystery over the plamest 
 and most undeniable facts, levels the study 
 of nature, in point of moral interest, with 
 the investigations of the geometer or of the 
 
 algebraist. j .u * 
 
 It must not, however, be supposed, that, 
 in the present state of natural philosophy, 
 a false logic threatens the same dangerous 
 effects as in the philosophy of the mind. 
 It may retard somewhat the progress of the 
 student at his first outset ; or it may con- 
 found, in his apprehensions, the harmony 
 of svstematical order with the consistency 
 and mutual dependency essential to a series 
 of mathematical theorems^ but the funda- 
 mental truths of physics are now too well 
 
 » •• Easmtnation of Reid'i Inquiry, p 110. 
 
 established, and the checks which it fur- 
 nishes against sophistry are too numerous 
 and palpable, to admit the possibility of any 
 permanent error in our deductions. In the 
 philosophy of the muid, so difficult is the 
 acquisition of those habits of reflection 
 which can alone lead to a correct knowledge 
 of the intellectual phcenomena, that a faulty 
 hypothesis, if skilfully fortified by the im- 
 posing, though illusory strength of arbitrary 
 definitions and a systematical phraseology, 
 may maintain its ground for a succession 
 of ages. 
 
 It will not, I trust, be inferred from 
 anything I have here advanced, that I 
 mean to ofter an apology for those who, 
 either in physics or morals, would pre- 
 sumptuously state their own opinions with 
 resi»ect to the laws of nature, as a bar 
 against future attempts to simplify and 
 generalize them still farther. To assert 
 that none of the mechanical explanations 
 yet given of gravitation are satisfiictory, 
 and even to hint that ingenuity mi ht be 
 more profitably employed than in the search 
 of such a theory, is something different from 
 a gratuitous assumption of utimate facts in 
 physics ; nor does it imply an obstinate de- 
 termination to resist lep;itimate evidence, 
 should some fortunate inquirer— contrary 
 to what seems probable at present - succeed 
 where the genius of Newton has failed. If 
 Dr Reid has gone farther than this in his 
 conclusions concerning the principles which 
 he calls original or instinctive, he has de- 
 parted from "that guarded language in which 
 he commonly expresses himself— for all that 
 it was of importance for him to conclude 
 was, that the theories of his predecessors 
 were, in these instances, exceptionable; 
 and the doubts he may occasionally insinu- 
 ate, concerning the success of future adven- 
 turers, so far from betraying any overween- 
 ing confidence in his own understandir.g, 
 are an indirect tribute to the talents of those 
 from who.-e failure he draws an argunient 
 against the possibility of their undertaking. 
 
 The same eagerness to simplify and to 
 generalize, which led Priestley to complain 
 of the number of Reid's instinctive prin- 
 ciples, has carried some later philosophers 
 a step farther. According to them, the 
 very word instinct is unphilosophical ; and 
 everything, either in man or brute, which 
 has been hitherto referred to this mysteri- 
 ous source, may be easily accounted for by 
 experience or unitation. A few instances 
 in which this doctrine appears to have been 
 successfully verified, have been deemed 
 sufficient to estabUsh it without any limit- 
 ation. 
 
 In a very original work, on which I have 
 already hazarded some criiicisms, much in- 
 genuity has been employed in analyzing the 
 wonderful efforts which the human mfaut 
 
ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 27 
 
 m ililllla. i#' .lllllBt for its own prMenratioii 
 the umiimiiI aAer its inliwIiMitMiii to the 
 light Tlmty it h obaervwl that the/c'w, 
 while 0tiU in the uterm, hmtm to peiiSiini 
 ilM opentlon of swallowing ; and alMi learns 
 III nueve itself, by a change of postnie, 
 fran the Iflnonieness of continued rest: 
 anily tliifillii% (if we admit these propoei- 
 liMMi,) we ninst conclude that sonie of the 
 Mlioos whieh .infuita are vulgarly supposed 
 i^ 'pcffoim in consetiuenee' of .iMtincts coeval 
 witi Mrtli, are only a continuation of actions 
 to which they were determined at an earlier 
 period of their being. The remark is inge- 
 
 ^l^JT^ '* "S'.r^l*** |i»t; but it 
 ami. mil prove that ifi«iiiirl kan. nnphiloso- 
 .pUflil. 'tenn ; nor does it rendtr the o^pera- 
 'tim' if tl» iniiiit leas mysterious than they 
 .■MB to lie OB th« eMmMMi supiNiaition. 
 Bow iv aoever the «iii%ib,. b meh in- 
 iliiMei,, may 'be eanWi, 'we must at last 
 •nive at some phmnmnenon no less wonder- 
 ful, thaii that we mean to exp'lain. : in other 
 wmliy. 'Wit must. utiM. admit as ^an ultimate 
 'iMl, 'tlie mklbmm of an original determina- 
 tion to a paflifliikr mode of action salutary 
 iir neeeesarj to the animal; and all we 
 'haw acMinpliahcd i%. to 'Connect the origin 
 ■cif"«liif faMllnal. with m earlier period .in. the 
 .hiilory of tho' human mind. 
 
 The same author has attempted to ac- 
 count, in a manner somewhat simikr, for 
 th* difierent isgfses in which the young 
 of different :aninals are able, at the moment 
 of birth, to exert their bodily powers. 
 Thua, calves and chickens are able to walk 
 .ahnnat. immediattljr i while the human in- 
 iinl, mm k. tie meet Ikvourable attuataon.s, 
 is six or even twelve months old 'before he f 
 can stand alone. For this Dr Barwin 
 aii%nt two causes. 1. That the young of 
 iOBO^aBimalS''Come mto^ thO' world in .a more 
 complete' slaio than that of otlierB<- the colt 
 and lamh^ for example, enjoying, m this 
 iespeet,, a striking advantage over the puppy 
 and the lalMt. 2. That the mode of walk- 
 ing of ione animals, coincides more per- 
 fectly than that of others, with the previous 
 notions of the /mhts in mero. The struggles 
 of .all .animals, he observes, in the womb, 
 miit' naenMe their manner of swim.m.iug, 
 as by this kind of motion they can best 
 fliwive their attitude in water. But the 
 •wiaMiilig of tlie calf and of the chicken 
 ^rssembles their ordinary movementa on the 
 ground, which iliejr' bava iltns leara^ed in 
 part to exeeule while concealed from our 
 observation i whortas, the swim.nilng of the 
 iimuai. :infuil differiair totally from his 
 manner of 'walking, helma no opportunity 
 of aeiiniring the last of these atta til bo i 
 •snoicd. to our view. The theory ia^ ex- 
 tremely plausible, and does honour to tlio 
 anthor's sagaettj .| but .it only plaoea In. a 
 .|%ht that pMvlilaiit 'Oare 'WiUi: Valniw 
 
 has taken of all her ofiWpring in the iniaoeiy 
 of their existence^ 
 
 Another instance may contribute toward! 
 a more ample illustration of the same sub* 
 |eet. A Umb, not many minutes after it 
 is dropped, proceeds to search for its nour* 
 ibhment in that spot where alone it is to bo 
 found ; applying both its limbs and its eyes to 
 their respective offices. The peasant ob- 
 serves the fact, and gives the name of tn- 
 •liftetf or some corresponding term, to the 
 unknown principle by which the animal is 
 guided. On a more accurate examination 
 uf circumstances, the philosopher finds 
 reason to conclude that it is by the sense 
 of smelling it is tlius directed to its object 
 In proof of this, among other curious facts, 
 the following has been quoted t— ** On 
 dissecting," says Galen, "a goat great 
 with young, I found a brisk emhrym, and 
 having detached it from the nuUii*, md 
 snatchmg it away before it saw its diun^I 
 brought it into a room where there wf re 
 many vessels ; some filled with wine, oihitm 
 with oil, some with honey, otliers wfth 
 milk, or some other liquor ; and in othe^ 
 there were grains and fruits. We firnt o >- 
 served the young animal get upon its feet 
 and walk ; then it shook itself, and af 
 wards scratched its side with one o/ 
 feet ; then we saw it smelling to everj 
 of those things that were set in the rl 
 and, when it had smelt to them a 
 drank up the milk.'" Admitthig this ,..^ 
 beautiful story to be true, (and, for mj|^wn 
 part, I am far from being disposed i 
 tion its probability,) it only enabU 
 alato the fact with a little more pr ^,..., 
 in consequence of our having ai^certained, 
 that it is to the sense of smelling the in- 
 stinctive determination is attached. The 
 conclusion of the peasant is not here at 
 variance with that of the philosopher. It 
 differs only in this, that he expresses him- 
 self in those general terms which are suited 
 to his ignorance of the particular process 
 by which Nature, in this case, accomplishes 
 her end ; and, if he did otherwise, he 
 would be censurable for prejudging a ques- 
 tion of which he is incompetent to form an 
 accurate opinion. 
 
 The application of these illustrations to 
 some of Dr Reid*s conclusions concerning 
 the instmctive principles of the human 
 mind, is, I flatter myself, sufficiently mani- 
 fest They rekte, indeed, to a subject 
 which differs, in varions respects, from that 
 which has fallen under his more particular 
 consideration ; but the same rules of fthilo^ 
 sophizing will be found to apply equally to 
 both. 
 
 4. The criticisms which have been made 
 on what Dr Reid has written concerning 
 
 '*'**"*''**""''''^^ I^m— ■ I m II III ^ „ 
 
 • DarwtB, wol. i pik IV^ 19g. 
 
 t 
 
 the intuitive truths which he dbtinguishes 
 by the title of " Principles of Common 
 Sense,** would require a more ample dis- 
 cussion than I can now bestow on them ; 
 not that the importance of these criticisms 
 (of such of them, at least, as I have happened 
 to meet with) demands a long or elaborate 
 refutation, but because the subject, accord- 
 ing to the view I wish to take of it, involves 
 some other questions of great moment and 
 difficulty, relative to the foundations of 
 human knowledge. Dr Priestley, the most 
 formidable of Dr Reid's antagonists, has 
 granted as much in favour of this doctrine 
 as it is worth while to contend for on the 
 present occasion. " Had these writers,*' 
 be observes, with respect to Dr Reid and 
 his followers, " assumed, as the elements 
 of their Common Sense, certain truths which 
 are so plain that no man could doubt ot 
 them, (without entering into the ground of 
 our assent to them,) their conduct would 
 have been liable to very little objection. All 
 that could have been said would have been, 
 that, without any necessity, they had made 
 an innovation in the received use of a term ; 
 for no person ever denied that there are | 
 self-evident truths, and that these must be . 
 assumed as tlie foundation of all our reason- 
 ing. I never met with any person who did 
 not acknowledge this, or heard of any argu- 
 mentative treatise that did not go upon the 
 supposition of it'" After such an acknow- 
 ledgment, it is impossible to forbear askmg, 
 (with Dr Campbell,) « What is the great 
 point which Dr Priestley would controvert ? 
 la it, whether such self-evident truths shall 
 bedenominated Principles of Common Sense, 
 or be distinguished by some other appella- 
 tion ?"t . .. I u 
 That the doctrine ra question has been, 
 
 m some publications, presented in a very 
 exceptionable form, I most readily allow ; 
 nor would I be understood to subscribe to 
 it implicitly, even as it appears in the works 
 of Dr Reid. It is but an act of justice to 
 bun, however, to request that his opinions 
 may be judged of from his own works alone, 
 not from those of others who niay have 
 happened to coincide with hira in certam 
 tenets, or in certain modes of expression ; 
 and that, before any ridicule be attempted 
 on his conclusions concerning the authority 
 of Common Sense, his antagonists would 
 take the trouble to examine in what accept- 
 ation he has employed that phrase. 
 
 The truths which Dr Reid seems, in most 
 instances, disposed to refer to the judgment 
 of this tribunal, might, in my opi^on, be 
 denominated more unexceptionably, fun- 
 damental laws of human bebef. Iney 
 
 have been called by a very ingenious fo- 
 reigner, (M. Trembley of Geneva,) but 
 certainly with a singular infelicity of lan- 
 guage, Pri^jufjes Ltyitimfs, Of this kind 
 are the following propositions : — " I am the 
 same person to-day that I was yesterday ;'* 
 " The material world has an existence in- 
 dependent of that of percipient beings;" 
 " There are other intelligent beings in the 
 universe beside myself;" " The future 
 course of nature will resemble the past" 
 Such truths no man but a philosopher ever 
 thinks of stating to himself in words ; but 
 all our conduct and all our reasonings pro- 
 ceed on the supposition that ♦hey are admit- 
 ted. The belief of them is essential for the 
 preservation of our animal existence ; and 
 it is accordingly coeval with the first opera- 
 tions of the intellect. 
 
 One of the first writers who introduced 
 the phrase Common Sense into the tech- 
 nical or appropriate language of logic, was 
 Father Buffier, in a book entitled, " Trailb 
 rlrs Prrmiires Veritis.'* It has since been 
 adopted by several authors of note in this 
 country ; particularly by Dr Reid, Dr Os- 
 wald, and Dr Beattie; by all of whom, 
 however, I am afraid, it must be confessed, 
 it has been occasionally employed without 
 a due attention to precision. The last of 
 these writers uses it* to denote that power 
 by which the mind perceives the truth of 
 any intuitive proposition ; whether it be an 
 axiom of abstract science ; or a statement 
 of some fact resting on the immediate inform- 
 ation of consciousness, of perception, or 
 of memory ; or one of those fundamental 
 laws of belief which are implied in the ap- 
 plication of our faculties to the ordinary 
 business of life. The same extensive use 
 of the word may, I believe, be found m 
 the other authors just mentioned. But no 
 authority can justify such a laxity »n the 
 tmployment of language in philosophical 
 discussions ; for, if mathematical axioms be 
 (as they are, manifestly and indisputably) 
 a class of propositions essentially distinct 
 irom the other kinds of intuitive truths 
 now described, why refer them all indis- 
 criminately to the same principle in our 
 constitution ? If this phrase, therefore, be 
 at all retained, precision requires that it 
 should be employed in a more limited ac- 
 ceptation ; and, accordingly, in the works 
 under our consideration, it is appropriated 
 most frequently, though by no means uni- 
 formly, to that class of intuitive truths 
 which I have already called " fundamental 
 laws of belief."t When thus restricted, 
 it conveys a notion, unambiguous, at least. 
 
 • « EMininttlon of Dr Rcld't Inquiry." ftc p. 
 
 "t •• Pbaowphy of Rhetoric," vol. l. p. Ill—See 
 NotelL 
 
 • •• Euuj on Truth," edition jecond, p. 40, «t 
 
 the 
 
 PbilOiophy of Rhetoric," »ol i p IW. ««?». 
 
ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 '27 
 
 it mlM to umiIm for ita own pi«eerTalioii 
 
 tlM iimiiMiit alter its introduotiiin to tlio 
 
 Mil Tlin% at k observed thmft tlie/iifiMy 
 'vMb^'ftii^u 'Um uterus, '\mnm to perli(»fiii 
 Hm mniiiiii. of swallowing ; and altKi leama 
 to ■illeve itself, by a chapp «f' posture^ 
 imil the irlcsomeiieas of OMtintwd Nit: 
 ani,. therefore, (if we admit 'tbeie 'pro|>Ofli- 
 liMi,) we^niiist eonclude that some of the 
 iMtimw^ which infiuita are vulsarlj supposed 
 'to;Miiiinii. in «iiia«iiMiiM' of instincta ooeval 
 wSk 'Mrth, aw unlyaoonlkitation of aetiwia 
 to which thejf were determined at an.«irli»r 
 p«fiod of thetr being. The remark is inge- 
 iliiiii%. aiid. it maj perhaps be justi but it 
 iom iMt prova that iiuftnci hm unphiloso- 
 liiical. torn ; nor does it rendar the operm- 
 tinns of the infant less mysterious than they 
 'team to m oil the eonmiiii. Mppoaitaon. 
 Hov Ikr mmm the aialjnis^ to. anch in. 
 .■laiMeSk nay be oarried, we naat at last 
 lifive at some phmnomeimn no less wonder- 
 ful than thai wa mean to explain : in. other 
 words, w niist iliU admit as an. ul.timato 
 ImsI, the tKlstaiiee' of an original determina- 
 tion to a particular mode of aalion salutary 
 or meiicssarj to the animal; and all we 
 lmw« aeiMin:p|:isbed is, to commit the origin 
 of' ibis .iastinot with, an earlier period in the 
 Ustoty nf Hw. hiinan mmd. 
 
 The same autlior has attempted to ae- 
 Munt, in. m mamiar aomewhat similar, for 
 Iht 'diffannt 'diqgfees in which, the young 
 nf dilfci«it.animals are able, at the moment 
 'Of birth, to eKiS.rt their bodily 'pmiwa. 
 Thus, calves and ehiolMM are able to' wallc 
 afawat' .inuiediatelj .| vUte the human in- 
 Iknt, even in the niMt:ilif«iimble: situations, 
 is six or even twdw iMBiba old before he 
 can .stand alone* For this Dr Darwin 
 as8%ns two causes. 1. That the young of 
 ■onia animab eome into the world in a more 
 compieto state than that of others- the colt 
 and lainb^ for aiampH enjojliig, in this 
 M8Met,,a'Strilciiif ladvantagfover the puppy 
 and: llW" labbit 2. That tlie nodO'^of wal.k- 
 iig' 'Of some animals, comcidas more per- 
 faei/ihan thatof atfien,. with the previous 
 not'ions of the fm^fnt in utenk The struggles 
 of all a nim al s, he observes,, in tho wwub, 
 mat nsembk their manner of swiiiiming^ 
 aa by this liind of motion they can best 
 change their attitude in water. But the 
 •wfaMniiig of the calf and of 'ths' chicken 
 ■Msmbka their cvrdinafy movemente on the 
 fponad,. which thty have thus .learned in 
 §m% to. execute while concealed from our 
 ohsarvation i whereas, the swinuning of the 
 inman infant differuig totally from his 
 namer of walking^ he baa no opportunity 
 of aeqniring the laat of these arts till he is 
 exposed to our view. The theory is ex- 
 trcmelv phMsible^ and does honour to tbo 
 author a aspaityi but it onlyphiees ia a 
 ligbt that^pRPvldent care vbieh. Nato.ro 
 
 has taken of all her offspring in tha to&a^ 
 of their existence. 
 
 Another instance may oontriboto towmrda 
 a more ample illustration of the same sub* 
 ject. A lamb, not many minutes after it 
 is dropped, proceeds to search for ite nour- 
 ishment in that spot where alone it is to be 
 fuund ; applying both its limbs and its eyes to 
 their respective offices. The peasant ob* 
 serves the fact, and gives the name of mm 
 stiwi, or some corresponding term, to the 
 unknown principle by which the animal ia 
 guided. On a more accurate examination 
 of circumstances, the philosopher finds 
 reason to conclude that it ia by the sense 
 of smelling it is thus directed to its object 
 In proof of this, among other curioub facts, 
 tlie following has been quoted : — ** On 
 di«8ectuig," says Galen, "a soat great 
 with young, I found a brisk emhryon^ and 
 having detached it from the matrix, and 
 snatehing it away before it saw its dam, I 
 brought it uito a room where there were 
 many v ami i | some filled with wine, others 
 with oa, some with honey, others wi 
 milk, or some other liquor ; and in oth< 
 there were grains and fruits. We first o] 
 served the young animal get upon its 
 and walk ; then it shook itself, and a| 
 wards scratched its side with one o 
 feet ; then we saw it smelling to eveH 
 of those things that were set in the 
 and, when it had smelt to them 
 drank up the milk."* Admitting this 
 beautiful story to be true, (and, for my. 
 part, I am far from being disposed toi 
 tion ite probability,) it only eiiabU 
 state the fact with a little more precision, 
 in consequence of our having ascertained, 
 that it is to the sense of snielliiig the ui- 
 stinctive determination is attached. The 
 oonelusion of the peasant ia not here at 
 variance with that of the philosopher. It 
 differs only in this, that he expresses him- 
 self in those general terms whu*h are suited 
 to his ignorance of the particukr procesa 
 by which Nature, in this case, accomplisliea 
 her end ; and, if he did otherwise, he 
 would be censurable for prejudging a ques- 
 tion of which he ia incompetent to fonu an 
 •COUiate opinion. 
 
 The application of these ilhistrations to 
 some of Dr Reid*s conclusions concerning 
 the instmctive principles of the human 
 mind, is, I flatter myself, sufficiently mani. 
 feat. They relate, indeed, to a subject 
 which differs, hi various respects, from that 
 which has fallen under his more particular 
 consideration ; but the same rules of {»hilo» 
 sophixing will bo found to apply equaUy to 
 both. 
 
 4. The criticisms which have been mada 
 on what Dr Reid has written coneemiof 
 
 • Darwin, vol. I pp. ||». log. 
 
 { 
 
 the intuitive truths which he distinguishes 
 by the title of " Principles of Common 
 Sense,** would require a more ample dis- 
 cussion than I can now bestow on them ; 
 not that the unportance of these criticisms 
 (of such of them, at least, as I have happened 
 to meet with) demands a long or elaborate 
 refutation, but because the subject, accord- 
 ing to the view I wish to take of it, involves 
 some other questions of great moment and 
 difficulty, relative to the foundations of 
 human knowledge. Dr Priestley, the most 
 formidable of Dr Reid's antagonists, has 
 granted as much in favour of this doctrine 
 aa it is worth while to contend for on the 
 present occasion. " Had these writers,*' 
 he observes, with respect to Dr Reid and 
 his followers, "assumed, as the elements 
 of their Common Sense, certain truths which 
 are so plain that no man could doubt ol 
 them, fwithout entering into the ground of 
 our assent to them,) their conduct would 
 have been liable to very little objection. All 
 that could have been said would have been, 
 that, without any necessity, they had made 
 an innovation in the received use of a term ; 
 for no person ever denied that there are 
 self-evident truths, and that these must be 
 assumed as tlie foundation of all our reason- 
 ing. I never met with any person who did 
 not acknowledge this, or heard of any argu- 
 mentative treatise that did not go upon the 
 supposition of it."* After such an acknow- 
 ledgment, it is impossible to forbear askmg, 
 (with Dr Campbell,) " What is the great 
 point which Dr Priestley would controvert ? 
 Is it, whether such self-evident truths shall 
 be denominated Principles of Common Sense, 
 or be distinguished by some other appella- 
 tion ?"t . , t. 
 That the doctrine in question has been, 
 
 in some publications, presented in a very 
 exceptionable form, I most readily allow ; 
 nor would I be underHtood to subscribe to 
 It implicitly, even as it appears in the works 
 of Dr Reid. It is but an act of justice to 
 hun, however, to request that his opinions 
 may be judged of from his own works alone, 
 not from those of others who may have 
 happened to coincide with him in certain 
 tenets, or in certain modes of expression ; 
 and that, before any ridicule be attempted 
 on his conclusions concerning the authority 
 of Common Sense, his antagonists would 
 take the trouble to examme in what accept- 
 ation he has employed that phrase. 
 
 The truths which Dr Reid seems, in most 
 instances, disposed to refer to the judgment 
 of this tribunal, might, in my opinion, be 
 denominated more unexceptionably, 
 damental laws of human belief.'* 
 
 " fun- 
 They 
 
 have been called by a very Ingeniona fo- 
 reigner, (M. Trembley of Geneva,) but 
 certainly with a singular infelicity of kn- 
 guage, Prtjufjes Ltyitim^s. Of this kind 
 are the following propositions i — " I am tho 
 same person to-day that I was yesterday ;•* 
 " The material world has an cxisteneo In- 
 dependent of that of percipient beings t"* 
 " There are other intelligent beings in tho 
 universe beside myself;" " The fotura 
 course of nature will resepnble the past." 
 Such truths no man but a philosopher ever 
 thinks of stating to himself in words ; but 
 all our conduct and all our reasonings pro- 
 ceed on the supposition that they are admit- 
 ted. The belief of them is essential for the 
 preservation of our animal existence ; and 
 it is accordingly coeval with the first opera* 
 tions of the intellect. 
 
 One of the first writers who introduced 
 the phrase Common Sense into the tech- 
 nical or appropriate knguage of logict •■• 
 Father Buffier, in a book entitled, ** Tmiii 
 ftfs Premiireit Fertlc.f." It has since been 
 adopted by several authors of note in thia 
 country ; partieulariy by Dr Reid, Dr Os- 
 wald, and Dr Beattie; by all of whom, 
 however, I am afraid, it must be eonfuiad, 
 it has been occasionally employed withowl 
 a due attention to preci»ion. The last of 
 these writers uses it* to denote that power 
 by which the mind perceives the truth of 
 any uituitive proposition ; whether It be aa 
 axiom of al>Rtract science ; or a atatemeat 
 of some fact resting on the immediate inform- 
 ation of consciousness, of perception, or 
 of memory ; or one of those fundamental 
 laws of belief which are implied in the ap- 
 plication of our faculties to the ordinary 
 business of life. The same extensive um 
 of the word may, I believe, bo tomid in 
 the other authors just mentioned. But no 
 authority can justify such a kxity hi the 
 employment of language in philooopbieai 
 discussions ; for, if mathematical axionw^ 
 (as they are, manifestly and indisputaMjrl 
 a class of propositions essentially distinfll 
 from the other kinds of intuitive trutha 
 now described, why refer them all indis- 
 criminately to tlie same prindplo in oar 
 constitution ? If this phraae, thetdbfo, bo 
 at all retained, precision requirra that it 
 should be employed in a more limited m-^ 
 ceptation ; and, accordingly, ui the '^onjj 
 under our consideration, it is appropriated 
 most frequently, though by no meana unt- 
 formlv, to that class of intuitive trutha 
 which I have already called " fundamental 
 laws of beUef.'*t When thus restricted, 
 it conveys a notion, unambiguous, at leaat, 
 
 • « Examlnstlon of Dr Beid'i Inquiry," Ac p. 
 
 t •• FhUoMphy of Rhetoric." vol. i. p. I II. -See 
 NoCeEi 
 
 • '< Enay on Trathr sdltion 
 $fq. i mtoo p 188. •< *^' 
 
 If pi ■^ ^ 
 
 I phr.*., bythe '^-nilf •"? Mf» -J^hj^ 'Tl* 
 hikwophy of Rhetoric,** vol * P 11^ ««■!. 
 
 the . 
 PhikMof^y 
 
28 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 twl dvlBtto { mi, eonfieqiiently, lli« quM- 
 tion mhtmt its pm|»riety or impropriety 
 
 tn^np tatirely on the coiiwiiiiMice of this 
 iaimiiim'' with the m^eaniiif «f"tlw word as 
 'emptojei in ordinary diMOWiM. What- 
 ever objections, therefore, may be stated 
 to the expression as now defined, will 
 ■l^j to it with attditio >al force, when naed 
 'With the latitude which haa been already 
 ewsored. 
 
 I have said tbat the question aboat the 
 propriety of the phrase Common Sense as 
 •nip loyed by philosopheiSi must he' decided 
 hy an appeal to feneral. 'pmetice; for, 
 although it be allowable, and even neces- 
 sary, for a philosopher to limit the accepta- 
 tion of worda^ whicii are employed vaguely 
 in wmmon diiconrse, it is always danferous 
 to give to ft. word a scientilie meaning 
 essentially distinct from that in which it is 
 'nsuiiliy nnders:tood. It has, at least, the 
 «ffeet. of mial:eading those who do not enter 
 'deeply into the subjeet' i and of giving a 
 paradoxical appeamnce to doctrines which, 
 S^xpressed in kore nnexceptionable terms^ 
 would ht readily admitted. 
 
 It appears to me that this has actually 
 happened in the present instance. The 
 phrase Common Sense, as it is generally 
 understood, is nearly synonymous with 
 MDlAtfr-ivtli denoting that degree of sagacity 
 (depending partly on oripn^ capacity, and 
 partly on personal experience and obgerva- 
 iioii) whicn qualiies an individual for those 
 •Inple Mid essential. 'Oecnpitions which all 
 men are called on to exercise habitually by 
 their common nature. In this acceptation, 
 it it opposed to those mental aeqiiireroents 
 whieh are derived from a regular education, 
 and from the study of books ; and refers, not 
 to the sfieeulative convictions of the nnder- 
 standing, but to that prudence and discretion 
 which are tlie foundation of successful eon- 
 dud Such is the idea whieh Pope annexes 
 to the word, when, speaking of good sense, 
 (which means only a more than ordinary 
 share of common sense,) he calls it-~ 
 
 **Thp»riJt of HMitpn, 
 
 Ami, tiMMigli 110 tctcnc«. fAirly worth the leven.** 
 
 To speak, accordingly, of appealing from 
 
 the ooncliimoiis of philosophy to common 
 mmmf Md the appearance, to title-page 
 VMideni, of appealing frotii the verdict oi the 
 leftmed to the voice of the multitude ; or of 
 attempting to silence' free discussion by a 
 nferenoe to M>:tie arbitrary and uiulefinable 
 standard, distinct from any of the intet- 
 lectual powers hitherto enumerated by logi- 
 eiana Whatever countenance may be siip- 
 poeed to have been given by some writers 
 to nich an Interpretation of this doctrine, I 
 may venture to assert that none is afforded 
 by the works of Dr Rcid. The standard to 
 whieh he appeals is neither tlw ereed of a 
 partieialar aect|. nor the inward l%ht of 
 
 nihttaiaatie presumption, but that eonstitu* 
 tion of human nature without which all tha 
 business of the world would immediately 
 eeoae i and the substance of his argument 
 amounts merely to this, that those essential 
 bws of belief to which sceptics have 
 objected, when considered in connection 
 with our scientific reasonings, are implied in 
 every step we take as active beings ; and if 
 called in question by any man in his prac- 
 tical concerns would expose him universally 
 to the charge of insanity. 
 
 In stating this important doctrine, it wera 
 perhaps to be wished that the subject had 
 been treated with somewhat more of ana- 
 lytical accuracy ; and it is certainly to be 
 regretted that a phi-ase should have been 
 employed, so well calculated by its ambiguity 
 to furnish a convenient handle to misre- 
 presentations; but, in the judgment of those 
 who have perused Dr Reid s writings with 
 an intelligent and candid attention, these 
 misrepresentatitnis must recoil on their 
 authors ; while they who are really inters 
 ested in the progress of useful science, will 
 be disposed rather to lend their aid in sup- 
 plying what is defective in his views than 
 to reject hastily a doctrine which aims, by 
 the developement of some logical principles 
 overlooked in the absurd systems which 
 have been borrowed from the schools, to vin- 
 dicate the authority of truths intimately and 
 extensively connected with human happiness. 
 
 In the prosecution of my own speculations 
 on the human mind, I shall have occasion 
 to expkin niyf«elf fully concerning this, as 
 well as various other questions connected 
 with the foundations of philosophical evi- 
 dence. The new doctrinen and new phrase- 
 ology on that subject, which have lately 
 become fashionable among some metaphy- 
 sicians in Germany, and which, in my 
 opinion, have contributed not a little to 
 involve it in additional obscurity, are a 
 Huflicient proof that this essential and fundii- 
 inental article of logic is not as yet com- 
 pletely exhausted. 
 
 fn order to bring the foregoing remarks 
 within some compass, I have found it 
 necessary to confine myself to such object 
 tions as strike at the^oot of Dr Reid's 
 philosophy, without t<T\iching on any of hia 
 opinions on particular topics, however im- 
 portant I have been obliged also to com- 
 press what I have stated within narrower 
 limits than were perhaps consistent with 
 complete perspicuity ; and to reject many 
 illustrations which crowded upon me at 
 almost every step of my progress. 
 
 It may not, perhaps, be superfluous to 
 add, that, supposing some of these objections 
 to {K>sses8 more force than I have ascribed 
 to them in my reply, it will not therefore 
 follow, that little advantage is to be derived 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 29 
 
 fnm a careful perusal of the speculations 
 against which they are directed. Even they 
 who dissent the most widelv from Dr Reid*8 
 conclusions, can scarcely fail to admit, that, 
 as a writer, he exhibits a striking contrast 
 to the most successful of his predecessors, 
 in a logical precision and simplicity of 
 language— his statement of facts being 
 neither vitiated by physiological hypothesis, 
 nor obscured by scholastic mystery. Who- 
 ever has reflected on the infinite importance, 
 in such inquiries, of a nkilful use of words 
 as the essential instrument of thought, 
 must be aware of the influence which his 
 works are likely to have on the future pro- 
 gress of science, were they to produce no 
 other effect than a general imitation of his 
 mode of reasoning, and of his guarded 
 phraseology. 
 
 It is not, indeed, every reader to whom 
 these inquiries «re accessible ; for habits of 
 attention in general, and still more habits 
 of attention to the phcenomena of thought, 
 require early and careful cultivation ; but 
 those who are capable of the exertion will 
 aoon recognise, in Dr Reid's statements, 
 the faithful history of their own minds, and 
 will find their labours amply rewarded by 
 that satisfaction which always accompanies 
 the discovery of useful truth. They may 
 expect, also, to be rewarded by some intel- 
 lectu.il acquisitions not altogether useless in 
 their other studies. An author well quali- 
 fied to judge, from his own experience, of 
 whatever conduces to invigorate or to em- 
 bellish the understanding, has beautifully 
 remarked, that " by turning the soul inward 
 on itself, its forces are concentrated, and are 
 fitted for stronger and bolder flights of 
 science; and that, in such pursuits, whether 
 we take, or wliethcr we lose the game, the 
 chase is certainly of service."* In this 
 respect, the philosophy of the mind (ab- 
 stracting entirely from that pre-eminence 
 which belongs to it in consequence of its 
 practical applications) may claim a distin- 
 guish d rank among those preparatory dis- 
 ciplines which another writer, of uo less 
 eminence, has happily compared to " the 
 crops which are raised, not for the sake of 
 the harvest, but to be ploughed in as a dress- 
 ing to the land.***}* 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 CONtXfJSION OP THE NARRATIVK. 
 
 Thk three works to which the foregoing 
 remarks refer — together with the Essay on 
 Quantity, published in the " Philosophical 
 
 • Preface to Mr Burk.'« *' Euay on the Sublirae 
 and BmuuiuI." 
 i Biihop Berkeley*! «* Querist** 
 
 Transactions of tlie Royal Society of Lon- 
 dtm," and a short but masterly Analysis 
 of Aristotle's Logic, which forms an ap- 
 pendix to the third volume of Lord Kanies* 
 " Sketches'' — comprehend the whole of Dr 
 Reid's publications.* The interval between 
 the dates of the first and last of these amounts 
 to no less than forty years, although he had 
 attained to the age of thirty -eight before he 
 ventured to appear as an author. 
 
 With the " Essays on the Active Powers 
 of Man," he closed his literary career ; but 
 he continued, notwithstanding, to prosecute 
 his studies with unabated ardour and activity. 
 The more modem improvements in chemis- 
 try attracted his particular notice ; and he 
 applied himself, with his wonted diligence 
 and success, to the study of its new doctrines 
 and new nomenclature. He amused him- 
 self also, at times, in preparing, for a philo- 
 sophical society of which he was a member, 
 short essays on particular topics which 
 happened to interest his curiosity, and im 
 which he thought he might derive useful 
 hints from friendly discussion. The most 
 important of these were — " An Examination 
 of Priestley's Opinions concerning Matter 
 and Mind ;" " Observations on the ' Utopia' 
 of Sir Thomas More ;" and " Physiologi- 
 cal Reflections on Muscular Motion." Tliis 
 last essay appears to have been written in 
 the eighty-sixth year of his age, and was 
 read by the author to his associates, a few 
 months before his death. His " thoughts 
 were led to the speculations it contains,'* 
 (as he himself mentions in the conclusion,) 
 " by the experience of some of the effects 
 which old age produces on the muscular 
 motions." ** As they were occasioried, 
 therefore," he adds, " by the infirmities of 
 age, they will, I hope, be heard with the 
 greater indulgence." 
 
 Among the various occupations with 
 which he thus enlivened his retirement, the 
 mathematical pursuits of his earlier years 
 held a distinguished place. He delighted 
 to converse about them with his friends ; 
 and often exercised his skill in the investi- 
 gation of particular problems. His know- 
 ledge of ancient geometry had not probably 
 bten, at any time, very extensive ; but he 
 had cultivated diligently those parts of 
 mathematical science which are subservient 
 to the study of Sir Isaac Newton's works. 
 He had a predilection, more particularly, 
 for researches requiring the aid of arith- 
 metical calculation, in the practice of which 
 he possessed uncommon expertness and 
 address. I think I have sometimes ob- 
 served in him a slight and amiable vanity, 
 connected with this accomplishment. 
 
 * Reiil'«" History of the Unversity of GJa»gow," 
 waa publUhed, after his death, in the •• Staiwtical 
 Account of Scotland " It is how, for the firrt time, 
 added to his other works.— H. 
 
ill 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THB LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 31 
 
 TlM' tmitdf al HbM '{wmxl, of Dr R«id*k 
 iiat MiMitiltefffopeiwityi has ofleii recalled 
 to ma' a laTO'itrile remark of Mr .Smith*a 
 _tliat of all ilia mmusements of old age, 
 the moil giataM and aoothing is a renewal 
 ofagfuai'Htaiwa^ with. Ilia 'liiwiirile studies 
 Hid IsToiirite aulhofs of our youth ; a re- 
 maik. wMA, in. Ua avn ease, seemed to be 
 inoffe fatlieiilailar'aaampliied, while he wss 
 t«v|ienasmf , with iia snthnsiasm of a stu- 
 dent, the tragic poets of ancient Chreece^ 
 I heard him, at least, repeat the observa- 
 tion more than onee^ while Sophocles or 
 Suripides lay open on his table. 
 
 In the ease of Dr Retd, other motives 
 feiiiaps conspired, with the inMuence of the 
 agfiiiibls asioeialiims to whieh Mr Smith 
 prbbahly^aiiided. His attenlbnwae always 
 fixed on the state of his iniellectual facul- 
 ties i and for eonnteractmg the effocts of 
 time on these, malhanatical studies seem 
 la ha filled, in a ;i>aeiiliar degree. They are 
 IllillMitsly} too, within the reach of many 
 individuals, after a decay of memory dis- 
 qualifies Ihem for inquiries which involve 
 a nmilipEotty of detaUs. Such detached 
 pMUams, more especially, as Dr Reid com- 
 monly seleetad for his consideration—pro- 
 blems where all the data are brought at once 
 ■lldar' Hiaayo, and whew a connected train 
 'Of Ihhiimif is mot to be 'Carried on from 
 day to day— will be found, (as I have wit- 
 uaisid with pleasure in several instances,) 
 by those who are capable of such a recrea- 
 mot aialnaMa addition to the scanty re-^ 
 iMNinM' af a ifi praliaated beyond thC' or- 
 'dinanf' limit* 
 
 Whia he was thus enjoying an old age 
 liaMr'a some .respeots beyond the usual 
 lul if humanity, his domaitiit comfort suf- 
 iwii a deep and uiMiabIa wound by the 
 death of Mrs Raid. He had had the mis- 
 iwHuw^ taa, of Munriving, "te many years, 
 ft miiiaiiMi iunily of praniUlig ehildren ; 
 inr of whom (two sons and two daughters) 
 died aller they attained to maturity. One 
 danghlar only was kft to him when ha kat 
 Us wife ; anil of her affectionate good offices 
 ha eould not always avail himself, in oon- 
 aeqwanea of the aHanlions which her own 
 ltusband*s infirmities required. Of this 
 lady, who ia atiU alive, (the widow of 
 Bitriik Carmiohael, M. D.,») I shall have 
 ocoaaion. ^Main to introduce the name, be- 
 iira I aoBdnde this narrative. 
 
 • A learned »n<l worthy (ihyiiitai. wImIi ■ftar • 
 ^ItSB.tSrtde'i'Ce in Hoiiaod, where lie pffaitlMid muAL 
 B. miMl !• Wmam. :He wy m jrounger loii of 
 ^"' mm, llffm*«i CeraikiiSii who puW^hed. 
 His few iTiO, an rditian of Puffl-nciorff, Or 
 
 ,^ If mimiMei CMs, and who la pronounced by 
 _ flutcbeioii, •• by far the be*t cotnmetitator on 
 llltl book.*' rCariBichael was Hutche«>n't imme- 
 diatt prrdeeeMOff la tat ohair of Moral PbUcMopby in 
 lit Onl»er«tty of OlMpiw, iw* jnaf be rwaiifi, 
 •■■ood groaadhaallieiaalftundBertlit 
 
 ^^ paUoMfhf — H.3 
 
 A short extract from a letter addressed 
 to myself by Dr Reid, not many weeks 
 after his wife*s death, will, I am persuaded, 
 be acceptable to many, as an interesting 
 relie of the writer. 
 
 " By the loes of my bosom friend, with 
 whom I lived fifty-two years, I am brought 
 into a kind of new world, at a time of Ufa 
 when old habits are not easily forgot, or new 
 ones aequirad. But every world is God*a 
 world, and I am thankful for the comforts 
 he has left me. Mrs Carmichael has now 
 the care of two old deaf men, and does every 
 thing in her power to please them; and 
 both are very sensible of her goodness. I 
 have more health than, at my time of life, 
 i had any reason to expect I walk about t 
 entertain myself with reading what I BO<m 
 forget ; can converse with one person, if ha 
 articulates distinctly, and is within ten 
 inches of my left ear : eo to church, without 
 hearing one word of what is said. Yon 
 know I never had any pretensions to viva« 
 city, but 1 «n MiU fre. from l»Ku«r ud 
 gnnut. 
 
 " If yon are weary of this detail, impute 
 it to the anxiety you express to know the 
 ticate of my health. I wish you may have 
 no more uneasiness at my age, — being youra 
 most affectionately." 
 
 About four years after this event, ha 
 was prevailed on, by his friend and relation, 
 Dr Gregory, to pass a few weeks, during 
 the summer of 1796, at Edinburgh. He 
 was accompanied by Mrs Carmichael, who 
 lived with him in Dr Gregory's houae ; a 
 situation which united under the same roof, 
 every advantage of medical care, of tender 
 attachment, and of philosophical inter- 
 course. As Dr Gregory's professional en- 
 gagements, however, necessarily interfered 
 much with his attentions to his guest, I 
 enjoyed more of Dr Reid*8 society than 
 might otherwise have fallen to my share. 
 I had the pleasure, accordiimly, of spend- 
 ing some Lnrs with him Mly, and of 
 attending him in his walking excursions, 
 whieh frequently extended to the distance 
 of three or four miles. His faculties (ex- 
 cepting his memory, which was considerably 
 impaired) appeared as vigorous as everi 
 and, although his deafness prevented htm 
 from taking any share in general conversa- 
 tion, be was still able to enjoy the company 
 of a friend. Mr Playfair and myself were 
 both witnesses of the acuteness which ha 
 displayed on one occasion, in detecting a 
 mistake, by no means obvious, in a manu- 
 script of his kinsman, David Gregory, on the 
 subject of " Prime and Ultimate Initios." 
 Nor had his temper suffered from the hand 
 of time, either in point of gentleness or of 
 paiety. *' Instead of repining at the en* 
 joyments of the yoimg, he delighted in pro- 
 moting them ; and, alter all the loaiea ha 
 
 I 
 
 had sustained in his own family, he con- 
 tinued to treat children with such eonde- 
 scension and benignity, that some very 
 young ones noticed the peculiar kindness 
 of h s eye."* In apparent soundness and 
 activity of body, he resembled more a man 
 of sixty than of eighty-seven. 
 
 He returned to Glasgow in his usual 
 health and spirits ; and continued, for some 
 we^s, to devote, as formerly, a regular por- 
 tion of his time to the exercise both of body 
 and of mind. It appears, from a letter of 
 Dr Cleghorn's to Dr Gregory, that he was 
 still able to work with his own hands in his 
 garden ; and he was found by Dr Brown, 
 occupied in the solution of an algebraical 
 problem of considerable difficulty, in which, 
 after the labour of a day or two, he at last 
 succeeded. It was in the course of the 
 fame short interval, that he committed to 
 writing those particulars concerning his an- 
 cestors, which I have already mentioned. 
 
 This active and useful life w as now, how- 
 ever, drawing to a conclusion. A violent 
 disorder attacked him about the end of 
 September; but does not seem to have 
 occasioned much alarm to those about him, 
 till he was visited by Dr Cleghorn, who 
 soon after communicated his apprehensions 
 hi a letter to Dr Gregory. Among other 
 symptoms, he mentioned particularly "that 
 alteration of voice and features which, 
 though not easily described, is so well 
 known to all who have opportunities of 
 seeing life cloee.*' Dr Reid's own opinion 
 of his case was probably the same with that 
 of his physician ; as he expressed to him on 
 his first visit his hope that he was "soon to 
 get his dismission.** After a severe struggle, 
 attended with repeated strokes of palsy, he 
 died on the 7th of October following. Dr 
 Gregory had the melancholy satisfaction of 
 visiting his venerable friend on his death- 
 bed, and of paying him this unavailing mark 
 of attachment before his powers of recol- 
 lection were entirely gone. 
 
 The only surviving descendant of Dr 
 Reid is Mrs Carmichael, a daughter worthy 
 in every respect of such a father — long the 
 chief comfort and support of his old age, 
 and his anxious nurse in his lastmoments.f 
 
 In point of bodily constitution, few men 
 have been more indebted to nature than Dr 
 Reid. His form was vigorous and athletic ; 
 and his muscular force (though he was 
 somewhat under the middle size) uncom- 
 monly great ; advantages to which his habits 
 of temperance and exercise, and the un- 
 clouded serenity of his temper, did ample 
 
 '; 
 
 • I have borrowed this sentence from a just and 
 elegant character of Dr Beid, which appeored, a few 
 daft after hi» d«a«h, in one of the (JIasgow jouniala 
 1 had occasion frcquentlj lo verify the truth ot the 
 otacnratton during hit visit to Edinburgh. 
 
 f Note F. 
 
 justice. His countenance was strongly 
 expressive of deep and collected thought ; 
 but, when brightened up by the face of a 
 friend, what chiefly caught the attention 
 was a look of good-will and of kindness. A 
 picture of him, for which he consented, at 
 the particular request of Dr Gregory, to sit 
 to Mr Raeburn, during his last visit to 
 Edinburgh, is generally and justly ranked 
 among the happiest performances of that 
 excellent artist. The medallion of Tassie, 
 also, for which he tat in the eighty-first 
 year of his age, presents a very perfect 
 resemblance. 
 
 I have little to add to what the foregoing 
 pages contain with respect to his character. 
 Its most prominent features were, intrepid 
 and inflexible rectitude, a pure and devoted 
 attachment to truth, and an entiie com- 
 mand (acquired by the unwearied exerlions 
 of a long life) over all his passions. Htnce, 
 in those parts of his writings where his 
 subjectforces him to dispute the conclusions 
 of others, a scrupulous rejection of every 
 expression calculated to irritate those whom 
 he was anxious to convince : and a spirit of 
 liberality and good-humour towards his 
 opponents, from w hich no asperity on their 
 part could provoke him for a moment to 
 deviate. The progres^s of useful knowledge, 
 more especially in what relates to human 
 nature and to human Ufe, he believed to be 
 retarded rather than advanced by the in- 
 temperance of controversy ; and to be 
 secured most effectually when intrusted to 
 the slow but irresistible influence of sober 
 reasoning. That the argumentative talents 
 of the disputants might be improved by such 
 altercations, he was willing to allow ; but, 
 considered in their connection with the great 
 objects which all classes of writers profess 
 equally to have in view, he was convinced 
 " that they have done more harm to the 
 practice, than they have done service to the 
 theory, of morality.* * 
 
 In private life, no man ever maintained, 
 more eminently or more uniformly, the 
 dignity of philosophy ; combining with the 
 most amiable modesty and gentleness, the 
 noblest spirit of independence. The only 
 preferments which he ever enjoyed he owed 
 to the unsolicited favour of the two learned 
 bodies who successively adopted him into 
 their number; and the respectable rank 
 which he supported in society was the well- 
 earned reward of his own academical la- 
 bours. The studies in which he delighted 
 were little calculated to draw on him the 
 patronage of the great ; and he was un- 
 skilled in the art of cm.rting advancement 
 by " fashioning his doctrines to the varying 
 hour.*' 
 
 As a philosopher, his genius was mora 
 
 • Fieface to Viyet " Etwj on Man," 
 

 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE ANB WKITING* 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 33 
 
 poeuliMljr^illMinMsterised by asouncL cautious, 
 iMnguishmg judgmeut, by a singuiar 
 
 ,iijr ,liiliitt of tlio miMit fixed and ooucoitimted 
 attantion to his own mental operattets; 
 endowments wbicli, altliough not the moet 
 ^lendid in the estimation of the multitude, 
 mmid seem entitled, from the hktory of 
 :Mi«Me, to rank among' the rarest gifts ^of 
 tte mind. 
 
 With these habits and powers, he united 
 (what does not alwap accompany them) 
 'the' eurieMty of a naturalkt, and the eye of 
 an oheerrer ; and, accordingly, hi» inform- 
 ation about everything relating to physical 
 aeience, and to the useful arts, was exten- 
 ■iire and aeewwte. His memory for his- 
 torical details was not so remarkable ; and 
 he oaed sometimes to regret the imperfect 
 degree in wMeh he posuessed thk facultv. 
 I am inclined, however, to think, that, m 
 doing so, he underrated his natural advan- 
 tages ; estimituig the strength of memory, 
 as men commonly do, rather by the recol- 
 leetion of parttcukr facts, than by the pus- 
 ■eis on of those general eonclustons, from a 
 •nbserviency to which niehfaets derive their 
 principal value. 
 
 Towards the elose of life, mdeed, his 
 :ineniory was much less vigorous than the 
 other powers of his intellect ; in none of 
 whicli could I ever jHjrceive any symptom 
 of decline. His ardour for knowledge, too, 
 temained unextinguished to the last ; and, 
 when eherished by the society of the young 
 '•nd infuisitive, seemed even to increase 
 with his years. What is still more remark- 
 able, he retained, in extreme old age, all the 
 •ym'pathetic tenderness and all the moral 
 sensibility of youth ; tlie liveliness of his 
 emotions, wherever the happiness of others 
 waS' concerned, forming an. affecting oon- 
 talst to his own unconquerable firmness 
 under the severest trials. 
 
 Nor was the seiiitibiliiy which he retahied 
 the selfish and sterile offspring of taste and 
 indolence. It was^ .alive and active, wher- 
 aver im could com^niaud the means of re- 
 liflvtiig the distresses' or of adding to the 
 eomforts of others ; and was often mt in its 
 •fleets, where he was unseen and unknown. 
 Anong the varif>us proofs of this which 
 Iwfe happened to fall under my own know. 
 Mge, I cannot help mentioning puitieularly 
 (upon the most uuqueatlonable authority) 
 the secrecy with wiiich he conveyed hts 
 teewinoal bene&etions to his former parish- 
 ..ifumi at Mew-Machar, long after his esta- 
 iiishnient at Gksgow. One donation, in 
 puriieular, during the scarcity of 17f^ — 
 rdoniitaon whid^ iKitwithitending all his 
 peoaiitionii^ was distinctly traced to his 
 MMiMfiee'^n'tght perhaps have been 
 Mwaipbt disproportionate to his lunited in- 
 •ome, had not his own simple and moderate 
 
 habits multiplied tlie resources of faii 
 humanity. 
 
 His opinions on the most important sub- 
 jeets are to be found in his works ; and that 
 ipirit of piety which ani^aud every p« 
 of his conduct forms the best comment on 
 their practical tendency. In the state in 
 which he found the philosophical world, he 
 believed that his talents could not be so 
 usefully employed as in combating the 
 schemes of those who aimed at the com- 
 plete subversion of relgion, both natural 
 and revealed ; convinced, with Dr Clarke, 
 that, " as Christianity presupposes the 
 truth of Natural Religion, whatever tends 
 to discredit the latter must have a propor- 
 tionally greater effect in weakening the 
 authority of the former.*** In his views of 
 both, he seems to have coincided nearly 
 with Bishop Butler, an author whom he 
 held in the highest estimation. A very 
 careful abstract of the treatise entitled 
 " Analogy,*' drawn up by Dr Reid, many 
 years ago, for his own use, still exists 
 among his manuscripts ; and the short 
 ** Dissertation on Virtue** which Butler has 
 aimexed to that work, together with the 
 " Discourses on Human Nature" published 
 in his volume of Sermons, he used always 
 to recommend as the most satisfactory ac- 
 count that has yet appeared of the funda- 
 mental principles of Morals : nor could he 
 conceal his regret, that the profound philo- 
 sophy which tliese Discourses contain 
 should of late have been so generally sup- 
 planted in England by the speculations of 
 some other moralists, who, while they pro- 
 fess to idolize the memory of Locke, 
 ** approve Uttle or nothhig in his writings, 
 but his errors. **t 
 
 Deeply impressed, however, as he was 
 with hia* own principles, he possessed the 
 most perfect liberality towards all whom he 
 believed to be honestly and conscientiously 
 dev«>ted to the search of truth. With one 
 very dbtingubhed cliaracter, the htm Lord 
 Karnes, he lived in the most cordial and 
 afl'ectiunate friendship, notwithstanding the 
 avowed opposition of their sentiments on 
 some moral questions to which he attached 
 the greatest importance. Both i»f them, 
 however, were the friends of virtue and of 
 mankind t and both were able to temper the 
 warmth of free discussion with the for- 
 bewance and good humour founded on re- 
 ciprocal esteem. No two men, certainly, 
 ever exhibited a more striking contrast in 
 their conversation, or in their constitutional 
 tempers :~the one, slow and cautious in 
 
 • Collectian of Piipers which passed t»^wrcn Lcib. 
 nitt and Clarke. Sec Dr Clfirke's DedicatH n. 
 
 t I have adODted ht-rc, the word* which Dr Cls'ks 
 applied to tome of Mr Locke* earher tbilowera. 
 1 hi'jr are ilUI more applicable to manv writer* o( (ha 
 present timet See Clarke^a First Reply to Leiu. 
 niia 
 
 ly 
 
 
 1 
 
 '*' 
 
 ' |i 
 
 his decisions, even on those topics which 
 he had most diligently studied; reserved 
 and silent in promiscuous society ; and re- 
 taining, after all his literary eminence, the 
 same simple and unassuming manners which 
 he brought from his country residence : 
 the other, lively, rapid, and communicative; 
 accustomed, by his professional pursuits, 
 to wield with address the weapons of con- 
 troversy, and not averse to a trial of his 
 powers on questions the most foreign to his 
 ordmary habits of inquiry. But these cha- 
 racteristical differences, while to their com- 
 mon friends they lent an additional charm 
 to the distinguishing merits of each, served 
 only to enliven their social intercourse, and 
 to cement their mutual attachment. 
 
 I recollect few, if any anecdotes of Dr 
 Reid, which appear to me calculated to 
 throw additional light on his character; 
 and I suspect strongly, that many of those 
 which are to be met with in biographical 
 publications are more likely to mislead 
 than to inform. A trifling incident, it is 
 true, may sometimes paint a peculiar fea- 
 ture better than the most ehiborate descrip- 
 tion ; but a selection of incidents really 
 charaeteristical, presupposes, in the ob- 
 server, a rare capacity to discriminate and 
 to generalize ; and where this capacity is 
 wantmg, a biographer, with the most scru- 
 pulous attention to the veracity of his de- 
 tails, may yet convey a very fiitse concep- 
 tion of the individual he would describe. 
 As, in the present instance, my subject 
 afforded no materials for such a choice, I 
 have attempted, to the best of ray abilities, 
 (instead of retailing detached fragments of 
 omversations, or recording insulated and 
 unmeaning occurrences,) to communicate 
 to others the general impressions which Dr 
 Reid^s character has left on my own mind. 
 In this attempt I am far from being confi- 
 dent that I have succeeded ; but, how barren 
 ioever I may have thus rendered my pages 
 in the estimation of those who consider 
 biography merely in the light of an amusing 
 tale, 1 have, at least, the satisfaction to 
 think, that my picture, though faint in the 
 colouring, does not present a distorted re- 
 semblance of the original. 
 
 The confidential correspondence of an 
 individual with his friends, affords to the 
 student of human nature, materials of far 
 greater authenticity and importance; more 
 particularly, the correspondence of a man 
 like Dr Reid, who will not be suspected by 
 those who knew him, of accommodating his 
 letters (as has been alleged of Cicero) to 
 the hiuno rs and principles of those whom 
 he addressed. I am far, at the same time, 
 from thinking that the correspondence of 
 Dr Reid would be generally interestmg; 
 or even that he excelled m this species of 
 writing : but few men, I sincerely, believe, 
 
 who have written so much, have left be^ 
 hind them such unblemished memorials of 
 their virtue. 
 
 At present, I shall only transcribe two 
 letters, which I select from a considerable 
 number now lying before me, as they seem 
 to accord, more than the others, with the 
 general design of this Memoir. The first 
 (which is dated January 13, 1779) is ad- 
 dressed to the Rev. William Gregory, 
 (now Rector of St Andrew's, Canterbury,) 
 then an undergraduate in Balliol College, 
 Oxford. It relates to a remarkable pecu- 
 liarity in Dr Reid*s physical temperament, 
 connected with the subject of dreaming ; 
 and is farther interesting as a genuine re- 
 cord of some particulars in his early habits, 
 in which it is easy to perceive the openings 
 of a superior mind. 
 
 " The fact which your brother the Doctor 
 desires to be informed of, was as you men- 
 tion it. As far as I remember the circiun- 
 stances, they were as follow : — 
 
 " About the age of fourteen, I was, almost 
 every night, unhappy in my sleep, from 
 frightful dreams : sometimes hanging over 
 a dreadful precipice, and just ready to drop 
 down ; sometimes pursued for my life, and 
 stopped by a wall, or by a sudden loss of 
 all strength; sometimes ready t<» be de- 
 voured by a wild beast. How long I was 
 plagued with such dreams, I do not now 
 recollect. I believe it was for a year or 
 two at least ; and 1 think they had quite 
 left me before I was fifteen. In those days, 
 1 was much given to what Mr Addison, hi 
 one of his " Spectators,** calls castle-build- 
 ing ; and, in my evening solitary walk, which 
 was generally all the exercise I took, my 
 thoughts would hurry me into some active 
 scene, where I generally acquitted myself 
 much to my own satisfaction ; and in these 
 scenes of imagination 1 performed many a 
 gallant exploit. At the same time, in my 
 dreams I found myself the most arrant 
 coward that ever was. Not only my cour- 
 age, but my strength failed me in every 
 danger ; and I often rose from my Led in 
 the morning in such a panic that it took 
 some time to get the better of it. I wished 
 very much to get free of these uneasy 
 dreams, which not only made me unhappy 
 in sleep, but often left a disagreeable im- 
 pression in my mind for some part of the 
 following day. I thought it was worth 
 trying whether it was possible to recollect 
 that it was all a dream, and that I was ui 
 no real danger. I often went to sleep with 
 my mind as strongly impressed as I could 
 with this thought, that I never in my life- 
 time was in any real danger, and that every 
 fright I had was a dream. After many 
 fruitless endeavours to recollect this when 
 the danger appeared I effected it at Vist, 
 and have often, when I was sliding over a 
 
31' 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 liracipico into til* almi, ncoHeeM thai ii 
 ij« all » dnMn, md McUj jumfietl down. 
 Tbe effect of this commonly was, that I 
 . iinniM a t a l y awoko. But I aivoko oalni 
 ani. iatrqiiil^ wliieli. I thought a graat ac- 
 fuUtioa. Allor thin, my dreams were 
 ■aim, very mmmj ? and, in a ahort time, I 
 dfeamed not at all. 
 
 ' " During all this time I was in perfect 
 nealth ; but whether my 'Oeaaing to dream 
 was tho eieot^ of 'tio 'iecoIle<stion above 
 IMUliilMd, or of any change in the habit 
 of mr body, wMch is usual about that 
 f«riod of 14 1 cannot telL I think it may 
 move pmiably he mpaUd to the hist 
 However, the fact wa% that, for at least 
 ii^f yian' after, I dreamed, none, to the 
 Ijitt. of ra^MiiiiaiiiliEance ; and finding, from 
 the testimony of others, that this is some- 
 what uncommon, I have often, as soon as 
 I awoke, endeavoured to reoollect, without 
 Millg able to recollect, anything that passed 
 ill m^^ .sleepb For some years past, I can 
 ■Biiiotiniea reoollect some kind of dreaming 
 thoughts, but so ineoherait that I can 
 ^nake nutting of them. 
 
 '""The o4 diatiiwt. ii«am I ever had 
 ri&ee I waa iImmI sixteen, as far as I 
 imiember, waa about two years ago. I 
 iMd got mv head hfetored for a Mi A 
 loiter, whieh 'was^ put upon it after the 
 iistori 'pained mo •xeessively for a whole 
 ■%ht In the moming I slept a little, and 
 inamed, very distinctly, that I had fallen 
 into tlio hands of a party of Indians, and 
 vaaMsai|ioiL 
 
 "I am apt to think that, as there is a 
 ■•■Ij'Of sleep, and a stato wherein we are 
 'ipako, so there: is an. intermediate stato, 
 wiWi. parta^kes ui the other two. If a 
 ■tan Mmnptorily resolves to rise at an 
 'Carl J hour mm wamm intoresting purpose, he 
 wii of himself awake at that hour. A sick- 
 ■niM gela th* hauit of sleeping in such a 
 ■■■■•r iial she hears the leaat whisper of 
 111* aitfi potion, and yet is rolkshed by 
 this kmd of half sleep. The same is the 
 «se of a nurse who sleeps with a child in 
 har arma. I have slept on horseback, but 
 • .as: to preserf O' n^ bahmce » and, if the 
 Iowa stnnibM,. I oonM 'mate 'the eiertion 
 for saving me from a &11, aa if I 
 
 .!*"'• *• «!'iencei. at your good uni- 
 
 ^mmm^ an: imi. in thw state. Yet, inom so 
 niai^ .leaned men, so much at their ease, 
 m 'ViMild axpeat someiliimg mote than we 
 nMUP'OC'** 
 For 'tia. ^ofber letter, I am .indebted to 
 •a of Dr Reid*s most intimala IHends, to 
 whiiii: m 'waa addnaBsd, in the year 1784, 
 ill!' 'HMmIimi of' tils melancholy event to 
 viMi'il^aliiite. 
 
 •* I ipnpathlae with yon very sincerely 
 in ft* ]*■§ of a most amiable wife. I j udge 
 
 of your feelings by the impression she made 
 upon my own heart, on a very short ao- 
 «iuaintance. But all the blessings of this 
 world are transient and uncertain ; and it 
 would be but a melancholy scene if there 
 were no prospect of another. 
 
 " I have often had occaaion to admire 
 the resignation and fortitude of young per- 
 sons, even of the weaker sex, in the views 
 of death, when their imagination is filled 
 with all the gay prospects which the world 
 presents at that period. I have been wit- 
 ness to instances of this kind, which I 
 
 thought truly heroic, snd I hear Mrs G 
 
 gave a remarkable one. 
 
 " To see the soul increase In vigour and 
 wisdom, and in every amiable quality, when 
 health, and strength, and animal spirits 
 decay — when it is to be torn by violence 
 from all that filled the imagination and 
 flattenxl hope—is a spectacle truly grand 
 and instructive to the surviving. To think 
 that the soul perislies in that fatal moment 
 when it is purified by this fiery trial, and 
 fitted for the noblest exertions in another 
 state, is an opinion which I cannot help 
 looking down upon with contempt and dis- 
 dain. 
 
 " In old people, there is no more merit in 
 leaving this worid with perfect acquiescence 
 than in rising from a feast after one is fulL 
 When I have before me the prospect of the 
 infirmities, the distresses, and the peevish- 
 ness of old age, and when I have already 
 received more than my share of the good 
 things of this life, it would be ridiculous 
 indeetl to be anxious about prolonging it ; 
 but, when I was Ibor-and-twenty, to have 
 had no anxiety for its continuance, would, 
 I til ink, have required a noble eflfort. Such 
 efforts in those that are called to make them 
 surely shall not lose their rewani.** 
 
 I have now finished all that the limits of 
 my plan permit me to offer here as a tributo 
 to the memory of this excellent person. In 
 the detaib which I have stated, both with 
 respect to his private life and his scientific 
 pursuits, I have dwelt chiefly on such cir- 
 cumstances as appeared to me most likely 
 to interest the readers of his works, by 
 illustrating his character as a man, and his 
 views as an author. Of his merits as an 
 instnictor of youth, I liave said but little ; 
 partly from a wish to avoid unnecessary 
 diffuseness, but chiefly from my anxiety to 
 enlarge on those still more important fat- 
 hours of whkh he has beque;vthed the fruito 
 to futUM ages. And yet, lutd he left no 
 such monmnent to perpetuate his name, 
 the fidelity and zeal with which he dis- 
 charged, during so long a period, theobscure 
 but momentous duties of his official st ation 
 would, in the judgment of the wise and 
 good, hure ranked him in the first order of 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 35 
 
 lf» 
 
 i 
 
 f 
 
 useful citizens. " Nee euim is solus rel- 
 publicse prodest, qui candidates extrahit, et 
 tuetur reos, et de pace belloque censet ; sed 
 qui juventutem exhortatur; qui, in tantii 
 bonorum prseeeptorum inoi)i&, virtute in- 
 struit animos ; qui, ad pecuniam luxuri- 
 amque cursu rueutes prensat ae retrahit, et, 
 ■i nihil aliud, certe moratur : in private, 
 publicum negotium agit.*'* 
 
 In concluding this memoir, I trust I 
 shall be pardoned, if, for once, I give way 
 to a personal feeling, while I express the 
 satisfaction with which I now close, finally, 
 my attempts as a biographer. Those which 
 I have already made, were imposed on me 
 by the irresistible calls of duty and attach- 
 ment ; and, feeble as they are, when com- 
 pared with the magnitude of subjects so 
 splendid and so various, they have en- 
 croached deeply on that small portion of 
 literary leisure which indispensable engage- 
 mcnte allow me to command. I cannot, 
 at the same time, be insensible to the grati- 
 fication of having endeavoured to associate, j 
 in some degree, my name with three of the ' 
 greatest which have adorned this age — 
 
 • Seneca,** DeTranquilL An." cap. 3. 
 
 happy, if, without deviatmg intentionally 
 from truth, 1 may have succeeded, however 
 imperfectly, in my wish to gratify at once 
 the curiosity of the public, and to soothe the 
 
 recollections of surviving friends. But I, 
 
 too, have designs and enterprises of my 
 own ; and the execution of these (which, 
 alas ! swell in magnitude, as tlie time for 
 their accomplishment hastens to a period) 
 claims, at length, an undivided attention. 
 Yet I should not look back on the past 
 with regret, if I could indulge the hope, 
 that the facts which it has been my province 
 to record — by displaying those fair rewards 
 of extensive usefuhiess, and of permanent 
 fame, which talents and industry, when 
 worthily directed, cannot fail to secure- 
 may contribute, in one single instance, to 
 foster the proud and virtuous independence 
 of genius ; or, amidst the gloom of poverty 
 and solitude, to gild the distant prospect of 
 the unfriended scholar, whose laurels are 
 now slowly ripening m the unnoticed pri- 
 vacy of humble life.* 
 
 * On Reid'B doctrines Mr Stewart ha> also some 
 valuable observations in his '* Dissertation on the Pro> 
 gress of Metaphysical and Ethical Philosophy."— H. 
 
 NOTE S.* 
 
 NoTB A. — Page 4. 
 
 In the account given in the text of Dr 
 Reid's ancestors, I have followed scrupu- 
 lously the information contained in his own 
 memorandums. I have some suspicion, 
 however, that he has committed a mistake 
 with respect to the name of the translator 
 of Bucbanan*s History ; which would ap- 
 pear, from tlie MS. in Glasgow College, to 
 have been, not Adam, but John. At the 
 same time, as this last statement rests on 
 an authority altogether unknown, (being 
 written in a band different from the rest of 
 the MS.,"!-) there is a possibility that Dr 
 
 • If another edition of this Memoir should ever 
 be called fnr, 1 must request that the printer may 
 adhere to the plan which I myself have thought 
 advisable to adopt in the distribution of my notes. 
 A mistake which h.is been committee] in a late edi. 
 tion of my Lite of Dr Hobortson, where a long 
 Appendix is broken down into foot-notes, will siif. 
 ficiently account for this request to those who have 
 seen that publication. 
 
 t It is to the following purport :— " The Historie 
 of Scotland, first written in the Latin tungue by 
 that tamous and learmd man, George Buchanan, 
 and aAerwards translated into ihcScottishe tungue 
 by John Read. Esquyar, brother to James Read, 
 person of Banchory. J ernun, whyle he lived. They 
 both ly intered in tlie jMirish church of that towne, 
 seated not farre from the banke of the river of Dee, 
 expecting the general resunection, and the glorious 
 appearing of Jesus Christ, there Redimer." The date 
 
 
 Reid*8 account may be correct ; and, there- 
 fore, I have thought it advisable, in a matter 
 of so very trifling consequence, to adhere to 
 it in preference to the other. 
 
 The following particulars with respect to 
 Thomas Raid may, perhaps, be acceptable 
 to some of my readers. They are copied 
 from Dempster, a contemporary writer; 
 whose details concerning his countrymen, it 
 must, however, be confessed, are not always 
 to be implicitly relied on i — 
 
 " Thomas Reidus, Aberdonensis, pueri- 
 tiie mese et infantilis otii sub Thoma Car- 
 gillo collega, Lovaniiliterasinschola Lipsii* 
 serio didicit, quas rnagno nomine in Ger- 
 mania docuit, carus Priucipibus. Londini 
 diu in comitatu humanissimi ac clarissiml 
 viri, Fulconis Grevilli, Regii Consiliarii 
 Interioris et Anglise Proqusestoris, egit : 
 turn ad amicitiam Regis, eodem Ftilcone 
 deducente, evectus, inter Palatinos admis- 
 
 of the transcript is 12th December IC'ii. Accord, 
 irig ID Caldciwood's MS. History of the Church of 
 Scotland, John Read was " servitor and writer to 
 Mr George Buchanan." Rut this is not likely.— H. 
 • This is doubtful ; for Sir Robert Aylouii, in the 
 account he gives of Reid's studies, makes no mention 
 of so remarkable a circumstance. Dempster pobsibly 
 cohfut'ed Thomas Reid with Heid'b friend. Sir Thomas 
 Seghet, another learned and wandering Scotchman, 
 and a favourite pupil of '* the Prince of Latin Let- 
 ters.">.H. 
 
 H 2 
 

 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WHITINGS 
 
 ■Ml a literis Latinis Begi fbii Scriptiit 
 Biiilii, at est magna indole et variA erudi- 
 tione," Ac " Ex auk se, nemine conscio, 
 nuiier fmripiity duni ili omnia festinati 
 lioiioria angmente liiigiili. om'inarenlur, neo 
 4|tiifl Mnde egerit ant quo locorum ee con- 
 tiikrit quisquani indtcaro potuit Multi 
 Miapilcalianlur, isdio aulse affectum, mon- 
 •■Imsib' quieti. aeipnim tnididiaae, sub an- 
 nual liia RmMir' poatea .ftiit in aulam 
 ndiae^ et meritisiimlaliiiiMMAnS' radditum, 
 wd nunquam id consequetur quod ▼irtus 
 :pMllWPfftiir. *'*•—//{#/. EcciesiatUea Getttia 
 JMiniM, lib. xvi p^ 576. 
 
 Wbal was the judgment of Tliomas 
 Reid*s own times witi tospect to his genius, 
 and wbat tbeir hopes of bis posthumous 
 Hmui, mmj he collected from, an elep on 
 iii'ifaatli. by his learned conntiymanlSir] 
 Sobert Aytoun. Already, before the lapse 
 of two hundred years, some apology, alaa f 
 nay ba^ thougbl nMoaaary for an attempt to 
 teaeiM Ms nanw' fVom total oblivion. 
 
 Aytoun*s elegy on IMd fa lefened to in 
 imam wry flattering both to its author and 
 to ite MiMeet, by the editor of the coHec- 
 tion entitled,. '* Poilamn Scotorum Musie 
 Ebeni.'*'* ^ In obltum Tbomm Rbeidi 
 fRhiwli] epicedium extat elegantissimum 
 Hilbarti Aytoni, viri literis ac dignitate 
 'tlafitsimi, in DeEtiiB Fojftanim. Scotorum, 
 uU '«! ipaiw qnoqiW' poteata,. pancnbi qui- 
 dem ilia, aed Tiniistii, sed ebftiiiiiy com- 
 it*'f 
 
 • Tliewdl.kiiownWiUiaiiiLatider.~H. 
 
 f laiiltbefollowliBgMtfiiotiGet^ which I chance 
 
 wiiuwiiiin uwmgw ■■mi«c»| WHICH i cimnoe 
 
 Ja .ttgrii to this eiefanl ichi^lar' aailjicute 
 Mr* nnin 
 
 itaM«iu% 
 land. Reifl 
 
 ilfLJkBiHduii jIUiuHftai 
 
 Sir Butiert Afloiia*^' Elcny, 
 laMiinff his studies in Scot. 
 
 — , l» Piaiscr. There, howeier, 
 
 he did nor ttfTf ; ffinr, m SeoHMiflitleMiilieitiwtre 
 then in biffh academical reptle, heanoa m»i;fc«i m 
 call to Germany :— 
 
 _ .« aiiEtiit Gcrmante nblltro 
 .Kl pNdi et prrtii.." 
 
 la that (amiitrf , he tninht ntitloinphf and humane 
 iMIWiftMritfetBlfeaniwIfh dMntuished reputation, 
 in tlie unit enitiet of Leipaic and Roitiich. 
 
 **Mlailii Id caairia^ multa hie am laude metentem, 
 
 ft vlda 40 Bailiarto aclillliqiie aophlstla 
 — * — I iiiifptea Ibnia irlctflce triurophM 
 liiult 'iMixiin^Jlula 'Credidit Itlic 
 ^y — _w ._— JBiaiiittti In FMMi SMvariai Rhanlo 
 MoaiimMlentelHreif fluli par duneia l,yciri 
 AlMiiter tentare, ti:iiilluQt^at:Mttpiet Ihailor 
 
 Nac' tlhl, fama minor i|iia .Baifhica li«toca <ipcctal 
 ilOitocMMii, pacta 'lif Ic IW ptarlmttt anal • 
 Crevit iMiwi, aalto aoa adiiiramta prnfii'ttds 
 Doct'rine anpatoi tot Iti am iitelofe aeervna, 
 Fdieemouo tfaw fpndl, oitocunque Itlierrt 
 Ore loq'Ui. ftnioiMiiie hawtu iirodticate. partus 
 M«ntia,et exaipmes scriptis animart ppyiOi.** 
 
 'Wiiie la OernMUifi/lie'vroletherallawlnir treal- 
 mm '«iii*Cli dtailair pveat ithilfwophical talent:— 
 "Hmhimb Ihaedi. Sroll. De Ohjvcfo Metaphvwir* 
 PlMtfftatlo contra Hrmiingtim AriilMMm. 'Roa. 
 lacUi! lei'i.'* 410 
 
 , •• Tli«m« lliiMli. ftwil,, Fiffvltilia If rtaphrtira 
 il i Mar l i la i i— . ]lMiiMiMt"i Mi&'* ito. 
 
 I IM Jllewiie seen reHerrfd to, a SrstemoT Lilfie 
 bf kim* Mhiii>hed at Rfwtoch ; but In «:iM|. 'pir I 
 laov iMii. TlMMih file date of the eailiil. of th«' 
 piMilaa ttcailaai he laia. it ap|.icais that 'he was 
 al^lailMli bettm 1611. and that he then had ptib- 
 
 Tlie only works of Alexander Reid of 
 which I have heard are *' Chirurgical Lec- 
 tures on Tumors and Ulcers," London, 
 1035; and a "Treatise of the First Fart 
 of Chirargerie," London, 1038. He appears 
 to have been the pliysieian and friend of 
 the celebrated mathematician Thomas 
 Harriot, of whose interesting history so 
 little was known till the recent discovery of 
 his manuscripts by Mr Zach of Saxe-Gotha. 
 
 A remarkable instance of the careless or 
 capricious orthography formerly so common 
 in writing proper names, occurs in the dif- 
 ferent individuals to whom this note refers. 
 Sometimes the family name is written — 
 Reid ; on other occasions, Riede, Read, 
 Rhead, or Rhaid. 
 
 NoTB B,~.Page 4. 
 
 Dr Tumbuirs work on moral philosophy 
 was published at London in 1740. As I 
 have Atnly turned over a few pages, I can- 
 not say anything with respect to its meritSi 
 The mottoes on the title-puge are curious, 
 when considered in connection with those 
 inquiries which his pupil afterwards prose- 
 cuted with so much success ; and may, 
 |>erhaps, without his perceiving it, have had 
 some effect in suggesting to him that plan 
 of philosopliizing which he so systemati- 
 cailv and so happily pursued i— 
 
 "If nat ural philosophy, in all its parts, 
 
 li*hed a dissertation against Arnisaeiis; to which 
 this philosopher in that vear rpniied in his «• Vindi. 
 cic secundum veritatem pro Aristotele et ^aniorlbus 
 autbu«quc philoHophis contra Thomae Rhiedi, Scoti, 
 I)i>s«rtationpTn clenchticani de Mihjpcto Metapliyticea 
 ec natura Entifl. assertapab HeiminKO Amiiaeo, Hal- 
 bentadiensi. Francnfurti : 161 1." 4ta 
 
 At what date Reid returned to England, or when 
 he was appointed Latin Secretarv to King .lamen, 
 doca not appear. I find, however, fVom Smith's 
 Life of Patrick Ynunff, who was associated with 
 him in the translation into Latin of James's Englinh 
 works, and who sucreoded him as Secretary, that 
 Reid died in 16^4. There is also to l»e found in the 
 same Ijfe (sec " Vl«e qunnmt'am eruditiMlmornro 
 virorum," fee.) the fragment of a Dissertation br 
 Renl— " Quo«( Regibus et Licitura tt Decorum sit 
 Scriliere." A considerable number of Reid's poems 
 arc to he found in tiie •« Delitiae Poetarum Scoto. 
 rum:" and his paraphraae of the KUih Psalm, 
 which is not among these, was puMishe«l during his 
 life, with high encomium, by William Barclay in hia 
 •• Juiticium de Poeiico duello tVt'i^^nunii." The 
 writings which he leit were, however, only ocra. 
 yinnal and fbgitlve pieces— only indications of what 
 he would have accompIi>hed had an early death itot 
 frustrated his great designs. 
 
 " Et tn Rha?<te jacei opera Inter manca, minatque 
 Scriptorum ingen(e«, queia si supreme ftilsset 
 Cum lima porrerta manu«, non ulla Aiisset 
 ralliopea tutn Sophtwc iilurtrior albo 
 Quamquc Rl cdeum praeferrct pagina ttomen. 
 
 Nunc ceu rapta tiiis KUiK-rant lantummodo hu»tia 
 Paucula furtivas schediasmata fu!ca per hnri«i>, 
 Qualiacunque ramen sunt hacc, hacipaa revinceilt 
 Ease Calednniis etiamnum lumen alumnis 
 Kt genium, quo vel Scoti Subtilis acumen, 
 Vet poterunt dulces Buchanani anjuare Camcenaa.* 
 
 Mr S'ewart (p 3) is mtsinforroed in stating that 
 Reid published any coUection of his Diaaertations -~ 
 H. 
 
 OF THOMAS REID, D.D. 
 
 37 
 
 by purstiing this method, shall, at length, 
 be perfected, the bounds of moral philoso- 
 phy will also be enlarged." 
 
 Newinn*s Optics. 
 
 ** Account for moral as for natural things." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 For the opinion of a very competent 
 judge, with respect to the merits of the 
 ** Treatise on Ancient Painting," vide 
 Hogarth's Print, entitled '* Beer-Laiie." 
 
 NoTK C. — Page 10. 
 
 ** Dr Moor combined," &c. — James 
 Moor, LL.D., author of a very ingenious 
 fragment on Greek grammar, and of other 
 philological essays. He was also distin- 
 guished by a profound acquaiiitance with 
 ancient geometry. Dr Simson, an excel- 
 lent judge of his merits, both in literature 
 and science, has somewhere honoured him 
 with the following encomium : — " Turn in 
 Mathesi, tum in Grsecis Literis multum et 
 feliciter versatus." 
 
 " The Wilsons," (both father and son,) 
 &c. — Alexander Wilson, M.D., and 
 Patrick Wilson, Esq., well known over 
 Europe by their " Observations on the 
 Solar Spots," and many other valuable 
 memoirs. 
 
 KoTB D — Page 20. 
 
 A writer of great talents (after having 
 reproached Dr Reid with "a gross igno- 
 rance, disgraceful to the university of which 
 he was a member") boasts of the trifling 
 expense of time and thought which it had 
 cost himself to overturn his philosophy. 
 ** Dr Oswald is pleased to pay me a com- 
 pliment in saying, that ' I might employ 
 myself to more advantage to the public, by 
 pursuing other branches of science, than by 
 deciding rashly on a subject which he sees 
 I have not studied.* In return to this 
 eompliment, I shall not affront him, by 
 telling him how very little of my time tliis 
 business has hitherto taken up. If he 
 alludes to my experiments^ I can assure 
 him that I have lost no time at all ; for, 
 having been intent upon such as require 
 the use of a burning lens, I believe I have 
 not lost one hour of sunshine on this 
 account And the public may, perhaps, be 
 informed, some time or other, of what I 
 have been doing in the mn, as well as in 
 the ikade.'** — [Priestley's] " Examination 
 of Reid*8 Inquiry," &,c., p. 357* See also 
 pp. 101, 102 of the same work. 
 
 Note E Page 27. 
 
 The following strictures on Dr Priestley's 
 " Examination," &c., are copied from a 
 very judicious note in Dr CampbeU's ** Phi- 
 losophy of Rhetoric," vol i. p. 3. 
 
 " I shall only subjoin two remarks 
 
 on this book. The first is, that the author, 
 through tlie whole, confounds two things 
 totally distinct — certain associations of ideas, 
 and certain judgments implying belief, which, 
 though in some, are not in all cases, and, 
 therefore not neces.arilj connected with 
 association. And if so, merely to account 
 for the association is in no case to account 
 for the belief with which it is attended. 
 May, admitting his plea, (p. 86,) that, by 
 the principle of association, not only the 
 ideas, but the concomitant belief may be 
 accounted for, even this does not invalidate 
 the doctrine he impugns; for, let it be 
 observed, that it is one thing to assign a 
 cause, which, from the mechanism of our 
 nature, has given rise to a particular tenet 
 of belief, and another thing to produce a 
 reason by which the understanding has 
 been convinced. Now, unless this be done 
 as to the principles in question, they must 
 be considered as primary truths in respect 
 of the understanding, which never deduced 
 them from other truths, and which is under 
 a necessity, in all her moral reasonings, of 
 founding upon them. In fact, to give any 
 other account of our conviction of them, is 
 to confirm, instead of confuting the doctrine, 
 that, in all argumentation, they must be 
 regarded as primary truths, or truths which 
 reason never inferred through any medium, 
 from other truths previously perceived. 
 My second remark is, that, though this exa- 
 miner has, from Dr Reid, given us a cata- 
 logue of first principles, which he deems 
 unworthy of the honourable place assigned 
 them, he has nowhere thought proper to 
 give us a list of those self-evident truths 
 which, by his own account, and in his own 
 express words, * must be assumed as the 
 foundation of all our reasoning.* How 
 much light might have been thrown upon 
 the subject by the contrast ! Perhaps we 
 should have been enabled, on the compari- 
 son, to discover some distinctive characters 
 in his genuine axioms, which would have 
 preserved us from the danger of confound- 
 ing them with their spurious ones. No- 
 thing is more evident than that, in whatever 
 regards matter of fact, the mathematical 
 axioms will not answer. These are purely 
 fitted for evolving the abstract relations of 
 quantity. This he in effect owns himself, 
 (p. 39.) It would have been obliging, then, 
 and would have greatly contributed to 
 shorten the controversy, if he had given us, 
 at least, a specimen of those self-evident 
 
38 ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF DR RE10. 
 
 |irini!ip*i» wlikli, in liw Mtimatioii, an tlw 
 fWfi 'pirn tikm of nwml reanoiiiiig.** 
 
 HoTB F* — PagvO' 31. 
 
 Br Reid*s iitlitr|. flM ReT. 'Lewii' Beid, 
 married, for hia wmmA wife, Janet, dftigliter 
 of Mr Fraaer of Phopachy, in the ooiinly 
 of Invemeea. A diiiif iter of this marriage 
 is stii »liir« j Ae wife of tlie Rev. Alex- 
 ander Leslie, and the mother of the Rev. 
 James Leslie, ministers of Fordoun. To 
 ihe latter of these gentlemen, I am indebted 
 for llw pest«r part 'Of the .information I 
 1iii¥e 'lieeii ahte to eciIlMt with remot to Br 
 .Reid,. pwfloua to hiS' removal to Olamow — 
 Mr Leslie's regard for the memory of hiu 
 mole having prompted him, not only to 
 tnmaniit to me such particuhus as had 
 Wlen ■indef' his own knowledge, hut some 
 valnalile letters on the same subjeet, which 
 he Droonred firom his relations aad friends 
 
 For .ai. the members of this most respect- 
 able 'fuiiy, Br Beid. eniertaiiied the 
 strongest sentiments of affection and regard. 
 Buring several years before his^ death, a 
 daughter of Mrs Leslie^ was a constant 
 innate of his house, and added mueh to the 
 iMf piness of his small domestic circle. 
 
 iuiother daughter of Mr Lewis Reid was 
 mairied. to the Reverend John Rose» min- 
 ister of IJdny. She died in 1793.— In 
 this connection Br Reid was no less fortu- 
 nate than. In. the formw ; and to Mr Rose 
 I am indebted, for favours of the same kind 
 with those wltich I have already acknow- 
 ledged fktm. Mr Leslie. 
 
 The widow of Mr Lewis Reid died in 
 I'lM) in the eighty-seventh year of her a|^; 
 iMfiqg mnived her step-son, Br Reid, 
 sore thim a year. 
 
 The limite within which I was obliged to 
 eeaine my biographical details, prevented 
 me from, avaiing' n^yself of many interest- 
 ing. 'diOiinilaiifles which were oommuni- 
 eiiad to me 'through the authentic channels 
 which I have now mentioned. But I can- 
 not omit this opportunity of returning to 
 mm dttfennt correnpondents, my warmest 
 anknowWiiinents for the pleasure and 
 instmetiiia whieh. I received from their 
 
 Mf JaidinOi aIms. the learned Professor 
 of L^gie in. the 'University of Glasoow — a 
 gientlenian who, Ibr many years, uved in 
 Lbito of tie most confidential intimacy 
 with Br Reid and his family — is entitled to 
 my best thanks for his obliging attention to 
 'tarions qnerieS' whieh I took the liberty to 
 popese to him, concerning the history of 
 our common friend.* 
 
 • Hm |N«c«dlii.g ■lie«>tt were mA befhra I mm 
 fiiviNlfffd with th« Koidvlnf iiiterettitif noticet In siifiu 
 
 of Mr 9l«WMt*i account ot Reidi Lire, bf 
 
 »r Entght, ProfeMOr uf Natural Philotophy m 
 Marlachal Collefce, Aberck-eii ; and, in oonscquenci*. 
 it haf been found iiii(i»<il>:e to dlitribuie ihem in tlis 
 prnoer placet — H. 
 
 p. a It It probable that Thomat Rdd had been 
 •ducated ..t htariKcbal Coilefte, where the teaching of 
 claftet commenced iinmcdiately on its foundatio in 
 150-1. Ill WuoU'4 * Fasti Oxun.' (thiru or Hlltt't 
 edition, I. 3»4,) It the folUwing entry :— 
 
 ** 10^0, May :28. Th'ioias lUid. (Khtedut,) M.A. 
 of Alierdcne in Scotland. Iiitorporated. He had 
 tiefbra lieen a atudint or thit Univcrtitle, and pub. 
 Il»h«d I bit year *■ Paraphratit Ptalmi civ.' l.ondoti : 
 XtMO 8vo. And alHHit the tuine time, * Epttt ad 
 Episcopum Riifleit»eni,' in H«o." 
 
 Both Secretary Reid and hit brother Alexander, 
 the iihytician, seem to have died in rather early life 
 irom fomc exprestions in their wills. 
 
 Secretary Reid'i trantcnpt of King Jamet Vl't. 
 ** Treatlae on the Re*elatioiia," lit preserved in 
 Marlichal College library. It if interleaved, bat the 
 royal armt on the cover, and on the margint teveral 
 alterations in the well known hand.writing of thitt 
 OMnarcb. 
 
 In hia will, dated UHh May 16^4. he detisnt him. 
 telf " HecTctarv to hit Mfljesty for the Latin Tongue.* 
 In llevon't «• I»«iic« of the flxchequer, t>eiiig pay. 
 ments made in the reign of Jame» L. from the nrigi. 
 nHl Records in the ancient Poll otHce," (publitbed 
 18 <6,) is the following entry :— 
 
 " To 1 homas Reed, Gentleman, the turn of 
 MM : 9 : 4. in reward for the travail, charges, and 
 ex|ien«iiet of btDMcIf and others, employed in writing 
 and translating the book of his Mi4jesty1 w rkt ou* 
 of English Into Latin, by his Majesty's spedal com 
 mandment, and for other his Highnets's services, in 
 the month of October len," Ac. 
 
 The original catalogue ot his library, which he be- 
 queathed to Murischal College, •* f«>r the love I liear 
 to the town of New Aberdeen, and wishing the new 
 college and schools thereof shouUi flouri>h," is still 
 extant amongst the town's rpcords. He had pur. 
 clia»ed in his travels tome of the heA editions of the 
 classics and commentaturt upon tbem, wbiob were 
 then lobeobtainetl. 
 
 His brother Alexander, M D , (Stewart, p. 4,) died 
 in IjOndon about \m\. In IfflO, he intimated to the 
 miglttratet of Aberdeen his having bequeathed his 
 boolctatd MSS., and fUndt for buroarici to thecol. 
 lege, and, in a letter to them, (4th Oct K>X^,) he 
 transmitted £1 10 sterling for the latter purpote. 
 
 From a pap<-r, dated in 1736, in Ur I'homas Reid*t 
 band-writing, it appears that he had an intention of 
 heing Rerv«l heir tohisdirert progenitor, Robert, the 
 brother and heir of .Secretary Reid in if»y4, in order 
 to enable h-m to insti'nte n suit with ihe maeis'ratet 
 of Alierdeen. about their management of the fund 
 lelt by his ancestor for the librarian's salary, which 
 fund bad b?en greatly dila|)idated by them since 
 1677. This was, however, rendered unnect ssary by 
 a decision of the Court of Sedition, which deprived 
 themof the patronage ot that office, and re^tored it to 
 the penoiit In whom the Secretary't will had vetted 
 it. 
 
 Dr Reid appears from the College records, to have 
 bemin Dr «. 'l\irnbuU'» tla^s, (as Mr Stewart men- 
 tions p. 4,} studying under him three ses&ions, and 
 becoming A.M in 17>6. He entered college in i:*f, 
 and was in the fir»t Greek class taught by Dr Thomat 
 filuckwell, afterwards Principal, and celebratt^, at 
 the time, for his strenuous attempts to rerive the 
 studv of the Greelc language in the nortbero partt of 
 Scotland. 
 
 Dr Reid had entered Into this plan with enthu. 
 siasm ; for his pupil and colleague, the late Professor 
 William Ogilvie, used to relate that he had heard 
 him rcdte to his class, demonstrationt of Euclid in 
 the origin.il liinguafje 
 
 The termon which was preached by Mr John Bit. 
 •eC, on the day of moncraiing a call for Dr Reid, (to 
 Ihc parish of Ncw-.Machar, near Aberdeen,) p. 5, 
 attracted much attention, and continued tobe longs 
 favourite with the opt'onents of patronage. 
 
 P. 6. Immediately on Dr Keid's appointment to 
 the place of one of the Regents of King's College, he 
 prevailed on his coHeafjues to make great improve, 
 ments in their system of University education. Tli« 
 actsion wat exl«iKled fiom hve to seven months. 
 
 [ 38 ] 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 Thi following correspondence consists of three consecutive series. 
 
 The/r«f, for which I am indebted to my friend, Alexander Thomson, Esq., of Ban- 
 chory, extends from 1764 to 1770, and contains letters by Reid, during the first six years 
 after his removal to Glasgow, to Dr Andrew Skene, and his son, Dr David Skene, 
 physicians in Aberdeen. This correspondence was termmated, by the death of the father, 
 in 1767, and of the son, in 1771. Both were highly eminent m their profession; 
 but the ktter, who hardly reached the age of forty, was one of the most zealous culti- 
 vators of the natural sciences in Scotland, and the valued correspondent of Linnaeus, 
 Pennant, Lord Karnes, and other distinguished contemporaries. These letters afford 
 what was perhaps wanting to Mr Stewart's portraiture of Reid— they shew us the philo. 
 fcopher in aU the unaffected simplicity of his character, and as he appeared to his friends 
 In the familiar intercourse of ordinary life. • t _i 
 
 The ucand series comprises the letters addressed to Lord Karnes, as given m Lord 
 Woodhouselee's Memoirs of the Life and Writings of that ingenious philosopher. They 
 extend from 1772 to 1782, and are chiefly of scientific interest. ,,, w^ n. 
 
 The third series contains a selection from Reid's letters to his kinsman, the kte Dr 
 James Gregory, Professor of the Practice of Medicine in the University of EdmWh. 
 Br Gregory is known, not only as a distinguished physician, but as one of the mort 
 elegant wholars and vigorous thinkers of his time. He was indeed a remarkable member 
 ev^of a family in which, for two centories, talent would almost s^m to have been 
 entailed. To Dr Gregory and Mr Dugald Stewart, Reid appropriately dedicated his prin- 
 cipal work-the « Essays on the Intellectual Powers." The correspondence, which is of 
 varied interest, extends from 1783, and was only terminated by Reid's death m 1796. 
 
 I owe my best thanks to John Gregory, Esq., for the flattering manner m which he 
 pUused these valuable letters at my disposal; but my friend Dr Alison is not the only 
 other member of the family for whose kmdness I have also to express my obhgation.-H. 
 
 A.-LETTERS TO DRS ANDREW AND DAVID SKENE. 
 
 L 
 
 TO DE ANDREW SKENE. 
 
 Glasgow, Nov. Wh, 1764. 
 Dear Sir,— I have been for a long time 
 wishing for as much leisure as to write 
 you, if it was only to revive the memory 
 of the many happy hours which I bave 
 enjoyed in your company, when, tete-a- 
 tae, we sat down to speak freely of men 
 and things, without reserve and without 
 malignity. The time slipt away so smoothly, 
 
 liumanity class was added, on a higher scale than had 
 been taught previously ; and theteachingof the ele- 
 ments of Latin, bv the Professor of Humanity, dis- 
 continued ; some of the small Inirfaries were united ; 
 and an account of these alterations was given to the 
 public in a small tract, published in MM. Dr Reid 
 mas in favdur of one protessor teaching the whole, or 
 the greater part of the curriculum, and iheiefore did 
 nft follow the plan of confining the professors to 
 ieparate I ranrhe*. as h<«d been done in (ilaspiow siiice 
 17/7, and in Mahschal College since 1753 l he plan 
 •fa peven months' session, after a trial of five years, 
 was abandoned. 
 
 that I could often have wished Jo have 
 dipt its wings. I dare not now be guilty 
 of any such agreeable irregularities ; for I 
 must launch forth in the morning, so as to 
 be at the College (which is a walk of eight 
 minutes) half an hour after seven, when I 
 speak for an hour, without interruption, to 
 an audience of about a hundred. At eleven 
 I examine for an hour upon my morning 
 prelection ; but ray audience is little more 
 than a third part of what it was m the 
 morning. In a week or two, I must, for 
 three days in the week, have a second pre- 
 lection at twelve, upon a different subject, 
 where my audience will be made up of those 
 who hear me in the morning, but do not 
 attend at eleven. My hearers commonly 
 attend ray class two years at least. The 
 first session they attend the morning pre- 
 lection, and the hour of examination at 
 eleven ; the second and subsequent years 
 they attend the two prelections, but not the 
 hour of examination. They pay fees for 
 the first two years, and then they are ctvet 
 
CORRESPONDENCE OP BR KKID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 
 
 41 
 
 «f tlial date, and nmy aMmd gimtis m nwmy 
 ymm m thej pleMe. Mimy attend the 
 Jmm FMmophy ekm four or five years ; 
 ■0 Aat I have many preachers and students 
 
 «f iMfinity and law of conaidiaable stand- 
 faf , hOam whom I stand in swe to .speak 
 without more preparation Ihan I Mr» 
 Wiur© for, I have a great inclination to 
 •lltni some of the pinfessors here — several 
 ■■fif whoii are very eminent in their way ; 
 but I cannot find leinria. Mueii time is 
 consumed in our college meetings about 
 business, of which we have commonly four 
 or five in the weeli. W© have a literary 
 ■jAty mm n-week^ 'Oomisting of the 
 IbBteni and two or tliree more ; where 
 •aeh of the members has a diicourae once 
 in thii aessiftn. The Professors of Hu- 
 manity, Qreek, Iiogio, and Matmral Philo- 
 •ophy, have as many himn as I have, some 
 of them more. AM the other professors, 
 exeept. on% 'teaeh at least one hour a-day ; 
 and we are no less than fourteen m num- 
 
 ^. J**® ^^^"™ **^ '**® different prafeaaom 
 
 are difierent so far as can be, ^'that ifa«'ginM' 
 ;Stndailt may attend two or three, or per- 
 liap more, at the same tune. Near a third 
 part of our students are Irish. Thirty 
 ©■me over hitely in one ship, besides three 
 that went to Edinburgh. We have a good 
 ■any Bnj|lish, and some foreigners. Many 
 nflbe Irish, as well as Scotch, are poor 
 and come up hite, to save money ; so that 
 we an not yet fully oonveened, although I 
 have heen teaching ever since the 10th of 
 October. Those who pretend to know, 
 say that the number of students this 
 }^ear, when fully conveened, will amount 
 
 t© mo. 
 
 The Mailenive m good habits with one 
 another, and manago their political differ- 
 ences with outward decency and good man- 
 ners, although with a good deal of intrigue 
 and secret caballing when there is an elec- 
 tion. I have met with perfect civility from 
 them all By this time, I am sure you have 
 tnonghof the College; for you kno was much 
 as I can tell von of the fine hooses of the 
 ■"••*•*% ®« the Astronomical Observatory*, 
 of Bobin Fowlls' collection of pictures and 
 painting collep, of the foundery for types 
 and printmg house ; therefore, I will carry 
 jon home to my own house, which lyes 
 MMMig the middle of the weavers, like the 
 Hack Wynd m Aberdeen. You go thrvmgh 
 a long, dark, abominably nasty entry, which 
 pads yon into aoiean little close You walk 
 ip atain to a neat little dining-room, and 
 Ind as many other little rooms as just 
 accommodate my family so scantily that my 
 apartnient is a closet of six feet by eiglit or 
 liiiM"Oirtlw. dinliv-room« To balance these 
 litilii inconveniences, the house is new and 
 free of huggs; it has the best air and the 
 insst prospect in Glasgow ; the privilege of 
 
 a krge garden, very airy, to walk in, which 
 IS not so nicely kept but one may use free- 
 dom with it, A five mmutes' walk leads us 
 up a rocky precipice into a large park, partly 
 planted with firs and partly open, which 
 overlooks the town and all the country 
 round, and gives a view of the windings of 
 the Clyde for a great way. The ancient 
 cathedral stands at the foot of the rock, 
 half of its height below you, and half above 
 you ; and, indeed, it is a very magnificent 
 pile. 
 
 When wo came here, the street we live 
 In (which is called the Drygate) was infested 
 with the smallpox, which were very mortal 
 Two families in our neighbourhood lost all 
 their children, being three each. Little 
 David was seized with the infection, and 
 had a very great eruption both in his face 
 and over his whole body, which vou will 
 believe would discompose* his mother. . 
 
 * * • 
 
 Although my salary here be much the 
 me as at Aberdeen, yet, if the class does 
 not fall off, nor my health, so as to disable me 
 from teaching, I beUeve I shall be able to 
 live as easily as at Aberdeen, notwithstand- 
 ing the difference of the expense of living 
 at the two places. I have touched about 
 4-70 of fees, and may possibly make out the 
 hundred this session. 
 
 And now, sir, after I have given you so 
 full an account of my own state, spiritual 
 and temporal, how goes it with you ? Are 
 George and Molly minding their business ? 
 I know Kate will mind hers. Is Dr David 
 littering up your house more and more with 
 all the birds of the air, the beasts of the 
 field, and the clods of the valley ? Or has 
 Walker, the botanist, been carrying him 
 about to visit vegetable patients, whUe you 
 are left to drudge among the animal ones ? 
 Is your head steady, or is it sometimes 
 [tummg] round ? I have a thousand ques- 
 tions to ask about our [country] people, but 
 I ought rather to put them to those who 
 have more tune to answer them. I was 
 ve^ sorry to hear, by a letter from Lady 
 Forbes, of Hatton*s misfortune, and am left 
 in doubt whether the next account shall be 
 of his death or recovery. 
 
 The coHMnon people here have a gloom 
 m their countenance, which I am at a loss 
 whether to ascribe to their religion or to the 
 air and climate. There is certainly more 
 of religion among the common people in 
 tins town than in Aberdeen ; and, although 
 It has a gloomy, enthusiastical cast, yet I 
 think it makes them tame and sober. I 
 have not heard either of a house or of a 
 head broke, of a pocket picked, or of any 
 flagrant crime, smce I came here. I have 
 not heard any swearing in the streets, nor 
 wen a man drunk, (excepting, inter no.?, one 
 Prof r,)8incelcamehere, IfthisseroU 
 
 
 "^ 
 
 tire you, impute it to this, that to-morrow 
 is to be employed in choosing a Rector, and 
 I can sleep till ten o^clock, which I shall 
 not do again for six weeks ; and believe me 
 to be, with sincere friendship and regard, 
 dear Sir, yours, 
 
 Thomas Reid. 
 
 IL 
 
 TO DR DAVID SKBNB. 
 
 DiAR Sir,— We had a Turin Professor 
 of Medicine here lately, whom I wished you 
 acquainted with : Count Carburi is his 
 name ; an Athenian bom, but has been 
 most of his time m Italy.* H e seems to be 
 a great connoisseur in natural history, and 
 has seen all the best collections in Europe. 
 The Emperor and King of France, as well 
 as many persons in Italy, he says, have 
 much more compleat collections of our 
 Scotch fossils than any we have in Britaui. 
 I described to him our Bennacliie porphyry ; 
 but he says all that they call porphyry in 
 Italy, consists of small dark-coloured grains, 
 in a grey ground, and has very much the 
 same appearance as many of our granites, 
 before it is polished. He wanted much to 
 know whether we had any authentic evi- 
 dence from Ireland, or anywhere else, of 
 wood that had been seen in the state of 
 wood, and afterwards petrified. He would 
 have gone over to Ireland on purpose, if we 
 could have given him ground to expect this. 
 He says MM. Buffon and Daubenton are 
 both positive that no such thing was ever 
 known, and that all the petrified wood dug 
 up on various parts of the earth — of wliich 
 Carburi says he has two waggon-loads, found 
 in Piedmont — has been petrified before our 
 earth put on its present form ; and that 
 there is no evidence of any such petrifica- 
 tion now going on. I have a strong inclin- 
 ation to attend the chymieal lecture here 
 next winter ; but am afraid I shall not 
 have time. I have had but very imperfect 
 hmts of Dr Black's theory of fire. He has 
 a strong apprehension that the phlogistick 
 principle is so far from adding to the weight 
 of bodies, by being joyned to them, that it 
 diminishes it ; and, on the contrary, by 
 taking the phlogistick from any body, you 
 make it heavier. He brings many experi- 
 ments to prove this : the calcination of 
 metals, and the decomposition of sul]>hur, 
 you will easily guess to be among the num- 
 ber ; but he is very modest and cautious in 
 his conclusions, and wants to have them 
 amply confirmed before he asserts them 
 positively. I am told that Black's theory 
 is not known at Edinburgh. Chemistry 
 
 • Thtt was Count Marco, not Count Marino, Car- 
 Imri ; lioin at Cepkalonia, and, from 1759 to 1808, 
 Pmfcitor of Ckemittry iu i'aftua. — II. ' 
 
 seems to be the only branch of philosopliy 
 that can be said to be in a progressive state 
 here, although other branches are neither 
 ill taught nor ill studied. As Black is got 
 into a good deal of practice, it is to be feared 
 that his chymieal inquiries must go on slowly 
 and heavily in time to come. 1 never con- 
 sidered Dollond's telescopes till I came 
 here. I think they open a new field in op- 
 ticks which may greatly enrich that part of 
 philosophy. The laws of the refraction of 
 light seem to be very different, in different 
 kinds both of glass and of native chrystal. I 
 have seen a prism of Brazil pebble, which 
 forms two distinct speculunis in Sir I. New- 
 ton's experiment, each of them containing 
 all the primary colours. A German native 
 chrystal seemed to me to form four or five. 
 One composition of glass separates the 
 different colours much more than another 
 composition, even with the same degree of 
 refraction. Dollond has made a fortune by 
 his telescopes, nobody else having attempted 
 to imitate them, and is now, I am told, 
 grown lazy. Nor is the theory of them 
 prosecuted as it ought. Dollond's micro- 
 meter is likewise a very fine instrument, 
 although not built upon anything new in 
 optickN. We have one of them here fitted to 
 a reflecting telescope of about 18 inches, 
 by which one may take the apparent diame- 
 ter of the sun, or of any planet, within a 
 second of a degree. 
 
 I find a variety of things here to amuse 
 me in the literary world, and want nothing 
 so much as my old friends, whose place I 
 cannot expect, at my time of life, to sup- 
 ply. I tliink the common people here and 
 in the neighbourhood greatly inferior to 
 the common people with you. They are 
 Boeotian in their understanding's, fanatical 
 in their religion, and clownish in their dress 
 and manners. The clergy encourage this 
 fanaticism too much, and find it the only 
 way to popularity. I often hear a gospel 
 here which you know nothing about; for 
 you neither hear it from the pulpit, nor 
 will you find it in the bible. 
 
 What is your Philosophical Society* do- 
 mg ? Still battling about D. Hume ? or 
 have you time to look in? I hope your 
 papa holds out in his usual way. I beg to 
 be remembered to him most affectionately, 
 and to all the rest of your family. But I 
 believe you do not like to be charged with 
 compliments, otherwise I would desire of 
 you likewise to remember me respectfully 
 to Sir Archibald Grant, Sir Arthur and 
 Lady Forbes, and others of my country 
 
 • The PhiIo«>phical Societv to which Reid here 
 alude* wat founded by him»e1f and his relaUirc,l>r 
 John Gregory. It was vulgarly "tylpd the W /«? 
 C/ttA. Dr David Skene, who is called by S>ir w. 
 F. rt'es •• a phv8ic*an ol genius and tarte, was one 
 of its original members &ee Forbes's " Life of Best- 
 tie," i. 35.— H. 
 
49 
 
 CORElWroilDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 
 
 
 .■jfiniiitmot,, wliflii you. have occMion to 
 ■■■'' 'iieia. 1 lAmiM be glad, too, to hear 
 iNMifiiii, vImmi Wmie, and opportimity , and 
 iiw ^ifiiiliihrj Iramonr' ai meet together. 
 M jr fill wm all f ntty well, and bc^ their 
 eompUmentB to jou and all yours.— I am, 
 dear Sir, meal albetiiMiately, yows, 
 
 Tiioicjyi RaiD. 
 
 'being the first' 'warm day wm 
 liMPt. had liiiGe the month of 
 
 1.1 1* 
 
 '■TO' UR HAVIB SKBICB. 
 
 GiasffOWt 20 i>«e. 1765. 
 Dum Sir, — Yonr oommisBioni have 
 leeii' .lying by me some time^ for' want of a 
 'Pf«|ier' ''temeyance. An Aberdeen carrier 
 promised to cmll for them, but disappointed 
 me^ I I 'thercfbve sent the two thermometers 
 'WlUpC m in, JMft'» 9mA directed for you 
 hf Ifr. JieniiBii, merchant in the Narrow 
 Wynd, who was to set out from hence yes- 
 ttMiy morning;. One has a eircular bore 
 in 'the :Hnai tabt, the ^otfaer an elliptical 
 one, and hi on that aeoonnt' 'much fitter for 
 •Kperiment& As there is a much greater 
 f nantity of quicksilver in the circular one, 
 M' maf' talie^ four or five minutes to bring it 
 to^ the 'teDfeaature of a fluid in which it 
 ia 'immeiMd.. For nice experiments, some 
 if the elliptical ones are made by Dr Wil- 
 ■oa with the bulb of the small tube naked. 
 ^But' ^thcie are so liable to aeeidents that 
 Ibwehiieie them. 'The perspeetive' machine 
 goes to Edinburgh to-morrow with Dr Trail, 
 who will send it to my sistoro to be sent you 
 hj the first proper opportunity. . • . 
 " Mr Watt has made two small improve- 
 UMiits of the steam-engine. The first is in 
 the iron ban which support the fira These 
 have' alwayS' been, 'made of solid iron, and 
 tafn away m iMt by the ,great heat, that the 
 '•■pense of repairing' them eemes to be very 
 considerable. He usee hollow square bars 
 of plato iron, always kept full of wator, 
 which eemmunicates with a pretty Isrjre 
 Ir, CO that the bars can never be 
 above the degree of b<iyling water, 
 *nd may he kept far below that degree of 
 llMil. The other improvement is to pre- 
 %intt the waste of lieat by 'the chimney pipe 
 of 'the fomacew It is eVident thut' a very 
 lilge proportion of the heat of the fire 
 pMMS off in this way without being applied 
 to 'the 'water in the boyler. To prevent 
 this, he makta thtee small chimney pipes 
 «l inin, which are made to pass through the 
 . Hei.j»*nowen.pIoyedin«ttu,g 
 
 an engine nr the Carron Company with 
 
 Sinoe I saw C. Carburi, I have it upon 
 good authority that there are petrifying 
 springs in Enghwd which petrify things 
 put into them in a short time. And a 
 gentleman here expects, in a short time^ • 
 petrified periwig from one of them. 
 
 Dr Black tells me that Cramer's ftuv 
 naees, both for essaying and melting, m 
 you have them described in his "Jrs Dnetm 
 mmiiea," are the best he knows. His are 
 of this kind, being made of phite iron, 
 lined with a coat of a lute, which is com- 
 posed of one-part clay and three-parts fire- 
 sand, which, he says, never cracks. He 
 has not examined the Fechel earth, but con- 
 ieetnres it to be a composition of the same 
 nnd with Prussian blue. He has seen a 
 horse's head, which, by being long buried in 
 a clay which had some mixture of iron, had 
 in several places taken a fine blue tinge, or 
 rather was covered with a fine blue dust. 
 
 I have attended Dr Bkck*s lectures hith- 
 erto. His doctrme of latent heat is the 
 only thing I have jret heard that is alto- 
 gether new. And, indeed, I look upon it 
 as a very important discovery. As Mr 
 Ogilvie attended him and took notes, I 
 believe he can give you a fuller account of 
 it-than I can. It gives a great deal of light 
 to the phsenomena of heat that appear in 
 mixture, solution, and evaporation ; but, as 
 far as I see, it gives no light to those which 
 appear m animal heat, inflammation, and 
 friction. I wish this discovery may not 
 reach any person who may be so ungene- 
 rous as to make it public before the Or 
 has time to publish it himself. If the ac- 
 count which Ogilvie can give you should 
 suggest any doubts^ I will be glad to clear 
 them, so far as my knowledge of this doc- 
 trine reaches. — I am very glad to hear that 
 Dr Hope has a prospect of raising the true 
 rhubarb. I believe I forgot to tell you that I 
 wrapped up a head of what I take to he the 
 Caucus $yhe»trUj in a piece of paper, and 
 put it in the box with the drawing machine. 
 It grows in great plenty in the fields here ? 
 but I never saw it with you. I have not 
 met with any botanists here. 
 
 Our College is considerably more crowded 
 than it was last session. My class, indeed, 
 is much the same as last year ; but all the 
 rest are better. I believe the number of 
 our students, of one kind or another, may 
 b© between four and five hundred. But the 
 College of Edinburgh is increased this year 
 much more than we are. The Moral 
 Philosophy class there, is more than double 
 ours. The Professor, Ferguson, is, indeed, 
 as far as I can judge, a man of a noble spirit, 
 of very elegant manners, and has a very 
 uncommon flow of eloquence. I hear he it 
 about to publish, I don't know under what 
 title, a natural history of man i exhibiting 
 a view of him in the savage stato, ftnd In 
 
 'lint I* 
 
 the several successive states of pasturage, 
 agriculture, and commerce. 
 
 Your friend, the Cte. de Lauragnais, 
 was very full of you when he was here, and 
 shewed an anxiety that your merit should 
 he known. I am told that he has wrote 
 many things in the M emoirs of the Academy ; 
 but 1 know nobody here that has read them. 
 Our College Library is ten or twelve years 
 behind in the Memoirs of the Royal Aca- 
 demy ; and all that the Cte. has wrote must 
 fidl within that period. He seems to have 
 attached himself so entirely to chemistry 
 as to have neglected every other branch of 
 knowledge. Carburi was more universal ; 
 he gave attention chiefly to the progress of 
 manufactures and commerce, and to col- 
 lect books and specimens of natural or artifi- 
 cial things. 
 
 Our society is not so harmonious as I 
 widi. Schemes of interest, pushed by some 
 and opposed by others, are like to divide us 
 into parties, and, perhaps, engage us in 
 law-suits.* When you see Mr VV. Ogilvie, 
 please make my compliments to him. I 
 received his letter, and will write hun when 
 I can find leisure. I hope your papa is 
 quite recovered of his cold, and that all the 
 rest of the family are in good health. Pray, 
 make my best compliments to him. Mrs 
 Reid, Pegie,and I, have all had a severe cold 
 and cough. I have been keeping the house 
 these two days, in order to get the better of 
 it— I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 Thomas Rbio. 
 
 Ended, Dec. 30. 
 
 Wishing you many happy years. 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO DR ANDBKW SKBNB. 
 
 Dbar Sm,— I have been sometimes apt 
 to impute it to kziness, and sometimes to 
 hurry of business, that I have been so long 
 without writing you. I am ashamed to 
 plead the last of these excuses when I con- 
 sider how many people there are of my 
 acquaintance that have a great deal more 
 to do than I have, and would think all my 
 business but idleness. Yet, I assure you, 
 I can rarely find an hour which I am at 
 liberty to dispose of as I please. The most 
 disagreeable thing in the teaching part is to 
 have a great number of stupid Irish teagues 
 who attend classes for two or three years 
 to qualify them for teaching schools, or 
 being dissenting teachers. I preach to 
 these as St Francis did to the fishes. f I 
 
 • See above, p 40, A, below, pp. 46, A, and 47, B. 
 An theory and all experience prove, that the worst 
 »nd the mort corrupt depositaries of acadenr'cal pa- 
 tronage are a •clf-efraive body of proiesaor*.— H. 
 
 » Not St Francii, but St Antony (of Padua.)— H. 
 
 don*t know what pleasure he had in his 
 audience ; but I should have none in mine 
 if there was not in it a mixture of reason- 
 able creatures. I confess I think there is 
 a smaller proportion of these in my class 
 this year than was the last, although tlie 
 number of the whole is not less. I have 
 long been of the opuiion, that, in a right con- 
 stituted college, there ought to be two Pro- 
 fessors for each class — one for the dunces, 
 and another for those who have parts. 
 The province of the former would not be 
 the most agreeable, but, perhaps, it would 
 require the greatest talents, and, therefore, 
 ought to be accounted the post of honour. 
 There is no part of my time more disagree- 
 ably spent than that which is spent in 
 College meetings, of which we have often 
 five or six in a week. And I should have 
 been attending one this moment if a bad 
 cold I have got had not furnished me with 
 an excuse. These meetings are become 
 more disagreeable by an evil spirit of party 
 that seems to put us in a ferment, and, I 
 am afraid, will produce bad consequences. 
 
 The temper of our northern colonies 
 makes our mercantile people here look very 
 grave. Several of them are going to Lon- 
 don about this matter, to attend the pro- 
 ceedings of Parliament. It is said that the 
 effects in those colonies belonging to this 
 town amount to above £400,000 sterling. 
 The mercantile people are for suspending 
 the stamp-act, and redressing the grievances 
 of the colonists. Others consider their 
 conduct as an open rebellion, and an avowed 
 claim to independence, which ought to be 
 checked in the beginning. They say that, 
 for all their boasting, the colonists are a das- 
 tardly, pusillanimous race, and that a Bri- 
 tish fleet and army would soon reduce them 
 to such terms as would secure their future 
 dependence upon the mother country; that 
 this is the most proper time for doing so 
 when we are at peace with all our neigh- 
 bours. In what light the House of Com- 
 mons will view this matter, 1 don't know, 
 but it seems to be one of the most import- 
 ant matters that have come before them. 
 I wish often an evening with you, such as 
 we have enjoyed in the days of former 
 times, to settle the important affairs of 
 State and Church, of Colleges and Corpora- 
 tions. I have found this the best expedient 
 to enable me to thhik of them vuthout 
 melancholy and chagrin. And I think all 
 that a man has to do in the world is to 
 keep his temper and to do his duty. 
 Mrs Reid is tolerably well just now, but is 
 often ailing. She desires to be remembered 
 to you and all your family.— I am, dear Sir, 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 Thomas RBin. 
 Glasgou. Dec, 30, 1765. 
 
CORR18PONBENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 
 
 45 
 
 V. 
 
 VO HR BAVtD SKS.MB.. 
 
 GImffmv, 23 iHartrA 1766. 
 
 DiAR Sim, — I had yours of the 14th, 
 9mA this moment thai of Thursday the 20, 
 
 with the iiielofMd. a letter from your papa 
 lof Mf Duguii, with jmm mmikat tliermo- 
 mtier. 1 reimmiid ilie themmiKfer, to* 
 piired by Mr Aiman, who left this two days 
 ■go, hut was to be a week at Edinburgh in 
 his return. I shall remember Sir Arohi- 
 baM Grant's commission, but must take 
 •ome time to think of it. What would you 
 tliink of Alex. Meams in Gordon's Hospi- 
 tal? If you are not acquainted with him, 
 jm may learn his qualities and teU me 
 your Mntnients. I shall Hcowise mind your 
 elliptical thermometer. Mr Stewart's* death 
 'tiMmtB me deeply. A sincere friendship, 
 h^gun St twelve years of age, and continued 
 to my 'tiiM of life without any inlemiption. 
 eannot but give you some pangs. You 
 know his worth, yet it was shaided ever 
 ■inoo jm knew him by too .giciit ^abstnetion 
 fNni the world. The former part of his life 
 was more amiable and more social, but the 
 wiiole was of a piece in virtue, candour, and 
 humaiiity. I have often regretted that the 
 ■olidtnde'rfproviding for arawmeffons family, 
 ni. the lu'bour of managiiig an estate and'a 
 hrm, should make a man in a great measure 
 unknown, whose virtue, integrity, and judg- 
 iMnt ought to have shone in a more exten- 
 ■ive 8|}here. His scholars could not but 
 observe and revere his virtues ; and I have 
 no doubt but great numbers of them have 
 .wanedgreat inpiovement by him in natters 
 of higher imporlanee than mathematical 
 knowledge. I have always regarded him as 
 my best tutor, though of the same age with 
 im If the giddy part of my life was in any 
 diffoe spent innocently and Tirluously, I 
 owe it to him more than to any human 
 creature ; for I could not but be virtuous in 
 Mf company, and I could not be so happy 
 in msj ntlier. But I must hmm 'this pleas. 
 inf meknoholy subject. Me Is happy ; and 
 I shall often he happy in the remembianise 
 of our friendship ; and I hope we shall meet 
 Mtini 
 
 Hen is no sueh thbg as chymieal for. 
 
 :liMM made here for sala They are made 
 of pkte iron ; anda white-iron^man manages 
 
 that^inatoKial hotter than, a bhusksmith. But 
 jmi' bunI direct them in everything, and be 
 ^iliM. mm' the work. 
 
 I can give but an imperfect account of 
 
 - ?. Jfhn smart. PraAtifir of Mathcmafics In 
 Martehal CoUciie. Tlifachiirit In the pretentatinn 
 
 •r the rowii CmiwII of Aberdeen : and on the va. 
 Mraflr.lifSiiiarfnirath, Dr Utidwm appoititPd one 
 
 off tie cxamiiialorf of caniMatei fiir Hie imm -11. 
 
 the doctrine of ktent heat ; but some hint 
 I shall give, trusting entirely to your honout 
 that you will be cautious not to make any 
 use of it that may endanger the discoverer 
 being defrauded of his property. 
 
 There is in every body a certain quantity 
 of heat, which makes a part of its form or 
 constitution, and which it never parts with 
 without losing or chanf^ing its form. This is 
 called the latent heat of that body. All or 
 most bodies have three different forms- 
 hardness, fluidity, and steam or vapour. 
 Take water, for an example, in its hard state, 
 that of ice : we have no means of knowing 
 what latent heat it may contain ; but in its 
 fluid state it has about 140' of latent heat 
 more than it had in the state of ice. This 
 heat is latent while the water is fluid ; it 
 does not aflect the thermometer, nor pro- 
 duce any other effect but that of making the 
 body fluid. In the very act of melting from 
 tlie state of ice to that of water. 140" of heat 
 is absorbed from the circumambient bodies 
 without making the water sensibly warmer 
 than the ice ; and in the act of passing from 
 the state of water to that of ice, 140' of heat 
 which was ktent in the water becomes sen- 
 sible, and must pass from the water to the 
 ambient bodies before it can wholly be con- 
 verted into ice. As there is no intermediate 
 state between water and ice, a very small pan 
 of the water freezes at once ; and the latent 
 heat of that part being communicated to the 
 remaining water, the freezing even in the 
 coldest air goes on piecemeal, according as 
 the latent heat goes off first into the water 
 not yet frozen, and from that into the air or 
 ambient bodies. 
 
 Siiemiaceti, in passing from a solid to a 
 perfectly fluid form, requires about 150* 
 of heat, which becomes ktent ; bees' wax 
 about 160**. But there is this remarkable 
 difference between these bodies — as well as 
 iron and some other metak on the one 
 hand, and water on the other— that the 
 former soften by degrees, so that there are 
 many intermediate degrees of softness be- 
 tween the hardest state which the body 
 takes by cold, and the state of perfect 
 fluidity ; whereas in water there seems to 
 be no intermedkte degree between perfect 
 ice and perfect water. Accordingly, in 
 spermaceti, bees' wax, and iron, the ktent 
 heat is more or less, according to the de- 
 gree of softness ; but m water it is always 
 the same. As water has about 140° of 
 latent heat more than ice, so steam has 
 about 800° of latent heat more than water; 
 hence, an ounce of steam, though it have 
 little more sensible heat than boyling water, 
 will heat the cold water that condenses it 
 almost as much as four ounces of boyling 
 water would do. I can only at present 
 give you an exi>erinient or two of the many 
 by which this theory is confirmed. But 
 
 first, it k proper to observe, that equal 
 quantities of the same fluid of different 
 temperatures, being mixed, the tempera- 
 ture of the mixed fluid k always an arith- 
 metical mean between the temperatures of 
 the ingredients. Thus, if a pound of water 
 of 40° be mixed with a pound of 100", the 
 mixed is found precisely 60°. This has been 
 tried in an infinite variety of cases, and 
 found to hold invariably, proper allowance 
 being made for the heat communicated to 
 the vessels, or drawn from them in the 
 operation. 
 
 Experiment 1. — Two Florence flasks had 
 six ounces of water put into each. In one 
 it was made to freeze ; in the other brought 
 as near as possible to the freezing point 
 without freezing — that k, to about 33°. 
 Both were set to warm in a large warm 
 room. The unfrozen water soon came to 
 the temperature of the room ; but the frozen 
 water took eleven or twelve hours to dis- 
 solve, and for the greatest part of that time 
 was not sensibly heated. A calcuktion 
 was made upon the supposition that the 
 frozen water had as much heat communi- 
 cated to it every half hour as the unfrozen 
 water had the first half hour. The result 
 of thk calcuktion was, that the frozen 
 water had absorbed 136° or 140° of heat in 
 melting, over and above that which affected 
 tlie thermometer. 
 
 Exp. 2.— Six ounces of ice of the tem- 
 perature of 32° had six ounces of boyling 
 water poured upon it. The ice melted im- 
 mediately, and the whole water was 52° 
 temperature. 
 
 Exp. 3. — From Musscheubroek, with a 
 little varktion. When the air k ten degrees 
 below the freezing point, set a deep, narrow 
 beer-glass of water to freeze, and let it re- 
 main perfectly at rest, without the least 
 motion. The water will cool regularly 
 below 32" without freezing, even to 22°; 
 but, as soon as it is disturbed, a number of 
 icy spiculie are formed ; and in the same 
 moment the sensible heat rises to 32°, and 
 continues so till all is frozen. 
 
 I need not tell you, that by sensible heat 
 is meant that which diffuses itself to the 
 ambient bodies till all are brought to an 
 equilibrium. Of thk the thermometer is 
 the measure. But latent heat adheres to 
 the body without any tendency to diffuse 
 itself to other bodies, unless they are able 
 to change the fo.m of the body from vapour 
 to a fluid, or from a fluid to ice or hardness — 
 then the latent heat goes off to other bodies, 
 and becomes sensible. I hope you will un- 
 derstand me, though I have wrote in a great 
 hurry. Yet I cannot find that Cullen or 
 the Edinburgh people know anything of this 
 matter. I may give you more of the ex- 
 periments afterwards. 
 
 Thomas Ram. 
 
 VI. 
 
 TO DR OAVm SKENE. 
 
 GhsQOW, \Hth April {X'jm.] 
 Dear Sir, — There is like to be a vacancy 
 in one of the medical professions of this col- 
 lege, by the removal of Joseph Black to 
 Edinburgh. I thought, when I heard of 
 Dr White's death, that there was very little 
 probability of our losing Dr Bkck by that 
 event ; because the Chymieal Profession in 
 Edinburgh was that which was thought 
 fittest for Dr Black ; and there was good 
 reason to think that Cullen would not give 
 up the Chemistry for the Theory of Medi- 
 cine — though he would very wUlingly ex- 
 change it for the Practice of Medicine. 
 But I was informed late yesternight, that 
 Dr Bkck is willing to accept of the Theory 
 of Medicine in Edinburgh, and that the 
 Council are certainly to present him. I 
 am very dubious whether his place here 
 would be worth your acceptance ; but I am 
 sure it would be so much the interest of 
 this society to have such a man in it, (and 
 I need not say how agreeable it would bo 
 to me,) that I beg leave to inform you of 
 what 1 know of the state of the matter, 
 that you may think of it, and let me know 
 your thoughts. The salary of Dr Black's 
 place, is £50 as Professor of the Theory and 
 Practice of Medicine ; and the presentation 
 is in the Crown. The recommendation of the 
 College would probably have great weight, 
 if unanimous ; but I think there is no pro- 
 bability of an unanimous recommendation ; 
 so that the Court interest must probably 
 determine it. Dr Bkck, and Dr Cullen be- 
 forehim, had £20 yearly from the Collej- e, for 
 teaching chemistry ; and the College have, 
 from time to time, allowed, I believe, above 
 £500 for a laboratory. The chemical class 
 this session might bring £50 or £C0 of fees, 
 and the medical class from £20 to £30 ; so 
 that the whole sakry and fees w ill be between 
 £140 and £160. At tho same time, the 
 CoUefre can at any time withdraw the £20, 
 and give that and the chemical laboratory to 
 another ; and it is not improbable that thk 
 may be done if one be presented of whose 
 abilities in chemistry the College is not 
 satisfied. Dr Black, of late, had got a 
 great deal of practice in the medical way, 
 so as to leave him but little time for prose- 
 cuting his chemical discourses, and I think 
 you might expect the same after some time ; 
 for he had no natural connection here : it 
 was his merit alone that brought him into 
 it; and he long resisted, instead o£ courting 
 it ; so that it was in a manner forced upon 
 him. The other medical Professor has 
 anatomy and botany for his province ; he 
 has a good anatomical ckss ; but he does 
 
46 
 
 CORRESTONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 
 
 47 
 
 '■Hi tMMsli liotaiir at all, nor !% aa I appro-' 
 ..ImbiI, fiai'iiei to 'toacli It. AH I haT© fiir- 
 iliar to iaj i», that there is a great spirit of 
 inquiry here among the young people. Lite- 
 raiy merit is nitidi r^gankd. | and I con- 
 «elv© the opportiiBitiia a man haa of improv- 
 liig hittaw are nneh greater than at Aber- 
 deen. The communication with Edinburgh 
 h easy. One goes in the stage-eoaeh to Edin* 
 Imxi^ heftwe dimier i haa all the aflerD'Oon 
 there I and retnma to^ dinner at Glasgow 
 next day t so that, if you have any ambition 
 to get into the College of Edinburgh, (which, 
 I think, yon ought to have,) I conceive 
 Gtoagow would ho a good step. Now, sir, 
 :if you iadlno thfe plaioe, you must, without 
 Miy, try your interest ax Court, and get 
 the best reeowmtwlatioiia you can to the 
 members of this Colle||e. The Principal and 
 Mr Clow are not engaged; they are the 
 only persona to whom I have made known, 
 or Intend to make known, my writing to you. 
 Iioid Findlator*B interest, I think, would 
 hftve 'Weight with Tiaiand Williamson. I 
 ant 'told of' three caml'idates — Dr Stovenson, 
 in Ghwig^w j Dr Smith Carmichael, a young 
 dootor, pres«tly at London ; and one Dr 
 ;Slofk, who waa^ edneated here. Each of 
 'liieso^ I apprehend, haa^ "btcrest with some 
 of the members, and depend upon them ; so 
 thi^ we win probably be divided, and, con- 
 
 mHj* mat recommendation, if any is 
 
 ,giimi, 'Will 'have tittle weight at Court. If, 
 aller due deliberation, you tliink it not worth 
 your while to stur in this matter for youroelfy 
 
 will yon he 'SO good as eomm'iuiieatO" tho atato 
 of the case to Dr George Skene ?* He is the 
 man— that is, next to you— I would be fond 
 of for a colleague ; and in thia I think I am 
 iiiafinined more by the public good than 
 
 VIL 
 
 •m na amdrbw maim, 
 
 Bian 8in,»I eannot presently ky my 
 
 hand upon the last latter I had from you, 
 and I 'beg' you will inpita :il 'to that and to 
 my had memory if thoM was anythhig hi it 
 I unghl to anoww. I have sent by the 
 liearer, Mr Doguid, merchant in Aberdeen, 
 .an olilntical thaniiMMtor for Dr David, 
 which 1 could 'not 'ind. an opprtunity of 
 iMudisg' 'till now. Mft Sold' was, this day, 
 at one m the afternoon, brought to bed of a 
 dhliglitor, whom wo have named Elizabeth, 
 land I hope is^ m a good way. .... 
 Wo havo' 'had grut canvassing here about 
 
 • A tllM Aliealoiiiaii Phftlcian of dittiziciion, ot 
 Uie nmmt! of ftkane^. Inil- am aittation, at lesit not a 
 ' relation, ol tlie otitf ' tmo M» wm Profiewm oT 
 [ihy. Marficliil t dlcfe; an rnilnentacbolar} 
 or tha lata 8olleitor.Oenaal.~M. 
 
 a Profoawr of the Theory and Practice of 
 Physic, to succeed Dr Jo. Black, although 
 all that we do is to recommend one to the 
 King, who has the presentation. Dr 
 Stevenson, a son of the late Dr Stevenson 
 in Edinburgh, who has by much the best 
 practice in this town and neighbourhood, 
 has obtained a recommendation from the 
 majority of the College, not without much 
 intoroit. The only objection to him waa 
 his great practice, which it was thought 
 might tempt him to neglect regular teach- 
 ing. And, I believe, the majority would 
 have preferred to him any man of character 
 who had not such a temptation to neglect 
 the duties of his office. However, the 
 strongest assurances that he would not ne- 
 glect the clasB—uay, that he would think 
 himself bound in honour to give up the 
 Profession if he could hot keep up a class, 
 brouglit in a majority to sign a recom- 
 mendation in his favour; and, as he has a 
 strong interest at Court, and no rival, as 
 far as we know, it is thought he will be the 
 man. He declines teaching the chemistry 
 class, which is in the gift of the College, 
 and, I conceive, will be given to one of Dr 
 Bhiok*s scholars. My class will be over in 
 less than a month, and by that time I shall 
 he glad to have some respite. I hope to 
 have the pleasure of seeing my friends at 
 Aberdeen in the month of August, if not 
 sooner. We have had a thronger College 
 this year than ever before. I had somi 
 reason to think that I should not have so 
 good a class as last year, and was dis- 
 appointed, for it was ^mewhat better. I 
 ejcpoot a good one next winter^ if I live so 
 long. The Irish, on whom we depend 
 much, have an ebb and flow, as many of 
 them come but one year in two. We have 
 been remarkably free from riots and dia- 
 orders among the students, and I did not 
 indeed expect that 3dO young fellows could 
 have been kept quiet, for so many months, 
 with so httle trouble. They commonly 
 attend so many classes of different profes- 
 sors, from half-an-honr after seven in tiie 
 morning till eight at night, that they have 
 little time to do mischief. 
 
 You^U say to all this that cadgers are aye 
 speaking of crooksaddles. I think so they 
 ought ; besides, I have nothing else to say 
 to you, and I have had no time to think of 
 anything but my crooksaddles for seven 
 months past When the session is over I 
 must rub up my mathematicks against the 
 month of August. There is one candidate 
 for your Profession of Mathematicks to go 
 from this College ; and, if your College get a 
 better man or a better mathematician, they 
 will be very lucky. I am so sensible of the 
 honour the magistrates have done mo in 
 nammg me to be one of the exammators, 
 thai I will not decline it, though, I confess, 
 
 ,J0li 
 
 \.fi 
 
 4] 
 
 I like the honour better than the office. — 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours most afTectionately, 
 Thomas Keid. 
 Gkugow, 8th May, 1766. 
 Half an hour after eleven at night. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 TO OR ANOaaW 8KBNB. 
 
 When you are dis- 
 
 posed to laugh you may look into the in- 
 closed proposals from a physician here who 
 has been persecuting everybody with an 
 edition of Celsus, and now with an index to 
 him as large as the book. Another physi- 
 cian here is printing a History of Medicine, 
 and of all the arts and* sciences from the 
 beginning to the present time, four vols. 
 8vo, price one guinea. He is not thought 
 mad, but whimsical. I have not the pro- 
 posals to send you, and I suppose I have 
 sent enough of this kind. We authors had 
 rather be known for madmen or fools than 
 pass our lives in obscurity. Stevenson's 
 
 Eresentation to the Profession of Medicine 
 ere is not yet come, but is expected as cer- 
 tain. The College have appointed a Lec- 
 turer in Chemistry, and one in Materia 
 Medica, for next session. I think we might 
 have a college of medicine here if we had 
 an infirmary. I think our surgeons eclipse 
 our M.D's. I do not hear much of the 
 last, if you except Black and Stevenson. 
 Our Professor of Anatomy is not an M.D., 
 otherwise I would have excepted him also. 
 Have you ever tried the seeds of the dau- 
 eus sylcestris in nephritick cases ? It has 
 been much talked of of late. I never saw 
 it in the north, but it is pretty common in 
 the fields here. — I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 Thomas Rkid 
 Glmffow, I5lh July 1766. 
 
 IX. 
 
 TO DR ANORKW SKENE. 
 
 Gltugcw College, Dec, 17, 1766. 
 
 • • . I live now in the College, and 
 have no distance to walk to my class in 
 dark mornings, as I had before. I enjoy 
 this ease, though I am not sure whether 
 the necessity of walking up and down a 
 steep hill three or four times a-day, was not 
 of use. I have of late had a little of your 
 distemper, finding a giddiness in my head 
 when I lie down or rise, or turn myself in 
 my bed. 
 
 Our College b very well peopled this 
 aeosion ; my public class is above three 
 
 score, besides the private class. Dr Smith 
 never had so many in one year. There is 
 nothing so uneasy to me here as our fac- 
 tions in the College, which seem to ho 
 rather more inflamed than last session. 
 
 Will you take the trouble to ask of Dr 
 David, whether he knows of a bird called 
 a stankhen-* It is a water fowl, less than 
 a duck, with scolloped membranes at the 
 toes, but not close-footed, and has a crest 
 on the forehead of the same kind of sub- 
 stance with a cock's comb, but white and flat. 
 It has a very fishy taste, and is found here 
 in the lochs. If he has none of this kind, 
 I could send him one when I find a proper 
 occasion. I am, with entire affection and 
 regard, dear Sir, yours, 
 
 Thomas Rbid. 
 
 Jv* 
 
 TO DR DAVID SKENE. 
 
 Ghi^pnw Cnllege, 25fh Fehy. I767. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I intend to send yourstank- 
 hen along with the furnace, which was 
 ready long ago, and I suppose would have 
 been sent before now, but that Dr Irvine 
 was confined a long time by a megrim, and 
 was like to lose one eye by it ; but is now 
 pretty well recovered, and intends to send 
 your furnace this week. 
 
 Since the repeal of the stamp-act, trade, 
 which was languishing, has revived in this 
 place, and there is a great bustle and great 
 demand for money. We are now resolved 
 to have a canal from Carron to tliis place, 
 if the Parliament allows it. i.*40,0(M) was 
 subscribed last week by the merchants and 
 the Carron Company for this purpose ; and 
 commissioners are immediately gohig up 
 to London to apply for an act of Parlia- 
 ment. The freight upon this canal is no» 
 to exceed twopence per ton for every mile ; 
 the land carriage is more tliau ten times aa 
 much. 
 
 Our medical college has fallen off greatly 
 this session, nmst of the students of medi- 
 cine having followed Dr Black ; however, 
 our two medical professors and two lec- 
 turers have each of them a class, and Irvine 
 expects a great many to attend him for 
 botany in summer. The natural and moral 
 philosophy classes are more numerous than 
 they have ever been ; but I expect a great 
 falling off, if I see another session. The 
 Lecturer in Chemistry has general approba- 
 tion. He chiefly follows Dr Black and 
 Stahl. There is a book of Stahl's, called 
 " Three Hundred Experiments," which he 
 greatly admires, and very often quotes. I 
 was just now seeing your furnace along with 
 
 ♦ The Gallinula Chloropui— H. 
 

 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DRS A. AND D. SKENE. 
 
 49 
 
 IrviiMi I Hiiiili It » rerj decent piece of 
 ilimitim ftw m num of your profession, and 
 that no limb of tlie faculty should be without 
 mm, accompanied with a proper apparatus 
 nT'ietorlB,, «iMifblt%, Ac For my part, if 
 I cmtMlnd m maiiiiiie as proper for ana- 
 lyzing ideas, moral sentiniMita, and other 
 materials belfngimr to the fourth kmgdom, 
 I tofeve I should tnd in my heart to be- 
 •toiw ilM money for it I have the more 
 we lor a machine of this kind, because my 
 ■letafaick for performing these operations-— 
 I mean my cranium^has been a little out 
 lif tnfar tbis winter, by a vertigo, which 
 las made my studies go on heavl^, though 
 it has not hitherto intemipted my teaching. 
 I have found air and exercise, and a clean 
 iitiiiiaeli, the beat remedies i but I cannot 
 command the two firmer as oflen as I could 
 wish. I am aeniible that the air of a 
 crowded class is bad, and oHen thought of 
 mnfiim my class to the common hall ; but 
 I «aa Hfsid it might have been construed 
 m m piece of ostentation. I hope yoii 
 are carrying on yomr naturd biatory, or 
 ■omething else, in the Club, with a view to 
 imlBe: the 'world wiser. What is my Lord 
 ^UntlitlS' doing? Are we ever to^ expect 
 Ilia third volume upon the fossile kingdom 
 m not f We are here so busie reading lec- 
 tures, tilt we have no time to write. . . . 
 
 mtm mil 
 
 A. J* 
 TO' HE DAVIB iK;]C!«'l. 
 
 €lmffom Ctd'egef 14 S§pK 1767. 
 
 Dmar 8m,— It gives me much snrpriHe, 
 M'weHM^aliifllion, to hear .fnmm¥d«ighter 
 Itetty, rftbC' death of my dearlriend, your 
 pipa.^ RAeen years ago it would have'been no 
 Mrprise; but for some years back, I thought 
 iiwe was great probability that his life and 
 'UeafiiiieM might have had a longer period. 
 I 'Cam. never,, wbile I remember anything, 
 forget the many agreeable hours I have en- 
 joyed with him in tliat entire confidence 
 • aiMl friendship which give relish to life. I 
 never had a friend that shewed a more 
 liearty alTection, or a more uniform dispo- 
 ■ition to be obliging and useful to me and 
 til my iunily. I had so many opportuni- 
 tiflS' ni obseriinff bis disinterested, concern 
 to bO' useful in his profession tO' those from 
 whom he could, eipect no return, his sym- 
 pathy witb the distressed, and his assiduity 
 m giving them bis. 'best assistance, that, if 
 I .liad had w> 'personal friendship with him, 
 I oonld not but lament his death as a very 
 peat and general loss to the place. It is 
 very nn^common 'to find a man that at any 
 time 'Of life, much 'more at his, 'possessed 
 thea^ivey the eontenplfetive, and the social 
 diip ii iU B n .at ooee 'in so groat vigour. I 
 
 sincerely sympathize with you ; and I beg 
 you will assure each of your brothers and 
 sisters of my sympathy ; and that, besides 
 my personal regard to every one of them, 
 I hold myself to be under the strongest 
 obligation from gratitude and regard to the 
 memory of my deceased friend, if I can 
 ever be of the least use to any of them. 
 
 You nre now, dear Sir, in the providence 
 of God, called to be a father as well as a 
 brother ; and I doubt not but you will ac- 
 quit yourself in that character as you have 
 done in the other. I need not say that Dr 
 Skene's death gave very great affliction to 
 Mrs Reid and to all my family; they aU 
 desire that you and all your family may be 
 assured of their respect and sympathy. . . . 
 Some days after I parted' from you at 
 Edinburgh, I was called home to do the 
 kst duty to my sweet little Besa, whom I 
 had left in perfect health some days after 
 her innoculation. Since that time I have 
 not been three miles from Glasgow, but 
 once at Hamilton with Mr Beattie. Hav- 
 ing my time at command, I was tempted 
 to fall to the tumbling over books, as we 
 have a vast number here which I had not 
 access to see at Aberdeen. But this is a 
 wMif* moimnm, wherein one is tempted, by 
 hopes of discoveries, to make a tedious voy- 
 i^ge, which seldom rewards his labour. I 
 nave long ago found my memory to be like 
 a vessel that is full ; if you pour in more, 
 you lose as much as you gain ; and, on thi» 
 account, have a thousand times resolved to 
 
 g*ve up all pretence to what is called leam- 
 g, being satisfied that it is more profitable 
 to ruminate on the little I have laid up, 
 tlian to add to the indigested heap. To 
 pour learning into a leaky vessel is indeed 
 a very childish and ridiculous imagination. 
 Yet, when a man has leisure, and is placed 
 among books that are new to bim, it is 
 difl^icult to resist the temptation. I have 
 had little society, ti.e college poople being 
 out of town, and .have almost lost the 
 faculty of speech by disuse. I blame my- 
 self for having corresponded so little with 
 my friends at Aberdeen. 
 
 I wished to try Linnseus^s experiment, 
 which you was so good as to communicate 
 to me. I watted for the heat of summer, 
 which never came till the first of August, 
 and then lasted butia few da\'s. Not hav- 
 ing any of the fungus powder at hand, I put 
 a piece of fresh fungus which grew on rot- 
 ten wood in pure water. In a day or two 
 I found many animalcules diverting them- 
 selves in the water by diving and rising 
 again to the top. But, after three or four 
 days, the water turned muddy and stunk. 
 And, from all I could then observe, I should 
 rather have concluded that my animalcules 
 died and putrified, than that they were 
 transformed into young mushrooms. I see' 
 
 I 
 
 </•' 
 
 h 
 
 a letter in The Edinburgh Courantot Wed- 
 nesday last on this subject. About twenty 
 hours ago, I put some smutty oats in water ; 
 but have not seen any animals in it 
 yet A nasty custom I have of chewing 
 tobacco has been the reason of my observ- 
 ing a species of as nasty little animals. On 
 the above occasion, I spit in a bason of saw- 
 dust, which, when it comes to be drenched, 
 produces a vast number of animals, three 
 Or four times as large as a louse, and not 
 very different in sliape ; but armed with four 
 or five rows of prickles like a hedgehog, 
 which seem to serve it as feet. Its motion 
 is very sluggish. It lies drenched in the 
 foresaid mass, which swarms wiili these 
 animals of all ages from top to bottom ; 
 whether they become winged at last I have 
 not discovered. 
 
 .Dr Irvine was taken up a great part of 
 the summer with his botanical course ^ and, 
 since that was over, has been in the country. 
 I have gone over Sir James Stewart's great 
 book of political oeconomy, wherein I think 
 there is a great deal of good materials, care- 
 lessly put together indeed ; but I think it 
 contains more sound principles concerning 
 commerce and police than any book we have 
 yet had. We had the favour of a visit from 
 Sir Archibald Grant. It gave me much 
 pleasure to see him retain his spirits and 
 vigor. I beg when you see him you will make 
 my best compliments to him. I beg to be 
 remembered to the Club, which I hope goes 
 on with spirit.' I am, with great regard, 
 dear Sir, yours most affectionately, 
 
 Thomas REro. 
 
 Be so good as to put the inclosed into 
 Sandie Leslie*s shop. 
 
 XIL 
 
 TO DR DAVin SKBNB. 
 
 Dear Sir,— You will easily guess that 
 my chief motive in writing you at this time, 
 is, by the benefit of your frank, to save the 
 postage of the two inclosed, of which I give 
 you the trouble. Perhaps I would have dis- 
 sembled this, if I had had anything to say. I 
 long to hear how Linnaeus* experiment has 
 succeeded with you. For my own part, I 
 have found nothing about it but what I wrote 
 you before. The chymists here are hunting 
 for something by which cambrick may be 
 stamped as it comes from the loom, so that 
 the stamps shall stand out all the operations 
 of boyling, bleaching, &c- The only thing 
 that is like to answer, I am told, is that solu- 
 tion of silver wli ich is used to dye ivory black. 
 The act of Parliament anent cambrick re- 
 quires it to be stamped in the loom ; and, if 
 this stamp is not apparent after bleaching, 
 it is contraband. But the wisdom of the 
 
 nation has not thought fit to prescribe the 
 material to be used for tliat purpose ; if no 
 such material is found, the act wiU be use- 
 less. 
 
 I passed eight days lately with Lord 
 Kaims at Blair-Drummond, You were 
 very honourably mentioned. My Lord has 
 it much at heart to have a professor of 
 practical mechanicks established at Edin- 
 burgh, and wants only a proper person. 
 He is preparing a fourth edition of his 
 " Elements." I have been labouring at 
 Barbara Celarent for three weeks by- 
 gone ;• and on Monday begin my own 
 course. I do not expect such a crop of 
 students as I had last year ; but the Col- 
 lege in general promises pretty well. My 
 compliments to all your family ; and believe 
 me to be, with great affection, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours, 
 Thomas Reid. 
 
 Glasgow College, 31 Oct. 1767. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 TO DR DAVID SKBNB. 
 
 [Julg 1770.] 
 Dear Sir, — Having this opportunity, I 
 could not forbear asking how you do, and 
 what you are doing. I know you are giv- 
 ing feet to the lame, and eyes to the blind, 
 and healing the sick. 1 know you are 
 gathering heaps of fossils, vegetables, and 
 animals, and 1 hope among other fossils you 
 are gathering gold and silver; this is all very 
 right. I know, likewise, that you have been, 
 ever since you was in petticoats, most avari- 
 ciously amassing knowledge. But is it all to 
 die with you, and to be buried ui your grave ? 
 This, my dear sir, ought not to be. You 
 see we Scotch people will be blotting paper 
 though you should hold your hand : stultum 
 est perilurtB parcere char a. Can you find 
 no time, either when you are laid up in the 
 gout, or when the rest of the world is in 
 good health, to bequeath something to pos- 
 terity ? Think seriously of this, if you have 
 not done so already. Permit me, sir, to 
 offer you another counsell ; for you Imow we 
 moralists know better how to give good 
 counsell than to take it. Is it not possible 
 for you to order things so as t«) take a jaunt 
 of six weeks or two months ? I verily believe 
 there are things worth knowing here, much 
 more at Edinburgh, of which you cannot be 
 fully informed while you keep be-north Tay. 
 We have speculatists in medicine, in chem- 
 istry, in mechanics, in natural history, that 
 are worth being acquahited with, and that 
 
 ♦ This allude* to hit " Analysis of Aristotle's l-o. 
 Blc." which he was then preparing aa an Appendix 
 to one of Lord Karnes's" Sketclies of ihe History ot 
 Man "— H. 
 
 E 
 
 ^^ 
 

 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 
 
 51 
 
 wenM. to ted iif . jnor aeqnftintamsa As 
 
 t« B jwH, lit' iiniMtaiiil world has uml- 
 lowed up all iij 1iiiiiiglilt^"ai]ic8 1 mam hero ; 
 hut I meet with few that have travelled far 
 
 in that regten, .and am ell«ii'.|0il ti>']Niniie my 
 
 irtary wiaj .iit • mute' nlilary 'maiUMr than 
 
 when we used to meet at the club. What ia 
 Linnseus doin^ ? When you have leisure, 
 indulge me with the pleasure of knowing 
 that yoo have not forgot, dear Sir, your 
 affectionate friend, 
 
 TiioMAM Rim. 
 
 B.— LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 
 
 mt TRl DOCmiHS O'F IQKiaaiTY IN SUA- 
 TION TU 1IIIRAI4I.. 
 
 Mt Loan, — I via 'vary glad to under- 
 iataiui, hy the letter yon honoured me with 
 of November 0, that yon got eafe home, 
 alkr a long journey, in such dreadful rainy 
 weather. I got to Mr C 's on horse- 
 bade soon aller yon leH ne, where I was 
 m good warm quarters. 
 
 The ease you. alste is vanr proper, to dis- 
 cover how far we differ with respect to the 
 tiiinence of the doctrine of necessity upon 
 moralst 
 
 A man ^iii a mad fit of passion stabs his 
 iMit friend ; immediately after, he condemns 
 hiinaelff t and, at last, is condemned by a 
 amift of justice, although his passion was 
 no less inrasistible than if he had been 
 pished on by ejctenal violence. 
 
 My opinion of Urn ease, my Lord| ia this : 
 
 '>w ^^VV^P HRV|HilM^vV|P)Wp w^ HHNVP A vnMvK'il'^v aiMC3P aJL at'^waBPiPHPW'UMIiFV^ir dHur 
 
 yon MtiMiit it) both in its beginning and 
 
 f iipwMte Zm m kmmm^m thu^^t 
 'Hf BoA^ who knows that 'he was diivixn as 
 by ft whiiiwind, and that, the moment he 
 waa naater c€ himself, he abhorred the 
 aetiiM as much as a good man ought to do. 
 
 At the aame tiin% be reasonably may 
 eonifaiBii hinaeU; .awl be condemned by 
 a court of jnstiec. 
 
 He condemns himself, because, from his 
 vciy constitution, he has a conviction that 
 Ml paaaion waa not irresistible. Every 
 nan. haa this coiivietioii m long as he be- 
 liaves himself not to be really mad, and 
 ^iricapibto of self-ffivaiiiiiMil Even if he 
 it a Iktalist in apeeniatifm, that wiU not 
 hinder this natural convleCion when his 
 lee smites him, anymore than specu- 
 ' iim will hinder a man from 
 of danger when a cart nina 
 -afpinst 'jhim. 
 
 The court of justice condemns him for the 
 am* reason, beoanse they believe that his 
 passion waa not inmiatible. But, if it could 
 bC' proved that the inaB. was really incapa- 
 'ito tf "iiiidiqg Mi MMliiii— ^that is, that he 
 waa really mad^llien the court of justice 
 
 ought not to punish him as a criminal, but 
 to confine him as a madman. 
 
 What is madness, my Lord ? In my 
 opinion, it is such weakness in the power m 
 aelf-govemment, or such strength of pas- 
 sion, as deprives a man of the command of 
 himself. The madman has will and inten- 
 tion, but he haa no power to restrain them. 
 If this madness continues so lon^ as to be 
 capable of proof from the tenor of a man*a 
 actions, he is no subject of criminal kw, 
 because he is not a free agent. If we sup- 
 pose real madness to continue but for ft 
 moment, it makes a man incapable of a 
 crime, wMle it lasts, as if it had continued 
 for years. But a momentary madness can 
 have no effect to acquit a man in a court 
 of justice, because it cannot be proved. It 
 would not even hinder him from condemn- 
 ing himself, because he cannot know that 
 
 hA VVttJI VVIftil 
 
 uc WWD lUlill* 
 
 In a word, if, by a mad fit of passion, 
 your Lordship means real madness, though 
 temporary, and not permanent, the man is 
 not crimmal for what this fit of madness 
 produced. A court of justice would not 
 impute the action to him, if this could be 
 pro%-ed to be the case. But if, by a mad 
 fit of pa^ion, you mean only a strong pas- 
 sion, which still leaves a man the power of 
 self-govornraent, then he is accountable for 
 his conduct to God and man ; for every 
 good man— yea, every man that would avoid 
 the most heinous crimes— must at some 
 times do violence to very strong passions. 
 But hard would be our case indeed, if wo 
 wero required, either by God or man, to 
 resist irresistible passions. 
 
 You think that will and intention is suf- 
 ficient to make an action imputable, even 
 though that will be irresistibly determined. 
 I tog leave to dissent, for the following 
 reasons: — 
 
 I A n invincibleenror of the understanding, 
 of memory, of judgment, or of reasoning, is 
 not imputable, for this very reason, that it is 
 invincible ; why, then, should an error of the 
 will to imputable, when it is supposed equally 
 invincible? God Almighty haa given na 
 various powers of understanding and of wiU. 
 They are all equally his workmanahip. Our 
 
 ll 
 
 Ki 
 
 iwdeiBtandings may deviate from truth, as 
 oiir wills may deviate from virtue. You 
 will allow that it* would be unjust and tyran- 
 nical to punish a man for unavoidable devi- 
 ations from truth. Where, then, is the 
 justice of condemning and punishing him for 
 the deviations of another faculty, which are 
 equally unavoidable ? 
 
 You say we are not to judge of this mat- 
 ter by reasons, but by the moral sense. 
 Will prou forgive me, my Lord, to put you 
 in mmd of a saying of Mr Hobbes, that 
 when reason is against a man he will be 
 against reason, I hope reason and the 
 moral sense are so good friends as not to 
 differ upon any point. But, to be serious, 
 I agree with your Lordship, tliat it is the 
 moral sense that must judge of this point, 
 whether it to just to punish a man for doing 
 what it was not in his power not to do. 
 The very ideas or notions of just and un- 
 just are got by the moral sense ; as the 
 ideas of blue and red are got by the sense of 
 seeing. And as by the sense of seeing we de- 
 termine that this tody is red, and that is blue ; 
 so, by the moral sense, we determine this 
 action to tojust, and that to be unjust. Itisby 
 the nioral sense that I determine, in general, 
 that it is unjust to require any duty of a man 
 which it is not in his power to perform. By 
 the same moral sense, in a particular case, I 
 determine a man to to guilty, upon finding 
 that he did the deed voluntarily and with 
 intention, without making any inquiry about 
 his power. The way to reconcile these two 
 determinations I take to be this :— that, in 
 the kst case, I take for granted the man's 
 power, because the common sense of man- 
 kind dictates, that what a man did volun- 
 tarily and with intention, he had power not 
 to do; 
 
 2. A second reason of my dissent is, 
 That the guilt of a bad action is diminished 
 in proportion as it is more difficult to resist 
 the motive. Suppose a man entrusted with 
 a secret, the totraying of which to the ene- 
 my may ruin an army. If he discloses it 
 for ft brito, however great, he is a villain 
 and a traitor, and deserves a thousand 
 ^teatha. But, if he &lls into the enemy's 
 hands, and the secret to wrested from him 
 by the rack, our sentiments are greatly 
 changed; we do not charge him with vil- 
 Umy, but with weakness. We hardly at all 
 Uame a woman in such a case, because we 
 conceive torture, or the fear of present 
 death, to to a motiire hardly resistible by 
 the weaker sex. 
 
 As it is, therefore, tto oniforai jndffment 
 of nankind, that, where tiie deed is the 
 same, and the will and intention the same, 
 the degree of guilt must depend upon the 
 difficulty of resisting the motive, w5l it not 
 follow, that, when the motive is absolutely 
 »w««"iililfB, the guilt vanishes altogether ? 
 
 3. That this is the common sense of 
 mankind, appears further from the way in 
 which we treat madmen. They have will 
 and intention in what they do ; and, there- 
 fore, if no more is necessary to constitute a 
 crime, they ought to be found guilty of 
 crimes. Yet no man conceives that they 
 can to at all subjects of criminal law. For 
 what reason ? for this, in my opinion, that 
 they have not that power of self-command 
 which is necessary to make a man account- 
 able for his conduct. 
 
 You suppose, my Lord, a physical power 
 to forbear an action even when it is neces- 
 sary. But this I cannot grant Indeed, 
 upon the system of free agency, I can easily 
 conceive a power which is not exerted ; but, 
 upon the system of necessity, there can to 
 no such thing— every power that acts by 
 necessity must be exerted. 
 
 I do indeed think, that a man may act 
 without a motive ; and that, when the mo- 
 tives to action lie all on one side, he may 
 act in contradiction to them. But I agree 
 with your Lordship, that all such actions 
 are capricious ; and I apprehend that, if 
 there were no actions of this kind, there 
 could to no such thing as caprice, nor any 
 word in language to signify it : for why 
 should every language have a word to sig- 
 nify a thing which never did nor can exist ? 
 I agree also with your Lordship, that 
 there can be no merit in such an action, 
 even if it is innocent. But if it is vicious, 
 it has the highest degree of demerit ; for it 
 it is sinning without any temptation, and 
 serving the devil without any wages. It 
 ought to be observed, however, that a vir- 
 tuous action can never be capricious; because 
 there is always a just and sufficient motive 
 to it For, if I have no other motive, I 
 must at least have this, that ia a worthy 
 action, and is my duty ; which, in reason, 
 ought to weigh down all motives that can 
 to put into the opposite scale. A capricious 
 action may be innocent, and then it is 
 folly ; or it may to vicious, and then it is 
 pure wickedness. 
 
 Litorty, like all other good gifts of God, 
 may be abused. As civil liberty may to 
 abused to licentiousness, so our natural 
 liberty may to abused to caprice, folly, and 
 vice. But the proper exercise of litorty i% 
 after weighing duly the motives on both sides, 
 to to determined, not by the strongest mo- 
 tive, but by that which has most authority. 
 It is of great importance in this matter, 
 to distinguish between the authority of mo- 
 tives and their force. The part that is 
 decent, that is manly, that is virtuous, that 
 is noble, has always authority upon its side. 
 Every man feels this authority in his own 
 breast ; and there are few men so wicked 
 as not to yield to it when it has no antago- 
 nist. 
 
 K 9 
 
68 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 But pkmini, Intiswul, pwioii, slotb, 
 ^dften nmater m gnat force ob the other mde, 
 vMili, though it hm m authority, Iwi often 
 tli« gwntiit 'foiiw; and a oonlnit arises 
 
 hetwiMit Hbmm omomta partiefc Every 
 man ia eunatiiMiS' m iMi mmMei in his own 
 breast, and is^ too often carried down by the 
 superior force of the party which he knows 
 tn haft no wthortty. 
 Tliia is ti« ©oniict wWch Pkto describes 
 
 iMtwsai. veason and appetite ; this ia the 
 
 wnHiet whfch the New Testament describes 
 •Itatween tlie spirit and. tba ieiib. The op- 
 poaite parties, like Isfwil and Am^ek, dis- 
 'pule the victory in the plain- When the 
 'Self-determining power, like Moses upon 
 the mount, lifts up its hand and exerts 
 itself, then Israel prevails,, and virtue is 
 "tfinmiiliant i tat when its 'hands hang down 
 and, ita 'whiour 'Hags, then Amalek prevaila. 
 I am, my iisai Lord, most respactiilly yours, 
 
 Taa Bu'D. 
 
 II. 
 
 my TBI iiATiaiALisM or paiasTLav and 
 THs ■wmmm of prbmch phiiosofiisrs. 
 
 - m^ 
 
 jii iii< ■ JmJ' ■• JH '• 4Wii#"0''SNB^ifLjf a i«aiaai •••■■i ■^■b* • 
 
 book, thinks that the pwer of pawaption, 
 as weU as all the other powers that are 
 
 %rmed 'mental, is the .result of such an 
 organioal structui© as that of the brain. 
 CtawMiuently, says he, the whole man 
 
 'leeamas extinct at death, and we have no 
 
 hift of surviving the grave, but what is 
 dirived fiom llie light of Revelation. I 
 ■'WMld be glad to know your Lordship's 
 opinion, whether, when my brain has lost 
 " ila.oi%mal:' structure, and when, some bun- 
 ind yeata alter, the same materiala are 
 again libricatad so euriously as to become 
 an intelligent being, whether, I say, that 
 being will be mc ,•• or, if two or three such 
 beinicB should be formed out of my brain, 
 vbethet they will all be me, and conae- 
 ' foeniy al be one .and the same intelligent 
 lieins* 
 
 This seems to me a great mystery, but 
 
 *'Piliatley denies all my^wries. He thinks, 
 
 and rejoioes in ihinMng so, that plants 
 
 have soma degree of sensation. As to the 
 
 -lower animals, thej differ from us in degree 
 
 only, and not in kind. Only the^ have no 
 
 'pfomiia: of a resurfection. If this be true, 
 
 ''«|v ^should not the King*s advocate be 
 
 '"'OMiisd to prosecute criminal hruteSf and 
 
 • Oiir EiiglWi I Wng of mn ainWf tiow •ound. 
 
 it 
 
 .... 'ii 
 
 you criminal judges to try them ? You are 
 obliged to Dr Priestley for teachuig you 
 one-half of your duty, of wliich you knew 
 nothing before. But I forgot that the 
 fault lies in the legislature, which has not 
 given you laws for thih purpose. 1 hope, how- 
 ever, when any of them shall be brouglit to a 
 trial, that he will be allowed a i»/ry of his peers, 
 I am not much surprised that your 
 Lordship has found little entertainment in 
 a late French writer on human nature.* 
 From what I learn, they are all become 
 rank Epicureans. One would think that 
 French politesse might consort very well 
 with disinterested benevolence ; but, if we 
 believe themselves, it is all grimace. It is 
 flatter)-, in order to be flattered ; like that 
 of the horse, who when hiaueck itches, 
 scratches hh neighbour, that he may bo 
 scratched by him again. I detest all sys- 
 tems that depreciate human nature. If it 
 be a delusion, that there is somethinic in 
 the constitution of man that is venerable 
 and worthy of its author, let me live and 
 die m that delusion, rather than have my 
 eyes opened to see my species in a humi- 
 liating and disgusting light. Every good 
 man feels his indignation rise against those 
 who disparage his kindred or his country ; 
 why should it not rise against those who 
 disparage his kind f Were it not that we 
 sometimes see extremes meet, I should 
 think it very strange to see atheists and 
 high-shod divines contending as it were 
 who should most blacken and degrade human 
 nature. Yet I think the atheist acts the 
 more consistent part of the two i for surely 
 such views of human nature tend more to 
 promote atheism, than to promote religion 
 and virtue. ..... 
 
 III. 
 
 ON Til CONVaaSION OP CtsAV IK TO 
 VWWABLB MOULO. 
 
 October 1, 1775. 
 The theory of agriculture is 
 a wide and deep ocean, wherem we soon go 
 beyond our depth. 
 
 I believe a lump of dry cky has much 
 the same degree of hardness, whether the 
 weather be hot or cold. It seems to be 
 more affected by mowture or drought : and 
 to be harder in dry weather, and more 
 easily broken when a little moistened. But 
 there is a degree of wetness in clay which 
 makes it not break at all when struck op 
 pleased ; it is compressed and changes ita 
 figure, but does not break. 
 
 Clay ground, I think, ought to be ploughed 
 
 • Helvetius, De PEsprit I^kd WoonHnfBSi.Bt. 
 
 Hanllv ; thin work Ucmii); then, nearly twenty yenri 
 okl. Probably the work, •• Sur rHoinme."— H 
 
 LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 
 
 53 
 
 in the middle state between wetuesH and 
 dryness, for this reason : When too dry, 
 the plough cannot enter, or cannot make 
 handsome work. Those clods are torn 
 up, which require great labour and ex- 
 pense to break them. And unless they 
 are broken, the roots of vegetables cannot 
 enter into them. When too wet, the fur- 
 row, in being raised and !aid over by the 
 plough, is very nmch compressed, but not 
 broken. The compression makes it much 
 harder when it dries, than it would have 
 been without that compression. But when 
 the ground is neither too wet nor too dry, 
 the furrow, in being raised and laid over 
 by the plough, breaks or cracks with in- 
 numerable crevices, which admit air and 
 moisture, and the roots of vegetables. 
 
 Clay, when exposed in small parts to 
 I the air, and to alternate moisture and 
 drought, mellows into mould. Thus a clod 
 of cky, which is so hard m seed-time that 
 you may stand upon it without breaking it, 
 will be found in autumn of the colour of 
 mould, and so softened, that when you 
 press it with the foot it crumbles to pieces. 
 On some clays this change is produced in a 
 shorter time, in the same cireumstauces ; 
 others are more refractory, and require 
 more time. 
 
 If wet clay is put into the fire uncom- 
 pressed, I am informed that it burns to 
 aiihes, which make no bad manure. 
 
 But if the clay be wrought and compressed 
 when wet, and then dried, and then put 
 into the fire, it burns into brick, and with 
 a greater degree of heat, into a kmd of 
 glass. 
 
 These, my Lord, are facts ; but to deduce 
 them from principles of attraction and re- 
 l)ulsion, is beyond the reach of my philo- 
 sophy : and 1 suspect tliere are many things 
 iu agriculture, and many things in che- 
 inistr}', that cannot be reduced to such 
 principles ; though Sir Isaac Newton seems 
 to have thought otherwise. 
 
 Human knowledge is like the steps of a 
 Udder. The first step consists of particular 
 truths, discovered by observation or expe- 
 riment : the second collects these into more 
 general truths : the third into still more 
 general But there are many such steps 
 before we come to the top ; that is, to the 
 most general truths. Ambitious of know- 
 ledge, and unconscious of oiur own weak- 
 ness, we would fain jump at once from the 
 lowest step to the highest ; but the conse- 
 quence of this is, that we tumble down, 
 aufl find that our labour must be begun 
 anew. Is not this a good picture of a phi- 
 losopher, my Lord ? 1 think so truly ; and 
 I should be vain of it, if I were not afraid 
 that I have stolen it from Lord Bacon. 
 I am, &C. 
 
 Tho. Rkid. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ON THE GENKRATION OF PLANTS AND 
 ANIMALS. 
 
 Ko date — but suppogtd 1775. 
 My Lord, — I have some compunction for 
 having been so tardy in answering the letter 
 which your Lordship did me the honour to 
 write me of the 6th November, especially 
 as it suggests two very curious subjects of 
 correspondence. But, indeed, my vacant 
 time has been so much filled up with trifles 
 of College business, and with the frequent 
 calls of a more numerous class of students 
 than I ever had before, that there was no 
 room for anything that could admit of 
 delay. 
 
 Vou have expressed with great elegance 
 and strength the conjecture I hinted with 
 regard to the generation of plants. 
 
 I am indeed apt to conjecture, that both 
 plants and animals are at first organized 
 atoms, having all the parts of the animal 
 or plant, but so slender, and folded up in 
 such a manner, as to be reduced to a par- 
 ticle far beyond the reach of our senses, and 
 perhaps as small as the constituent parts 
 of water.* The earth, the water, and the 
 air may, for anything I know, be full of 
 such organized atoms. They may be no 
 more liable to hurt or injury, than the con- 
 stituent elementary parts of water or air. 
 They may serve the purposes of common 
 matter until they are brought into that 
 situation which nature has provided for 
 their unfolding themselves. When brought 
 into their proper matrix or womb, perhaps 
 after some previous preparations, tl.cy are 
 commonly surrounded with some fluid 
 matter, in which they unfold and stretch 
 tliemselves out to a* length and breadth 
 perhaps some thousand times greater than 
 they had when folded up in the atom. 
 They would now be visible to the naked 
 eye, were it not that their limbs and vessels 
 are so slender that they cannot be distin- 
 guished from the fluid in which they float. 
 All is equally transparent, and therefore 
 neither figure nor colour can be discerned, 
 although the object has a considerable bulk. 
 The foetus now has a fluid circulating in its 
 vessels ; all the animal functions go on ; it 
 is nourished and grows ; and some parts, 
 first the heart, then the head, then the 
 
 • This o ii>ion is 8iin lar to that ot M. Bonnet 
 See his •• ConMd< rations sur Its Co'ps Organiies** 
 and his *• Contemplation de la Nature" I ord 
 VVooiiuoi) T'LBE — Rcid'e opinion has compriraCiv* ly 
 little resemblance to thf involution theory ofPonret : 
 it bears, however, a strong analcgv to the Pan*:per- 
 mia of the Ionic philosojtiicrs, more especially aa 
 raodificii by some of the recent i hysiological >>i)ecu- 
 latistt of Germany J 'is conjecMire is curious, as 
 a solitary espupa«le of nur rauiiou« philcuiopber in 
 the rtgion of inaginatii n.^H. 
 
M 
 
 COBRISrONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 ■piM. by getting mmm etMm, Umam 
 
 lUbkb 
 
 Itis to 1w ebeenred, tliat, from the time 
 tlimt tli9 hmMi iMt appeftre ia the pellucid 
 
 .li«iMr,'iiliti'tlMi tliM of birth, the aninml. 
 mmm MmimMj mai, iiiMiiisibl y, as it does 
 :Sl«rl£ik lM,'bifBn'itiivigible,itmust 
 liftv* inettaaed. in siia many thootand times 
 in a Itir ia^m Thii does not look like 
 pMrtibf winUiilMlit, bnilike a sudden 
 ■ ■iifcliMii ff dl |NUFt% wMfih before were 
 ■^§mfffA. up in a ^small atom. 
 
 I go along wkk. yomr Lordship oordklly, 
 tii. imi. mmm U the fiisl fomalion of an 
 oipiiMi body. But tb«re I hesitate. 
 «fcy there," say you, " not be partides 
 of a certain kind endowed with a power to 
 'imn in. «iiiiiMliaii. an nfianised bo^ ?" 
 WoiW yinw .liiidship aioir 'that certain 
 iaHoMi mliptt bo endowed, with the power, 
 nf imtniag thenwelvoa into an " Iliad" or 
 ^ i&wid/* or even into a senaibia disoourse 
 :|| pfoae?* I confess our fiacnlties carry 
 «• bnl a very little way in determining 
 «lMt is possible and what is impossible, 
 and therefore we ought to be modest But 
 I ianwH hi# thh&ng that such a work 
 ■a 'Iho '^ Iliad,*'' and wmA wmm an. animal 
 m laplabla body, must haw been made by 
 •spieiB design and counsel employed for 
 that end. And an author whom I very 
 sneh resped, has taught, me, " That we 
 ibm. 'this oondnslon, not by any ptoeese of 
 nasoning, but by mere peroeptinB and feel- 
 ing/*t And I thmk that conclusions formed 
 ill tUa manner, are of all others most to 
 ba'«nsla4. It seems to me as. easy to con- 
 iflTO a maehhie thai should compose a 
 iwioty of epic poems and tni^;adifl% as to 
 Cfiltfiva bws of motion, by which unthink- 
 ilg parlialeB of matter should coalesce into 
 m 'vwiety of' oigpmi.zed bodies. 
 
 ** But," saya your Lordship, ** certainly 
 the Ahnighty hii made none of his works 
 ao impeilect. as to stand in need of perpe- 
 t«i. inlnolea." €an we, my Lord, shew, 
 % any good reason, that the Almighty 
 inliMd his work at a stroke, and has con- 
 tinned ever since an unactiire spectator ? 
 €an we prove that this method is the best; 
 Of that it is. pos8iblo"that 'the universe should 
 be well governed in this way? I iear wo 
 nnot. 
 
 Aid,, 'if Ma oonliaiiad operation 'be 'ueces- 
 
 pnper, it is no nuracle, while it 
 
 irm, and aeeoidins to fixed kws. 
 
 llMNigh we should anppoae tlie gravitation 
 «f matter to he tho immediate operation of 
 lb Deity, it wonld be no miiacfe, while it 
 is oonstant and uniform i bnt if in that case 
 It should cease for a moment, only by his 
 
 f 
 
 iMIVAL 
 
 ThliiltuttraHeiilS-^ 
 
 Owmm.* i n e. 'il*>»ii 
 tilmilC ** '" 
 
 ■« On tlM lilMi of Poif srj 
 
 Clotie.(**Us 
 
 on MefiUtv."' 
 
 withholding his hand, this woold be a nd^ 
 raele. 
 
 That an animal or vegetable body Is a 
 work of art, and requires a skilAil workman, 
 I think we may conclude, without going 
 beyond our sphere. But when we would 
 detenuine how it is formed, we have no 
 data; and our most rational conjectures aro 
 only reveries, and probably wide of the 
 mark. We travel back to the first origin 
 of things on the wings of fiancy. We would 
 discover Nature in purit naturtUibua, and 
 tiMO her first operations and gradual pro- 
 gfoia. But, ahiB ! we soon find ourselves 
 unequal to the task : and perhaps this is 
 an entertainment reserved for us in a futuzv 
 
 As to what yon say about earth or soil ; 
 there seems, indeed, to be a repulsion of the 
 parts, when it is enriched by the air, or by 
 mannre. And, in consequence of this, it 
 swells and occupies more space. But, I 
 conceive, it gets an additional quantity of 
 matter, from the moisture and air which il 
 imbibes, and thereby increases both in bulk 
 and weight. I have been told that a dung- 
 hill made up of earth, dung, and lime, 
 trenched over two or three times, at proper 
 intervals, and then led out, will be found 
 to make more cart-loads than it received i 
 and I believe this to be true. If the earth 
 taken out of a pit does not fill it again, I 
 am apt to think there must have been va- 
 cnities in the earth at first, perhaps made 
 by the roots of pknts that have decayed, 
 by moles, insects, or other causes.— I am, 
 my Lord, &e. 
 
 Tho. KBin* 
 
 
 ON »HI lAWi Of MOTION.— mWTOIl's 
 AXIOMS ANO nariNlTIONS. 
 
 Ghtgom CMegty Map 19, 1780. 
 
 My Lord, — In order to understand the 
 preliminary part of Newton's Principia^ it 
 M necessary to attend to his general design, 
 both in his axioms and definitions. 
 
 Firtt, As to his axioms : he sets down the 
 three lawa of motion as axioms. But he 
 does not mean by this, that they are to be 
 held as self-evident truths ; nor does he in- 
 tend to prove them in what he says upon 
 them. They are incapable of demonstra- 
 tion, being matters of fact, which universally 
 obtain in the material world, and which had 
 before been observed by philosophers, and 
 verified by thousands of experiments by 
 Galileo, by Wren, Wallis, Huygens, and 
 Mariotte, to whom he refers for the proof 
 of them. Thetelbre, that he might nol 
 aetumagtrej he lays them down as established 
 truths, saying some things upon them by 
 
 LETTERS TO LORD KAMEa 
 
 55 
 
 way of illustration, and deducing some gene- 
 ral corollaries from them. 
 
 That this was his view, he expressly says 
 in the scholium following the axioms : 
 Hacienus prtncipia Iradidif a Mathematicis 
 recepta^ et multiplici experientia conjirmata, 
 ^c. The very same method he follows in 
 hia optics, laying down as axioms what had 
 before been discovered in that science. 
 
 The axioms, or established principles in 
 the PrincipiOf are three ; — Ut, Every body 
 perseveres in its present state, whether of 
 motion or rest, until it is made to change 
 that state by some force impressed upon it. 
 2dj The change of motion produced is al- 
 ways proportional to the force impressed, 
 and in the direction of that force. 3f/, All 
 action of bodies upon each other is mutual 
 or reciprocal, and in contrary directions ; 
 that is, if the body J produces any motion 
 or change of motion ui B ; by the reaction 
 of By an equal change of motion, but in a 
 contrary direction, will be produced in A. 
 This holds in all action of bodies on •each 
 other, whether by a stroke, by pressure, by 
 attraction, or by repulsion. 
 
 Perhaps, you will say these principles 
 ought not to be taken for granted, but to 
 be proved. True, my Lord, they ought to 
 be proved by a very copious induction of 
 experiments ; and, if they are not proved, 
 the whole system of the Principia falls to 
 the ground ; for it is all buUt upon them. 
 But Sir Isaac thought they were already 
 proved, and refers you to the authors by 
 whom* He never intended to prove them, 
 but to build upon them, as mathematicians 
 do upon the Elements nf Euclid, 
 
 Secondly^ As to the definitions. They 
 are intended to give accuracy and precision 
 to the terms he uses, in reasoning from the 
 laws of motion. The definitions are accom- 
 modated to the laws of motion, and fitted so 
 as to express with precision all reasoning 
 grounded upon the laws of motion. And, 
 for this reason, even the definitions will 
 appear obscure, if one has not a distinct 
 oonception of the kws of motion always be- 
 fore his eye. 
 
 Taking for granted the laws of motion, 
 therefore, he gives the name of vis insita, or 
 vis inertia^ to that property of bodies, 
 whereby, according to the first and second 
 laws of motion, they persevere in their 
 state, and resist any change, either from 
 rest to motion, or from motion to rest, 
 or from one degree or direction of motion 
 to another. 
 
 This vis insita is exercised in every case 
 wherein one body b made to change its 
 state by the action of another body; and 
 the exertion of it may, in different respects, 
 be called both resistance and impetus. 
 
 The reluctance which the body ^ has to 
 change its state, which can be overcome 
 
 only by a force proportioned to that reluct* 
 ance, is resistance. The reaction of th«* 
 body A upon B, which,, according to th 
 third law of motion, is equal to the action ot 
 B upon A, and in a contrary direction, is 
 impetus. 
 
 Thus, in every change made in the state 
 of one body by another, there is mutual 
 resistance and mutual impetus. The one 
 never exists without the other. A body at 
 rest not only resists, but gives an impetus to 
 the body that strikes it And a body in 
 motion coming against a body at rest, not 
 only gives an impetus to the body that was 
 at rest, but resists that change of its own 
 motion which is produced by the stroke. 
 Each gives an impetus to the other, and 
 exerts a resistance to the impetus it receives 
 from the other. 
 
 This is the notion which Newton affixes 
 to the words — impetus and resistance ; and, 
 I think, it corresponds perfectly with the 
 third law of motion, but may appear dark if 
 that is not kept in view. 
 
 But, because this notion of resistance Imd 
 impetus differs somewhat from the vulgar 
 application of those words, in order to point 
 out the difierence, he contrasts it with the 
 vulgar meaning in the words which your 
 Lordship quotes :— Valgus resistendam 
 quiescenlibus et impetum moventibus Iribuitt 
 sed motus et quies^ ut vulgo concipiuntur, 
 resptctu nolo distinguuntnrf neque semper 
 verequicscunt qua vulgo tan qnam quiescentia 
 spectantur. He considers both resistance 
 and impetus as belonging to every body, in 
 every case in which it is made to change its 
 state, whether from rest to motion, or from 
 motion to rest. It resists the change of its 
 own state, and, by its reaction, gives an 
 impetus to the body that acts upon it The 
 vulgar, having no notion, or no distinct 
 notion, of this reaction established by the 
 third law of motion, suit their language to 
 their conceptions. He suits his to the laws 
 of motion. 
 
 A post, you say, resists, but has no im- 
 petus. This is true in the vulgar sense of 
 the word. But, in order to shew you that 
 his sense differs somewhat from the vulgar, 
 he would say, that the post has impetus m 
 his sense. And by this he means only, that 
 the post stops, or changes the motion of the 
 body that strikes it ; and, in producing this 
 change, exerts a force equal to that with 
 which it was struck, but in a contrary 
 direction. This is a necessary consequence 
 of the third law of motion. The vulgar 
 both speak and judge of motion and rest in 
 a body, by its situation with respect to some 
 other body, which, perhaps, from prejudice, 
 they conceive to be at rest. This makes 
 Newton say, " That motion and rest, aa 
 commonly conceived, are distinguished by 
 relation ; nor are those bodies always really 
 
IllL 'Hill 
 
 Off 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 «k tmt whicli are oommonly conceiTed. to 
 l» &t rest" 
 
 Itet, wIms we .ii|Miik <if kiclies, b opposed, 
 not to self-motion only, but to all change of 
 plaee. Absolnte, or real rest, is opposed to 
 real motion; and relative rest — tliat is, rest 
 with relation to such a body that is supiiosed 
 at rest, is opposed to relative motion with 
 tespeot to the snme body. But a body may 
 bo utiitively at rest, and, at the same time, 
 really in motion. Thus, a house rests upon 
 its niiniiiitiim for ages ; but this rest is 
 vdaiifo witb respect to the earth. For it 
 its gone round the earth's axis every day, 
 mnd round the sun every year. 
 
 Tho distimstion your Lordshif nmhes be- 
 tweoi moving and being moved, 'belongs not 
 to physics, but to metapliysiis& In physics, 
 you may use the aettve or the passive verb 
 as you like best* The reason is, that in 
 physics we seek not the efficient causes of 
 phem>mena, but only the rales or laws by 
 which they are regulated. We know, that 
 a body once put in motion, continues to 
 move, or, if you please, to be moved, until 
 inme force is applied to stop or retard it. 
 Buiy whether tms phenomenon is produced 
 by some real activity in the body itself, or 
 by the efficiency of some external cause ; 
 or whether it re<|nires no efficiency at all to 
 eontinno in the state into which it is put, is, 
 perhaps, difficult to determine; and is a 
 question that belonp not to physics, but to 
 
 jk ■_ * 
 
 lUMdhptlJWiClll* 
 
 Some divines and philosophers have 
 maintained, that the preservation of a 
 ereated being in existence, is a continued 
 •ot of enation ; and that annihilation is 
 nothinf hot the suspending that exertion of 
 tie Creator by which the behig was upheld 
 in existence. 
 
 Analogous to this, I think, is the opinion, 
 lliat the continuance of motion in a body 
 nqnires a continued exertion of that active 
 force which put it into the state of motion. 
 I am rather inclined to the contrary of both 
 thew opinions, and disposed to think tliat 
 conlhmanee of existence, and continuance 
 of motion in a body, reiiuires no active 
 eanse ; and that it is only a change of state, 
 and not a continuance of the present state, 
 that- requires active power. But, I suspect, 
 'both questions are ntlier beyond the reach 
 of the human faculties. However, they 
 belong not to the {irovince of physics, but 
 to' thii' of metaphysics. 
 
 I wish I may be intelligible, and that I 
 do not oppress your Lordship with the gar- 
 rulity of old age. I find myself, indeed, 
 growing old, and have no right to plead ex- 
 emption from the infirmities of that Bta^c of 
 lilfr For that reason, I have made choice 
 of an assistant in ray office. Yesterday, the 
 eellege, at my desire, made choice of Mr 
 Archibald Arthnr, preaclier, to be my assist- 
 
 ant and successor.* I think I have done 
 good service to the college by this, and pro* 
 cured some leisure to myself, though with a 
 reduction of my finances. May your Lord- 
 ship live long and happy. — Yours, 
 
 Tuo. Rbid. 
 
 VL 
 
 ON CONJECTURES AND HYPOTHESES IN PHI- 
 LOSOPHY. — CAUSE WHAT IN RELATION 
 TO PHYSICS. — DIFFERENT PROVINCES OF 
 PHYSICAL AND OF METAPHYSICAL SCIENCE. 
 
 Wth December 1780. 
 My Lord, — 1. I am now to answer the 
 letter you honoured me with of 7th No- 
 vember. And, first, I disclaim what you 
 seem to impute to me— to wit, " the valumg 
 myself upon my ignorance of the cause of 
 Eravity." To confess ignorance when one 
 m conscious of it, I take to be a sign, not 
 of pride, but of humility, and of that can- 
 dour which becomes a pliilosopher ; and so 
 I meant it 
 
 2. Your Lordship thinks, " That never 
 to trust to hypotheses and conjectures about 
 the works of God, and being persuaded that 
 they are more like to be false than true, is 
 a discouraging doctrine, and damps the 
 spirit of inquiry," &c. Wow, my Lord, I 
 have, ever since I was acquainted with 
 Bacon and Newton, thouglit that this doc- 
 trine is the very key to natural philosophy, 
 and the touchstone by which everythuig 
 that is legitimate and solid in that science, 
 is to be distinguished from what is spurious 
 and hollow ; and I can hardly think, that 
 we can differ in so capital a pouit, if we 
 understood each other's meaning. 
 
 3. I would discourage no man from con- 
 jecturing, only I wish him not to take his 
 conjectures for knowledge, or to expect that 
 others should do so. Conjecturing may be 
 a useful step even in natural philosophy. 
 Thus, attending to such a phenomenon, I 
 conjecture that it may be owing to such a 
 cause. This may lead me to make the ex- 
 periments or observations proper for dis- 
 covering whether that is really the cause or 
 not: and if I can discover, either that it 
 is or is not, my knowledge is improved; 
 and my conjecture was a step to that im- 
 
 • Mr Arthur, a man ot leaining. abilities, and 
 worth, filled the Chair of Moral Philosophy in the 
 University of iJlasgow for liltc-en year*, with a repu. 
 tat ion which did not disnppoint the hopes of his 
 ratpectaole predecessor. A volume of •' L)i8cour*;e>« 
 nn Theological and Literary Subjects," which give a 
 very favciurable i»lea of his talents, the jugtness of 
 his t.-iMe, and the rectitude of his moral and reli|i;iou8 
 
 Iinnciples, has been published, since his death, by 
 t'tnfesf'or Richardson ot the same college — a gentle, 
 man distinguished m the literary world, and who has 
 done honour to the memory oi his friend, by an inter, 
 esting sketch of his life and chaiacier, kubjoined to 
 these discourses —Lord Woodhouhkle^:. 
 
 LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 
 
 67 
 
 ^rovement. But, wbile I rest in my con- 
 jecture, my judgment remains in suspense, 
 and all I can say is, it may be so, and it 
 may be otherwise. 
 
 4. A cause that is conjectured ought to 
 be such, that, if it really does exist, it will 
 produce the effect. If it have not this 
 quality, it hardly deserves the name of a 
 conjecture. • Supposing it to have this 
 quality, the question remains — Whether 
 does it exist or not ? And this, being a 
 question of fact, is to be tried by positive 
 evidence. Thus, Des Cartes conjectured, 
 that the planets are carried round the sun 
 in a vortex of subtile matter. The cause 
 here assigned is sufficient to produce the 
 effect. It may, therefore, be entitled to 
 the name of a conjecture. But where is 
 the evidence of the existence of such a vor- 
 tex ? If there be no evidence for it, even 
 though there were none against it, it is a 
 conjecture only, and ought to have no 
 admittance into chaste natural philosophy. 
 
 5. All investigation of what we call the 
 causes of natural phenomena may be reduced 
 to this syllogism — If such a cause exists, it 
 will produce such a phenomenon : but that 
 cause does exist : Therefore, &c. The first 
 proposition is merely hypothetical. And a 
 man in his closet, without consulting nature, 
 may make a thousand such propositions, 
 and connect them into a system ; but this 
 is only a system of hypotheses, conjectures, 
 or theories ; and there cannot be one con- 
 clusion m natural philosophy drawn from it, 
 until he consults nature, and dbcovers 
 whether the causes he has conjectured 
 do really exist As far as he can shew that 
 they do, he makes a real progress in the 
 Imowledge of nature, and not a step further. 
 I hope in all this your Lordship will agree 
 with me. But it remains to be considered 
 how the second proposition of the syllogism 
 is to be proved — to wit, that such a cause 
 does really exist. Will nothing satisfy 
 here but demonstration ? 
 
 6. I am so far from thinking so, my Lord, 
 that I am persuaded we never can have 
 demonstration in this case. All that we 
 know of the material world, must be grounded 
 on the testimony of our senses. Our senses 
 testily particular facts only : from these we 
 collect, by induction, general facts, which 
 we call laws of nature, or natural causes. 
 Thus, ascending by a just and cautious in- 
 duction, from what is less to what is more 
 general, we discover, as far as we are able, 
 natural causes, or laws of nature. This is 
 the analytical part of natural philosophy. 
 The synthetical part takes for granted, as 
 principles, the causes discovered by induc- 
 tion, and from these exphiins or accounts 
 for the phenomena which result from them. 
 This analysis and synthesis make up the 
 whole theory of natural philosophy. The 
 
 practical part consists in applying the laws 
 of nature to produce eff*ects useful in life. 
 
 7. From this view of natural philosophy, 
 which I have learned from Newton, your 
 Lordship will perceive that no man who 
 understands it will pretend to demon- 
 strate any of itsprin' iples. Nay, the most 
 certain and best established of them may, 
 for aiiythuig we know, admit of exceptions. 
 For instance, thtre is no principle in natu- 
 ral philosophy better established than the 
 universal gravitation of matter. But, can 
 this be demonstrated ? By no means. 
 What is the evidence of it, then ? It is 
 collected by induction, partly from our 
 daily experience, and from the experience 
 of all nations, in all ages, in all places of 
 earth, sea, and air, which we can reach ; 
 and partly from the observations and expe- 
 riments of philosophers, which shew that 
 even air and smoke, and every body upon 
 which experiments have been made, gravi- 
 tate precisely in proportion to the quantity 
 of matter ; that the sea and earth gravitate 
 towards the moon, and the moon towards 
 them ; that the planets and comets gravi- 
 tate towards the sun, and towards one 
 another, and the sun towards them. This 
 is the sum of evidence ; and it is as differ- 
 ent from demonstration, on the one hand, 
 as from conjecture on the other. It is the 
 same kind of evidence which we have, that 
 fire will burn and water drown, that bread will 
 nourish and arsenic poison, which, I think, 
 would not properly be called conjecture. 
 
 8. It is proper here to explain what is 
 meant by the cause of a phenomenon, when 
 that word is used in natural philosophy. 
 The word cause is so ambiguous, that I fear 
 many mistake its meaning, and take it to 
 mean the efficient cause, which I think it 
 never does in this science. 
 
 9. By the cause of a phenomenon, nothing 
 is meant but the law of nature, of which 
 that phenomenon is an instance, or a neces- 
 sary consequence. The cause of a body's 
 falling to the ground is its gravity. But 
 gravity is not an efficient cause, but a gene- 
 ral law, that obtains in nature, of which 
 law the fall of this body is a particular in- 
 stance. Tho cause why a body projected 
 moves in a parabola, is, that this motion is 
 the necessary consequence of the projectile 
 force and gravity united. But these are 
 not efficient causes ; they are only laws of 
 nature. In natural philosophy, therefore, 
 we seek only the general laws, according to 
 which nature works, and these we call the 
 causes of what is done according to them, 
 lint such laws cannot be the efficient cause 
 of anything. They are only the rule accord- 
 ing to which the efficient cause operates. 
 
 10. A natural philosopher may search 
 after the cause of a law of natiire ; but 
 this means no more than searching for a 
 
CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 gwenl kw, wiiioli inelndm^ that par* 
 
 iioiikr law, and |Mrlia|» many others under 
 it TUb was all that Mmrton aimed at by 
 Ul §iher. He thought it poerible, that, if 
 tlwre waa meh an ether, the gravitation of 
 bodiM, the: 'nfleetion ^aiid refraction of the 
 imya of tight, and many other kws of nature, 
 ;ill||||it be the necetaaiy ooneequencee of the 
 dailicity and lepeling font of the ether. 
 Bii%. MpMwing tliia 'ether' to exist, its eias- 
 'litit J mm refiwiiig' fbree nrael he considered 
 as a bw of nature ; and the efficient cause 
 if tiw •laslieity would still have been latent. 
 
 11. EffieienI 'Causes^ ftMniriy m called, 
 not within the spiiere m natural pMlo- 
 V* Its husbess is, from partaoular 
 
 in the material world, to collect, by 
 ■dtaatillii, the laws that are ireneraL 
 mA§mm tiMse the more moral, m far as 
 «*: mm M. And when thfa 'is done, natural 
 fUlnsoiiliy lias no more to do. It exhibits 
 to our view the grand machine of the mato- 
 rial world, analysed, as it were, and taken 
 to""fiMe% with, ue connexions and depend- 
 -mdm m ism Mtenl. fiarts,. and the Uws of 
 its several movements. It belongs to 
 iiMfHiar bmieh of philosophy to consider 
 wlwllier 'tUs machine is the work of chance 
 #ff of dMigB, and whether of good or of bad 
 '4hi|PI I wheAer there is not an intelligent 
 iflSt Mover who contrived the whole, and 
 '■|i||t molioii. 'to thO' whole^ according to the 
 bin wUei the natoral philosopher has dis- 
 «tvtnd, or, perhaps, according to kws 
 atill mom general, of which we can only 
 JM ^^ branches; and whether he 
 
 thmgs by his own hand, so to 
 Of employs subordinato efficient 
 causes to execute his purpoaea. These are 
 veiy noble and important mquiries, but they 
 do not belong to natuial i^osophy ; nor 
 «an we proceed in them in the way of ex- 
 feiiln«it and :induction, the only instru- 
 ments the natucal philosopher uses in his 
 lesearches. 
 
 12. Whether you call this branch of 
 fliilosophy Natural Theology or Meta- 
 physics, I care not ; but I think it ought 
 mt to be confounded with Natural Philo- 
 sophy; and neither of them with Mathe- 
 matics. Let the mathematician demon- 
 ■tnle the rektion of abstract quantity j the 
 natnial philosopher investigate the kws of 
 'HW' mtteikl system by induction ; and the 
 .IMiapttyriflian, 'the final 'Causes, and the 
 ilBcient 'Causes of what we see and what 
 aaliiial 'phibeophy discovers in the world 
 «• live in. 
 
 1& As, to 'inal causes, they stare us in 
 'HH' ''Imss 'wfierever we cast our eyes. I can 
 iw mose doubt whether the eye was made 
 f(Hr"tha pnrpoae of seeing, and the ear of 
 iMIlillg^ tibaa I can doubt of a matheraa- 
 iilil 'iftiiumf yet the evidence is neither 
 ■latlMnalleal. deniMistnition, nor is it in- 
 
 duction. In a word, final causes, good final 
 cansss, are seen pkmly everywhere : in the 
 heavens and in the earth ; in the constitu' 
 tion of every animal, and in our own consti- 
 tution of body and of mind ; and they are 
 most worthy of observation, and have a 
 charm in them that delights the souL 
 
 14. As to Efficient Causes, I am afraid 
 our faculties carry us but a very little way, 
 and almost only to general conclusions. I 
 hold it to be self-evident, that every pro- 
 duction, and every change in nature, must 
 have an efficient cause that has power 
 to produce the effect ; and that an effect 
 which has the most manifest marks of in- 
 telligence, wisdom, and goodness, must have 
 an intelligent, wise, and good efficient cause. 
 From these, and some such self-evident 
 truths, wo may discover the principles of 
 natural theology, and that the Deity is the 
 first efficient cause of all nature. But how 
 far he operates in nature immediately, or 
 how far by the ministry of subordinate effi- 
 cient causes, to which he has given power 
 adequate to the task committed to the^i, I 
 am afraid our reason is not able to discover, 
 and we can do little else than conjecture. 
 We are led by nature to believe ourselves 
 to be the efficient causes of our own volun- 
 tary actions ; and, from analogy, we judge 
 the same of other intelligent beings. But 
 with regard to the works of nature, I can- 
 not recollect a single instance wherein I can 
 say, with any degree of assurance, that such 
 a thing is the efficient cause of such a phe- 
 nomenon of nature. 
 
 16. Malebranche, and many of the Car- 
 teskns, ascribed all to the immediate oper- 
 ation of the Deity, except thedetenninations 
 of the will of free agents. Leibnitz, and all 
 his followers, maintain, that God finished 
 his work at the creation, having endowed 
 every creature and every individual particle 
 of matter, with such internal piwers as 
 necessarily produce all its actions, motions, 
 and changes, to tlie end of time. Oihers 
 have held, tliat various intelligent beings, 
 appointed by the Deity to their several 
 departments, are the efficient causes of the 
 various operations of nature. Others, that 
 there are beings endowed with power with- 
 out intelligence, which are the efficient 
 causes in nature's operations ; and they 
 have given them the name of Pkstic 
 Powers, or Plastic Natures, A late author 
 of your Lordship^s acquaintance,* has given 
 it as ancient metaphysice, That every body 
 in the universe is compounded of two sub- 
 stances united- to wit, an immaterial mind 
 or soul, which, in the inanimate creation, 
 has tlie power of motion without thought ; 
 and of inert matter as the other part The 
 celebrated Dr Priestley maintains, that 
 
 • Lord MonlKKMOb—H. 
 
 LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 
 
 W 
 
 matter, properly organized, has not only the 
 power of motion, but of thought and intel- 
 ■ligenoe ; and that a man is only a piece of 
 matter properly organized. 
 
 16. Of all these systems about the effi- 
 cient causes of the phenomena of nature, 
 there is not one that, in my opinion, can be 
 either proved or refuted from the principles 
 ^ natural philosophy. They belong to 
 metaphysics, and affect not natural philo- 
 sophy, whether they be true or false. Some 
 of them, I think, may be refuted upon meta- 
 physical principles ; but, as to the others, I 
 OUQ neither see such evidence for them or 
 against them as determines my belief. 
 They seem to me to be conjectures only 
 about matters where we have not evidence ; 
 and, therefore, I must confess my ignor- 
 
 17. As to the point which gave occasion 
 to this long detail, Whether there is reason 
 to Uiink that matter gravitates by an in- 
 herent power, and is the efficient cause of 
 its own gravitation, I say, first, This is a 
 metaphysical question, which concerns not 
 natural philosophy, and can neither be 
 proved nor refuted by any principle in that 
 science. Natural philosophy informs us, 
 that matter gravitates according to a certain 
 kw ; and it says no more. Whether mat- 
 ter be active or passive in gravitation, can- 
 not be determined by any experiment I can 
 think of. If it should be said that we ought 
 to conclude it to be active, because we per- 
 ceive no extemiil cause of its gravitation, 
 this argument, I fear, will go too far. Be- 
 sides it is very weak, amounting only to 
 this { I do not {lerceive such a thing, there- 
 fare it does not exist. 
 
 18. I never could see good reason to 
 believe that matter has any active power at 
 ■11. And, indeed, if it were evident that it 
 has on^,I thuik there could be no good reason 
 assigned for not allowing it oihers. Your 
 Lordship speaks of the power of resisting 
 motion, and some others, as acknowledged 
 active powers inherent in matter. As to 
 the resistance to motion, and the continu- 
 ance in motion, I never could satisfy my- 
 self whether these are not the necessary 
 consequences of matter being inactive. If 
 they imply activity, tliat may lie in some 
 other cause. 
 
 19. I am not able to form any distinct 
 conception of active power but such as I find 
 in myself. I can only exert my active 
 power by will, which su])pose8 thought. It 
 seems to me, that, if I was not conscious of 
 activity in myself, I could never, from things 
 I see about me, have had the conception or 
 idea of active power. I see a succession of 
 changes, but I gee not the power, that is, 
 the efficient cause of them ; but, having got 
 the notion of active power, from the con- 
 sciousness of my own activity, and finding 
 
 it a first principle; that every production 
 requires active power, I can reason about 
 an active power of that kind I am acquainted 
 with — that is, such as supposes thought and 
 choice, and is exerted by will. But, if there 
 is anything in an unthinking inanimate being 
 that can he called active power, I know not 
 what it is, and cannot reason about it. 
 
 20. If you conceive that the activity of 
 matter is directed by thought and will in 
 matter, every particle of matter must know 
 the situation and distance of every other 
 particle within the planetary system ; but 
 this, I am apt to think, is not your Lord- 
 ship's opinion. 
 
 21. I must therefore conclude, that this 
 active power is guided in all its operations 
 by some intelligent Bemg, who knows both 
 the kw of gravitation, and the distance and 
 situation of every particle of matter with 
 regard to every other particle, in all the 
 changes that happen in the material world. 
 I can only conceive two ways in which this 
 particle of matter can be guided, in all the 
 exertions of its active power, by an intelli- 
 gent Being. Either it was formed, in its 
 creation, upon a foreknowledge of all the 
 situations it shall ever be in with respect to 
 other particles, and had such an internal 
 structure given it, as necessarily produces, 
 in succession, all the motions, and tend- 
 encies to motion, it shall ever exert. This 
 would make every particle of matter a ma- 
 chine or automaton, and every particle of a 
 different structure from every other particle 
 hi the universe. This \a indeed the opinion 
 of Leibnitz ; but I am not prejudiced against 
 it upon that account ; I only wished to know 
 whether your Lordship adopted it or not. 
 Another way, and the only other way, in 
 which I can conceive the active power of a 
 particle of matter, guided by an intelligent 
 Being, is by a continual influence exerted 
 according to its situation and the situation 
 of other particles- In this case, the particle 
 would be guided as a horse is by his rider ; 
 and I think it would be improper to ascribe 
 to it the power of gravitation. It has only 
 the power of obeying its guide. Whether 
 your Lordship chooses the first or the last 
 in this alternative, I should be gkd to 
 know ; or whether you can think of a third 
 way better than either. 
 
 22. I will not add to the length of so 
 immoderately long a letter by criticising 
 upon the passages you quote from Newton. 
 I have a great regard for his judgment ; but 
 where he differs from me, I think him 
 wrong. 
 
 The idea of natural philosophy I have 
 given in this letter, I think I had from him. 
 If m scholia and queries he gives a range to 
 his thoughts, and sometimes enters the 
 regions of natural theology and metaphysics, 
 this I think is very allowable, and is not to 
 
IRI' 
 
 COEEESPONDENCE OF DE EEID. 
 
 In 'Soniiaend » |»rt of hh physics, whieh 
 mm ooniaiiiMl in his propooilkins and corol- 
 krieti. Even his queriea and conjectures 
 mm VBlimhle ; but I think he never inteuded 
 t^ftt they should be taken for granted, but 
 
 nutdfi the subject of inquiry. 
 
 Tho. Rbip. 
 
 LAWM OP MOTION — PEASSUEB OF FLtltDS.. 
 
 Jttnmrrp 25, 1 731' 
 My Louro, — To what cause is it owing 
 that I differ so much from your Lordship 
 in Physics, when we differ so little in Meta- 
 physks ? I am at a loss to account for tliis 
 fhniioiiienoo. Whether is it owing to our 
 laving dlffemnl conceptions to the same 
 words? — or, as I rather think it is, to 
 your being dissatisfied with the three gene- 
 lal laws of motion ? Without them I know 
 not indfeed how to reason in physics,. Ar- 
 chimedes reasoned from them both in me- 
 chanics and hydrostatica Galileo, Huy- 
 gens, Wren, Wallis, Mariotte, and many 
 othen, feaaoned from them, without ob- 
 iSar? ing that they did so. 
 
 I have not indeed any scruples about the 
 frinctples of hydfoatatica. They seem to 
 'HW' to be the necessaiy «ms«quences of the 
 MInltion of a fluid, the three kws of motion, 
 and the kw of gravitation ; and, therefore, 
 I csnnol assent to your Lordship^s reason- 
 ing, either about the pressure of fluids, or 
 about the auspeiiion of the mercury m the 
 barometer. 
 
 As to the irst, the experiments which shew 
 that iuids do, in fact, press utidf-quaque, 
 mm so numerous, and so well known to your 
 Loniship, that I apprehend it is not the fact 
 you question, but the cause. You think 
 that gravity is not the cause. Why ? Be- 
 'Cauao' gtavity .gives to every part of the fluid 
 a teudtenev dO'wnwardS' only ; and what is 
 true of every part, is true of the whole: 
 therefore, the whole has no other tendency 
 but downward. This argument is sfiecious, 
 but there is a fallacy in it. If the parts did 
 mt act upon one another, and counteract 
 one another, the argument would be good^ 
 but the parts are so connected, that one 
 eannot go down but another must go up, 
 and, therefore, tliat very gravity which 
 presses down one part presses up another : 
 BO that every part is pressed down by its 
 own f ravity, and pressed up, at the same 
 time, by the gravity of other parts ; and 
 the contrary pressures being equal, it re- 
 mains at rest 
 
 This may be illustrated by a balance 
 equilibrating by equal weights in both scales. 
 I say each arm of the bahince is equally 
 pressed upwards and downwards, al the same 
 
 time, and from that cause is at rest ; although 
 the teudency of the weights, in eich of the 
 scales, is downwards only. I prove it a p&A- 
 teri0ri ; because the arm of a balance being 
 luuveable by the least force, if it wa& pressed 
 in one direction only, it would move in that 
 direciion : but it does not move. I prove 
 it II priori ; because the necessary effect of 
 pressing one arm down, is the pressing the 
 other up with the same force : therefore, 
 each arm is pressed down by the weight in- 
 its own scale, and equally pressed up by the 
 weight in the other scale ; and, being pressed 
 with equal force in contrary directions, it 
 remains at rest. Your Lordship will easily 
 apply this reasoning to a fluid, every part of 
 which is as moveable as the balance is about 
 its fnlemm ; and no one part can move, but 
 an equal part must be moved in a contrary 
 direction. And I think it is impossible we 
 should differ in this, but in words. 
 
 Next, as to the barometer. You say the 
 mercury is kept up by the expansive power 
 of th^ air : but you say further, that it is 
 not kept up by tlie weight of the air. I 
 agree to the first, but not to the last. The 
 exiiansive power of the air is owing to its 
 being compressed ; and it is compressed by 
 the weight of the incumbent atmosphere. 
 Its expansive force is exactly equal to the 
 force that presses and condenses it ; and 
 that force is the weight of the air above it, 
 to the top nf tlie almmphere — so that the ex- 
 pansive force of the air is the c msa proximfi, 
 the weight of the atmosphere the mma 
 rMMfita of the suspension of the mercury. 
 Your Lordship knows the maxim, Cawia 
 ctmsiB e^t cutua causat*. The barometer, 
 therefore, while it measures the expansive 
 force of the air which presses upon the 
 lower end of tho tube, at the same time 
 mcf^sures the weight of the atmosphere, 
 which is the cause of that expansive force, 
 and exactly equal to it. If the air was not 
 pressed by the incumbent weight, it would 
 expand in boundless space, until it had no 
 more expansive force. 
 
 As to the observation in the postscript, 
 it is true, that the gravity of tlie air, while 
 it rests upon an unyielding bottom, wiU give 
 no mtition to it ; but the mercury in the 
 lower end of the tube yields to the pressure 
 of the air upon it, until the weight of the 
 mercury is baknced by the pressure of the 
 air. 
 
 What your Lordship is pleased to call the 
 Opnt Mafinum, goes on, but more slowly 
 than I wish. — I am, most respectfully, my 
 Lord, yours, 
 
 Tho. Rkiii. 
 
 LETTERS TO LORD KAMES. 
 
 €1 
 
 VIIL 
 
 ON THK AGCKLBRATEO MOTION OF FALLING 
 BOOIES. 
 
 Glasgow College^ Nov, 11, 1782. 
 
 My Lord, — My hope that your Lordship 
 is in no worse state of health than when I 
 left you, and that the rest of the good family 
 are well, is confirmed by your continuing 
 your favourite speculations. I promised to 
 call upon you in the morning before I came 
 away. I sent m Samuel to see if you was 
 awake : he reported that you was sleeping 
 sound ; and I could not find it in my heart 
 to disturb your repose. 
 
 When we say, that, in falling bodies, the 
 space gone through is as the square of the 
 velocity, it must be carefully observed that 
 the velocity meant in this proposition, is the 
 last velocity, which the body acquires only 
 the last moment of its fall : but the space 
 meant is the whole space gone through, 
 from the beginning of its fall to the end. 
 
 As this is the meaning of the proposition, 
 your Lordship will easily perceive, that the 
 velocity of the last moment nmst indeed 
 correspond to the space gone through in 
 that moment, but cannot correspond to the 
 space gone through in any preceding moment, 
 with a less velocity ; and, consequently, can- 
 not correspond to the whole space gone 
 through in the last and all precedhig mo- 
 ments taken together. You say very justly, 
 that, whether the motion be equable or 
 accelerated, the space gone through in any 
 instant of time corresponds to the velocity 
 in that instant. But it does not follow from 
 this, that, in accelerated motion, the space 
 gone through in many succeeding instants 
 will correspond to the velocity of the last 
 instant. 
 
 If any writer in physics has pretended to 
 demonstrate mathematically this proposi- 
 tion—that a body falling by gravity in vacuo, 
 goes through a space which is as the square 
 of its last velocity; he must be one who 
 writes without distinct conceptions, of which 
 kind we have not a few. 
 
 The proposition is not mathematical, but 
 physical. It admits not of demonstration, 
 as your Lordship justly observes, but of 
 proof by experiment, or reasoning grounded 
 on experiment. There is, however, a ma- 
 thematical proposition, which possibly an 
 
 inaccurate writer might confound with the 
 last mentioned. It is this — that a body 
 uniformly accelerated from a state of rest, 
 will go through a space which is as the 
 square of the last velocity. • This is an ab- 
 stract proposition, and has been mathema- 
 tically demonstrated ; and it may be made 
 a step in the proof of the physical proposi- 
 tion. But the proof must be completed by 
 shewing, that, iu fact, bodies descending by 
 gravitation are uniformly accelerated. This 
 is sometimes shewn by a machine invented 
 by S'Gravesande, to measure the velocities 
 of falling bodies; sometimes it is proved 
 by the experiments upon pendulums ; and 
 sometimes we deduce it by reasoning from 
 the second law of motion, which we think 
 is grounded on universal experience. So 
 that the proof of the physical proposition 
 always rests ultimately upon experience, and 
 not solely upon mathematical demonstra- 
 tion I am, my Lord, respectfully yours, 
 
 Tho. Reid. 
 
 IX. 
 
 EXTRACT OP A LETTER TO MRS DRUM MONO, 
 AFTER THE DEATH OP HER HUSBAND, 
 LORD KAMES, IN 1782. 
 
 I accept, dear madam, the present you 
 sent me,* as a testimony of your regard, 
 and as a precious relic of a man whose 
 talents I admired and whose virtues I 
 honoured ; a man who honoured me with 
 a share of his conversation, and of his cor- 
 respondence, which is my pride, and which 
 gave me the best opportunity of knowing 
 his real worth. 
 
 I have lost in him one of the greatest 
 comforts of my life; but his remembrance 
 will always be dear to me, and demand my 
 best wishes and prayers for those whom he 
 has left beliind him. 
 
 When time has abated your just grief 
 for the loss of such a husband, the recol- 
 lection of his eminent talents, and of his 
 public and domestic virtues, will pour balm 
 into the woui.d. Friends are not lost who 
 leave such a character behind them, and 
 such an example to those who come after 
 them. 
 
 A gold snuffbox. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 C— LETTERS TO BR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 
 Cidl0ff^ Jpril 7, 1783* 
 Bbah Si%— Bj 'iivimr of Mr Patrick 
 WiwMi, our AjwiBtMit Professor of Astro- 
 MBy, I tend you two more mimbcrs of ray 
 laealmUioni.* I am not sure when I can 
 •end mom, as I am not sure whether my 
 •eiihe nay eoon leave the College. 
 
 I shall he much obliged to you if you will 
 eonlliiiio to favour me with your obnerra- 
 §gmL 'fiough I have f ut off examining those 
 yon have sent mti. lOm MSS. he returned, 
 which I expect about the end of this month, 
 along with Dug. Stewart*s observationa I 
 hme abO' aenl tho' Genealogy of the Gre- 
 miesy wUfli. yiMr brother left with me t 
 1 MMfeeted ibat it was mora particular than 
 the copy I had, hut I find they agree per^ 
 feelly. 
 
 Ton will please deEver it to him, with 
 my eompBnents.. The Ibw days he was 
 here he payed his respects to all the Pro- 
 iassora and ai his acquaintance, and they 
 
 iiih1lgi| gy|l WlgMIMf llPllliilll Blliltl'llilTll Wl'llll flUl M.tlfWfcftfUf 
 
 anee. If it please God to spare his life, I 
 hope he wiU do honour to his Aima Mai§r, 
 and to his friend8.t 
 
 ''.I know Bot upon what authority the 
 .BdiiilMq^ and Iimdiiii .news-writers have 
 
 fm. MBitwiiiiioffy aeoounts ot uw Hun- 
 ter's settlements.^ Tliere is nothing cer- 
 tainly known here. I know 'that, six or 
 'Mfw^yian^ 90H M 'made a settlement very 
 'iivoaiaUe In 'mis College. But whether 
 this as altered, or in what respect, I believe 
 nobody here knows. But weWaU prolmbly 
 know soon. He 'was sorely a man that did 
 gmt' honour to his oounl^, and I doubt 
 ml hut his publick spirit, which I take to 
 have been gnsat, will have dbposed him to 
 leave his books, medals, and other literary 
 teBUniifr— wMcii he had collected at vast 
 iBpanie^ and with great industry— in such 
 » way as that it may be useful to the pub- 
 
 I beg yon. to make my best' respects 'to 
 M » Gr^gonr, and to aU youriamilyi and 
 I .ami dear Sur, 
 
 Your most obedient Servant, 
 
 Taa Raro. 
 
 • «!••• EMtft on the Inullectual Powns."~H. 
 
 tfilisiMi tlMi Vm. WillUin (Jregory, A. M. of 
 IMIM roUfiCk fIXfDfd, afterwards IU>cior of M 
 MarjX Bcnthatn. and eoeof tbt Fieaeiicn of Can. 
 tcrlmry Catbcdral. Ho had (tndicd M Olaipw prCb 
 vtoMlf leei'tOTing at Oxrord.-~H, 
 
 tTbereMirated Or Wnt HutiUr. If e brqnratlied 
 Ilia anatomical preiiarationc, library^ and collection 
 of medals, to the OniTcrai^ ot Glafgow, and a sum 
 Of monoy fbr tlM erecUmi of a nuiMiiai.— H 
 
 
 GlmgmD CoUige, June 8, 1783. 
 
 Dkar Sir, 
 
 . .... I cannot get 
 more copied of my papers till next winter, 
 find indeed have not much more ready. 
 This parcel goes to page G58, I believe 
 what you have got before may be one-half 
 or more of all 1 intend. The materials of 
 what is not yet ready for the copyer are 
 portly discourses read in our Literary So- 
 ciety, imrtly notes of my Lectures. 
 
 Yotur judgment of wHat you have seen 
 flatters me very much, and adds greatly to 
 my own opinion of it, though authors sel- 
 dom are deficient in a good opinion of their 
 own works. 
 
 I am at a loflfl to express my obUgationa 
 to you for the pains you have taken, and pro- 
 pose to take agam upon it I have carefully 
 laid up the observations you sent me, to be 
 considered when the copy they refer to is 
 returned) and I hope for the continuation of 
 them. The analogy between memory and 
 prescience is, I believe, a notion of my own. 
 But I shall be open to conviction on this 
 and every thing else we may differ about. 
 
 I have often thought of what you propose 
 — to give the History of the Ideal System ; 
 and what I have to say against it, by itself, 
 and I am far from being positive that it 
 stands in the most proper pkce. Perhaps 
 it win be easier to judge of this when the 
 work is concluded. I have endeavoured to 
 put it in separate chapters, whose titles may 
 direct those who have no taste for it to pass 
 over them. But I hope to have your opi- 
 nion upon this point at more length when 
 we meet* I observe that Boyle and others, 
 who, at the Reformation of Natural Philo- 
 sophy, gave new li^ht, found it necessary to 
 contrast their discoveries with the Aristo- 
 telian notions which then prevailed. Wo 
 could now wish their works pur^ of the 
 controversial part ; but, perhaps, it was pro- 
 per and necessary at the time Aoy wn^, 
 when men*8 minds were full of the old sys* 
 terns, and prepossessed in its favour. What 
 I take to be the genuine philosophy of the 
 human mind, is in so low a state, and has 
 so many enemies, that, I apprehend thoaa 
 who would make any improvement in H 
 must, for some time at least, build with ewe 
 hand, and hold a weapon with the other. 
 
 I shall be very gbM to see you heie, and 
 win take it as a favour if you acquaint me 
 when you have fixed your time, that 1 may 
 be snre to be at home. I beg yon wiU 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY 
 
 63 
 
 make my best complunents to Mrs Gregory, 
 whom I should be happy to see along with 
 you in good health, and to Mr D. Gordon, 
 if he is still with you, and to all your fa- 
 mily ; and am, dear sir, 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 Tho. Reid. 
 
 IIL 
 
 March 14, 1784. 
 
 Dear Sir, — I send you now the remainder 
 of what F propose to print with respect to 
 the Intellectual Powers of the Mind. It 
 may, perhaps, be a year before what relates 
 to the Active Powers be ready, and, there- 
 fore, I think the former might be published 
 by itself, as it is very uncertain whether I 
 shall live to publish the latter. 
 
 I have enclosed, in the first of the three 
 papers now sent, the contents of the whole, 
 which you was so good as to write out as 
 far as it was carried last year. I think the 
 title may be. Essays on the Intellectual Foivers 
 «/ the Human A'Jind. It will easily divide 
 into eight essays, as you will see by the 
 contents ; but with regard to this, as well 
 as whether the two parts may be published 
 separately, I wish to have your advice and 
 Mr Stuart^s — (Sic.) Since you have been so 
 good as to take a concern in it, I apprehend 
 that the second Part — I mean what relates to 
 the Active Powers — will not be near so large 
 as the first. I wish to have the manuscript, 
 with your remarks and Mr Stuart's, (.>'c,) 
 about the end of April, if you can. Dr 
 Rose at Chiswick— who, you know, has all 
 along had a principal concern in The 
 Monihtff Review — has made me a very kind 
 offer, that, if I please to send the MSS. to 
 him, he will both give me his remarks, and 
 treat with a bookseller about the sale of it. 
 I think this is an offer that I ought not to re- 
 fkiae ; and I can have a good occasion of 
 sending it about the beginning of the month 
 of May, by his son, who is at this college. 
 I long to hear how Mrs Gregory has stood 
 this severe winter, and beg my most humble 
 respects to her, and to the Rev. Mr Wil- 
 liam, when you write him. 
 
 I send you on the other page an anecdote 
 respecting Sir I. Newton, • which I do not 
 remember whether I ever happened to men- 
 tion to you in conversation. If his descent 
 be not clearly ascertained, (as I think it is 
 not in the books I have seen,) might it not 
 be worth while for the antiquarian branch 
 of your R. Society, to inquire if they 
 can find evidence to confirm the account 
 which he is said to have given of himself. 
 Sheriff Cross was very zealous about it, 
 
 • See Brewtter'i " Life of Newton," and, iri/rt, 
 Roid's Utter to Mr Robieon, at the end of his Cor- 
 reit>ondence.— H. 
 
 when death put a stop to his inquiries.— .1 
 am, dear Sir, yours most respectfully, 
 
 Tho. Reid. 
 
 When I lived in Old Aberdeen, above 
 twenty years ago, I happened to be con- 
 versing over a pipe of tobacco, with a gen- 
 tleman of that country, who had been lately 
 at Edinburgh. He told me that he had 
 been often in company with Mr Hepburn 
 of Keith, with whom I had the honour of 
 some acquaintance. He said that, speaking 
 of Sir Isaac Newton, Mr Hepburn men- 
 tioned an anecdote, which he had from Mr 
 James Gregory, Professor of Mathematics 
 at Edinburgh, which was to this purpose :— 
 Mr Gregory being at London for some time 
 after he resigned the mathematical chair, 
 was often with Sir I. Newton. One day 
 Sir Isaac said to him, " Gregory, I believe 
 you don't know that I am connected with 
 Scotland.'* " Pray, how. Sir Isaac ?" said 
 Gregory. Sir Isaac said — " He was told, 
 that his grandfather was a gentleman of 
 East Lothian ; that he came to London with 
 King James at his accession to the Crowu 
 of England, and there spent his fortune, as 
 many more did at that time, by which his 
 son (Sir Isaac's father) was reduced to mean 
 circumstances." To this Gregory bluntly 
 replied — " Newton, a gentleman in East 
 Lothian ? — I never heard of a gentleman of 
 East Lothian of that name." Upon this 
 Sir Isaac said, that, being very young when 
 his father died, he had it only by trmlition, 
 and it might be a mistake ; and imme- 
 diately turned the conversation to another 
 subject. 
 
 I confess I suspected that the gentleman 
 who was my author had given some colour- 
 ing to this story ; and, therefore, I never 
 mentioned it for a good many years. 
 
 After I removed to Glasgow, I came to 
 be very intimately acquainted with Mr 
 Cross, the Sheriff of Lanerick, and one day 
 at his own house mentioned this story with- 
 out naming my author, of whom I expressed 
 some diffidence. The Sheriff immediately 
 took it up as a matter worth being inquired, 
 into. He said he was well acquainted with 
 Mr Hepburn of Keith, (who was then 
 alive,) and that he would write him, to 
 know whether he ever heard Mr Gregory 
 say that he had such a conversation with 
 Sir Isaac Newton. He said, he knew that 
 Mr Keith, the ambassador, was also inti- 
 mate with Mr Gregory, and that he would 
 write him te the same purpose. Some time 
 after, Mr Cross told me, that he had 
 answers from both the gentlemen above- 
 mentioned, and that both remembered to 
 have heard Mr Gregory mention the con- 
 versation between him and Sir Isaac New- 
 ton to the purpose above narrated ; and at 
 the same time acknowledged that they had 
 
COERESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 111111I0 no fkctlior inquiry alioul the mat- 
 ter. 
 
 Mr Cross, bowever, continued in the 
 kf wirj ; and, a short time before his deatli, 
 
 told me, that all he had learned was, that 
 ilwre is, or was lately, a baronet's family 
 of the name of Newton in West-Lothian, 
 or Mid-Lothian, (I have forgot whtoh f) 
 that there i» a tradition in that family that 
 Bit Isaac Newton wrote a letter to the old 
 Jcnigbt that was, (I think Sir John New- 
 ton of Newton was his name,) desirtiig 
 ■m know what children, and. particukrly what 
 'MM he had t their am, and what profes- 
 sions they intended. That the old baronet 
 never deigned to return an answer to this 
 .letter, which his family waa^ »rry for, as 
 tlMir 'thoqglit Sir Isaac nugh* 'h»ve intended 
 to' do .acinetMng' for Hwiii. 
 
 IT. 
 
 D«AE 81*,— Happening to have gone into 
 Iii0 country a little way, yonr letter of 5th 
 Jnae did not reach me in time to write you 
 before you set out upon your journey, which 
 I wish to be atlendfld with much happiness 
 to the parties, and comfort to their friends. * 
 
 I was io stupid at first as to misunder- 
 atand the direction you gave me how tu 
 wrlto you. Now I see it is plain enough, 
 and I hope have taken it right* I send you 
 the enclosed to Br Rose, as yon desire. 
 
 I have by me our friend D. Stewart's 
 "Discourse on the Ideas of Cause and 
 Effect," &c, ; and I have this day sent him 
 my remarks upon it I am happy to find 
 his sentiments on that subject agree so 
 nach with my own. I think it well wrote, 
 md hope it wlH be very useful. 
 
 Br Rose will shew you the letter I wrote 
 to him along with the MS8., and one from 
 Mr Bellt to me, which I enclosed in it : 
 these contain all the information I have to 
 give, and all the instructions I thought 
 necessary. I eacpeet an answer from one 
 
 rirter, at least, before the work be cold from 
 pre^ But the only answer that shaU 
 ever have any reply from me must be one 
 who keeps good temper, and who observes 
 good manners, in the first place ; and next 
 one who, in my opinion, gives new light to 
 'the subject 
 
 I wish yon happy success in your own 
 affitirs, and a safe return. If nothing hap- 
 pens of which you wish to acquaint me 
 ■ooner, I shall be glad to bear from you on 
 jour return ; being, dear sir. 
 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 Tho. Rbio, 
 GImfftm Coii. 17M. 
 
 • I1ik altuiltv to the marriage of Dr Gregorfli 
 
 eldest iltlcr 10 tlie Hev. ArctiilMld Miion.— H. 
 
 f 11ie.ptiUlaher— H* 
 
 [ The hUer qttoUd above % Mr St&martt 
 
 (p, 31) " to one o/Dr Reid*s moU intimate 
 
 friends,*'' waa addressed to Dr James Gregory 
 
 on the death of his firU wife, and sfutuld 
 
 properly here find its place*'— ii. ] 
 
 V. 
 
 ON THE MBANINU OF NOTION. 
 
 Glmanuf Colfege, December 31, 1784. 
 
 Bear Sm,_I had the favour of youre by 
 Mr Tower, and take the opportunity of his 
 return to wish you many happy returns of 
 this season. 
 
 I believe you and I cannot differ about 
 right or wrong notions^ but in words. 
 
 The notions we have of real existences, 
 may with good reason he said to be right of 
 wrong, true or false ; but I think every 
 notion of this kind has a standard to which 
 I believe my notion to agree ; and as that 
 belief is true or false, so my notion of the 
 thing is true or false. For instance, if my 
 notion of the Devil includes hornsand cloven 
 feet, I must believe these to be attributes 
 of the Bevil, otherwise they would not b< 
 included in my notion of him. If this be- 
 lief be wrong, I have a wrong notion of him; 
 and, as soon as I am convinced that this 
 belief is wrong, I leave out these attributeg 
 in my notion of him. 
 
 I may have an abstract notion of a being 
 with horns and cloven feet, without apply- 
 ing it to any individual — then it is a simple 
 approhenston, and neither true nor false ; 
 but it cannot be my notion of any indivi- 
 dual that exists, unless I believe that being 
 to have these attributes. I am therefore 
 still apt to think that true and false can only 
 with propriety be applied to notions which 
 mclude some belief; but whether my re- 
 mark on your use of the word notion be just 
 or not, I cannot presently say i you will 
 judge for yourself. 
 
 I thought to have seen B. Stewart hero 
 about this time. When you see him, please 
 acquaint him that I have made my remarks 
 upon the performance he left with me, I 
 am extremely obliged to you and him for 
 correcting the sheets of my performance. 
 You leave me very little to do. 
 
 By the slowness of printing, I conjecture 
 that the book cannot be published next 
 spring, and can only be ready for the spring 
 17fl6. I desired long ago to know of Mr 
 Bell whether he proposed to publish it in 
 one vol. or two ; but I have not had an 
 answer. I suspect it will be too thick for 
 one vol. and too thin for two. Perhaps if 
 the publication is delayed to 1786, I might 
 have my Essays on the Active Powers 
 ready, of which Mr Bell shall have the first 
 offer; and I apprehend that, with thia 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 65 
 
 addition, there may be two sizeable 4tos in 
 the whole. — I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 
 Tuo. Rsic. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Bbar Sir, — I send you enclosed what I 
 propose as the title-page of my essays, with 
 an epistle, which, I hope, you and Mr 
 Stewart will please to allow me to prefix to 
 them. 
 
 Whether your name should go first, on 
 account of your doctor's degree, or Mr 
 Stewart's, on account of his seniority as a 
 professor, I leave you to adjust between 
 yourselves.* 
 
 As to the title-page, you and he may 
 alter what you think fit,t and deliver it to 
 Mr Bell without farther communication 
 with me, as he intends immediately to ad- 
 vertise the book. 
 
 If you find anything in the epistle that 
 you would have altered or corrected, you 
 may please write me; but you need not 
 send back the copy, as I have a copy by me. 
 
 I know not how to express my obliga- 
 tions to you and Mr Stewart for the aid 
 you have given me. — I am, dear Sir, your 
 most obliged servant, 
 
 Tho. Rkid. 
 
 May 2d, 1785, 
 
 Glasgow College, 
 
 You will give the epistle to the printers 
 when it is wanted. 1 send with this the 
 last part of the MS. 
 
 VIL 
 
 MXANINGS or CAUSE — MOTIVB — LAW OF 
 NATURE. 
 
 June 14, 1785. 
 Bear Sra,— I am extremely obliged to 
 you for your friendly consultation about my 
 health. For two days past, I have had 
 almost nothing of my ailment, which I 
 ascribe to some exercise I have taken, and 
 to a comfortable warmness in the air. ^ I 
 resolve to try some short excursions, which 
 I can make either on foot or in a chaise. 
 If that do not produce the effect, I shall 
 fall to your prescriptions, which I think 
 very rational. I very probably may be at 
 home when you propose to be in Glasgow. 
 
 • In thp MS. dedication of the •• isaays on the 
 Intellectual Powers," Dr Gregory's name stands 
 before that of Mr Stewart. This orde* *a8, probably 
 by Dr Gregory himself, reversed 'J'hcre are*al60 
 aoire vtrbal improvements in the style of the dedica. 
 Uon, as It stands printed, which, it is likely, were 
 introduced t)y Dr Gregory or Mr Stewart.— H. 
 
 f The title sent was, " Essays on the Intellectual 
 Powers of the Human Mind," or, " Essays on the 
 Intellectual Powers of Man." Ihe latter was pre- 
 ferred.— H. 
 
 Your speculation to demonstrate, mathe- 
 matically, the difference between the rehi- 
 tion of motive and action, and the relation of 
 cause and effect,* is, indeed, so new to me, 
 that I cannot easily form a j udgment about it. 
 I shall offer some of my thoughts on the sub- 
 ject of those two relations. Whether they be 
 favourable to your speculation, or unfavour- 
 able, I cannot immediately determine. 
 
 The word cause, is very ambiguous in all 
 languages. I have wrote a chapter lately 
 upon the causes of this ambiguity. The 
 words power, agent, effect, have a like am- 
 biguity ; each different meaning of the first 
 mentioned word leading to a corresponding 
 meanmg of the three last. A reason, an 
 end, an instrument, and even a motive, is 
 often called a cause. You certainly exclude 
 the last from what you call a cause. 
 Whether you exclude all the other meanings 
 which I think improper meanings, I am not 
 so sure. 
 
 In the strict and proper sense, I take an 
 efficient cause to be a being who had power 
 to produce the effect, and exerted that power 
 for that purpose. 
 
 Active power is a quality which can only 
 be in a substance that really exists, and is 
 endowed with that power. Power to pro- 
 duce an effect, supposes power not to pro- 
 duce it ; otherwise it is not power but neces- 
 sity, which is incompatible with power 
 taken in a strict sense. The exertion of that 
 power, is agency, or efficiency. That every 
 event mustliave a cause in this proper sense, 
 I take to be self-evident 
 
 I should have noticed that I am not able 
 to form a conception how power, in the strict 
 sense, can be exerted without will ; nor can 
 there be will without some degree of under- 
 standing. Therefore, nothing can be an 
 efficient cause, in the proper sense, but an 
 intelligent being. 
 
 I believe we get the first conception of 
 power, in the proper sense, from the con- 
 sciousness of our own exertions ; and, as all 
 our power Ls exerted by will, we cannot form 
 a conception how power can be exerted with- 
 out will. Hence the only notion we can 
 form of Almighty power in the Deity, is that 
 
 ♦This refers to Dr Gregory's ingenious •• Essay on the 
 Differencebetween theRelation of Motive and Action, 
 and (hat of Cause and Efftct in Physics ; on ph\8ical 
 and mathematical principles." This treatise, which 
 was published in i'79^, had been previously commu- 
 nicated to various philosophical friends, ai d in par- 
 ticu'ar to every Necsssitarian of the author's ac. 
 quainiance, with the assurance that, if any error 
 could be pointed out in the reasoning— which, as 
 mathematical, could be examined with the utmost 
 rigour— the objection should either be completely 
 answered, or the essay itself supjiressed. Only one 
 Necessitarian, however, allowed his objections to be 
 published ; and these, with Dr Gregory's answer?, are 
 to be found in the appeiuiix to the essay. Dr Keid 
 was among the first to whom Dr Gregory com- 
 municated this work ; and to Dr Keid, when pub. 
 llshed, the •• Philosophical and Literary Jifcsayi 
 were inscribed.— H. 
 
■ei 
 
 66 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 hm ^OMi in viattrer he wills. A power to do 
 wiiftt he do« not will, is words without m 
 
 IMHUlill|^* 
 
 Mtttter euuiot be the eaiise of anything ; 
 it can only be an instroment in l^e hands of 
 ft imI came. Thus, when a body has a cer- 
 tain force given it by impulse, it may com- 
 Binicate that force to another body, and 
 that to a third, and so on. But, when we 
 trace back this motion to its origin, it must 
 nave been given, not by matter, but by some 
 bein^ wMdi had in itself the power of be- 
 ginnuig motion — ^that is, by a proper efficient 
 mme of motion. 
 
 It cannot be said that there is a constant 
 •nnjnnction between a proper cause and the 
 •Ifcct ; for, though the effiwt cannot be, 
 without power to produce it, yet that power 
 niajr be, without being exerted, and power 
 which is no4 exerted produces no effect. 
 
 You will see, by what is said above, 
 what I tale to be the strict and proper 
 meaning of the word camm, and the related 
 words, jNNivr, i^^md, ^c In this sense we 
 use it in fetMnlng oonosming the being and 
 attributes of the Deity. In this sense we 
 m»At to use it in the question about liberty 
 Mi necessity, and, I think, in all metaphy- 
 jiisal reasoning about causes and effects; 
 for when, in meUpliyiifml nasoning, we de- 
 fftft from this sense, the word is so v^gue 
 tliat there can be no clear reasoning about 
 li 
 
 Suppose, now, that you take the word 
 eauae in this strict sense ; its relation to its 
 •itet is HI adf-evidently different from the 
 iflttiMi 'Of • motive to an action, that I am 
 jealowi of a mathematical demonstration of 
 a truth so self-evident Nothing is more 
 diiiflult than -to demonstnte what i<i self- 
 evident A cause is a being which has a 
 real existonce; a moiim has no real exist- 
 ence, and, therefore, can have no active 
 power. It is a thing conceived, and not a 
 tUHf that exiitsi and, therefore, can neither 
 m active nor even passive. To say that a 
 motive really acts, is as absurd as to say 
 that a motive drinks my health, or that a 
 nntiwi gives me a box on the ear. 
 
 In ph jaiesw the word mum haa another 
 "■whig, which, though I think it an im- 
 proper one, yet is distinct, and, therefore, 
 may be reasoned upon. When a phenome- 
 non is produced, aecofding to a certain law 
 of nature^ we call the law of nature the cause 
 of that phenomenon ; and to the laws of 
 ■•tire we accordingly ascribe power, agency, 
 jHWeney. The whole business of physics 
 m to discover, by observation and experi- 
 mmd, the lawa of naliun, and to apply them 
 to the solution of the phenomena: this we 
 mM liwMifiiiiiig' the causes of things. But 
 tiiiL 'hiMPifiir aommon, is an improper sense 
 
 A foiriif fMliirtf can no more be an agent 
 
 than can a motive. It is a thing conceived, 
 and not a thing that exists ; and, therefore, 
 can neither act, nor be acted upon. A law 
 of nature is a purpose or resolution of the 
 author of nature, to act according to a cer- 
 tain rule — either immediately by himself or 
 by instruments that are under his direction. 
 There must be a real agent to produce the 
 phenomenon according to the law. A 
 malefactor is not hanged by the law, but 
 according? to the law, by the executioner. 
 
 I suspect you use the word cause in this 
 sense for a law of nature, according to which 
 a phenomenon is produced. I f so, it should 
 appear distinctly that you do so. 
 
 But is it not self-evident, that the rela- 
 tion between a law of nature and the event 
 which is produced according to it, is very 
 different from the relation between a motive 
 and the action to which it is a motive ? Is 
 there any need of demonstration for this ? 
 or does it admit of demonstration ? 
 
 There is, indeed, a supposition upon which 
 the two relations would be very similar. 
 The supposition is, that, by a law of nature, 
 the influence of motives upon actions is as 
 invariable as is the effect of impulse upon 
 matter ; but to suppose this is to suppose 
 fatality and not to prove it 
 
 It is a question of fact, whether the in- 
 fluence of motives be fixed by laws of nature, 
 so that they shall always have the same 
 effect in the same circumstances. Upon 
 this, indeed, the question about liberty and 
 necessity hangs. But I have never seen 
 any proof that there are such laws of nature, 
 far less any proof that the strongest motive 
 always prevails. However much our late 
 fatalists have boasted of this principle as of 
 a law of nature, without ever telling ua what 
 they mean by the strongest motive. I am 
 persuaded that, whenever they shall be 
 pleased to give us any measure of the 
 strength of motives distinct from their pre- 
 valence, it will appear, from experience, 
 that the strongest motive does not always 
 prevail. If no other test or measure of the 
 strength of motives can be found but their 
 prevailing, then this boasted prmciple will 
 be only an identical proposition, and signify 
 only that the strongest motive is the strong- 
 est motive, and the motive tiiat prevails is 
 the motive that prevails — which proves 
 nothing. 
 
 May it not be objected to your reasonmg, 
 that you apply the three laws of motion to 
 motives ; but motives may be subject to 
 other Uws of nature, no less invariable than 
 the laws of motion, though not the same. 
 Different parte of nature have different 
 Uws, it may be said ; and to apply the laws 
 of one nart to another part, particularly to 
 apply the bws of inert matter to the phc- 
 nomena of mind, may lead into great falla- 
 ciea I think, indeed, that your reasoning 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 6? 
 
 proves, that, between the influence of mo- 
 tives upon a mmd and the influence of 
 Impube upon a body, there is but a very 
 slight analogy, which fails in many in- 
 stances. 
 
 I have wearied you and myself with a 
 long detail, I fear, little to the purpose ; but 
 it was in my head, and so came out. I am 
 just setting out on a jaunt to Paisley, with 
 my wife, son-in-law, and daughter, to come 
 home at night 
 
 ... a 
 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 Tho. Reid. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 MEANING OF CAUSE. 
 
 Dbak Sir, — I believe 1 have never an- 
 swered the letter you favoured me with of 
 Aug. 9, by Capt Gallie. First, I obeyed 
 your commands in attending Mrs Siddons 
 twice, in " Douglas," and in " Venice Pre- 
 served." I believe I should have had much 
 more pleasure if, on account of deafness, I 
 had not lost much of what she said, and had 
 been better acquainted with the plays. But 
 I believe she is really an admirable actress, 
 and deserves the admiration you express of 
 her. 
 
 You say, you fear we shall never agree 
 with respect to the notion of cause and 
 effect I am at a loss to know wherein we 
 differ. I think we agree in this, that a 
 cause, in the proper and strict sense, (which, 
 I think, we may call the metaphysical sense,) 
 signifies a being or mind that has power 
 and will to produce the effect. But there 
 is another meaning of the word cause, which 
 is so well authorized by custom, that we 
 cannot always avoid using it, and I think 
 we may call it the physical sense ; as when 
 we say that heat is the cause that turns 
 water into vapour, and cold the cause that 
 freezes it into ice. A cause, in this sense, 
 means only something which, by the laws 
 of nature, the effect always follows. I 
 think natural philosophers, when they pre- 
 tend to shew the causes of natural phenom- 
 ena, always use the word in this last sense ; 
 and the vulgar in common discourse very 
 often do the same. 
 
 The reason why I take no notice of neuter 
 verbs is, that I conceive they are used to 
 express an event, without any signification 
 of its having a cause or not. But I shall 
 be very glad to see your speculations upon 
 this subject when they are ready. 
 
 I had a letter from Dr Price lately, 
 thanking me for a copy of the Essays I 
 ordered to be presented to him, which he 
 has read, aud calls it a work of the first 
 ▼nlue; commends me particularly for treat- 
 
 ing his friend Dr Priestly so gently, who, 
 he says, had been unhappily led to use ma 
 
 m* **..*.• 
 
 As you are so kind as to ask about my 
 distemper, I think it is almost quite gone, 
 so as to give me no uneasiness. I abstain 
 from fruit and malt liquor, and take a little 
 port wine, morning, noon, and night, not 
 above two bottles in a week when alone. 
 The more I walk, or ride, or even talk or 
 read audibly, I am the better. 
 
 When your time is fixed for coming here, 
 I shall be glad to know it. — I am, dear Sir, 
 Most affectionately yours, 
 Tho. Reid. 
 Glasgow, 23rf Sept. 1785. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ON CAUSE AND EFFECT — MOTIVE AND ACTION. 
 
 [March 1786.] 
 
 Dear Sir, — I hope your essay, along 
 with this, will come to your hand by the 
 carrier, and within the time you mention. 
 It would have been sent sooner if I had not 
 had a discourse to deliver before our Lite- 
 rary Society last Friday. 
 
 You give me most agreeable intelligence — 
 first, of Mrs Stewart's being so far recovered 
 of a dangerous illness, and then of my 
 friend William's promotion, who, I hope, 
 will wear the robe with decency and dignity. 
 
 Your essay I have read several times 
 with attention, and I think the reasoning 
 perfectly conclusive to prove that the rela- 
 tion between motives and actions is totally 
 of a different kind from that which physical 
 causes bear to their effects. 
 
 I agree with you that the hypothesis you 
 combat in this essay is more unreasonable 
 than that of constant conjunction. Not 
 because it is more reasonable to conceive a 
 constant conjunction between motives and 
 actions than an occasional one ; but be- 
 cause the first agrees better than the last 
 with the hypothesis of motives being physi- 
 cal causes of actions. Between a physical 
 cause and its effect, the conjunction must 
 be constant, unless in the case of a miracle, 
 or suspension of the laws of nature. What 
 D. Hume says of causes, in general, is very 
 just when applied to physical causes, that a 
 constant conjunction with the effect is essen- 
 tial to such causes, and implied in the very 
 conception of them. 
 
 The style of this essay is more simple 
 than that of the last, and, I think, on that 
 account, more proper for a philosophical 
 dissertation. 
 
 I am proud of the approbation you ex- 
 press of the essays :* I have made some 
 
 * On the Active Powen — H. 
 
 f2 
 
€0RRE3P0ND£NCS OF DR RBID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 69 
 
 and Additions, but sneli m I 
 hope will nol make it necessary to write it 
 mmamdau But I wieb, if I find health 
 ani lnBiii% in. ■nnuner, to add some esoaja 
 to go hefore that on liberty, in order to giro 
 amie farther elucidation to the principles 
 of morals, both theoretical and practical- I 
 oxpeel' jov ivmarla and D. Stewart's upon 
 utei ;fe in Iiand.. It will, be no inconveni- 
 flBM' tO' 'Will for them two or three, or even 
 four months — I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Yonn most affectioiiateljr, 
 Tna Rnn. 
 
 Bbae Sim,^I]i aiitwer to your querie%* 
 
 • Tte faiwi liigiiMy tiftt io-iiiflaiii th» ■lliniona 
 
 A'riil 'wllli' tlM' fnif Ij nf Cri'miii'i jm* 
 
 The levenmd JWIfi Orcforf of Oramoftk, In tbt 
 MMiiity of AtniiiMii) WM tRi0 CMnnioii aii'OMtor of 
 'two ll'Mii. Imtti. greaily dintinguiAibed for tnathema* 
 tical simI piNffal ability. Hb wife wat a daughter 
 of llsfU Awkraon of Fiosaiitli, ootiiiiii.|iermmn of 
 lilt vt Mm Uti analytt, Atoxanmr AwteffMiii the 
 ni Mower of Vieta. By her, he bad two 
 BmM lai Jamcta progenitors of the Miteral 
 
 1. una. 
 Tie elder aoii* DavM Qrigovy of Klnalnly.lii the 
 ■ountf of Aberdeen, WM/Ini a nercbaiit, an4 llted 
 llie gUMleff part of a .iont lUk In Holland He had 
 'llie''.ilii|iilar'Aiffta:iieor'i«cing three tons Profe«»on of 
 MallMiiiatica at the lania tine In three Britlah uni. 
 
 Of llieie mmum tht'tldeit,, Hottf. (horn IWS, dl d 
 nidi) thiwgli iaMor to ill iimclaJ'aiMi''lD Invcnllf e 
 t was one ol the ir.oit lltutt riout geometera and 
 ■1 anlbort of hli time. In 1683, elected 
 isor of llatlieiiiBlks in the UnWersitv of Rdiii. 
 bUfgh. he waf. In mi, by the Influence of Newton 
 inated Savilbn ProfoMorof AMronomy in Ox. 
 HhmmtBavia, who died 1767, waa atudent, 
 ■,aiiide:>n of Christ Church, and Regius Pro. 
 >af Modern History in the fame university. 
 
 i off liitie foiis, Jitnu'f, succeeded his 
 ilivM m frofeisor of Maiheaatlci ta Edin. 
 ., and Mired In favour of the cddirated Mac 
 in, in 1725. 
 
 TlM thini'Wa* Cl«rJ>%»at Proiiisor of Hathema. 
 tto la til AMtitwsiioBi. IIW? lolip, when be<resigncd 
 la< imMir' of tta son, Ilavi4 who'Md the Chair' until 
 to death la lift 
 ft' JMi%./nMiCiMrwaf a 'daugbter of David O^re. 
 pof KlnaMy, and sister of the three Matboma- 
 
 
 II. tl^«. 
 
 t, the younger son of the Rev. John Gregory. 
 a In llm, and died at the early age of thirty. 
 
 He was nolklior of Mat hematics at St A nd. 
 
 muf tmA BdiabiKgb' i inventor of the Reflecting or 
 
 ** »— ; Tdesoopei author ^of several remarkable 
 
 iici oa optica and geonelry t and* altogether, 
 
 . If' the most orl«nal. maUiematlclans of hia age. 
 Bis sont J<me«. rrofaior of Medicine in Ki'ng*s 
 
 CMIege, Aberdeen, was fhlhcr of a nore oeMirateil 
 
 who was 'bom 1784, and died 1773. He 
 ivdy Prainsor of Pbllosoiiliy and of Medicine 
 
 to 'King% Cotlego, Ahccdeen. and of the Practice of 
 
 'm llnli 
 
 nipte'ta tlw Iliilversily o^ F:diiiburgh ; author of 
 'HM'** Cmnpanl'ive ¥!•«' oi the state and Faculties of 
 
 kniiaattt'* of the " Ivcctures on the Duties 
 ■ad QnallJIcations of a Physician," of" Element* uf 
 
 Ilie raoUoeiif Phytic,*' and of *' A Father's Legacy 
 ioilalJaugliteni** His eldest son (Dr Reid's cor. 
 
 mm ndtnt)— 
 Jmmf»» wie born 1751, and 'died Iftfl. He was 
 
 ' of ' lit 'llieory, attarwardioftliftFiaflllot, 
 
 I know not precisely either the year of m 
 ^raudfather^s death or his age. But 
 that I have heard agrees very well with the 
 account you mention. He served appren- 
 tice to a merchant in Rotterdam or Camp- 
 vere, and, I believe, continued there till the 
 murder of his elder brother. After he came 
 home, he prosecuted the murderer, (son 
 and heir to Viscount Frendritt, as I have 
 heard, though I find not the title among the 
 extinct or forfeited Peers,) who, being a 
 Roman Catholic, was protected by all the 
 interest of the Duke of York ; but was at 
 last condemned, but pardoned by the crown, 
 and soon after killed in a naval engage- 
 ment.* Your g.grandfather was so much 
 younger than Kinairdy, as to be educated by 
 him. Kinairdy had no more sons professoni 
 than the three you mention, who were all 
 professors before he died. David and James 
 were of the first marriage, and Charles of 
 the second. The two first were settled 
 before the Revolution — David as Professor 
 of Mathematics at Edinburgh, and, I sup- 
 pose, immediately succeeded his uncle, and 
 James as a Professor of Philosophy at 8t 
 Andrews. I think I have a printed thesis of 
 James, published at St Andrews before the 
 Revolution, which is a compend of Newton- 
 ian philosophy, with some strictures against 
 the scholastic philosophy. With regard to 
 the ten categories in particular, he says 
 there neither are nor can be more than two 
 categories, viz. Data and Qufe8ita.f I be- 
 lieve he was the first professor of philosophy 
 that taught the doctrines of Newton in a 
 Scotch university; for the Cartesian was 
 
 of Medicine, in the University of F^inburgh; and 
 author of "Conspectus Medicins Theoreticae," of 
 ** Philosophical and Literary Essays," and of various 
 other works, distinguished by a talent which promises 
 still to be hereditary. 
 
 • J'he murder here alluded to was committed on 
 Alexander Gregory of Netherdeel, eldest son and 
 heir ot the Rev. John Gregory, mtiiister of Drumoak ; 
 and the person imiicted for the crime, was James 
 fCrichton) Viscount Frendraught. The Books of 
 A«IJoumal (records of the Scottish Criminal Court) 
 detail the circumstances n( the case. In 1664, Alex, 
 ander Gregory, who held, in security, a part of 
 the estate of Frendraught, was decoyed by Francis 
 Crichton, the Viscount's uncle, lo accompany him 
 to the house of Bognie, where that nolileman then 
 lolgetl. On the way he was assaulted by Crichton 
 and his servant ; and, alter he hud surrendered hii 
 arms, was wounded i>y (hem with swords and pistols, 
 and (hen carried a prisoner to Bognie. Here he was 
 watched during the night, among others, by the Vis. 
 count, whose servants, next day, early in a co!d morn, 
 ing, threw him across a horse, his wounds undressed 
 and t>lecd<ng, and brought him to a lene cottage, 
 where he was Ivtt till found by his friends, who con. 
 veyed him to Alierdeeii, where, after languishing for 
 a few days, he died. Mr Francis and lii« servant did 
 not coiopttg. The reU^vancy of the lit)el against Lord 
 Fretidraibght was impugned, on the ground that the 
 crimes libelled being only statutory, and the pannel a 
 minor, they ought not topass to au assize. But, th<iUKh 
 the libel was found relevant, the proof seems lo have 
 been defective ; the jury, nt leant, found a verd<ct of ac. 
 quittal— I am indetJted for this informalion to Dun.. 
 can Orogory and Jame» Maidment, Esquires — H. 
 
 t I'bU illuEtrates a statement in ** The Analyi 
 of Aristotle s Logic," ch, ii. sec. i—H. 
 
 lalysit 
 
 the oithodox system at that time, and con- 
 tinued to be so till 1715. I asked him once 
 how he came to give up his place at St 
 Andrew's on the change of government, 
 and afterwards to take the mathematical 
 chair at Edinburgh. " Faith, nephew,'* said 
 he, ** I never minded politicks much ; but 
 my dearest companions in the college were 
 going out, and I did not like those that were 
 to keep their places ; and I thought it better 
 to go out in good company, than to stay be- 
 hind with ill." I believe Kinairdy 's mathe- 
 matical and medical knowledge was the 
 effect of his own study and reading. He 
 was much employed as a physician, not 
 only by the poor, but by the nobility and 
 
 gentry; but he took no fees ; and, I conceive, 
 is younger brother and his sons had their 
 mathematical education chiefly from him. 
 He had a barometer, and had a correspon- 
 dence with some foreigners, particularly with 
 Mariotte, on barometrical observations. As 
 a barometer had never been heard of in his 
 country before, he was once in danger of 
 being brought to some trouble by the Pres- 
 bytery on account of it In Queen Ann's 
 war, Kinairdy employed himself upon an 
 invention for improving the effect of fire- 
 arms, of which he at last completed a model, 
 and sent it to his son David at Oxford, that 
 he might take the opinion of Sir Isaac New- 
 ton about it. I have heard my mother say 
 that he was so sanguine upon this project, 
 that he intended to make a campaign iu 
 Flanders himself, and prepared for it. But 
 it is said that Sir I. Newton persuaded the 
 suppression of the invention as destructive 
 of the human species, and that it was never 
 brought to light. I knew a clockmaker in 
 Aberdeen who made all the parts by Kin- 
 airdy's direction ; but never saw them put 
 together, and could give no account of the 
 principles of it. Kinairdy carried his 
 family over to Holland, about the year 
 1715, as I believe, and, after some time, 
 returned to Aberdeen, and died soon after. 
 His widow was alive when I went first to 
 Aberdeen in April 1722 ; but old and bed- 
 fid. I never saw a more ladylike woman ; 
 I was now and then called in to her room, 
 when she sat up in her bed, and enter- 
 tained with sweetmeats and grave advices. 
 Her daughters, that assisted her often, as 
 well as one who lived with her, treated her 
 as if she had been of a superior rank ; and, 
 indeed, her appearance and manner com- 
 manded respect. I don't believe that she 
 could ever descend so far from her dignity 
 and magnanimity as to scold. And the 
 reverence paid her by all her descendants 
 to the last period of her life, seems incon- 
 sistent with that character. She and all 
 her children were zealotis Presbyterians. 
 The first wife's children were rather Tories 
 and Rpiscooalians. I believe she had much 
 
 ado to keep up her authority with them 
 while they were in the family. David and 
 James, when prosecuting their studies at 
 Edinburgh, used to pass their vacations at 
 Kinairdy ; and very often Dr Pitcaim, or 
 some other fellow-student came along with 
 them ; and, as the master of the family was 
 very much from home, it was not easy for a 
 stepmother to keep them to her rules. One 
 of her stepdaughters married a Mr Cuthbert, 
 of the family of Castlehill, a writer in Aber- 
 deen, and was the mother of David Cuth- 
 bert, who saved millions to the nation in 
 the war before last, by controling the 
 accounts of the commissaries in Germany. 
 
 Another daughter of the first marriage, 
 married a Mr Innes of TilUefour. A 
 grandson of hers, Alexander Innes, was a 
 professor of philosophy iu Marischal College, 
 Aberdeen. He had a great turn to natural 
 history and to medicine ; but died young. 
 
 My mother, Margaret Gregory, was the 
 oldest daughter of the second marriage. 
 Besides Charles, there was a George of the 
 second marriage, a merchant in Campvere, 
 and the father of David Gregory at Dun- 
 kirk, and of John Gregory at Campvere. 
 Your uncle, David Gregory, served an 
 apprenticeship to this George Gregory, and 
 married his widow after his death. Charles 
 told me that his brother George fell to the 
 study of mathematics in Holland, and wrote 
 him an account of his discoveries. But 
 Charles bid him mind his mercantile afiairs ; 
 for these things had been discovered already 
 by authors he was unacquainted with. The 
 only daughter of the second marriage, besides 
 my mother, who left issue, was Anne, the 
 youngest daughter, grandmother to James 
 Bartlet, banker in Edinburgh. 
 
 The story of the watch, to which, I sup- 
 pose, you allude, I have heard very often. 
 By the descendants of the first wife it was 
 imputed to the second wife ; but the de- 
 scendants of the second wife imputed it to 
 the first wife. The first time I was in 
 Dean Gregory's house at Oxford, he told 
 it very well to a large company of Oxonians. 
 He prefaced it by saying that his grand- 
 father had a termagant to his second wife ; 
 but turning to me and another Scotch gen- 
 tleman that was with me, he said, " I beg 
 your pardon, gentlemen, for I don't know 
 but one of you may be come of her." I 
 answered that I believed I had heard the 
 story he was about to tell, and heard it 
 imputed to the first wife, of whom he was 
 come ; but it was no matter which : I begged 
 he would proceed- To this he agreed, and 
 proceeded to the story of the watch.* 
 
 Another story, somewhat similar, is told 
 of Kinairdy. On some occasion his wife, 
 I know not which wife, insisted very per- 
 
 * Which is now forgotten in thefamilv- .-H. 
 
iHyrik 
 
 C0ERB8P0NDBNCE OF DR REID. 
 
 miptorily timt hm shmld oorroet two of liis 
 ■mil, whidi, it ■eems, he was not aflcm- 
 iooied to do I lint the offence was such, that 
 
 Mtliiiig hm wmM satisfy the wife. He 
 tonic thfliE to a 'room, when his saddle and 
 Mile hung, and shut the door. What 
 ■atiafaction he required for the fault I know 
 not ; but, after the matter was compromised, 
 ^iM'todi. tte InidH ^and .lashed the said .saddle 
 wmty wmmtetMify and ordered the boys to 
 ery, wliieh they did most pitifully. The 
 mother hearing the noise, thought her boys 
 wniild be killed, and wanted to interpose, 
 Im the door was bolted- She was forced 
 to aland behkd the door, and felt every 
 stroke more than either the saddle or the 
 lMiy% isMlviqg never again to trust her 
 .Mihiiiiii; 'Vith. the rod of correction. 
 
 I have fmnd fbe printed thesis of James 
 Gregory, above mentioned ; it is printed at 
 Edinburgh, 1690. It would seem that the 
 :raibnn of' Sil .Jlndre W'*s UniTersity, after the 
 .Bevoliition, was not overtalceii at that tune. 
 HW' .students* names who were to defend the 
 thesis at Salvator College, in St Andre w *s, on 
 ■ndha dny of June, are all mentioned, to the 
 mntbar of twenty-one. Kinairdy was a 
 'Bwtdi Bpiacopaliiin. He wrote memoirs 
 of his own times, which my father, who had 
 lead th«m, told me were unfavourable to 
 the Covenant— the idol of the Presbyte- 
 rians at that time. These Memours were 
 in your father*s possession, and I suppose 
 are in yours. You see, my dear sir, that 
 I have answered more than 1 was asked, 
 btoanse I like to dwell upon the subject ; 
 but you must not think nor say that my 
 grandmother was a .scold $ she might have 
 ■Inmg passions, but no scold ever had her 
 dignity and magnanimity. She had a 
 tavther, whom I knew well, who was very 
 like to her—Provost John Gordon. He 
 was tag at the head of the magistrac v in 
 Aberdeen i and had been a member of the 
 9ootdi Paittiment, and was one of the most 
 miiected magistrates that ever was in that 
 eity. — I ever am, dear Sir, yours, 
 
 Tao. Rbid. 
 
 •» TUB OBieilf, PBOOmBfiS, ANn THBORV Of 
 
 LANeUAOB. 
 
 DiA.B Sia,— I have read your theory of 
 iM moodls of vetbe* over and over, and 
 shall give you a few tniing remarks when 
 the MS. is returned, or sooner, if I see you 
 iMlMr. It is not yet sent to Dr Cleghom, 
 "Int shall be this week. In the meantime, 
 
 • fliilMeqneiitly printeil In •• Th« Traniactiom of 
 the Kojral Socitty of Editilwrgh,"— H. 1 
 
 having the opportunity of my good friend 
 Mr John Du^id, I send you some reveries 
 on the invention and progress of language. 
 The art of communicating our sentiments 
 by articulate sound8,is certainly, ofallhuman 
 arts, the most ingenious, and that which 
 has required most of thought, of abstraction, 
 and nice metaphysical discrimination. This 
 has led our friend L. M.* to think that it 
 must have been, at first, the work of philo< 
 sophers. I rather consider it as a huge and 
 complicated machine, which was very im- 
 perfect at first, but gradually received im- 
 provements from the judgment and invention 
 of all who used it in the course of nuuiy 
 
 It IS a machine which every man must 
 use, and which he finds of such utility and 
 importance, that, if he has any genius, he 
 has sufficient inducement to employ it in 
 making language more subservient to his 
 purpose. 
 
 In the natural talents of genius and in. 
 vention, there is no less difference among 
 savages than among philosophers. One 
 savage, in the use of natural signs, will shew 
 great superiority to others in conveying his 
 sentiments distinctly and intelligibly ; and 
 the same superiority he will shew in the use 
 of a rude langiiage of articulate sounds— 
 sometimes by giving a more easy or more 
 agreeable sound to words that are in use ; 
 sometimes by distinguishing, by some in- 
 flection or inversion, words or phrases that 
 were before ambiguous ; sometimes by a 
 new metaphorical meaning ; and sometimes 
 by new words or new derivations, wher« 
 they were wanted. 
 
 So fond are ingenious men to invent such 
 improvements in language, and so prone the 
 multitude to adopt them, when they please 
 the public taste, that all languages are per- 
 petually changing, according to the beau- 
 tiful simile of Horace — Utsilvce/o/tM prorms 
 mutantur in annos^ S[C, In a rude language 
 it is easy to make improvements; and changes 
 that are found useful and important, though 
 bvented by one nmn, will soon be adopted 
 by the multitude. 
 
 Thus the inventions of thousands of in- 
 genious men, in a succession of ages, all 
 employed upon this one machine, bring it 
 by insensible degrees to its perfection ; as 
 knowledge grows, language grows along 
 with it, till it arrive at that stately form 
 which we contemplate with admiration. 
 
 The steam engine was invented not much 
 more than a century ago ; but it has re- 
 ceived so many and so great improvements 
 in that short period, that, if the inventor 
 were to arise from the dead, and view it in 
 its improved state, he would hardly be able 
 to discern his own share of the invention. 
 
 • lioni Monbodda— H. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 71 
 
 Language is like^ tree, which, from a small 
 seed, grows imperceptibly, till the fowls of 
 the air lodge in its branches, and the beasts 
 of the earth rest under its shadow. The 
 seed of language is the natural signs of our 
 thoughts, which nature has taught all men 
 to use, and all men to understand. But its 
 growth is the effect of the united energy of 
 all who do or ever did use it. One man 
 pushes out a branch, another a leaf, one 
 smooths a rough part, another lops oflf an 
 excrescence. Grammarians have, without 
 doubt, contributed much to its regularity 
 and beauty ; and philosophers, by increasing 
 our knowledge, have added many a fair 
 branch to it ; but it would have been a tree 
 without the aid of either. 
 
 The rudest tribes of men soon find lan- 
 guage to express their confined wants and 
 desires; and the natural love of analogy 
 will produce much analogy even in the lan- 
 guage of savages. We see that children of 
 two or three years old, haviiig got a few 
 plurals, without being taught, form new 
 ones analogically, and often, in the pursuit 
 of analogy, break chrough the rules of 
 grammar. 
 
 A man bom deaf, who has no opportunity 
 of conversing with other deaf men, has to 
 invent a language for himself, along with the 
 additional labour of teaching others to un- 
 derstand it. One who has had access to 
 know to what degree of perfection some 
 deaf men have carried their art of commu- 
 nicating their thoughts, will not think it 
 incredible that a nation flourishing in arts 
 and sciences should, in a course of ages, by 
 their united efforts, bring language to all 
 the perfection it has ever attained. 
 
 In speech, the true natural unit is a sen- 
 tence.* No man intends less when he 
 speaks ; what is less than a compleat sen- 
 tence is not speech, but a part or parts of 
 speech; to divide a sentence iuto parts 
 requires greater abstraction than to divide 
 the unit into fractions of a unit. It is, 
 therefore, extremely probable that men ex- 
 pressed sentences by one complex sound or 
 word, before they thought of dividing them 
 into parts, signified by different words. One 
 word signified, give me bread ; another, take 
 bread ; another, eat bread ; another, bake 
 bread. As all these sentences have some- 
 thing conmnon, in their meaning, the natu- 
 ral love of analogy would lead to some- 
 thing common m the word by which they 
 were expressed; and in the progress of 
 language, that which was common in the 
 sound of all these sentences might be sepa- 
 rated from that which was proper to each ; 
 and, being thus separated, it becomes that 
 part of speech which we call a substantive 
 
 * Thta l« an important truth, the ignorance of 
 which It seen in our perverted tystems of Grammar, 
 Logic, and Paychology.— H. 
 
 noun, signifying bread, which substantive 
 will be fit to make a part of many other 
 sentences. 
 
 Thus the object, or accusative, may be, 
 as it were, cut out of the sentence, so as to 
 form a word by itself, though originally it 
 was only a part of a word. 
 
 Another set of sentences — such as, / lave 
 Martha, You love Miny, John loves Matilda 
 — might lead men to separate what is com- 
 mon in the word by which each of these 
 three sentences is expressed, from what is 
 proper to each, and by that means to have 
 a word for the verb love. 
 
 To shew how all the parts of speech may 
 be cut out of words that signify whole sen- 
 tences, by separating that part of the sound 
 which is common to many sentences, from 
 that which is proper to each, would be more 
 tedious than difficult, and may easily be 
 conceived. By dividing the sound, the 
 mental abstraction is made easy, even to 
 rude men, who, without some aid of this 
 kind, would find it above their reach. Such 
 division faciUtates greatly the use of lan- 
 guage, and, therefore, when once begun, 
 
 will go on. 
 
 That the parts of speech should be con- 
 ceived before speech was in use, and that 
 speech should at first be formed by putting 
 together parts of speech, which before had 
 got names, seems to me altogether incred- 
 ible ; no less incredible than if it should be 
 said that before men had the conception of 
 a body, they first formed the conception of 
 matter, then the conception of form, and, 
 putting these two together, they got the 
 conception of body, which is made up of 
 matter and form. 
 
 Perhaps, in the language of some savages, 
 all the parts of speech have not yet been 
 separated into different words. Charlevoix 
 has given a very full account of some of the 
 Canadian languages. I quote him from 
 memory, having read his history of Canada, 
 I think, about forty years ago ; but, as it 
 first led me into this speculation, I remem- 
 ber it the better. 
 
 He says, 'of one of their languages, (I 
 think that of the Hurons,) that in each of 
 their villages there is a public orator chosen, 
 who makes it the whole study of his life to 
 speak the language with propriety andforce; 
 that the people are very nice judges of the 
 defects and excellencies of their orators ; 
 so that there are very few of them that can 
 perfectly please the public ear; that thew 
 verbs have as many moods and tenses as 
 the Greek verbs have, and, besides this, 
 that the accusative or object always mak^ 
 a part of the verb. Thus, one verb stgnt- 
 fies to drink wine; another, to drink water ; 
 one, to km a brother ; another, to ktll an ene- 
 myi so that the verb very often expresses 
 the whole sentence. 
 
€QRRJB8P0ND£NC£ OF DR REID. 
 
 I beliuve, in all langnases 'Of natiniw 
 which we account dviliaed, the several paiti 
 iif qieedi have been separated from one an- 
 nHMr^ and are oHen expressed hy words 
 ffoper to them. But in all of them, and in 
 mmm more than in others, several parts of 
 speech are often combined in one word, not 
 firom necessity, but for the sake of elegance 
 and beauty. 
 
 Tbu% in the Latin and Greek verbs, be- 
 sides the radical signiiGation of the verb, 
 its voice, mood, tense, person, and number 
 'lite all. 'expmeed in one word. In nouns, 
 hnili. substantive and adjective, we hme the 
 amn, together with its case, number, and 
 gender, in one word. Nor Is this owing to 
 a want of words in those languages to ex- 
 press sepantely those acddenls of verbs and 
 'lnunfr II seems rather to be a matter of 
 •hinee, to give greater beauty and strength 
 to the language. By this expedient, much 
 naar be said m few words—and these, lofty 
 •nd mmious words, with a 'beautiful variety 
 and htfiiMiny of termination, and great 
 power of Inversion ; which are qualities of 
 gftftt importance in poetry and eloquence. 
 In 'iangunget, m in many other thmgs, 
 necessity, convenience, and long practice, 
 liave, without the rules of art, produced 
 avtinses, which the artist or the philosopher 
 has reason to admire, which, sitting in his 
 chair, he would never have been able to 
 invent, and which, now that they aro in- 
 vented, he finds it very difficult to reduce 
 to prindlples of art. 
 
 I brieve the principles of the art of hin- 
 gnage aro to be found in a jnst analyaia of 
 the various species of sentencea Anstotle 
 and the logicians have analysed one species — 
 to 'wit| tkg fm^pmitimk To enumerate and 
 .analyae 'iw other wpmim, must, I 'think, be 
 the foiindaiion of a jml themy of knguage. 
 ^I am, dear Bk^ yours affectionately, 
 
 Tho. Run. 
 J'iff. Si,. 1787, 
 
 XII. 
 
 [1788.] 
 
 DiAE SiHj^I received yours of Feb. 19, 
 and last evenmg received, by the fly, the 
 very acceptable present of the new edition 
 ol your lather^s works, lor which. I heartily 
 iiank you* I have read the Life, which I 
 Ihink wel wrote. I am much obliged to 
 the author* of it for the notice he has taken 
 of met but I wish he had spared some 
 e^ithetoi, which I could not read to myself 
 without a blush; I have exceptions to 
 some things in the narrative, but they 
 idste to unimportant circumstances. The 
 ^notation from '* WMston's Memoirs** de- 
 hghted. me, and does honour to Scotland.f 
 
 * JLomi Wfxidt)oiiitlte.-*if. 
 
 t It it of ilie followlif pitpoit :— SiwskiBg of Dr 
 
 Perhaps it might have been added, that 
 James, the brother of David, was at that 
 time teaching the same doctrine, as a Pro- 
 fessor of Philosophy, in another Scoteh 
 university. I have by me a thesis he 
 published in 1690, which is a compend of 
 the conclusions of Newton*s *' Principia." 
 I have always heard, by tradition, that D. 
 Gregory, the astronomer, was chosen to be 
 preceptor to the Duke of Gloucester^ Queen 
 Ann*s son ; but whether his entering upon 
 that office was prevented by his death, or 
 by the death of the young prince, I know 
 not I have also heard that the Profession 
 of Modem History in Oxford was erected in 
 favour of his son, David, when he came 
 home from his travels.* 
 • •••••••, 
 
 I am happy in the account you give me 
 of our friend, William. I hope he will 
 continue the race of the Gregories, if you 
 do not — which, however, I do not yet de- 
 spair of. Our University has sent a petition 
 to the House of Commons, in favour of th^ 
 Aftncan shtves. I hope yours will not be 
 the last in this humane design ; and that 
 the Clergy of Scotland will likewise join in 
 it I comfort my grey hairs with the thoughts 
 that the world is growing better, having long 
 resolved to resist the common sentiment of 
 old age, that it is always growing worse. 
 I am grown so deaf that I can only converse 
 with one person, and that when he speaks 
 into my left ear ; but I hope to resist that 
 depression of spirits which commonly at- 
 tends that disoitler. I can see people con- 
 versing together without any uneasiness; 
 the only difficulty is, when a laugh is raised, 
 whether to kngh at one does not know what, 
 
 IhtfU Orfgogf, when Froi»gor of Mathraiatici at 
 JUiiilMrtli. Uhiitoti •»;•-. •* He had already causted 
 
 lb scholars to keep acta, a* we call them, 
 
 Ufion teveral branches of 'he Newtonian philosofihy, 
 while we at Cambridjce, poor wretches ! were ignotni. 
 niously studying the fictitious hypotheses of the Carte. 
 •Ian."— ^KA/j/on'* Memoirs, p, 32. — There is in ihis, 
 however, no just ground of panegyric on Scotland. 
 In the intrusive system of the English universities, 
 where the tutor has inegall3r superseded the professor, 
 all change from one set of docirines to a better, roust 
 be the tardy and painful work of time and necessity. 
 Theeroluiions of a university are prompt and easy 
 where each department oi its cyclopaedia is separately 
 taught by an sbic professor ; whereas a university 
 Which abandons instruction, in all branchit, to any 
 individual of a hobt of tutors— the majority of whom 
 ainimethi- ottice ol instructor fur tneirown convex 
 nlence, though without the ability adequate to dis. 
 charge ita dutiea— such a university mutt be content, 
 not only always to teach little, and that little ill, but 
 to continue often lur a long time to teach what 
 is elsewhere obsolete or exploded. Accordingly, in 
 Newton Is own university, the Cartesian theories oon- 
 tlnued to be taught as the orthodox doctrine, after the 
 Newtonian phy»ics had, in other unive* cities, supef^ 
 Mded the Cartesian. And why P .Simply liecause, in 
 Cambri<Jge, instruction was carrietl on by tutors ; and 
 the majority of the Cambridge tutors, educated in the 
 old i^ystera, weie unable or unwilling to qualify them. 
 selves to become instructors in the new. — H. 
 
 • David Gregory, the son, was.ccruiioly7Sr«rPm. 
 WMor I n t he chair of Motlem HMorv tmd Languages ^ 
 roundtH] by Cieorge I.— H. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 73 
 
 or to be grave when other people laugh. I 
 am very glad to hear that Dug. Stewart 
 lectures in physicks so acceptably, but wish 
 his health be not affected by his being over- 
 wrought — I am, dear Sir, very afi'ection- 
 ately yours, 
 
 Tho. Reid. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ON USURY. 
 
 • • • . • I am much 
 pleased with the tract you sent me on 
 usury.* I think the reasoning unanswer- 
 able, and have long been of the author^s 
 opinion, though I suspect that the general 
 principle, that bargains ought to be left to 
 the judgment of the parties, may admit of 
 some exceptions, when the buyers are the 
 many, the poor, and the simple — the sellers 
 few, rich, and cunning; the former may 
 need the aid of the magistrate to prevent 
 their being oppressed by the latter. It 
 seems to be upon this principle that por- 
 tage, freight, the hire of chairs.und coaches, 
 and the price of bread, aro regulated in most 
 groat towns. But with regard to the loan 
 of money in a commercial state, the excep- 
 tion can have no place — the borrowers and 
 Jenders are upon an equal footing, and eacli 
 may be left to take care of his own interest. 
 Nor do I see any good reason for the inter- 
 position of law in bargains about the loan 
 of money more than in bargains of any 
 other kind. I am least pleased with the 
 10th letter, wheroiu he accounts for the 
 infamy of usury. In one of the papers you 
 mention, (which I give you liberty to ufc 
 as'you please,) I have attempted an account 
 of that phenomenon, which satisfies me more 
 than his account does. — I am, dear Sir, 
 Yours most affectionately, 
 Tho. BfiiD. 
 Glasgow, &lh Sept, 1788. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 CAUSE — PHYSICAL CAUSE— LAWS OF NATURE 
 AGENT — POWER AND ACTIVITY. 
 
 My Dear Sir,— On Monday evening I 
 received your book,'f» with tlie letter in- 
 closed. The book I shall peruse at leisure 
 with the eye of a critick ; but, as it is proper 
 to acquaint you soon of my having received 
 it safe, I shall now answer your letter, 
 though perhaps in too much haste. Your 
 
 • " Ijetters On Usury," by Mr Jeremy Bentham, 
 addretaed to George Wilson, Esq , (Dr Gregory's 
 Iriend,) and published. bv Mr Wilson in 1787.— H. 
 
 f The " Philosophical and l-iterary Essays," or 
 rather their introduction, which was in great part 
 printed several years l>efore publication.— H. ( 
 
 intention of inscribing the book, if published, 
 to me, I account a very great honour done 
 me ; and, if you do not alter your mind, 
 would not be so self-denying as to decline 
 it ; but, as a real friend, I think you ought 
 to inscribe it to some man in power that 
 may be of use to you, though I hate dedi- 
 cations stuffed with flattery to great men. 
 Yet I know no reason why a man of your 
 time of life may not court the notice of a 
 great man by a dedication, as well as by a 
 visit. When I inscribed a book to you, 
 my situation was very different. I was past 
 all hopes and fears with regard to this 
 world ; and, indeed, had Lord Kaimes been 
 alive, intended to have addressed it to him. 
 When he was dead, there was not a man 
 of his eminence that I had so much ac- 
 quaintance with as to j ustify such an address. 
 1 therefore seriously wish you to spend a 
 second thought upon this subject ; and not 
 to suffer your friendship, of which I need 
 no new proof, to lead you to do an impru- 
 dent thing, and what the world would think 
 such, or even perhaps construe as a con- 
 tempt put upon your great friends. * 
 
 As to the two points wherein you and I 
 differ, after what you have said of them in 
 this letter, I am really uncertain whether 
 we differ about things or only about words. 
 You deny that of every eliange there must 
 be an eflieient cause, in my sense — that is, 
 an intelligent agent, who by his power antl 
 will effected the change. But I think you 
 grant -that, when the change.is not effected 
 by such an agent, 'it must have a physical 
 cause — that is, it must be the necessary 
 consequence of the nature and previous state 
 of things unintelligent and inactive. 
 
 I admit that, for anything I know to the 
 contrary, there may be such a nature and 
 state of things which have no proper ac- 
 tivity, as that certain events or changes 
 must necessarily follow. I admit that, in 
 such a case, that which is antecedent may 
 be called the physical cause, and what is 
 necessarily consequent, may be called the 
 effect of that cause. 
 
 I likewise admit, laws of nature may be 
 called (as they commonly are called) phy- 
 sical causes — in a sense indood somewhat 
 different from the former — because laws of 
 nature effect hothing, but as far as they are 
 put to execution, either by some agent, or 
 by some physical cause ; they being, how- 
 ever, our ne plus ulti a in natural philosophy, 
 which professes to shew us the causes of 
 natural things, and being, both in ancient 
 and modem times, called causes, they have 
 by prescription acquired a right to that 
 name. 
 
 I think also, and I believe you agree with 
 
 • It is needless to say that Dr Gregory did not 
 comply with this prudent advice. The " Ewayi" 
 are dedicated to Heid.— H. 
 
74 
 
 COEmSPONDBNCE OF DR REID. 
 
 mm ^thaA mvy fhydaik mam nrasl be the 
 'wmk •of wm© ig^* or eff cient oMie. Thus, 
 ■ Amk m Mj pit' in notiiiii oontiiiiies to move 
 til it 'tw^'stopped, fa mil efltet wiMi, for what 
 I know, may be owing to an inherent pro- 
 miif in matter ; if this be so, this pro- 
 perty of matter is the physical canae of the 
 imitinwnise of the motion ; but thenltimate 
 effleienl mmm is the Being who gave this 
 property to matter. 
 
 If we suppose this eontiaiHoee of motion 
 to be an arMtiwy appointment of the 
 IMty, and call that appointment a law of 
 waMm and a physical cause ; such a law' of 
 mtnre require* a Being who has not only 
 rnm^M the law, but provided the means of 
 Hi lieii^g e«e«ited, either by some physical 
 mam, m % mam agent acting by his order. 
 If we agree in. these' things, I see not 
 wlw^rein we differ, but in words. 
 
 I agree witli jon that to confound the 
 notion of agent or efieient cause with that 
 «f physical cause, has been a common error 
 of phioeiiihen, from the daya of Plato to 
 our own. 1 could wish that the same gene- 
 ral name of cmtrn had not been given to 
 both, as if they were two $p€cm belonging 
 to the same ^enm. They differ toio genere. 
 For a f hjiitti cause is^ not an agent It 
 doea net «et| hut is acted upon, and is as 
 paoKve BB ill eifect. You accordingly give 
 them different generical names, calling the 
 one the o^ewl, and not the cause— the other 
 the mmm^ but not the ngent 
 
 I appio« of your view n this ; but think 
 11 too bold an innovation in knguage. In 
 aU writing, preaching, aiidipftking, men 
 hum 'been ie'.nnieh. aeeuitomed to call the 
 'Deity 'tlie. §mk mam rf .ai. thkgs, that to 
 naintaiii tliat he is no cause at all, would 
 be too alioeldng. To say that the world 
 aista without a cause, would be accounted 
 Jktlieiam, in spite of all explications that 
 afMld he given of it Agency, efficiency, 
 opifation, are to conjoyned in our concep- 
 tions with a cause, that an age would not be 
 taHteieit to 'disjoyn them. ^ 
 
 The werda agent and acimti are not less 
 iinbiinciiia thaii iwiti« and (WWJiilJoii ; they 
 aie applied, by the most accurate thinkers 
 and speakers, to what you call physical 
 cauaea. So we say, one body acts upon 
 another, byaatioke, by presshre, by attrac- 
 tion or repuhiion j and in vain would one 
 irtieinpt to abolish this language We must 
 hear with the imperfectiona of language in 
 •me degiee ; we are net able to make it 
 ■o philosophical as we wish. 
 
 To remedy the ambiguity of mm€ and 
 MMl as Ifir as possiWe, without too bold 
 wm. iniwvation, I say that each of these 
 woiiB liiis two meaninga — a laic and popular 
 meaning, and a philosophical. In the po- 
 piar meaninz, both are applied to what you 
 •ai a f hjraaeal causft In the strict or philo- 
 
 sophical meanmg, both are applied onely to 
 what you call an agent— I, an efficient 
 cause. I choose to distinguish the philoso- 
 phical meaning of came^ by calling it an 
 efficient cause; and to distinguish the 
 philosophical meaning of agent, by calling 
 it an agent m the strict and proper sense. 
 
 You distinguifih the philosophical mean- 
 ing of these two ambiguous words from the 
 popular, by appropriating one to the philo- 
 aophical meaning, and the other to the 
 popukr. Is not this the difference between 
 
 you and me ? 
 
 It is remarkable that the philosophical 
 meaning of those two words, and of the 
 others Uiat depend upon them, must have 
 been tlie first, and the popular meaning a 
 corruption of the philosophical, introduced 
 by time, but so deeply rooted in the struc- 
 ture of all knguages, that it is imposfiible 
 to eradicate it ; for nothing external to us 
 could introduce into the human mmd the 
 general notion of priority and constant con- 
 junction, but nothing farther. 
 
 Power and activity are first conceived 
 from being conscious of them in ourselves. 
 Conceiving of other beings from what we 
 know of ourselves, we first ascribe to them 
 such powers as we are conscious of in our^ 
 selves. Experience, at least, informs us 
 that the things about ua have not the same 
 powers that we have; but language was 
 formed on a contrary supposition before 
 this discovery was made, and we must give 
 a new, and perhaps a very indistinct, mean- 
 ing to words which before had a clear and 
 distinct one. 
 
 As to the other difference you mention 
 between vouand me, I have quite forgot it. 
 But I think one can hardly be too cautious 
 of denymg the bona fides of an antagonist 
 in a philosophical dispute. It is so bitter a 
 piU, that it cannot be swallowed without 
 being very well gilded and aromatized. I 
 cannot but agree with you that assent or 
 belief is not a voluntary act. Neither is 
 seeing when the eyes are open. One may 
 voluntarily shut his bodily eyes, and perhaps 
 the eye of his understanding. I confess 
 this is mala fides. But as light may be so 
 offensive that the bodily eye is shut involun- 
 tarily, may not something bimihir happen to 
 the eye of Vhe understanding, when brought 
 to a light too offensive to some favourite 
 prejudice or pa88ion,1o be endured ?• 
 
 As soon as I have done with your book, I 
 shall execute your commission to Mr Ar- 
 thur.— I am, dear Sir, yours very sincerely, 
 
 Tho. Bain. 
 Thuradag, Juig 30, 1789. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 75 
 
 • Tljli pauage (" Bui 1 think"— •• be endund ^•) 
 it quoted intSe Inuoduction to Dr Oretonr*! Emaf$, 
 p. 316.-11. 
 
 ^v V . 
 
 AR18T0TKLIC SPECIES OF CAUSES— ORIGIN OP 
 NOTIONS OF CAUSE AND POWER — WHAT ES- 
 8MNTLAL TO THE NATURE OF CAUSE — DIS- 
 TINCTION OP PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL 
 CAUSES. 
 
 Remarks on the Introduction,* 
 
 1. I humbly think you are too severe 
 against Aristotle and Plato, especially the 
 former. -f Two hundred years ago, it was 
 proper to pull him down from the high seat 
 he held ; but now he is suflBciently liumbled, 
 and I would not have him trampled upon. 
 I confess that his distinction of causes into 
 four kinds is not a division of a genus into its 
 apecieSf but of an ambiguous word into its 
 different meanings, and that this is the case 
 with many of his divisions. But, in 'the in- 
 fancy of philosophy, this ought to be corrected 
 without severity. It was more inexcusable 
 in many philosophers and divines of the 
 scholastick ages to handle every subject in 
 one method, namely, by shewing its four 
 causes — EfBcient, Material, Formal, and 
 Final. A very learned divine, whose corapend 
 was the text-book in the school where I was 
 taught, treating of the creation, when he 
 comes to the material cause, pronounces it 
 to be nihil. If Aristotle had treated of his 
 materia prima in this method, he must have 
 made the material cause to be the thing it- 
 self, and all the three other causes to be 
 nihil ; for it had no form, no efficient, con- 
 sequently no end. But the absurdity of 
 making everything to have four causes, can- 
 not, I believe, be imputed to Aristotle. 
 
 2. You challenge him with a violation of 
 propriety in the Greek language, j: I am dis- 
 posed to take it upon the authority of Aris- 
 totle, as a man who understood Greek better 
 than any modem, that the word «<T«y was 
 sometimes used to signify the form, some- 
 times the matter of a thing. If these were 
 not popular meanings of the word, might 
 they not be philosophical, and perhaps to be 
 found only in the writings of philosophers, 
 which are now lost ? But I cannot think 
 that Aristotle would have given these mean- 
 ings without authority ; and I think it bald 
 m any modern to impute this to him. 
 
 3. You are likewise severe upon the n {{ ?. || 
 May it not be said that it is very like the sup~ 
 po:ied principle of change, which, in page xvii., 
 you make the general meaning of the word 
 en US'" $ 
 
 4. You seem to think (end of page xxi.) 
 tliat there are different kinds of causes, each 
 
 • '•Introduction to the Esaay," \c. printed in 
 part.— H. 
 -I Vfdg *• Essavs," Introduction, p. xvi. §q.— H. 
 I Ibidem, p. xvii — H. U Iht^iem, p. xwli.— H. 
 
 having something spedfick in its relation to 
 the etiect. 
 
 I know not what the kinds are which you 
 have in your eye, and therefore speak in 
 the dark upon this point. I mean onely to 
 put you upon your guard that they be 
 really species of the same genus, that you 
 may not fall under the censure you have 
 passed upon Aristotle. 
 
 You will forgive my offering this caution, 
 because I apprehend that there is one ori- 
 ginal notion of cause grounded in human 
 nature, and that this is the notion on which 
 the maxim is grounded — that every change 
 or event must have a cause. This maxim is 
 so universally held, and forces itself upon 
 the judgment so strongly, that I think it 
 must be a first principle, or what you call a 
 law of human thought. And I think the 
 only distinct and true meaning of this maxim 
 is, that there must be something that had 
 power to produce the event, an^ did pro- 
 duce it. We are early conscious of some 
 power in ourselves to produce some events ; 
 and our nature leads us to think that every 
 event is produced by a power similar to that 
 which we find in ourselves — that is, by will 
 and exertion : when a weight falls and hurts 
 a child, he is angry with it — he attributes 
 power and will to everything that seems to 
 act. Language is formed upon these early 
 sentiments, and attributes action and power 
 to things that are afterwards discovered to 
 have neither mM nor power. By this 
 means, the notion of action and causation is 
 gradually changed ; what was essential to it 
 at first is left out, while the name remains : 
 and the term cause is applied to things which 
 we believe to be inanimate and passive. 
 
 I conceive that, from the original notion 
 or sentiment above described, all the dif- 
 ferent notions of cause have been derived, 
 by some kind of analogy, or perhaps abuse ; 
 and I know not but the nigS may compre- 
 hend them all, as well as any other general 
 name, as they are so heterogeneous. 
 
 A law plea is the cause of a litigation. 
 The motive that induces a great body of men 
 to act in concert, is the cause of a revolu- 
 tion in politicks. A law of nature is the 
 cause of a phenomenon in physicks, or, 
 perhaps, the cause is another phenomenon 
 which always goes before it. The cause of 
 the universe has been by some thought to 
 be necessity, by others chance, by others a 
 powerful intelligent being. 
 
 I think it is a good division in Aristotle, 
 that the same word may be applied to dif- 
 ferent things in three ways — univocally, 
 analogically, and equivocally. Univocally, 
 when the things are species of the same 
 genus ; analogically, when the things are 
 related by some similitude or analogy; equi- 
 vocally, when they have no relation but a 
 common name. When a word is analogi- 
 
76 
 
 CORRESTONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 mmHj apliod to different thingB, m, I lie- 
 Btviik the wont imuse i% there miist be sn 
 dff^iiial meaning from which the thingi 
 lelated to it have borrowed the name ; and 
 it happens not imfreqnently that the origi- 
 nal notion lomathiiname by difiiae, whUe 
 the w>latlv«» Bi«iO|iohze it ; as hi the Eng- 
 lish words, Miheratg, gmpeme, project, 
 f(^ 'many others. 
 
 The vulgar, in their notion even of the 
 phyBioal «ii»e of a phionomenon, include 
 mms Mifleptiiin of efficiency or productive 
 inlliience. So all the ancient philosophers 
 did. Itaqm mm m§ emtm iiiMjfi tiebeit 
 III qmd tm^m mni§e«dai M d mma dt, §§d 
 
 Xoiom philosophers know that we have 
 no ground to ascribe efficiency to natural 
 
 causes, or even neoMBory connection with 
 the effect Bat wo stii call them oanses, 
 including nothkg under the name but pri- 
 ority and constant conjunction. Thus the 
 giving the name of' 'Canaatiia to the relation 
 of connected events k phyaicks, is, m mo- 
 dcn pMloaophoia, a kind of abuse of the 
 name, because we know that the thing 
 most essential to cwsatlon in its proper 
 meaning— to wit, efficiency— is wanting. 
 Yet this does not hinder our notion of a 
 physical cause from hein^ distinct and de- 
 terminate, though, I thmk, it cannot be 
 ■aid to be of the same gmm with an effi- 
 eient cause or ainnt. Bv«n. tlie great Bacon 
 Msms to have iiou|iit tiiat there m a taiem 
 pnemmUf m he calls it, % wkkk natoral 
 eaoMS really produce their effects; and 
 thai, in the pogress of philosophy, this 
 nii|ht be 'dlsciivered. But Newton, more 
 enlightened on this point, has taught us to 
 acquiesce in #i law ef nature^ according to 
 wMck the effioet is produced, as the utmost 
 that natural philosophy can reach, leavmg 
 what can be known of the agent or efficient 
 cause to metaphysicks or natural theology. 
 This I kok npon as one of the great d^ 
 ttiveiios of Newton ; for I know of none 
 that went before him in it. It has new- 
 modelled our notion of physical causes, but, 
 at the same time, carried it iMher from 
 what I take to be the original notion of 
 
 If you have found, as you seem to say, 
 (page x»i,) that the different relaliiins nf 
 
 things,. whti»> we eall cause and effect, differ 
 only as apiaeS' 'Of ' 'tlio :saine g^us, and have 
 found th« general notion which comprehends 
 them all under it— this, indeed, is more 
 than I am able to do. Supposing it to be 
 done, I should thmk that the genus, bemg 
 aa abstract notion, would be capable of a 
 just definition. Yet I do not find fault 
 with your dedinmg to set out by giving 
 the iBfinition } for I conceive you may, 
 with great propriety, pave the way to it by 
 Inniniiry indietloiL 
 
 XVL 
 
 OM GAOn— OBiaCTS OF OlOMBTBT^POWia 
 — ^AOBNCV, Ae. 
 
 lN&daie,l 
 My Dkab Sir, — I must thank you, in 
 the fiiB* phuse, for your attention to my in- 
 terest in writing to Dr Rose what you in- 
 formed me of in your answer to my last. 
 
 I received your three volumes* on Wed- 
 nesday evening, with the letter and plan of 
 theELay. T . . . / . 
 
 Volume Firit, 
 
 In the induction made to prove that men 
 have a notion of the relation of cause and 
 effect, this case ought to be particularly in the 
 view of the author, (as I take it to be the 
 case that really exists) — to wit, that cause 
 and effect, from the imperfection of langu- 
 age, signifie many different relations, and 
 yet, by those who write and think dis- 
 tinctly, will be used without ambiguity; 
 the things of which they are predicated ex- 
 plaining sufficiently what relation is meant 
 This is the case of many words that have 
 various meanings really different, though, 
 perhaps, somewhat similar or analogous. It 
 is remarkably the case of prepositions. Yet 
 such words as prepositions are used with- 
 out ambiguity by those who think distinctly. 
 How many relations are expressed by tiie 
 preposition off — and yet, when it is put be- 
 tween two words, we are never at a loss 
 for its meaning. In Aristotle^s days, a cause 
 meant four things— to wit, the Efficient, 
 the Form, the Matter, and the End. Yet, 
 when it was used by a good writer, it was 
 easy to see in which of these senses it was 
 meant With us the word cause has lost 
 some of thescfour meanings, and has got 
 others to supply their places, and, perhaps, 
 has not, in one language, all the meanings 
 which it has in another. Perhaps, therefore, 
 it may be said, that all men have many no- 
 tions of cause and effect, and some men 
 more than others; the same observation 
 may, I think, be applied to the words Power, 
 Agent, and Activity. 
 
 To give you a hint of my notion of the 
 word cause, I think it has one strict and 
 philosophical meaning which is a single re- 
 lation, and it has a lax and popular meaning 
 which includes many relations. The popu- 
 lar meaning I think I can express by a 
 definition. Caiaa at id, quo posito ponitur 
 
 • Tlw MS. or the Et$m itielf. Ilie Etsay wai 
 pr -bably eoniiderabljr modified before publication ; 
 And I have been unable to attempt the tafik of diBa>Ter. 
 tng bow far, and to jwhat pa^ea of the publithed book, 
 tlie foUowrinf rrmarlu apjly.— H. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 77 
 
 Effeotus, quo sublato tolKtur, This, you 
 will easily see, includes many relations, and, 
 I believe, includes all that in any language are 
 expressed by cause, though jui some languages 
 some of the relations included under the 
 definition may not be called causes, on ac- 
 count, perhaps, of their having some other 
 word appropriated to signify such relations. 
 
 In the strict philosophical sense, I take a 
 cause to be that which has the relation to 
 the effect which I have to my voluntary and 
 deUberate actions ; for I take this notion of 
 a cause to be derived from the power I feel 
 in myself to produce certain effects. In 
 this sense, we say that the Deity is the 
 cause of the universe. 
 
 I think there is some ambiguity in your 
 use of the words The notion of a cause. 
 Through a considerable part of Vol. I. it 
 means barely a conception of the meaning 
 of the word cause ; then suddenly it means 
 some opinion or judgment about the word 
 cause, or the thing meant by that word. 
 The last must be the meaning when you 
 speak of the notion of a cause being true or 
 false, being condemned or justified. The 
 bare conception of a cause, without any 
 opinion about it, can neither be true nor 
 false. It is true that notion often signifies 
 opinion ; but when, in a train of discourse, 
 it has been put for simple conception, and 
 then immediately for opinion, the readei* 
 is apt to overlook the change of signification, 
 or to think that the author means to impute 
 truth or falsehood to a bare conception, 
 without opinion. 
 
 The same thing I observe when you 
 speak of the notion of power, vol. II. p. 19. 
 
 Page 40, &c What is said about the 
 
 non-existence of the objects of geometry, I 
 think, is rather too strongly expressed. I 
 grant that they are things conceived without 
 regard to their existence ; but they are pos- 
 sible modifications of things which we dayly 
 jjerceive by our senses. We perceive length, 
 breadth, and thickness : these attributes do 
 really exist. The objects of geometry are 
 modifications of one or more of these, accu- 
 rately conceived and defined. 
 
 Nor do I think it can be said, without great 
 exceptions, that the notions of the objects 
 of geometry are not common among man- 
 kind. The notions of a straight and a curve 
 line, of an angle, of a plain surface, and 
 others, are common; though, perhaps, in the 
 minds of the vulgar, not so accurately de- 
 fined as in those of geometers. The more 
 complex geometrical conceptions of cycloids 
 and other curves, are only artificial com- 
 positions of more simple notions which are 
 common to the vulgar. Hence, a man of 
 ordinary capacity finds no difficulty in under- 
 S'anding the definitions of Euclid. -All the 
 difficulty lies in formmg the habit by which 
 
 the name, and an accurate conception of its 
 meaning, are so associated, that the one 
 readily suggests the other. To form this 
 habit requires time, and in some persons 
 much more than in others. 
 
 Page 68. — You may use freedom with 
 Aristotle, because he won't feel it. But I 
 would not have you laugh at the restorer of 
 ancient metaphysicks* in publick while he 
 is alive. Why hurt a man who is not 
 hurting you ? 
 
 Page 70. — I thought the animal implume 
 bipes was Plato's definition, and I think I 
 quoted it as his ; but you may examine. I 
 think it is Diog. Laertius that says so ; but 
 I am not sure, nor have I the book here.-f 
 
 What you say of definitions in natimil 
 history, chemistry, and medicine, may per- 
 haps be taken by some persons as a disap- 
 probation of definitions in those sciences. 
 Would it not be proper to guard against 
 this misconstruction ? I think them very 
 useful to the present age, and that they 
 may be still more useful to future ages, 
 though you observe, very justly, that we can- 
 not reason from them as we do from mathe- 
 matical definitions. The most common 
 words may ttow with the flux of time, and 
 liave their meaning contracted, enlarged, or 
 altered. Definition seems to be the only 
 mean of fixing them to one meaning, or, at 
 least, of shewing what was the meaning when 
 that definition had authority. 
 
 Volume Second* 
 
 After what I have already said, you will 
 not be surprized to find me one of those 
 who think that the notions of Power and of 
 Agency or Activity, have a share in the rela- 
 tion of Cause and Effect I take all the 
 three words to have a lax and popular 
 meaning, in which they are nearly related ; 
 and a strict and philosophical meaning, in 
 which also they have the same affinity. 
 
 In the strict sense, I agree with you 
 that power and agency are attributes of 
 mind onely ; and I think that mind onely can 
 be a cause in the strict sense. This power, 
 indeed, may be where it is not exerted, and 
 so may be without agency or causation ; but 
 there can be no agency or causation with- 
 out power to act, aud to produce the effect. 
 
 As far as I can judge, to everything we 
 call a cause we ascribe power to produce 
 the effect. In intelligent causes, the power 
 may be without be ng exerted ; so I have 
 power to run, when I sit still or walk. But 
 in inanimate causes, we conceive no power 
 but what is exerted ; and, therefore, mea- 
 sure the power of the cause by the effect 
 
 • Lord Monboddo— H. . „ ... , 
 
 t See Laeriiui, L. vL Seg. 40. The definition If 
 Plato'*.— H. 
 
78 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR RBID. 
 
 «1liiiliil'a«liiaiyfiiiiiii0«8. Tlw power of 
 M Mill, to iHwDlvo ifia is meMimd by 
 vlial ft Mtnally diamlireB. 
 
 We gei the nolion of active power, m 
 well as of cauw and eiect, m I Hiink, from 
 what wn feel in ounetYee. We feel in our- 
 ■elimi' a 'power itO' 'nwini our limbs, and to 
 prodooe cerlaiii effects when we ehoose. 
 Henoe, we get the notion of power, agency, 
 iai :fiinfliiii>ii|. in the sttlol'and philosophical 
 sense ; aai tuB I take to be onr first notion 
 of these thme^ tUtifti 
 
 U tfa. b.«r?i^ » earioos problem in 
 bo^ »»«».' how, in the pWe« of 
 Ilfi^ we eonW' by the lax notion of power, 
 a^ncy,. eanse^ and effeet, and to ascribe 
 Inem to thiniB thai have no will nor intel- 
 ligenee. I Z apt to think, with the Abb^ 
 BMnal, ** that savages,'* (I add children 
 ■■ in the same predicament,) *' wherever 
 ttey see motion which they cannot account 
 lor, there they suppose a souL** Hence 
 they aaeribe aetive power ani flmsation to 
 ■■n,, moon,, ^and iitai% riven, 'inntains, sea,. 
 mkf and earth; these are''toMioeived to bO' 
 eanses in the strict sense. In this jperiod 
 of society, hinguage is fiormedi its mnda- 
 tiMital mleS' and forms estaMiahed. Ac- 
 tive verbs are applied onely to things that 
 are believed to have power and activity in 
 the proper sense. Every part of nature 
 
 Mil. eanM' of its miition, is eoneeived to be a 
 eanse in. tiO' itriit sense,, and,, therefore, is 
 called so> At length, the more acute and 
 speculative few diMOver that some of those 
 thinga which 'the vulgar believe to be ani- 
 mated like HMnielires, are Inanimate, and 
 haveniithflt-'wii nor understanding. These 
 discoveries grow and spread slowly in a 
 eonne ol ages. In this slow proerees, what 
 ■M ■raai m wise men make of their dis- 
 Mveries ? Will they affirm that the sun 
 does not shine nor give heat, that the 
 sea never rages, nor do the winds blow, nor 
 the earth, bring 'lorth grass and com. ? If 
 .any bold spirit should mainta.in such para- 
 doxes, he would probably repent his teme- 
 rity. The wiser part will speak the com- 
 mon language, and snit il to their new no- 
 tions as well as they can i just as philoeo- 
 pben say with the vulgar, that the sun 
 rises and sets, and the moon changes. The 
 fhikMopher must put a meaning upon vul- 
 gar bnguage that suits his peculiar tenets 
 as well sale can. And, even if all men 
 ■hould become philosoiiliees, their hinguage 
 would still retain strong marks of the opi- 
 nions 'that prevailed when it was first made.. 
 If we .allow that active verhe were made to 
 express action, it seems to be a neoesaary 
 
 eonseqinenee, that all the knguages 
 
 'knuw 'Wife made bv men. who believed 
 alnwil' eveqr part of nature to 'he active, 
 and to have ^hew iit power. 
 
 Vdmm TMrd. 
 
 The philological discussion is new to me ; 
 and it would require more time in my slow 
 way to make up my mind about it, than 
 you allow me. But the general principle — 
 that every distinction which is found in the 
 structure of a common language, is a real 
 distinction, and is perceivable by the com- 
 mon sense of mankind — this I hold for cer- 
 tain, and have made frequent use of it I 
 wish it were more used than it has been ; 
 for I believe the whole system of metaphy- 
 sicks, or the far greater part, may be brought 
 out of it ; and, next to accurate reflexion 
 upon the operations of our own minds, I 
 know nothing that can give so much light 
 to the human fieMsulties as a due considera- 
 tion of the structure of language. 
 
 From this principle, you prove to my 
 satisfaction that there is a real distiuction 
 between the relation which a living agent 
 has to his action, and the relation between 
 an inanimate and the effect of which it is 
 the cause, mean, or instrument. 
 
 But I know no language in which the 
 word cause is confined to inanimate things, 
 though, perhaps, it may be more frequently 
 applied to them than to things that have 
 life and intelligence. 
 
 If I were convinced that it cannot be said, 
 in a plain, literal seuse, that I am the cause 
 of my own actions, or tliat the Deity is the 
 cause of the universe — if I were convinced 
 that my actions, or the production of the 
 universe, are not effects, or that there must 
 be a cause of these effects distinct from the 
 agent, I should in this case agree to your 
 reasoning. 
 
 The rule of Latin syntax from which you 
 reason, seems, indeed, to suppose that all 
 causes are inanimate things, like means 
 and instruments; but I desiderate better 
 authority. I am not sure but power and 
 agency are as often ascribed to inanimate 
 things as causation. Thus we speak of the 
 powers of gravity, magnetism, mechanical 
 powers, and a hundred more. Yet there is 
 a kind of power and agency which you 
 acknowledge to belong only to mind. 
 
 Your system, if I <^mprehend it, (which, 
 indeed, I am dubious about,) seems to so 
 upontiie supposition that power and agency 
 belong onely to mind, and that in language 
 causation never belongs to mind. If this 
 be so, you and I may, after all, differ only 
 about the meaning of words. What you 
 call an agent, and a being that has power, 
 that I call a cause with regard to every ex- 
 ertion of his power. 
 
 That which alone you call a cause, I 
 think is no cause at all in the strict sense of 
 the word ; but I acknowledge it is so in the 
 hix and popular sense. . 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 79 
 
 In these remarks I thought friendship 
 oUiged me to lay aside all regard to friend- 
 ship, and even to indulge a spirit of severity 
 that seems opposite to it. I hope you will 
 make allowance for this. For, in reality, 
 I have such an opinion of your judgment 
 and taste, that I cannot help suspecting my 
 own where they differ. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 AN AMBIGUITY OP HUME— MEANINGS OP 
 WILL ANn VOLITION — POWER. 
 
 Motive — Sect 1. 
 
 27. [Page 21, published work.]_It 
 does not appear to me, that the long pas- 
 sage quoted from Mr Hume*s reconciling 
 project, is so full of ambiguous expressions 
 and hypothetical doctrine, as it is said to 
 be ; though I think it is very clearly shewn 
 to be full of weak reasoning. I think he 
 does not confound a constant conjunction 
 with a necessary connection, but plainly dis- 
 tinguishes them ; affirming, that the fiist is 
 all the relation which, upon accurate reflec- 
 tion, we are able to perceive between cause 
 and effect ; but that mankind, by some pre- 
 
 6 lice, are led to think that cause and effect 
 ve moreover a necessary connection; 
 when at the same time they acknowledge 
 onely a constant conjunction between motive 
 and action ; so far I see no obscurity or 
 ambiguity. The words comtant conjunction 
 and necessary connection, I thuik, are the 
 best that can be used to express the meanbg 
 of each, and the difference between them. 
 At the same time, to suppose, without 
 assigning any reason for the supposition, 
 that the constant conjimction of cavse and 
 effect leads men to believe a necessary con- 
 nection between them, but that the con- 
 atant conjunction between motive Kad action 
 has no such effect, appears to me very weak 
 and unphilosophical ; and this account of 
 the phenomenon of men's putting a differ- 
 ence between the relation of motive and 
 action, and the relation of cause and effect, 
 does not appear to me to deserve the epithet 
 you give it, of very ingenious. 
 
 The last part of the quotation, beginning 
 with — " Let any one define a cause without 
 comprehending,'* &€.,• 1 thmk hasa distmct 
 
 • The whole aentence ii u folIowR :— It i, fn)in 
 Huine's *• Inquiry concerning the Human Under. 
 •Unding, • »«:i. viii. part 1 . prope fintm. " Let any 
 OMd0ne a cause, wit hout con)|irehending, as a part of 
 the definition, a neceisary connection with its effect ; 
 and Jet him«hew diutinctly the oiiRin of the idea, ex 
 preMcd by the definition, and 1 shall readily give up 
 UM^wbole controversy."— Dr Reid, in his remarks 
 on this passage, would be right, did Hume mean 
 oy necet$ary connection, a reatlj/ necessary con- 
 nection, and not merely a feeling of necessity in 
 •M, and that not a priori, but afwjferi'ori'— not the 
 
 meaning ; but that meaning is so imperti- 
 nent to his purpose, and so contrary to his 
 principles, that I cannot help thinking that 
 he meant to say the very contrary of what 
 he says ; and that the word without has slipt 
 into the sentence by an oversight of the 
 author or printer. For, does not he him- 
 self define a cause without comprehending, 
 as a part of the definition, a necessary con- 
 nection between the cause and the effect ? 
 Does he not maintain that we have no idea 
 of necessary connection? He certainly 
 meant to say, that he would give up the 
 whole controversy, if any one could shew 
 that we have such an idea, and not to say 
 that he would give up the controversy, if 
 any one could give a definition of cause 
 without comprehending that idea. Were 
 I to comment upon this passage in the 
 Bentleian style, I would say dele without, 
 meo periculo. After all, how he should 
 think that the bulk of mankind have, without 
 reason, joyned the idea of necessary con- 
 nection to that of constant conjunction, in 
 the relation of cause and effect, when man- 
 kind have no such idea, I cannot account 
 for. 
 
 Of the Notion oflnstrumenL 
 
 66, &c. — I am not pleased with the three 
 different meanings you put upon the word 
 yulilion, nor do 1 think it ambiguous. Will 
 is indeed an ambiguous word, being some- 
 times put for the faculty of willing ; some- 
 times for the act of that faculty, besides 
 other meanings. But volition always sig- 
 nifies the act of willing, and nothing else. 
 Willingness, I think, is opposed to unwil- 
 lingness or aversion. A man is willing to 
 do what he has no aversion to do, or what 
 he has some desire to do, though perhaps 
 he has not the opportunity ; and I think 
 this is never called volition. 
 
 Choice or preference, in the proper sense, 
 is an act of the understanding ; but some- 
 times it is improperly put for volition, or 
 the determination of the will in things where 
 there is no judgment or preference ; thus, 
 a man who owes me a shilling, lays down 
 three or four equally good, and bids me take 
 which I choose. I take one without any 
 judgment or belief that there is any ground 
 of preference — this is merely an act of will 
 that is a voUtion. 
 
 An effort greater or less, I think, always 
 accompanies volition, but is not called vo- 
 lition. There may be a determination of 
 will to do something to-morrow or next 
 week. This, though it be properly an act 
 
 offspring brknowledge, but of blind habit. 1 1 is he» e 
 the part of the sceptic, not to disprove the subjective 
 phenomenon of necessity, but to shew that it is ille- 
 gitimate and objectively barren.— H. 
 
ao 
 
 CORRBSPONBENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 
 •f vil, IB BOt ealM lolitioii, beesiiie it has 
 
 ft pvoper name 'Of ita own — we caU il ft reao- 
 .hltwii or pQifOfle ; and here the effort is 
 ■Ufoided till tlie purpone is to be ex- 
 cciiltd* 
 
 I apprebend that, in dreammg, tbe effort 
 ftceomiMiBiea voition« as well as wben we 
 ftre ftimke ; but in most peraons the effort 
 in dnaming pradiees little or no motion 
 in tbe body, aa i» tbe case in palsy. When 
 ft bound dieama, we aee ft feeble attempt to 
 nuve Ui' limbS' and to bark, aa if be bad the 
 Mlay, And a 'man dreaming that he criea 
 iiapArately for help, ia ofteiuieardto make 
 ft feebte attempt to eij. 
 
 1% Ac— I humbly think that my power 
 to ride or lo walk, and the .king*a power to 
 eaU or tO' 'diiBol¥e a pariianMnt, are different 
 kinds, or rather diffierent meanings of the 
 word power. In the former meaning, every- 
 tiiing depending upon my will is in my 
 power, and oonaequently my will itself ; for, 
 if I bad not power to will, I could have no 
 er to do what depends upon my will. 
 n tbe aeeond meaning, power signifies a 
 rigbt by tbe law or by tbe constitution, 
 ftMording to that nrnxim of law, Nihil pos- 
 gmm quod jm§ iMfi' po*aum» 
 
 In another law sense, we say— It is part 
 of tbe king^ prerogative that he can do no 
 vning. The meaning of this is not that he 
 bas no legal right to do wrong, for this may 
 be said of tbe meanest of his subjects ; but 
 il mamS' ttat ^lie 'Cannol' be accused or tried 
 for any «Mn||''befttyre an^ crim.inal judica- 
 ture. It ia bis prerogative, that he cannot 
 be flftlled to account for any wrong. 
 
 71, Ac— Tbe doctrinedwivered from page 
 71 to 7% I suspect very much not to be 
 juat. If it be true, it is surely important, 
 and would make many difficulties inatantly 
 to vaniib, whicb the bulk of philosophers 
 bftve laboured in vain to resolve, and the 
 wiser part have reckoned to be insolvable. 
 It is so new and so contrary to all that 
 iMmophers have taught and believed since 
 iiie days of Aristotle, that it ought to be 
 |lMi|Niied and supported with great modeaty ; 
 'Mlt, 'indeed,. I cannot yet aasent to it 
 
 I have, for instance, tbe power of moving 
 ■ly band ; all tbe activity I am conscious 
 n eieiiing, is volition and effort to move 
 the bndj the motion must begin some- 
 ulierc 'Aifpoae il bej|iiis al the nerves, 
 and that its being continued till tbe hand 
 he moved, ia all mechanism. The first 
 motion^ bctweveri cannot be mechanism. 
 It foUoiRB famMsdiately'npon my volition and 
 efforL 
 
 Nor do I know how my volition and 
 •ibri to move mj band, produoes a certain 
 
 motion in the nerves. I am oonscious that 
 m this there is something which I do not 
 comprehend, though I believe He that made 
 me comprehends it perfectly. If I be struek 
 with a palsy, that volition and effort which 
 before moved my hand, is now unable to do 
 it. Is this owing to an inability to produce 
 the first motion ? or is it owing to ^ome de- 
 rangement of the machine of the body ? I 
 know noL Nay, I am uncertain whether I 
 be truly and properly the agent in the first 
 motion ; for I can suppose, that, whenever 
 I will to move my hand, the Deity, or some 
 other agent, produces the first motion in my 
 body — ^which was the opinion of Male- 
 branehe. This hypothesis agrees with all that 
 I ara conscious of in the matter. I am like 
 ft child turning the handle of a hand organ 
 —the turning of the handle answers to my 
 volition and effort. The music immediately 
 follows ; but how it follows, the child knows 
 not. Were two or three ingenious children 
 to speculate upon the subject, who had never 
 seen nor heard of such a machine before, 
 perhaps one who had seen strange effects of 
 mechanism, might conjecture that the 
 handle, by means of machinery, produced 
 tbe music : another, like Malebranche, 
 might conjecture that a musician, concealed 
 in the machine, always played when the 
 handle was turned. 
 
 We know as httle how our intellectual 
 operations are performed as how we move 
 uur own body. I remember many things 
 past; but how I remember them I know 
 not Some have attempted to account for 
 memory by a repository of ideas, or by traces 
 left in the brain of the ideas we had before. 
 Such accounts would appear ridiculous at 
 first sight, if we knew how the operation of 
 memory is performed. But, as we are 
 totally ignorant how we remember, such 
 weak hypotheses have been embraced by 
 sensible men. 
 
 In these, and in innumerable cases that 
 might be mentioned, it seems to me to be 
 one thing to know that such a thing is, and 
 another to know how it is. 
 
 Perhaps you may have been led into the 
 mistake, if it be a mistake, by what you 
 say about definition in the note, p. ^&. An 
 operation, or any other thing that is per- 
 fectly simple^ cannot be defined — this is 
 true. Nor can it be explained by words to 
 a man who had not the conception of it be- 
 fore : for words can give us no new simple 
 conceptions, but such only as we bad before, 
 and bad annexed to such words. 
 
 Thus, if a man bom blind asks me what 
 a scarlet colour is, the question, I think, is 
 not impertinent, or nugatory, or absurd; but 
 I can only answer him, that, though I know 
 perfiectly what a scarlet colour is, it is im- 
 possible to give him a distinct conception of 
 it unless be saw. But, if be asks me bow 
 
 «■ 
 
 my volition and effort moves my hand, I 
 not onely cannot satisfy him, but am con- 
 scious that I am ignorant myself. We both 
 know that there is a constant conjunction 
 between the volition and the motion, when 
 I am in health, but how they are connected 
 I know not, but should think myself much 
 wiser than I am, if I did know. For any- 
 thing I know, some other being may move 
 my hand as often as I will to move it. The 
 volition, I am conscious, is my act ; but I 
 am not conscious that the motion is so. I 
 onely learn from experience that it always fol- 
 lows the volition, when I am in sound health. 
 
 AetivUp* — Sect. 1. 
 
 P. 24, &c. — The distinction between the 
 two kinds of active verbs here marked, ap- 
 pears no less clearly when they are used in 
 the passive voice. To he known^ to be be- 
 lieved, &c-, imply nothing done to the things 
 known or believed. But to be wouw/ed, to 
 be healed, implies something done to the 
 wounded or healed. A scholastick philoso- 
 pher would say that to be toounied^ belongs 
 to the category of passion ; but to be knou n. 
 belongs to none of the categories— being only 
 an estemai denomination. Indeed, however 
 
 frammarians might confound those two 
 inds of active verbs, the scholastick philo- 
 sophers very properly distinguished the acts 
 expressed by them. They called the acts 
 expressed by the first kind immanent acts, 
 and those expressed by the second kind, 
 transitive acts. Immanent acts of mind are 
 such as produce no change in the object. 
 Such are all acts of understanding, and even 
 some that may be called voluntary— such as 
 attention, deliberation, purpose. 
 
 Activity— -Seci. 2. 
 
 P. 43.— If my memory does not deceive 
 me, Charlevoix, in his history of Canada, 
 says, that, in the Huron language, or in some 
 language of that country, there is but one 
 word for both the sexes of the human species, 
 which word bas two genders, not a mascu- 
 line and feminine— for there is no such dis- 
 tinction of genders in the language— but a 
 a noble and an ignoble gender : the ignoble 
 gender signifies not a woman, though we 
 improperly translate it so. It signifies a 
 coward, or a good-for-nothing creature of 
 either sex. A woman of distinguished 
 talents that create respect, is always of the 
 noble gender. I know not whether it be 
 owing to something of this kind in the 
 Gaelic language, that a Highlander, who 
 ha8gotonelyalittlebrokenEngli8h,mode8tly 
 
 takes the feminine gender to himself, and, 
 in place of saying / did so, says, her own seff 
 did so, 
 
 As to the mathematical reasoning on 
 motive. Section 2, to prove that the relation 
 of motive and agent is very different from 
 that of a physical cause to its effect, I think 
 it just and conclusive ; and that it isa good 
 argument ad hominem, against the scheme 
 of Necessity held by Hume, Priestley, and 
 other modern advocates for Necessity, who 
 plainly make these two relations the same. 
 Mr Hume holds it for a maxim no less ap- 
 plicable to intelligent beings and their ac- 
 tions, than to. physical causes and their 
 effects, that the cause is to be measured by 
 the effect. And from this maxim he infers, 
 or makes an Epicurean to infer, that we 
 have reason to ascribe to the Deity just as 
 much of wisdom, power, and goodness, as 
 appears in the constitution of things, and 
 no more. 
 
 The reasoning in the papers on activity, to 
 shew that the relation between an agent and 
 his action is, in the structure of language, dis- 
 tinguished from the relation between a cause 
 and its effect, is, I think, perfectly just when 
 cause is taken in a certain sense ; but I am 
 not so clear that the word came is never, 
 except meUphorically or figuratively, taken 
 in any other sense. You will see my senti- 
 ments about that word in two chapters of my 
 " Essay on the Liberty of Moral Agents,** 
 now in your hands. If I had seen your 
 papers before I wrote those two chapters, 
 perhaps I would have been more explicit. 
 However, they will save you and me the 
 trouble of repeating here what is there said. 
 
 I think, after all, the difference between 
 you and me is merely about the use of a 
 word ; and that it amounts to this — whether 
 the word cauie, and the corresponding words 
 in other languages, has, or has not, from the 
 beginning, been used to express, without a 
 figure, a being that produces the effect by 
 Yob will and power. 
 
 I see not how mankind could ever have 
 acquired the conception of a cause, or of 
 any relation, beyond a mere conjunction in 
 time and place between it and its effect, if 
 they were not conscious of active exertions 
 in themselves, by which effects are pro- 
 duced. This seems to me to be the origin 
 of the idea or conception of production. 
 
 In the grammar rule, causa, modus et 
 instrumentum, &c., the word cause is taken 
 in a lunited sense, which is explained by 
 the words conjoyned with it Nor do I see 
 that any part of the rule would be lost if 
 the word causa had been altogether left out. 
 Is not everything which you would call a 
 cause a mean or an instrument ? May not 
 everything to which the rule applies be 
 called a mean or an instrument ? But surely 
 many things are called causes that are 
 
 a 
 
 ti 
 
 ■ri 
 lilli' 
 
 III! 
 
S2 
 
 COREBSPONDBNCE OP DR REID. 
 
 neillwr hmmhi jior 'imtninMiits, mad to whMk 
 1km nto' iom aol aiiply. 
 
 YoM know thiit Aristotle, who surely 
 'QvMk,. makefl four Mnds of 
 -ilw '«iiei0:iit, the nuittar, tlie^^ form., 
 'flM mA I fliUc. tlie giMniar rule 
 •ppliM to none of these ; for tliey are not 
 in Uitiii. espwaed by an oblative without 
 
 a 'WMMMtioil* 
 
 Thai 'iMithmgcan happen, without a cause, 
 k a maKhn found in Pkto> in Cicero, and, I 
 heUeve, never brought into doubt till the 
 time of D. Mmm, If this be not under- 
 stood of an eiWent cauB% it is not true of 
 any other Und 'of 'Canie s Bor ean an^ reason 
 he given why it should have been umversally 
 received as an asuom. All other causes 
 suppose an effietent cause ; but it supposes 
 no other; and, tlienfore, in every enumer- 
 ation of caoses, it Is made tlie first ; and 
 the word cause, without any addition, is put 
 tO' .sonify an effioent cause ; as in that of 
 Oeeroi (which I quote only imm memory,) 
 '^ lUtque fiom e»i cuusa quod cuiqu€ ante- 
 mMif ml fiMl euiqm qgkimim' amlc- 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 UN TUB TBRMS,. PHIUMIPHICAL NICBSSITY, 
 AND NBCBSSARIAN^ON DKTEHMINATION 
 
 ■¥ .smoNonsT' motiyi— hxpboach op 
 
 MALA FlDBS^CONSCIOVSNBfiS OP LmiRTV 
 
 '-^AililU.llXNTVM PIORUM,&0— ^M A FAPBR 
 
 SMVITliBI-- ■' 
 
 Pass 2.—*' jPAIIofofiluMi/ iV«i»ifjlf.'*— 
 Hull I think, is an epithet given to the 
 doctrine of Necessity by Dr Priestley only ; 
 and I do not see 'that he 'deserves to be fol- 
 Iprad in it The 'vulgaf' have, 'firam the 
 h^^inning of the world, had the conception 
 of it as weE as philosophers. Whether they 
 gMmd it upon the influence of the stars, 
 nrtihfi deenea of fate, or of the gods, or 
 'tipon the influence of motives, it is necessity 
 ■tilL I have often found the illiterate vul- 
 gar have recourse to it to exculpate their 
 own faults, or those of their friends, when 
 no other excnse eoold be found. It lorlia 
 in thehr minds as a last shift to alleviate the 
 pu^ of guilt, or to soften their indipnation 
 aoainsltwieewhom they love. t But it is not 
 t3mli!tf^| .en other occasionat Dr Priestley 
 by this Mitthet no doubt wished it to pass 
 for a profound discovery of philosophy ; but 
 
 I ■* .ftSBL** Sonepaitt catramoiid to the 
 
 I. -i.j Jifilif. i4Mn do Dol. The ** Bhiay'* 
 
 tftw^. pfnlpKi'' pilalcd Inl in iiroof.«~tl. 
 
 f Tliiii Apacnuien":— '*Sy^ V *&m tHik ilpu* 
 
 I know no chum it has to be called philoso- 
 phieaL 
 
 In other places, you use another of Dr 
 Priestley's words — the Necessarians, I see 
 no reiison for adding this word to our lan- 
 guage, when FaiaiiMit might do as welL 
 Sometimes I think you call them the PhU ' 
 iophtrs indefinitely. I don*t like this 
 neither. Fatalism was never so general 
 amonp philosophers, nor so peculiar to them, 
 as to justify it 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 P. 27 — In my " Essay on liberty" I 
 have censured the defenders of Necessity for 
 grounding one of their chief arguments upon 
 this as a self-evident axiom, That the strong- 
 eat matim aimajfi thtermins the agtnt^ while 
 no one of them, as far as I know, has offered 
 to explain what \a meant by the strongest 
 motive, or given any test by which we may 
 know which of two contrary motives is the 
 strongest ; without which the axiom is an 
 identical proposition, or has no meaning at 
 alL I have offered two tests of the strength 
 of motivea— according as they operate upon 
 the will immediately, or upon the under- 
 standing— and endeavoured to shew that the 
 maxim is not true according to either. 
 . • • • 
 
 P, 72.— The want of sincerity or bona 
 JIdgt, in a large body of men, respected and 
 respectable, is a very tender place, and can- 
 not be touched with too much delicacy. 
 Iliongh you were sure of being able to de- 
 monstrate it, I am airaid it may be taken as 
 an insult, which even demonstration cannot 
 justify. Your not making the conclusion 
 genend, for want of a sufficiently extensive 
 information, will not satisfy, because it seema 
 to extend the conclusion as far as your 
 observation has extended, and because the 
 reasons on which you ground your con- 
 clusion seem to extend it to all fatalists 
 who can draw a conclusion from premises. 
 If David Hume, or any other person, has 
 charged those who profess to believe men to 
 be free agents with insincerity, I think he 
 did wrong, and that I should do wrong in 
 following the example. 
 
 But, setting apart the consideration of 
 Uemeanoe, I doubt of the truth of your 
 conclusion. If human reason were perfect, 
 I think you would be better founded ; but 
 we are such imperfect creatures, that I fear 
 we are not exempted from the possibility of 
 swallowing contradictions. Could you not 
 prove with equal strength that all bad men 
 are infidels ? Yet I believe this not to be 
 
 In page 76, you speak of oar having a 
 consciousness of independent activity. I 
 think this cannot be said with strict pro- 
 priety. It is only the operations of oup 
 own mind that we are conscious of. Ac- 
 tivity is not an operatbn of mind ; it ia a 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 I -.1 
 
 4 
 
 power to act We are conscious of our 
 volitions, but not of the cause of them. 
 
 I thii^, indeed, that we have an early 
 and a natural conviction that we have power 
 to will this or that ; that this conviction 
 precedes the exercise of reasoning ; that it 
 Is implyed in all our deliberations, purposes, 
 promises, and voluntary actions : and I have 
 used this as an argument for liberty. But 
 I thmk this conviction is not properly called 
 consciousness. 
 
 I truly think that a fatalist who acted 
 agreeably to his belief would sit still, like a 
 passenger in a ship, and suffer himself to be 
 carried on by the tide of fate ; and that, 
 when he deliberates, resolves, promises, or 
 chuses, he acts inconsistently with his be- 
 lief. But such inconsistencies, I fear, are 
 to be found in life; and, if men be ever con- 
 vinced of them, it must be by soothing words 
 and soft arguments, which ludunt cir- 
 eum pracordia ; for the force of prejudice, 
 joyned with that of provocation, will shut 
 the door against all conviction. 
 
 I humbly think, therefore, that it will be 
 prudent and becoming to express less con- 
 fidence in your mathematical reasonings, 
 though I really believe them to be just upon 
 the hypothesis you combat. Fatalists will 
 think that, when you put the issue of the 
 controversy solely upon the experiments, 
 you treat them like children. No fatalist 
 will contend with you upon that footing, 
 nor take it well to be challenged to do so ; 
 and I think you have a good plea with any 
 man who disputes the strength of your ma- 
 thematical reasoning, to prove that the 
 relation between motives and actions is 
 altogether of a different kind, and subject to 
 different laws from that between physical 
 causes and their effects. 
 
 ON VULGAR NOTION OF NBCBS8ARY CONNEC- 
 TION — INADVERTBNCY OP HUMK— REID'S 
 REFUTATION OP IDEAS — RBIO*S USB OF THE 
 WORD CAUSE -INERTIA, PASSIVITY, STATE, 
 OP MIND — AND SUNDRY OBSERVATIONS ON 
 THB NECESSITARIAN CONTROVERSY — IN A 
 PAPBR BNTITLBD 
 
 Remarks on the Essag. 
 
 Page 23 I am apt to think even the 
 
 vulgar have the notion of necessary con- 
 nection, and that they perceive it in arith- 
 metical and mathematical axioms, though 
 they do not speculate about it ; nor do they 
 perceive it between physical causes and 
 their effect& Does not every man of com- 
 mon sense perceive the ridiculousness of 
 
 • As published.— H. 
 
 that complaint to the gods, which one of 
 the heroes of the " Dunciad" makes 
 
 -*• And am I now fourscore? 
 
 Ah 1 why, ye gods, should two and two make four ?" 
 
 But is it not remarkable that Mr Hume, 
 after taking so much pains to prove that we 
 have no idea of necessary connection, should 
 impute to the bulk of mankind the opinion 
 of a necessary connection between physical 
 causes and their effects ? Can they have 
 this opinion without an idea of necessary 
 connection ? 
 
 33.— The passage here quoted from Mr 
 Hume is, indeed, so extraordinary, that I 
 suspect an error in printing, and that the 
 word without has been put in against his 
 intention, though I find it in my copy of his 
 essays, as well as in your quotation. For 
 how could a man who denies that we have 
 any idea of necessary connection, defy any 
 one to define a cause without comprehending 
 necessary connection ? He might, consist- 
 ently with himself, have defied any one to 
 defiue a cause, comprehending in the defi- 
 nition necessary connection ; and at the 
 same time to shew distinctly the origin of 
 the idea expressed by the definition. How 
 could he pledge himself to give up the con- 
 troversy on the condition of getting such a 
 definition, when, as you observe, he had 
 given two such definitions himself? If 
 there be no error of the press, we must 
 say, Aliqnando bonus dormHat Humius.* 
 
 34 and 35 — You observe justly and perti- 
 nently, that "the intelligible and consistent 
 use of a word shews that the speaker had 
 some thought, notion, or idea, correspond- 
 ing to it." Idea is here put for the mean- 
 ing of a word, which can neither be true nor 
 false, because it implies neither affirmation 
 nor negation. But in the same paragraph 
 it is supposed that this idea may be im- 
 proper, groundless, and to be given up. 
 This can onely be applied to idea, taken 
 in another sense — to wit, when it implies 
 some affirmation or negation. I know this 
 ambiguity may be foimd in Locke and Hume ; 
 but I think it ought to be avoided. 
 
 36. — " Or the philosophical doctrine of 
 ideas." If, an hundred years after this, the 
 philosophical doctrine of ideas be as little 
 regarded as the Vortices of Des Cartes arc 
 at this day, they may then be coupled in 
 the manner you here do. But at present, 
 though I am proud of your opinion, that 
 that doctrine must be given up, I think it 
 is expressed in a way too assuming with 
 regard to the publick. 
 
 40. — I know of no philosopher who makes 
 the word cause extend solely to the giving 
 of existence. 
 
 44. Dr Reid agrees with the author of 
 the Essay, that the word cause ought to be 
 
 * See note at page 79.— H. 
 
 u2 
 
114 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 85 
 
 wmd hk tlW' mud' commiiii 'eeme.* But 
 inay be the most oommoii in 
 
 one acimoe. «nd anotiier in otherSi He 
 
 tUnln^ tlMtiiii tlieology tndm metaphyBiclui, 
 tlie roost common sense is tbat of agent or 
 efficient cause ; and for this he thinks he 
 has the muthority of Des Cartes, Locke, 
 Dr Clarke, Bishop Butler, and many others. 
 Im fl^yiiefci, and in all its branches, medi- 
 «infl, ehymikfy, i^piculture, the mechani- 
 cal arts, Ac, he thinks the most common 
 meaning of came is Hume's notion of it— 
 to wit, sometliing which poes before the 
 •ffe«t,»nd iiiKinjoynfid withit hithecourseof 
 naftiim JalUinotion is tagn® and popular, 
 f Ulosopheia, when they would speak more 
 preeisely of a cause in physicks, mean by 
 It some kw of nature, of which the phaeno- 
 nMnon ealled the effect is a necessary 
 Mnsequence. Therefore, in writings of 
 tie former kind, he would think himself 
 wiarranted to uro the word cause, without 
 additfon in the first of these senses ; and, if 
 lie had oMaaion to use it in the last sense, 
 be would call it physkat cause. In writings 
 nf the but kind, he thinks it may, with pro- 
 priety, be used without addition in the last 
 ■enae ; and if, in such writmiEs, it be used 
 in Hw iiit sense, he would have it called 
 Hm t0dimi causa. But the additions of 
 4|||0l•fll^wd]i%•lMf»]M^'dlles [not] conceive 
 m denoting two wpmrn of the same gmm^ 
 
 • Tlili It in fdwMim to what Dr Gregory »ay« of 
 
 'tilt nsaiiliig sltMBlwi ^ Wm. MmmM to the word 
 n. 'Hm puMift 'if at IMIfiiit ;•»** At little could 
 tlliiaai} liaf* in vlt* tiie meaning expressed In 
 qiMlf » la WiiCll meaning Dr Keid ( I own 
 I iMnk will iM Hill* Rgard to the common use and 
 ■pipiifatloii of tiM word ceuie) hath emplnjred it In 
 ■fgntnt thlt fUittloii i (* Emaya on the Active 
 Wmmn; ptmM$i m wlmt Immj*, alter admitting 
 Hist evMryilitng mutt huw a eaine. that, in the caie 
 or Toluntatf actions, it is not the motive, but the 
 
 emu, mat Is the cause of them. 'ITiis meaning of 
 tatm «iii»— lo wit, a being having power (and 
 oplliinai or dlteMicnarf povti) to produce or not to 
 "UwaClftalnfiMlia^^Mil only evidently dif. 
 ■tlkwi Mi Hitmc^a, but completely repugnant to 
 We may therifore set it atidt 
 
 iieflliiiatl 
 tile tiifi i 
 
 II it Wfctttaff to quote the queriet to which relJer- 
 lea la made in the preceding patsage. They ar« 
 :—«« II might reasonably be asked — (I") 1« the 
 
 I ONwe employed In that general fourfold sense 
 
 asniioned by Arittotla, and applied equally to the 
 ! Off iiffm Ufa being, to the matter of it, to the 
 to the motive, or purpose, or 
 ff Of fi*) it It employed in iu more 
 I and UnlltiMeciitation; as generally lued in 
 , and, Indaad, In popular discourte, as when we 
 .• nffl^ It Hi* oaute of expansion,* excluding all 
 Mtlinpof It, and particul.^rly that of the 
 afonir Or O"*) It il amployed in that more limited 
 iante In wUei it Inth been deflned and uMd by 
 aevaral piltaaopheiii to denote exclusively the agent, 
 in iaatadiallOCtlon to the physical cause ? Or {4") 
 It It waad to express the vague notlnn insinuated by 
 Jirltllltlet m a iu, comprehend! njt all these already 
 ■MUtiiiini, and many more ? For exarople^wbat the 
 pvliaitio llM whole, what a right angle in a Irl. 
 anglola lotiwproportioii between the sauaret of the 
 ridtt if i, Wllit IM ahtcnce of a pilot is to a ship. 
 wraoi, what tie aead it to a plant, what a flithtr It 
 to hit ton, wlHiltbo removal 'OT an o|i|MMing eautt to 
 to anf event or eitet, ftc. Ittc."— H. 
 
 but aa distinguishing two different meanings 
 of the same ambiguous word. 
 
 You have go(^ reason to dispute the 
 maxim about causes, as lud down by Mr 
 Hume, in whatever sense he takes the word 
 eaiMe. It is a maxim in natural theology, 
 universally admitted, that everything that 
 b§^na to exist must have a cause, meaning 
 an efficient cause ; and from this maxim we 
 easily deduce the existance of a Being who 
 neither had a cause nor a beginning of ex« 
 istance, but exists necessarily. Physicksy 
 in all its branches, is conversant about the 
 phenomena of nature, and their physical 
 causes ; and I think it may be admitted as 
 a maxim that every phenomenon of nature 
 has a physical cause. But the actions of 
 men, or of other rational beings, are not 
 phenomena of nature, nor do they come 
 within the sphere of physicks. As little is 
 a beginning of existance a phenomenon of 
 nature. 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 Page 154>~." Expret$lif ejecluding from 
 the meaning of the phnue/* ^c, to the end of 
 the paragraph. * My remark upon this para- 
 graph I think more important than any 
 other I have made on the Essay; and, there- 
 fore, I beg your attention to it. 
 
 Inertia of mind seems to be a very pro- 
 per name for a quality which, upon every 
 system of Necessity, must belong to the 
 mind. It is likewise very proper to explain 
 the meaning of that term when applied to 
 the mind. 
 
 But when you " expressly exclude from 
 the meaning of the phrase, the circiunstance 
 of mind remaining or persevering in any 
 state into which it once gets," I wish you 
 to consider very seriously whether this con- 
 cession be not more generous than just; and, 
 if it be not just, whether by making it, you 
 
 • The whole passage referred to is as follows :~ 
 " I have occasion often to consider the supposed want 
 of any such attribute of mind [vig.. Power] as this is 
 the fundamental principle of thedoctrineof necessity. 
 And, for the sake of brevity, and the opiwsition to 
 what has been often termed Activity and Force cj 
 Mindt I call it the Inertia qf Mind; limiting, how- 
 ever, the signiHcation of the phrase, to denote merely 
 Ibe incapacity of acting optionally or discretionally 
 without motives, or in opposition to all motives, or 
 in any other way tmt just according to the motives 
 applied, and expressly excluding Irom the meaning 
 of the phrase the circumstance of mind remaining or 
 penerering in any t^tate into which it once gets, as 
 body does in a state, either of rear or of uniform 
 progressive rectilinear motion, into which it is once 
 put Such permanency of state does not appear to be 
 any part of the constitution of the human mind, with 
 respect to any of its operation!. Sensation of t very 
 kind— memory, imagination, judgment, emotion, or 
 passion, volition, and involuntary etrort— all appear 
 to be transient conditions, or attributes of mind; 
 which, of their own nature, independently of any 
 cauke applied, pass away or come to an end. And 
 this 1 conceive to be one of the most general circuni. 
 itances of distinction between mere sia^eor condition, 
 which is prodicable ot mind as well as body, (as, for 
 example, madneu, idiot ism, vivacity, dulness, pecu. 
 liar genius, wisdom, knowledge, virtue, vice.) and 
 those things which are termed acti or operationt of 
 mind or thought,"— H. 
 
 do not much weaken the force of a great 
 part of your subsequent reasoning. 
 
 The justice of the concession is not evi- 
 dent to me. To be merely passivcy and to 
 remain in the state into which it is put, seem 
 to signify the same thing ; as, on the other 
 hand, to be active, and to have power to 
 change its own state ^ have the same meaning. 
 If the mind be passive onely, all its changes 
 are phenomena of nature, and therefore be- 
 long to the science of physicks, and require 
 a physical cause, no less than does the 
 change of direction or of velocity in a moving 
 body. 
 
 Of all things that belong to the mind, its 
 acts and operations are the onely things 
 which have any analogy to motion in a body. 
 The same analogy there is between the 
 ceasing of any act or operation and the 
 ceasing of motion. If, therefore, from mere 
 inactivity, the body, once put in the state of 
 motion, continues or perseveres in that 
 state, why should not a mind, which is 
 equally inactive, being once put in the state 
 of action or operation, continue in that state ? 
 
 You say, " Such permanency of state 
 does not appear to be the constitution of 
 the mind in any of its operations.** I grant 
 this. But the question is not, *' What really 
 is its constitution ?'* but " What would be 
 its constitution if it were as inert and in- 
 active as body is ?** To admit this want of 
 permanency is to admit that the mind is 
 active in some degree, which is contrary to 
 tlie supposition. 
 
 The reason why madness, idiotism, &c, 
 are called states of mind, while its acts and 
 operationsarenot," is because mankind have 
 always conceived the mind to be passive in 
 the former and active in the later. But on 
 the system of Necessity, this distinction has 
 no place. Both are equally states, onely 
 the first are not so frequently changed as 
 theUist. ^ ^ 
 
 If the concession be just and consistent 
 with necessity, it must be granted, what- 
 ever be its consequences ; but I apprehend 
 the consequences will deeply affect your essay. 
 
 For, first, it contradicts what you have 
 said, page 336, and, perhaps, in several 
 other places, that, " according to Mr 
 Hume*s doctrine, a living person, in relation 
 to motives and actions, is precisely in the 
 situation of an inanimate body in relation to 
 projection and gravity.** If an inanimate 
 body had not the quality of persevering in 
 its state of motion, the effect of projection 
 and gravity upon it would be very different 
 from what it is with that quality. 
 
 Secondly, by this concession, your reason- 
 ing from the laws of motion and their cor- 
 ollaries, is much weakened ; for those laws 
 
 • The term State has, more especially of late years, 
 and principally by NeceMitarian philosophers, been 
 applied to all modificationsofmind indifferently.— H. 
 
 and corollaries are founded on the supposi- 
 tion that bodies persevere in the state of 
 motion as well as of rest ; and, therefore, 
 are not properly applied to a being which 
 has not that quality. Indeed, perseverance 
 in its state is so essential to inertia, that it 
 will be thought unjustifiable to apply that 
 name to what you acknowledge does not 
 persevere in its state. And you will, 
 perhaps, be charged with giving an invi- 
 dious epithet to the mind, which, by 
 your own acknowledgment, is not due, and 
 then reasoning from that epithet as if it 
 were due. 
 
 • • . • • 
 
 226. — In the style of physicks, to carry a 
 letter in the direction A B, and to carry a 
 letter from A to the point B, are different 
 things. Any line parallel to A B, is said 
 to be in the direction A B, though it can- 
 not lead to the point B. 
 
 The case, therefore, here put, is, that the 
 porter is offered a guinea a-mile to carry a 
 letter from A to the point B, and half-a- 
 guinea a-mile to carry a letter, at the same 
 time, from A to the point C. And both 
 motives must necessarely operate according 
 to their strength. I truely think it impos- 
 sible to say how the porter would act upon 
 these suppositions. He would be in an in- 
 extricable puzzle between contrary actions 
 and contrary wills. 
 
 One should think that the two motives 
 mentioned, would conjoyn their force in the 
 diagonal. But, by going in the diagonal, 
 he loses both the guineas and the half- 
 guineas ; this is implied in the offer, and is 
 a motive not to go in the diagonal, as strong 
 as the two motives for going in it. By the 
 force of the two motives, he must tot// to go 
 in the diagonal ; by the force of the third, 
 he must will not to go in the diagonal. 
 
 You pretend to demonstrate that he 
 must go in the diagonal willingly. I think 
 it may be demonstrated, with equal force, 
 that he must will not to go in the diagonaL 
 I perceive no error in either demonstration ; 
 and, if both demonstrations be good, what 
 must be the conclusion ? The conclusion 
 must be, that the supposition on which both 
 demonstrations are grounded must be false— 
 I mean the supposition that motives are the 
 physical causes of actions ; for it is possible, 
 and often happens, that, from a false sup- 
 position, two contradictory conclusions may 
 be drawn ; but, from a true supposition, it 
 it impossible. 
 
 I think it were better to omit the case 
 stated toward the end of tliis page,* because 
 I think it hardly possible to conceive two 
 motives, which, being conjoyned, shall have 
 an analogy to a projectile and centripetal 
 force conjoyned ; and your concession, that 
 
 * This has been done.— H. 
 
 S\ 
 
m 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 „^ 'tiiMt rf a motive is not pemuuient, 
 iAii to tlio <iiffieiilty. A projcctil© foroo 
 miiiiras » caiiae to begin it, but it roqniieft 
 no oontinuanoe of the o»ui»— it continues 
 by the inertift of matter. A centripetal force 
 h ilw 'dis«t of a came antiiig constantly ; 
 mOt iHm «lii»l of that mmm ttnit bear iome 
 pM|Mrtion to tbe time it acta Diminish 
 the time, In i^lfiijliwi, md the effect of a 
 eontiiiMtiil force Is diminished, m ii^niimm ; 
 ■0' tbiiit,. 'ii, .any one instant 'Of' Mme^ It beam 
 no ftOfMiifion to m ptojectUe force ; and, 
 what raahfis the effect of a oentripetal, in a 
 given time, to be capable of comparison with 
 a frojeetile, foiee, is, that the effects of the 
 fiekiipetal iirce, during every instant of the 
 time, are accumulated by the inertia of mat- 
 ter, and all, as it were, brought into one 
 ■mu. How, how e«u you conceive two 
 OMtlvea, which have a Jlbfence and a re- 
 ktion to each other, correspondmg to the 
 diibrenoe and the relation of these two kmds 
 of force ? Both kinds of force suppose the 
 
 rirmaneney of motion once acquired, and, 
 thhik, cannot he distinistly conceived, or 
 their effects ascertamed, without thai snp- 
 'iNiiitlon. 
 
 ' 3317— Upon the scheme of Neoessity, 
 eoBsidered in this section, it mud be main- 
 tained, that there is some unknown cause 
 or causes of human actions, besides motives, 
 whioii.so»itimM».'Oppo8emotive8 with greater 
 ;iice«i sometimes 'produce actions without 
 Botivea ; and, as there' are no causes but 
 physical causes, all actions must be neces- 
 sary, whether produced by motives or by 
 other p%iiial causes. This scheme of 
 Neeesdly appears, indeed, to me more 
 tenable than that of Hume and Priestley ; 
 and I wonder that Mr Hume, who thought 
 that he had piwed, bi^yond doubt, that we 
 'have no wneeption of any cause but a physi- 
 cal, cause, did not rest the doetrino 'Of Heces- 
 aity upon that prindplo solely. Unknown 
 causes would have afforded him a retreat in 
 aiattacksuponhissj-stem. That motives are 
 the sole causes of action, is onely an outwork 
 in the system of Necessity, and may be given 
 np, while it is maintamed that every action 
 moat have a physical cause ; for physical 
 causes of all human aelloiis, whether they 
 be known or unknown, are equally inconsist- 
 ent with liberty. 
 
 148.— A physical cause, firom its nature, 
 niist. heconstant hi. Its effects^ when it exists, 
 and Is appledtolts'pwper object But of un- 
 known causes, the existence and the applica- 
 tion may depend upon a concurrence of acci- 
 dents, whkl is not suhjeet to caknktion, or 
 ■mmi to 'raioDal conjecture. 8o that, I 
 apprehend, the existance of such causes can 
 never be demonstrated to be contrary to 
 matter rf iMii Unknown causes, like oc- 
 cult qiiaillie% suit every occmImi, and can 
 nevtr te cooliadleted by phwnomena ; for, 
 
 at we cannot, apHorl^ determine what shall 
 he the effects of causes absolutely unknown ; 
 so It is impossible to prove, of any effect 
 whatsoever, that it cannot be produced by 
 some unknown physical cause or causes. 
 
 The defects of this system of Necessity, I 
 think, are these two :— first, it is a mere 
 arbitrary hypothesis, brought tifprop a weak 
 side in the hypothesis of Neoessity ; and, 
 secondly, it is grounded on the supposition 
 that every event must have a physical cause, 
 a supposition which demonstrably termin- 
 ates in an infinite series of physical causes, 
 every one of which is the effect of a physical 
 cause. 
 
 If the doctrine opposed m this 16th sec- 
 tion be as it is expressed, page 338— that, 
 though the connection of motive and action 
 is but occasional, the volitions and actions 
 of men are absolutely produced by motives 
 as physical causes— this doctrine I take to 
 be a contradiction in terms, and unworAy 
 of confutation. It maintain?, that men are 
 absolutely determined by motives, and yet 
 onely occasionally determined by motives — 
 which, if I understand it right, is a contra- 
 diction. 
 
 361. The case supposed in this page seems 
 perfectly simikr to that of page 226 ; the 
 same reasoning is applied to both Should 
 not the conclusion be the same in both ? 
 
 431.— Is there not some inaccuracy in the 
 reasoning in this and the next page ? I take 
 Xand Y to represent equal motives to action, 
 and V a motive to inaction, which equally 
 opposes both. If this be so, the motives to 
 the opposite action stand thus : X — Y -I- Z 
 on one side, and Y — V on the other. Then 
 there will be a preponderancy on the side 
 of X as long as X and its equal Y is greater 
 thau ¥ ; and if X be withdrawn on one 
 side, and Y on the other, we shall have 
 —V + Z opposed to —V. In this case, if Z 
 be equal to Y, the motives to act and not 
 to act on the side of Z will be equal ; if Z 
 be less thau Y, the strongest motive will be 
 for inaction ; and if Z be greater than V, 
 there will be a preponderating motive to act 
 
 on the side of Z 
 
 As to the style in general, the only fault 
 I find is, that it abounds too much in long 
 and complex sentences, which have so noany 
 clauses, and so much meaning, that it is 
 difiicult to carry it all from the beginning to 
 the end of the sentence. The reader*8 un- 
 derstanding should have gentle exerdse, but 
 not hard labour, to comprehend the author's 
 meaning. I dislike a style that is cut down 
 into what the ancients called commas of a 
 Une or half a line. This, like water fallmg 
 drop by drop, disposes one to sleep* But I 
 think you rather go into the contrary ex- 
 treme. Your friend, Lord Bacon, says, 
 ** A ftuent and lujeuriani speech becomes 
 jfouth weti, Imt not age/* 1 believe be had 
 
 LETTERS TO DR JAMES GREGORY. 
 
 o7 
 
 in his view a rhetorical speech, and not the 
 iene et temperatutn dioendi genuxj which, 
 in Cicero's judgment, best suits philosopliy. 
 
 ON A KOVSL USE OP THE WORO MOtlVB — 
 CAUSALITY OF MOTIVES, &C. 
 
 1793. 
 
 Dear Sir — I received Mr Crombie*s 
 Essay* on Friday the lltli, at night, and 
 have read it twice, though interrupted by 
 the removal of my family to the college. 
 If this be Mr Crombie's first essay in con- 
 troversy, I think he shews no mean talent, 
 and may in time become an able champion. 
 
 He has done me particular honour in 
 directing so great a part of the book against 
 me ; yet, though I read the work without 
 prejudice, my opinion is not changed m any 
 point of the controversy. 
 
 He has strengthenedhis defensive armour 
 by extending the meaning of the word wio- 
 tive, I understood a motive, when applied 
 to a human being, to be that for tbe sake of 
 which*t- lie acts, and, therefore, that what he 
 never was conscious of, can no more be a 
 motive to determine his will, than it can be 
 an argument to convince his judgment. 
 
 Now, I learn that any circumstance 
 arising from habit, or some mechanical in- 
 stinctive cause, may be a motive, though it 
 never entered into the thought of the agent. 
 
 From this reinforcement of motives, of 
 which we are unconscious, every volition 
 may be supplied with a motive, and even a 
 predominant one, when it is wanted. 
 
 Yet this addition to his defensive force 
 takes just as much from his offensive. 
 
 The chief argument for Necessity used 
 by D. Hume and Lord Kames is, that, from 
 experiance, it appears that men are always 
 determined by the strongest motive. This 
 argument admits of much embellishment by 
 a large and pleasant induction. 
 
 » l)r Crombie, the well-knowr. author of the 
 *' OymnasiUTTi," and other able works, pubU^hed an 
 " Etiayoii Ph.lofophical Necessity," London, 1791, 
 in which Dr Gregory's reasoning is atisailed with 
 much acrimony and considerable acutcness. It is 
 to this treati.^e that Reio's remarks apply. There 
 subsequently appeared, *' Letters .from Or James 
 Gregory of Edinburgh, in Defence of his Ks^^ay on the 
 Diflnerenceot the relation between Motiveand Action, 
 and that of Cause and Effect in Physic^: with Replies 
 by the Rev. Alexander Crombie, LUD. ;'• London, 
 1819. It is much to be regretted, that Dr Gregory 
 did not find leisure to complete liis '* Answer to 
 Mcnn Crombie, Pnestley, and Co.;" of which 512 
 pages bave t>een printed, but are still unpublished. 
 
 f This is Aristotle'b definition {ri'Hnxm. eZ) of end 
 or ^final caut--; and, as a synonyme for end or final 
 ca'ise, the term motive had been long exclusively 
 employed. There are two schemes of Necessity — 
 the Necesoi'ation by efiir:ent— the Neces^itation by 
 final catises The former is brute or blind Fate ; the 
 latter rational Determinism. '1 hough their practical 
 results be the same, ihe« ought to be carefully ilia. 
 1i. guished in theory.— H. 
 
 After these two authors had exhausted 
 their eloquence upon it, Mr Crombie adds 
 his, from page 27 to 39. Now, if motives 
 we are unconscious of be the cause of many 
 actions, it will be impossible to prove from 
 experiance, that they are all caused by mo- 
 tives. For no experiment can be made 
 upon motives we are unconscious of. If, 
 on the contrary, all our actions are found 
 by experiance to proceed from motives 
 known or felt, there is no work left for the 
 unknown, nor any evidence of their exist- 
 ance. I apprehend, therefore, Mr Crombie 
 must either keep by the old meaning of 
 motive, or give up this argument for Neces- 
 sity taken from experiance. 
 
 But he lays the main stress, as Dr Priestley 
 likewise has done, upon another argument. 
 It is, that a volition not determined by mo- 
 tives, is an uncaused effect, and therefore 
 an absurdity, a contradiction, and the greatest 
 of all absurdities. 
 
 I think, indeed, it is in vain to reason upon 
 the subject of Necessity pro or cm, till this 
 point be determined ; for, on the one side, to 
 what purpose is[it] to disprove by argument 
 a proposition that is absurd ? On the other 
 side, demonstration itself cannot prove that 
 to be true which is absurd. 
 
 If this be really an absurdity, Liberty must 
 be given up. And if the appearance of 
 absurdity be owing to false colouring, I think 
 every argument this author has used, when 
 weighed in the balance of reason, will be 
 found light. 
 
 I would, therefore, think it a prudent 
 saving of time and labour, that contro\ ertists 
 on both sides should lay aside every other 
 weapon, till the force of this be fairly tried. 
 Mr Crombie triumphs in it almost in every 
 page ; and I think Dr Priestley urged it as 
 an apology for neglecting your essay, that 
 you pretended to demonstrate an absurdity. 
 It must, indeed, be granted, that even 
 the Deity cannot give a power to man, 
 which involves an absurdity. But if this 
 abstirdity vanish, when seen in a just light, 
 then it will be time to examine the fact, 
 whether such a power is given to man or not. 
 
 Is a volition, undetermined by motives, 
 an uncaused eflcct, and therefore an ab- 
 surdity and a contradiction ? 
 
 I grant that an uncaused efiect is a con- 
 tradiction in terms ; for an effect is some- 
 thing effected, and what is effected implies 
 an efficient, as an action implies an agent. 
 To say an effect must have a cause, is 
 really an identical proposition, which carries 
 no information but of the meaning of a word. 
 To say that an event— th&t is, a thing which 
 began to exist— must have a cause, is not an 
 identical proposition, and might have been 
 as easily said. I know [no] reason why 
 Mr Crombie should stick by this impro- 
 priety, after it was censured in Dr Priestley, 
 
/ 
 
 €01It£SPOND£NCE OF BR R£ID. 
 
 f" 
 
 m Ml asfadifliit' Mther to cover an almiidity 
 wlitw it retll J isi or to malie tliat appear 
 alMivil. whicli is not eo in feiilil.jr. 
 
 I .gfant| tlmiy that an. 'bUmI uncaused Is 
 a MiitaMlwtwiiy and that an event uncaused. 
 
 ■B. ^aonnUij* i ne question tnat femaim 
 'iS' vlwtlierft voEtioui undetermined bj mo- 
 1&W9% ii.aii..0vent 'uncaused. This I deny. 
 The cause of the voUtion is the man that 
 'viled. it This Mr Crombie grants in 
 ■eireral nlaees of .Us Essay— that the man is 
 thC' effioenl 'OMie of all his volitions. Is il 
 
 'lol'Stfiiifliek then* that, almost in every naiEe* 
 should affiim that a volition, undeter* 
 
 naiiMij^i w inotiveti is an effMl 'uncaused ? 
 ff ipi. fBfliiiBt cvuse no cause' ? or are two 
 «MiMt 'iMceseaiy to eveij event?* Motives, 
 he thinks,, are not the effi.cient but the physi- 
 cat etuse of volitions, as gravity is of the 
 'dHaemt of » atone. Then, fair dealing 
 mnld^ have made' bl«w uualify the absordity, 
 and, m,y that it is^ absurd that a voliticii. 
 •ionld oe without a physical cause ; but to 
 have uleaded the absurdity thus f ualified, 
 would nave 'been a manifest' p§Hii0 prindpU* 
 I can see noting in a physleal. name but 
 a constant conjunction with the effect. Mr 
 'Cnmbie calls it a necessary connections 
 liut this uO' nan. .sees in physical cumest 
 
 ail— jl' ^f' ^wMipw' ^9Mt^ miiiit littVA a nhvsitf!ftl 
 cause,, then every event must' have been 
 lepeated in conjunction with its cause from 
 itaffiiily, for it could have no constant con- 
 jniMtion when Hist produced. 
 
 'The most shocking consequences of the 
 
 rm of necessity are avowed h^ this an- 
 without shame.. M'Onil. evil is nothing 
 bnl aS' .il tends to ;pKiduce .natural eviL A 
 nan 'truely enligb:tened, ought to have no 
 remorse for the blackest crimes. I think 
 he might have added that the villain has 
 :MiMMin to glory in. his uriiiiitji m ^he sufiiBrs 
 for iMin witMui' MS imtli ana for tne com- 
 'nai. guod. Inong' the arte of this author, 
 the following are often put in 'practice : — 
 1. To supply the defect of aigument by 
 'abuse.. 2. what' he ihinks 'a consequence 
 nf tin system of Liberty be imputes to his 
 adversaries as their opinion, though they 
 deny il 3. What is urged as a conse* 
 f ueneeof Necessity, he cowiteB'asimputmg 
 '■n opinion to those who hold Neoees'tty, and 
 fUiws 'it answer that they hold no such' 
 Hfinien. 4. What is said to invalidate an 
 ■igument for Necessity, he considers as an 
 
 • Tliisia no removal of the difficulty. Istbetfum 
 
 iHmBilwi to voUtion, and to a certain kind of voli. 
 Hsu, Of Is tM Mir ff tlie former. nec«-ultation it 
 ant «MNMi If til* latter, tlie admitted absurdity 
 
 tmcff'iva. 'IjMICIMMMI' of' lilMnyaOd or Necessity arc 
 i9ontnul.lcll)rr ^ exh Vllkmt liif constquently ex. 
 C'luile ant' 'imtnniiiale tieoryi snd one or ollitr 
 
 'ibe mm* TettliepeiMbillff of neither can te' 
 
 lisd i for each eqiiSIIfiimivea wbac ia inrom. 
 iwlblei it not what Hansiifiilt Bnlof thiaafaln* 
 
 argument against Necessity ; and thinks H 
 Bimcient to shew that it does not answer m 
 purpose for which it never was intended, as 
 if what is a sufficient answer to an argument 
 for Necessity most be a conclusive argument 
 against Necessity. I believe, however, he 
 may claim the merit of adding the word 
 Littertariam to the Eos^Ush language, as 
 Priestley added that of Necessarian. — 
 Yours, 
 
 Tho. Rkid.* 
 
 [TAtf foUowing Leitet to Dr Greffory i§ 
 quoted bff Mr Stewart in hi* ** Diuerta" 
 lion on th§ PwffreM* qf Metaphysical and 
 Moral Smenee,*' The dati ie not ffiven ; 
 and the origimal ie not now extant among 
 the letter§ qf Meid in the hand* qf Dr 
 Chregoty** /'awulg»'^'a.* J 
 
 The merit of what you are pleased to call 
 mf fMloMftphg, lies, I think, chiefly, in hav* 
 ing called in question the common theory 
 of ideas, or images of things in the mind, 
 being the only objects of thought ; a theoiy 
 founded on natural prejudices, and so uni* 
 versally received as to be interwoven with 
 the structure of the hmguage. Yet, were I 
 to give you a detail of what led me to call 
 in question this theory, after I had long held 
 it as self-evident and unquestionable, you 
 would think, as 1 do, that there was much 
 of chance in the matter. The discovery 
 was the birth of time, not of genius ; and 
 Berkeley and Hume did more to bring it to 
 l%ht than the man that hit upon it. I 
 thmk there is hardly anything that can be 
 called mine in the philosophy of the mind, 
 which does not follow with ease from the 
 detection of this prejudice. I must, there- 
 fore, beg of you most earnestly to make no 
 contrast in ray favour to the disparagement 
 of my predecessors in the same pursuits. I 
 can truly say of them, and shall always 
 avow, what you are pleased to say of mo, 
 that, but for the assistance I have received 
 from their writings, I never could have 
 wrote or thought what I have done. 
 
 • Betides the preoedioR papers on the question of 
 Liberty and Necessity, there are extant. Remark* 
 at considerable length by Reid. on three sets of ObJfCm 
 //(7n< made by a distinguiiihcd natural philosopher to 
 Dr Gregory's Essay, in the years 17U6, 1789, and 
 17901 llieae Kpinarks, though of much interest, 
 have been omitted : fur they could not adequately be 
 understood apart from the relative Object iuns ; and 
 these It was deemed improper to publish posthu- 
 mnusly, after thdr author had expressly refused to 
 allow them to be printed during his life.— There are 
 also omitted, as at minor importance, two other 
 papers on the same question ; the one containlngj 
 •• Remarks on the Objections to Dr Gregory's Kssay,'* 
 which were printed m the appendix to that Essay ; 
 theoth(r,<* Remarks" no apamphlei entitled ** lUut. 
 trationa of Liberty and Necessity, in Anawer to Dr 
 Ongory,* published in I7B&— H. 
 
 LETTERS TO THE REV. A. ALISON & PROFESSOR ROBISON. 89 
 
 D.— LETTER TO THE REV. ARCHIBALD ALISON. 
 
 The following letter was addressed, by Dr Reid, to the Rev. Archibald Alison, 
 (LI1.B., Prebendary of Sarum, &c.,) on receiving a copy of his " Essays on the Nature 
 and Principles of Taste*' — a work of great ingenuity and elegance, and the first systematic 
 attempt to explain the emotions of sublimity and beauty on the principles of association. 
 It was originally published in 1790. It is, perhaps, needless to remind the reader that 
 Mr Alison was brother-in-law of Dr Gregory. — H. 
 
 ON THB PHILOSOPHY OP TASTK. 
 
 Dbar Sir,— I received your very oblig- 
 ing letter of Jan. 10, with two copies of your 
 book, about the middle of last week. I ex- 
 pected a meeting of Faculty, to which I might 
 present the book, and return you the thanks 
 of the society along with my own ; but we 
 have had no meeting since 1 received it. 
 In the meantime, I have read it with avidity 
 and with much pleasure ; and cannot longer 
 forbear to return you my cordial thanks for 
 this mark of your regard, and for the hand- 
 :iome compliment you make me in the book. 
 
 I think your principles are just, and that 
 you have sufficiently justified thera by a 
 great variety of illustrations, of which many 
 appear new to me, and important in them- 
 selves, as well as pertinent to the purpose 
 for which they are adduced. 
 
 That your doctrine concerning the sub- 
 lime and beautiful in objects of sense coin- 
 cides, in a great degree, with that of the 
 Platonic school, and with Shaftesbury and 
 Akenside among the moderns, I think may 
 justly be said. They believed intellec- 
 tual beauties to be the highest order, com- 
 pared with which the terrestrial hardly de- 
 serve the name. They taught beauty and 
 good to be one and the same thing. But 
 both Plato and those two, his admirers, 
 handle the subject of beauty rather with 
 the enthusiasm of poets or lovers, than with 
 the cool temper of philosophers. And it is 
 difficult to determine what allowance is to 
 be made, in what they have said, for the 
 hyperbolical language of enthusiasm. 
 
 The other two you mention, Dr Hutche- 
 
 son and Mr Spence, though both admirers 
 of Plato, do not appear to me either to have 
 perceived this doctrine in him, or to have 
 discovered it themselves. The first places 
 beauty in uniformity and variety, which, 
 when they are perceived, immediately affect 
 that internal sense which he calls the sense 
 of beauty. The other makes colour, form, 
 expression, and grace to be the four ingre- 
 dients of beauty in the female part of our 
 species, without being aware that the beauty 
 of colour, form, and grace is nothing but 
 expression, as well as what he calls by that 
 name. 
 
 On these grounds, I am proud to think 
 that I first, in clear and explicit terms, and 
 in the cool blood of a philosopher, main- 
 tained that all the beauty and sublimity of 
 objects of sense is derived from the expres- 
 sion they exhibit of things intellectual, which 
 alone have original beauty. But in this I 
 may deceive myself, and cannot claim to be 
 held an impartial judge. 
 
 Though I don't expect to live to see the 
 second part of your work, I have no hesi- 
 tation in advising you to prosecute it ; being 
 persuaded that criticism is reducible to prin- 
 ciples of philosophy, which may be more 
 fully unfolded than they have been, and 
 which will always be found friendly to the 
 best interests of mankind, as well as to 
 manly and rational entertainment. 
 
 Mrs Reid desires to present her best re- 
 spects to Mrs Alison, to which I beg you 
 to add mine, and to believe me to be your 
 much obliged and faithful servant, 
 
 Tho. Rsin. 
 
 Glasgow College^ 
 3d Feb, 1790. 
 
 E.— LETTER TO PROFESSOR ROBISON. 
 
 There has been given above, (p. 63,) a letter by Dr Reid, in 1784, recording a 
 remarkable conversation between Sir Isaac Newton and Professor James Gregory, 
 relative to Sur Isaac's descent from the family of Newton of Newton, in the county 
 of East Lothian. Some years thereafter, Mr Barron, a relation of Sir Isaac, seems 
 to have instituted inquiries in regard to the Scottish genealogy of the philosopher; in con- 
 
m 
 
 COERSSPONDENCE OF DE REID. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR REID. 
 
 91 
 
 Mqiwnise of wHeh, tlie late ProfeiBor Robiaon of ikiiuburgh, aware, probably, of tho 
 letter to Dr Gregory, was induced to apply to Dr Eeid for a more particular account 
 of til© convurtation in question. The following ie Ecid's answer, as published in Sir 
 Bavid Brewster^ " Life of Sir Isaac Newton.'*— H. 
 
 Due Sm,^I am veiy gkd to learn, by 
 
 yours of April 4, that a Ifi .Bartfin, a near 
 relation of Sir' Isaac Kanrton* to wwua to 
 iffltiuire into tlie diseemt of lia* great man, 
 :it liiA ittiiy cannot trace' it iiilMr, with 
 any ©ertaiiity, thanhis grandfather. I there- 
 fore^ as yon demre, send you a ;precise ac- 
 MUit wf ai I know I and am gliid to have 
 tUa ofipfirtunity, before I die, of putting 
 this information in hands that wUl make the 
 proper use of it, if il shall be found of any 
 
 Sevmai ymm before I left Aberdeen, 
 (which I didin 1764,) Mr Douglas of Fechel, 
 the fkther of Sylvester Dmigliis, now a bar- 
 :ristsr at^ Londoiiy told, wm^ 't&itt having been 
 lately at Bdiabmgh, he was. often in com- 
 pany of Mr Hepburn of Keith, a gentleman 
 with whom I had some acquaintance, by his 
 lodging a night al my house at New Machar, 
 when ne was in the rebel army in 1745. 
 Tlmt Mr Hepbnm told him, that he liad 
 beard Mr James Gregory, Professor of 
 Mathematics, Edinburgh, say, that, being 
 one dM in familiar conversation with Sir 
 'Isaac NeWton at I^ondon, Sir Isaac said— 
 ^ Gregory, I believe yon don't know that 
 I am a Scotchman."—" Pray, how is that ?'* 
 said Or«pry. Sir Isaac said, he was in- 
 formed that his grandfather (or great-grand- 
 filher) wis a gentleman of East' (or West) 
 Lothian; that he went to London with 
 Kins James I. at his acceemon to the crown 
 of iSiglandi and that he attended the court, 
 In eipiitation, as many others did, until 
 he spent his fortune, by which means his 
 110% was reduced to low circumstances. 
 At the time this. was. told me, Mr Gregory 
 was dead, otherwise I should have had liis 
 mm testimony $ for he was my mother^is 
 brother. I likewise thought at that time, 
 that it had been certainly known that Sir 
 Isaae had been descended from an old 
 English family, as I think is said in his 
 e%« before the Academy of Sciences at 
 Fteis; and therefore I never mentioned 
 what I :had. heard for many^ years, believing 
 'that there must 'he some m:iBtake in it. 
 
 Some yeare after I came to Glasgow, 
 I mentioned, (I believe for the first time,) 
 what I had heard to have been said by Mr 
 Hepburn, to Mr Cross, kte sheriff of this 
 county, whom yon will remember. Mr 
 Cross was< moved by this account, and im- 
 mediately said—" I know Mr Hepburn very 
 well, and I know he was intimate with Mr 
 Gregory. I shall write him this same night, 
 to know whether lie heard Mr Gregory say, 
 se or not" After some reflection, Imi added 
 
 — " I know that Mr Keith, the ambassador, 
 was also an intimate acquaintance of Mr 
 Gregory, and. as he is at present in Edin- 
 burgh, I shall likewise write to him this 
 night." 
 
 The next time I waited on Mr Cross, 
 he told me that he had wrote both to Mr 
 Hepburn and Mr Keith, and had an 
 answer from both ; and that both of thenr 
 testified that they had several times heard 
 Mr James Gregory say, that Sir Isaac New- 
 ton told him what is above expressed, but 
 that neither they nor Mr Gregory, as fair 
 as they knew, ever made any farther inquiry 
 into the matter. This appeared very strange 
 both to Mr Cross and me ; and he said be 
 would reproach them for their indifterence, 
 and would make inquiry as soon as he was 
 abl& 
 
 He lived bnt a short time after this ; and, 
 in the last conversation I bad with him 
 upon the subject, he said, that all he had 
 yet learned was, that there was a Sir John 
 Newton of Newton in one of the counties of 
 Lothian, (but I have forgot which,) some 
 of whose children were yet alive ; that they 
 reported tliat their father, Sir John, had a 
 letter from Sir Isaac Newton, desiring to 
 know the state of his family ; what children 
 he had, particularly what sons ; and in what 
 way they were- The old knight never re- 
 turned an answer to this letter, thinking, 
 probably, that Sir Isaac was some upstart, 
 who wanted to claim a relation to his wor- 
 shipful houBC. This omission the children 
 regretted, conceiving that Sir Isaac might 
 have had a view of doing something for their 
 l»enefit. 
 
 Alter this, I mentioned occasionally m 
 conversation what I knew, hoping that these 
 facte might lead to some more certein dis- 
 covery } but I found more coldness about 
 the matter than I thought it deserved. I 
 wrote an account of it to Dr Gregory, your 
 colleague, thai he might impart it to any 
 member of the Antiquarian Society who he 
 judged might have had the cm^osity to trace 
 the matter farther. 
 
 In the year 1787, my colleague, Mr 
 Patrick Wilson, Professor of Astronomy, 
 having been in London, told me, on his 
 return, that he had met accidentelly with a 
 James Hutton, Esq. of Pimlico, Westmin- 
 ster, a near rdation of Sir Isaac Newton, 
 to whom he mentioned what he had heard 
 from me with respect to Sir Isaac's descent, 
 and that I wished much to know something 
 decisive on the subject. Mr Hutton said, 
 if I pleHsed to write to him, he would give 
 
 me all the information he could give. I 
 wrote him, accordingly, and had a very 
 poUtP answer, dated at Bath, 26th Decem- 
 ber 1787, which is now before me. He 
 says, " I shall be glad, when I return to 
 London, if I can find, in some old notes of 
 ray mother, any thing that may fix the cer- 
 tainty of Sir Isaac's descent. If he spoke 
 so to Mr James Gregory, it is most cer- 
 tain he spoke truth. But Sir Isaac's 
 grandfather, not his great-grandfather, 
 must be the person who came from Scot- 
 land with King James I. If I find any 
 thing to the purpose, I wUl take care it 
 shall reach you." 
 
 This is sdl I know of the matter ; and 
 for the facte above mentioned, I pledge 
 my veracity. I am much obliged to you, 
 
 dear Sii for the kind expressions of your 
 affection and esteem, which, I assure you, 
 are mutual on my part ; and I sincerely 
 sympathise with you on your afflicting 
 state of health, which makes you consider 
 yourself as out of the world, and despair 
 of seeing me any more. 
 
 I have been long out of the world by 
 deafness and extreme old age. 1 hope, 
 however, if we should not meet again in 
 this world, that we shall meet and renew 
 our acquaintance in another. In the 
 meantime, I am, with great esteem, dear 
 Sir, yours affectionately, 
 
 Tho. Re in 
 
 OUugow College^ 
 12th April 1792. 
 
 F.— LETTER TO DAVID HUME. 
 
 The following is in answer to the letter of Hume, given by Mr Stewart in his Ac- 
 count of Reid, (supra, p. 7, sq.) It is recently published, from the Hume papers, 
 by Mr Burton, in his very able life of the philosopher ; and, though out of chrono- 
 logical order, (by the reprinting of a leaf,) it is here inserted. — ^H, 
 
 IN REFEBENOE TO HIS OWN 1NQD1BT, 
 PRIOR TO ITS PUBLICATION. 
 
 King's CollegCt £ Aberdeen,! 
 I8th March 1763. 
 
 SiRy — On Monday last, Mr John Far- 
 quhar brought me your letter of February 
 26th, enclosed in one from Dr Blair. I 
 thought myself very happy in having 
 the means of obtaining at second hand, 
 through the friendship of Dr Blair, your 
 opinion of my performance : and you have 
 been pleased to communicate it directly 
 in so polite and friendly a manner, as 
 merits great acknowledgmente on my 
 part. Your keeping a watchful eye over 
 my style, with a view to be of use to 
 me, is an instance of candour and gene- 
 romty to an antagonist, which would affect 
 me very sensibly, although I had no per- 
 sonal concern in it, and I shall always be 
 proud to show so amiable an example. 
 Your judgment of the style, indeed, gives 
 me great consolation, as I was very diffi- 
 dent of myself in regard to English, and 
 have been indebted to Drs Campbell and 
 Gerard for m4ny corrections of that 
 kind. 
 
 In attempting to throw some new Ught 
 
 * Kant makes a similar acknowledgment. "By 
 Hume," be says, " I was first startled out of my 
 dogmatic slumber." Thus Hume (as elsewhere 
 stated) Is authur, in a sort, of all our subsequent 
 philosophT. For out of Reid and Rant, mediately 
 or immediately, all our subsequent philosophy lis 
 
 upon those abstruse subjects, I wish to 
 preserve the due mean betwixt confidence 
 and despair. But whether I have any 
 success in this attempt or not, I shall 
 always avow myself your disciple in me- 
 taphysics. I have learned more from 
 your writings in this kind, than from all 
 others put together. Your system appears 
 to me not only coherent in all its parts, 
 but likewise justly deduced from princi- 
 pies commonly received among philoso- 
 phers ; principles which I never thought 
 of calling in question, until the conclu- 
 sions you draw from them in the Treatise 
 of Human Nature made me suspect them. 
 If these principles are solid, your system 
 must stand ; and whether they are or not, 
 can better be judged after you have 
 brought to light the whole system that 
 grows out of them, than when the greater 
 part of it was wrapped up in clouds and 
 darkness. I agree with you, therefore, 
 that if this system shall ever be de- 
 molished, you have a just claim to a great 
 share of the praise, both because you have 
 made it a distinct and determined mark 
 to be aimed at, and have furnished pro- 
 per artillery for the purpose.* 
 
 evolved; and the doctrines of Kant and Reid are 
 both avowedly recoils from the annihilating scep- 
 ticism of Hume— both attempts to find for philo- 
 sophy deeper foundations than those which he 
 had so thoroughly subverted.— IL 
 
cflflp 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF DR RFID. 
 
 When you hare seen the whole of my 
 performance, I shall take it as a very 
 great favour to have your opinion upon 
 it, from which I make no doubt of re- 
 ceiving light, whether I receive correc- 
 tion or no. Your friendly adversaries 
 Drs Campbell and Gerard, as well as Dr 
 Gregory, return their compliments to you 
 respectfully. A little philosophical so- 
 «ety here, of which all the three are 
 Bflmbers, is much indebted to you for its 
 irtainmenL Your company would. 
 
 although we are all good Christians, be 
 more acceptable than that of St Athana- 
 sius ; and since we cannot have you upon 
 the bench, you are brought oftener than 
 any other man to the bar, accused and 
 defended with great zeal, but without 
 bitterness. If you write no more in 
 morals, politics, or metaphysics, I am 
 afraid we shall be at a loss for subjects. 
 I am, respectfully. Sir, your most obUged^ 
 humble servant, 
 
 Thomas Rsin. 
 
 The following should have been inserted in the correspondence with Kames. 
 Karnes's objection to Dr Adam Smith's theory of Sympathy as the sole foundation of 
 our moral judgments, which appeared in the third edition of the " Essays on 
 Morality," were, previously to publication, conmiunicated to Dr Reid, who thus 
 expresses his opinion on the subject :— 
 
 I have always thought Dr S- 
 
 I »8 system of sympathy wrong. It is indeed only 
 
 . refinement of the selfish system ; and I think your arguments against it are solid. 
 But you have smitten with a friendly hand, which does not break the head ; and 
 your eompUment to the author I highly approve of." — From Letter of 30tA October 
 177a 
 
 In this judgment of Smith, Reid and Kant are at one. The latter condemns the 
 Ethic of Sympathy as a Eudaemonism, or rather Hedonism. — H. 
 
 In Button's Mathematical Dictionary, 1796, in the article, David Gregory, 
 there are given, " Some farther particulacrlif the families of Gregory and Ander- 
 son, communicated by Dr Thomas Reid,'* &c., probably written in the year of 
 publication, or the preceding. As these notices contain nothing of any moment which 
 does not appear in the foregoing correspondence, it has been deemed unnecessary 
 to reprint them H. 
 
 AN 
 
 INQUIRY 
 
 INTO 
 
 THE HUMAN MIND, 
 
 ON THE PRINCIPLES OF 
 
 COMMON SENSE. 
 
 By T H O M A S REID, D. D., 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 ''llie inspiration of the Almighty glveth then undentanding."— Jon. 
 
• o . vr.».^ii Jn I7fi4 when Dr Reid waa Professor of Philo- 
 
 mf^r.^^^r.^:aTlim and 1785. The text of the present impression is 
 author's lifetime-m 176^, U^y, *"" ''r' „ ^^ of 1785, which professes to be 
 taken from the Ust authentic ^''''''-^\^^^' '^ Zy larLtions of importance 
 « corrected;" collated, howeyer, with the first, and any variai 
 
 noticed. — H. 
 
 AN 
 
 INQUIRY INTO THE HUMAN MIND, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Section F, 
 
 THE IMPORTANCE OF THE SUBJECT, AND THE 
 MEANS OF PROSECUTING IT. 
 
 The fabric of the human mind is curious 
 and wonderful, as well as that of the human 
 body. The faculties of the one are with no 
 less wisdom adapted to their several ends 
 than the organs of the other. Nay, it is 
 reasonable to think, that, as the mind is a 
 nobler work and of a higher order than the 
 body, even more of the wisdom and skill o. 
 the divme Architect hath been employed m 
 its structure. It is,', therefore, a subject 
 highly worthy of inquiry on its own account, 
 but still more worthy on account of the 
 extensive influence which the knowledge of 
 it hath over every other branch of science. 
 In the arts and sciences which have least 
 connection with the mind, its faculties are 
 the engines which we must employ; and 
 the better we understand theu- nature and 
 use, their defects and disorders, the more 
 skilfully we shaU apply them, and with the 
 ereater success. But in the noblest arts, 
 the mind is also the subject* upon which 
 we operate. The painter, the poet, the actor, 
 the orator, the moralist, and the statesman, 
 attempt to operate upon the mmd m dilier- 
 ent ways, and for different ends ; and they 
 succeed according as they touch properly 
 the strings of the human frame. Nor can 
 
 • m phllowphical language, it were to be wUhwJ 
 that th? word subject should be reserved for the sub- 
 igetof inheti n— the materia tn qua ; and the term 
 %^e^SL% applied to the '"^^^ -f, K'Te 
 —thp materia circa quam. If this be not aone, ine 
 «indSnSion of Wc/««''^ and ohjecttve, in phi- 
 Khy.U confounded/ But if the employment of 
 Subject for Object is to be deprecated the employ- 
 ment of Object for purpose or «?l*l„""'^lJlVe,! 
 French and English languages,) i« to be absolutely 
 Smned. a. I recent "d imtional conft^on ot 
 Mtiont which should be carefully diitinguirtwL-H. 
 
 their several arts ever stand on a solid found- 
 ation, or rise to the dignity of science, until 
 they are built on the principles of the human 
 constitution. 
 
 Wise men now agree, or ought to agree, 
 in this, that there is but one way to the 
 knowledge of nature's works— the way of 
 observation and experiment. By our con- 
 stitution, we have a strong propensity to 
 trace particular facts and observations to 
 general rules, and to apply such general 
 rules to account for other effects, or to direct 
 us in the production of them. This proce- 
 dure of the understandmg is familiar to 
 every human creature in the common affairs 
 of life, and it is the only one by which any 
 real discovery in philosophy can be made. 
 
 The man who first discovered that cold 
 freezes water, and that heat turns it into 
 vapour, proceeded on the same general prin- 
 ciples, and in the same method by which 
 Newton discovered the law of gravitation 
 and the properties of light. His regulai 
 vhilosophandi are maxims of common sense, 
 and are practised every day in comnaon 
 life ; and he who philosophizes by other 
 rules, either concerning the material sys- 
 tem or concerning the mind, mistakes hia 
 
 aim. . . ^- 
 
 Conjectures and theories* are the crea- 
 tures of men, and will always be found very 
 unlike the creatures of God. If we would 
 know the works of God, we must consult 
 themselves with attention and huimlity, 
 without daring to add anything of ours 
 to what they declare. A just interpretation 
 of nature is the only sound and orthodox 
 philosophy : whatever we add of our own, 
 is apocryphal, and of no authority. 
 
 AU our curious theories of the formation 
 of the earth, of the generation of animals, 
 of the origin of natural and moral evU, so 
 far as they go beyond a just induction from 
 
 • Reid uses the terms. Theory, Bs/P^^^f"'*;^ 
 ConfcSSr^ as convertible, andalwaysinanunfavour. 
 
 £le aS^tion. Herein there is a double inaccu. 
 
 racy. But of thU a«ain.— H. 
 
98 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 9§ 
 
 I 
 
 Hfili, m9 vanity tid foil j, do ]«ie tlmi the 
 Wmmm of Des Chrtes,* or the Archeeus 
 of PamsilaRii. Perhaps the philosophy of 
 tho mimi: .liatli been no lefiB^ adultemtea by 
 tliioffie%, 'Hhh. thai of the mtetial system. 
 Th« 'theory M Ueas is mSmA very ancient, 
 and hath been very universally received ; 
 hut, as neither of these titles ean give it 
 Mtlieiitieity,'they 'Ought mot toseteen it irom 
 .aftio 'twi caaiid O'xamiiiation ; especially hi 
 tliis ipe, when it hath produced a system of 
 icepticism that seems to triumph over all 
 m% wd oven over the dictates of oom- 
 
 Al. 'thai wo hnow of the body, is owing 
 to anatomical dissection and observation, 
 and it must be by an anatomy of the mind 
 that we can. discover its ,powen and prin- 
 dples. 
 
 Smiimt^ II, 
 
 TBI JMPIOitlfBltTS TO OU'R KNOWLBDOB Of 
 THS MIMD. 
 
 But it must be aclcnowledged, that this 
 Mnd of anatomy is much more difficult than 
 the other; and, therefore, it needs not 
 seem strange that mankind have made 
 lets progress in it. To attend accurately 
 lO' tho operatioas of our minds,, and make 
 liain an ohjeet of thought, is no easy mat- 
 ter even to the contemplative, and to the 
 Imlk of mankind is next to impossible. 
 
 An anatomist who hath happy opportu- 
 ■ities, may have access to examine with 
 his own eyes, and with equal accuracy, 
 liodies of all different ases, sexes, and 
 •auditions $ so that what is defective, ob- 
 •enMi or preternatural in one, may be 
 diaeemed clearly and in its most perfect 
 state in another. But the anatomist of the 
 mind eannot have the same advantage. It 
 is his own mind only that he can examine 
 with any degree of accuracy and distinct- 
 ness. This is the only subject he can look 
 into. He may, from outward signs, collect 
 the opontions of other minds ; but these 
 •%nS' .an iiff the :niott 'part anibigiious, and 
 :iiiaal' he 'ktanntad by what hm penseives 
 within himself. 
 
 So that, if a philosopher could delineate 
 to 11% distlnistly and methodically, all the 
 opratlons^ 'of 'the tUnMng 'principle within 
 him, which no man •was ever able to do, 
 this would he only the anatomy of one por- 
 'tioiilar aubjeet i whioh woaM, be both defi- 
 linC :and 'efn»Miii^ if applied to human 
 natuie in gennal. For a little reieotion 
 
 • No one denned mora liglitly of hit lirpotlieMt 
 tiaa DisCMeililiiiiir He called them '* phitowMih. 
 Mil 'raiiiiiiMi.t* and 'tlitii uitklpated Fmther Daniel, 
 who again siilidi»ted Voltaire, la tlie Mflnf— 7A« 
 /'A«fofip|f tifBM CarU$ i$ tk§ Mmmmm«tf Nature. 
 
 piay satisfy us, that the difference of minds 
 is greater than that of any other beings 
 which we consider as of the same species. 
 
 Of the various powers and faculties we 
 possess, there are some which nature seems 
 both to have planted and reared, so as to 
 have left nothing to human industry. Such 
 are the powers which we have in common 
 with the brutes, and which are necessary 
 to the preservation of the individual, or the 
 continuance of the kind. There are other 
 powers, of which nature hath only planted 
 the seeds in our rainds, but hath left the 
 rearing of them to human culture. It is by 
 the proper cultiure of these that we are cap- 
 able of all those improvements in intellec- 
 tuals, in taste, and in morals, which exalt 
 and dicnify human nature ; while, on the 
 other hand, the neglect or perversion of 
 them makes its degeneracy and corruption. 
 The two-legged animal that eats of na- 
 ture's dainties, what his taste or appetite 
 craves, and satisfies his thirst at the crystal 
 fountain, who propagates his kind as occa- 
 sion and lust prompt, repels injuries, and 
 takes alternate labour and repose, is, like a 
 tree in the forest, purely of nature*s growth. 
 But this same savage hath within him the 
 seeds of the logician, the man of taste and 
 breeding, the orator, the statesman, the man 
 of virtue, and the saint ; which seeds, though 
 planted in his mind by nature, yet, through 
 want of culture and exercise, must lie for 
 ever buried, and be hardly perceivable by 
 himself or by others. 
 
 The lowest degree of social life will bring 
 to light some of those principles which lay 
 hid in the savage state ; and, according to 
 his traimng, and company, and manner of 
 life, some of them, either by their native 
 vigour, or by the force of culture, will thrive 
 and grow up to great perfection, others will 
 be strangely perverted from their natural 
 form, and others checked, or perhaps quite 
 eradicated. 
 
 This makes human nature so various and 
 multiform in the individuals that partake of 
 it, that, in point of morals and intellectual 
 endowments, it fills up all that gap which 
 we conceive to be between brutes and devils 
 below, and the celestial orders above ; and 
 such a prodigious diversity of minds must 
 make it extremely difficult to discover the 
 common principles of the species. 
 
 The language of philosophers, with re- 
 gard to the original faculties of the mind, 
 m 80 adapted to the prevailing system, that 
 it cannot fit any other ; like a coat that fits 
 the man for whom it was made, and shews 
 him to advantage,* which yet will sit very 
 awkward upon one of a different make, 
 although perhaps as handsome and as well 
 proportioned. It is hardly possible to make 
 any innovation in our philosophy concern- 
 ing the mind and its operations, without 
 
 using new words and phrases, or giving a 
 different meaning to those that are received 
 —a liberty which, even when necessary, 
 creates prejudice and misconstruction, and 
 which must wait the sanction of tune to 
 authorize it ; for innovations in language, 
 like those in religion and government, are 
 always suspected and disliked by the many, 
 till use hath nmde them familiar, and pre- 
 scription hath given them a title. 
 
 If the original perceptions and notions of 
 the mind were to make their appearance 
 single and unmixed, as we first received 
 them from the hand of nature, one accus- 
 tomed to reflection would have less difficulty 
 in tracing them ; but before we are capa- 
 ble of reflection, they are so mixed, com- 
 pounded, and decompounded, by habits, 
 associations, and abstractions, that it is 
 hard to know what they were originally. 
 The mind may, in thb respect, be compared 
 to an apothecary or a chemist, whose mate- 
 rials indeed are furnished by nature ; but, 
 for the purposes of his art, he mixes, com- 
 pounds, dissolves, evaporates, and sublimes 
 them, till they put on a quite different 
 appearance ; so that it is very difficult to 
 know what they were at first, and much 
 more to bring them back to their original 
 and natural form. And this work of the 
 mind is not carried on by deliberate acts of 
 mature reason, which we might recollect, 
 but by means of instincts, habits, associa- 
 tions, and other principles, which operate 
 before we come to the use of reason ; so 
 that it is extremely difficult for the mind 
 to return upon its own footsteps, and trace 
 back those operations which have employed 
 it shice it first began to think and to act. 
 
 Could we obtam a distinct and full his- 
 tory of all that hath past in the mind of a 
 child, from the beginning of life and sensa- 
 tion, till it grows up to the use of reason — 
 how its infant faculties began to work, and 
 how they brought forth and ripened all the 
 various notions, opinions, and sentiments 
 which we find in ourselves when we come 
 to be capable of reflection— this would be 
 a treasure of natural history, which would 
 probably give more light into the human 
 faculties, than all the systems of philoso- 
 phers about them since the beginning of 
 the world. But it is in vain to wish for 
 what nature has not put within the reach 
 of our power. Reflection, the only instru- 
 ment by which we can discern the powers 
 of the mind, comes too late to observe the 
 progress of nature, in raismg them from 
 their infancy to perfection. 
 
 It must therefore require great caution, 
 and great application of mind, for a man 
 that is grown up in all the prejudices of 
 educationf fashion, and philosophy, to 
 unravel his notions and opinions, till he 
 find oat the simple and original principles 
 
 of his constitution, of which no account 
 can be given but the will of our Maker, 
 This may be truly called an analysis of the 
 human faculties ; and, till this is performed, 
 it is in vain we expect any just ^^yslem of 
 the mind — that is, an enumeration of the 
 original powers and laws of our constitution, 
 and an explication from them of the various 
 phsenomena of human nature. 
 
 Success in an inquiry of this kind, it is 
 not in human power to command ; but, per- 
 haps, it is possible, by caution and humility, 
 to avoid error and delusion. The labyrinth 
 may be too intricate, and the thread too 
 fine, to be traced through all its windings ; 
 but, if we stop where we can trace it no 
 farther, and secure the ground we have 
 gained, there is no harm done ; a quicker 
 eye may in time trace it farther. 
 
 It is genius, and not the want of it, that 
 adulterates philosophy, and fills it with 
 error and false theory. A creative imagi- 
 nation disdains the mean offices of digging 
 for a foundation, of removing rubbish, and 
 carrying materials ; leaving these servile 
 employments to the drudges in science, it 
 plans a design, and raises a fabric. . Inven- 
 tion supplies materials where they are 
 wanting, and fancy adds colouring and 
 every befitting ornament. The work 
 pleases the eye, and wants nothing but 
 solidity and a good foundation. It seems 
 even to vie with the works of nature, till 
 some succeeding architect blows it into 
 rubbish, and builds as goodly a fabric of 
 his own in its place. Happily for the pre- 
 sent age, *the castle-builders employ them- 
 selves more in romance than in philosophy. 
 That is undoubtedly their province, and 
 in those regions the offspring of fancy is 
 legitimate, but in philosophy it is all spu- 
 rious.* 
 
 Section III, 
 
 THE PRXSKNT STATS OF THIS PART Of PBILO- 
 SOPUY— OP DBS CARTES, MALBBRANCHl, 
 AND LOCKE. 
 
 That our philosophy concemuig the mind 
 and its faculties is but in a very low state, 
 may be reasonably conjectured even by 
 those who never have narrowly examined 
 it. Are there any principles, with regard 
 to the mind, settled with that perspicuity 
 and evidence which attends the principlea 
 of mechanics, astronomy, and optics ? 
 These are really sciences built upon Laws of 
 nature which universally obtain. What is 
 
 • The Mme doctrine of the incompatibility of or«a> 
 tive imagination and philosophical talent» ia held 1^ 
 Hume and Kant. There ii required, howerer, tor 
 the metaphysician, not leu imagination than for the 
 poet, though of a different kind ; it may, in fact, be 
 
 doubted whether Homer or Artatotle poar *'''- 
 
 fiicnlty in greater vigour.— H. 
 
I 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 macottited In them m m longer matter of 
 dis|»ute : ftitnre ages may add to it t but, 
 
 tiU tlie ooorae of nature be changed, what k 
 already established can never be overtomed. 
 lliit when we turn our attention inward, and 
 eoHider the phaenomena of human thoughts, 
 opiniiMB, and perceptions, and endeavour to 
 trace than to the general laws and the first 
 fiiiieiples of our oonstttution, we are nnme- 
 dlately involved In darkness and perplexity ; 
 and, if common sense, or the principles of 
 education, happen not to be stubborn, it is 
 nids but we end in absolute scepticism. 
 
 Des Cartes, finding nothing established in 
 this part of philosophy, in onier to lay the 
 foundation of it deep, resolved not to believe 
 Ms own existence till he should be able to 
 give a good reason for it He was, per- 
 haps, the first that took up such a resolu- 
 tion ; but, if he could indeed have effected 
 his purpose, and really become diffident of 
 liis existence, his case would have been 
 ieplorable, and without any remedy from 
 leason or phUoeophy. A man that dis- 
 biilieves his own existence, Is surely as unfit 
 to be reasoned with as a man that believes 
 he is made of glass. There may be dis- 
 orders in the human frame that may pro- 
 diioe such extravagancies, but they will never 
 be cured by reasoning. Des Cartes, in- 
 ittd, would make us believe that he got out 
 off fhis delirium by this logical argument, 
 difilo, 9rgo turn ; but it is evident he was 
 In his senses all the time, and never seri- 
 ously doubted of his existence ; for he takes 
 it for granted in thk argument, and proves 
 nothing at all. I am thinking, says he— 
 therefore, I am. And Is it not as good rea- 
 loning to say, I am sleeping— therefore, I 
 am ? or, I am doing nothing— therefore, I 
 am ? If a body moves, it must exist, no 
 doubt ; but, if it is at rest, it must exbt 
 likewise.* 
 
 Perhaps Des Cartes meant not to assume 
 his own existence in this enthynieme, but 
 Hm •listenee of thought ; and to infer from 
 lliat the existence of a mind, or subject of 
 thought. But why did he not prove the 
 tiistence of his thought ? ConaoMmmmi, 
 it may be smd, vouohea thai But who 
 Is voucher for consciousness? Can any 
 man prove that his consciousness may not 
 ieaeive him ? No man can ; nor oan we 
 give a bettor reason for trusting to it, than 
 that every nm, while his mind Is aoimd, is 
 determined, by the constitution of his na- 
 ture, to give Implieit belief to it, and to 
 lau|^ al Off pty the man who doubts its 
 %ammimj. Mm m not every man, in his 
 wita, "H'Sueh determined to take his exiii*' 
 enoe upon trust as his consciousness ? 
 
 ^ • Hi* iMUira off t|W' Cartet Ian Oottbc Mid II* total. 
 mm U lifffe'niliWfitiMiKlc(l--liow, will be tlMwn ta 
 • MM* ufea. ito'fifilliclHMat or the mcoimI** iCway 
 
 m 111* lBidli«ii»rWi«iii 
 
 The other proposition assumed in this 
 •igument. That thought cannot be without 
 a mind or subject, is liable to the same 
 objection : not that it wants evidence, but 
 that its evidence is no clearer, ner more 
 immediate, than that of the proposition to 
 be proved by it And, taking all these pro 
 positions together— I think; I am con- 
 scious ; Everything that thinks, exists ; I 
 exist — would not every sober man form tho 
 same opinion of the man who seriously 
 doubted any one of them ? And if he was 
 his friend, would he not hope for his cure 
 from phywc and good regimen, rather than 
 from metaphysic and logic ? 
 
 But supposing it proved, that my thought 
 and my consciousness must have a subject, 
 and consequently that I exist, how do I 
 know that all that train and succession of 
 thoughts which I remember belong to one 
 subject, and that the I* of this moment is 
 the very individual I of yesterday and of 
 times past ? 
 
 Des Cartes did not think proper to start 
 this doubt ; but Locke has done it ; and, in 
 order to resolve it, gravely determines that 
 personal identity consists in conBcioiwness — 
 that is, if you are conscious that you did 
 such a thing a twelvemonth ago, this con- 
 sciousness makes you to be the very person 
 that did it. Now, consciousness of what ia 
 past can signify nothing else but the re- 
 membrance that I did it ; so that Locke's 
 principle must be, That identity consists in 
 remembrance; and, consequently, a man 
 must lose his personal identity with regard 
 to everything he forgets. 
 
 Nor are these the only instances whereby 
 our philosophy concerning the mind appears 
 to be very fruitful in creating doubts, but 
 very unhappy in resolving them. 
 
 Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, 
 have all employed their genius and skill to 
 prove the existence of a material world : 
 and with very ti«d success Poor untaught 
 mortals believe undoubtedly that there is a 
 sun, moon, and stars ; an earth, which we 
 inhabit; country, friends, and rehitions, 
 whieh we enjoy ; land, houses, and move- 
 ables, which we possess. But philosophers, 
 pitying the credulity of the vulgar, resolve 
 to have no faith but what is founded upon 
 reason.t They apply to philosophy to fur- 
 
 I. , I I II !■ ■ I " 
 
 • In Engliib, we cannot lay tke I, and ike Noi-i 
 m iMifiir «• the Fn nch le Mot, mndje Nom-MoLar 
 ctin the Qcnnans dcwicik. and dot NicMt-ick. 1 he 
 ■sriUgitltj ariiing flrotn the identity of sound between 
 tki ImAtke tfjrr, would of ittdf preclude the ordinary 
 emidoynient ot the former i ke Ego and the Non- 
 MgO' are the beat tenm we can u*e ; and. aa the ex. 
 iwiiiliiniarr Kientlflc. it la pfrhapa no Um that their 
 technical pracition it guardtil by their non-vemactii. 
 arlty.— H. 
 
 f Reaaon la here employed, by Held, not as a 
 
 Efpm tor Common Sense, (mSt* locua prind. 
 B.) Mid as he himself more oonmtly employs 
 hta later works, but as equivalent to Reason. 
 Ing. ( Mtmh dlacunus mentaUs.) See Note A.— H. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 101 
 
 nish them with reasons for the belief uf 
 those thin^ which all mankind have be- 
 lieved, without being able to give any rea- 
 son for it. And surely one would expect, 
 that, in matters of such importance, the 
 proof would not be difficult : but it is the 
 most difficult thing in the world. For these 
 three great men, with the best good will, 
 have not been able, from all the treasures 
 of philosophy, to draw one argument that 
 is fit to convince a man that can reason, of 
 the existence of any one thing without him. 
 Admired Philosophy ! daughter of light ! 
 parent of wisdom and knowledge ! if thou 
 art she, surely thou hast not yet arisen 
 upon the human mind, nor blessed us with 
 more of thy rays than are sufficient to shed 
 a darkness visible upon the human facul- 
 ties, and to disturb that repose and security 
 which happier mortals enjoy, who never 
 approached thine altar, nor felt thine in- 
 fluence ! But if, indeed, thou hast not 
 power to dispel those clouds and phantoms 
 which thou hast discovered or created, with- 
 draw this penurious and malignant ray ; I 
 despise Philosophy, and renounce its guid- 
 ance — let my soiil dwell with Common 
 Bense.* 
 
 Section IV. 
 
 APOLOGY FOR THOSB PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 But, instead of despising the dawn of light, 
 we ought rather to hope for its increase : 
 instead of blaming the philosophers I have 
 mentioned for the defects and blemishes of 
 their system, we ought rather to honour 
 their memories, as the first discoverers of a 
 region in philosophy formerly unknown; 
 and, however lame and imperfect the sys- 
 tem may be, they have opened the way to 
 future discoveries, and are justly entitled to 
 a great share in the merit of them. They 
 have removed an infinite deal of dust and 
 rubbish, collected in the ages of schol 
 
 it to the contempt and ridicule of sensible 
 men, have chiefly been owing to this— that 
 the votaries of this Philosophy, from a na- 
 tural prejudice in her favour, have endea- 
 voured to extend her jurisdiction beyond its 
 just limits, and to call to her bar the dictates 
 of Common Sense. But these decline this 
 jurisdiction ; they disdain the trial of rea- 
 soning, and disown its authority; they 
 neither claim its aid, nor dread its attacks. 
 In this unequal contest betwixt Common 
 Sense and Philosophy, the latter will always 
 come off" both with dishonour and loss ; not 
 can she ever thrive till this rivalship is 
 dropt, these encroachments given up, and 
 a cordial friendship restored : for, in reality, 
 Common Sense holds nothing of Philoso- 
 phy, nor needs her aid. But, on the other 
 hand, Philosophy (if I may be permitted to 
 change the metaphor) has no other root but 
 the principles of Common Sense ; it grows 
 out of them, and draws its nourishment from 
 them. Severed from this root, its honours 
 wither, its sap is dried up, it dies and rots. 
 The philosophers of the last age, whom I 
 have mentioned, did not attend to the pre- 
 serving this union and subordination so 
 carefully as the honour and interest of phi- 
 losophy reqtiired : but those of the present 
 have waged open war with Common Sense, 
 and hope to make a complete conquest of it 
 by the subtilties of Philosophy— an attempt 
 no less audacious and vain than that of the 
 giants to dethrone almighty Jove. 
 
 Section V. 
 
 OP BISHOP BERKELEY- 
 HUMAN nature" — I 
 
 The present age,I api 
 duced two more acute 
 this part of philosophy| 
 Cloyne, and the autl 
 Human NatureJi 
 
im 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 «ifiMi Iwt flames them to their Ml length ; 
 •■4 m the Bishop undid the whole material 
 world, this author, upon the same grounds, 
 undoes the world of spirits, and leaves no- 
 thing in nature but ideas and impressions^ 
 without any subject on which they may be 
 
 I to be a peculiar strain of humour 
 
 in this author, to set out in his introduction 
 by pnuniang, with a grave face, no less than 
 m flonpleto system of the sciences, upon a 
 Inundation entirely new— to wit, that of hu- 
 man nature— when the intention of the 
 whole work is to shew, that there is neither 
 human nature nor aeienee k the world. It 
 may perhi^ ho unreasonable to comphim 
 of this conduct in an author who neither 
 believes his own existence nor that of his 
 leader; and therefore could not mean to 
 disappoint him, or to laugh at his credulity. 
 Yot I cannot imagine that the author of the 
 " Treatise of Human Nature" is so seep- 
 
 as to plead this apology. He believed, 
 __^„ jwt his principles, that he should be 
 read, and that he should retain his personal 
 identity, till he reaped the honour and repu- 
 tation lustly due to his metaphysical acumen. 
 Indeed, he ingeniously acknowledges, that 
 it was only in solitude and retirement that 
 he could yield any assent to his own philo- 
 sophy ; society, like day-li^ht, dispelled the 
 darkness and fogs of scepticism, and made 
 Mm yieM to the dominion of common sense. 
 Nor did I ever hear him charged with doing 
 anything, even in solitude, that argued 
 '"''wi a (Kgree of scepticism as his principles 
 ~ * rjf his friends apprehended 
 /e the charity never to 
 
 the lather of this phi- 
 Eve carried it to greater 
 of his successors : for, 
 itigonus the Carystian, 
 
 * srtiuB, his life eor^ 
 And, therefore. 
 
 In Uke manner, the great Pyrrho hun- 
 self forgot his principles on some occaBions ; 
 and is said once to have been in such a 
 passion with his cook, who probably had not 
 roasted his dinner to his mind, that with 
 the spit in his hand, and the meat upon it, 
 he pursued him even into the market- 
 place. • 
 
 It iaabold philosophy that rejects, without 
 ceremony, principles which irresistibly go- 
 vern the belief and the conduct of all man- 
 kind in the common concerns of life ; and 
 to which the philosopher himself must yield, 
 after he imagines he hath confuted them. 
 Such principles are older, and of more au-l 
 thority, than Philosophy: she rests upon I 
 them as her basis, not they upon her. If » 
 she could overturn them, she must be buried 
 in their ruins ; but all the engines of philo- 
 sophical subtilty are too weak for this pur- 
 pose ; and the attempt is no less ridiculous 
 than if a mechanic should contrive an axi» 
 if* perUroehio to remove the earth out of 
 its place ; or if a mathematician should pre- 
 tend to demonstrate that thmgs equal to 
 the same thing are not equal to one an- 
 other. 
 
 Zenoi* endeavoured to demonstrate the 
 impossibility of motion ;:p Hobbes, that there 
 was no difference between right and wrong ; 
 and this author, that no credit is to be given 
 to our senses, to our memory, or even to 
 demonstration. Such philosophy is* justly 
 ridiculous, even to those who cannot detect 
 ^he fallacy of it. It can have no other tend- 
 ency, than to shew the acuteness of the 
 sophist, at the expense of disgracing reason 
 and human nature, and making mankind 
 Yahoos. 
 
 SeeHon VI, 
 
 OF THE '* TRXATISX Of HVMAN NATURB,** 
 
 There are other prejudices against this 
 em of human nature, which, even upon 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 103 
 
 / 
 
 Columbus, or Sebastian Cabot, might almost 
 as reasonably have undertaken to give us a 
 complete map of America. 
 
 There is a certain character and style in 
 Nature's works, which is never attained 
 in the most perfect imitation of them. 
 This seems to be wanting in the systems of ' 
 human nature I have mentioned, and par- 
 ticularly in the last. One may see a pup- 
 pet make variety of motions and gesticula- 
 tions, which strike much at first view ; but 
 when it is accurately observed, and taken 
 to pieces, our admiration ceases : we com- 
 prehend the whole art of the maker. How 
 unlike is it to that which it represents ! 
 What a poor piece of work compared with 
 the body of a man, whose structure the 
 more we know, the more wonders we dis- 
 cover in it, and the more sensible we are of 
 our ignorance ! Is the mechanism of the 
 mind so easily comprehended, when that of 
 the body is so difficult ? Yet, by this sys- 
 tem, three laws of association, joined to a 
 few original feelings, explain the whole 
 mechanism of sense, imagination, memory, 
 belief, and of all the actions and passions of 
 the mind. Is this the man that Nature 
 made ? I suspect it is not so easy to look 
 behind the scenes in Nature's work. This 
 is a puppet, surely, contrived by too bold an 
 apprentice of Nature, to mimic her work. 
 It shews tolerably by candle light ; but, 
 brought into clear day, and taken to pieces, 
 it will appear to be a man made with mor- 
 tar and a trowel. The more we know of 
 other parts of nature, the more we like and 
 approve them. The little I know of the 
 planetary system ; of the earth which we 
 inhabit ; of minerals, vegetables, and ani- 
 ma's ; of my own body ; and of the laws 
 which obtain in these parts of nature— opens 
 to my mind grand and beautiful scenes, and 
 contributes equally to my happiness and 
 power. But, when I look within, and con- 
 sider the mind itself, which makes me 
 capable of all these prospects and enjoy- 
 ments — if it is, indeed, what the " Treatise 
 of Human Nature" makes it — I find I have 
 been only in an enchanted castle, imposed 
 upon by spectres and apparitions. I blush 
 inwardly to think how I have been deluded ; 
 I am ashamed of my frame, and can hardly 
 forbear expostulating with my destiny. Is 
 this thy pastime, O Nature, to put such 
 tricks upon a silly creature, and then to take 
 off the mask, and shew him how he hath 
 been befooled ? If this is the philosophy of 
 human nature, my soul enter thou not into 
 her secrete ! It is surely the forbidden 
 tree of knowledge ; I no sooner taste of it, 
 than I perceive myself naked, and stript of 
 all things — yea, even of my very self. I 
 aee myself, and the whole frame of nature, 
 ■blink into fleeting ideas, which, like £pi- 
 eumt*s atomsi danoe about in emptiness. 
 
 Section VII. 
 
 THE SYSTEM OP ALL THESE AUTHORS IS THE 
 SAME, AND LEADS TO SCEPTICISM. ' 
 
 But what if these profound disquisitions 
 into the first principles of human nature, 
 do naturally and necessarily plunge a man 
 into this abyss of scepticism ? May we not 
 reasonably judge so from what' hath hap- 
 pened ? Des Cartes no sooner began to 
 dig in this mine, than scepticism was ready 
 to break in upon him. He did what he 
 could to shut it out. Malebranche and 
 Locke, who dug deeper, found the difficulty 
 of keeping out this enemy still to increase ; 
 but they laboured honestly in the design. 
 Then Berkeley, who carried on the work, 
 despairing of securing all, bethought him- 
 self of an expedient :— By giving up the 
 material world, which he thought might 
 be spared without loss, and even with ad- 
 vantage, he hoped, by an impregnable par- 
 tition, to secure the world of spirits. But, 
 ^las! the "Treatise of Human Nature" 
 wantonly sapped the foundation of this 
 partition, and drowned all in one universal 
 deluge. 
 
 These facts, which are undeniable, do, 
 indeed, give reason to apprehend that Des 
 Cartes* system of the human understand- 
 ing, which I shall beg leave to call the ideal 
 system, and which, with some improvements 
 made by later writers, is now generally 
 received, hath some original defect ; that 
 this scepticism is inlaid in it, and reared 
 along with it ; and, therefore, that we must 
 lay it open to the foundation, and examine 
 the materials, before we can expect to raise 
 any solid and useful fabric of knowledge on 
 this subject. 
 
 Section VIII. 
 
 WE OUGHT NOT TO DESPAm OF A BETTER. 
 
 But is this to be despau-ed of, because 
 Des Cartes and his followers have failed ? 
 By no means. This pusillanimity would be 
 injurious to ourselves and injurious to truth. 
 Useful discoveries are sometimes indeed 
 the effect of superior genius, but more fre- 
 quently they are the birth of time and of 
 accidents. A travellerof good judgment may 
 mistake his way, and be unawares led into 
 a wrong track ; and, while the road is fair 
 before him, he may go on without suspicion 
 and be followed "by others; but, when it 
 ends in a coal-pit, it requires no great judg- 
 ment to know that he hath gone wrong, 
 nor perhaps to find out what misled him. 
 
 In the meantime, the unprosperous state 
 of this part of philosophy hath produced an 
 
I'Us 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SMELLING. 
 
 105 
 
 .., _. flli fcoouragmg indeed to 
 ■ttMDpt oflMi aature, but an effect 
 wbidi might be expeeted, and which time 
 only and better nioceea can remedy. Sen- 
 ■ttii' BMi, Willi' 'lOTir will be sceptics in 
 matters of ofmunoii life, are apt to treat 
 .with fiovereiiii. oontemiit everything 'Hiat' 
 liaA been said, or is to be said, upon this 
 It is metMihysic, say they : who 
 it? Let scholastic sophisters en- 
 themselves in their own cobwebs ; I 
 ^JHSmi to take my own existence, and 
 ( mMmm of other things, npon trust ; 
 and to believe that snow is cold, and 
 ImMqf aweet, whatever they may say to 
 tin aontrary. He must either be a fool, 
 OT want to make a fool of me, that would 
 liMon me out of my reason and senses. 
 
 I eonfeea I know not what a sceptic can 
 ■aawor to thii, nor by what |pood argument 
 Iw can pliad even for a hearmg ; for either 
 Ills reasoning is sophistry, and so deserves 
 MMitwift ; Off thflve is no truth in human 
 iMlilieal-and then why should we reason ? 
 11^ tlMMfore, a man feMftimBelf intangled 
 in theee meitaphysical toils, and can find no 
 wiMr way to ewia|ie^ let him bravely cut 
 Ilia knut which he cannot loose, eurse me- 
 tafliyiic, and dissuade every man from 
 meddling with it 5 for, if I have been led 
 Into bogs and quagmires by following an 
 %fliif fatum, what can I do better than to 
 warn others to beware of it ? If phUoso- 
 fhy MBlMiiiets herself, befools her votaries, 
 and deprives them of every object worthy 
 to be purraed or enjoyed, let her be aent 
 baek. to ^m Weciial regions firom which the 
 niail 'Have' lad bar original. _ ^ 
 
 Bui is it absolutely certain that this Mr 
 lady ia of the patty ? Is it not possible 
 ■lie may have been miarepresented? Have 
 iMil men of genius hi former ages often 
 inadie their own dreams to pass for her 
 oradee ? Oii^t she then to be condemned 
 wUiiiiii My further hearini? This would 
 be iiiiMtacmaMet I have' Ibnnd her m aU 
 olher matteta an agreeable companion, a 
 luthfttl comisellor, a Wend to common 
 Mnae, and to the happiness of mankmd. 
 Tliia Jwrtly entitles her to my correspjnd- 
 « -"^ince, till I find mfiillible 
 
 . .and.' flonlMbi 
 
 pmcili of :her infidelity. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 or sMULiiie- 
 
 !■■ 'inama or pnocarawiio— or thb 
 
 immni Ann oaqam op smsli» 
 
 It ii •odifficraH *o mwmvel the operations 
 ■f the iMiiiait viiiHiiMiiingi and to reduce 
 
 them to their first principles, that 
 not expect to succeed in the attemf^t, but 
 by beginning with the simplest, and pto- 
 oeeding by very cautious steps to the more 
 complex. The five external senses may, 
 for this reason, cUtim to be first couHid^red 
 in an analysis of the human faculttm. 
 And the same reason ought to determine 
 us to make a choice even among the senses, 
 and to give the precedence, not to the 
 noblest or most useful, but to the simplest, 
 and that whose objects are least in danger 
 of being mistaken for other things. 
 
 In tma view, an analysis of our. sensa- 
 tions may be carried on, perhaps with most 
 ease and distinctness, by taking them in 
 this order: Smelling, Tasting, Hearing, 
 Touch, and, kst of all, Seeing. 
 
 Natural philosophy informs us, that all 
 animal and vegetable bodies, and probably 
 all or most other bodies, while exposed to 
 the air, are eontmually sending forth efflu- 
 via of vast subtilty, not only in their state 
 of life and growth, but in the states of fer- 
 mentation and putrefiiction. These volatile 
 particles do probably repel each other, and 
 so scatter themselves in the air, until they 
 meet with other bodies to which they have 
 some chemical affinity, and with which they 
 unite, and form new concretes. All the 
 smell of phints, and of other bodies, is caused 
 by these volatile parts, and is smelled wher- 
 ever they are scattered in the air i and the 
 acuteness of smell in some animals, shews 
 us, that these effluvia spread far, and musti 
 be inconceivably subtile. » 
 
 Whether, as some chemists conceive, 
 every species of bodies hath a ipiritm rector, 
 a kind of soul, which causes the smell and 
 all the specific virtues of that body, and 
 which, being extremely volatile, flies about 
 in the air in quest of a proper receptacle, I 
 do not inquire. This, like most other 
 theories, is perhaps rather the product of 
 imagiiiation than of just induction. But 
 thai all bodies are smelled by means of I 
 effluvia* which they emit, and which aw 
 drawn into the nostrila ak>ng with the air, 
 theitt ia no reason to doubt. So that there 
 is manifeat appearance of design in placing 
 the organ of smell in the inside of that canal, 
 tbiou^ which the air is continually passing 
 in inspiration and expiration. 
 
 Anatomy informs us, that the membrana 
 njfwIterHi, and the olfactory nerves, which 
 are distributed to the villous parts of this 
 membrane, are the oraans destined by the 
 
 # MMwrang tonrtbat **«Mr^ «>M'M^ 
 
 mwmbafdilmJL,^ MoiMng ft nadtlittt the cfBuvia 
 AmmM. They corotitute the toUl ofcject of per- 
 cntSmln nnell ; and In all theieiMetthe only object 
 DOceiTed. U that In iromcdkate contact with the or. 
 nn. There ia, in reality, no medium in any •etmi 
 and. ai Democritui looff ago fhrewdly ohwrved, aa 
 theMDiM are only modiflcationi of touch.— H. 
 
 /wisdom of nature to this sense; so that 
 when a body emits no effluvia, or when they 
 do not enter into the nose, or when the 
 pituitary membrane or olfactory nerves are 
 rendered unfit to perform their office, it can- 
 not be smelled. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this, it is evident 
 that neither the organ of smell, nor the 
 medium, nor any motions we can conceive, 
 excited in the membrane above mentioned, 
 or in the nerve or animal spirits, do in t£e 
 IjMatjresemble the sensation of smelling; 
 nor could that sensation of^ iteelf ever have 
 Kd u s to think^Tnerves, animal spirits, or 
 effluvia. 
 
 Section II. 
 
 TBB 8BN8ATI0N CONSmERBO AB8TEACTLY. 
 
 Having premised these things with re- 
 gard to the medium and organ of this sense, 
 let us now attend carefully to what the mind 
 is conscious of when we smell a rose or a 
 lily; and, since our language affords no 
 other name for this sensation, we shall call 
 it a smell or odour, carefully excluding from 
 the meaning of those names everything but 
 the sensation itself, at least till we have ex- 
 amined it. 
 
 Suppose a person who never had this 
 sense before, to receive it all at once, and 
 to smell a rose — can he perceive any simi- 
 litude or agreement between the smell and 
 the rose ? or indeed between it and any 
 other object whatsoever ? Certainly he can- 
 not He finds himself affected m a new 
 iy, he knows not why or from what cause, 
 ike a man that feels some pain or pleasure 
 formerly unknown to him, he is conscious 
 {that he is not the cause of it himself; but 
 
 lot, from the nature of the thing, deter- 
 
 ime whether it is caused by body or spirit, 
 jy something near, or by something at a 
 listance. It has no sunilitude to anytliing 
 5lse, so as to admit of a comparison ; and, 
 [therefore, he can conclude nothing from it, 
 unless, perhaps, that there must be some 
 I unknown cause of it. 
 
 It is evidently ridiculous to »3crib^ toit 
 
 figure, colotu*, extension, or anxJS^ther 
 quaJityof bodies. He cannot^veitji place, 
 any more than he can give a place to mel- 
 ancholy or joy : nor can he conceive ii- to 
 Jiave any^ existence, but when it ia smelled. 
 ^io thaTit appears to be a simple and original 
 pffection or feeling of the mind, .altogether 
 inexplicable and unaccountable. It is, in- 
 ^deed, impossible that it can be in anyJ)ody : 
 w it is a sensation, and a HPURatian wm only 
 T. be in a sentient thing. 
 ^ The various odours have each their dif- 
 ferent degrees of strength or weakness. 
 Moat of them are agreeable or disagree- 
 
 able; and frequently those that are agree- 
 able when weak, are disagreeable when 
 stronger. When we compare different 
 smells together, we can perceive very few 
 resemblances or contrarieties, or, indeed, 
 relations of any kind between them. They 
 are all so simple in themselves, and so dif- 
 ferent from each other, that it is hardly 
 possible to divide them into genera and 
 species. Most of the names we give them 
 are particular ; as the smell of a rose, of a 
 jessamine, and the like. Yet there are 
 some general names — as sweet, stinking, 
 musty, putrid^ cadaverous, aromatic. Some 
 of them seem to refresh and animate the 
 mind, others to deaden and depress it. 
 
 Section III, 
 
 SENSATION AND REMEMBRANCE, NATURAL 
 PRINCIPLES OJ BELIEF. 
 
 So far we have considered this sensation 
 abstractly. Let us next compare it with 
 other things to which it bears some relation. 
 And first I shall compare this sensation 
 with the remembrance, and the imagination 
 of it. 
 
 I_can thinkof the smell of ajrose when I 
 do^ot smelljt; and it is possible that when 
 I this of it, there is neither rose nor smeR 
 anywhere existing. Butjwhen Isnael^ 
 1 am necessarily determinedto beli eveth at 
 the sensation really exists.. TSJEk-Ponimop 
 to all sensations, _t]^t^.aaJthfiy-Ca^npl^exist 
 butjn being perceivedf 80 the y cannot be 
 perceived but tbeymiialLjexist. I could as 
 easily doubt of my own existence, as of the 
 existence of my sensations. Even those 
 profound philosophers who have endeavoured 
 to disprove their own existence, have yet 
 left their sensations to stand upon their 
 own bottom, stript of a subject, rather than 
 call in question the reality of their existence. 
 
 Here, then, asgaaationi a frnf"]] for inr 
 gfajn^ Pj ma j he presentedi^ilifiJiujad.thxea. 
 
 dj|fereJitJ«ray8.?-it-™ay ^^ smelled^ it may 
 be remembered, it may be imagined qjt 
 thought of. In the first case, it is neces- 
 sarily accompanied with a belief of it» Pre- 
 sent e xistence ; in the secon d^ it is^necgSa 
 sanly. accompanied with a belief of its cast 
 existence ; and in the last, it is not accom- 
 panied with belief at al^lliut is Av hat the 
 logicians call a simple apprehension. 
 ' ^^"y sensat ion shoula com pel our belief 
 of thejresentexistenc e of thg_tb lRgi,.me.- 
 
 • This is not strictly correct The imaginaUon 
 of an object is necessatily acooinpanied with a t)elief 
 of the existence of the mental representation. Heid 
 uses the term existence for objective ^^'temcfoMf, 
 and takes no account of the possibilitv of a i^eem* 
 ctistence.'-'ii. 
 
tin 
 
 ■ ? " ^ 1*5 IliO"^^ ^" "■■■■■■■ 
 
 OF THB HUMAN MIND. 
 
 t ve no 
 
 ...CATl glVQ ^,;JHBIipw ill ■IIWIWil* 
 
 ~~ ipjw 'Wii'ji^iTiifiniij iiii4 
 
 _bjlg.,.ac.t8 of the mind- 
 
 'mm, and only once, 
 
 ^poa© miA onoe^ and only once, I 
 
 ■aMUad. a tnlwnw in m mHndn room, where 
 It gvtw in s jwl, nd gave a very grateful 
 ftrfaine. Next day I relate what I aaw 
 and smelled Wlien I attend as carefully 
 as I ean to what paaMi in my mind in this 
 mm, it appears evident tliat the very thing 
 I aaw yeatordayi and thefragrance I smeiled, 
 ai<e now the imnwdiate objects of my mind, 
 when I remember it. Further, I can 
 imagine this pot and iow«r transported to 
 the room where I now sH, and yieldmg the 
 MOM prfbme. Here likewise it appears, 
 tliat the individual thing which I saw and 
 •malMi is the object of mv imagination.* 
 
 fhnoflophers indeed tell me. that the 
 immediate ohjeet of my memory and ima- 
 
 , gination* m this case, is not the past sensa- 
 tion, hut an idea of it, an image, phantasm, 
 
 ; or 8pecies,t of the odour I smdled : that 
 this Mea now eidsts in my mmd, or in my 
 ■ensfirhmi ; and the mind, contemplatmg 
 this present idea, finds it a representation 
 of what is past, or of what mny exist ; and 
 IMMMiidingiy crfh I* memory, or Imagination. 
 Tliiaii the doetrine of the ideal philosophy ; 
 iriieh w© shall, not now examine, that we 
 nay not interrupt the thread of the present 
 
 inveatiiation. I|p91 the striclfiitL-itlfin- 
 
 appears t o me t o hav e thin|B 
 ^-. aiiiTiifpresentld^ for its 
 object, we AyTaHerwards^ examme this 
 iysiem of ideas, and endeavour to malce it 
 
 Spear, that no solid proof has ever been 
 taneed of the existence of ideas; that 
 they are a mere fiction and hypiHiesis, con- 
 trived to solve tho phaenomena of the hu- 
 man undentaiMiqg i tliat they do not at all 
 answer this «nd I and that this hypothesis 
 of ideas or images of things in the mind, or 
 in the eenaoiiram, is the patent of those 
 many paradoxes so shockmg to common 
 sense, and of that scepticism which disgrace 
 our philosophy of the mind, and have 
 iiM^I upon It the ridicule and contempt 
 of seniiUiiiiiiii* 
 
 In tho meanUme, I beg leave 'to think, 
 with the vulgar, that, when I remember the 
 ■mel of the tuberose, that very sensation 
 i^ioh I had yesterday, a nd which has now 
 
 • F«r ill ssiKMition of Reid'i error in resitd to 
 tlM»fiitMifiiWk'0^< of Memory and InuiftiiatloOvtM 
 Isletitmeewlofthewluine— H. 
 
 f It will be otverved, that Kcid underatanda bf 
 imm,Jmag€t fkantatm. Specif, ^ctXwvf «Jer- 
 Hmm quid iiumtricalljr different tx>th from the Object 
 Aliling and from the Subject knowing. He had formed 
 •mo conorpUon of • doctnne in which a representative 
 Object is allowed, but only as a mod.rtcatum of the 
 Wind Itaelf. On the evil conarquences of this error, 
 both CO Ilia own pbilowpby and on hi» criticum of 
 eilMtf|(bllB«* ■•• Note C at tbe end of the volume. 
 
 no more any existence, is the immediate 
 object of my memory ; and when I imagine 
 it present, the sensation itself, and not any 
 ideaofit,istheobjectof my imagination. But, 
 though the o^ect of myjensation^jiiemory, 
 and imaglnatiyn^ie in this, case the same, 
 yet these acts or operations of the mind are 
 as different, and as easily distinguishable, 
 as sjselU tasle*^ and, iiymd. lamgoggciQuf 
 of a difference in kind between sensation 
 and memory, and between both^nd irn%g- 
 ioatipn." Tfihd this also, that the sensation 
 compels my belief of the p re^nt existence 
 ofjhe aEtteUj.^d mpmory iqy belief of its 
 jaast existence. There is a smell, is the 
 unmediate testimony of sense; there was a 
 smell, is the immediate testimony of mem- 
 ory. If you ask me, why I believe that the 
 smell exists, I can give no other reason, 
 nor shall ever be able to give any other, 
 than that I smell it If you ask, whjr I 
 believe that it existed yesterday, I can give 
 no other reason but that I remember it. 
 
 Sensation and memory, therefore, arel 
 simple, original, and perfectly dbtinct opera-l 
 tions of the mind, and both of them are' 
 origmal principles of belief. Imagination 
 is distinct from both, but is no principle of 
 beliel Sensation implies the present exist- 
 ence of its object, memory its past existence, 
 but imagination views its object naked, and 
 without any belief of its existence or non- 
 existence^ and is therefore what the schools 
 call SmpU Jppr^muim.* 
 
 SeetumlVm 
 
 JUOGMBNT AND BKLISP IN SOMl CASIS TK%k 
 
 cnnn simplk apprbhsnsion. ] 
 
 But here, a^ain, the ideal svstei 
 in our way: it teaches us that 
 
 sm comes 
 way : it teaches us inai the firat 
 operation of the mind about its ideas, 
 simpl e apprehension — that is, the ba 
 conception «>ra thing without any belie 
 about it : and that, after we have gc 
 simple apprehensions, by comparmg thei 
 together, we perceive agreements or dis-i 
 agreements between them; and that this 
 perception of the agreement or disagreement 
 of ideas, is all that we call belief, ju«lgment, 
 or knowledge. Now, this appears to me to 
 be all fiction, without any foundation in 
 nature i for it is acknowledged by all, that 
 ssimllflii niiifit go before, memory aiid im- 
 agination ; and hence it necessarily follows, 
 that apprehension, aconipanied wjtlibelifil 
 and knowledge, must go before si mple^p- 
 prt^lignsipn, at least in the matters we are 
 now speiiMig of. So that here, mstcad oi 
 
 • simple Apprrhrrtion^ In the Unguage of the 
 Sebooit, baa nu reterence to any exclusion of belief. 
 It was merely given to tbe Goi>cci>tio<i ot liis^eiin 
 contrast to tbe oofnitlon of ooapliKt tenna.— H. 
 
 OF SMELLING. 
 
 107 
 
 teying tha t the belief or knowled ge is got 
 by' putting~to^iHer and^ comparing—the 
 simple appreh eoslona, we ought rather to say 
 Uiat the simple apprehension w ^icrformed 
 by resolving and analysing _itjqiatunil and 
 original judgment. And it is with the 
 operations of the mind, in this case, as 
 with natural bodies, which are, indeed, 
 compounded of simple principles or ele- 
 ments. Nature does not exhibit these ele- 
 iQeiLts separate, to be compounded l)y ua.; 
 she^exhibits them mixed and compounded 
 fn concrete bodies, and it Js pnlj byart and 
 chemical analysis that they can be separated. 
 
 Section V. 
 
 TWO THBORIBS OP THE NATURE OP BKLIKP 
 
 REPUTED CONCLUSIONS FROM WHAT 
 
 BATH BEEN SAID. 
 
 But what is this belief or knowledj^e 
 which accompanies sensation and memory ? 
 Every man knows what it is, but no man 
 can define it. Does any man pretend 
 to define sensation, or to define con- 
 sciousness ? It is happy, indeed, that 
 no man does. And if no philosopher had 
 endeavoured to define and explain belief, 
 some paradoxes in philosophy, more in- 
 credible than ever were brought forth by 
 the most abject superstition or the most 
 frantic enthusiasm, had never seen the light. 
 Of this kind surely is that modern discovery 
 of the ideal philosophy, that sensation, me- 
 mory, belief, and imagination, when they 
 have the same object, are only different 
 degrees of strength and vivacity in the 
 idea.* Suppose the idea to be that of a 
 future state after death : one man believes 
 it firmly— this means no more than that he 
 hath a strong and lively idea of it ; another 
 neither Ijelieves nor disbelieves — that is, he 
 has a weak and fwnt idea. Suppose, now, a 
 third person believes firmly that there is no 
 aucii thing, I am at a loss to know whether 
 his idea be famt or lively : if it is faint, 
 then there may be a firm belief where the 
 idea is faint ; if the idea is lively, then the 
 belief of a future state and the belief of no 
 fhture state must be one and the same. The 
 same arguments that are used to prove that 
 belief implies only a stronger idea of the 
 object than simple apprehension, might as 
 well be used to prove that love implies only 
 a stronger idea of the object than indiffer- 
 ence. And then what shall we say of 
 liatred, which must upon this hypNothesis be 
 a degree of love, or a dMjree of indifference ? 
 If it should be said, that in love there is 
 something more than an idea — to wit, an 
 affection of the mind — may it not be said 
 
 o He refen to Humt.-'H. 
 
 with equal reason, that in belief there is 
 something more than an idea — to wit, an 
 assent or persuasion of the mind ? 
 
 But perhaps it may be thought as ridicu- 
 lous to argue against this strange opinion, 
 as to maintain it. Indeed, if a man should 
 maintain that a circle, a square, and a 
 triangle differ only in magnitude, and not 
 in figure, I believe he would find nobody 
 disposed either to believe him or to argue 
 against him ; and yet I do not think it less 
 shocking to common sense, to maintain that 
 sensation, memory, and imagination differ 
 only in degree, and not. in kind. I know 
 it is said, that, in a delirium, or in dreaming, 
 meii are apt to mistake one for the othdc. 
 But does it follow from this, that men who 
 are neither dreaming nor in a deliriiun 
 cannot distinguish them ? But how does 
 a man know that he is not in a delirium ? 
 I cannot tell : neither can I tell how a man 
 knows that he exists. But, if any man seri- 
 ously doubts whether he is in a delirium, I 
 think it highly probable that he is, and that 
 it is time to seek for a cure, which I am 
 persuaded he will not find in the whole 
 system of logic. 
 
 I mentioned before Locke's notion of 
 belief or knowledge ; he holds that it con- 
 sists in a perception of the agreement or 
 disagreement of ideas ; and this he values 
 hunself upon as a very important discovery. 
 
 We shall have occasion afterwards to 
 examine more particularly this grand prin- 
 ciple of Locke's philosophy, and to shew 
 tliat it is one of the main pillars of modern 
 scepticism, although he had no intention to 
 make that use of it. At present let us only 
 consider how it agrees with the instances 
 of belief now under consideration ; and 
 whether it gives any light to them. I be- 
 lieve that the sensation I have exists ; and 
 that the sensation I remember does not 
 now exist, but did exist yesterday. Here, 
 according to Locke's system, I compare the 
 idea of a sensation with the ideas of past 
 and present existence : at one time I per- 
 ceive that this idea agrees with that of pre- 
 sent existence, but disagrees with that of 
 past existence ; but, at another time, it 
 agrees with the idea of past existence, and 
 disagrees with that of present existence. 
 Truly these ideas seem to be very capri- 
 cious in their agreements and disagree- 
 ments. Besides, I cannot, for my heart, 
 conceive what is meant by either. I say 
 a sensation exists, and I think I understand 
 clearly what I mean. But you want to 
 make the thing clearer, and for that end 
 tell me, that there is an agreement between 
 the idea of that sensation and the idea of 
 existence. To speak freely, this conveys 
 to me no light, but darkness ; I can con- 
 ceive no otherwise of it, than as an odd and 
 obscure circumlocution. I conclude, then. 
 
T 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SMELLING. 
 
 109 
 
 / 
 
 iittl Urn belM iilikli fbcoompaniefl aenatlion 
 
 awl. memory, is & ample ael of the mind, 
 wbicli oiiiiiM* lie defined. It is, in this 
 
 rvipeisl, Ifti' wmbm and hearing, wMeh can 
 never be so defined aa to be understood by 
 those who have not these faculties ; and to 
 
 moll m have thiiiiy ^no definition can maice 
 thMt' 'Opttsiimi' WMm clear than they are 
 alreidy. In lie manner, every man that 
 has any belief--iuid Im most be a cnrioeity 
 Ifaai iiaslioilfe=iiMl4^ periectly what belief 
 lir^ ^eFiaDe or explain it . I 
 
 ^aEoJ that sensation, memory, and 
 imagination, even where they have the 
 ■aae object, are operations of a quite dif- 
 fMMlt nalure, and perfectly distingnishabfe 
 tar those who are sound and sober. A man 
 thaft is in dinger of oonfonndmg them, is 
 indeed to be pitied ; but whatever relief he 
 may find from another art, he can find none 
 from logio or metaphysic. I oondnde fur- 
 HmHf 'tiwk it 'is no less a part 'Of the hnman 
 'Mualltntion, to believe the present existence 
 off our sennaimii,. and to believe the past 
 existence 'Of 'wlMit' wo lemember, than it is 
 to believe that twice two make four. The 
 •vUence of sense, the evidence of memory, 
 and the evidence of the necessary rehitions 
 nf ' thiigSy .li!ejiJiii5filjmd.sn|p]ia|^^ 
 L of ^^S^ mf^I grounded on our consti- 
 inSn : none of them depends upon, or can 
 he resolved into another. To 
 
 liaibeord; 
 
 are'" first principles! 
 
 in the province of reason,* but of common 
 
 OtWmmfm WMm 
 
 A'poLoev 'POE MvranrrsicAL amiimm 
 
 VmmwMtStUm WIFMVtfX M. oali. I IJUfX, m. Ulfn* 
 
 SKiiincK OF TBI vaMmx or mnAS-^ 
 coNSBauBNcns or this stbangb opinion. 
 
 .Iiavuig MMlciefea tM .relation wnicn tne 
 '-■sBsation'Of'BDieillng bears to the remem- 
 bnuiee and imagination of it, I proceed to 
 
 'OOnsider what relation it bears to a mind, 
 
 'Of ':Mlltiettl'priMinlei li^uprtain, no man 
 B l li i iim fl iiiii i iH i hiiiiw i tii i i iiS iii i Un g to . exist^ 
 
 has the power of emellinft irf WiUffh it Ji 
 
 .or feeling, 
 demand A proof, 
 
 io n....<imot be without a uiied gr 
 
 ■!SB«?!^,Ta%X-**™®^ M « i i ■ y w gy « 
 
 none ; and that to pretend to pifive it, seems 
 
 to me almost as abeord as to mmy il. 
 
 before the '* Treatise of Human 
 
 • JI 
 
 • S«<r Notff) f at p. 100, b—M.. 
 
 that time, no man, aa far aa I know, 
 ever thought either of calling in qnestion 
 that principle, or of giving a reason for his 
 bdiefofit. Whether thmking beings were 
 of an ethereal or igneous nature, whether 
 material or immaterial, was variously dis* 
 puted : but that thinking is an operation of 
 some kind of being or other, was always 
 taken for granted, as a principle that could 
 not possibly admit of doubt 
 
 However, since the author above men- 
 tioned, who is undoubtedly one of the most 
 acute metaphysicians that this or any age 
 hath produced, hath treated it as a vulgar 
 prejudice, and maintained that the mind 
 IS only a sncoession of ideas and impres- 
 sions without any subject; his opinion, 
 however contrary to the common appre- 
 hensions of manland, deserves respect I 
 beg therefore^ once for all, that no ofTence 
 may be taken at charging this or other 
 metaphysical notions with absurdity, or 
 with being contrary to the common sense 
 of mankind. No dispanM^ement is meant 
 to the understandings of the authors or 
 maintalners of such opinions. I ndeed, they 
 commonly proceed, not from defect of under- 
 standing, but from an excess of refinement 
 the reasoning that leads to them often 
 gives new l%ht to the subject, and shews 
 real genius and deep penetration in the 
 author; and the premises do more than 
 atone for the conclusion. 
 
 If there arc certain principles, as I think 
 there are, which the constitution of our 
 nature leads us to bdieve, and which we 
 mm under a necessity to take for granted 
 in the common concerns of life, without 
 being able to give a reason for them>-these 
 are what we call the principles of common 
 sense ; and what is manifestly contrary to 
 them, is what we call absurd. 
 
 Indeed, if it is true, and to be received 
 as a principle of philosophy, that sensation 
 and thought may be without a thinking 
 being, it must be acknowledged to be tlie 
 most wonderful discovery that this or any 
 other age hath produced. The received 
 doctrine of ideas is the principle from which 
 it is deduced, and of which indeed it seems 
 to be a just and natural consequence. And 
 it is probable, that it would not have been 
 so hie a discovery, but that it is so shock- 
 ing and repugnant to the common appre- 
 hensionB of mankind, that it required an 
 uncommon degree of philosophical intre- 
 pidity to usher it into the world. It is a 
 fundamental principle of the ideal system, 
 that every object of thought must be an 
 impression or an idea — that is, a faint copy 
 of some preceding impression. This is a 
 principle so commonly received, that tlie 
 author above mentioned, although his whole 
 system is bmlt upon it, never offers the 
 least proof of It It is upon this principle, 
 
 as a fixed point, that he erects his meta- 
 physical engines, to overturn heaven and 
 earth, body and spirit. And, indeed, in 
 my apprehension, it is altogether suflBcient 
 for the purpose. For, if impressions and 
 ideas are the only objects of thought, then 
 heaven and earth, and body and spirit, 
 and everything you please, must signify 
 only impressions and ideas, or they must 
 be words without any meaning. It seems, 
 therefore, that this notion, however strange, 
 is closely connected with the received doc- 
 trine of ideas, and we must either admit the 
 oonclusion, or call in question the premises. 
 Ideas seem to have something in their 
 nature unfriendly to other existences. They 
 were first introduced into philosophy, in 
 the humble character of images or repre- 
 sentatives of things ; and in this character 
 they seemed not only to be inoffensive, but 
 to serve admunbly well for explaining the 
 operations of the human understanding. 
 But^ since men began to reason clearly and 
 distinctly about them, they have by degrees 
 supplanted their constituents, and under- 
 mined the existence of everything but 
 themselves. First, they discarded all se- 
 condary qualities of bodies ; and it was 
 found out by their means, that fire is not 
 hot, nor snow cold, nor honey sweet ; and, 
 in a word, that heat and cold, sound, colour, 
 taste, and smell, are nothing but ideas or 
 impressions. Bishop Berkeley advanced 
 them a step higher, and found out, by just 
 reasoning from the same principles, that 
 extension, solidity, space, figure, and body, 
 are ideas, and that there is nothing in nature 
 but ideas and spirits. But the triumph of 
 ideas was completed by the " Treatise of 
 Human Nature,'* which discards spirits 
 also, and leaves ideas and impressions as the 
 sole existences in the universe. What if, at 
 hist, having nothing else to contend with, 
 they should fall foul of one another, and 
 leave no existence in nature at all ? This 
 would surely bring philosophy into danger ; 
 for what should we have left to talk or to 
 dispute about ? 
 
 However, hitherto these philosophers 
 acknowledge the existence of impressions 
 and ideas ; they acknowledge certain laws 
 of attraction, or rules of precedence, accord- 
 ing to which, ideas and impressions range 
 themselves in various forms, and succeed 
 one another : but that they should belong 
 to a mind, as its proper goods and chattels, 
 this they have found to be a vulgar error. 
 These ideas are as free and independent as 
 the birds of the air, or as Epicurus*s atoms 
 when^ they pursued their journey in the 
 vast inane. Shall we conceive them like 
 the films of things in the Epicurean system ? 
 Principio hoc dico, rerura simulacra vagari, 
 Hulta modi* multii, in cunctas undique parteis 
 Tenuia, que facile inter be junguntur in aurls, 
 CMwla cum vcntuot.- -Luck. 
 
 Or do they rather resemble Aristotle's in- 
 telligible species, after they are shot forth 
 from the object, and before they have yet 
 struck upon the passive intellect ? But why 
 should we seek to compare them with any- 
 thing, since there is nothing in nature but 
 themselves ? They make the whole furni- 
 ture of the universe ; starting into existence, 
 or out of it, without any cause ; combining 
 into parcels, which the vulgar call minds ; 
 and succeeding one another by fixed laws, 
 without time, place, or author of those laws. 
 Yet, after all, these self-existent and in- 
 dependent ideas look pitifully naked and 
 destitute, when left thus alone in the uni- 
 verse, and seem, upon the whole, to be in a 
 worse condition than they were before. Dea 
 Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, as they 
 made much use of ideas, treated them hand- 
 somely, and provided them in decent accom- 
 modation; lodging them either in the pineal 
 gland, or in the pure intellect, or even in 
 the divine mind. They moreover clothed 
 them with a commission, and made them 
 representatives of things, which gave them 
 some dignity and character. But the "Trea- 
 tise of Human Nature,** though no less 
 indebted to them, seems to have made but 
 a bad return, by bestowing upon them this 
 independent existence ; since thereby they 
 are turned out of house and home, and set 
 adrift in the world, without friend or con- 
 nection, without a rag to cover their naked- 
 ness ; and who knows but the whole system 
 of ideas may perish by the indiscreet zeal 
 of their friends to exalt them ? 
 
 However this may be, it \a certainly a 
 most amazing discovery that thought and 
 ideas may be without any thinking being 
 —a discovery big with consequences which 
 cannot easily be traced by those deluded 
 mortals who think and reason in the com- 
 mon track. We were always apt to ima- i 
 gine, that thought supposed a thinker, and 
 love a lover, and treason a traitor: but 
 this, it seems, was all a mistake ; and it is 
 found out, that there may be treason with- 
 out a traitor, and love without a lover, laws 
 without a legislator, and punishment with- 
 out a sufferer, succession without time, and > 
 motion without anything moved, or space i 
 in which it may move : or if, in these cases, 
 ideas are the lover, the sufferer, the traitor, 
 it were to be wished that the author of this | 
 discovery had farther condescended to ac- | 
 quaint us whether ideas can converse to- I 
 gether, and be under obligations of duty or 1 
 gratitude to each other ; whether they can i 
 make promises and enter into leagues and 
 covenants, and fulfil or break them, and be 
 punished for the breach. If one set of 
 ideas makes a covenant, another breaks it, 
 and a third is punished for it, there is rea- 
 son to think that justice is no natural virtue 
 in this system. 
 
110 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SMELLING. 
 
 Ill 
 
 very iwtiiral to think, that tlw 
 
 ■nthor^ and a very ingenious one too ; hut 
 mow we lean that it is only a eet of ideas 
 which, earn* together and arranged them. 
 '■■Iffiea hy «erlain aiwieiatiiiiii.andatiractiona. 
 .Mm aU, this enifma syaten appears not 
 to he fitted to the present state of human 
 lattire. How far it may suit some choice 
 •firita, who are refined from the dregs of 
 mmmum ••»% I eannot say. It is acknow> 
 lodged, I think, that even these can enter 
 into this system only in their most specala- 
 livo' hours,, whm the^ soar so high in pur- 
 ■nit of' 'those Mif-exiatent ideas as to lose 
 tight of all other things. But when they 
 •ondoscend to mingle again with the human 
 :i!ifia, and to converse with a friend, a eom- 
 puiion, or a fellow^-eitizen, the ideal system 
 vanishes ; common sense, like an irresast- 
 ihle torrent, carries them along; and, in 
 
 Site of all their reasoning and philosophy, 
 ey heMeve their' own existence, and the 
 •sialeofla' of other things. 
 
 Indeed, it is happy they do so ; for, if 
 iMy should earry their closet belief into 
 the wo'rl4 'the rest of mankind would eon* 
 sider them as diseased, and send them to 
 an infirmary. Therefore, as Plato required 
 0Oftain previous qualifications of those who 
 Mtared ois .sehool, I think it would be pru- 
 dent for the doctors of this ideal philosophy 
 to do the same, and to refuse admittance to 
 •very man who is so weak as to imagine 
 thai he onght to have the same belief in 
 :aoitiiie and in company, or that his prin- 
 eiptes ought 'tO' have .anytnliuenee upon his 
 nractioe ; for this philosophy is like a hob* 
 hy-horse, which a man in had health may 
 lido an Us closet, without hurting his repu> 
 iaiiiin i hut, if he should take him abroad 
 with him to church, or to the exehange, or 
 to the play-house^ his heir would imme- 
 diately call a jury, and seize his estate. 
 
 SecHm VII, 
 
 'T'lIB OONCSmON AND BStlBT Of A SSlVmNT 
 
 namo or mind is auimaCTao by our 
 
 'CONSTITOT-WN— TH« NOTION OF RBLA- 
 TIONS NOT ALWAYb OOT BY OOMFARINO 
 TKB RBLATBO IDBAa 
 
 Leaving this philosophy, therefore, to 
 those who have occasion for it, and can 
 
 uaS' it disefoetly wm a 'Chamber exercise, we 
 may kui in^wM .now tne rest of manuna,. 
 .and even the adapts tlieiBselves, except in 
 ionie .solitary momentSp have got sO' strong 
 and itiarfitihle a belief, that thought most 
 have a subject, and be the act of some 
 |tiiinking being; how^^,everv man believes 
 lihiinself to be something aMinet from his 
 ' li ipfiBiloin ioiiiiithlni whioh 
 
 continues the same identical self when all | 
 his ideas and impressions are changed. It / 
 is impossible to trace the origin of thia 
 opinion in history ; for all hinguages 
 have it interwoven in their originu con- 
 struction. All nations have always believed 
 it. The constitution of all laws and 
 governments, as well as the common trans- 
 actions of life, suppose it. 
 
 It is no less impossible for any man to 
 recollect when he himself came by this 
 notion ; for, as far back as we can remem- 
 ber, we were already in possession of it, 
 and as fully persuaded of our own existence, 
 and the existence of other things, as that 
 one and one make twa It seems, there- 
 fore, that this opinion pr eceded all reason- 
 iny> and exiienence, and instructio n ; and 
 this Is the mor e probabl e, because wVcoiJd 
 not get it b y #n j of tliese means. It a|>- 
 
 P^firp^ thpn^ tft h« i^n nnHpnJftblp faM^ iWj 
 from _lhoughlL-0£ - Rpnaatinn^ a]l mg.nkin<ij 
 constant ly nml invari^thly, f^m thft fimt 
 dawning of reflection^ do 'u\ f(>r n. pnwpr m 
 fft'^J'^y "^ tbinLSi^gr, and a perman ftnt hfting 
 
 »!L!W?iait % wfaiftly thft^ iw^nXty b^longn » and 
 
 that we as invariably ascribe all the various 
 kinds of sensation and thought we are con- 
 scious of, to one individual mind or self. 
 
 But by what rules of logic we make these 
 mferences, it is impossible to shew ; nay, 
 it is impossible to shew how our sensatiOna 
 and thoughts can give us the very notion 
 and conception either of a mind or of a 
 faculty. The faculty of smelling JsLJOme- 
 thing very different from the a ctual sensa - 
 tion_g f sm elling ; for the jflcuitjLJIIiy 
 lymMn w h en w e have no s^Qj8atiQn«__Aiui 
 tHejmiiadIi8u.no less different from the 
 faculty i for it continues the same indivi * 
 dual being when that faculty iaJaat. Yet 
 ihis j&ensation suggests to us both a f^iculty 
 and_A— ©ind. i and not on ly su g gests the 
 AfitioiLflf tiling hut creates a beliei of their 
 %]OSiSB!^^l^\ Lho ugh it is unpose ihlft t/^ ^Ija. 
 cover, by reason, any tie or connection 
 between one and the othei. "" 
 
 WBarmitrive-my, then ? Either those 
 inferences which we draw from our sensa- 
 tions—namely, the existence of a mind, 
 and of powers or faculties belonging to it*.- 
 are prejudices of philosophy or educationt 
 mere fictions of the mind, which a wis* 
 man should throw off as he does the beliw 
 of fairies ; or they are judgments of nature- 
 judgments not got by comparmg ideas, and 
 perceiving agreements and disagreements, 
 but immadiately inspired by oor constttn- 
 tion. 
 
 If this last is the case, as I apprehend it 
 is, it will be impossible to shake off those 
 opmions, and we mnsl yield to them at 
 last, though we straggle hard to get rid of 
 them. And if we could, by a determined 
 I obstinacy, shake off the principles ui oar 
 
 nature, this is not to act the philosopher, 
 but the fool or the madman. It is incum- 
 bent upon those who think that these are 
 not natural principles, to shew, in the first 
 place, how we can otherwise get the notion 
 of a mind and its faculties ; and then to 
 shew how we come to deceive ourselves 
 into the opinion that sensation cannot be 
 without a sentient being. 
 
 It is the received doctrine of philosophers, 
 that our notions of relations can only be 
 got by comparing the related ideas : but, 
 m the present case, there seems to be 
 an instance to the contrary. It is not by 
 having first the notions of mind and s^nsa- 
 tk»n, and then comparing them together, 
 that we perceive the one to have the rela- 
 tion of a subject or substratum, and the 
 other that of an act or operation : on the 
 contrary, one of the related things — to wit, 
 
 . sensation— suggests to us both the correlate 
 
 ' and the relation. 
 
 I beg^ leave to make use of the word svg- 
 gesiioriy because I know not one more pro- 
 per, to express a power of the mind, which 
 seems entirely to have escaped the notice 
 of philosophers, and to which we owe 
 many of our simple notions which are 
 neither impressions nor ideas, as well 
 as many original principles of belief. 
 I shall endeavour to illustrate, by an 
 example, what I understand by this word. 
 We_all_knQW»- that-A flertain kindof sound 
 suggests immediately Jo the mind, a coach 
 passing in the strt^pt ; a pj "^t only pro- 
 duces the ipiagijoation, but the . belief, that 
 a coach is passing. Yet there is here no 
 comparing of ideas, no perception of agree- 
 ments or disagr^emente^ to .produce _{njs 
 belief: nor is there the least similitude be- 
 tween the sound we hear and the co ach w e 
 iJSagine and believe to be passing. * 
 
 ♦ «• The word tuggesf* (sayi Mr Stewart, in refer- 
 ence (o the precedTiig |>a5sage) *' is much used by 
 Berkeley, in this appiopriate and technical sense, 
 not only in his ' Theory of Vision/ but in his ' Prin. 
 ciples of Human Knowledge,' and in his ' Minute 
 philosopher.* It expresses, indeed, the cardinal 
 principle on which hi* • 1 heory of Vision' hinges, 
 and is now so incorporated with some of our best 
 metaphysical tpeculations, that one cannot easily 
 conceive how the use of it was so long dispensed 
 with. Loclce uses the word excite fur the same 
 purpose; but it seems to imply an hypothesis con. 
 cerning the mechanism of the mind, and by no 
 means expresses the fact in question, with the same 
 force and precision. 
 **U is remarkable, that Or Reid should have thought 
 It incumt)cnt on him to apologise for Introducing 
 Into philosophy a word so familiar to every person 
 conversant with Berkeley's works. ' I beg leave 
 to make use of the word suggeuion, because/ 
 kc, • • • • . 
 
 •• So far Dr Reid's use of the word coincides ex- 
 aetly with that of Berkeley ; but the former will be 
 found to annex to it a meaning more extensive than 
 the latter, by employing it to comprehend, not only 
 those intima ions which are the result of experience 
 and habit ; but another cla^ of intimations, (quite 
 overlooked by Berkeley,) those which reult from 
 the original frame of the human mind."— i}/M#r<<i. 
 
 It_ is^ true that this suggestion is nol 
 natural and original ; it is the result of ex- 
 perience and habit. But I think i t appears^^ 
 from what hath been _said, that there are 
 imtuj;a] suggestioiiaLi_particularly, that sens- 
 ation suggests the notion of present exist- 
 ence^ an d tke belief that what w^ .perceive 
 or feel^ does jio.w_ exist ; ihat memory sug- 
 gests the notion of past existence, and the 
 belief that what we remember did exist in 
 time past.i .and that py.r sensations and 
 Jthoughts do also suggest the notion of a 
 naindy a nd the belief of its existence, and ol 
 its relation to our thoughts. Byja__ljk9 
 najtural principle it is^th^a^ beginning of 
 existence, or any. change m nature,^ sug- 
 gests to us the notion of a cause, and com- 
 pels our belief pf its existence. And, in 
 like manner, as shall, be shewn when we 
 come to the seose of touch, certain sensa- 
 tions of touch, by the constitution of our 
 nature, suggest to us extension, solidity, 
 and motion, which are nowise like to 
 sensations, although they have be en hither- 
 to co nfouBded. vv'itSibeni.* 
 
 titm on the History of Metaphysioai and Ethical 
 Science. P. 167. iiocoiid edition 
 
 Mr Stewart might have adduced, perhaps, a higher 
 and, certainly, a more proximate authority, in fa. 
 vour, not merely of the term in general, but of 
 Reid's restricted employment of it, as an intimation 
 ot what he and others have designated the Commoa 
 Sense of mankind. The following sentence of Tft. 
 tuilian contains a singular anticipation, lioth of the 
 philosophy and of the philosophical phraseology of 
 our author. Npeaking of the universal belief of 
 the soul's immortality : — ** Natura pleraque suggerm 
 untur, quasi de publico sensu quo animam Deus di. 
 taredignatus est." — De Amma, c. SJ. 
 
 Some strictures on Reid's employment of the term 
 suggestion may be seen in the " Versuche" of Tetens, 
 I., p. 508, sqq. — H. 
 
 • This last statement is not historically correct. 
 But, waving ihU, there may be a<lduced, in illustra. 
 tion of (he two last paragraphs, the following 
 remarkable passage from St Augustine: — " au. 
 Recte fortast^e exisMmas. Sed responde obsecro, 
 utrum omne quod per visum cognoscimus, videa- 
 mus. Ev. Ita credo, au. I'redis ctiam omne quod 
 videndo cognoscimus, per visum nos cognoscere f 
 bv. Et hoc credo, au. Cur ergo plerumque fumum 
 solum videndo, ignem subter latere cognoscimus quera 
 nonvidemus? ev Vertim dicis. Et jam noii puto 
 nos videre quicquid i>er visum counoscimus : possu. 
 mus enim, ut docuisti, aliuil videndo aliud cognoscere 
 quod visus non attigerit. au. Quid, illud quod per 
 visum sentimiiSfPossumusnenon videre? ev. Nullo 
 modo. aU- Aliwi est ergo sentire, a/ttMi cognoscerep 
 < V. Omnino ahud, nam sentimfis fumum quern vide- 
 mus, et es eo ignem quern non videmus, aubesse cog' 
 noscimus. a*-, i^ene intelligis. Sed vi'lesrertecum 
 hoc accidit, corpul nostrum, id est oculos, nihil pati 
 ex igne, sed ex fumo qucm solum vident. Etenim 
 videre sentire, et sentire pati esse, iam supra con. 
 sensimus. kt. 'I'eneo, & assentior. au. Cum ergo 
 per jiassionem corporis non latetaliquid animam, non 
 continuosensus vocatur unus de quinque memoratis, 
 sed cum ipsa passio non latet : namque ille ignis non 
 visus, nee auditus, nee olfactus, nee gustatus, nee 
 tact us a nobis, non tamen latet animam fumo vi^o 
 Et cum hoc non latere non vocetur sensus, quia ex 
 igne corpus nihil est passum, vocatur tamen cognitio 
 per senium, quia ex passione corporis quamvis alia, 
 id est ex altenus rei visione, conjectatum est atque 
 compertum. kv. Intelligo, et optime video istud 
 congiuere ac favere illi definitioni tuae. quam ut 
 meam mihl defendendam dedisti : nam ita memini 
 e«se abs te sensum dednitum, cum animam non latet 
 quod patitur corpua. Itaqu9 iUud guod/Umtu vkbtfur. 
 
\ 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SMELLING. 
 
 113 
 
 .SmHm Via* 
 wnrntm is a hoauty cm ¥mTim m BooiBs, 
 Tmrnm^mammoam m tub imioimation 
 
 WITS Vn SBNSAnOlt. 
 
 I We liihTe considered ameU .as aignifying 
 » 8eii«itimi,iBeli]ig, or imprewion upon the 
 mind7»d kibS sense; it out onlV be in 
 ft mind, or sentient being : but il is evident 
 
 jtlttt numkind give the name of mmU much 
 Bsore frequently to somethbg which they 
 teiMMtTe tO' bO' extenaly and to be a quality 
 of bodji they undentand something by it 
 
 'wMih does not at all Infer » mind; and 
 haTO mot the least difficulty in conceiving 
 
 ■ itm tm ,fttlitiiMl. with aiomatio odours in 
 
 i the doserts of Arabia, or in some nninhab- 
 ited inland, where the human foot never 
 
 , trod. Every sensible day-labourer hath as 
 •laBr ft lotiin of this, and as full a oonvic> 
 ;lifiii. of' iiB; paaibilitj of it, as he hath of 
 Mb owb 'MciaMiioBs nd can no 'more donbt 
 of' 'the one: 'than of the other. 
 
 'SnpposO' 'that' such a man meets with a 
 'UMdeni fihioiopher, and wants to be in- 
 farmed what smell in pknts is. The phi- 
 losopher tells him, that there is no smell in 
 plaiitei 'nor in anyth.ing but in the mind i 
 iiftt' ;i| ■ impossible there can be smell but 
 in ft mind; and that all this hath been 
 demonstrated by modem philosohy. The 
 plain man will, no doubt, be apt to think 
 Ua. wamtj s but, if he finds that he is 
 ■erbii, Us next eonduiion will be that he 
 ii mad) or that philosophy, like magic, 
 pats men into a new world, and gives them 
 different imilties from common men. And 
 tins 'philoaof ]|y and 'Common sense are set 
 ■t VBiisaoe. But who is to bkme for it ? 
 In my opinion the philosopher is to bkme. 
 For if he means by smell, what the rest of 
 .DBoldDi most wmmonly mean, he Is cer- 
 iiialy nftdL. Bnt if he pnts a different 
 ■Mailing upon the word, wItkNit observing 
 it himseli; or giving warning to other^ 
 he abuses language and disgraoes philo- 
 sophy, without doing any sermo to truth : 
 ■• if a man should exchange the meanmg 
 of the words daughier and emo, and then 
 fodsftyonr to prove to his pkin noii^bour, 
 iliit his WW is luS' daughter, and hiS' 
 ian^ter his eow. 
 
 llielieve there is not much more wisdom 
 in mma^ of those paradoxes of the ideal 
 fWIoiophy, which to plain sensible men 
 wpear to be palpable absurdities, bnt with 
 tboftd^ls pnnYor profound diMsoverJes. I 
 
 XlilV* % 'Vh'"''* 
 
 i.^OK QOANtrrATB A Hist A, c. 
 
 resolve, for my own part, always to pay a 
 great regard to the dictates of conmion 
 sense, aiul not to depart from them without 
 absolute necessity: and, therefore, I am 
 apt to think that there is really something 
 in the rose or lUy, which is by the vulgar 
 called smeil, and which continues to exist 
 when it is not smelled : and shall proceed 
 to inquire what this is ; how we come by 
 the notion of it; and what relation this 
 quality or virtue of smell hath to the sens- 
 ation which we have been obliged to call 
 by the same name^ for want of another. 
 
 Let us therefore suppose, as befor% ft 
 person beginning to exercise the sense of 
 smelling; a little experience will discover 
 to him, that the nose is the organ of this 
 sense, and that the air, or something in the 
 air, is a medium of it. And finding, by 
 farther experience, that, when a rose is near, 
 he has a certain sensation, when it is 
 removed, the sensation is gone, he finds a 
 connection in nature betwixt the rose and 
 and this sensation. The rose is considered 
 as a cause, occasion, or antecedent of the 
 sensation ; the sensation as an effect or 
 consequence of the presence of the rose; 
 they are associated in the mind, and oon- 
 stantly found conjoined in the imagination. 
 
 But here it deserves our notice, that, 
 aith on g ] ! the sen ea t i nn m i jr flrr m. in oro 
 
 closgiy related to the mind its s ubject, o r 
 to the nose its organ, yet neither o f, these 
 connections operate so powerfully u pon th e 
 imagination as its connection with t he rose 
 ijts concomitant. The reason of this seem s 
 to be, that iisconnection with the.jxuiuLis 
 more general, and noway distln^iiH^iftt h, '* 
 fxpm other smells, or even frgja„.tafttes, 
 sounds, and otlier kinds of sensatioufi.— The 
 relatioa it hath to tha organ ia^JUkfindso 
 general, and doth not distinguish itjiam 
 other smells; but the connectionjijjath 
 with the rose is special and constaoixJiy 
 which means they become alm ost insepar * 
 able in the imsginati^ni in IIke.jDuuuiscjtf 
 
 Secnon JJTm 
 
 THAT THBRB IS A PMNCIFLB IN HUMAN 
 NATURB, FROM WHICH THB NOTION OF 
 THIS, AS WILL AS ALL OTHBR NATURAL 
 VIRTIJB8 OR CAUSS8, IS OXRIVBD. 
 
 In ordar to illostrate further how wt 
 come to conceive a quality or virtue in the 
 rose which we call smell, and what this 
 *8meU is, it is proper to observe, that the 
 mind bcuKins very early to thirst after prin- 
 ciples which may direct it in the exertion 
 of its powera The smell of a rose is a 
 certain affection or feeling of the mind; 
 and, as it is not constant, but comes and 
 
 Igoes, we want to k-oow *-\im ami where we 
 may expect it; am! n m • vl^ we find 
 
 something which, bv i -^^sthis 
 
 feeling along with ii > ived, 
 
 removes it This, wl the 
 
 cause of it ; not in a si ical 
 
 sense, as if the feeling , ted 
 
 or produced by that cauK » a popukr 
 
 sense; for the mind is si. ' I'rv '- 
 
 a constant conjunction bet leiii i and 
 
 such causes are in reality n i ; tim ^'*'f 
 laws of nature. Having fo i < i!.t» hi 
 thus constantly conjoined witii '!ar«e, tlie 
 
 I mind is at rest, without inqui. Ii| 
 
 this conjunction is owing to a re int t ♦.; 
 or not ; that being a philosophic. « i'mi.' ) , 
 which does not concern human i'^-. 1'. 
 every discovery of such a constant * 
 tion is of real importance in life, an*. 
 a strong impression upon the mind. 
 
 So w^ently do we desire to find every 
 that happens within our observation 
 connected with something else as its causi 
 occasion, that we are apt to fancy count 
 tions upon the slightest grounds ; and this 
 weakness is most remarkable in the ignor- 
 ant, who know least of the real connections 
 established in nature. A man meets with 
 an unlucky accident on a certain day of the 
 year, and, knowing no other cause of his 
 misfortune, he is apt to conceive something 
 unlucky m that day of the calendar ; and, 
 If he finds the same connection hold a second 
 time, is strongly confirmed in his supersti- 
 tion. I remember, many years ago, a white 
 ox was brought into this country, of so 
 enormous a size that people came many 
 miles to see bun. There happened, some 
 months after, an uncommon fotaUty among 
 women in child-bearing. Two such uncom- 
 mon events, following one another, gave a 
 suspicion of their connection, and occasioned 
 a common opinion among the country- 
 people that the white ox was the cause of 
 this fatality. 
 
 Howevel' silly and ridiculous this opinion 
 ^as, it sprung from the same root in human 
 nature on which all natural philosophy 
 grows — namely, an eager desire to find out 
 connections in things, and a natural, ori- 
 ginal, and unaccountable propensity to be- 
 lieve that the connections which we have 
 observed in time past will continue in time 
 to come. Omens, portents, good and bad 
 luck, palmistry, astrology, all the numer- 
 ous arts of divination and of interpreting 
 dreams, false hypotheses and systems, and 
 true principles in the philosophy of nature, 
 are all buUt upon the same foundation in 
 the human constitution, and are distin- 
 guished only according as we conclude 
 rashly from too few instances, or cautiously 
 from a sufficient induction. 
 
 As it is experience only that discovers 
 these connections between natural causes 
 
 and their effects ; without inquiring further, 
 we attribute to the cause some vague and 
 mdistinct notion of power or virtue to pro- 
 duce the effect. And, in many cases, the 
 purposes of life do not make it necessary to 
 give distinct names to the cause and the 
 effect. Whence it happens, that, being 
 closely connected in the imagination, al- 
 though very unlike to each other, one name 
 serves for both ; and, in common discourse, 
 is most frequently applied to that which, of 
 "he two, is most the object of our attention. 
 I This occasions an ambiguity in many words, 
 ^ which, having the same causes in all lan- 
 t ffur.efes, is common to all, and is apt to be 
 ! . ..riooked evcii by philosophers. Some 
 J u:ices will serve both to illustrate and 
 1 <»iilirm what we have said. 
 |i Magnetism signifies both the tendency of 
 I the iron lowards the magnet, and the power 
 i; ly.v 1 rgnet to produce that tendency; 
 • ,' if it IS asked, whether it is a quality 
 01 ! A iron or of the magnet, one would per- 
 , Laps be puzzled at first ; but a little atten- 
 tion would discover, tliat we conceive a 
 power or virtue in the magnet as the cause, 
 and a motion in the iron as the effect ; and, 
 although these are thuigs quite unlike, they 
 are so united in the imagination, that we 
 give the common name of magnelism to 
 both. The same thing may be said of gra- 
 vitation, which sometimes signifies the tend- 
 ency of bodies towards the earth, sometimes 
 the attractive power of the earth, which we 
 conceive as the cause of that tendency. We 
 may observe the same ambiguity in some of 
 Sir Isaac Newton's definitions; and that 
 even in words of his own malcing. In three 
 of his definitions, he explains very distinctly 
 what he understands by the ubaalute quan- 
 tity, what by the accelerative quantity, and 
 what by the motive quantity, of a centri- 
 petal force. In the first of these three 
 definitions, centripetal force is put for the 
 cause, which we conceive to be some power 
 or virtue in the centre or central body ; in 
 the two last, the same word is put for the 
 effect of this cause, in producmg velocity, 
 or in producing motion towards that 
 
 centre. 
 
 Heat signifies a sensation, and ccld a 
 contrary one ; but heat likewise signifies a 
 quality or state of bodies, which hath no 
 contrary, but different degrees. CWhen a 
 man feels the same water hot to one hand 
 and cold to the other, this gives bun occa- 
 sion to distinguish between the feeling and 
 the heat of the body; and, although he 
 knows that the sensations are contrary, he 
 does not maagme that the body can have 
 contrary qualities at the same tinierj And 
 when he finds a different taste in the same 
 body in sickness and in health, he is easily 
 convinced, that the quaUty in the body 
 called taste is the same as before, although 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF TASTING. 
 
 115 
 
 [ 
 
 1m In* 'firom it are perhafw 
 
 *nm inilgtf an commonly charged by 
 philoaopliAn, with the absurdity of imagin* 
 
 big tlio aiMil in the rose to be eomething 
 lite to ills :i«iiaation of smelling ; but I 
 think iii4«tly; for they nmther give the 
 tame epithets to both, nor do they reason 
 in the same manner from them. What is 
 tp iri lt in 
 
 \ 
 
 -" '" i""i—» ijpiii I 
 
 , and this is all we know of the 
 matter. But wh at is smelling? It is an 
 act of thejamo^put i« never imaemed^ to 
 Ibe a (juapy of the mind. Auais , the seiif- 
 iiloi of 'inoi dUngia tK^Cgiveato infer ttfififiS- 
 iift i 'i'!v"""ii.' miiiH Ai » a«Mitiiwif ]> pinfy i but ft"l«^M 
 
 In the roifl. ipiwyil ll«|l Mm: Wesi^, 
 this body smells sweet, thai sQnks ; but we 
 do not sajv this mind smells sweet and that 
 
 stinks. TiM'''*^^*'Bi>i *liiiiPlii P*' ^^ ttnti^j. ana 
 
 From what hath beon. :iaid, we may lea.m 
 that the smell of a rose signilles two 
 things^: Mmt^ » sensation, which can have 
 no existence but when it is perceived, and 
 j can only be in a sentient being or mind ; 
 SteoiMr^i it' signifies some power, quality, 
 'Or irirtae^ in the rose, or in effluvia proceed- 
 ing from it, which hath a permanent exist- 
 ence, independent of the mind, and which, 
 by the eoBititation of nature, produces 
 the .ieoMtlon 'in. us. By the origi.nal con- 
 ■titiitiiin <if our nature, we are both led to 
 belieTe tiiat there is a permanent cause of 
 the aeiiMtlon, and pmmfCed to seek after 
 it I and experience deteouines us to place 
 it in the rose. The names of all smells, 
 tastes, sounds, as well as heat and cold, 
 have a like ambiguity in all languages; 
 tat it deserves our attention, that these 
 mmas an but rarely, in common language, 
 naedto signify the sensations ; for the most 
 pHft, they signify the external qualities 
 which are indicated by the sensations — the 
 cause of which phsenomenon It take to be 
 this. Onr. lensations have verr diiferent 
 degrees of strength. Some of them are so 
 ctuiek and lively as to give us a great deal 
 'Mlier of pleasure or of uneasiness. When 
 Hiii'ii the ease, we are compelled to attend 
 to the sensation itself, and to make it an 
 9bjeet of thought and discourse ; we give it 
 t maiiie, whidi ^liiniifls nothing but the 
 •enastioni: .and in. HUb ttse we readily 
 aokniiwledgei thaA' 'iiM tting m'cant by that 
 namO' is. in the mind only, and not in any* 
 thing extofnaL ouch are the vwmmis kmds 
 of pam, iiakness, and the seniations of 
 hunger' aai ether appetites. But, whero' 
 ^theiwsmation is not so intcreatinf as to 
 
 quire to be made an object of thought, our 
 constitution leads us to consider itasa 
 of so mething external, which hath • 
 Instant conjunction with it; and, having/ 
 found what it indicates, we give a name to 
 that : the sensation, having no proper 
 name, fills in as an accessory to the thing 
 signified by it, and is confounded under the 
 same name. So that the name may, in- 
 deed, be applied to the sensation, but most 
 properly and commonly is applied to the 
 thing indicated by that sensation. The 
 sensations of smell, taste, sound, and colour, 
 are of infinitely more importance as signs 
 or indications, than they are upon their own 
 account ; like the words of a language, 
 wherein we do not attend to the sound but 
 to the sense. 
 
 Section X. 
 
 WHBTHBB IN SENSATION THE MINU IS ACTIITB 
 OA PA8S1VB ? 
 
 There is one inquiry remains, "^hethflr, 
 in smelling,, and in .other i^nsations, the 
 minafe active or passive ? This possibly 
 may seem to be a question about words, or, 
 at least, of very small importance ; how- 
 ever, if it leads us to attend more accu- 
 rately to the operations of our minds than 
 we are accustomed to do, it is, upon that 
 very account, not altogether unprofitable. 
 1 think the opinion of modern philosophers | 
 is, that in sensation the mind is altogether 
 passive.* And this undoubtedly is so far 
 true, that we cannot raise any sensation in 
 our minds by willing it ; and, on the other 
 hand, it seems ha^ly possible to avoid 
 having the sensation when the object is 
 presented. Yet it seems likewise to be 
 true, that, in proportion as the attention is 
 more or less turned to a sensation or 
 diverted from it, that sensation is more or . 
 less perceived and remembered. Every/ 
 one knows that very iutense pain may be 
 diverted by a surprise, or by anything that 
 entirely occupies the mind. When we are 
 engaged in earnest conversation, the clock 
 may strike by us without being heard ; at 
 least, we remember not, the next moment, 
 that we did hear it. The noise and tumult 
 of a great tradmg city is not heard by 
 them who have lived in it all their days ; 
 but it stuns those strangers who have 
 lived in the peaceful retirement of the 
 country. Wheth er, therefore^ there can 
 be any se nsation where th e mindls purely 
 
 passive, I will not any ; hiif I fli^nV WA ftrft 
 COnSCinua^ hftving g iven *^ mg ^yi»ntinti 
 
 to. evfixyjsfiDaalion. whioh wa >«»tn«»Tn^^yj 
 tliOBgh a¥fir m rpfpnfc 
 
 • ThliliflurtooalM»luttlrgtattd..-li 
 
 I 
 
 No doubt, where the impulse is strong 
 and uncommon, it is as difficult to withhold 
 attention as it is to forbear crying out in 
 racking pain, or starting in a sudden fright. 
 But how iar both might be attained by 
 strong resolution and practice, is not easy 
 to determine. So that, although the Peri- 
 patetics had no good reason to suppose an 
 active and a passive intellect, since atten- 
 tion may be well enough accounted an act 
 of the will, yet I think they came nearer 
 to the truth, in holding the mind to be in 
 Hensation partly passive and partly active, 
 than the moderns, in affirming it toi 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 which they are ex- 
 pressed in all languages, shews this. When 
 the miiid is much employed in them, wc 
 say it is very active ; whereas, if they were 
 impressions only, as the ideal philosophy 
 would lead us to conceive, we ought, in such 
 a case, rather to say, that the mind is very 
 passive ; for, I suppose, no man would 
 attribute great activity to the paper I write 
 upon, because it receives variety of cha- 
 racters. 
 
 The relation which the sensation of smell 
 bears to the memory and imagination of it, 
 and to a mind or subject, is common to all 
 our seneations, and, indeed, to all the oper- 
 ations of the mind : the relation it bears to 
 the will is common to it with all the powers 
 ohinderstanding ; and the relation it bears to 
 that quality or virtue of bodies which it in- 
 dicates, is common to it with the sensa- 
 tions of taste, hearing, colour, heat, and 
 cold — so that what hath been said of this 
 sense, may easily be applied to several of 
 our senses, and to other operations of the 
 "mind ; and this, I hope, will apologize for 
 our insisting so long upon it 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OP TASTING. 
 
 A GREAT part of what hath been said of 
 the sense of smelling, is so easily applied 
 to those of tasting and hearing, that we 
 shall leave the application entirely to the 
 reader*s judgment, and save ourselves the 
 trouble of a tedious repetition. 
 
 It is probable that everything that affects 
 the taste is, in some degree, soluble in the 
 Maliva. It is not conceivable how anything 
 should enter readily, and of its own accord, 
 as it were, into the pores of the tongue, 
 palate, and fattceSf unless it had some 
 eliemical affinity to that liquor with which 
 these pores are always replete. It is, there 
 fore, an admirable contrivance of nature, 
 that the organs of tasto should always be 
 
 moist with a liquor which is so universal a 
 menstruum, and which deserves to be ex- 
 amined more than it hath been hitherto, 
 both in that capacity, and as a medical 
 unguent. Nature teaches dogs, and other 
 animals, to use it in this last way ; and its 
 subserviency both to taste and digestion 
 shews its efficacy in the former. 
 
 It is with manifest design and propriety, 
 that the organ of this sense guards the 
 entrance of the alimentary canal, as that of 
 smell the entrance of the canal for respira- 
 tion. And from these organs being placed in 
 such manner that everything tluit enters into 
 the stomach must undergo the scrutiny of 
 both senses, it is plain that they were intended 
 by nature to distinguish wholesome food 
 from that which is noxious. The brutes 
 have no other means of choosing their food ; 
 nor would mankind, in the eavage state. 
 And it is very probable that the smell and 
 taste, noway vitiated by luxury or bad 
 habits, would rarely, if ever, lead us to a 
 wrong choice of food among the produc- 
 tions of nature ; although the artificial 
 compositions of a refined and luxurious 
 cookery, or of chemistry and pharmacy, 
 may often impose upon both, and produce 
 things agreeable to the taste and smell, 
 which are noxious to health. And it is 
 probable that both smell and taste are 
 vitiated, and rendered less fit to perform 
 their natural offices, by the unnatural kind 
 of life men commonly lead in society. 
 
 These senses are likewise of great use to 
 distinguish bodies that cannot be distin- 
 guished by our other senses, and to discern 
 the changes which the same body under- 
 goes, which, in many cases, are sooner per- 
 ceived by taste and smell than by any other 
 means. How many things are there in the 
 market, the eating-house, and the tavern, 
 as well as in the apothecary and chemist's 
 shops, which are known to be what they 
 are given out to be, and are perceived to be 
 good or bad in their kind, only by taste 
 or smell ? And how far our judgment of 
 things, by means of our senses, might be 
 improved by accurate attention to the small 
 differences of taste and smell, and other 
 sensible qualities, is not easy to determine. 
 Sir Isaac Newton, by a noble effort of liia 
 great genius, attempted, from the colour 
 of opaque bodies, to discover the magnitude 
 of the minute pellucid parts of which they 
 are compounded: and who knows what 
 new lights natural philosophy may yet re- 
 ceive from other secondary qualities duly 
 examined ? 
 
 Some tastes and smells stimulate the 
 nerves and raise the spirits : but such an 
 artificial elevation of the spirits is, by the 
 laws of nature, followed by a depression, 
 which can only be relieved by tune, or by 
 the repeated use of the like stimulus. By 
 
116 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 lie iM' of swsli flikgs we ereftte an. appe- 
 tit# iog tlMnii wMoli vwty nmcli :reiei]iblfl% 
 and liatli all. ilw IbMeof a natii^ml one. It 
 
 ■ itili maniwr tiat min aiiqiu.ro an ap- 
 Mtits for ■niifl', tobacco, stfong liquors, 
 lHulan.iiaii, and the like.. 
 
 Nature, indeed, seems atiidionsly to have 
 ael bounds to the pleasnrei and pains we 
 have by these two senses, and to have con- 
 fined them within very narrow limits, that 
 «•' ni^hl not place' any part of our happi- 
 acst in them; there being hardly anv 
 ■niell. or 'tasto so disagreeable that 'Use wiU 
 'Bot nake it tolerable, and at last perhaps 
 afiecable, nor any so agreeable as not to 
 me ita lelish by constant use. Neither is 
 there any piaasnre or pain of these senses 
 vrhich is not introduced or followed by 
 some degree of its contrary, which nearly 
 balances it; so that we may here apply 
 flit heantifiil allegory of the divine So- 
 etates^tliat, although pleasure and pain 
 are contrary in their nature, and their faces 
 .look, 'diiwenl waya, yet Jiipitor hath tied 
 tlMm^M' together that^ ht 'ihat Uy» bold of 
 <be one 'draws the 'Other' along with it 
 
 As there is a great variety of smells, 
 liami^gly simple and uncompounded, not 
 inlj altogitlier unlike, but some of them 
 'Mitiaij to oibflf% and as the same thing 
 nay 'be :said of tastes, it would seem that 
 one taato is not less different from another 
 'than it ia from a smell, .s and therefore it 
 mav he a question, how all smells come 
 to M oomidered as one ffmm, and all 
 taalea aa another ? What is the generical 
 Hitlnction ? Is it only that the nose is the 
 organ of the one and the palate of the 
 other ? or, abstracting from the organ, is 
 Ihert' not In llie sensations themselves 
 aonething common to smells, and some- 
 tUBg else common to tastes, whereby the 
 I disttngnished from the other? It 
 most probable that the lattor is the 
 i; and that, under the appearance of 
 the greatest' limplleity, there m atiU in. 
 these senaatiow .iomethtng of composition. 
 
 If one considers the matter abstractly, it 
 would seem that a number of sensations, 
 or, indeed, of any other individual things, 
 willeli are perfectly simple and unoom- 
 wmndiedy are incapable of being reduced 
 lito jpfiwni andfp0d«ff i because individuals 
 whidh belong to a species must have some- 
 Hiiiig peenliar to' each, by which they are 
 iltfttgniabed, and something common to 
 Ao wnole species. And the same may be 
 •aid of ipmm which belong to one ffmim, 
 .And, whetiier this does not imply some kind 
 nff eomposition, «• shall leave to metaphy- 
 'aiaianS' to detonniiM. 
 
 The sensations both of nnell and taste do 
 undoubtedly admit of an immense variety 
 ef '—M»if^%^tiffn if| whii^. no language ca.n 
 •aprpi. .If a man ma to examine five 
 
 hundred different wines, he would hardly 
 find two of them that had nredsely the 
 same taste. The same thing holds in cheese, 
 and in many other things. Yet, of five 
 hundred different tastes in cheese or wme, 
 we can hardly describe twenty, so as to give 
 a distinct notion of them to one who had 
 not tasted them. 
 
 Dr Nebemiah Grew, a most judicious 
 and laborious naturalist, in a discourse read 
 before the Royal Society, anno 1675, hath 
 endeavoured to shew that there are at least 
 sixteen different simple tastes, which he 
 enumerates.* How many compounded 
 ones may be made out of all the various 
 combinations of two, three, four, or more 
 of these simple ones, they who are ac- 
 quainted with the theory of combinations 
 will easily perceive. AU these have va- 
 rious deCTces of intenseness and weakness. 
 Many of them have otlier varieties ; in some 
 the taste is more quickly perceived upon 
 the application of the sapid body, in others 
 more sIowly_in some the sensation is more 
 permanent, in others more transient— in 
 some it seems to undulate or return after 
 certain intervals, in others it is constant ; 
 the various parts of the organ — as the lips, 
 the tip of the tongue, the root of the tongue, 
 the fauces, the uvula^ and the throat— are 
 some of them chiefly affected by one sapid 
 body, and others by another. All these, 
 and other varieties of tastes, that accurate 
 writer illustrates by a number of examples. 
 Nor is it to be doubted, but smells, if exa- 
 mined with tlie same accuracy, would appear 
 to have as great variety. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF HKARINO. 
 
 S^lion /• 
 
 fTAJlISTV OP 80UN08 — THBIR PLACE AND 
 niSTANCX LXABNan BY CUSTOM, WFTHOUT 
 
 aaASONiN'O. 
 
 SoiTNOS have probably no less variety of 
 modifications, than either tastes or odours. 
 For, first, sounds differ in tone. The ear 
 is capable of perceiving four or five hun- 
 dred variations of tone in sound, and pro- 
 bably as many different degrees of strength ; 
 by combining these, we have above twenty 
 thousand simple sounds that differ either 
 in tone or strength, supposing every tone 
 to be perfect But it is to 1^ observed, 
 that to make a perfect tone, a great many 
 
 • Plato and Galen reckon tewm, Arlatofle and 
 Thsophraitut eight cpccies of simple tattet Amonfc 
 the modem*, («• 1 recollect ) tbcM are estimated at 
 ten, by Boerhaavc and Linnaeus { by HaUer, at 
 
 I'lralvc'.^— H.. 
 
 OF HEARING. 
 
 117 
 
 undulations of elastic air are required, 
 which must all be of equal duration and 
 extent, and follow one another with perfect 
 regularity ; and each undulation must be 
 made up of the advance and recoil of in- 
 numerable particles of elastic air, whose 
 motions are all uniform in direction, force, 
 and time. Hence we may easily conceive 
 a prodigious variety in the same tone, aris- 
 ing from irregularities of it, occasioned by 
 the constitution, figure, situation, or man- 
 ner of striking the sonorous body ; from 
 the constitution of the elastic medium, 
 or its being disturbed by other motions ; 
 and from the constitution of the ear itself, 
 upon which the impression is made. 
 
 A flute, a violin, a hautboy, and a French 
 horn, may all sound the same tone, and be 
 easily distinguishable. Nay, if twenty 
 human voices sound the same note, and 
 with equal strength, there will still be some 
 difference. The same voice, while it re- 
 tains its proper distinctions, may yet be 
 varied many ways, by sickness or health, 
 youth or age, leanness or fatness, good or 
 bad humour. The same words spoken by 
 foreigners and natives — nay, by persons of 
 different provinces of the same nation— may 
 be distinguislied. 
 
 Such an immense variety of sensations 
 of smell, taste, and sound, surely was not 
 given us in vain. They are signs by which 
 we know and distinguish things without 
 us ; and it was fit that the variety of the 
 si^ should, in some degree, correspond 
 uith the variety of the things signified by 
 them. 
 
 ItseemsJabe-by custom that we leam 
 to distinguish both the place of things, and 
 theif na-ture, b y m eans of their sound. 
 That such a noise is in the street, such 
 I another in the room above me ; that this 
 is a knock at my door, that a person walk- 
 A ing up stairs— is probably learnt by expe- 
 Irience. I remember, that once lying a- 
 [bed, and having been put into a fright, I 
 heard my own heart beat ; but I took it 
 ' to be one knocking at the door, aod arose 
 and opened the door oftener than once, 
 before I discovered that the sound was in 
 my own breast. It is probable, that, pre- 
 vious to all experience, we should as little 
 know whether a sound came from the 
 right or left, from above or below, from 
 a great or a small distance, as we should 
 ■know whether it was the sound of a drum, 
 or a bell, or a cart. Nature is frugal in 
 her operations, and will not be at the ex- 
 pense of a particular instinct, to give us 
 that knowledge which experience will soon 
 produce, by means of a general principle of 
 human nature. 
 
 For Bt lit tle experience»_by. jthe constitu- 
 tion of_human nature, ties together,, not 
 oniTm o ur un ajmation, but in our belief. 
 
 I rn ii J i iiii . 'T "r ~ iii r — ■m— i * -"" "* i miiBiiiMPiiiMiiPiiipii"" ^ 
 
 those things which were in their nature un- 
 connected. When I hear a certain sound, 
 I conclude immediately, without reasoning, 
 t]Sat a coacli passes by. There are no pre- 
 misea. from jjliich thw conclusion i&inferred 
 by any rules of logic. It is the effect of a 
 principie of our nature4ia?13Py»Qft,te.3ia. with 
 the brutes. 
 
 Although it is by hearing that we are 
 capable of the perceptions of harmony and 
 melody, and of all the charms of music, 
 yet it would seem that these require a 
 higher faculty, which we call a musical ear. 
 This seems to be in very different degrees, 
 in those who have the bare faculty of hear- 
 ing equally perfect ; and, therefore, ought 
 not to be classed with the external senses, 
 but in a higher order. 
 
 Section //. 
 
 OF NATURAL LANGUAGE. 
 
 One of the noblest purposes of sound un- 
 doubtedly is language, without which man- 
 kind would hardly be able to attain any 
 degree of improvement above the brutes. 
 Language is commonly considered as purely 
 an invention of men, who by nature are 
 no less mute than the brutes ; but, having 
 a superior degree of invention and reason, 
 have been able to contrive artificial signs 
 of their thoughts and purposes, and to es- 
 tablish them by common consent. But the 
 origin of language deserves to be more care- 
 fully inquired into, not only as this inquiry 
 may be of importance for the improvement 
 of language, but as it is related to the pre- 
 sent subject, and tends to lay open some 
 of the first principles of human nature. I 
 shall, therefore, offer some thoughts upon 
 this subject. 
 
 By language I understand all those signs 
 which mankind use in order to communi- 
 cate to others their thoughts and intentions, 
 their purposes and desires. And suchi 
 signs may be conceived to be of two kinds : | 
 First, such as have no meaning but what ' 
 is affixed to them by compact or agreement j 
 among those who use them — these are ar-| 
 tificial signs; Secondly, such as, previouaf 
 to all compact or agreement, have a mean-j 
 ing which every man understands by thel 
 principles of his nature. Language, so far! 
 as it consists of artificial signs, may be called | 
 artificial ; so far as it consists of natural j 
 signs, I call it natural. 
 
 Having premised these definitions, I 
 think it is demonstrable, that, if mankind 
 had not a natural language, they could 
 never have invented an artificial one by 
 their reason and ingenuity. For all arti- 
 ficial language supposes some compact or 
 agreement to affix a certain meaning to 
 
or THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 jJtiliilii itgiui ; therefofe, tbere nttist be 
 
 <ir afraements before tlie uae of 
 itiU'iigiis; but there am be no com- 
 '|iMt or agreement without signs, nor with- 
 iM langnage; and, therefore, there mimt 
 bo ft niliiiiil kngiiage before my artificial 
 :]aiainfi 'Oan be^ invented. : which was to 
 'lit mnfiniliatod. 
 
 Had language in general been a human 
 Invention, as much as writing or printing, 
 we flhonld find whole nations as mute as 
 the bmtes. Indeed, even the brutes have 
 some natural signs by which they express 
 Hieir own thoughts, affections, and desires, 
 anil nndemtand thoae of otheia. A chick, 
 :■■ 'WOtm am .hatdisdy understands the differ- ' 
 '«nt ^MWiidi wbefcby its dam calls it to food, 
 m gives the alarm of danger. A dog or a 
 iumm mdmtands, by natuve, when the 
 humaa/voiM 'Careaaes, and 'wImii it threatene 
 hioL But brutes, as iv as '«e know, have 
 no notion of contracts or covenants, or of 
 moral obligation to perform them. If na- 
 ture lad given them these notions, she 
 limild prebably have given them natural 
 ngns to express them. And where nature 
 b«B denied these notions, it is as impossible 
 to acquire them by art, as it is for a blind 
 nan to acquire the notion of coloura Some 
 brutes are sensible of honour or disgrace ; 
 thej have resentment and gratitude ; but 
 iMBe of' them, as ikr as we Icnow, can make 
 ft 'fremm or plight theii faith, having no 
 "'Miflh notions from their eonstitution. And 
 if mankind had not these notions by nature, 
 and natural signs to express them by, with 
 all theif' 'vit ^and. ingenuity they could never 
 have iBvenied. bnguage. 
 
 'The' elements ofSis natural knguage 
 of mankind, or the signs that are naturally 
 opMiive of our thoughts, may, I think, 
 "be redueed to these three kinds : modula- 
 tions of 'thO' voice, gestures,, and features. 
 By means of these, two savages who have 
 no oommon artificial language, can converse 
 togetlier ; can communicate their thoughts 
 in some tolerable manner; can ask and 
 liikse, afilrm and deny, threaten and sup- 
 plicate ; can traffic, enter into covenants, 
 and p%ht theirUth. This might be con- 
 flnned by historical tixia of undoubted 
 'eieiit, if It were necesntry. 
 
 Maiikind havmg thus a oommon language 
 by nature, thou^ a scanty one, adapted 
 unly to the neetsnties of nature, there is 
 'BO great' ingenuity required in improving 
 it by the luldition of artificial signs, to 
 Pifply the deficiency of the naturaL These 
 artmeial signs must multiply with the arts 
 of 11% and tie improvements of knowledge. 
 'Tie attiealatiins of the voice eeem to be, 
 of al signs, the most proper for artificial 
 language ; and aamankmdliave unitersally 
 used 'them Ibr that 'purpose, we may reason- 
 ably judge that nature intended them lor it 
 
 But nature probably does not intend that 
 we should lay aside the use of the natural 
 signs; it is enough that we supply their 
 defects by artificial ones. A man that rides 
 always in a chariot, by degrees loses the 
 use of his legs ; and one who uses artificial 
 signs only, loses both the knowledge and 
 use of the natural. Dumb people retain 
 much more of the natural language than 
 others, because necessity obliges them to 
 use it. And for the same reason, savages 
 have much more of it than civilized nations. 
 It is b^ natural signs chiefly that we give 
 force and energy to language ; and the less 
 language has of them, it is the less ex- 
 pressive and persuasive. Thus, writing is 
 less expressive than reading, and reading 
 less expressive than speaking without book; 
 speaking without the proper and natural 
 moduktions, force, and variations of the 
 voice, is a frigid and dead language, com- 
 pared with that which is attended with 
 them ; it is still more expressive when we 
 add the language of the eyes and features ; 
 and is then only in its perfect and natural 
 state, and attended with its proper energy, 
 when to all these we superadd the force of 
 action. 
 
 Where speech is natural; it will be an 
 exercL*>e, not of the voice and lungs only, 
 but of all the muscles of the body ; like 
 that of dumb people and savages, whose 
 language, as it has more of nature, is more 
 expressive, and is more easily learned. 
 
 Is it not pity that the refinements of a 
 civilized life, instead of supplying the de- 
 fects of natural knguage, should root it 
 out and pknt in its stead duU and lifeless 
 articulations of unmeaning sounds, or the 
 scrawling of insignificant characters ? The 
 perfection of language is commonly thought 
 to be, to express human thoughts and sen- 
 timents distinctly by these dull signs ; but 
 if this is the perfection of artificial language, 
 it is surely the corruption of the natural. 
 
 Artificial signs signify, but they do not 
 express ; they speak to the understanding, 
 as algebraical characters may do, but the 
 passions, the affections, and the will, hear 
 them not: these continue dormant and 
 inactive, tUl we speak to thera in the lan- 
 guage of nature, to which they are all atten- 
 tion and obedience. 
 
 It were easy to shew, that the fine arts 
 of the musician, the painter, the actor, and 
 the orator, so far as they are expressive-^ 
 although the knowledge of them requires 
 in us a delicate taste, a nice judgment, and 
 much study and practice — yet they are 
 nothing else but tiie language of nature, 
 which we brought into the world with us, 
 but have unlearned by disuse, and so find 
 the greatest difiiculty in recovering it. 
 
 Abolish the use of articulate sounda and 
 writing among mankind for a eentnry« 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 119 
 
 and every man would be a painter, an 
 actor, and an orator. We mean not to 
 affirm that such an expedient is practica- 
 ble; or, if it were, that the advantage 
 would counterbalance the loss; but that, 
 as men are led by nature and necessity to 
 converse together, they will use every mean 
 in their power to make themselves under- 
 stood ; and where they cannot do this by 
 artificial signs, they will do it, as far as 
 possible, by natural ones: and he that 
 understands perfectly the use of natural 
 signs, must be the best judge in all the ex- 
 pressive arts. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 or TOUCH. 
 
 Section I. 
 
 OF HBAT AND COLD. 
 
 The senses which we have hitherto con- 
 sidered, are very simple and uniform, each 
 of them exhibiting only one kind of sensa- 
 tion, and thereby indicating only one quality 
 of bodies. By the ear we perceive sounds, 
 and nothing else ; by the palate, tastes ; 
 and by the nose, odours. These qualities 
 are all likewise of one order, being all 
 secondary qualities ; whereas, by touc hjwe 
 perceivejiiit one qu ality onlypbut ""^|y > 
 I and those__oL:¥firy_diflterent kinds. • Tne 
 chief of them are heat and coldTHardness 
 I and softness, roughness and smoothness, 
 I figure, solidity, motion, and extension. 
 We shall consider these in order. 
 
 As to heat and cold, it .will easily be 
 allowed that they are secondary qualities^ 
 of the same order with smell, taste, and 
 sound. And, therefore, what hath been 
 already said of smell, is easily applicable to 
 them ; that is, that the words heat and cold 
 have each of them two significations ; they 
 sometimes signify certain sensations of the 
 mind, which can have no existence when 
 when they are not felt, nor -can exist any- 
 where but in a mind or sentient being ; but 
 more frequently they signify a quality in 
 bodies, which, by the laws of nature, occa- 
 sions the sensations of heat and cold in us — 
 a quality which, thosgli connected by cus- 
 tom so closely with the sensation, that we 
 cannot, without difficulty, separate them, 
 yet hath not the least resemblance to it, 
 
 and may continue to exist when there is no 
 sensation at aU. 
 
 The sensations of heat and cold are per-i 
 fectly known ; for they neither are, nor cant 
 be, anything else than what we feel them I 
 to be ; but the qualities in bodies which we I 
 call heat and cold, are unknown. They are j 
 only conceived by us, as unknown causes or 
 occasions of the sensations to which we give 
 the same names. But, though common 
 sense says nothing of the nature of these 
 qualities, it plainly dictates the existence of 
 them ; and to deny that there can be heat li 
 and cold when they are not felt, is an ah- 1] 
 surdity too gross to merit confutation. For \ I 
 what could be more absurd, than to say, j! 
 that the thermometer cannot rise or fall, 
 unless some person be present, or that the j 
 coast of Guinea would be as cold as Nova | 
 Zembla, if it had no inhabitants ? ^ I* 
 
 It is the business of philosophers to in- 
 vestigate, by proper experiments and in- 
 duction, what heat and cold are in bodies. 
 And whether they make heat a particular 
 element diffused through nature, and ac- 
 cumulated in the heated body, or whether 
 they make it a certain vibration of the 
 parts of the heated body ; whether they de- 
 termine that heat and cold are contrary 
 qualities, as the sensations undoubtedly are 
 contrary, or that heat only is a quality, 
 and cold its privation : these questions are 
 within the province of philosophy ; for com- 
 mon sense says nothing on the one side or 
 
 the other- 
 
 But, what eve; be the_ .njture jit that 
 quall^illbodififl - which _Wfi_caU Ara/, we 
 certajilly Jinow this,- that itcunnot in the 
 least resemble the sensation of heat. It is 
 no 'less absurd to suppose a likeness be- 
 tween the sensation and the quality, than 
 it would be to suppose that the pain of 
 the gout resembles a square or a triangle. 
 The sunplest man that hath common sense, 
 does not imagine the sensation of heat, or 
 anythmg that resembles that sensation, to 
 be in the fire. He only imagines that 
 there is somethmg in the fire which makes 
 him and other sentient bemgs feel heat. 
 Yet, as the name of heat, in conunon lan- 
 guage, more frequently and more properly 
 signifies this unknown something in the 
 fire, than the sensation occasioned by it, 
 he justly laughs at the philosopher who 
 denies that there is any heat in the fire, 
 and thinks that he speaks contrary to com- 
 mon senses 
 
 • It htm been very cotnmonly held by philosopheri, 
 both in ancient and modern times, that tlie division 
 of the Ben»e« into five, i« altogether inadequate ; and 
 pf^rchologistc, thougl) not at one in regard to the disu 
 trlbutinn. are now generally agreed, that under To^ich 
 —or Feeling, in the^tnctest signification of the term 
 
 are comprised perceptions which are, at least, as 
 
 well entitled to t>e opposed in ipecios, as those of Taste 
 •ndSmeU— H. 
 
 Section f /. 
 
 OF HARDNESS AND SOFTNESS. 
 
 Let us next consider hardness and w)ft- 
 ness; by which words we always under- 
 
im 
 
 OP THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 121 
 
 <ii' irUeh W9 iAve • dintinet flunception. 
 
 Wlien the piirts of a body adhere so firmly 
 ilmi It cannot esisily be niiicle to clrnnge its 
 ifiire^ we nail it kmrd ; when its parts are 
 '«ieiy cicpltmd, we call it m//. This is the 
 notion which all mankind have of hardness 
 ftnd softness ; tbey are neither 8en»ati<m8, 
 nor like any sensation; tbey were real 
 fWlfitiefl before they were perceived by 
 loiieh, and continue to be so when they are 
 not perceived ; for if any man will affirm 
 "ilat dianonis were not hard till they were 
 "liMMied, who would reason with him ? 
 
 There is, no doubt, ». —iiifciliiw hv w hich 
 
 m 12»» ve a body to ..|£,]|«|ij|EJIlfr Thia 
 
 •ensation of hardness may easily be had, by 
 ^^pvaaing i»e*8 hand against the table, and 
 attending to the feeling that ensues, setting 
 ^aaide;, aa mueh as posniUe, all thought of the 
 table and its qualities, or of any external 
 tiling. But it is one thing to have the sens- 
 iiioni andannther to attend to it, and make 
 it » diatinet object of reiection. The first 
 Is TeiT ew'{ the last, in most cases, mL* 
 ttfameiy difflecili. 
 . WSJSS^fiSSSumi^ to, lae thu-aenaa" 
 
 hardnesB.... aignified.,..thiil. .iwjMLia ii pPW ot. It 
 
 I "iBllililiiillPiiPwiiiiiPiiiiiill^ iiPPffvWBlllMBWi.iiiPfllWiia .,11. ^w^tfjfji'' iiMiHIiiiiiiiiJNllMIMil^^ */■• • ■•■■ w'A 
 
 hy tlie¥ul|pr or byphikoophers; noHias it a 
 wunein anylangiiage. There is no sensation 
 nmre diatmet, or more frequent ; yet it is 
 never attended to, but passes through the 
 :lliiwl JiMtaiitWiMinialy, and serves only to 
 intfodnflo that quality In bodies, which, by a 
 bviif' our constitution, it suggests.. 
 
 There are, indeed, somo eases, wherein 
 It is no difficult matter to attend to the sens* 
 ation 'OceaaiiWMl. by the hardneas 'Of a body ; 
 for inil«n««|, when it is so violent as to occa« 
 ■ion. conaiderable pam : then nature calk 
 upon us to attond to it, and then we acknow. 
 le%e tliat it is a mere sensation, and can 
 only be In a sentient being. If a man runs 
 his head with violence against a pilkr, I 
 appeal to him whether the fiain he feels re- 
 sembles the hardness of the stone, or if he 
 can conceife' anything like what he feels to 
 be in an Inanimate piece of matter. 
 
 Tho attention of tiiemind is here entirely 
 tnmed towards the pamf ul feeling ; and, to 
 apeak in tho eommon language of mankind, 
 lie feels notUng in the stone, but feels a 
 violent pain in hia head. It is quite other- 
 wise when he leans his head gently against 
 tho pillar; for then he will tell you that he 
 feels nothing in his head, but feels hardness 
 in the atena Hath he not a sensation in 
 this case as well as in the other? Un- 
 dmibtodly he hath ; but it is a sensation 
 vUflli nature intended only as a sign of 
 ■onotMng In the stone ; and, accordingly, 
 he mstantly fixes his attention upon the 
 .^gllin•d; and 'Cannot, without great 
 
 difficulty, attend so much to the sensation 
 as to be persuaded tliat there is any such 
 thing distinct from the hardneas it signifies. 
 
 But, however difficult it may be to attend ^ 
 to this fugitive sensation, to stop its rapid 
 progress, and to disjoin it from the external 
 quality of hardness, in whose shadow it is 
 apt immediately to hide itself ; this is what 
 a philosopher by pains and practice iamst 
 attain, otherwise it will be impossible for 
 him to reason justly upon this subject, or 
 even to understand what is here advanced. 
 For the last appeal, in subjects of this na- 
 ture, must be to what a man feels and per^ 
 ceives in his own mind. 
 
 It is indeed strange that a sensation 
 which we have every time we feel a body 
 hard, and which, consequently, we -can com- 
 mand as often and continue as long as we 
 please, a sensation as distinct and determi- 
 nate as any other, should yet be so much 
 unknown as never to have been made an 
 object of thought and reflection, nor to 
 have been honoured with a name in any 
 language ; that philosophers, as well as the 
 vulgar, should have entirely overlooked it, 
 or confounded it with that quality of bo- 
 dies which we call hardnesSy to which it 
 hath not the least similitude. May we not 
 hence conclude, that the knowledge of the 
 
 human faculties is but in its infancy ? 
 
 that we have not yet learned to attend to 
 those operations of the mind, of which we 
 
 are ccmscious every hour of our lives ? V 
 
 that tliere are habits of inattention ac- 
 quired very early, which are as hard to be 
 overcome as other habita ? For I think It 
 is probable, that the novelty of this sensa- 
 tion will procure some attention to it in 
 children at first ; but, being in nowise inte- 
 resting in itself, as soon as it becomes 
 fiimiliar, it is overlooked, and the attention 
 turned solely to that which it signifies. 
 Thus, when one is learning a language, he 
 attends to the sounds ; but when he is mas- 
 ter of it, he attends only to the sense of 
 what he would express. If this is the case^ 
 we must become as little children again, if 
 we will be philosophers; we must over- 
 come thb habit of inattention which hais 
 been gathering strength ever since we 
 began to think — a habit, the usefulness of 
 which, in common life, atones for the dif- 
 ficulty it creates to the philosopher in dis- 
 covering the first principles of the human 
 mind. 
 
 The firm cohesion of the par ts of a b o d y , 
 is no more Jiltfi^that aeiisation by whlchl 
 perceive it to be hard, than the vibratipnof 
 a sonorous body is like the sound I he^ : 
 ner can I possibly perceive, by my reason, 
 any connection between the one and the 
 ower. No man can give a reason,' wliylKe 
 vibiation of a body mijht not have given 
 the aenaation of smelling, and the effluTla 
 
 r 
 
 of bodies affected our hearing, if it had so 
 pleased our Maker. In like manner, no 
 man can give a reason why the sensations 
 of smell, or taste, or sound, might not have 
 indicated hardness, as well as that sensa- 
 tion which, by our constitution, does indi- 
 cate it. Indeed, no man can conceive any 
 sensation to resemble any known quality of 
 bodies. Nor can any man shew, by any 
 good argument, that all our sensations 
 might not have been as they are, though no 
 body, nor quality of body, had ever existed. 
 Here^^theo, is a phenomenon of human 
 naCure, which come&to be resolved, ^ardi- 
 nesg of bodies is a thing that we conceive 
 a s dis tinctly, and believe as firmly, as any- 
 tEiiig in nature. We have no way of com- 
 ing at this conception and belief, "biit by 
 ineans of a certain sensation of touch, to 
 which hardness hath not the least simili- 
 tude ; nor can we, by any rules of rea- 
 souin^ infer the one from the other. Tlie 
 question is. How we come by this conception 
 and belief ? 
 
 First, as to the conception : Shall we 
 c»ll it an idea of sensation, or of reflection ? 
 The last will not be affirmed ; and as little 
 can the first, unless we will call that an 
 idea of sensation which hath no resem- 
 blance to any seusation. So that the 
 origin of this idea of hardness, one of the 
 most common and most distinct we have, 
 is not to be found in all our systems of the 
 mind: not even in those which have so 
 copiously endeavoured to deduce all our 
 notions from sensation and reflection. 
 
 But, secondly, supposing we have got the 
 conception of hardness, how come we by 
 the belief of it ? Is it self-evident, from 
 comparing the ideas, that such a sensation 
 could not be felt, unless such a quality of 
 bodies existed ? No. Can it be proved by 
 probable or certain arguments ? No ; it 
 cannot Have we got this belief, then, by 
 tradition, by education, or by experience ? 
 No ; it is not got in any of these ways. 
 Shall we then throw off" this belief as hav- 
 ing no foundation in reason ? Alas ! it is 
 not in our power ; it triumphs over reason, 
 and laughs at all the arguments of a philoso- 
 pher. Even the author of the " Treatise 
 of Human Nature," though he saw no rea- 
 son for this belief, but many against it, could 
 hardly conquer it in his speculative and 
 solitary moments ; at other times, he fairly 
 yielded to it, and confesses that he found 
 himself under a necessity to do so. 
 
 What shall we say, then, of this concep- 
 tion, and this belief, which are so unac- 
 countable and untractable ? I see nothing 
 left, but to conclude, that, by an original 
 principle of eur constitution, a certain sens- 
 ation of touch both suggests to the mind 
 the conception of hardness, and creates the 
 baUaf ofit : or, in other words, that thissena - 
 
 %» 
 
 
 • jj" 
 
 w^AiJli ''* * vX*^\ 
 
 atio n is a nat ural sign of hardness. And 
 this I shall endeavour more fully to explain. 
 
 Secttm III, 
 
 OF NATURAL SIGNS. 
 
 At_Jn_JMlificM signs there is often 
 neit her similitude between the sign and 
 thing signified, nor any connection that ^| 
 arises neQessarily from the nature of the *^* 
 t hings, so it is also in natural signs. The\j^^^»^ tlmV 
 word (jold has no similitude to the substance 
 signified by it ; nor is it in its own nature 
 more fit to signify this than any other sub- 
 stance ; yet, by habit and custom, it sug- 
 gests this and no other. In like manner, 
 a sensation of touch eugaests hardness, 
 although it hath neither similitude to hard- 
 ness, nor, as far as we can perceive, any 
 necessary connection with it. The differ- 
 ence betwixt these two signs lies only in 
 this — ^that, in the first, the suggestion is the 
 eflTect of habit and custom ; in the second, 
 it is not the effect of habit, but of the ori- 
 ginal constitution of our mmds. 
 
 It appears evident from what hath been 
 said on the subject of language, that there 
 are natural signs as well as artificial ; and 
 particularly, that the thoughts, purposes, 
 and dispositions of the mind, have their 
 natural signs in the features of the face, the 
 modulation of the voice, and the motion 
 
 and attitude of the body : that, without a 
 natural knowledge of the connection between 
 these signs and the things signified by them, 
 language could never have been invented 
 and established among men : and, that the 
 fine arts are all founded upon this connec- 
 tion, which we may call the natural language 
 of mankind. It is now proper to obberve, 
 that there are different orders of natural 
 signs, and to point out the different classes 
 into which they may be distinguished, that 
 we may more distinctly conceive the rela- 
 tion between our sensations and the things 
 they suggest, and what we mean by calling 
 sensations signs of external things. 
 
 The first class of natural signs compre- 
 hends those whose connection with the 
 thing signified is established by nature, but 
 discovered only by experience. The whole 
 of genuine philosophy consists in discover- 
 ing such connections, and reducing them 
 to general rules. The great Lord Verulam 
 had a perfect comprehension of this, when 
 he called it an interpretation of nature. No 
 man ever more distinctly understood or 
 happily expressed the nature and founda- 
 tion of the philosophic art. What is all we 
 know of mechanics, astronomy, and optics, 
 but connections established by nature, and 
 discovered by experience or observation, 
 and consequences deduced from themF 
 
12S 
 
 OP THE HUMAN MIKB. 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 123 
 
 tlMlnowMfle w© liave in ■grieultam, 
 
 ' * ^ dMmHtiy, and medicine, is built 
 
 upon tm auiii foiindatiim. And if ever 
 
 oiir phUoeophy concerning the human mind 
 
 la oaiiied so lar as to deserve the name of 
 nifliM^ which ought never to be despaired 
 <ir, II Biit bC' by obeerving facts, reducing 
 ilmn to general rules, and drawing just con- 
 
 f ,4sllllicmi' fawn them. What wo commonly 
 eall natural muam might, with more pro- 
 priety, be called mitiiml tiffm^ and what we 
 
 ) -iiai#liii,lhii'thin|p8%n3ied.. The causes 
 have no proper efficiency or casuality, as iur 
 
 :. as we'lmow ; and all w© can •certainly alllfm 
 is, iiit nature hath established a constant 
 
 .etmjiittetion between them and the things 
 called their effects ; and hath given to man- 
 kind a disposition to observe those con- 
 ■MMtiims, to otnid© in, their continuance, and 
 to make as© of them for the improvement 
 of our iwniksdge, and increase of oi»f power. 
 A second chsa is that wherein the con- 
 ^neetion between, the sign, and thing sign,!- 
 ied, is not only established by nature, but 
 diiiiivered to us by a natural principle, 
 
 I without reasoning or experience. Of this 
 'kind .ane the ,natural signs of human 
 >,«lMii|g|lli,, pwfMses, and desi„res, which 
 :'hav© been wixmfy 'mentioned as the natural 
 language of mankind* An mfant may be 
 put into a fright by an angry countenance, 
 and soothed again by smiles and blandish- 
 ments. A chUd that has a good musical 
 «ar, may be put to sleep or to dance, may be 
 made merry or sorrowful, by the niodula- 
 tion of mnalcal sounds. The principles of 
 lil tlie ine arts, and of what we call a^m 
 IMIr, may be resolved into connections of 
 this kind. A fine tasto may be improved 
 by reasunuig ,and expeiieiiee ; but if the 
 first jiflBelples of it wer©' not phmted in our 
 inliiii liy'iiature, it could never be ac- 
 f ulffid. Nay, we have akeady made it 
 appear, that a great part of this knowledge 
 which we have by nature, is lost by the 
 disuse of natural signs, and the substitution 
 
 A third chiss of natural signs compre- 
 hends, thosn. whieli, though we never before' 
 had any notion or conoaptlon of the thing 
 signified, do suggest It, or conjure it up, 
 as it were, by a natural kind of magic, and 
 'ttt' one© give, 'ua a 'Conception and create a 
 Iwliflf of it I shewed formerly, that oar 
 ■ensatioDS mtmet to us a sentient being or 
 mind to whicn they belong>-a being which 
 Mh a permanent existonce, although the 
 ■aosatlona are transient and of short dura- 
 tion— « being which is still the same, wMl© 
 te sensations .and other operations are 
 villad ten thousand ways— a being which 
 ka^ th© same relation to all that infinite 
 variety of thwmghts, purposes, actions, 
 aibolions, e^^^yments, and sufferings, which 
 .©irSi3Ssof,orcanf«n©mb©r. The 
 
 oonosptlon of a mind is neither an idea of 
 sensation nor of reflection ; for it is neither 
 like any of our sensations, nor like any* 
 thing we are conscious of. The first con- 
 ception of it, as well as the bel^jf of it, and 
 of the common relation it bears to all that we 
 are conscious of, or remember, is suggested to 
 every thinking being, we do not know how. 
 
 The notion pLhardness in hodiea, aa weU 
 as "the bdifif-oLJt^-are «ot in A-similar 
 manner; ying , by an ougmal pimciplfiJ2l 
 our nature, annexed -to that sensation 
 which we have. when, we feel ahard body. 
 And so naturally and ns fifiHR a r'V^^ ^^ ^ 
 sensation convey the notion juid..belief at 
 hardness, that hitherto they-haxaJifien 
 confounded by the most acute in^uirwrs 
 into the principles of human natu re, al - 
 though they aj)pear, upon accurate^^Egflftg- 
 tion, n ot only to be different t hings, b ut as 
 nnlilf ft Aj» naJn ia to the point of a swordT 
 
 It may be observed, that, as the first ^ 
 class of natural signs I have mentioned is 
 the foundation of true philosophy, and the 
 second the foundation of the fine arts, or 
 of taste— so the bust is the foundation of 
 common sense— a part of human nature 
 which hath never been explained. • 
 
 I take i t for gra n ted, tb at_lhe mtku of 
 hardness, and the belief of it ^ is first yo t 
 W means of that particular s ensatio n 
 which, as far back as w^ can remfiinhfir, 
 does invariably suggest it ; and t hat, if w e 
 had never had such a feeling, we slioald 
 never have had any notion of hardn^s. I 
 think it is evident, that we cannot, by 
 reasoning from our sensations, collect the 
 existence of bodies at all, far less any of 
 their qualities. This hath been proved by 
 unanswerable arguments by the Bishop of 
 Cloyne, and by the author of the " Treatise 
 of Human Nature." It appears as evi - 
 fl^pt ♦ h fi t this conn ection between our sens- 
 ations and the conception and belief of 
 external existences cannot be produced by 
 habit, experience, education, or jHiy_pilll- 
 ciple of human nature that liAth^been 
 ^mnitted by philosophers. At thp tvimfi 
 time, it is a fact that such sensatiouajuc© 
 invaria bly connected with the, mncpptiinn 
 and belief of external, existences.^ — H fll MU ji 
 bvgjl^^r ylea of just c^soning^ Wft TTIHRt con- 
 clude, that this connection is the _gfififit .irf 
 our constitution^ and ought to be conaidered 
 as an original principle of hun)dli>natuc?« 
 till we find some more general .principle 
 into which it may be resol ved, f _^ 
 
 • See Stewaxt't *• Elements of the Philoiophf 
 of the Hunan Mind.'* Vol. II., cha(K i.. S S, hut 
 note.— H. .. .^ ._. 
 
 ♦ IIjU whole doctrine of natural ifgni.nn wbleh hl« 
 tihlkMophy in in a great measure e»ti^»ned, wasbor. 
 rowed by Reid, In principle, and even in exprcvian, 
 from B<-rkelev. Compare " Minute Philowpher,;* 
 Dial IV., SS 7, li; 18 i - New Theory of VUkm^ 
 11 Ut. liri"^rt»mrf of VWon V.ndicatcd," ff 9 
 
 ■lit* -•fl* 
 
 Seetim IK 
 
 or HARONBSS, ANO OTHER PRIMARY 
 aUALITIES. 
 
 Further, I observe that hardness is a 
 quaHty, of which we have as dear and 
 distinct a conception as of anything what- 
 soever. The cohesion of the parts of a 
 body with more or less force, is perfectly 
 understood, though its cause is not ; we 
 know what it is, as well as how it affects 
 the touch. It is, therefore, a quality of a 
 quite different order from those secondary 
 qualities we have already taken notice of, 
 whereof we know no more naturally than 
 that they are adapted to raise certain sens- 
 ations in us. If hardness were a quaUty 
 of the same kind, it would be a proper in- 
 quiry for philosophers, what hardness in 
 bodies is ? and we should have had various 
 hypotheses about it, as well as about co- 
 lour and heat. But it is evident that any 
 such hypothesis would be ridiculous. If 
 any man should say, that hardness in bo- 
 dies is a certain vibration of their parts, or 
 that it is certain effluvia emitted by them 
 which affect our touch in the manner we 
 feel — such hypotheses would shock com- 
 mon sense ; because we all know that, if 
 the parts of a body adhere strongly, it is 
 hard, although it should neither emit efilu- 
 ¥ia nor vibrate. Yet, at the same time, 
 no man can say, but that eiiluvia or the 
 Tibration of the parts of a body, might 
 have affected our touch, in the same man- 
 ner that hardness now does, if it had so 
 pleased the Author of our nature ; and, if 
 either of these hypotheses is applied to ex- 
 plain a secondary quality — such as smell, 
 or taste, or sound, or colour, or heat — there 
 appears no manifest absurdity in the sup- 
 position. 
 
 The distinction betwixt primary and se- 
 condary qualities hath had several revolu- 
 tions. Democritus and Epicurus, and their 
 foUowers, mamtained it. Aristotle and the 
 Peripatetics abolished it. Des Cartes, 
 Malebranche, and Locke, revived it, and 
 were thought to have put it in a very clear 
 light But Bishop Berkeley again dis- 
 ouded this distinction, by such proofs as 
 must be convincing to those that hold 
 the received doctrine of ideas.* Yet, 
 alter all, there appears to be a real found- 
 ation for it in the principles of our na- 
 ture. 
 
 What hath been said of hardness, is so 
 easily applicable, not only to its opposite, 
 softness, but likewise to roughness and 
 
 • On thii distinction of Primary and Secondary 
 Oualities, tee "Esaajton the Intellectual Powera/' 
 Etiay II-« «hap. 17, and Note D, at the end of 
 the volume.— H. 
 
 smoothness, to figure and motion, that wo 
 may be excused from making the applica- 
 tion, which would only be a repetition of 
 what hath been said. All these, by means 
 of certain corresponding sensations of touch, 
 are presented to the mind as real external 
 qualities ; the conception and the belief of 
 them are uivariably connected with the 
 corresponding sensations, by an original 
 principle of human nature. Their sensa- 
 tions have no name in any language ; they 
 have not only been overlooked by the vul- 
 gar, but by philosophers ; or, if they have 
 been at all taken notice of, they have been 
 confounded with the external qiialities which 
 they suggest. 
 
 Section V. 
 
 OP EXTENSION. 
 
 It is further to be observed, that hard- 
 ness and softness, roughness and smooth- 
 ness, figure and motion, do all suppose ex- 
 tension, and cannot be conceived without 
 it ; yet, I think it must, on the other hand^ 
 be allowed that, if we had never felt any 
 thing hard or soft, rough or smooth, figured 
 or moved, we should never have had a con- 
 ception of extension J* so that, as J;here is 
 good ground to believe^ IhatJtKe notion of 
 extension could not bepiior to that of^tEer 
 primary qualities, so it is certain thatjit 
 could not be posterior to the notion of any 
 of them, being necessarily implied in them 
 
 all-t 
 
 Extension, therefore, seems to be a qua- 
 lity suggesiriLto us, by the very same sens- 
 ations which suggest the other qualities 
 above mentioned. When I grasp a ball in 
 my hand, I perceive it at once hard, 
 figured, and extended. The feeling is very 
 simple, and hath not the least resemblance 
 to any quality of body. Yet it suggests to 
 us three primary qualities perfectly dis- 
 tinct from one another, as well as from the 
 sensation which indicates them. When 
 I move my hand along the table, the feel- 
 ing is so simple that I find it difficult to 
 distinguish it into things of different na- 
 tures ; yet, it immediatey suggests hardness, 
 smoothness, extension, and motion — things 
 
 * According to Reid,-£xteM6ion /Space) is a no. 
 tlon a poiteriori, the result of experience. Accord, 
 tng to Kant, it is a priori ; experienre only aflbrding 
 the occasions required hy the mind to exert the«ct8, 
 of which the intuition ot space is a condition. To the 
 former it is thus a contingent : to the latter, a. n^crs. 
 tary mental possession.— H. 
 
 t In this paragraph, to say nothing of others in 
 the *• Inquiry," Reid evidently excludes «/^A/ as A 
 sense, through which the notion of extens'on ur space, 
 enters into the mind. In his later work, the " Es. 
 says on the Intellectual Powers," he, however, -ex- 
 pressly allows that function to tight and touch, and 
 lo thoce senses alone. See Essay II., chap, 19, p. 
 MS, quarto edl ion.— H. 
 
OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 0f f eiif liiffereni imttii«% and all of them 
 aa distinctly tmdetstood as the feeling which 
 
 lYe aro commonly told by philo60ph«is, 
 that we get the idea of exterasioii by feeling 
 alimg the extremities of a body, as if thejre 
 was no manner of diffionlty in the matter. 
 I have aoighty with, .neat pama, I confess, 
 to find mitliow thb idea can be got by feel- 
 ing I but I have sought in vain. Yet it is 
 one of the clearest and most distinct notions 
 w« have; nor is there anything whatsoever 
 '■iMWt which the human undemtauding can 
 eanj on sO' 'many long and demonstrative 
 ; trains of reasoning.* 
 
 The notion of extentdon is so familiar 
 to na fnin in&ncy, and. so constantly ob- 
 tmded by everything we see^ and feel, that 
 we are apt to think it obvious how it comes 
 Into 'tlie mind •, but upon a narrower ex- 
 
 Mbie^ It 18 true we have feelings of tonob, 
 which every nmnent present extension 
 to the mind ; but how they eome to do 
 M. is the nueition ; for thoee feelings do 
 no meie nSemble extension, than they re- 
 ■emMe justiee or courage— nor ca.n the 
 esiitence of extended things be inferred 
 from thoee feelings by any rules of reason^ 
 ing I ao that the feelings we have by touch, 
 'Caii ;iieitber explain, how we pet the notion, 
 mw bow we come by the belief of extended 
 
 'lIlThat 'hatb. impond upon. pbllMophers 
 in this matter in, that the iaelngs of touch, 
 which suggest primary qualities, have no 
 nanei, nor are they ever reflected upon. 
 
 Tlkqr paas through the mind instantane- 
 'Mialy, and aenre i»ly to introduce the no- 
 lien and :helief of external things, which, 
 by our eomtitiilion, are connected with 
 t%m. They are natural signs, and the 
 .mind immediately pminwii to the thing sig- 
 niiedy 'without making the least .reflection 
 upon 'tbe a|p, or observing that 'there was 
 any such thmg. Hence it hath always been 
 taken .fnr gnui:ted, tliat the ideas of exten- 
 •10% finie, and motion, are ideas of sensa- 
 tion, which enter into the mind by the oense 
 of touch, in the same manner as the sensa- 
 tions of sound and smell do by the ear and 
 nosoi't' The sfusatious of touch are so uon- 
 
 • All the atteiniitt that have* aulMequentlj to 
 Rei><, been mode. loamslinilM Mtloii of .Space into 
 Ibc «xpf-rience oi aenae, fi«T(» MM, equally m iboae 
 
 Iltlilil.illlli.— H. 
 
 I It liM' iMt •« alwafi iMMii taken im gruitid, lliatthe 
 
 mmM ananaiiMi. Plfut«.. ami llotMit^n Mrm ta 
 
 Emm adlaiiigtiiahed predeceaaor of K«ld., 
 
 in lilt Chiirat dkmiWf'ikoied thia doctrine of the 
 
 aaiMliallclMlol,lo«iicllhe|enerally a.<.hcTed. I would 
 lillll»lll|l|MlMdlO*uapect Iteid of the lightest dUin. 
 ■•lltail|||INMi<iHllhcha«certainl)-hi:re and el»ewhere 
 ttiMi aiiliclpiisii by Hutcbeaoti, in (ome of the moat 
 haitnrtant prawiplea, no less than in tome of the 
 waucer poaitiona of bis philuaotiby. kqunte, u ithoui 
 rettendinient, tb« fiDllowing not* ftom Hutcheaon'a 
 "*• liaaay on tbs PaMtona," thuugb only part of it la ! 
 
 nected, by our constitution, with the notions 
 of extension, figure, and motion, that phi- 
 loenphem have mistaken the one for the 
 
 atrictly relative to tbe aitaertioD in the text :— ** It ia 
 not eaay to divide distinctly our several $enta'Um$ 
 into classes Tbedtvision ot'our Externdl Senses into 
 the fivecomanon claiises, seeins very imperfect Some 
 aensatioiis, received without any previoas idea, cao 
 either lie reduced to none of them— sucn as th« sena. 
 ations of Hunger, Thirst. Weariness, Sickness; or 
 it we reduce ihi in to the sen^e of KeeliuK, they are 
 perceptions as differe.t irom (he other ideas of Touch 
 ^«ucn aa Cold, i4eat, Hardness, Softness — as thi- ideas 
 ot laste or smell. Uther» have hinted at an external 
 sense, different from all of the^e." [ Ttiis allubion hat 
 puzsleU our Scottish |»>ychotogistd. Hutche«on evi. 
 dentlyrefent to the sixth sense, or itense of venereal tit- 
 iilaiinn. proposed by tht- eider Scali^er, and approved 
 of by Bacon. Bufibii, Voltaire, ^c.3 •* The following 
 general account may possilily be useful. (I*)— That 
 certain ni<itions raised in our bodies are, by a general 
 law, conilituied ttie iccutvn o/ perceptions m the 
 mind, {it°) These perceptions never come entirely 
 alone, but have some other percei>tion joined with 
 them. ThuM evrry tensation it accompanud with 
 the idea qf Duration ^ and pet duration if not a.sens. 
 tbie tdeOf since it atto accompanies ideas of inter- 
 nal consciousness or reflection : so the idea of 
 Number may accompany any sensible ideas, and yet 
 may also accompany any other idca<*, as well as exter. 
 nal sensuitions. Brutes, when several objects are 
 before them, have probably all the proper ideas of 
 sight which we have, wiihout the idea of number. 
 (3°^ Some ideal are found accomfanying the must 
 dilterent sensations, which yet aro not to be {^erceived 
 s.paratcly from tome.sensible quality. Such are Em. 
 tension^ Figure, Motion, and Hest, which accompany 
 the ideas of Sight or Colours, and yet m.iy beper. 
 ceived without them, asm the idea»ot I'ouch, at lea.t 
 if we move our organs along the |>arts of the body 
 touched. Extension, Figure, Motion,or Hest, seem 
 there/ore to be more properfu called ideas accom. 
 panymgthe senstitionsqf Sight and Touch, than the 
 sensation^ of either of these senses j since ihey 
 can be received sometimes without the ideas of 
 Colour, and sometimes without those of Touching, 
 though never wiihout t.'ie one or the other. Ihe 
 oerceptions which are purely tetisible, received each 
 by Its proper sense, are lastes. Smells, Colours, 
 Sound, Cold, Heat, A & The univei sal concomitant 
 ideas which may attend any idea whatsoever, are 
 Duration and Number. Thelde^is whichaccompany 
 the most ditTerent sensations, are Kxtension, Figure, 
 Motion, and Kest. These all arise without ay.ypre. 
 tfiuus ideas assem'jled or compared— the concomitant 
 ideas are reputed imagen nf' something ex ernal "— 
 ^ect l,Alt. I. The reader may likewise consult the 
 aame author's •' Synopsis Metaphysicce," Part. II., 
 caa L, ^3 
 
 But here 1 may observe, in the first place, that the 
 statement made in the preceding quotaiion, (and still 
 more articulately in the '• Synopsis,") that Duration 
 or Time is the insq>arat)le concomitant both ol sense 
 and reflection, had liecn also made by Aristotle and 
 many other philosophers; and it is indeed curious 
 bow Inng philosophers were' on the wrge of enun. 
 ciatmg the great doctrine first proclaimed by Kant 
 —that 'lime is « fundameinal condition, form, or 
 category of thought. In thesecond place, I may no., 
 lice that Hutclieson is not entiileti to the praise 
 accorded him by Mewart and KoyerCollard for hisori. 
 gitialiiy in " thcfineaiid important observation that 
 Extension, Figure^ Motion, and Rett, are rather 
 idcaa accomjiaxylng the -percep: ions of touch und 
 vuiun, than perceptions of thet« senses, properly so 
 Culled." In ttiis, he seema only to have< with others, 
 repeated Aristotle, who, in his treatise on the 
 Soul. rBook 11., Ch. 6, Text m, and Bmk 111. Ch. 
 U I'ext I3.'>,) calls Motion and Rest, Magnitude, {Em. 
 tension,) Figure, and Hitmber, (Hutclieson's very 
 liat,) tiie common concomitants {mifXmS'i^t* mm 
 Mutk) of aight and touch, and expressly denies 
 them to lie impressions of aena^the sense having 
 oopaa.iveafl(Bctlon froin tiiesc qualities. Totheae 
 flve common concoroitjuita, some of tbe icboolroen 
 added alao, (but out of AriatoUeJ PAmv, Dittetnce, 
 Fo§Uit.nt and Comiinuity.'^H. 
 
 OP TOUCH. 
 
 125 
 
 other, and never Imve been able to discern 
 that they were not only distinct things, but 
 altogether unlike. However, if we will 
 reason distinctly upon this subject, we ought 
 to give names to those feelings of touch ; 
 we must accustom ourselves to attend to 
 them, and to reflect upon them, tliat we 
 may be able to disjoin them from, and to 
 compare them with, the qualities signified 
 or suggested by them. 
 
 The habit of doing this is not to be at- 
 tained without pains and practice ; and till 
 a man hath acquired this habit, it will be 
 impossible for him to think distinctly, or to 
 judge right, upon this subject. 
 
 Let a man press his hand against the 
 table —he f 'els it hard. But what is the mean- 
 ing of this?— The meaning undoubtedly 
 18, that he hath a certain feeluig of touch, 
 from which he concludes, without any rea- 
 soning, or comparing ideas, that there is 
 something external really existing, whose 
 parts stick so firmly together, that they can- 
 not be displaced without considerable force. 
 There is here a feeling, and a conclu- 
 sion drawn from it, or some way suggested 
 by it. In order to compare these, we 
 nmst view them separately, and then con- 
 sider by what tie they are connected, and 
 wherein they resemble one another. The 
 hardness of the table is the conclusion, the 
 feeling is the medium by which we are led 
 to that conclusion. Let a man attend dis- 
 tinctly to this medium, and to the conclu- 
 sion, and he will perceive them to be as 
 unlike as any two things in nature. The 
 one is a sensation of the mind, which can 
 liave no existence but in a sentient being ; 
 nor can it exist one moment longer than it 
 is felt ; the other is in the table, and we 
 conclude, without any difficulty, thafit was 
 in the table before it was felt, and continues 
 after the feeling is over. The one implies 
 no kind of extension, nor parts, nor cohe- 
 sion ; the other implies all these. Both, 
 indeed, admit of degrees, and the feeling, 
 beyond a certain degree, is a species of 
 pain; but adamantine hardness does not 
 imply the least pain. 
 
 And as the feeling hath no similitude to 
 hardness, so neither can our reason per- 
 ceive the least tie or connection between 
 them ; nor will the logician ever be able to 
 shew a reason why we should conclude 
 hardness from this feeling, rather than soft- 
 ness, or any other quality whatsoever. But, 
 in reality, all mankind are led by their con- 
 stitution to conclude hardness from this 
 feeling. 
 
 I'he sensation of heat, and the sensation 
 we have by pressing a hard body, are equally 
 feelings ; nor can we, by reasoning, draw 
 any conclusion from the one but what may 
 be drawn from the other : but, by our con- 
 ■titntion, we oonclnde from the first an ob- 
 
 scure or occult quality, of which we have 
 only this relative conception, that it is 
 something adapted to raise in us the sensa- 
 tion of heat ; from the second, we conclude 
 a quality of which we have a clear and dis- 
 tifict conception—to wit, the hardness^f the 
 body. 
 
 Section Vi, 
 
 OF EXTENSION. 
 
 To put this matter in another light, it 
 may be proper to try, whether from sensa- 
 tion alone we can collect any notion of ex- 
 tension, figure, motion, and space.* I take 
 it for granted, that a bUiid man hath the 
 same notions of extension, figure, and mo- 
 tion, as a man that sees ; that Dr Saunder- 
 son had the same notion of a cone, a cylin- 
 der, and a sphere, and of the motions and 
 distances of the heavenly bodies, as Sir Isaac 
 Newton.'f- 
 
 As sight, therefore, is not necessary for 
 our acquiring those notions, we shall leave 
 it out altogether in our inquiry into the 
 first origin of them; and shall suppose a 
 blind man, by some strange distemper, to 
 have lost all the experience, and habits, 
 and notions he had got by touch ; not to 
 have the least conception of the existence, 
 figure, dimensions, or extension, either of 
 his own body, or of any other ; but to have 
 all his knowledge of external things to ac- 
 quire anew, by means of sensation, and the 
 power of reason, which we suppose to re- 
 main entire. 
 
 We shall, first, suppose his body fixed 
 immovably in one place, and that he can 
 only have the feelings of touch, by the 
 application of other bodies to it. Suppose 
 him first to be pricked with a pin->this 
 will, no doubt, give a sm^t sensation : he 
 feels pain ; but what can he infer from it ? 
 Nothing, surely, with regard to the existence 
 or figure of a pm. He can infer nothing 
 from this species of pain, which he may not 
 as well infer from the gout or sciatica. 
 Common sense may lead him to thmk that 
 this pam has a cause; but whether thia 
 cause is body or spirit, extended or unex- 
 tended, figured or not figured, he cannot 
 possibly, from any prmciples he is supposed 
 to have, form the least conjecture. Hav- 
 ing had formerly no notion of body or of 
 extension, the prick of a pm can give him 
 none. 
 
 Suppose, next, a body not p ointed, but 
 
 • why are Extension andlSpace distinguished as 
 co-ordinate, and thus oddly sundered ?— H. 
 
 f 'Ihe ot>servations of Plainer, on a. person born 
 blind, would prove, Jiowever, thtil tight, not touch, ia 
 the sense by wliich we principally obtain our know- 
 ledge of Figure, and our empirical knowledge of 
 Space. Saundertou, at any rale, waa not born blind. 
 — H. 
 
14111 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 Unity h tmlM to Ms body with • Ime 
 gmiiiaUy 'iiiamued until it braises him. 
 WlwlMte §0^ by tlii%. but another aens- 
 atioii. or 'Iniii of' soiiinMs, from which 
 bo is able to eoaoMe as little as from the 
 illllNff f A scirrhous tumour in any in- 
 ward part off tho bo<^, by pressing upon 
 tie adjasent parts, may give the same kind 
 off sensation as the pressure of an external 
 body, without conveying any notion hut 
 that of pain, which, surely, hath no resem- 
 bbuifle' to extension. 
 
 fcppose^ thirdlyy that the body applied 
 to i'im. tooflbea a laiger or a lesser part of 
 his body. Can this give him any notion 
 ■of w 'eaitaiisaon or qimenaiiins r lo me it 
 ■SiiiiS' impoiilble that H should, unkss he 
 ' bad. .soiM 'previoiis notion of the dimen- 
 ■iom and igure of his own body, to serve 
 Ub. <as a measure. * When my two hands 
 toaeh the extremities of a body, if I know 
 tbem to be a foot asunder, I easily col- 
 ket that the body b a foot long i and, if I 
 know them to be live feet asunder, that it 
 is five feet long t but, if I know not what 
 the distance of my bands is, I cannot know 
 the loBglh of the object tbey grasp ; and, 
 if I have no previous notion of hands at 
 ail, OT' of' distanise' between them, I can 
 ii«vw,gat/thai' .notion. bjth0ir'beii|||' touched. 
 
 'BiiimMe, ati^n, that a body w drawn 
 ■hmg lis hands or lace, while they are at 
 wmL, Can this give hhn any notion of 
 ■ptii m motion ? It no doubt gives a new 
 iwlngS but bow it should convey a notion 
 of space or motion to one who had none 
 ■ before, I cannot conceive. The blood moves 
 along the arteries and veins, and this motion, 
 when violent, is felt : but I imagine no man, 
 by this feeling, could get the conception of 
 ipaee or motion, if he had it not before. 
 Sneh a motion may give a certain suoces- 
 sioB off feelings, as the colic may do ; but no 
 iMlinfit nor any combination of feelings, 
 out ever iwemble space or notioi* 
 
 Let us next suppose, that he makes some 
 instaaetive effort to move his head or his 
 baud I but Hiit no motion foUows, either 
 on. aaoonnl' 'Of external resistance, or of 
 pa%. Can this effort convey the notion 
 of space and motion to one who never had it 
 before ? Snioly tt cannot 
 
 Last of al, let us suppose that he moves 
 m limb by instiiMt, without having had any 
 
 Cvious notion of space or motion. He 
 here a new lomnilion, which aocom- 
 'panisa tlw 'fioxiifo of joints, and the swelling 
 of mnsdes*. ^Bot. how this 'sensation can 
 convey into bis mind the idea of space and 
 motion, is still altogether mysterious and 
 unintelligible. The motions of the heart 
 
 * Najr, tlie raoeni abtanr^tioiit of Weter etUnlUh 
 
 tile emloin flicit tlMt Hi* mm« extent will not appear 
 :||W'.«MMI io tlM' 'lOiMli ■! diffltreiit nafta ut ttie bodv. 
 
 Ha ' 
 
 and longs are all performed by the oon- 
 tiaetion of muscles, yet give no conception 
 of space or motion. An embryo in the 
 womb has many such motions, and probably 
 the feelings that accompany them, without 
 any idea of space or motion. 
 
 Upon the whole, it appears that our 
 phiJosophers have imposed upon theraselvea 
 and upon us, in pretending to deduce from 
 sensation the first origin of our notions of 
 external existences, of space, motion, and 
 extension,* and all the primary qualities of 
 body— that is, the qualities whereof we 
 have the most clear and distinct conception. 
 These qualities do not at all tally with anv 
 system of the human faculties that hatn 
 been advanced. They have no resemblance 
 to any sensation, or to any operation of our 
 minds ; and, therefore, they caimot be 
 ideas either of sensation or of reflection. 
 The very conception of them is irreconcil- 
 able to the principles of all our philosophic 
 systems of the understanding. The belief 
 of them is no less so. 
 
 Seotum VII, 
 
 or TUB BXISTBNCE OF A MATlRIAL WORLD. 
 
 It is beyond onr power to say when, or 
 in what order, we came by our notions of 
 these qualities. When we trace the opera- 
 tions of our minds as far back as memory 
 and reflection can carry us, we find them 
 already in possession of our imagination and 
 belief, and quite familiar to the mind : but 
 how they came first into its acquaintance, 
 or what has given them so strong a hold of 
 our belief, and what regard they deserve, 
 are, no doubt, very important questions in 
 the philosophy of human nature. 
 
 Shall we, with the Bishop of Ooyne^ 
 serve them with a quo warranio^ and have 
 them tried at the bar of philosophy, upon 
 the statute of the ideal system ? Indeed, 
 in this trial they seem to have come off 
 very pitifully ; for, although they had very 
 able counsel, learned in the law— viz., Des 
 Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, who said 
 everything they could for their clients— the 
 
 • That the qotion nf Space is a necewary condition 
 of thought, and that, aM such, it i« impo&siljlc to de. 
 rive it from exjieriencr, haa l»ecn cogently demon, 
 ■trated by Kant. But that w<^ may not, through 
 ■ense. have empirically an immediate peicepJion of 
 •omcthing fxtmled, I have yet «een no valid rea»on 
 to doubt. The'a priori Conception doe« not exclude 
 Xheapotteriori Perception ; and thia latter cannot be 
 rejected without belyinRthe evidence o(coti«cio«i«nrM, 
 which aMurea u« that we are immeiiiatelycojcnix.iiit, 
 not only of a Self hut of a Not-Se'f, not only <.f mind 
 but of matUr : and matter cannot Ikj I nmcdiately 
 known— that is, known as-existii.g-exceptas .-oinc- 
 thing extended. In this, however, I venture a step 
 beyond Reidand Stewart, no irMthan beyond Kant; 
 thouah I am convinced that the piiilo>ophy of th« 
 two former tended to. "bis coiic'u«ion, whicli Is. in 
 ۥ01, tliM of cIm flooinion aenae of mankiai. 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 127 
 
 Bishop of Cloyne, believing them to be 
 aiders and abetters of heresy and schism, 
 prosecuted them with great vigour, fully 
 answered all that had been pleaded in their 
 defence, and silenced their ablest advocates, 
 who seem, for half a century past, to decline 
 the argument, and to trust to the favour of 
 the jury rather than to the strength of 
 their pleadings. 
 
 Thus, the wisdom of philosophy is set in 
 opposition to the common sense of mankind. 
 The first pretends to demonstrate, a priori, 
 that there can be no such thing as a mate- 
 rial world ; that sun, moon, stars, and earth, 
 vegetable and animal bodies, are, and can 
 be nothing else, but sensations in the mind, 
 or images of those oensations in the memory 
 and imagination ; that, like pain and joy, 
 they can have no existence when they are 
 not thought of. The last can conceive no 
 otherwise of this opinion, than as a kind of 
 metaphysical lunacy, and concludes that too 
 much learning is apt to make men mad ; 
 and that the man who seriously entertains 
 this belief, though in other respects lie may be 
 a very good man, as a man may be who be- 
 lieves that he is made of glass ; yet, surely 
 he hath a soft phice in his understanduig, 
 and hath been hurt by much thinking. 
 
 This opposition betwixt philosophy and 
 common sense, is apt to have a very un- 
 happy influence upon the philosopher him- 
 self. He sees human nature in an odd, 
 unamiable, and mortifying light. He con- 
 siders himself, and the rest of his species, 
 as born under a necessity of believing ten 
 thousand absurdities and contradictious, 
 and endowed with such a pittance of reason 
 as is just sufiicient to make this unhappy 
 discovery : and this is all the fruit of his 
 profound speculations. Such notions of 
 human nature tend to slacken every nerve of 
 the soul, to put every noble purpose and sen- 
 timent out of countenance, and spread a me- 
 lancholy gloom over the whole lace of things. 
 
 If this is wisdom, let me be deluded with 
 the vulgar. I find something within me 
 that recoils sgainst it, an^ inspires more 
 reverent sentiments of the numau kind, and 
 of the universal administration. Common 
 Sense and Reason* have both one author ; 
 that Almighty Author in all whose other 
 works we observe a consistency, uniformity, 
 and beauty which charm and delight the 
 understanding : there must, therefore, be 
 some order and consistency in the human 
 &cnlties, as well as in other parts of his 
 workmanship. A man that thinks rever- 
 ently of his own kind, and esteems true 
 wisdom and philosophy, will not be fond, 
 nay, will be very suspicious, of such strange 
 
 • The reader will again notice this and the rther 
 Instances which follow, of the inaccu'-acy ol Reid's 
 language in hl« earlier woik, constituting, as differ. 
 eni. Sstuom and Con.mon Sfuse.^H. 
 
 and paradoxical opinions. If they are false, 
 they disgrace philosophy ; and, if they are - 
 true, they degrade the human species, and 
 make us justly ashamed of our frame. 
 
 To what purpose is it for philosophy to 
 decide against common sense in this or any 
 other matter ? The belief of a material 
 world is older, and of more authority, than 
 any principles of philosophy. It declines the 
 tribimal of reason,* and laughs at all the 
 artillery of the logician. It retains its 
 sovereign authority in spite of all the edicts 
 of philosophy, and reason itself must stoop 
 to its orders. Even those philosophers who 
 have disowned the authority of our notions 
 of an external material world, confess that 
 they find themselves under a necessity of 
 submitting to their power. 
 
 Methinks, therefore, it were better to 
 make a virtue of necessity ; and, since we 
 cannot get rid of the vulvar notion and be- 
 lief of an external world, to reconcile our 
 reason to it as well as we can ; for, if Rea- 
 son* should stomach and fret ever so much 
 at this yoke, site cannot throw it off; if she 
 will not be the servant of Common Sense, 
 she must be her slave. 
 
 In order, therefore, to reconcile Reason 
 to Common Sense* in this matter, I beg 
 leave to offer to the consideration of philo- 
 sophers these two observations. First, 
 That, in all this debate about the existence 
 of a material world, it hath been taken for 
 granted on both sides, that this same 
 material world, if any such there be, must 
 be the express image of our sensations; 
 that we can have no conception of any 
 material thing which is not like some sens- 
 ation in our minds ; and particularly that 
 the sensations of touch are images of exten- 
 sion, hardness, figure, and motion. Every 
 argument brought against the existence of 
 a material world, either by the Bishop of 
 Cloyne, or by the author of the " Treatise 
 of Human Nature," supposeth this. If 
 this is true, their arguments are conclusive 
 and unanswerable ; but, on the other hand, 
 if it is not true, there is no shadow of argu- 
 ment left. Have those philosophers, then, 
 given any solid proof of this hypothesis, 
 upon which the whole weight of so strange 
 a system rests. No. They have not so 
 much as attempted to do it. But, because 
 ancient and modern philosophers have 
 agreed in this opinion, they have taken it 
 for granted. But let us, as becomcH 
 philosophers, lay aside authority ; we 
 need not, surely, consult Aristotle or 
 Locke, to know whether pain be like 
 the point of a sword. I have as clear a 
 conception of extension, hardness, and 
 motion, as I have of the point of a sword ; 
 and, with some pains and practice, I can 
 form as clear a notion of the oth erjenaa- 
 • See laat note.— H. 
 
 » "I 
 
1S8 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 timH df touch .as I have of iiaiti. When I 
 do so, anil compare them together, it ap- 
 pears to me clear as daylight, that the for- 
 nwrare not of kin to the latter, nur resemble 
 tiem in any one feature. They are as 
 unliie, yea as certainly and nianilestly un- 
 like, as pain is to the point of a sword. It 
 maj be true, that those sensations first 
 latioduced the material world to our ac- 
 (|iiBiiitaiice; it may be true, that it seldom 
 or never appears without their company ; 
 but, for all that, they are as unlike as the 
 ]ias8ioii of anger is to those features of the 
 cotnitfliianoe which attend it. 
 
 So that, in the sentence those pliiloso- 
 fheni have passed Bffmm the ^terial 
 wniy, liftre is an error persona. Their 
 pmif touches not matter, or any of its qua- 
 lities ; but strikes directly against an idol 
 0f dwiir own iaafination, a material world 
 made of ideas and sensations, which never 
 had, nor can have an existence. 
 
 flSicondly, The very exigence of our con- 
 ceptions of extension, figure, and motion, 
 ■Inee they are neither ide^ of sensation nor 
 roiection, overturns the whole ideal system, 
 hy which the material world hath been tried 
 and condemned ;* so that there hath been 
 likewise in this sentence an err&r juris. 
 
 It is a very fine and a just observation of 
 IiUdie, that, as no human art can create a 
 linfle particle of matter, and the whole ex- 
 tent of our power over the material world 
 eonsists in compounding, combining, and 
 llMf|(>iiiiiig tlie matter nuide to our hands; 
 ■Hi ii the world of thought, the materials 
 •re all made by nature, and can only be 
 variously combined and disjoined by us. 
 So that it is inuMiaaible for reason or preju- 
 dice, true or wbe philosophy, to produce 
 one sunple notion or conceptfon* which is 
 Ml the work of nature, and the result of 
 our cooalltulion. The conception of exten- 
 sion, motiini, and the other attributes of 
 matter, eamot be the effect of error or pre- 
 judice; it must be the work of nature. 
 And the power or faculty by which we 
 aoiuire those conceptions, must be some- 
 thing different from any power of the hu- 
 man mind that hath been explauied, since 
 it is neither sensation nor reflection. 
 
 This I would, therefove, humbly propose, 
 «■ an ejtperimenimn emcisy by which the 
 ideal system must stand or fall ; and it 
 brings the matter to a short issue : Exten- 
 sion, figure, motion, may, any one, or all 
 nf them, be token for tne subject of this 
 'experiment. Either they are ideas of seiis- 
 
 • It Olllf OfSftunii that Idealism lounded on the 
 
 ClHlMf llfpotltefitof idea* being aoineihing different. 
 both mm ihe reaiitf tliej repre«enl, and from the 
 
 nliMl OfiniMiipiaiiiif their representation, and which, 
 9km» iMtei ailitidli ideas from without. I'hit doc. 
 tnae inayjulfven the tdeauam of Berkctey, but It 
 tvtii Mimlei • iMuili for an IdMilifin Utt that of 
 Fichtfc Bee the tultowing tiote.— .H. 
 
 ation, or they are not. If any one of 
 them can be shewn to be an idea of sensa- 
 tion, or to have the least resemblance to 
 any sensation, I lay ray hand upon my 
 mouth, and give up all pretence to recon- 
 cUe reason to common sense in this matter, 
 and must suffer the ideal scepticism to 
 triumph. But if, on the other hand, they 
 are not ideas of sensation, nor like to any 
 sensation, then the ideal system is a rope 
 of sand, and all the laboured arguments of 
 the sceptical philosophy against a material 
 world, and against the existence of every 
 thing but impressions and ideas, proceed 
 upon a false hypothesis.* 
 
 • Nothing U easier than to shew, that, so far frnm 
 refuting Idealism, this doctrine aflord^ it the best of 
 all possible foundations. If Idealism, indeed, supposed 
 the existence ol ideas as trrtta qutgdam, distinct at 
 once from the material object and the imm.nteiial 
 subject, these intermediate entities being likewise 
 held to originate immediately ormediately in sense— 
 if this hypothesis, I kay, were requi^ite.to Idealism, 
 then would Keid's criticism of thatdoctrine be a com- 
 plete and final confutation. But as this criticism 
 did not contemplate, so it does not confute that aim. 
 pier and more refined Idealism, which viewsJn ideas 
 only modificatinns of the mind itself; and which, in 
 place of sensualizing intellect, int^Ilectiializes sense. 
 On the contrary, Keid, (and herein he is followed by 
 Mr Stewart,) in the doctrine now maintained, asserts 
 the very positions on which this scheme of Idealism 
 establishes its conclusions. An t'goistical Idealism is 
 established, on the doctrine, that all our knowledge 
 is mi-rely su< jective, or of the mind itrcif ; that the 
 Ego has no immediate cognizance of a Non.Kgoas 
 existing, but that the N'oii.Ev(Otsonly represented to 
 us in a modificatidn of the self-conscious Ego. This 
 dnctrinebctnK admitted, the Idealist has only to shew 
 that the supposition of a Non.Ego, or external world 
 really existent, is a groundless and unnecessary 
 assumption; for, while the law of parciinony pro- 
 hibits ihe multiplication of substances or causes be. 
 yond what the ptitennmcna require, we have mani. 
 festly no right to postulate for the Non.Ego the dig* 
 nity of an independent sulistance beyond the Ego, 
 seeing that this Non. b go is, ex hypothe$i, known to 
 us, consequently exists for us, only as a phaenoinenoD 
 of the Ego.^Now, the doctrine of our Scottish philo. 
 sophera is. in (act, the very groundwork on which 
 the Egoistical Idealism reposes. That doctrine not 
 only maintains our «ensations of the secondary qua. 
 lilies to be the mere efitets of certain unknown 
 causes, of which we are consequently entitled to 
 affirm nothing, but that wehaveJiodirect and imme. 
 diate perception of extension and the uther*primary 
 qualities of matter. To limit ourselves to rrtenti<m» 
 (or » pace,) wh\ch figure and motion (the two other 
 qualities proposed by Reid for the experiment) sup. 
 pose, it is evident that if extension be not iromediatetjr 
 |)erceived as externally existing, extemwd objects 
 cannot be immediately perceived as realities out, 
 and independent, of the percipient subject ; for, it we 
 were capable of such a perception ot sui-h objects, we 
 should iiecessari'ybe also capable of a perception of 
 this, the one essential attribute of their existence. 
 But, on Ihe doctrine • f our Scottsh philosophers, 
 Extension is a notion .suggested on occasion of sens, 
 ations supposed to t)edetermincd by certain unknown 
 causes ; which unknown causes are again supposed 
 to t>e existences independent of the mind, and ex. 
 tended— their complement, in fact, constituting the 
 external world. All our knowledge of the Non.Ego 
 Is thus merely ideal and mediate; we have no 
 knowleilge of any really objective reality, except 
 throu^'li a suL{)ective representation or notion ; in 
 other words, we arc only immediat ly cognizant of 
 certain modes of ourown minds, and, in and through 
 thfero, mediately wained of the phaenomena of the 
 material universe. In all essential respects, this doc. 
 trine of Keid and Stewart is identical with Kanfs; 
 except that the Uerro-^ii philosopher, in holding ifMiw 
 
 \ 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 129 
 
 miB^ 
 
 If our philosophy concerning the mind 
 be so lame with regard to the origin of our 
 notions of the clearest, most simple, and 
 most familiar objects of thought, and the 
 powers from which they are derived, can 
 we expect that it should be more perfect in 
 the account it gives of the origin of our 
 opinions and belief ? We have seen already 
 some instances of its imperfection in this 
 respect : and, perhaps, that same nature 
 which hath given us the power to conceive 
 things altogether unlike to any of our sens- 
 ations, or to any operation of our minds, 
 hath likewise provided for our belief of 
 them, by some part of our constitution 
 hitherto not explained. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley hath proved, beyond 
 the possibility of reply, that we cannot by 
 reasoning infer the existence of matter from 
 our sensations ; and the author of the 
 " Treatise of Human Nature'* hath proved 
 no less clearly, that we cannot by reasoning 
 infer the existence of our own or other 
 minds from our sensations. But are we to 
 admit nothing but what can be proved by 
 reasoning ? Then we must be sceptics in- 
 deed, and believe nothing at all. The 
 author of the ** Treatise of Human Na- 
 ture" appears to me to be but a half-sceptic. 
 He hath not followed his principles so far as 
 they lead him ; but, after having, with un- 
 paralleled intrepidity and success, combated 
 vulgar prejudices, when he had but one 
 blow to strike, his courage fails him, he 
 &irly lays down his arms, and yields him- 
 self a captive to the most common of all 
 vulgar prejudices — I mean the belief of the 
 existence of his own impressions and ideas.* 
 
 to be a necessary form of our conceptions of external 
 things, prudently declined a^^sertiug that these un. 
 known things are, in themselves, extended. 
 
 Now, the doctrine of Kant has been rigorously 
 
 E roved by Jacobi and Fichte to be, in its legitimate 
 isue, a doctrine of absolute Idealism ; and the de. 
 monstrations which the philosopher of Koenigsberg 
 has given of the existence of an external world, have 
 been long admitted, even by his di<;ciples themselves, 
 to be inconclusive. But our Scottish philosophers 
 appeal to an argumert which the German philoso. 
 pher overtly rejected— the argument, as it is called, 
 from common sense. In their hands, however, this 
 argument is unavailing • for, if it be good against the 
 conclusions of the Idealist, it is good agaiiisi the pre- 
 mises which they afford him. The common sense of 
 mankind only assures us of the existence of an ex- 
 ternal and extended world, in assuring us that we 
 arecor.scious, not merely of the phaenomena of mind 
 in relation to matter, but of the phenomena of mat. 
 ter in relation to mind— in other words, that we are 
 immediately percipient of extended things. 
 
 Reid himself seems to have become obscurely aware 
 of this condition ; and, though he never retracted his 
 doctrine concerning the mere iUi;^'e£<ton of ^j'/^'n • fV n, 
 we find, in his *' Essays on the Intellectual Powers," 
 assertions in regard to the immediate perception of 
 external things, which would tend to shew that 
 his later views were more in unison with the ne- 
 cessary convictions of mankind. But of this again. 
 
 • There is In this and the two following para, 
 graphs a concision and inaccuracy which it is re- 
 quisite to notice— Ihere is no scepticism possible 
 touching the facts of consciousness in themselves. 
 We ouinot doubt that the phsenomena of conscious. 
 
 I beg, therefore, to have the honour of 
 making an addition to the sceptical system, 
 without which I conceive it cannot hang 
 together. I affirm, that the belief of the 
 existence of impressions and ideas, is as lit- 
 tle supported by reason, as that of the exist- 
 ence of minds and bodies. No man ever 
 did or could offer any reason for this belief. 
 
 ness are real, in so far as we are conscious of them. 
 I cannot doubt, for example, that I am actually 
 conscious of a certain feeling of fragrance, and of 
 certain perceptions of colour, figure, \c. when I see 
 and fmella rose. Of the reality of these, as expe- 
 rienced, I cannot doubt, because they are facts of 
 consciousness ; and of consciousnets 1 cannot doubt, 
 because such doubt being itself an act of conscious. 
 ness, would contradict, and, consequently, annihi. 
 late itself. But of all beyond the mere phsenomena 
 of which we are conscious, we may— without fear of 
 self-contradiction at least— doubt I may, for in. 
 stance, doubt whether the rose I see and smell has 
 any existence beyond a phsenomenal existence in 
 my consciousness. I cannot doubt that I am con. 
 sciousof ita« something different from self, but whe- 
 ther it have, indeed, any reality beyond my mind— 
 whether the not-self he not in trurh only sc'f—xhdX 
 I may philosophically question. In like manner, I 
 am conscious of the memory of a certain past event. 
 Of the contents of this memory, as a phenomenon 
 given in consciousness, scepticism is impo'^sible. But 
 I may by possibility demur to the reality of all be- 
 yond these contents and the sphere of present con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 In Reid's strictures upon Hume, he confounds 
 two opposite things. He reproaches that philosopher 
 with inconsequence, in holding to *♦ thebelief of the 
 existence of his own impressions and ideas." Now, 
 if, by the existence of impressions and ideas, Reid 
 meant their existence as mere phenomena of con- 
 sciousness, his criticism is inept; for a disbelief of 
 their existence, as such phenomena, would have 
 been a suicidal act in the sceptic. If, again, he 
 meant by impressions and ideas the hypothesis of 
 representative entities diff'ertnt from the mind and 
 its modifications; in that case the objection is 
 equally invalid. Hume was a sceptic ; that is, he 
 accep'ed the premi-es aflfbrded him by the dogmatist, 
 and carried these premises to their legitimate con- 
 sequences. To blame Hume, therefore, for not having 
 doubted of his borrowed principles, is to blame the 
 sceptic for not performing a part altogether incon. 
 sislent with his vocation. But, in point of fact, 
 the hypothesis of such entities is of no value to the 
 idealist or sceptic. Impressiofts and it/eas, viewed as 
 mental modes, would have answered Hume's pur- 
 pose not a whit worse than impi-rsv'ons and ideas 
 viewed as objects, but not as affections of mind. 
 The most consistent scheme of idealism known in 
 the history of philosophy is that of Fieri te ; and 
 Fichte's idealism is founded on a basis which ex- 
 cludes that crude hypothesis of ideas on which alone 
 Reid imagined any doctrine of Ide^ism could pos. 
 sibly Lc established. And is the acknowledged result 
 of the Fichtean dogmatibm less a nihilism than the 
 scepticism of Hume? •• Ihc sum to al," says Fichte, 
 " is this : — There is absolutely nothing permanent 
 either without rae or within me, but only an un. 
 ceasing change. I know al solutely nothing of any 
 cxistetice, niit even of my own. I myself know 
 nothing, and am nothing. Images (Bilder) there 
 are : they constitute all that apparently exists, and 
 what they know of themselves is after the manner 
 of images; images that pass and vanish w^ithout 
 there being aught to witness their transition ; that 
 consist in fact of the images of images, without sig. 
 nificance and without an aim. I myself am one of 
 these images; nay, I am not even thus much, but 
 only a confused image of images All reality is con. 
 verted into a marvellous dream, without a life to 
 dream of, and without a mind to dream ; into a 
 dream made up only of a dream of itself. Percep- 
 tion is a dream ; thought— the source of all the ex- 
 istence and all the reality which I imagine to myself 
 ofm^ existence, of my power, of mj destination- 
 is the dream of that dream."— H. 
 
tUfl' 
 
 Of THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 took il for gnmtodi tiuit ho 
 ttoQi^t, and had ■enaationi and ideas ; so 
 have all hia foUowtni done^ Etch tlie hero 
 ^mtfMam hath yielded this point, I ecave 
 loavt to aay, weiMy and impnidently. I 
 •If Mil beoanao I am persuaded that there 
 fa no principle of his philosophy that obliged 
 him to make this concession. And what is 
 &mm in impieseions and ideas so formid- 
 iMei that this all-conqnering philosophy, 
 ■llcr tfimnp Mng over every other existence, 
 aimiild lay 'honnige to them ? Besides,, the 
 concession is dangerous: for belief is of 
 ili«h a nature, that, if you leave any root, 
 itvill spread.} <and yon may more easily 
 paU it np altogether, than am, Hitherto 
 ahalt thou go and no- furthers too existence 
 of impMWionS' and ideas I give up to thee ; 
 but' see thoii.jpi«tend to notning moro. A 
 Ihorongh ana wnslstent sceptic will never, 
 fherefore, yield this point; and while he 
 holds it, you can never oblige him to yield 
 
 Po SQflli a sceptic I have nothing to say ; 
 but of the loml-seepties, I should beg to 
 know, why they believe the existence of 
 their impressions and ideas. The true 
 reason I take to be, because they cannot 
 hdb it ; and the same reason will lead them 
 tn Wieve many other things. 
 
 AM roiffning must be from first prm- 
 ciples; and for first principles no other 
 reason can be given but this, that, by the 
 oonstitation of our nature, we are under 
 ft m HW > ' i l% of aincmting to them* Such 
 MilicipleB are parts of our constitution, no 
 !•■■ UBii the power of thinking : reason 
 'flsit mit jui f make nor destroy them ; nor 
 oaa il in anyHilitg witiioul them : it is like 
 
 iurtbwi who hatli eyes; but, without eyes, 
 a teleaeope shews nothing at all. A ma- 
 thematician cannot prove the truth of his 
 .axioms, nor can. ho prove anything, unless 
 he takes them for granted. We cannot 
 prove the existeneo: of our mmds, nor even 
 of our thou|[hts and sensations. A histo- 
 rian, or a witness, can prove nothing, unless 
 it is taken for granted that the memory 
 and aonsea may be trusted. A natural 
 fhScMopher can prove nothing* unless it is 
 taken for granted tliat the Mwao of nature 
 is steady and uniform. 
 
 How v wImH' I got such first principles, 
 vpon whleh I Mid all my reasoning, I 
 imow not ; for I had them before I can 
 remember t but I am sure they are parts 
 eimy constitution, and that I cannot throw 
 fbem oft That our thoughts and sensa- 
 'iioiiB mut 'have a subject, which we call 
 mmt^^ Is not therefore an opinion got by 
 TCaaoan^but a natural principle. That 
 oar sensations of touch indicate something 
 •xtemaly extended, figured,, liard. or soft, 
 
 not' m mmmnm « .itason, but a natural 
 
 principle. The belief of it, and the very 
 conception of it, are equaUjr parts of our 
 constitution. If we are deceived in it, we 
 are deceived by Him that made us, and 
 there is no remedy.* 
 
 I do not mean to affirm, that the sensa- 
 tions of touch do, from tlie very first, sug- 
 gest the same notions of body and its qua- 
 lities which they do when we are grown 
 up. Perhaps Nature is frugal in this, as 
 in her other operationa The passion of 
 love, with all its concomitant sentiments 
 and desires, is naturally suggested by the 
 perception of beauty in the other sex ; yet 
 the same perception does not suggest the 
 tender passion till a certain period of life. 
 A blow given to an infant, raises grief and 
 lamentation ; but when he grows up, it as 
 naturally stirs resentment, and prompts him 
 to resistance. Perhaps a child in the womb, 
 or for some short period of its existence, is 
 merely a sentient being ; the faculties by 
 which it perceives an external world, by 
 which it reflects on its own thoughts, and 
 existoice, and relation to other things, as 
 well as its reasoning and moral faculties, 
 unfold themselves by degrees ; so that it is 
 inspired with the various principles of com- 
 mon sense, as with the passions of love and 
 resentment, when it has occasion for them* 
 
 Smdm nil. 
 
 OF TBI STSTSMS OF PHIL0S0PHBB8 CONCIRN- 
 INO THB SXNSE&f 
 
 All the systems of philosophers about our 
 senses and their objects have split upon 
 this rock, of not distinguishing properly 
 
 • Tht philoaophen who have most loudly appealed 
 to the veracity of God. and the natural conviction of 
 mankind, in refutation of certain obnoxious conclu. 
 •ions, have too often silently contradicted that vera, 
 city and those convictions, when opposed to certain 
 favourite opinions. But it is evident that such autho. 
 rity is either ^ood for all, or good for nothing. Our 
 natural consciousncM assures us (and the fact of that 
 atturance is admitted by philosophers ot all opinions) 
 that we have an immediate knowledge of the very 
 things themselves of an external and extended world ; 
 and, on thegroundot this knowledge alone, is thebelief 
 01 mankind founded, that such a world really exista. 
 Reid ought, therefore, either to have given up hia 
 doctrine of the mere suggestion of extension, &c., aa 
 subjective notions, on the occasion of sensation, or 
 not to appeal to the Divine veracity, and ihe-common 
 Mnse of mankind, in favour of conclusions of ^hicll 
 that doctrine subverts th? foundation. In this in. 
 consistency, Reid has, however, besides Den Cartea, 
 many distinguished copartners..-H. 
 
 f On thit subject, see " Essays on the InteUectual 
 Powers," Essay IL, cbap. 7-l5> and the notes there, 
 on. It is perhaps proper to recall to the reader 'sat. 
 tention, that, by the Ideal Theory, Reid always 
 understands the ruder form of the doctrine, which 
 tiotds that ideas are entities, different both from the 
 external object and from the percipient mind, and 
 thai he hod no conception of the finer form of that 
 doctrine, which holds that all that we are conscious 
 of in perception,, (of course also in imaginalion.) is 
 only a modification of the mind itself— See Note 
 
 f mm 
 
 OF TOUCH. 
 
 ISl 
 
 sensations which can have no enstence but 
 when they are felt, from the things sug- 
 gested by them. Aristotle — with as dis- 
 tinguishing a head as ever applied to philoso- 
 phical disquisitions — confounds these two ; 
 and makes every sensation to be the form, 
 without the matter, of the thing perceived 
 by it. As the impression of a seal upon 
 wax has the form of the seal but nothing of 
 the matter of it, so he conceived our sensa- 
 tions to be impressions upon the mind, which 
 bear the image, likeness, or form of the 
 external thing perceived, without the mat- 
 ter of it. Colour, sound, and smell, as well 
 as extension, figure, and hardness, are, 
 according to him, various forms of matter : 
 our sensations are the same forms im- 
 printed on the mind, and perceived in its 
 own intellect. It is evident from this, that 
 Aristotle made no distinction between prim- 
 ary and secondary qualities of bodies, al- 
 though that distinction was made by De- 
 mocritus, Epicurus, and others of the an- 
 cients. * 
 
 Des Cartes, Malebranche, and Locke, 
 revived the distinction between primary and 
 secondary qualities; but they made the 
 secondary qualities mere sensations, and 
 the primary ones resemblances of our sens- 
 ations. They maintained that colour, 
 sound, and heat, are not anything in bodies, 
 but sensations of the mind ; at the same 
 time, they acknowledged some particular 
 texture or modification of the body to be 
 the cause or occasion of those sensations ; 
 but to this modification they gave no name. 
 Whereas, by the vulgar, the names of col- 
 our, heat, and soimd, are but rarely applied 
 to the sensations, and most commonly to 
 those unknown causes of them, as hath been 
 already explained. The constitution of our 
 nature leads us rather to attend to the things 
 signified by the sensation than to the sensa- 
 tion itself, and to give a name to the former 
 rather than to the latter. Thus we see, 
 that, with regard to secondary qualities, 
 these philosophers thought with the vulgar, 
 and with common sense. Their paradoxes 
 were only an abuse of words; for when 
 they maintain, as an important modem 
 discovery, that there is no heat in the fire, 
 they mean no more, than that the fire does 
 not feel heat, which every one knew before. 
 
 With regard to primary qualities, these 
 philosophers erred more grossly. They 
 mdeed believed the existence of those qua- 
 lities; but they did not at all attend to 
 the sensations that suggest them, which, 
 having no names, have been as little con- 
 sidered as if they had no existence. They 
 were aware that figure, extension, and 
 
 ■ ■■ ■ "" - — \\mmHmmaammmmmammmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 
 
 • On this last, see Ar\iioi\e. De Anitna, L. III., 
 e. I, and ttetaph. L. III. c. 5.— The Aristotelic dis. 
 Unction oljtrst and gecond qualities was of another 
 kImL— H. See Note D, p. 829 b. 
 
 hardness, are perceived by means of sens- 
 ations of touch ; whence they rashly con- 
 cluded, that these sensations must be images 
 and resemblances of figure, extension, and 
 hardness. 
 
 The received hypothesis of ideas natur- 
 ally led them to this conclusion : and indeed 
 cannot consist with any other ; for, accord- 
 ing to that hypothesis, external things 
 must be perceived by means of images of 
 them in the mind ; and what can those 
 images of external things in the mind be, but 
 the sensations by which we perceive them ? 
 
 This, however, was to draw a conclusion 
 from a hypothesis against fact. We need 
 not have recourse to any hjrpothesis to 
 know what our sensations are, or what 
 they are like. By a proper degree of re- 
 flection and attention we may understand 
 them perfectly, and be as certain that they 
 are not like any quality of body, as we can 
 be, that the toothache is not like a triangle. 
 How a sensation should instantly make us 
 conceive and believe the existence of an 
 external thing altogether unlike to it, I do 
 not pretend to know ; and when I say that 
 the one suggests the other, I mean not to 
 explain the manner of their connection, 
 but to express a fact, which every one may 
 be conscious of— namely, that, by a law of 
 our nature, such a conception and belief 
 constantly and immediately follow the sens* 
 ation. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley gave new light to this 
 subject, by shewing, that the qualities of 
 an inanimate thing, such as matter is con- 
 ceived to be, cannot resemble any sensa- 
 tion ; that it is impossible to conceive any- 
 thing like the sensations of our minds, but 
 the sensations of other minds. Every one 
 that attends properly to his sensations must 
 assent to this ; yet it had escaped all the 
 philosophers tliat came before Berkeley; 
 it had escaped even the ingenious Locke, 
 who had so much practised reflection on 
 tlie operations of his own mind. So difii- 
 cult it is to attend properly even to our 
 own feelings. They are so accustomed to 
 pass through the mind unobserved, and 
 instantly to make way for that which na- 
 ture intended them to signify, that it is 
 extremely difficult to stop, and survey 
 them ; and when we think we have ac- 
 quired this power, perhaps the mind still 
 fluctuates between the sensation and its 
 associated quality, so that they mix to* 
 gether, and present something to the ima- 
 gination that is compounded of both. Thus, 
 in a globe or cylinder, whose opposite sides 
 are quite unlike in colour, if you turn it 
 slowly, the colours are perfectly distinguish- 
 able, and their dissimilitude is manifest ; 
 but if it is turned fast, they lose their dis- 
 tinction, and seem to be of one and the same 
 colour. 
 
-^v- 
 
 132 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 Ho mneommm mn be mote qaick tban 
 
 tiat 'Of ' taiigiMe qwlitiM' to tlie eenaations 
 wttli wlikb Mtim :iiM aasociated them: 
 but wlien mm hm onoe acquired the ait 
 of making them separate and dtstinot ob- 
 jects of thought, he will then clearly per^ 
 oeive that the maxim of Bishop BerMey, 
 above-mentioned, is self-evident ; and that 
 the features of the lace are not more un- 
 like to a passion of the mind which they 
 iaiiiwte^ than the sensations of touch are 
 'to lbs pfimaiy fualltiia of body. 
 
 But let 'Hi 'ClMMrva what use the Bishop 
 makes of this important diacovety. ' Why^ 
 Iw concludes, that wo can have no con- 
 ception of an luwimate fmbstance, such as 
 matter is comcflived to be, or of any of its 
 f ualitiea ; and that there is the strongest 
 ^und to believe that there is no existence 
 m 'mature but mindii ^sensatiMM, .and ideaCs : 
 if HieM is any other kind of existences, it 
 must be what we neither have nor can 
 have any conception of. But low does 
 this follow ? Why, thus s We can have 
 no conception, of anything but what resem- 
 lilat' mmm aensation or idea in our mmds ; 
 but the sensations and ideas in our minds 
 can resemble nothing but the sensations 
 and ideas in other minds ; therefore, the 
 concluaion is evident. This argument, we 
 see, leans upon two propositions. The last 
 of them the ingenious author hath, indeed, 
 made evident to all that indentand his 
 TCftBoning, and can attend to their own 
 sensations: but the irot proposition he 
 never attempts to prove ; it is taken from 
 the doctrine of ideas, wliieh hath been so 
 nnivenaUy received by philosophers, that 
 it was thought to need no prooH 
 
 W© may here again observo, that this 
 acute writer argues from a hypothesis against 
 fiwL and agum^ tbO' 'Common mmm of man- 
 Icin4 That W9 mm have no conception of 
 ftiiything, untas Heie is some impression, 
 sensation, or idea, m our minds which re- 
 aemhlea it, is indeed an opinion which hath 
 been v«iy geneially received among philo- 
 ■opben I but it is neither self-evident, nor 
 hath it been clearly proved ; and therefore 
 it hath been more reasonable to call in 
 queation thia doctrine of phiiosophers, than 
 to dlMsard the material world, and by that 
 means expose philosophy to the ridicule of 
 all men who will not offfr np common 
 aenae as a eaoriice to metaphytio& 
 
 We oiigbL however, to do this justice 
 toil to the Bishop of Ooyne and to the 
 author of the " Treatise of Human Nature,*' 
 to adcnowtodgP^ that their conclusions are 
 Juatlv drawn from the doctrine of ideas, 
 wlmii has been so universally received. 
 On the other hand, from the character of 
 Bishop Berkeley, and of his predecessors, 
 Bes Otetea, Locke, and Maiebranche, we 
 may vntnr* to say, that, if they had seen 
 
 all the consequences of this doctrine, aa 
 clearly as the author before mentioned did, 
 they would have suspected it vehemently, 
 and examined it more carefully than they 
 appear to have done. 
 
 The theory of ideas, like the Trojan 
 horse, had a specious appearance both of 
 innocence and beauty ; but if those philo- 
 sophers had known that it carried in its 
 belly deaA and destruction to all science 
 and oonmion sense, they would not have 
 broken down their walla to give it admit- 
 tance. 
 
 That we have clear and distmct con- 
 ceptions of extension, figure, motion, and 
 other attributes of body, which are neither 
 sensations, nor like any sensation, is a fact 
 of which we may be as certain as that we 
 have sensationa And that all mankind 
 have a fixed belief of an external material 
 world — a belief which is neither got by rea- 
 soning nor education, and a belief which 
 we cannot shake off, even when we seem 
 to have strong arguments against it and 
 no shadow of argument for it— is likewise a 
 fact, for which we have all the evidence 
 that the nature of the thing admits. These 
 facta are phenomena of human nature, 
 from which we may justly argue against 
 any hypothesis, however generally received. 
 But to argue from a hypothesis against 
 facts, is contrary to the rules of true philo- 
 sophy. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OP aiBING. 
 
 Sectwn /• 
 
 TUB BXCXLLBNCB AND OIG.VITY Of THIS 
 FACULTY. 
 
 Thb advances made in the knowledge of 
 optics in the last age and in the present, 
 and chiefly the discoveries of Sir Isaac 
 Newton, do honour, not to philosophy only, 
 but to human nature. Such discoveriea 
 ought for ever to put to shame the ignoblo 
 attempts of our modem aceptics to depre- 
 ciate the human understanding, and to dis- 
 pirit men in the search of truth, by repre- 
 senting the human faculties as fit for no- 
 thing but to lead us into absurdities and 
 contradictions. 
 
 Of the faculties called the five ffen««r, 
 sight is without doubt the noblest. The 
 raya of light, which minister to this sense, 
 and of which, without it, we could never 
 have had the least conception, are the 
 meet wonderful and astonishing part of 
 the inanimate creation. We must be satis- 
 fied of thia, if we consider their extreme 
 mmutenesa ; their inconceivable velocity ; 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 133 
 
 tho regular variety of colours which they 
 exhibit; the invariable laws according 
 to which they are acted upon by other 
 bodies, in their reflections, inflections, and 
 refractions, without the least change of 
 their original properties ; and the facility 
 with which they pervade bodies of great 
 density and of the closest texture, without 
 resistance, without crowding or disturbing 
 one another, without giving the least sensi- 
 ble impulse to the lightest bodies. 
 
 The structure of the eye, and of all its ap- 
 purtenances, the admirable contrivances of 
 nature for performing all its various exter- 
 nal and internal motions, and the variety 
 in the eyes of different animals, suited to 
 their several natures and ways of life, 
 clearly demonstrate this organ to be a mas- 
 terpiece of Nature's work. And he must 
 be very ignorant of what hath been dis- 
 covered about it, or have a very strange 
 cast of understanding, who can seriously 
 doubt whether or not the rays of light 
 and the eye were made for one another, 
 with consummate wisdom, and perfect skiU 
 in optics. 
 
 If we shall suppose an order of beings, 
 endued with every human faculty but that 
 of sight, how incredible would it appear to 
 such beings, accustomed only to the slow 
 informations of touch, that, by the addition 
 of an organ, consisting of a ball and socket 
 of an inch diameter, they might be enabled, 
 in an instant of time, without changing 
 their place, to perceive the disposition of a 
 whole army or the order of a battle, the 
 figure of a magnificent palace or all the 
 variety of a landscape ! If a man were by 
 feeling to find out the figure of the peak of 
 Teneriffe, or even of St Peter's Church at 
 Rome, it would be the work of a lifetime.* 
 
 It would appear still more incredible to 
 such beings as we have supposed, if they 
 were informed of the discoveries which 
 may be made by this little organ in 
 things far beyond the reach of any other 
 sense : that by means of it we can find 
 our way in the pathless ocean ; that we 
 can traverse the globe of the earth, deter- 
 mine its figure and dimensions, and deli- 
 neate every region of it ; — yea, that we 
 can measure the planetary orbs, and make 
 discoveries in the sphere of the fixed stars. 
 
 Would it not appear still more astonish- 
 ing to such beings, if they should be farther 
 informed, that, by means of this same organ, 
 we can perceive the tempers and disposi- 
 tions, the passions and affections, of our 
 fellow-creatures, even when they want most 
 to conceal them ? — that, when the tongue 
 
 * The thing would be impowlble. Let any one 
 try by touch to ascertnin the figure of a room, with 
 which he is previously unacquainted, and not alto, 
 fether of the usual sni^ie, and he will find that 
 touch will aflbrd him Uutdendcr aid^H. 
 
 is taught most artfully to lie and dissemble, 
 the hypocrisy should appear in the counte- 
 nance to a discerning eye ? — and that, by 
 this organ, we can often perceive what is 
 straight and what is crooked in the mind aa 
 well as in the body ? How many myste- 
 rious things must a blind man believe, if he 
 will give credit to the relations of those 
 that see ? Surely he needs as strong a 
 faith as is required of a good Christian. 
 
 It is not therefore without reason that 
 the faculty of seeing is looked upon, not 
 only as more noble than the other senses, 
 but as having something in it of a nature 
 superior to sensation. The evidence of 
 reason is called seeing, not feeling, smelling^ 
 or tasting. Yea, we are wont to express 
 the manner of the Divine knowledge by see- 
 ing, as that kind of knowledge which ia 
 most perfect in us. 
 
 Section II, 
 
 SIGHT OISCOVERS ALMOST NOTHING^ WHICH 
 THE BLIND MAY NOT COMPRBHSND— THX 
 REASON OF THIS. 
 
 Notwithstanding what hath been said of 
 the dignity and superior nature of this 
 faculty, it is worthy of our observation, that 
 there is very little of the knowledge ac- 
 quirc opy sight, tlia^may not b e communi- 
 cated to a man born blindj One who never 
 saw the Uglit, may be learned and knowing 
 in every science, even in optics ; and may 
 make discoveries in every branch of philo- 
 sophy. He may understand as much as 
 another man, not only of the order, dis- 
 tances, and motions of the heavenly bodies ; 
 but of the nature of light, and of the laws 
 of the reflection and refraction of its rays. 
 He may understand distinctly how those 
 laws produce the phoinomena of the rain- 
 bow, the prism, the camera obscura. and 
 the magic lanthorn, and all the powers of 
 the microscope and telescope. This is a 
 fact sufficiently attested by experience. 
 
 In order to perceive t he reason of it. we 
 must distinguish the^appearance that objects 
 make to the eye, from th e things suggested 
 by tha^ appearance : and again , in the visi- 
 file appearance of objects, we must dis- 
 tinguish the appearance of colour frpgi 
 the appearance of extension^^ .%ure, jU|4 
 motion. First, then, as to the visible 
 appearance of the figure, and motion, and 
 extension of bodies, I conceive that a man 
 born blind may have a distinct notion, if 
 not of the very things, at least of something 
 extremely like to them. May not a blind 
 man be made to conceive that a body mov- 
 ing directly from the eye, or directly to- 
 wards it, may appear to be at rest ? and 
 that the same motion may appear quicker 
 
IM 
 
 jNMI^H jduMj||b||||w||||||||||j^^ lillMiJlUIW'feilllMM'S'iHIlJiH' JlMJH Sv Siflk jp||_||_|_|.u||_~g||| iAjrl ■■t' wi m%. 
 
 MqiM ? IM^j ]i« not bo made to conoeive, 
 iuiit ft pMa mxrhm, in a certain ftositioo, 
 mfty appear as a elraight liii% and Tary 
 'ill' liiiUo §gamj as its p^iition, or the poai- 
 Umi. cif'"ilio 6ye, is varM?-— that a circle 
 ■Mn oUiquely will appear an ellipse ; and 
 ft iqiiftn, a rhomhus, or an oblong rec- 
 tan^? Br Saundanon understood the 
 'fnjeetiiin of 'the ^iplieie, and the common 
 tnlM of pofsptelivtt; and if he did, he 
 most have understood all that I have men- 
 finned. If there were any doubt of Dr 
 ''iBinidiiMn*a understanding thesO' things, I 
 mnM men^OD my having heard him say in 
 eonversationy that he found great difficulty 
 in undenlMiding Dr Halley*s demonstra- 
 tion of that |iropoaition, that the angles 
 nade by the einsles of the sphere, are equal 
 to llw ani^ mie by their representatives 
 in the stereoenphic projection ; but, said 
 he^ when I hud aside that demonstration, 
 and considered the proposition in my own 
 way, I saw clearly that it must be true. 
 Jkambm gentleman, of undoubted credit 
 and judgment in these matters, who had 
 in thia oonversatio% lemembers it 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MINB. 
 
 As to the appearance of colour, a blind 
 nan must be more at a loss; because he 
 bath no perception that resembles it. Yet 
 lie may, by a kind of analogy, in part sop. 
 
 ply ibis demsl To those who see, a scar- 
 M colour signifies an unknown quality 
 in bodies, that makes to the eye an ap- 
 
 frntmam wMeb they are well acquainted 
 witii and IftTO oflai, observed^to a blind 
 man, it signifies an unknown quality, that 
 iinalMi to the eye an afMaiftnee which he 
 'ia< 'iHwqnaiBtM with. Bnl h» can conceive 
 Hie ejie tO' be variously allleeted. by difier- 
 ent colours, as the nose is by difierent 
 smells, or the ear by difibrent sounds. 
 T hu lie can eonffiaive scarlet to differ from 
 Hue, as the aound of a trumpet does 
 from that of a drum ; or as the smell of 
 an orange differs from that of an apple. 
 It Is ]iB|Miilbte to know whether a scarlet 
 oolour' naa 'tiie same appearance to me 
 whicb it hath to another man ; and, if the 
 appearances of it to different persons dtf- 
 ferad as much as colour does from sound, 
 they migbt never be able to discover this 
 difference. Hence, it appears obvious, 
 that a blind man might talk long about 
 anldilifl distmctly and pertinently ; and, if 
 jon were to escamine him in tlie dark about 
 the nstnse, flomiio8ition,and beauty of them, 
 he ni%ht be able to answer, so as not to 
 betmy Ms defect. 
 
 We hftffi aaen Iiow fur a blind man may 
 g^ hi tlia knowledga id the appeaiances 
 
 Whleh thinm mskM ^i' Mie eiM. Aa to thA 
 
 tiiimga which are suggested by them or 
 
 inferred from them, although he eould 
 never discover them of himself, yet he may 
 understand them perfectly by the inform- 
 ation of others. And everything of tliis 
 kind that enters into our minds by the eye, 
 may enter into his by the ear. Thus, for 
 instance, he could never, if left to the di- 
 rection of his own faculties, have dreamed 
 of any such thing as light ; but he can be 
 informed of everything we know about 
 it. He can couceive, as distinctly as we, 
 the minuteness and velocity of its rays, 
 their various degrees of refrangibiUty and 
 refiexibility, and all the magical powers 
 and virtues of that wonderful element. 
 He could never of himself have found out, 
 that there are such bodies as the sun, 
 moon, and stars ; but he may be informed 
 of all the noble discoveries of astrono- 
 mers about their motions, and the laws 
 of nature by which they are regulated, 
 "^hus. it ap pears, that there is very little 
 nowledge got by the eye, which may not 
 
 jMiye no.ey5«. 
 
 If we should suppose that it were as 
 
 uncommon for men to see as it is to be 
 bom blind, would not the few who had 
 this rare gift appear as prophets and in- 
 spired teachers to the many ? We conceive 
 inspiration to give a man no new faculty, 
 but to communicate to him, in a new way, 
 and by extraordinary means, what the m- 
 culties common to mankind can apprehend, 
 and what he can communicate to others 
 by ordinary means. On the supposition 
 we have made, sight would appear to the 
 blind very similar to this ; for the few who 
 had this gift, could conununicate the know- 
 ledge acquired by it to those who had it 
 not. They could not, indeed, convey to 
 the blind any distinct notion of the manner 
 in which they acquired this knowledge. A 
 ball and socket would seem, to a blind 
 man, in this case, as improper an instru- 
 ment for acquiring such a variety and ex- 
 tent of knowledge, as a dream or a vision. 
 The manner in which a man who sees, 
 discerns so many things by means of the 
 eye, is as unintelligible to the blind, as the 
 manner in which a man may be inspired 
 with knowledge by the Almighty, is to 
 UB. Ought the blind man, therefore, with- 
 out examination, to treat all pretences to 
 the gift of seeing as imposture ? Might he 
 not, if he were candid and tractable, find 
 reasonable evidence of the reality of thia 
 gift in others, and draw great advantagea 
 from it to himself ? 
 
 The distinction we have made between 
 the visible appearances of the objects of 
 sight, and things suggested by them, is ne- 
 cessary to give us a just notion of the in- 
 tention of nature in giving us eyes. If we 
 attend duly to the operation <yf our mm d 
 
 OF SFJEINO. 
 
 136 
 
 In the use of this faculty, we shall percdve 
 j^t tlie visible appear ance oT obje cts is 
 hardly ever regarded by us. It is not at 
 all made an object ^thought or rejec- 
 tion, but Berves only as a sign to introduce 
 to tne mind something else, jsvhlcli may be 
 distinctl y conce ived bytboSQ-yl^Q never saw. 
 TEus, the visible appearance of things in 
 my room varies almost every hour, accord- 
 ing as the day is clear or cloudy, as the sun 
 is in the east, or st -«u, or west, and as my 
 eye is in one part of the room or in an- 
 other ; but I never think of these variations, 
 otherwise than as signs of morning, noon, 
 or night, of a clear or cloudy sky. A book 
 or a chair has a different appearance to the 
 eye, in every different distance and posi- 
 tion ; yet we conceive it to be still the 
 • same ; and, overlooking the appearance, we 
 1 immediately conceive the real figure, dis- 
 tance, and position of the body, of which 
 I its visible or perspective appearance is a 
 ' sign and indication. 
 
 When I see a man at the distance of ten 
 yards, and afterwards see him at the dis- 
 tance of a hundred yards, his visible ap- 
 pearance, in its length, breadth, and all its 
 linear proportions, is ten times less in the 
 last case than it is in the first ; yet I do not 
 conceive him one inch diminished by this 
 diminution of his visible figure. Nay, I 
 do not in the least attend to this diminution, 
 even when I draw from it the conclusion 
 of his being at a greater distance. For such 
 is the subtilty of the mind's operation in 
 this case, that we draw the conclusion, with- 
 out perceiving that ever the premises en- 
 tered into the mind. A thousand such in- 
 stances might be produced, in order to shew 
 that the visible appearances of objects are 
 intended by natu re only as signs or judica- 
 tions ; and that the mind passes instantly 
 loTlie things signified, without m aking the 
 least reflection upon Uie sign, or^ even per- 
 ceiving that there is any such tlung. It Is 
 in a way somewhat similar, that the sounds 
 of a language , after it is become familiar, 
 are overlooked, and we attend only to the 
 things signified by them. 
 
 It is therefore a just and important ob- 
 servation of the Bishop of Cloyne, That 
 the visible appearance of objects is a kind 
 of language used by nature, to inform us 
 of their distance, magnitude, and figure. 
 And this observation hath been very happily 
 applied by that mgenious writer, to the 
 solution of some phsenomena in optics, which 
 had before perplexed the greatest masters 
 in that science. The same observation is 
 further improved by the judicious Dr Smith, 
 in his Optics, for explaining the apparent 
 figure of the heavens, and the apparent 
 d^tances and magnitudes of objects seen 
 with glasses, or by the naked eye. 
 
 Avoiding as much as possible the repe- 
 
 tition of what hath been said by these ex- 
 cellent writers, we shall avail ourselves of 
 the distinction between the signs that nature 
 useth in this visual language, and the things 
 signified by them ; and in what remains to 
 be said of sight, shall first make some ob- 
 servations upon the signs. 
 
 Section IIL 
 
 OF THE VISmLB APP£AIIANCES OF OBJECTS. 
 
 In this section we must speak of things 
 which are never made the object of re- 
 flection, though almost every moment pre- 
 sented to the mind. Nature^intended them 
 only for signs j and in^ the whole course 
 of nfe"£hey are pufTo no other use. The 
 inind has acquired a confirmed and invet- 
 erate habit of inattention to them ; for 
 they n o sooner appear, than quick as light- 
 mng tEe thing signffied su cceeds^ and en- 
 grosses all our^^^rd. "They liave no 
 name Lnn^nguage ; and", although w e are 
 co nsciou s of them when they pass throygb 
 t he mind, yet their passage is so qu ick 
 and so familiar, that it is. ahsohitelyLSn- 
 heedfid; nor do they leave any fo otsteps 
 of tlifiiasely§e^ either in the .memory or 
 miagination. That this is the case wSH 
 regard to the sensations of touch, hath been 
 shewn in the hist chapter; and it holda 
 no less with regard to the visible appear- 
 ances of objects. 
 
 I cannot therefore entertain the hope of 
 being intelligible to those readers who have 
 not, by pains and practice, acquired the 
 habit of distinguishing the appearance of 
 objects to the eye, from the judgment which 
 we form by sight of their colour, distance 
 magnitude, and figure. The only profes- 
 sion in life wherein it is necessary to make 
 this distinction, is that of pamting. The 
 painter hath occasion for an abstraction, 
 with regard to visible objects, somewhat 
 similar to that which we here require : and 
 this indeed is the most difficult part of his 
 art. For it is evident, that, if he could fix 
 in his imagination the visible appearance of 
 objects, without confounding it with the 
 things signified by that appearance, it 
 would be as easy for him to paint from the 
 life, and to give every figure its proper 
 shading and relief, and its perspective pro- 
 portions, as it is to paint from a copy. Per- 
 spective, shading, giving relief, and colour- 
 ing, are nothing else but copying the ap- 
 pearance which things make to the eye. 
 We may therefore borrow some light on 
 the subject of visible appearance from thisart. 
 Let one look upon any familiar object, 
 such as a book, at different distances and 
 m different positions : is he not able to 
 affirm, upon the testimony of his sight, that 
 
IM 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 ff aoMraiiig M It ii nfliafier to ino 
 mm m fiynhor off, mora diiect or more oIh 
 Iiqu0 f May he not be made to conoeiTe, 
 tliat ft plain enrfaee, in a certain position, 
 ■ftj . "iyf^ *B a straight line, and vary 
 its irittole igmre, as its position, or the poei- 
 tioa of the eye, is varied ? — ^tliat a orde 
 ■ten oMIqiiely will appear an ellipse ; and 
 a square, a ihombns, or an oblong rec- 
 taq^b? Br Saunderson understood the 
 pn|eisllon iif the sphera, and the common 
 tiles of penptetive; and if he did, he 
 must have understood all that I have men- 
 If then vera any doubt of Dr 
 m\ understanding these things, I 
 'UMBtioii my having heard him say in 
 oonvenation, thM he found great difiBculty 
 in undeialiiidiiif Dr HaUey's demonstra- 
 iiiin of Hial proposition, that the angles 
 'mftifi' %' ^iie encles of the sphera, are e^ual 
 to' ilw ai^gka naie by their representatives 
 in the stera(»n»bic projection ; but, said 
 he, whea I uiid aside that demonstration, 
 and nonddered the proposition in my own 
 my, I Miir dearly that it must be true. 
 Another iMitleman, of undoubted credit 
 and li%Lnt in these matters, who had 
 partm this conversation, remembers it 
 diiatinctlv* 
 
 As to the appearance of colour, a blind 
 nan must be mora at a loss ; because he 
 'lath no perceoticin thai' lesembles it. Yet 
 iw may, by a Idnd of analogy, in part sup- 
 ply this defect To those who see, a scar- 
 tsC colour signiies an unknown quality 
 in bodie% that makes to the eye an a|^ 
 pearaMW wUch they ara well acquainted 
 with and have often observed—to a blind 
 man, it signifies an unknown quality, that 
 mikes to the eye an apMiinnce which he 
 .fa/maequainied with. But he can conceive 
 tlis eye to be variously affected by differ- 
 ent coloars, as the nose is by different 
 ■neis, or the ear by different sounds. 
 Tina he can flmiMive scarlet to differ from 
 iliMi» ■■ tiM lound of a trumpet does 
 imm. 'ini' if a drum ; or as the smell of 
 an orange differs from that of an apple. 
 It is impossible to know whether a scarlet 
 oolomr lias the ime appearance to me 
 which ii hath to anotiieff' 'man ; and, if the 
 a|^>eaiances of it to different persons dif- 
 §tmA as much as colour does from sound, 
 tihff Bi%hl never be able to discover this 
 diferenoe. Hence, it appears obvious, 
 int a blind man might talk long about 
 MifMiit diatinctly and pertinently ; and, if 
 yim 'Wt»' to' ejumine .hiin. in the dark about 
 Hit nfttnre,«iim|oaitiaii,:and beauty of them, 
 i*: might to aUt' to' answer, so as not to 
 betray his defect. 
 
 We have seen how fir a blind man may 
 .,,§0 in tlM knowledge' of the appearances 
 wIMk thiiMp make' to' Hie eye. As to' the 
 lUiP' wUili an .fligtest'ed by them or 
 
 inferred from them, although he could 
 never discover them of himself, yet he may 
 understand them perfectly by the inform- 
 ation of others. And everything of this 
 kind that enters into our minds by the eye, 
 may enter into his by the ear. Thus, for 
 instance, he could never, if left to the di- 
 rection of his own faculties, have dreamed 
 of any such thing as light ; but he can be 
 informed of everything we know about 
 it. He can conceive, as distinctly as we, 
 the minuteness and velocity of its rays, 
 their various degrees of refrangibility and 
 reflexibility, and all the magical powers 
 and virtues of that wonderful element. 
 He could never of himself have found out, 
 that there are such bodies as the sun, 
 moon, and stars ; but he may be informed 
 of all the noble discoveries of astrono- 
 mers about their motions, and the laws 
 of nature by which they are regulated, 
 hus. it appears, that there is very little 
 _ t by the eye^ which may not 
 
 ^e pnmnnM^^|paf<>r^ l^y ^^yuaye to thoSO wffi ) 
 
 have u oeyea . 
 
 If we should suppose that it were as 
 uncommon for men to see as it is to be 
 bom blind, would not the few who had 
 this rare gift appear as prophets and in- 
 spired teachers to the many ? We conceive 
 inspiration to give a man no new faculty, 
 but to communicate to him, in a new way, 
 and by extraordinary means, what the m- 
 culties common to mankind can apprehend, 
 and what he can communicate to others 
 by ordinary means. On the supposition 
 we have made, sight would appear to the 
 blind very similar to this ; for the few who 
 had this gift, could communicate the know- 
 ledge acquired by it to those who had it 
 not. They could not, indeed, convey to 
 the blind any distinct notion of the manner 
 m which they acquired this knowledge. A 
 ball and sodcet would seem, to a blind 
 man, in this case, as improper an instru- 
 ment for acquiring such a variety and ex- 
 tent of knowledge, as a dream or a vision. 
 The manner in which a man who sees, 
 discerns so many things by means of the 
 eye, is as unintelligible to the blind, as the 
 manner in which a man may be inspired 
 with knowledge by the Almighty, is to 
 us. Ought the blind man, therefore, with- 
 out examination, to treat all pretences to 
 the gift of seeing as imposture ? Might he 
 not, if he were candid and tractable, find 
 reasonable evidence of the reality of this 
 gift in others, and draw great advantages 
 Irom it to himself ? 
 
 The distinction we have made between 
 the visible appearances of the objects of 
 sight, and thmgs suggested by them, is ne- 
 cessary to give us a just notion of the in- 
 tention of nature in giving us eyes. If we 
 attend du ly to the ope ration of our min d 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 138 
 
 I 
 
 |n the use of this faculty, we shall perceive 
 ^at tlie visible appearance of o pjecta is 
 hardly ever regar oed by us. ITis pot~at 
 all made an object of tho ught or reflec- 
 tion, but serves only as a sign to "introduce 
 to the mind something else, jtvHicli may be 
 ^ti nctly conceived bythose who never saw. 
 
 Thus, the visible appearance of things in 
 my room varies almost every hour, accord- 
 ing as the day is clear or cloudy, as the sun 
 is in the east, or south, or west, and as my 
 eye is in one part of the room or in an- 
 other ; but I never think of these variations, 
 otherwise than as signs of morning, noon, 
 or night, of a clear or cloudy sky. A book 
 or a chair has a different appearance to the 
 eye, m every different distance and posi- 
 tion; yet we conceive it to be still the 
 same; and, overlooking the appearance, we 
 I immediately conceive the real figure, dis- 
 tance, and position of the body, of which 
 its visible or perspective appearance is a 
 sign and indication. 
 
 When I see a man at the distance of ten 
 yards, and afterwards see him at the dis- 
 tance of a hundred yards, his visible ap- 
 pearance, in its length, breadth, and all its 
 Unear proportions, Ls ten times less in the 
 last case than it is in the first ; yet I do not 
 conceive him one inch diminished by this 
 diminution of his visible figure. Nay, I 
 do not in the least attend to this diminution, 
 even when I draw from it the conclusion 
 of his being at a greater distance. For such 
 is the subtilty of the mind's operation in 
 this case, that we draw the conclusion, with- 
 out perceiving that ever the premises en- 
 tered into the mind. A thousand such in- 
 stances might be produced, in order to shew 
 that the visible appearances of objects are 
 intended by natu re Qply as signs or indica- 
 tions ; and that the mind passes instantly 
 to the things signified , without making th e 
 least refleetipn upon^he sign, or even per- 
 ceiving th a t there is any such tiling. iTIs 
 m a way somewhat similar, that the sounds 
 of a language , after it is become familiar, 
 are overlooked, and we attend only to the 
 things signified by them. 
 
 It is therefore a just and important ob- 
 servation of the Bishop of Cloyne, That 
 the visible appearance of objects is a kind 
 of language used by nature, to inform us 
 of their distance, magnitude, and figure. 
 And this observation hath been very happily 
 applied by that ingenious writer, to the 
 solution of some phsenomena in optics, which 
 had before perplexed the greatest masters 
 in that science. The same observation is 
 further improved by thejudicious Dr Smith, 
 in his Optics, for explaining the apparent 
 figure of the heavens, and the apparent 
 dutances and magnitudes of objects seen 
 with glasses, or by the naked eye. 
 
 Avoiding as much as possible the repe- 
 
 tition of what hath been said by these ex- 
 cellent writers, we shall avail ourselves of 
 the distinction between the signs that nature 
 useth in this visual language, and the things 
 signified by them ; and in what remains to 
 be said of sight, shall first make some ob- 
 servations upon the signs. 
 
 Section III. 
 
 OF THE VISIBLE APPSARANCBS OF OBJSCTi. 
 
 In this section we must speak of things 
 which are never made the object of re- 
 flection, though almost every moment pre- 
 sented to the mind. Natureintended thern 
 only for signs ; and in the whole couree 
 of UfeThey are put Jo no other use. The 
 ioiind has acquired a confirmed and invet- 
 erate habit of inattention to them ; for 
 they no sooner^appear^^ than quick as light- 
 ning the tiling^ signified s uccee ds, and en- 
 grosses _all^~ourre^r3r They hav^e no 
 name inlanguage ; and^ although w e are 
 cons cious of them when they pass Jhyroa^ 
 t he mind, yet their pas sage, is so_ q uick 
 and so f^y niiliari th*^^ ^* '« ahfiolutelyL i]©- 
 he§dfid; nor do they leave any footstep s 
 oLtlifiinselxes».ciiber in the memory or 
 imagination. That this is the case with 
 regard to the sensations of touch, hath been 
 shewn in the last chapter; and it holds 
 no less with regard to the visible appear- 
 ances of objects. 
 
 I cannot therefore entertain the hope of 
 being intelligible to those readers who have 
 not, by pains and practice, acquired the 
 habit of distinguishing the appearance of 
 objects to the eye, from the judgment which 
 we form by sight of their colour, distance, 
 magnitude, and figure. The only profes- 
 sion in life wherein it is necessary to make 
 this distinction, is that of pamting. The 
 painter hath occasion for an abstraction, 
 with regard to visible objects, somewhat 
 similar to that which we here require : and 
 this indeed is the most difficult part of hui 
 art. For it is evident, that, if he could fix 
 in his imagination the visible appearance of 
 objects, without confounding it with the 
 things signified by that appearance, it 
 would be as easy for him to paint from the 
 life, and to give every figure its proper 
 shading and relief, and its perspective pro- 
 portions, as it is to paint from a copy. Per- 
 spective, shading, giving relief, and colour- 
 ing, are nothing else but copying the ap- 
 pearance which things make to the eye. 
 We may therefore borrow some light on 
 the subject of visible appearan ce from this art. 
 
 Let one look upon any familiar object, 
 such as a book, at different distances and 
 in different positions : is he not able to 
 affirm, upon the testimony of his sight, that 
 
I 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 it k tlia iHinliook, the same object, whether 
 ■eenmlHie Matamm of one foot or of ten, 
 whether in one position or another ; that 
 the colour is the eame, the dimensions the 
 ■MM, and the ignre the same, as Ikr as 
 Umi ife can. iwige f This surely must be 
 aiOikiiowMpid. The same indiiridual object 
 if presented to the mmd, <mly placed at 
 different dlitaiioes and in different posi- 
 tions. Let me ask, in the next place, 
 Whethot this object has the same appear- 
 wee to the eye in these different distances ? 
 Infallibly it hath not For, 
 
 First, However certain our judgment 
 may be that the colour is the same, it is as 
 certain that it hath not the same appear^ 
 •nee at diibreiit diitaiMses. 'There is a 
 Mitaia ^degradation of the 'Colour, and a 
 'Certain confiision and mdistinctness of the 
 minute parts, which is the natural conse- 
 quence of the removal of the object to a 
 greater distanise. 'Those that are' not 
 paintets, or 'Critics in painting, overiook 
 this; and cannot easily be persuaded, that 
 the colour of the same object hath a dif- 
 ferent appeaaauce at ths listaiice of one 
 foot and of ten, in 'the shade and in the 
 light "" But the masters in painting know 
 how, by the degradation of we colour and 
 the confusion of the minute parts, figures 
 which a«© npn the same canvass, and at 
 the same distance from the eye, may be 
 made to represent objects which are at the 
 most unequal distances. They know how 
 to make the objects appear to be of the 
 same colour, by making their pictures 
 rnally of different colours, acoordhig to 
 'tiMir' distances, or shades. 
 
 Secondly, Every one who is acquainted 
 'With the rules of perspeetlTe, knows that 
 the appeaiMiee of the ignre of the book 
 must wy in every different position : yet 
 if you ask a man that has no notion of 
 peropective, whether the figure of it does 
 not appear to his eye to be the same in all 
 its diffflcent positions ? he can with a good 
 eonseienee aSrm that it does. He hath 
 learned to make allowance for the variety 
 of visiiile'%iiiB arlsmg from the difference 
 of pcaitioD, and to draw the proper con- 
 clusions from iL Bp| ha da^iB|. these con- 
 #lponssp readily and tijMtliriHYi*"! tft l«w 
 ■i yht rf th e premise ; and ther^ore where 
 lenaSi made the same conclusion, he con- 
 ceives the visible appearance must have 
 
 fool 
 
 ri Iiet ns consider the iqpparent 
 or dimensions of the book. 
 I view it at the distance of one 
 or of ten feet, it seems to be about 
 inches kng, five broad, and one 
 I can jii& of these dimensions 
 very nearly by the eye, and I judge them 
 to be the same at both distances. But 
 yet it is osfflain, that, at tha distance of 
 
 one foot, its visible length and br^th ia 
 about ten times as great as at the distance 
 of ten feet ; and consequently its surface is 
 about a hundred times as ^reat This great 
 change of apparent magnitude is altogether 
 overlooked, and every man is apt to ira- 
 agme, that it appears to the eye of the 
 same size at both distances. Further, when 
 I look at the book, it seems pkinly to have 
 three dimensions, of length, breadth, and 
 thickness : but it is certam that the visibla 
 appearance hath no more than two, and 
 can be exactly represented upon a canvasa 
 which hath only length and breadth. 
 
 In the last place, does not every man, by 
 sight, perceive the distance of the book 
 from his eye ? Can he not affirm with 
 certainty, that in one case it is not above 
 one foot distant, thai in another it is ten ? 
 Nevertheless, it appears certain, that dis- 
 tance from the eye is no immediate object 
 of sight. There are certain things in the 
 ▼islbte appearance, which are signs of dis- 
 tance from the eye, and from which, as we 
 shall afterwards shew, wfi Ifiarn by fl»|Wri» 
 enceto jiidgf) nf t^°* «ii'«*ftn^ wifhin «ww, 
 toinjlimits; but it se ems beyond doubty 
 that a^man bom blinding Hl1H<^Pl^ly ttiaiIa 
 
 to see, c ould lorm ^ojuj^Da§flt "^ ^^* ^^ 
 the (Cgtance'oFth e obj ectejyhich .hfi_aLV. 
 TEe ybiiiig man couched by Cheselden 
 thought, at first, that everything he saw 
 touched his eye,» and learned only by ex- 
 perience to judge of the distance of visibla 
 objects. 
 
 I have entered into this long detaO, in 
 order to shew that the visible .a ppearance 
 of an object is extremely different fr om tne 
 notion of it wlilch experience te aches us ^ 
 formrby^sight ; and to enable the reader to 
 attend to the visible appearance of colour, 
 figure, and extension, in visible things, 
 which is no common object of thought, but 
 must be carefully attended to by those who 
 would enter into the philosophy of this 
 sense, or would comprehend what shall be 
 said upon it To a man newly made to 
 see, the visible appearance of objects would 
 be the same as to us ; but he would see 
 nothing at all of thehr real dimensions, aa 
 we do. He could form no conjecture, by 
 means of his sight only, how many inches 
 or feet they were in length, breadth, or 
 thickness. He could perceive little or no- 
 thmg of their real figure ; nor could he dis* 
 com that this was a cube, that a sphere ; 
 that this was a cone, and that a cylinder.f 
 
 • Still Ihey appeared external to the eye.— H. 
 
 f This is a misinterpretation of Cbeselden, cm 
 whose authority this statement is made ; though it 
 must be conles«ed that the mode in which the case of 
 the young man, couched by that distinguished sur. 
 geon, is reported, dofi not merit all the eulogia 
 that haTC been lavished on it. It is at once imper. 
 feet and indistinct. Thus, on the point in questiong 
 Cheselden says:—" He (the patient) knew not t^• 
 shape of anything, itor any one thing from anothwr. 
 
 / 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 137 
 
 His eye could not inform him that this 
 object was near, and that more remote. 
 The habit of a man or of a woman, which 
 appeared to us of one uniform colour, vari- 
 ously folded and shaded, would present to 
 his eye neither fold or shade, but variety of 
 colour. In a word, his ^es. though ever 
 so perfect, would at first give nim almpst no 
 information of things Nvimout^ hina. They 
 would indeed presen t the same apj)^rances 
 to him as they d o to us , and speak the same 
 language ; but to him it is an unknown 
 langua ge ; a nd, thereT ofeTIhe would attend 
 oiily to the signs, without knowing the sig- 
 nification of them, whereas'lo us itis a lan- 
 guage perfectly familiar^j^and, therefore, 
 we take no notice of the signs, but attend 
 only to the thing signified by them. 
 
 Section IF, 
 
 THAT COLOUR IS A QUALITY OP BODIES, NOT 
 A SENSATION OF THE MIND. 
 
 By colour, all men, who have not been 
 tutored by modem philoso4)hy, understand, 
 not a sensation of the mind, which can have 
 no existence when it is not perceived, but a 
 quality or modification ot bodies^ which 
 coht mues t o be the same whether it is seen 
 or n^ The scarlet-rose which is before 
 iiie~ uTetill a scarlet-rose when I shut my 
 
 however difR>rent In shape or magnitude; but, upon 
 being told what things were, whose form he before 
 knew from feeling, he would carefully observe, that 
 he might know them again ; but, t-aving too many 
 objects to learn at once, >)e forgot many of them, 
 and (as he said) at first he learned to know, and again 
 forgot a thousand things in a day. One particular 
 only, thou.^h it may appear trifling, I will relate: 
 Having often forgot which was the cat and which 
 the dog, he was ashamed to ask ; but, catching the 
 cat, which he knew by feeling, he was observed to 
 look at her steadfastly, and then, setting her down, 
 •aid, ' So, puss! I shall know you another time.'" 
 
 iifr?re, when Cheselden says, •• that his patient, 
 vhen recently couched, knew not the shape of any 
 thing, nor any one thing from another," &c., this 
 cannot mean that he saw no difference between 
 objects of different shapes and sizes; for, if this inter, 
 pretation were adopted, the rest of the statement 
 becomes nonsense. If he had been altogether inca- 
 bable of apprehending differences, it could not be 
 said that, «• being told what things were whose form 
 he before knew from feeling, he would carefully 
 observe, that he might knoW thera again ;" for ob- 
 servation supposes the power of discrimination, and, 
 In particular, the anecdote of the dog and cat would 
 be inconceivable on that h3rp<ithe8is. It is plain that 
 Cheselden only meant to say, that the things which 
 the patient could previously distinguish and deno- 
 minate by touch, he could not now identify and refer 
 to their appellations by sight. And this is what we 
 might, a priori, be assured of. A sphere and a cube 
 would certainly make difiisreiit impressions on him ; 
 but it is probable that he could not assign to each its 
 name, though, in this particular case, there is good 
 ground for holding that the slightest consideration 
 would enable a person, previously acquainted with 
 these figures, and aware that the one was a cube 
 and the other a sphere, to connect thera with his 
 anterior experience, and to discriminate them by 
 iiane.— Set PMot, Tratu,, I72B. nu, 402.— H. 
 
 eyes, and was so at midnight when no eye 
 saw it. The colour remains when the 
 ►earance' ceases : it remains the 
 
 same 
 
 when the appearance changes. For when ' 
 I view this scarlet-rose through a pair of ' 
 green spectacles, the appearance is changed ; ■ 
 but I do not conceive the colour of the rose j 
 changed. To a person in the jaundice, it : 
 has still another appearance ; but he is ' 
 easily convinced that the change is in his 
 eye, and not in the colour of the object. 
 Every different degree of light makes it 
 have a different appearance, and total dark- 
 ness takes away all appearance, hut makes 
 not the least change in the colour of the < 
 body. We may, by a variety of optical ! 
 experiments, change the appearance of 
 figure and magnitude in a body, as well as 
 that of colour ; we may make one body 
 appear to be ten. But all men beUeve, 
 that, as a multiplying glass. does not really 
 produce ten guineas out of one, nor a mi- 
 croscope turn a guinea into a ten-pound 
 piece, so neither does a coloured glass 
 change the real colour of the object seen 
 through it, when it changes the appearance 
 of that colour. 
 
 The common language of mankind shews 
 evidently, that we ouglit to distinguish be- 
 tween the colour of a body, which is con»_ 
 ceived to be a fixed and permanent quality 
 in the body, and the appearance of that 
 colour to the eye, which may be varied a 
 thousand ways, by a variation of theji^t, 
 of the medium, or of the eye itself. Then . uj; ■*■-'*• 
 permanent colour of the boayls the causelV^^I^ ^jt^^-i*--^ 
 which, by the mediation of various kinds or ^^** ■ 
 degrees of light, and of various transparent 
 bodies interposed, produces all this variety 
 of appearances. When a coloured body ia 
 presented, there is a certam apparition to 
 the eye,^ pr_toL the mind, which we hav^ 
 called the appearance of colour, Mr Locke 
 calls it an idea ; and, indeed, it may be 
 called so with the greatest propriety. This 
 idea can have no existence but when it is 
 perceived. It is a kind of thought, and can 
 only be the act of a percipient or thinking 
 being. By the constitution of our nature, 
 we are led to conceive this idea as a sign of 
 something external, and are impatient til} 
 we learn its meaning. A thousand experi- ^ 
 ments for this purpose are made every day • 
 by children, even before they come to the 
 use of reason. They look at things, they 
 handle them, they put them in various po- 
 sitions, at different distances, and in differ- 
 ent lights. The ideas of sight, by these 
 means, come to be a ssociated with, and 7 
 readily to suggest, things external, and al- 
 together unlike them. In particular, that 
 idea which we have called the appearatwe 
 of colour^ suggests the conception and belief 
 of some unknown qualit^r in the body which 
 occasions the idea ; and it is to this quality. 
 
 
138 
 
 Of THE HUMAN MIND 
 
 ■Hi unl to «lift' idi% Hwt wm give the name | 
 oftfolimr.* Tie wmnom mlmm^ althoujth 
 _„jp eqaSSj wakm^m, we easily 
 'Aed. when we think o f tpeak of 
 .hy^heing .aaaooiated/' wSh IheTaeaa 
 ___. tliey ewate. In like manner, gravity, 
 magnetian, and electricity, although all 
 fuknown qualitiefl, ate diatingui^ed by 
 their dilEotent effecta. la we grow up^ the 
 mind acaniiea. a habit of 'fiiiinf ao rapidly 
 from tiM Mmm 'Of ight to the external 
 thinni ingfeated by them, that the ideas are 
 not m tlw leaal atlandtd 1% nor have they 
 names jifn thin in common language. , 
 When wo think or speak of any parti- 
 Cidar colour, however simple the notion may 
 ^ioem. to be which is preiosted to the 'imagin- 
 aAm, ft k .ffitiy in some sort oompoimded. 
 If imvolvwi sn. unknown came and » known 
 iHM. Tfaenaimniffliiiimrbetonw indeed 
 to the ciiiae only* and not to the effect. 
 IoImii ili'tlft TT**^ ^^ tiDKnown, we can lorra no 
 'iMi|^ of it but by its relation to 
 
 tho,,lilia!i'.iiect ; and,^therefbre, both go to- 
 fntthiff in the imagination, and are so closely 
 milll, that they are mistaken liif o ne simp le 
 <*jSLiilJM)ttgbt.t When, IwoSd conceive 
 ihoM coloiiRi of bodies whidi we call icarkt 
 aal Mii«— if I conceived them only as un- 
 hwiWB qiiaitie% I oonldperceive no distinc- 
 tion between the one and the other. I must, 
 therefore, lor the sake of distinction, join to 
 each of them, in my imagination, some 
 dihct or some rehition that is peculiar i and 
 Urn OMt obvious distinctioii is, the appear- 
 ■iwe which one and the other makes to the 
 ^ye. Hence the appearaaceis, hi the imagin- 
 gion, ao closely united with the quality 
 inlM a iemrlet-eolomr, thst they are apt to 
 bo 'iiiirtifcflwi lor one and the same thing, 
 '■iihoiuil'"tli^are in reality w different and 
 .go ib1u% lial one is an idea in the mind, 
 the other is a quality of body. 
 
 I copckde^ then, that col our to lo|Ji 
 aiaiation, but a aec on dagy unaMty of bodi^ 
 
 '■i*~* "" ii i ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ' I ■ *^"' ^ f ' J 
 
 in the sense we have already explamed; 
 that it is a certain power or virtue in bodies, 
 that m faur daylight exhibits to the eye an 
 .■BMnaiie whidi. Is very fkmiliar to ut), 
 alllMNigh It bath no name. Colour differs 
 from other secondary qualities m this, that, 
 whereas the name of the quality is sometimes 
 given, to' the sensation wUeh. indicates it, and 
 k oceasioned by it, we never, as far as I can 
 |u%e^ give the name of whur to the sens- 
 ation, but to the quality only.$ Perhaps 
 
 •f I II it jmtlf otaMKVCd bf Mr Stewart, that 
 niM' ptimil 'IMIB iMeiMlllillt Wfin each otner. 
 
 W In tlw peieCfiCioii of' 'I9filmir» llie fensatlon and 
 
 'IIW' fitillty **' it 'Ml eloMlf uatKcl m to t>e roia. 
 lalwn fw Hue ■taiple oUaot of thought.** does it not 
 oMmulf Mow. tiat ll ittothia compounded notion 
 tilt aone of eoiovr muat In general be given ? On 
 Hit illMff liaaid, when It la aaid tkat the nnnte of 
 §§t§&f- i§ WMf ' ift")* fo the sensation, but to tJu 
 flMliir Mir, dMt not tbia imply, that every time 
 ilf if«i li fttHWincfd, the quality it leparatid frow 
 
 the reason of this may be, that the appear- 
 ances of the same colour are so various and 
 changeable, according to the different mo- 
 difications of the light, of the medium, and 
 of the eve, that langtutge could not afford 
 names for them. And, indeed, they are so 
 little interestmg, that they are never at- 
 tended to, but serve only as signs to hi- 
 troduce the things signified by them. 
 Nor ought it to appear incredible, that 
 appearances so frequent and so familiar 
 should have no names, nor be made ob- 
 jects of thought; since we have before 
 shewn that this is true of many sensations of 
 touch, which are no less frequent nor lesa 
 familiar. 
 
 Section F. 
 
 AN INFmBNCS PROM THB PRBCBOIKO. 
 
 From what hath been said about colour, 
 we may infer two things. The first is, that 
 one of the most remarkable paradoxes of 
 modern philosophy, which hath been uni- 
 versally esteemed as a great discovery, is, 
 in reality, when examined to the bottom, - 
 nothing else but an abuse of words. Tho \ 
 paradox I mean is, That colour is not a 
 quality of bodies, but only an idea in the 
 mind. We have shewn, that the wordi 
 eoimtr, as used by the vulgar, cannot signify 
 an idea in the mind, but a permanent 
 quality of body. We have shewn, that 
 there is really a permanent quality of body, 
 to which the common use of this word ex- 
 actly agreea Can any stronger proof be 
 desired, that this quality is that to which 
 the vulgar give the name of colour 9 If it 
 should be said, that this quality, to which 
 we give the name of colour, is tmknown to 
 the vulgar, and, therefore, can have no 
 name among them, I answer, it is, indeed, 
 knowQ only by its effects— that is» byita 
 ex<ntmg q, certain idea in us j but are there 
 not numberless qualities of bodies which 
 are known only by their effects, to which, 
 notwithstanding, we find it necessary to 
 give names? Medicine alone might fur^ 
 nish us with a hundred instances of this 
 kind. Do not the words astrinrfenU narcotic, 
 epispastiCf cauMtic, and innumerable others, 
 signify qualities of bodies, which are known 
 only by their effects upon animal bodies f 
 Why, then, should not the vulgar give s 
 name to a quality, whose effects are every 
 moment perceived by their eyes ? We 
 have all the reason, therefore, that the 
 nature of the thing admits, to think that 
 the vulgar apply the name of colour to that 
 quality of bodies which excites m us what 
 
 the lenMtion. eten In the imagination of the vul. 
 
 gar I— H. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 isy 
 
 the philosophers call the idea of colour. 
 And that that there is such a quality in 
 bodies, all philosophers allow, who allow that 
 there is any such thing as body. Philo- 
 sophers have thought fit to leave that 
 quality of bodies which the vulgar call 
 colour, without a name, and to give the 
 name of colour to the idea or appearance, 
 to which, as we have shewn, the vulgs^ 
 give no name, because they never make it 
 an object of thought or reflection. Hence 
 it appears, that, when philosophers affirm 
 that colour, is not in bodies, but in the 
 mind, and the vulgar affirm that colour is 
 not in the mind, but is a quality of bodies, 
 there is no difference between them about 
 things, but only about the meaning of a 
 word. 
 
 The vulgar have undoubted right to give 
 names to things which they are daily con- 
 versant about ; and philosophers seem 
 Justly chargeable with an abuse of language, 
 when they change the meaning of a com- 
 mon word, without giving warning. 
 
 If it is a good rule, to thmk with philo- 
 sophers and speak with the vulgar, it must 
 be right to speak with the vulgar when we 
 think with them, and not to shock them by 
 philosophical paradoxes, which, when put 
 mto common language, express only the 
 common sense of mankind. 
 
 If you ask a man that is no philosopher, 
 what colour is, or what makes one body 
 appear white, another scarlet, he can- 
 not tell. He leaves that inquiry to philo- 
 sophers, and can embrace any hypothesis 
 about it, except that of our modem philo- 
 sophers, who affirm that colour is not in 
 body, but only in the mind. 
 
 Nothing appears more shocking to his 
 apprehension, than that visible objects 
 should have no colour, and that colour 
 ■hould be in that which he conceives to be 
 invisible. Yet this strange paradox is not 
 only universally received, but considered as 
 one of the noblest discoveries of modern 
 philosophy. The ingenious Addison, in 
 the Spectator, No. 413, speaks thus of it :— 
 " I have here supposed that my reader is 
 acquainted with that great modern discovery, 
 which is at present universally acknow- 
 ledged by all the inquirers into natural 
 philosophy— namely, that light and colours, 
 as apprehended by the imagination, are 
 only ideas in the mind, and not qualities 
 that have any existence in matter. As this 
 is a truth which has been proved incon- 
 testably by many modem philosophers, and 
 is, indeed, one of the finest speculations in 
 that science, if the English reader would see 
 the notion explained at large, he may find it 
 in the eighth chapter of the second book of 
 Locke's ' Essay on HumanUnderstanding.' " 
 Mr Locke and Mr Addison are writers 
 who have deserved so well of mankind, that 
 
 one must feel some uneasiness in differing 
 from them, and would wish to ascribe aU 
 the merit that is due to a discovery ufNon 
 which they put so high a value. And, in- 
 deed, it is just to acknowledge that Locke, 
 and other modem philosophers, on the sub- 
 ject of secondary qualities, have the merit 
 of distinguishing more accurately than those 
 that went before thera, between the sensa- 
 tion in the mind, and that constitution or 
 quality of bodies which gives occasion to 
 the sensation. They have shewn clearly 
 that these two things are not only distinct, 
 but altogether unUke : that there is no 
 similitude between the effluvia of an odo- 
 rous body and the sensation of smell, or 
 between the vibrations of a sounding body 
 and the sensation of sound : that there can 
 be no resemblance between the feeling of 
 heat, and the constitution of the heated 
 body which occasions it; or between the 
 appearance which a coloured body makes to 
 the eye, and the texture of the body which 
 causes that appearance. 
 
 Nor was the merit small of distinguishing 
 these things accurately ; because, however 
 different and unlike in their nature, they 
 have been always so associated in the ima- 
 gination, as to coalesce, as it were, into one 
 two-faced form, which, from its amphibious 
 nature, could not justly be appropriated 
 either to body or mind ; and, until it was 
 properly distinguished into its different con- 
 stituent parts, it was impossible to assign to 
 either their just shares in it. None of the 
 ancient philosophers had made this distinc- 
 tion.* The followers of Democritus and 
 Epicurus conceived the forms of heat, and 
 sound, and colour, to be in the mind only ; 
 but that our senses fallaciously represented 
 them as being in bodies. The Peripatetics 
 imagined that those forms are really in 
 bodies ; and that the images of them are 
 conveyed to the mind by our senses, f 
 
 The one system made the senses natur- 
 ally fallacious and deceitful ; the other 
 made the qualities of body to resemble the 
 sensations of the mind. Nor was it possible 
 to find a third, without making the distinc- 
 tion we have mentioned; by which, indeed, 
 the errors of both these ancient systems are 
 avoided, and we are not left under the hard 
 necessity of believmg, either, on the one 
 hand, that our sensations are like to the 
 qualities of body, or, on the other, that 
 God hath given us one faculty to deceive us, 
 and another to detect the chea t. 
 
 • This is inaccurate. The distinction was It nown 
 to the ancient philosophers ; and Deniocritus waa 
 generally allowed to be its author. This Reid himself 
 elsewhere indeed admits — (See alwve.p. 123, »; «"« 
 
 "f These sta'tementa concerning *'<**'' f'**?*'.J?' 
 philosophers are vague and incorrect, ^n* *"*^* 
 in general, only allowed species for two senses, agnt 
 and Hearing; few admitted them in Feeling; and 
 some rejected them altogether.— H. 
 
110 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 Woteii^ Hiefofon, wiih pleMiire, to 
 in jiutiee to the ctfMstiine of Locke, and 
 ^km moden. fUliw^lien, witli regMd to 
 4il«if mi. otter seeondiiry qualities, and 
 
 to •flcribe to it its due ment, while we hm 
 hme to ceumue the lingiiage in whieh 
 they have eifTCtMd their «loetriDe. When 
 thej 'had ^ei^hined :md eitailiihed the dis- 
 IliMliiin. hetWMn. th« .•fpeannc© which co- 
 Imir tmim to the eye, and the modifica- 
 tlon of the coloured body which, by the 
 laws of nature, causes that appearance, 
 the question was, whether to give the 
 name of eohmt to the cause or to the ef- 
 fect ? By givuig it, aa they have done, to 
 mm ellMli they set philosophy apparently 
 in ofpsitiMi to eonmon sense, and expose 
 it to th* :iiilliiile ni the vulgar. But had 
 'ttsgr given, ihn imiim of eohur to the cause, 
 as they ou^t to have done, they must 
 then have' .ulfned|. with tho' vulgar, that 
 edour is a quality of bodiss } and that 
 there is neither colour nnv anything like 
 it in the mind. Their hmgnage, as well 
 as their sentunents, would have been per- 
 isetly agiBeaMe to the common apprehen- 
 "■inis^of manMnii'Wd true Philosophy would 
 liave joined haiids with Common Sense. 
 As Locke was no enemy to common sense, 
 il nay hO' fresuned, that, in this instance, 
 as in some othcfs, he was seduced by some 
 leeeived hypothew ; and that this was ac- 
 tually the case, wiU appear in the following 
 
 THAT KlflfB OP OUR SEN&ATtlllfS MMM 
 BIMnAMCn OP ANY OP TBS QUAUTIBB 
 
 01' V llillllWfiL 
 
 iSUF* 
 
 A second inferenee is, thal» 
 lour ...'._ _.. ., ~ ~ 
 
 II- imiiiiiii II Ill 11 iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiipiiii iiiiiii|| 'nri ir' ■ ..iiiiHinKiapii: ~.^^r _ imi^ miiiiiiiMiiriwiiii-i'iiiiiiin iii ■ " - -' 
 
 no t repre sented to the mind hj an idea or 
 semu^Jthat .rambles it; on the con- 
 
 tw^^ it is sofisestei'ly' an idea which, does 
 
 not in the least resemble ji And this m- 
 ference is applicable, not to colour only, but 
 to all the quaEties of body which we have 
 examined. 
 
 'mmV 'WPilpSp^Biia w 'Mbp' 'WIif bwiif ja ^p^aaawpa' '^sw^wji •••••••»■ ••™ ■p*«^f 
 
 •mlyiis WS' 'have 'hitherto given of the ope- 
 fsteia cC the five senses, and of the quali- 
 ties of bodies discovered by them, no in- 
 stance 'hath Qceoned, either of any sensation 
 which. reaemMss .any quality of body, or of 
 any quaEty of body whose iintge or resem- 
 Muce is eonveyed to the mind by means of 
 me 'Senseflta' 
 
 'fheie IS' m phsnonflninin natmpS'more 
 QiiMefiiuitihle than Hm interoonrse thai is 
 eairied on between the mind and the ex- 
 tomal world^there is no phsenomenon 
 whieh philosophieal spirits have shewn 
 
 greater avidity to pry into, and to resolve. 
 It is agreed by all, ttal this mtercourse is 
 carried on by means of the senses ; and 
 this satisfies the vulgar cariosity, but not 
 the phUosophic. Philosophers must have 
 some system, some hypothesis, that shews 
 the manner in which our senses make us 
 acquainted with external things. All the 
 fertility of human invention seems to have 
 produced only one hypothesis for this pur- 
 pose, which, therefore, hath been univer- 
 sally received ; andjthat is, that the mind, 
 like a mirror,jreceives the images ofjliings 
 from without, by means of the sense s; so 
 that their use must be to convey these images 
 into the mind.* 
 
 Whether to these images of extoraal 
 things in the mind, we give the name of 
 §ennble forms, or sensible species, with the 
 Peripatetics, or the name of ideas of sensa-^ 
 Hon, with Locke ; or whether, with later 
 philosophers, we distinguish sensations^ 
 which are immediately conveyed by the 
 senses, from ideas qf sensation, which are 
 faint copies of our sensations retained in 
 the memory and imagination ;f these are 
 only differences about words. The hypo- 
 thesis I have mentioned is conmion to aU 
 these different systems. 
 
 The necessary and aflowed consequence 
 ofjhis hypothesis is, that no material thing, 
 fior any quality of material things, can be 
 conceived by us, or made an object ^ 
 thought, until its image is eonveyed to the 
 fmnd by means of the senses. We shall 
 examine this hypothesis particularly after- 
 wards, and at this time only observe, that, \ 
 in consequence of it, one would naturally 
 expect, that to every quality and attributo 
 of body we know or can conceive, there 
 should be a sensation corresponding, which 
 is the image and resemblance of that qua- 
 lity ; and that the sensations which have 
 no similitude or resemblance to body, or to 
 any of its qualities, should give us no con- 
 ception of a material world, or of anything 
 belonging to it These things might be ex- 
 pected as the natural consequences of the . 
 hypothesis we have mentioned. ^ I 
 
 Now, we have considered, in this and 
 the preceding chapters, Extension, Figure, 
 Solidity, Motion, Hardness, Roughness, as 
 weU as Colour, Heat, and Cold, Sound, 
 Taste, and SmelL We have endeavoured 
 to shew that our nature and constitution 
 lead us to conceive these as qualities of 
 body, as all mankind have always con- 
 
 • This u incorrect, especially as it asierU that 
 the onf universal hypothesis of philosophjr was, that 
 •*the mind receiTes the images of things from with, 
 out," meaning by these imagfs, immediate or repie. 
 sentativc objects, diflbrent from the modiflcationi of 
 the thinking sut^ect itself.— H. 
 
 f He refers to Hume: Aiiatotle. however, and 
 Hobbcs, had previoualy called Imagination ■ dece§' 
 img #en«e,— H. 
 
 \ 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 HI 
 
 oeived them to he. We have likewise exa- 
 mined with great attention the various 
 sensations we have by means of the five 
 senses, and are not able to find among 
 them all one single* image of body, or of 
 any of its qualities. From whence,Jthen, 
 come those images of body and oOts qua- 
 lities into the imnd ? XetpHiIosophers re- 
 solve this question. All I can say is, that 
 they come not by the senses. I am sure 
 that, by proper attention and care, I may 
 know my sensations, and be able to affirm 
 with certainty what they resemble, and what 
 they do not resenalllp. I have examined 
 them one by one, and compared them with 
 matter and its qualities ; andj cannot find 
 one Ji f them t\\tA CT u fflfwe s a re semb ling: 
 feiljire. 
 
 A truth Sft evident as this — that our sens- 
 ations arg not images of matter^ or of any 
 oTTte qualities— ought not to yield to a hy- 
 ppthesisjiuch a^ that above-mentioned, how- 
 ever ancient, or however universally re- 
 ceived by philosophers ; nor can there be 
 any amicable union between the two. This 
 will appear by some reflections upon the 
 spirit of the ancient and modern philosophy 
 concerning sensation. 
 
 During the reign of the Peripatetic phi- 
 losophy, our sensations were not minutely 
 or accurately examined. The attention 
 of philosophers, as well as of the vulgar, 
 was turned to the things signified by them : 
 therefore, in consequence of the common 
 hypothesis, it was taken for granted, that 
 aU the sensations we have from external 
 things, are the forms or images of these 
 external things. And thus the truth we 
 have mentioned yielded entirely to the hypo- 
 thesis, and was altogether suppressed by it. 
 
 Des Cartes gave a noble example of 
 turning our attention inward, and scruti- 
 nizing our sensations; and this example 
 hath been very worthily followed by mo- 
 dern philosophers, particularly by Male- 
 branche, Locke, Berkeley, and Hume. The 
 effect of this scrutiny hath been, a gradual 
 discovery of the truth above-mentioned — to 
 wit, the dissimilitude between the sensa- 
 tions of our minds, and the qualities or 
 attributes of an insentient inert substance, 
 such as we conceive matter to be. But 
 this valuable and useful discovery, in its 
 difi*erent stages, hath still been unhappily 
 united to the ancient hypothesis — and from 
 this inauspicious match of opinions, so 
 unfriendly and discordant in their natures, 
 have arisen those monsters of paradox and 
 scepticism with which the modern philoso- 
 phy is too justly chargeable. 
 
 Locke saw clearly, and proved incon- 
 tostably, that the sensations we have by 
 taste, smell, and hearing, as well as the 
 
 * Qm iinglt~~m eomnon but faulty pleonasm.—^!. 
 
 sensations of colour, heat, and cold, are 
 not resemblances of anything in bodies; 
 and in this he agrees wiUi Des Cartes and 
 Malebranche. Joining this opinion with 
 the hypothesis, it follows necessarily, that 
 three senses of the five are cut off from 
 giving us any intelligence of the material 
 world, as being altogether inept for that 
 office. Smell, and taste, and sound, as well 
 as colour and heat, can have no more rela- 
 tion to body, than anger or gratitude ; nor 
 ought the former to be called qualities of 
 body, whether primary or secondary, any 
 more than the latter. For it was natund 
 and obvious to argue thus from that hypo- 
 thesis: If heat, and colour, and sound 
 are real qualities of body, the sensations 
 by which we perceive them must be re- 
 semblances of those qualities; but these 
 sensations are not resemblances; there- 
 fore, those are not real qualities of body. 
 
 We see, then, that Locke, having found 
 that the ideas of secondary qualities are no 
 resemblances, was compelled, by a hypo- 
 thesis common to all philosophers, to deny 
 that they are real qualities of body. It 
 is more difficult to assign a reason why, 
 after this, he should call them secondary 
 qualities ; for tins name, if I mistake not, 
 was of his invention.* Surely he did not 
 mean that they were secondary qualities of 
 the mind ; and I do not see with what pro- 
 priety, or even by what tolerable license, 
 he could call them secondary qualities of 
 body, after finding that they were no qua- 
 lities of body at all. In this, he seems to 
 have sacrificed to Common Sense, and to 
 have been led by her authority even in 
 opposition to his hypothesis. The same 
 sovereign mistress of our opinions that led 
 this philosopher to call those things second- 
 ary qualities of body, which, according to his 
 principles and reasonings, were no qualities 
 of body at all, hath led, not the vulgar of 
 all ages only, but philosophers also, and 
 even the disciples of Locke, to believe them 
 to be real qualities of body — she hath led 
 them to investigate, by experiments, the 
 nature of colour, and sound, and heat, in 
 bodies. Nor hath this investigation been 
 fruitless, as it must have been if there had 
 been no such thing in bodies ; on the con- 
 trary, it hath produced very noble and 
 useful discoveries, which make a very con- 
 siderable part of natural philosophy. If, 
 then, natural philosophy be not a dream, 
 there is something in bodies which we call 
 colour, and heat, and sound. And if this' 
 be so, the hypothesis from which the con- 
 
 • The terms First and Second, or Primary and 
 Secondary qualities, were no more an invention of 
 Locke than the distinction which he applied them to 
 denote. The terms First and Second Qualities, 
 as I have noticed, in the Aristotelian philosophy, 
 marked out, however, a different distriUitJOB ef 
 qualities than that in question.— H. 
 

 142 
 
 \ 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 I, 
 
 V 
 
 taiy if «iiMhid«d, must be fhln s for the 
 mgmamif hmBhtg to » Mm eoneliieioii, 
 rnmO^ a^unil the hypotbnii .ikom which 
 il WM iiBwii, and thus diMets its force 
 htokwvnL If the qoaltties of hodj were 
 taiwn,,,,t<8„J!i.0iljthx.ie»^^^ that reeem- 
 then odiia^ ind aonnd, mad 
 
 eoald he no qualities of body^ but 
 ihem are real q uaHties of body 5 anMherel 
 
 tite, the ftilttles' of body are ]|fi:._ipown 
 only by means of sensations that resemble 
 
 JBut to proceed. What Locke had proved 
 
 nitli i^gijfd to the sensations we have by 
 ■litllf tast% and hearing, Bishop Berkeley 
 pwfdl u> leas unanswerably with regard 
 !• tl our other sensations ;* to wit, that 
 ■one of tlMn can in the least resemble the 
 fialltiet of a lifeless and insentient being, 
 as 'mallei iS;,.. conceived to be. Mr 
 hath eonirmed this by his authority 
 lasontng. This opinion surely looks 
 with a very malign aspect upon the old hypo- 
 thews ; yet that hjfi^thesis hath still been 
 lelaiiiedi and oonjoined with. 'il. And what 
 ft hrood ofmoiistera hath, this produced I 
 
 The irst-bom of this union, and, per- 
 haps, the most harmless, was, Tiiat the 
 seoondaiy qualities of body were mere sens- 
 ations off the mind. To pass by Male- 
 hiiHiiehe% notion of seeing all things in the 
 ideas of the divine mind,-f> as a foreigner, 
 never 'mtnialiied ia this^ island 1 the next 
 'WM Berfcelqr'a qplem, 'Thai extension, 
 ^and figure,, aad. haidiess, and motion— that 
 land, and sea, and houses, and our own 
 bodies, as well aa those of our wives, and 
 ehildren, and friends — are nothing but ideas 
 III Ihe mmd s and that there is nothing 
 nisUng in nature, but niiu'ds and ideas. 
 
 The progenv that followed, is still more 
 .ii||^tfiil..i: &$' that it is surprising,, that one 
 mii he 'feuiid. who had tne courage to act 
 the midwife, to rear it np, and to usher it 
 into the world. Ho causes nor effects ; no 
 awhstiSM Pw- ' w^iiMwiil. or sniritual : no evi- 
 deiie%. tfea. Ii.:mathematical. demonstration ; 
 no liMrty aor' :ielive power ; nothins exist- 
 ing ia aature, but impressions and ideas 
 iiifMriBf each other, without time, pkce, 
 OC ^ailllllMll. Surely no age ever produced 
 
 with great acutenena, perspicuity, and ele- 
 pnoe^ firom a principle universally received. 
 
 'Biio 
 
 b0bre Jrrfteley, shewed that the reason. 
 
 lelM ■(iiiist the oitcrnal reality of 
 ■ Mtlitliit wiwn carried to its legitimate 
 ilMe, auliverled alio that of the primary.— H. 
 
 f Malelicaiiolie, it ihould be oharnred, diftin. 
 pwlMi: ini»t:pNei«lf tlun Des Cartes, or any pre. 
 ViMM piUenfllCff, primarif from iecondary quali. 
 iSmi aai p^mpHon (id£e) from tentation {tenti- 
 ■MHf.) Ee rotmcd the Bensation of the secondary 
 ■pmittft as tm IMte subjective feeling which the 
 nuitMi mind iMd of iti own aflfections ; but the per. 
 ospiflil of CIm ftimary he contidered as an objective 
 .|iilillitoiii.lt'<iitiiu«l or thcae. ai^ repreientad tn the 
 
 The hypothesis we have mentioned is the 
 father of them alL The diasimiliti>de of 
 oursensationsandfeelingstoextemal things. 
 is the mnocent mother !f most of them. ^ 
 As it happens sometimes, in an arith* 
 metical operation, that two errors balance 
 one another, so that the conclusion is little 
 or nothing affected by them ; but when one 
 of them is corrected, and the other left, we 
 are led farther from the truth than by both 
 together : so it seems to have happened in 
 the Peripatetic philosophy of sensation, 
 compared with tlie modem. The Peripa- 
 tetics adopted two errors; but the last 
 served as a corrective to the first, and ren» 
 dered it nuld and gentle ; so that their 
 system had no tendency to scepticism. 
 The modems have retained the first of those 
 errors, but have gradually detected and 
 corrected the last The consequence hath 
 been, that the light we have struck out hath 
 created darkness, and scepticism hath ad- 
 vanoed hand in hand with knowledge, 
 spreading its melancholy gloom, first over 
 the material world, and at last over the 
 whole face of nature. Such a phsenomenon 
 as this, is apt to stagger even the lovers of 
 light and knowledge, while its cause is latent ; 
 but, when that is detected, it may give hopes 
 that this darkness shall not be everlasting, 
 but that it shall he succeeded by a more 
 permanent light. 
 
 Section VJL 
 
 or TIBIBLI PIGI7RB AND BXTXNSION. 
 
 Altiiough there is no resemblance, nor, 
 as lar as we know, any necessary connec- 
 tion, between that quality in a body which 
 we call its ooiour, and the appearance whiph 
 that colour makes to the eye,, it is quite 
 otherwise with regard to iiafgwe and nm^m 
 nitude. There is certainly a resemblance, 
 and a necessary connection, between the 
 visible figure and magnitude of a body, and 
 its real figure and magnitude ; no man can 
 give a reason why a scarlet colour affects 
 the eye in the manner it does ; no man can 
 be sure that it affects his eye in the same 
 manner as it affects the eye of another, 
 and that it has the same appearance to him 
 as it has to another man ; — but we can assign 
 a reason why a circle placed obliquely to 
 the eye, should appear in the form of an 
 ellipse. The visible figure, magnitude, and 
 position may, by mathematical reasoning, 
 be deduced from the real ; and it may be 
 demonstrated, that every eye that sees dis- 
 tinctly and perfectly, most, in the same 
 situation, see it under thisjormj sind po 
 other. Nay, we may venture to affirm, 
 that a man bom blind, if he were instructed 
 I in mathematics* would be able to determine 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 143 
 
 the visible figure of a body, when its real 
 figure, distance, and position, are given. 
 Dr daunderson understood the projection 
 of the sphere, and perspective. Now, I 
 require no more knowledge in a blind man, 
 in order to his being able to determine the 
 visible figure of bodies, than that he can 
 project the outline of a given body, upon 
 the surface of a hollow sphere, whose centre 
 is in the eye. This projection is the visible 
 fi^re he wants : for it is the same figure 
 with that which is projected upon the 
 iunica retina in vision. 
 
 A blind man can conceive lines drawn 
 from every point of the object to the centre 
 of the eye, making angles. He can con- 
 ceive that the length of the object will 
 appear greater or less, in proportion to the 
 angle which it subtends at the eye; and 
 that, in like manner, the breadth, and in 
 general the distance, of any one point of the 
 object from any other point, will appear 
 greater or less, in proportion to the angles 
 which those distances subtend. He can 
 easily be made to conceive, that the visible 
 appearance ha^ no thickness, any more than 
 a projection of the sphere, or a perspective 
 draught. He may be informed, that the 
 eye, until it is aided by experience, does 
 not represent one object as nearer or more 
 remote than another. Indeed, he would 
 probably conjecture this of himself, and be 
 apt to think that the rays of light must 
 make the same impression upon the eye, 
 whether they come from a greater or a less 
 distance. 
 
 These are all the principles which we 
 suppose our blind mathematician to have ; 
 and these he may certainly acquire by in- 
 formation and reflection. It is no less 
 certain, that, from these principles, having 
 given the real figure and magnitude of a 
 body, and its position and distance with 
 regard to the eye, he can find out its visible 
 figure and magnitude. He can demonstrate 
 in general, from these principles, that the 
 visible figure of all bodies will be the same 
 with that of their projection upon the sur- 
 face of a hollow sphere, when the eye is 
 placed in the centre. And he can demon- 
 strate that their visible magnitude will be 
 greater or less, according as their projec- 
 tion occupies a greater or less part of the 
 surface of this sphere. 
 
 To set this matter in another light, let 
 us distinguish betwixt the posilion of objects 
 with regard to the eye, and their distance 
 from it. Ob;ects that lie in the same right 
 Une drawn from the centre of the eye, have 
 the same position, however different their 
 distances from the eye may be : but objects 
 which lie in different right lines drawn from 
 the eye's centre, have a different position ; 
 f nd tlus difference oftposition is greater or 
 less in proportion to the angle made at the 
 
 eye by the right lines mentioned. Having 
 thus defined what we mean by the position 
 of objects with regard to the eye, it is evi- 
 dent that, as the real figure of a body con- 
 sists in the situation of its several parts 
 with regard to one another, so its visiMe 
 figure consists in the position of its several 
 parts with regard iojthe eye_; and, as he 
 that hath a distinct conception of the situ- 
 ation of the parts of the body with regard 
 to one another, must have a distinct con- 
 ception of its real figure ; so he that con- 
 ceives distinctly the position of its several 
 parts with regard to the eye, must have a 
 distinct conception of its visible figure. 
 Now, there is nothing, surely, to hinder a 
 blind man from conceiving- the position of 
 the several parts of a body with regard to 
 the eye, any more than from conceiving 
 their situation with regard to one another ; 
 and, therefore, I conclude, that a blind man 
 may attain a distinct conception of the vis- 
 ible figure of bodies.* 
 
 Although we think the arguments that 
 have been offered are sufficient to prove 
 that a blind man may conceive the visible 
 extension and figure of bodies; yet, in order 
 to remove some prejudices against this truth, 
 it will be of use to compare the notion which 
 a blind mathematician might form to him- 
 self of visible figure, with that which is pre- 
 sented to the eye in vision, and to observe 
 wherein they differ. 
 
 First, Visible figure is never presented to 
 the eye but in conjunction with colour: 
 and, although there be no connection be- 
 tween them from the nature of the things, 
 yet, having so invariably kept company to- 
 gether, we are hardly able to disjoin them 
 even in our imagination. -j- What mightily 
 increases this difficulty is, that we have 
 never been accustomed to make visible 
 figure an object of thought. It is only used 
 as d sign, and, having served this purpose, 
 passes away, without leaving a trace behind. 
 The drawer or designer, whose business it 
 is to hunt this fugitive form, and to take a 
 copy of it, finds how difficult his task is, 
 after many years* labour and practice. 
 Happy ! if at last he can acquire the art of 
 arresting it in his imagination, until he can 
 delineate it. For then it is evident that 
 he must be able to draw as accurately from 
 the life as from a copy. But how few 
 of the professed masters of designing are 
 ever able to arrive at this degree of perfec- 
 tion ! It is no wonder, then, that we should 
 find so great difficulty in conceiving this 
 form apart from its constant associate. 
 
 ♦ The roost accurate observations of the blind 
 from birth evince, however, that their conceptiona 
 of figure are extremely limited.— H. 
 
 t In other words, that unextended colour can be 
 perceived— .CAM be Imagined. Of this paradox (which 
 is aI»o adopted by Mr Stewart) in the sequel— H. 
 
iu 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 i^m it it w difficult to coiiiseive it at all. 
 
 But nor liliiMl maii*8 notiim of visible 
 iigiure will not be aaeociated with colour, of 
 
 wUisli he hath no ooneeptioii, but it will, 
 piianB, be MiiNsiated with hafdims or 
 MMOtliiiMi, wih'wUdi he ie acquainted by 
 toucik Theae different associations are apt 
 to fanpM upon us, and to make things 
 ■eem, dillnemt, which, in fealty, are the 
 Bamek 
 
 Secondly, The blind mMi fbrma the no- 
 tim of visible figure to himself, by thought, 
 ■nd by mathematical reasoning from prin- 
 dpleai whereas, lh«' man that sees, has it 
 jmiMited to his eye at once, without any 
 fabonr, without any reasoning, by_akmd of 
 iMpliatfan . A man may form to hunself 
 jheiiotiiii' of a parabola, or a c ydoid, tnm 
 lit mathematical definition of those figures, 
 ■lihough he had never seen them drawn or 
 dflineated. Another, who knows nothing 
 of the mathematieal definition of the figures, 
 may see them, dtfinealed. on 'paper, or teel 
 thorn cut out in wood Each may have a 
 distinct conception of the figures, one by 
 mathomstical :feiMniitti the other by sense. 
 'How, the Mhid man imis bis notion of 
 irisible Ikure in the same manner as the 
 first of mese formed his notion of a para> 
 bola or a eyeloid, which be never saw. 
 
 Tbirdlyy Ylsihle fignn leads the man 
 that aeea, direetly to the conception of the 
 real figure, of which it is a sign. But the 
 blind man's thoughts move in a contrary 
 direction. For he must first know the red 
 figure, distance, and sEtnation of the body, 
 and from thence he slowly traces out the 
 visible figure by mathematical reasoning. 
 Wm does, his ;natiire lead, him to conceive 
 'this, 'visibfe %ini ,as a sign ; it is a creature 
 'Of'.bii 'Ova iMSon and imagination. 
 
 SeeHm FilL 
 mmm qmmm concbrning visiblb ri«iiRB 
 
 ANSWKRinu 
 
 It ma* be asked. What Wad of thkg is 
 
 this visible figure ? Is it a Sensation, or 
 an Idea ? If it is an idea, from what sensa- 
 
 lioii Is it oofiedP These questions may 
 'tesBl, trivial m Impertinent to one who does 
 Mi Inow that there is a tribunal of inqui- 
 sition erected by certain modem philoso- 
 
 flMiSb 'bifiirs vliiiii eveiything in nature 
 must .aasver* The articles of mquisition 
 aio fev teieed, 'hut very dreadful in their 
 consequences. They are only these i Is 
 thO' f risoner .an Impressbn or an Idea ? 
 If an. idea, Irom, what .impression copied ? 
 Hovi if it appears thit the prisoner is 
 'naithMF' an Impression, 'nor an idea copied 
 fiRn some hnprossion, unmediately, with- 
 out being allowed to offer anything in 
 
 arrest of judgment, he is sentenced to pass 
 out of existence, and to be, in all time to 
 come, an empty unmeaning sound, or the 
 ghost of a departed entity.* 
 
 Before this dreadful tribunal, cause and 
 effect, time and place, matter and spirit, 
 have been tried and cast : how then shall 
 such a poor flimsy form as visible figure 
 stand before it ? It must even plead guilty, 
 and confess that it is neither an impression 
 nor an idea. For, alas! it is notorious, 
 that it is extended m length and breadth ; 
 it may be long or short, broad or narrow, 
 triangular, quadrangular, or circular ; and, 
 ther^ore, unless ideas and impressions are 
 extended and figured, it cannot belong to 
 that category. 
 
 If it should still be asked. To what cate- 
 gory of beings does visible figure then be- 
 long? I can only, in answer, give some 
 tokens, by which those who are better ac- 
 quainted with the categories, may chance 
 to find its place. It is, as we have said, 
 the position of the several parts of a figured 
 body with regard to the eye. The dif- 
 ferent positions of the several parts of the 
 body with regard to the eye, when put to- 
 gether, make a real figure, which is truly 
 extended in length and breadth, and which 
 represents a figure that is extended in 
 length, breadth, and thickness. In like 
 manner, a projection of the sphere is a real 
 figure, and hath length and breadth, but 
 represents the sphere, which hath three 
 dimensions. A projection of the sphere,) 
 or a perspective view of a palace, is a reJ 
 presentative in the very same sense as visi4 
 ble figure is ; and wherever they have thein 
 lodgmgs in the categories, this will be found 
 to dwell next door to them. | 
 
 It may farther be asked, Whether there 
 be any sensation proper to visible figure, by 
 which it is suggested in vision ?— or by 
 what means it is presen ted to the mind ?t 
 
 • " Where Entity and Quiddity, 
 The gbosta of defunct bodies, fly,** 
 
 Hi DiBaAS.->II. 
 f •' In Dr Reid'i • Inquiry."* (saye Mr Stewart, In 
 one of hi» last works, in reference to the following 
 reasoning,) •* he has Introduced a discussion con- 
 cerning the perception of visible figure, which ha« 
 puzzled me since the first time (more than forty ycaw 
 ago) that I read his work- The discussion relates to 
 theqiiestion, • Whether there l)e any sensation propel 
 to visible figure, by which it ts suggested in vision?' 
 The result ot the argunjent is, that • our eye miakt 
 have been so framed as to suggest the figure of the 
 object, without suggesting cohmr or any other quali- 
 ty ; and, ot consequence, there seems to be no sensa^ 
 Won appropriated to visible figure ; this quality Ixing 
 suggested immediately by the material impression 
 upon the oivan, of which impression we are not 
 conscious.'— inquiry, &c chap. vi. ^ 8. To my 
 apprehension, nothing can appear more manifest 
 than this, that, if there had been no variety in our 
 sensations of colour, and, still more, if we had had no 
 senfiation of colour whatsoever, the organ of tight 
 oiuld have given us no iniormation, either with re 
 sjiect to^ff^r^sor todistances : and, of consequence, 
 would have been as useless to us, as if we had been 
 afflicted, from the moment of our birth, with ngutta 
 urena,"~~Dittfrtation, Ac, p. 66, note i Vd ed. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 1441 
 
 This is a question of some importance, in 
 order to our having a distinct notion of the 
 faculty of seeing : and to give all the light 
 to it we can, it is necessary to compare this 
 sense with other senses, and to make some 
 suppositions, by which we may be enabled 
 to distinguish things tliatareapt to be con- 
 founded, although they are totally dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 There are three of our senses which give 
 us intelligence of things at a distance:* 
 smell, hearing, and sight. In smelling and 
 m hearing, we have a sensation or impres- 
 sion upon the mind, which, by our consti- 
 tution, we conceive to be a sign of some- 
 thing external: but the position of this 
 external thing, with regard to the organ of 
 sense, is not presented to the mind along 
 with the sensation. When I hear the 
 sound of a coach, I could not, previous to 
 experience, determine whether the sounding 
 Dody was above or below, to the right hand 
 or to the left. So that the scnsatiouvsug- 
 gests to me some external object as the 
 cause or occasion of it ; but it suggests not 
 the position of that object, whether it lies 
 in this direction or in that The same 
 thing may be said with regard to smelling. 
 But the case is quite different with regard 
 to seeing. When I see an object, the ap- 
 
 f rane e whic h the colour of it makes, may 
 called the sensation^ which suggests to 
 nie some_external_tliliig, as its cause"; but 
 iTsuggests likewise the individual direction 
 Mid position of this cause wit h rega rd to 
 the eye. I know IF is precisely in such a 
 a direction, and in no other. At the same 
 time, I am not conscious of anything^that 
 am be called sensation^ but Jhe sensation of 
 colour. The pjosition of the coloured thing 
 is no sensation : l^ut it is by the laws of my 
 constitution presented to the mind aloS^ 
 with the colour, without jiny._ additional 
 sensation. 
 
 Let us suppose that the eye were so con- 
 stituted that the rays coming from any one 
 point of the object were not, as they are in 
 our eyes, collected in one point of the 
 wtwM, but diffused over the whole : it is 
 evident to those who imderstand the struc- 
 ture of the eye, that such an eye as we have 
 supposed, would shew the colour of a body 
 as our eyes do, but that it would neither 
 shew figure nor position. The operation 
 of such an eye would be precisely similar 
 to that of hearing and smell ; it would give 
 
 The questions concerning the mutual dependence 
 of colour on extension, and of extension and figure 
 on colour, in t ercepi ion and imagination, cannot be 
 dismisseil in a toot.note. 1 shall endeavour, in Note 
 £, to shew that we can neither see nor imagine 
 fxilour apart from extension, nor extension and figure 
 apart from colour.— H. 
 
 • Properly speaking, Tio$ei>ie gives us a knowledge 
 of aught hut what is in immediate contact with its 
 organ. A II else is lomethmg over and above pcrcep- 
 lion— H. 
 
 no perception of figure or extension, but I 
 merely of colour. Nor is the supposition 1 
 we have made altogether imaginary : for it 
 is nearly the case of most people who have 
 cataracts, whose crystalline, as Mr Chescl- 
 tlen observes, does not altogether exclude 
 the rays of light, but diffuses them over the 
 retina, so that such persons see things as 
 one does through a glass of broken gelly : 
 they perceive the colour, but nothing of 
 the figure or magnitude of objects.* 
 
 Again, if we should suppose that smell 
 and sound were conveyed in right lines from 
 the objects, and that every sensation of 
 hearing and smell suf^gested the precise 
 direction or position of its object ; in this 
 case, the operations of hearing and smelling 
 would be similar to that of seeing: we 
 should smell and hear the figure of objects, 
 in the same sense as now we see it ; and 
 every smell and sound would be associated 
 with some figure in the imagination, as 
 colour is in our present state, f 
 
 * Reld, as remarked l>y Mr Feam, misinterprets 
 Cheselden in founding on the expressions of this 
 report, a proof of his own paradox, that-colour can 
 possibly be an object of vision, apart from extension. 
 I'here is no ground in that repoit for such an 
 inferpiice; for it contains absolutely nothing to in- 
 validate, and much to support the doctrine— that, 
 though sensations of colour may be experienced 
 thiough the medium of an impeifect catarar-t, while 
 the .figures of external objects are intercepted or 
 broken down • yet th.it, in these sensations, colour 
 being diflHised over the retina, must appear to us 
 extended, and of an extension limited by the bourd- 
 aries of that sensitive membrane itself. "'1 he relativ * 
 passitge of Chpselden is as follows :— *' Though we 
 say of the gentleman couched between thirteen and 
 fourteen years o( age, that he was blind, as we do 
 of all people who have ripe cataracts, yet they are 
 never so blind flrom that caut^e, but they can discern 
 day from night, and for the most part in a strong 
 light distinguiiih black, white, and scarlet; but the 
 light by which these perceptions are made, l)eing lei 
 in obliquely 'hrough the aqueous humour, or the 
 anterior surface of the crystalline, by which the rays 
 cannot be brought into a focus upon the retina, they 
 can discern in no other manner than a suui.d eye can 
 through a glass of broken jelly, where a great variety 
 of8iirfa«*es so diftercntly refract the light, that the 
 several distinct pencils of rays cannot be collectetl by 
 the eye in*o their proper foci, wherefore the shape of 
 an o ject in such a case c;tnnot be at all discerned, 
 though the colour may And tl'u<' it was with this 
 young gentleman, who,though he knew these colours 
 asunder in a good light, yet, when he sjivi them after 
 he was couched, the taint ideas he had of them before, 
 were not sutticient for him to know htm by after- 
 wards, and thercfnie he did not think ihem the 
 same w Iiich he had before known by those namen " — 
 'J here are also several statements in the repoit which 
 shew that the patient was, on the recoveiy of distinct 
 vision, perfectly familiar with differences of visible 
 magnitude Sec Note K.— H 
 
 f To render this supi>o$ition possible, we must 
 not only change the objective, but also the subjective 
 conditions of smell and hearing; for, with our or. 
 gans of the»>e senses, and our nervous system in ge. 
 neral, constituted as they are at present, the resul* 
 would not be as assumed, even were the olfacto y 
 effluvia and audible vibrations conveyed in right 
 lines. from boilies to the nose and ear But to sup. 
 pose both subjective and objective conditions than ed 
 IS to suppose new qualifies and n'w senses j<ltogefber; 
 an hypi thesis which would hardly serve the jiurpose 
 of an illustration, a notiori. 
 
 A similar hypothesis and illustration is to he 
 found in Condillac's " Traits de« Sensations j" but. 
 
14B 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 147 
 
 Wg Mm mmm to believe, that the rays 
 
 ^JS^^^mMmmm upon' tL 
 
 •ipfiij .liBt.,wo »r© not . coiiscioits of this 
 
 ,l!ieSilMII i mt have anatomists or phUo- 
 
 jipiiB IB i l lillii ab le to„disc.OY.er the nature and 
 
 effects of it ; whether it produces a vibra- 
 liini in the norve, or the motion of some 
 ■olititoinid eoiitalned in the nerve, or some- 
 thing 'diiSweiit from either, to which we 
 aunot give a name. Whatoviir i t is. we 
 ^1 call it the maferial is^SmmTremem- 
 l l Cting carefully^ that it i^ wit *i| i nyprPMinp 
 
 ffli!?^,*l!l_''j^^ ^ ^mm ilitlxidy ; and 
 
 t i a t i t 18 no sensation, nor emk. 'W eeniife 
 
 ^■«»!*!2i».JWJf more than ^Bff por raqtKTii 
 
 'Qii MSCBiMe t h o ught. Now, this material 
 
 iipveasilon^ made upon a particular poiut of 
 the mina^ hj the laws of our constitution, 
 ■ngpsts two things to the mind— namely, 
 the colour and the position of some exter- 
 nal object. No man can give a reason why 
 tlie^ lanM .material .impmsiiiii m.ight not 
 hmm Hignsted sound, or smell, or either 
 of thM% liiiiog with the ponitionof the object. 
 That it should suggest colour and position, 
 and nothing elsC;, we can resolve only into 
 our constitution, or the will of our Maker. 
 And since there is no necessary connection 
 between these two things suggested by this 
 material impmiion, it might, if it had so 
 _Mea8ed our Creator, have suggested one of 
 riieiii without the other. Let us suppose, 
 therefore^ smce it plainly appears to be 
 pOBsiUey that our eyes had been so framed 
 as to Mggest to us the position of the object, 
 without suggesting colour, or any other 
 quaity : What is the contifuence of this 
 mpposition ? It is evidmtly this, that tlie 
 person endued with sneiiaii eye, would per- 
 ceive the visible figure of bodies, without 
 liaving any sensation or impression made 
 'umn. .his mind. The %uiie. .he perceives is 
 uti^gvtier eaetemal ; and therefore cannot 
 be called an impression upon the mind, 
 without the grossest abuse of language^ If 
 itiiimiM be«ud, that it is impossible to 
 liPiMlTO a iguie, unless there be some im- 
 maiiiil of it upon the mind, I beg leave 
 : not to admit the impossibility of this without 
 some proof i and I can find none^ Neither 
 can I oonoeive what is meant by an impres- 
 iioii of llguTC: upon, the mind. I can conceive 
 an. inprwiion of igure upon wax, or upon 
 any bodj that is fit to receive it f but an 
 iiii|miiiiiii. of it upon the mind, is to me 
 
 rta unintelligible; .and, ajth ongh I f or m 
 ^ ' most. dlstin<!t oonnpioii of ioS^SS^ I 
 
 cannot, upon the strictest examination^ find 
 Ijiy impression of it upon my mind. 
 
 If wc' suppose, ]ast%l' .aU, that the eye 
 hath the power ttslofed.'Of 'peneiviug colour, 
 
 •• Mr Stewart olMflws, UMmgli' fliiit anfcipated. 
 there is no groittid il»r tbiaiuif tlial Heid was 
 at an ae^naiatMl wttli tlie writiiitiof tlic Frencli phi. 
 
 I apprehend that it will be allowed, that 
 now it perceives figure in the very same 
 manner as before, with this difference only, 
 that colour is always joined with it. | 
 
 In answer, therefore, to the question pro- 
 posed^ there seems to be no sensation that 
 18 appropriated to visible figure, or whoge 
 office it is to suggest it. It seenas to bg 
 suggested^ injinediately by the material im- 
 pression upon the or{ran, of whic}i ^g am 
 pot COQSCipus : and w hy may not ^ B l^t f r^ j^l 
 impression upon the retina suggest visible 
 figure, as well as the material im pression 
 made upon the hand, when we grasp aJiaU, 
 suggests real figure ? In the one case, one 
 and the same material impression, suggests 
 both colour and visible figure ; and in the 
 other case, one and tlie same material im- 
 pression suggests hardness, heat, or cold, 
 and real figure, all at the same time. 
 
 We shall conclude this section with -an- 
 other question upon this subject. Since the: 
 visible figure of bodies is a real and exter- 
 ntl object to the eye, as their tangible figure 
 is to the touch, it may be asked. Whence 
 arises the difficulty of attending to the first, I 
 and the facility of attending to the last ? It 
 is certain that the first is more frequently 
 presented to the eye, than the last is to the 
 touch; the first is as distinct and deter- 
 minate an object as the last, and seems in 
 its own nature as proper for speculation. 
 Yet so little hath it been attended to, that 
 it never had a name in any language, until 
 Bishop Berkeley gave it that which we have 
 ised after his example, to distinguish it 
 from the figure which is the object of touch. 
 
 The difficulty of attending to the visible 
 figure of bodies, and making it an object of 
 thought, appears so similar to that which 
 we find in attending to our sensations, that 
 both have probably like causes. Nature 
 intended the visible figure as a sign of the 
 tangible figure and situation o?_bodics,_and 
 hatn taugnt us, by a kind of instinct^ to put 
 it always to this use. ^enceit happens, 
 that the mind passes over it with a rapid 
 motion, to attend to the things signified by 
 it. It is as unnatural to the mind to stop 
 at the visible figure, and attend to it, as it 
 is to a spherical body to stop upon an in- 
 clined phine. There is an inward principle, 
 which constantly carries it forward, and 
 which cannot be overcome but by a contrary 
 force. 
 
 There are other external things which 
 nature intended for signs; and we find 
 this common to them all, that the mind is 
 disposed to overlook them, and to attend 
 only to the things signified by them. Thus 
 there are certain modifications of the hu- 
 man face, which are natural signs of the 
 present disposition of the mind. Every 
 man understands the meaning of these signs, 
 but not one of a hundred ever attended to 
 
 the signs themselves, or knows anything 
 about them. Hence you may find many 
 an excellent practical physiognomist who 
 knows nothing of the proportions of a face, 
 nor can delineate or debcribe the expression 
 of any one passion. 
 
 An excellent painter or statuary can 
 tell, not only what are the proportions of a 
 good lace, but what changes every passion 
 makes in it. This, however, is one of the 
 chief mysteries of his art, to the acquisition 
 of which infinite labour and attention, as well 
 as a happy genius, are required ; but when 
 he puts his art in practice, and happily ex- 
 presses a passion by its proper signs, every 
 one understands the meaning of these sigus, 
 without art, and without reflection. 
 
 What has been said of painting, might 
 easily be applied to all the fine arts. The 
 difficulty in them all consists in knowing 
 and attending to those natural signs where- 
 of every man understands the meaning. 
 
 We pass from J;he^ign to the thing sig^ 
 nified, with ease, and_by_natur^ Jmpulsej 
 but to go backward from tjie . thing signi- 
 fied to the sign, is a work of labour aud 
 difficulty. Visible figure, therefore, being 
 intended by nature to be a sign, we pass on 
 immediately to the thuig signified, and can- 
 not easily return to give any attention to 
 the sign. 
 
 Nothing shews more clearly our indis- 
 position to attend to visible figure and vi- 
 sible extension than this — that, although 
 mathematical reasoning is no less appli- 
 cable to them, than to tangible figure and ' 
 extension, yet they have entirely escaped 
 the notice of mathematicians. While that 
 figure and that extension which are objects 
 of touch, have been tortured ten thousaud 
 ways for twenty centuries, and a very 
 noble system of science has been drawn 
 out of them, not a single proposition do 
 we find with regard to the figure and ex- 
 tension which are the immediate objects of 
 flight I 
 
 When the geometrician draws a diagram 
 with the most perfect accuracy — when he 
 keeps his eye fixed upon it, while he goes 
 through a long process of reasoning, and 
 demonstrates the relations of the several 
 parts of his figure — he does not consider 
 that the visible figure presented to his eye, 
 is only the representative of a tangible figure, 
 upon which all his attention is fixed; he 
 does not consider that these two figures 
 have really different properties ; and that, 
 what he demonstrates to be true of the one, 
 is not true of the other. 
 
 This, perhaps, will seem so great a para- 
 dox, even to mathematicians, as to require 
 demonstration before it can be believed. 
 Nor is the demonstration at all difficult, if 
 the reader will have patience to enter but 
 a little into the mathematical consideration 
 
 of visible figure, which we shall call lh6 
 geometry of visibles. 
 
 Secion IX. 
 
 OP THE GEOMETRY OF VISIBLES.* 
 
 In this geometry, the definitions of a point ; 
 of a line, whether straight or curve ; of an 
 angle, whether acute, or right, or obtuse ; 
 and of a circle — are the same as in common 
 geometry. The mathematical reader will 
 easily enter into the whole mystery of this 
 geometry, if he attends duly to these few 
 evident principles. 
 
 1. Supposing the eye placed in the centre 
 of a sphere, every great circle of the sphere 
 will have the same appearance to the eye 
 as if it was a straight line ; for the curva- 
 ture of the circle being turned directly to- 
 ward the eye, is not perceived by it. And, 
 for the same reason, any line which is drawn 
 in the plane of a great circle of the sphere, 
 whether it be in reality straight or curve, 
 will appear straight to the eye. 
 
 2. Every visible right line will appear to 
 coincide with some great circle of the 
 sphere ; and the circumference of that great 
 circle, even when it is produced until it 
 returns into itself, will appear to be a con- 
 tinuation of the same visible right line, all 
 the parts of it being visibly in directum. 
 For the eye, perceiving only the position of 
 objects with regard to itself, and not their 
 distance, will see those points in the same 
 visible place which have the same position 
 with regard to the eye, how different soever 
 their distances from it may be. Now, since 
 a plane passing through the eye and a given 
 visible right liHC, will be the plane of some 
 great circle of the sphere, every point of the 
 visible right line will have the same position 
 as some point of the great circle ; therefore, 
 they will both have the same visible place, 
 and coincide to the eye; and the whole 
 circumference of the great circle, continued 
 even until it returns into itself, will appear 
 to be a continuation of the same visible 
 right line. 
 
 Hence it follows — 
 
 3. That every visible right line, when it 
 is continued in directum^ as far as it may be 
 continued, will be represented by a great 
 circle of a sphere, in whose centre the eye 
 is placed. It follows — 
 
 4. That the visible angle comprehended 
 under two visible right lines, is equal to the 
 spherical angle comprehended under the 
 two great circles which are the representa- 
 tives of these visible lines. For, since the 
 visible lines appear to coincide with the 
 
 * How does this differ from a doctrine of Perspec- 
 tive ?•— At any ?ate. the notion is Berkeley's. Com. 
 pare " New Theory of Vision," ^ 153—150.-11. 
 
 1.2 
 
148 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 piBt tMci| the viailik angle compre- 
 MiiiM'iiiMier the foimer must be equal to 
 ;tli«' wUMo ^amile eoliiiwelieiided under the 
 litter. Bat the Tisible angle comprehended 
 under Iho twrnmrn^mmim, when eeen from 
 the eeiiti%. ia tf tlto same magnitude with 
 the ^heml aiigia which they really com- 
 pnhendy as maiiematicians know ; there- 
 loie, the visible angle made by any two 
 ▼isible linea is ei|nal to the spherical angle 
 made hf Urn twn great cycles of the sphere 
 whieh are their representatives. 
 
 5. Beoce it is evident* that every visible 
 right-lined triangle wiU coincide m all its 
 IMurtt' with sooM' spherical, triangle. The 
 ^sUta <if the (MM wll. appear eqial to the 
 ■biai of the other, and the angles of the 
 mw tO'thO'^aiiglaafiff'the other, each to each ; 
 ■li, therefoce^ the whole of the one triangle 
 will appear equal to the whole of the other. 
 In a word, to the eye they will be one and 
 'the .same, and have tho' .sane .mathematical 
 pnpeitieB. The' properties, therefore, of 
 liwiie 'right-liiied 'tiiangleS' are not the same 
 iMl/tha pNpaitifla of' plaki trianglea, but 
 an the same' with 'those of' .spherical tri- 
 
 9b Mi 
 
 Mmtj hmm mtlk of the sphere will 
 :appear a ebele 'to the eye, pkeed, as we 
 have supposed aU along, ui the centre of 
 the sphere ; and, on the other hand, every 
 visible datdm wii appear to coincide with 
 aomo' lesser eirehi' of the sphera 
 
 7. Morenver, the vhoW' snrluse of the 
 •phere will represent the whole of visible 
 mmm ; fwi ainee every visihto' 'poiat coin- 
 mm 'With some point of the nilCM of the 
 ■phere, and has the same visible place, it 
 loilowa, that all the parts of the spherical 
 miiMse taken together, will represent all 
 poarihie visihfe places— that, is, the whole of 
 
 visible spaee. And Ijrom this it follows, in 
 
 ' tJMi isfli nhnMHi 
 
 II That every visible &nre will be repre- 
 :8ented by that part of iie snrlkce of the 
 .i^hen on which it might he fiojeeti*d, the 
 mm 'being in. the centeew Aid every such 
 iryhb %ine will bear the same rolto to the 
 whote' of visible smm)% as the part of the 
 ^^Miiaal. anifMe 'wliieh. seiiMaenta % hmm 
 U fh« 'wiele 'Bpheiieal wumm. 
 
 The mathematioal reader, I hope, will 
 'enter' into these principles wi'th perfect 
 'fMilte,. aai. "«ii. aa'eaaal^ perceive that tlie 
 iiAiiniig jiiiipealtions with, regard tO' visible 
 igara' ait spaee, whieh we offer only as a 
 ipeeiBie% may be mathematiflally demon- 
 atiatad imn tbsm. and are not Wtrue nor 
 less evidanliliBa the propoMtions of Euclid, 
 with regafi. to 'tangible llgnree. 
 
 Ffi^ 1. Every right line being produced, 
 wiM .at' :iait return 'into itself. 
 
 % A right line, returning into itself, is 
 the 'kng^ possible r%ht Ime ; and all other 
 :t%llt:'.liiMS. hear a iniie mik to it 
 
 3. A right line returning into itself, 
 divides the whole of visible space into two 
 equal parts, which will both be compre- 
 hended under this right line. 
 
 4. The whole of visible space beaia a 
 finite rath to any part of it 
 
 6. Any two right lines being produced, 
 will meet in two points, and mutually 
 bisect each other 
 
 6. If two lines be parallel — that is, every 
 where equally distant from each other — 
 they cannot both be straight. 
 
 7' Any right line being given, a point 
 may be found, which is at the same dis- 
 tance from all the points of the given right 
 line. 
 
 8. A circle may be parallel to a right 
 line— that is, may be equally distant from 
 It m all its parts. 
 
 9. Right-lined triangles that are sunilar, 
 are also equal. 
 
 10. Of every right-lined triangle, the 
 three ang'es taken together, are greater 
 than two right angles. 
 
 1 1. The angles of a right-Uned triangle, 
 may all be right angles, or all obtuse angles. 
 
 12. Unequal circles are not as the 
 squares of their diameters, nor are their 
 circumferences in the rath of their dia- 
 meters. 
 
 This small specimen of the geometry of 
 visibles, is intended to lead the reader to a 
 clear and distinct conception of the figure 
 and extension which is presented to the 
 mind by vision; and to demonstrate the 
 
 truth of what we have affirmed above 
 
 namely, that those figures and that exten- 
 sion which are the immediate objects ol 
 sight, are not the figures and iKe extens ion 
 about which common Kefniit try is employ ed ; 
 that the geometrician, while he looks at his! 
 diagram, and demonstrates a proposition, 
 haw a figure presented to hb eye, which is 
 only a sign and representative of a tangible I 
 figure ; mat he gives not the least atten- 
 tion to the first, but attends only to the ■ 
 last ; and that these two figures have differ- 
 ent properties, so that what he demon- 
 strates of the one, is not true of the 
 other. 
 
 It deserves, however, to be remarked, 
 that, as a small part of a spherical surface 
 differs not sensibly from a plain surface, 
 so a small part of visible extension differs 
 very little from that extension in length 
 and breadth, which is the object of touch. 
 And it is likewise to be obberved, that the 
 human eye is so formed, that an object 
 which is seen distinctly and at one view, 
 can occupy but a small part of visible space ; 
 for we never see distinctly what is at a 
 considerable distance from the axis of the 
 eye ; and, therefore, when we would see a 
 large object at one view, the eye must be 
 at so great a distance, that the object 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 149 
 
 occupies but a small part of visible space. 
 From these two observations, it follows, 
 that plain figures which are seen at one 
 view, when their planes are not oblique, but 
 direct to the eye, differ little from the 
 visible figures which they present to the 
 %ye. The several lines in the tangible 
 f^re, have very nearly the same propor- 
 tion to each other as in the visible ; and 
 the angles of the one are very nearly, al- 
 though not strictly and mathematically, 
 equal to those of the other. Although, 
 th erefore, w ^e have found jmany instances 
 of natural signs which have jio similitude 
 tcLthe thin|;8 signified, tliis is not the case 
 wilh regard to visible figure. It hath, in 
 aU . cases, such a similitude to the thing 
 signified by it, as a plan or profile hath to that 
 which it represents ; and, in some cases, the 
 si^^u and thing signified have to all sense the 
 same figure and the same proportions. If 
 we could find a being endued with sight 
 only, without any other external sense, 
 and capable of reflecting and reasoning 
 upon what he sees, the notions and phi- 
 losophical speculations of such a being, 
 might assist us in the difficult task of 
 distinguishing the perceptions which we 
 have purely by sight, from those which de- 
 rive their origin from other senses. Let 
 ius suppose such a being, and conceive, 
 las well as we can, what notion he would 
 have of visible objects, and what conclu- 
 sions he would deduce from them. We 
 imistJlOt conceive JiiTO-disposed by his cor- 
 stitution, as we are, to consider the visi- 
 ble appearance as a sign of something, elgj; : 
 itJfiL no si^ to him, because thfireJauo- 
 thing signified by it ; and, therefore, we must 
 suppose him as much disposed to attend to 
 the visible figure and extension of bodies, 
 as we are disposed to attend to their tangi- 
 ble figure and extension. 
 
 If various figures were presented to his 
 tense, he might, without doubt, as they 
 grow familiar, compare them together, and 
 perceive wherein they agree, and wherein 
 they differ. He might perceive visible ob- 
 jects to have length and breadth, but could 
 have no notion of a third dimension, any 
 more than we can have of a fourth.* All 
 visible objects would appear to be termi- 
 nated by lines, straight or curve ; and ob- 
 jects terminated by the same visible lines, 
 would occupy the same place, and fill the 
 same part of visible space. It would not 
 be possible for him to conceive one object 
 to be behind another, or one to be nearer, 
 another more distant 
 
 To us, who conceive three dimensions, a 
 line may be conceived straight ; or it may 
 be conceived incurvated in one dimension, 
 
 • Thii proceeds upon the luppoaition that our no. 
 tion orifiacc is mi-rely empirical. ->I I. 
 
 and straight in another ; or, k»tly, it may 
 be incurvated in two dimensions. Suppose 
 a line to be drawn upwards and downwards, 
 its length makes one dimension, which we 
 shall call upwards and dvwnwardi ; and 
 there are two dimensions remaining, accord- 
 ing to which it may be straight or curve. 
 It may be bent to the right or to the left ; 
 and, if it has no bending either to right or 
 left, it is straight in this dimension. But 
 supposing it straight in this dimension of 
 right and left, there is still another dimen- 
 sion remaining, in which it may be curve ; 
 for it may be bent backwards or forwards. 
 When we conceive a tangible straight line, 
 we exclude curvature in either of these two 
 dimensions : and as what is conceived to be 
 excluded, must be conceived, as well as 
 what is conceived to be included, it follows 
 that all the three dimensions enter into our 
 conception of a straight line. Its length 
 is one dimension, its straightness in two 
 other dimensions is included, or curvature 
 in these two dimensions excluded, in the 
 conception of it. 
 
 The being we have supposed, having no 
 conception of more than two dimensions, of 
 which the length of a line is one, cannot 
 possibly conceive it either straight or curve 
 in more than one dimension ; so that, in his 
 conception of a right line, curvature to the 
 right hand or left is excluded ; but curva- 
 ture backwards or forwards cannot be ex- 
 cluded, because he neither hath, nor can 
 have any conception of such curvature. 
 Hence we see the reason that a line, which 
 is straight to the eye, may return into itself ; 
 for its being straight to the eye, implies only 
 straightness in one dimension ; and a line 
 which is straight in one dimension may, 
 notwithstanding, be curve in another dimen- 
 sion, and so may return into itself. 
 
 To us, who conceive three dimensions, a 
 surface is that which hath length and 
 breadth, excluding thickness ; and a surface 
 may be either plain in this third dimension, 
 or it may be incurvated : so that the notion 
 of a third dimension enters into our concep- 
 tion of a surface ; for it is only by means 
 of this third dimension that we can dis- 
 tinguish surfaces into plain and curve sur- 
 faces ; and neither one nor the other can 
 be conceived without conceiving a third 
 dimension. 
 
 The being we have supposed, having no 
 conception of a third dimension, his visible 
 figures have length and breadth indeed; 
 but thickness is neither included nor ex- 
 cluded, being a thing of which he has no 
 conception. And, therefore, visible figures, 
 although they have length and breadth, as 
 surfaces have, yet they are neither plain 
 surfaces nor curve surfaces. For a curve 
 surface implies curvature in a third dimen- 
 sion, and a plain surface implies the waoi 
 
IfiO 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 151 
 
 of oiunraliiro in m fliM dimension ; and 
 mtA mhmm '«•& concetTe neither of thete. 
 becatme Iw hm m oonijeption of a thirj 
 dimeBsiiiiL Momim, iMioiigli he Iwtli a 
 distinct concepticm of the inoiMiiioii of two 
 .linos wliich nmlu an angle, yet he mn 
 'loiilier' 'OonooiTO a phk angCs nor a spher- 
 iod anfle. fim Ms notion of a ixnnt is 
 ■omewhat less dotermined than ours. In 
 Hm notion of a point, we exclude length, 
 hraadth, and thickness ; he excludes length 
 and. hntdth. but cannol. either eidode or 
 ':iiMilMfe thioliMim, 'heeamse ho hath no con- 
 Mptlon of it. 
 
 Having thus settled the notions which 
 neh a hcinc aa «• have supposed might 
 'fMin of malfisniallflal points, line%. anigiee, 
 and igtivi% it to may lO'See, that, by eom- 
 paring these together, and reasoning about 
 them, he might discover their relations, and 
 fooni geometrical conclusions built upon 
 ■eif<«irident principles. He might likewise, 
 without doubty have the same notions of 
 maibon as^ we have, and form a system of 
 aiithinotio. It is not material to say in 
 viat ordor he might proceed in such dis- 
 oovorieo, or how much time and pains he 
 might employ about them, but what such 
 a bohtgi by reason and ingenuity, without 
 mm maionais of sensation but those of 
 sight only, might discover. 
 
 As it is mora difleolt to attend to a de- 
 tai. 'Of posiibiiies than of facts, even of 
 slendor wthority, I shall bfig leave to give 
 an extiBOt. 'ilNwi the travels of Johannes 
 Bndolpbtis Anqteaphut, a Rosiemcian 
 philosopher, who having, by deep study of 
 the occult sciences, acquired the art of 
 tnnsportiqg hlniMlf to various sublunary re- 
 gions,. ,and: of .oonveming with various orders 
 of hiteffigences, m the course of his adven- 
 tures became acquainted with an order of 
 bemgpi tsaetly such as I have snppoaed. 
 
 How thev communicate their senthnents 
 to one another, and by what means he be- 
 came acquainted with their lannuige, and 
 waa initialed into their philosophy, as well 
 ••of many other particuhim, which might 
 havogiaiiied the ouriOsily of his readers, 
 JWd, Mrhaps, added credibili^ to his rela- 
 tion, he hath not thought it to infonu us; 
 IHie beuig matters proper for .adepts only 
 M' .know. 
 
 His account of their philosophy is as fol- 
 
 t — 
 
 **• The Idomenians,** saiti' ho^ *< aiO' many 
 of them very ingenious, and modi given to 
 contemplation. In arithmetic, geometry, 
 metaphysics, and physics, thoy have most 
 elaboiate nrstems. In the two latter, tn- 
 doid, Ihi7 have had many disputes carried 
 m with gnal mbtilty, and are divided in- 
 to various sects ; yet in the two former 
 there hath been no lem imanimity than 
 .among the human species. Their princi- 
 
 ples renting to numbers and arithmetic, 
 makhig allowance for their notation, differ 
 in nothing from ours — but their geometry 
 differs very considerably." 
 
 As our author's account of the geometry 
 of the Idomenians agrees in everything 
 with the geometry of visibles, of which we 
 have already given a Hpecimen, we shall 
 pass over it. He goes on thus :_" Colour, 
 extension, and figure, are conceived to be 
 the essential properties of body. A very 
 considerable sect maintains, that colour is 
 the essence of body. If there had been no 
 colour, say they, there had been no percep- 
 tion or sensation. Colour is all that we 
 perceive, or can conceive, that is peculiar 
 to body ; extension and figure being modes 
 common to body and to empty space. And 
 if we should suppose a body to be annihi- 
 lated, colour is the only thing in it tlmt can 
 be annihilated ; for its phwe, and conse- 
 quently the figure and extension of that 
 phice, must remain, and cannot be imagined 
 not to exist These philosophers hold space 
 to be the place of all bodies, immoveable and 
 indestructible, without figure, and similar 
 in all its parts, incapable of increase or di- 
 minution, yet not unraeajsurable ; for every 
 the least part of space bears a finite ratio to 
 the whole. So that with them the whole 
 extent of space is the common and natural 
 measure of everythmg that hath length and 
 breadth ; and the magnitude of every body 
 and of every figure is expressed by its being 
 such a part of the universe. In like manner, 
 the common and natural measure of length 
 is an infinite right line, which, as hath been 
 before observed, returns mto itself, and hath 
 no limits, but bears a finite ratio to every 
 other line. 
 
 "As to their natural philosophy, it is 
 now acknowledged by the wisest of them to 
 Imve been for many ages in a very low 
 state. The philosophers observing, that 
 body can differ from another only in colour, 
 figure, or magnitude, it was taken for 
 granted, that all their particular qualities 
 must arise from the various combinations 
 of these their essential attributes; and, 
 therefore, it was looked upon as the end of 
 natural philosophy, to shew how the various 
 combinations of these three qualities in dif- 
 ferent bodies produced all the pheenomena 
 of nature. It were endhss to enumerate 
 the various systems that were invented with 
 this view, and the disputes that were car* 
 ried on for ages ; the followers of every 
 system exposing the weak sides of other 
 systems, and palliating those of their own, 
 with great art. 
 
 ** At last, some free and facetious spirits, 
 wearied with eternal disputation, and the 
 labour of patching and propping weak svs- 
 tems, began to complain of the subtilty of 
 nature ; of the infinite ehang«>8 that bodies 
 
 undergo in figure, colour, and magnitude ; 
 and of the difficulty of accounting lor these 
 appearances — making this a pretence for 
 giving up all inquiries into th& causes of 
 things, as vain and fruitless. 
 
 " These wits had ample matter of mirth 
 and ridicule iu the systems of philosophers ; 
 and, finding it an easier task to pull down 
 than to buUd or support, and that every 
 sect furuished them with arms and auxi- 
 liaries to destroy another, they began to 
 spread mightily, and went on with great 
 success. Thus philosophy gave way to scep- 
 ticism and irony, and those systems which 
 lutd been the work of ages, and the admira- 
 tion of the learned, became the jest of the 
 vulgar: for even the vulgar readily took 
 part in the triumph over a kind of learning 
 which they had long suspected, because it 
 produced nothing but wrangling and alter- 
 cation. The wits, having now acquired great 
 reputation, and being flushed with success, 
 began to think their triumph incomplete, 
 until every pretence to knowledge was over- 
 turned; and accordingly began their attacks 
 upon arithmetic, geometry, and even upon 
 the common notions of untaught Idomen- 
 ians. So difficult it hath always been," says 
 our author, " for great conquerors to know 
 where to stop. 
 
 ** In the meantune, natural philosophy 
 began to rise from its ashes, under the 
 direction of a person of great genius, who is 
 looked upon as having had something in him 
 above Idomenian nature. He observed, 
 that the Idomenian faculties were certainly 
 intended for contemplation, and that the 
 works of nature were a nobler subject to 
 exercise them upon, than the follies of sys- 
 tems, or the errors of the learned ; and 
 being sensible of the difficulty of finding out 
 the causes of natural things, he proposed, 
 by accurate observation of the phenomena 
 of nature, to find out the rules according to 
 which they happen, without inquiring into 
 tiie causes of those rules. In this he made 
 considerable progress himself, and planned 
 out much work for his followers, who call 
 themselves inductive philosophers. The 
 sceptics look with envy upon this rising 
 sect, as eclipsing their reputation, and 
 thrc^atening to limit their empire ; but they 
 are at a loss on what hand to attack it. 
 The vulgar begin to reverence it as pro- 
 ducing useful discoveries. 
 
 ** It is to be observed, that every Idome- 
 nian firmly believes, that two or more bo- 
 dies may exist in the same place. For this 
 they have the testimony of sense, and they 
 can no more doubt of it, than they can 
 doubt whether they have any perception at 
 alL They often see two bodies meet and 
 coincide in the same place, and separate • 
 again, without having undergone any 
 change in their sensible qualities by this 
 
 penetration. When two bodies meet, and 
 occupy the same place, commonly one only 
 appears in that place, and the other disap- 
 pears. That which continues to appear is 
 said to overcome, the other to be over- 
 come." 
 
 To this quality of bodies they gave a 
 name, which our author tells us hath no 
 word answering to it in any human lan- 
 guage. And, therefore, after making a 
 long apology, which I omit, he begs leave 
 to call it the overcoming quality of bodies. 
 He assures us, that "the speculations which 
 had been raised about this single quality of 
 bodies, and the hypotheses contrived to ac- 
 count for it, were sufficient to fill many 
 volumes. Nor have there been fewer hy- 
 potheses invented by their philosophers, to 
 account for the changes of magnitude and 
 figure ; which, in most bodies that move, 
 they perceive to be in a continual fiuctua- 
 ation. The founder of the inductive sect, 
 believing it to be above the reach of Ido- 
 menian faculties, to discover the real causes 
 of these phaenomena, applied himself to 
 find from observation, by what laws they 
 are connected together ; and discovered 
 many mathematical ratios and relations con- 
 cerning the motions, magnitudes, figures, 
 and overcoming quality of bodies, which 
 constant experience confirms. But the op- 
 posers of this sect choose rather to content 
 themselves with feigned causes of these 
 phsenoniena, than to acknowledge the real 
 laws whereby they are governed, which 
 humble their pride, by being confessedly 
 unaccountable." 
 
 Thus far Johannes Rudolphus Anepigra- 
 phus. Whether this Anepigraphus be the 
 same who is recorded among the Greek 
 alchemistical writers not yet published, by 
 Borrichius, Fabricius, and others,* I do 
 not pretend to determine. The identity of 
 their name, and the similitude of their 
 studies, although no slight arguments, yet 
 are not absolutely conclusive. Nor will I 
 take upon me to judge of the narrative of 
 this learned traveller, by the external marks 
 of his credibility ; I shall confine myself to 
 those which the crit cs call internal. It 
 would even be of small importance to in- 
 quire, whether the Idomenians have a real, 
 or only an ideal existence ; since this is 
 disputed among the learned with regard to 
 things with which we are more nearly con- 
 nected. The important question is, whe- 
 ther the account above given, is a just ac- 
 count of their geometry and philosophy ? 
 We have all the faculties which they 
 
 ♦ This ia true ; the name is not imaginary 
 "Anepigraphus the Philosopher" isthereputedauthor 
 of several chemical treatises in Greek, which have not 
 as yet been deemed worthy of publication, hee 
 Du Cange. « Gloss, med. et inf., GraeciUtIs,' voce 
 nw«Tr<. and Reinesii, " Var. I.ectt L. II. c. 5. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 -^a 
 
OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 'Iiave^ witli tlie ailditiiiii of oihets which 
 tli«y 'have raol ; we iiimj, therefore, form 
 mmrn ju(%i;iteiit of their philMOpbj and ge- 
 «a«try, by separating fwniilfotheiii, toe 
 ferceptiom we have by sight aiicl reasoning 
 upii them. As far as I am able to jiid||e 
 In thia way, after a careful examination, their 
 geometry mitat be siioh as Anepigraphus 
 hath described. Nor does his locount of 
 their philoMiphy appear to ooiitain any evi. 
 dent mariES of imposture ; although here, 
 no doubt, proper allowance is to be made 
 "te liMsrlioi wMA. travel to take, as well as 
 iiT' hifolimtaiy 'iiiiHak«t wikh, they are apt 
 "to- %i^ i ato -. 
 
 OF THl WAIUltmL MOTION OF THl «V1«. 
 
 .Havhig explaiMd, as dlathictly as we 
 can, vWbio ignns, :Mii1 shewn its connection 
 with 'the things rfgnified by it, it will be 
 proper next to consider some phsenomena 
 of the eyes, and of vision, which liave com- 
 monly been fefetfed to custom, to anato- 
 -nieal or to mechanical 'Canses i but which, 
 as I conceive, must he resolved into origi- 
 nal powers and principles of the human mind ; 
 and, therefore, belong properly to the sub- 
 feet of this inqnir}'. 
 
 Tlie first is the parallel motion of the 
 ejus; by which, when one eye is turned 
 to the right or to the left, upwards or down- 
 wards, or straight forwards, the other 
 always goes along with it in the same direc- 
 tion, we see plamly, when both eyes aro 
 open, that they are always turned the same 
 way, as if hoth. were aeted u|ioa by the same 
 motive fone' ; and 'if one- eye ;is shut, and the 
 hand laid upon it, whi'e the other turns 
 various ways, we feel the eye that is shut 
 "Him. at the same time, and that whether 
 we will or not What makes this phceno- 
 nienon sirprising is, that it is acknowledged, 
 by all anatomists, that the muscles which 
 move the two eyes, and the nerves which 
 ■e:rve these muscles, are entirely distinct 
 -and. -nnoiunecteiL It would be thought 
 very surprising and unaccountable to see a 
 man, who, from his birth, never moved 
 one arm, without moving the other pre- 
 cisely in the same manner, no as to keep 
 
 then al:ways. parallel-- yet it would not be 
 
 more difficult to find the physical cause of 
 such motion of the arms, than it is to find 
 tlw' canae of the parallel 'motion of the eyes, 
 which is perfectly similar. 
 
 The only cause thai hath been assigned 
 of this paiilllel motion of the eyes, is cuk- 
 tom. Wo ind by experience, it is said, 
 when 'we begin to look at obj^ccts, tlmt, in 
 order to have distinct vision, it is necessary 
 to turn both eyes the same way j therefore, 
 
 we soon acquire the habit of doing it con- 
 stantly, and by degrees U»e the power of 
 doing otherwise. 
 
 This account of the matter seems to be 
 insufficient ; because habits are not got at 
 once ; It takes time to acquire and to con- 
 firm them ; and if this motion of the eyes 
 were got by habit, we should see children, 
 when they are born, turn their eyes dlfierent 
 ways, and move one without the other, as 
 they do their hands or legs. I know some 
 have affirmed that they are apt to do so. 
 But I have never found it true from my 
 own observation, although I have taken 
 pains to make observatioa'^ of this kind, and 
 have had good opportunities. I have 
 likewise consulted exj)erienced midwives, 
 mothers, and nurses, and found them agree, 
 that they had never observed distortions 
 of this kmd in the eyes of children, but 
 when they had reason to suspect convul- 
 sions, or some preternatural cause. 
 
 It sefiHuyihRrftfon*, to l)fi extremely jfo- 
 bable, thatjj>reyipja8-tft CUfitQPa> there, is 
 
 something in the f^otiatituti^n, anme, nfttura.1 
 instinct, which dlrcctsjift jO MOVC both cyei 
 alw^g thfi sauie way. • 
 
 We know not how the mind acts upon 
 the body, nor by what power the muscles 
 are contracted and relaxed— but we see 
 that, in some of the voluntary, as well as 
 in some of the involuntary motions, this 
 power is so directed, that many muscles 
 which have no material tie or connection,'^ 
 act in concert, each of them being taught 
 to play its part in exact time and measure. 
 Nor doth a company of expert phiyers in 
 a theatrical performance, or of excellent 
 musicians in a concert, or of good dancers 
 in a country dance, with more regularity 
 and order, conspire and contribute their 
 several parts, to produce one uniform efiect, 
 than a number of muscles do, in many of 
 the animal functif ns, and in many volun- 
 tary actiona Yet we see such actions no 
 less skilfully and reguhirly performed m 
 children, and in those who know not that 
 they have such muscles, than in the most 
 skilful anatomist and physiologist. 
 
 Who taught all the muscles that are 
 concerned in sucking, m swallowing our 
 food, m breathing, and in the several na- 
 tural expulsions, to act their part in such 
 regular order and exact measure ? It was 
 not custom surely. 1 1 was that same power- 
 ful and wise Being who made the fabric of 
 the human body, and fixed the laws by 
 which the mind operates upon every part 
 
 • Th« parallel mofemrtii, like other rrciprocifies 
 of tlw two tfWt can be expiaiiie.< pkifsioiogitaUy, / 
 liy Ibt mutual relaiton of their uervit, witot>ut le- 
 curringto any higher or ntore mysterious principle.— 
 n> 
 
 t This is not correct. Muitclea which have cor. 
 relativa mutioiio arv imw ciiliei known or ailmittcd 
 to Haft ccmtlatiTe iifr? w — H. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 153 
 
 of it, so that they may answer the pur- 
 poses intended by them. And when we 
 see, in so many other instances, a system 
 of unconnected muscles* conspiring so won- 
 derfully in their several functions, without 
 the aid of habit, it needs not be thought 
 strange, that the muscles of the eyes should, 
 without this aid, conspire to give that di- 
 rection to the eyes, without which they 
 could not answer their end. 
 ■ We see a like conspiring action in the 
 muscles which contract the pupils of the 
 two eyes ; and in those muscles, whatever 
 they be, by which the conformation of the 
 eyes is varied according to the distance of 
 objects. 
 
 It ought, however, to be observed, that, 
 although it appears to be by natural in- 
 stinct that both eyes are always turned 
 the same way, there is still some latitude 
 left for custom. 
 
 What we have said of the parallel motion 
 of the eyes, is not to be understood so strictly 
 as if nature directed us to keep their axes 
 always precisely and mathematically par- 
 allel to each other. Indeed, although they 
 are always nearly parallel, they hardly ever 
 are exactly so. When we look at an ob- 
 ject, the axes of the eyes meet in that 
 object : and, therefore, make an angle, which 
 is always suuvll, but will be greater or less, 
 according as the object is nearer or more 
 remote. Nature hath very wisely left us 
 the power of varying the parallelism of our 
 eyes a little, so that we can direct them to 
 the same point, whether remote or near. 
 1 This, no doubt, is learned by custom ; and 
 accordingly we see, that it is a long time 
 before duldren get this habit in perfection. 
 
 This power of varying the parallelism of 
 the eyes is naturally no more than is suffi- 
 cient for the purpose intended by it ; but 
 by much practice and straining, it may be 
 increased. Accordingly, we see, that some 
 have acquired the power of distorting their 
 eyes into unnatural directions, as others 
 have acquired the power of distorting their 
 bodies into unnatural postures. 
 
 Those who have lost the sight of an eye, 
 commonly lose what they had got by custom, 
 in the direction of their eyes, but retain 
 what they had by nature ; that is, although 
 their 03 es turn and move always together, 
 yet, when they look upon an olject, the 
 blind eye will often have a very small devia- 
 tion from it ; which is not perceived by a 
 slight observer, but may be discerned by 
 one accustomed to make exact observations 
 iu these matters. 
 
 * See ttie preceding note. 
 
 Section XI, 
 
 OF OUR SEEING OBJECTS ERECT BY INVERTED 
 IMAGES. 
 
 Another pheenomenon which hath per- 
 plexed philosophers, is, our seeing objects \ 
 erect, when it is well known that their 
 images or pictures upon the tunica retina 
 of the eye are inverted. 
 
 The sagacious Kepler first made the 
 noble discovery, that distinct but inverted 
 pictures of visible objects are formed upon 
 the retina by the rays of light coming from 
 the object. The same great philosopher 
 demonstrated, from the principles of optics, 
 how these pictures are formed — to wit. 
 That the rays coming from any one point 
 of the object, and falling upon the various 
 parts of the pupil, are, by the cornea and 
 crystalline, refracted so as to meet again 
 in one point of the retina^ and there paint 
 the colour of that point of the object from 
 which they come. As the rays from dif- 
 ferent points of the object cross each other 
 before they come to the retina^ the picture 
 they form must be inverted ; the upper 
 part of the object being painted upon the 
 lower part of the retina, the right side of 
 the object upon the left of the retina y and 
 so of the other parts.* 
 
 This philosopher thought that we see 
 objects erect by means of these inverted , 
 pictures, for this reason, that, as the rays 
 from different points of the object cross 
 each other before they fall upon the retina^ 
 we conclude that the impulse which we feel 
 upon the lower part of the retina comes 
 from above, and that the impulse which 
 we feel upon the higher part comes from( 
 below. j 
 
 Des Cartes afterwards gave the same 
 solution of thisphsenomenon, and illustrated 
 it by the judgment which we form of the 
 position of objects which we feel with our 
 arms crossed, or witli two-sticks that cross 
 each other. 
 
 Hut we cann ot acquiesce in this solutio n. 
 Firg7^ ^^"^<^ ^^ su^ QSfts our Reeing things 
 e rect, tob ea^d gduction of re;isoT^,dl^wnfrom 
 certain pr e mises ' w llftF'^^'^ '^ rp«>it>r to );>e gn 
 iuime diate p erceptiflfl. Aiid, secondly, B e- 
 ^llseTthf^ pr^mUf^g frntii wV^i(»h ftU manki nd 
 are supjMJsed^ojiiaw ilua.(»Elcl,u§ion,^ nevCT 
 entered into the^ miuds of the far .grealsr 
 part, but are absolutely unknown to them. 
 We have no feeling or perception of the 
 pictures upon the retina, and as little surely 
 
 • This inverted picture is seen if we take the eye 
 of an ox. (or example, and cut away the pt'sJerior 
 part of the sclerotica and choroid ; but, without thin 
 preparation, it is ap|>arent in the eyes of albino am 
 inaU. of the owl, &c., in which the hard coat and 
 choioid are Bcmi.di»i>hanout;.— II. 
 
154 
 
 OF THB HUMAN MIND 
 
 of tho podtifw of them. In order to iee 
 
 <il{}«eta enot, aocoidiiig to the princiiilee 
 nf Kapler 'Or .Bes Ciirte% we nmai previa 
 '011%' Inoir tiiBt' the nj^' of light come 
 firam the oljeei to the eje in etraight lines ; 
 we must know that the zayB from different 
 poiiits of the ohjeet eraoB one another 
 before they form the' 'uietiireB upon 'the 
 9tlmm i tmi hwlly, we must know that these 
 pietures are really inverted. Now, although 
 aU these things are true, and known to 
 phUotiiphers, yet they are ahsolutely un- 
 known to the mt greatest pari of mankind : 
 nor is it posriHe that they who are abeo- 
 lutoly ignorant of them, should reason from 
 'ihem, .and build oonelusions upon them. 
 
 to 'the' Ignntant as well as 'to' the learn'od, 
 
 lUe eamot be a conclusion drawn from 
 
 pvmlws wfaieh never entered into the minds 
 
 <lf tie tafiisiit. We have indeed had oc- 
 
 caskiii to observe many instances of eon- 
 
 duaions drawn, either by means of original 
 
 prineinleB, or by habit, from premises which 
 
 pass through the mind very quiekly, and 
 
 I wUeh. are .never made the objects of re- 
 
 lfleetiMi.{ tNit Mrelyiio man will conceive 
 
 'it ponlUe' 'to' draw oondiiiiiiis fro*n pre- 
 
 'iniMi which never entered into' the mind at 
 
 all. 
 
 .Bishop BerkeJoy haviiig justly rejected 
 
 iUi Milution, 'gives one' fnunded upon his 
 
 own principles ; wherein he is followed by 
 'the jliieiiiia' I}t Smith, in hts " Optics ;** 
 aiii'ttiS'VOiliiil.:iie]tt explain and examine. 
 
 'That ingenious writer 'Coneeives the ideas 
 of sight to be altogether unlike those of 
 ^ toueC And, since the notions we have of 
 an object by these different aenaes have no 
 nnnlitude, we can learn only by experience 
 how one senae wUl be alfg^by ^iiU^n 
 , a certain manner, affects the other. Figure, 
 podtio% and 'Oven number, in tangible 
 'ObjeetSy :are' ideas of touch ; and, although 
 Una u no similitude between these and 
 the ideas of sight, yet we learn by expe- 
 lienise, thai a triangle affects the sight in 
 ■neh a namer, .and thai & loiaiii ^aimi^ 'Ii 
 in sueh another 'manner— liaiee w% jii%e 
 'tliat which affects^ it in the 'ivrt^ manner, to 
 be a triangle, and that which affects it in 
 the 'Second, to be a square. In the same 
 way, inding, from experience, that an object 
 in an erect posit'ion affects the eye k one 
 Manner, and the same object in an inverted 
 |>osition affects it in another, we learn to 
 judge, by the- :nianner in which the eye is 
 ^ .aiteted, 'whether the object is erect or in- 
 VOffled. In a word, visible ideas, according 
 to 'thia author, are sigiis of' the tangible ; 
 and the mind paaseth from the sign to the 
 thing signiiedrnot by means of iny slmi- 
 itude between the one and other, nor by 
 any natural principle, but by having found 
 them oomtantly conjoined m experience, as 
 
 the sounds of a kuguage are with the things 
 they signify : so that, if the images upon 
 the reiina had been always erect, they 
 would have shewn the objects erect, in the 
 manner as they do now that they are in- 
 verted — nay, if the visible idea which we 
 now have from an inverted object, had been 
 associated from the beginning with the erect 
 position of that object, it would have signi- 
 fied an erect position, as readily as it now 
 signifies an inverted one. And, if the vis- 
 ible appearance of two shiliiDgs had been 
 found connected from the beginning with 
 the tangible idea uf one shilling, that ap- 
 pearance would as naturally and readily 
 have signified the unity of the object as now 
 it signifies its duplicity. 
 
 This opinion is, imdoubtedly, very inge- 
 nious t and, if it is just, serves to resolve 
 not only the phsenomenon now under con- 
 sideration, but likewise that which we shall 
 next consider — our seeing objects single 
 with two eyes. 
 
 It is evident that, in this solution, it is 
 supposed that we do not originally, and 
 previous to acquired habits, see things 
 either erect or Inverted, of one figure or 
 another, single or double ; but learn, from 
 experience, to judge of their tangible posi- 
 tion, figure, and number, by certain visible 
 signs. 
 
 Indeed, it must be acknowledged to be 
 extremely difficult to dbtinguish the imme- 
 diato and natural objects of sight, from 
 the conclusions which we have been ac- 
 customed from infancy to draw from them. 
 Bishop Berkeley was the first that attempted 
 to distinguish the one from the other, and 
 to trace out the boundary that divides them. 
 And if, in doing so, he hath gone a little to 
 the rij^ hand or to the left, this might be 
 expected in a subject altogether new, and 
 of the greatest subtilty. The nature of 
 vision hath received great Ught from this 
 distinction ; and many phienomena in 
 optics, which before appeared altogether 
 unaccountable, have been clearly and dis- 
 tinctly resolved by it. It is natural, and 
 almost unavoidable, to one who hath made 
 an important discovery in philosophy, to 
 carry it a little beyond its sphere, and to 
 ap|>ly it to the resolution of phsenomena 
 which do not fall within its province. Even 
 the great Newton, when he had discovered 
 the universal law of gravitation, and ob- 
 served how many of the phsenomena of 
 nature depend upon this, and other laws of 
 attraction and repulsion, could not help ex- 
 pressing his conjecture, that all the phceno- 
 mena of the material world depend upon 
 attracting and repelling forces in the par- 
 ticles of matter. And I suspect that the i 
 ingenious Bishop of Cloyne, having found ' 
 so many phsenomena of vision reducible to 
 the constant association of the ideas of sight 
 
 > 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 155 
 
 ( and touch, carried this principle a little be- 
 
 I yond its just limits. 
 
 In order to judge as well as we can 
 whether it is so, let us suppose such a blind 
 man as Dr Saunderson, having all the 
 knowledge and abilities which a blind man 
 may have, suddenly made to see perfectly. 
 Let us suppose him kept from all opportu- 
 nities of associating his ideas of sight with 
 those of touch, until the former become a 
 little familiar ; and the first surprise, occa- 
 sioned by objects so new, being abated, he 
 has time to canvass them, and to compare 
 them, in his mind, with the notions which 
 he formerly had by touch ; and, in particu- 
 lar, to compare, in his mind, that visible 
 extension which his eyes present, with the 
 extension in length and breadth with which 
 he was before acquainted. 
 
 We have endeavoured to prove, that a 
 blind man may form a notion of the visible 
 extension and figure of bodies, from the 
 relation which it bears to their tangible 
 extension and figure. Much more, when this 
 visible extension and figure are presented 
 to his eye, will he be able to compare them 
 witli tangible extension and figure, and to 
 perceive that the one has length and breadth 
 as well as the other ; that the one may be 
 bounded by lines, either straight or curve, 
 as well as the other. And, therefore, he 
 will perceive that there may be visible as 
 well as tangible circles, triangles, quadri- 
 lateral and multilateral figures. And, al- 
 though the visible figure is coloured, and 
 the tangible is not, they may, notwithstand- 
 ing, have the same figure ; as two objects 
 of touch may have the same figure, although 
 one is hot and the other cold. 
 
 We have demonstrated, that the proper- 
 ties of visible figures differ from those of 
 the pkin figures which they represent ; but 
 it was observed, at the same time, that 
 when the object is so small as to be seen 
 distinctly at one view, and is placed directly 
 before the eye, the difllerence between the 
 visible and the tangible figure is too small 
 to be perceived by the senses. Thus, it is 
 true, that, of every visible triangle, the 
 three angles are greater than two right 
 angles ; whereas, in a plain triangle, the 
 three angles are equal to two right angles ; 
 but when the visible triangle is small, its 
 three angles will be so nearly equal to two 
 right angles, that the sense cannot discern 
 the difference. In like manner, the circum- 
 ferences of unequal visible circles are not, 
 but those of plain circles are, in the ratio of 
 their diameters ; yet, in small visible circles, 
 the circumferences are very nearly in the 
 ratio of their diametera ; and the diameter 
 beara the same ratio to the circumference, 
 as in a plain circle, very nearly. 
 
 I Hence it appears, that small visible 
 figures (and such only can be seen dbtinctly 
 
 at one view) have not only a resemblance I 
 to the plain tangible figures which have the 
 name name, but are to all sense the same : 
 so that, if Dr Saunderson had been made to 
 see, and had attentively viewed the figures 
 of the first book of Euclid, he might, by 
 thought and consideration, without touching 
 them, have found out that they were the 
 very figures he was before so well ac- 
 quainted with by touch. 
 
 When plain figures are seen obliquely, 
 their visible figure differa more from the 
 tangible ; and the representation which is 
 made to the eye, of solid figures, is still 
 more imperfect ; because visible extension 
 hath not three, but two dunensions only. 
 Yet, as it cannot be said that an exact pic- 
 ture of aTman hath no resemblance of the 
 iiian, or that a perspective view of a house 
 hath no resemblance of the house, so it 
 cannot be said, with any propriety, that the 
 visible figure of a man or of a house hath 
 no resemblance of the objects which they 
 
 represent. 
 
 Bishop_Berkeley:ther£ffire.pmceed^ 
 a capital mistake, in supposing that there is 
 no resemblance betwixt the extension, fig u r e , 
 and position wMch we fice^midihalisd]^ 
 we perceive by touch. 
 
 We may further 'observe, that Bishop 
 Berkeley's system, with regard to material 
 things, must have made him see this ques- 
 tion, of the erect appearance of objects, in 
 a very different light from that in which it ap- 
 pears to those who do not adopt his system. 
 
 In his theory of vision, he seems indeed 
 to allow, that there is an external material 
 world : but he believed that this external 
 world is tangible only, and not visible ; and 
 that the visible world, the proper object of 
 sight, is not external, but in the mind. If 
 this is supposed, he that affirms that he 
 sees things erect and not inverted, affirms 
 that there is a top and a bottom, a right 
 and a left in the mind. Now, I confess I 
 am not so well acquainted with the topo- 
 graphy of the mind, as to be able to affix 
 a meaning to these words when applied 
 to it. 
 
 We shall therefore allow, that, if visible 
 objects were not ext ern aL but existed only 
 Jp thfi mi^d, they cou ld have no figUTfi^Jir 
 position, or extension : and that it would be 
 absurd to afiirm, that they are seen either 
 ^fect or iaverted.-^ or- that -there is any re- 
 semblance between thenajind the objects of 
 toucjj. But when we propose the quesflon, r 
 why objects are seen erect and not in- 
 verted, we take it for granted, that we are! 
 not in Bishop Berkeley's ideal world, but 
 in that world which men who yield to thej 
 dictates of common sense, believe them-j 
 selves to mhabit. We take it for granted, 
 that the objects both of sight and touch, 
 are external, and have a cerfc.ain figure, and I 
 
i 
 
 J 56 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 I 
 
 157 
 
 m mttmn position with regard to oneanother, 
 
 ftnd vitb fi^puNl to our bodies, whether we 
 ptmsmwrn il ^or not. 
 
 When I holil my walking-oine upright 
 in my hiud, and look at it, I take it for 
 granted that I see and handle the same 
 individual object. When I say that I feel 
 it ereut, ny iiwiiiiiig 'is, that I feel the 
 iMMd. 'iireeted from, 'thft hntison, and the 
 piliiit directed towapis it ; and when I say 
 that I see it erect, I mean that Isee it with 
 the head diiwted from the horizon, and 
 th« peimt tnwarda it. I conceive the hori- 
 nn ■• a isei object both of sight and touch, 
 with relation to which, objeets are said to 
 Ibe high or low, eieet or inverted ; and when 
 the question is asked, whv J see the ob- 
 ject erect, and not Inverted, it is the same 
 as if you should ask, why I see it in that 
 f position wMch it really hath, or why the 
 eye shewi^ 'tli» .iial. position of objeeto, and 
 ddth not iliiiw tlMin. in an inverted posi- 
 tion, as tliey are seen by a eommon astro- 
 nomical telescope, or as their pictures are 
 seen upon the retina of an eye when it is 
 dissected. 
 
 Sectim XIL 
 
 VUM. SAME StllMICT CO?«TtI«U'SD. 
 
 I It is ImiMeBiMe to give a mtislactory an- 
 swer to this question, otherwiie. than by 
 fohiting out the laws of 'nature' wliifih take 
 place^ 'in vision t for by these tiw '|^no- 
 mena of vision must be related. 
 
 Therefore, I .answer, Furst, That, by a 
 law of nature, the rayaof lixlit proceed from 
 every point of the object to the pupil of 
 the eye, m straight lines ; Secondly, That, 
 by the laws of nature, the rays coming 
 from any one point of the object to the va» 
 rioiis: 'parts of the pupil, are so refracted as 
 'to meet' agak in. one point of' the retina ; 
 and the lays from different points of the 
 object, first crossing each other,* and then 
 proceeding to m many different points of 
 the tvfiiM, 'form an inverted 'picture of the 
 object. 
 
 So far the principles of optics carry 
 'US.; »d experience, 'farther assn^res us, that, 
 if ^lere 'is no^ such pietan upon, the retina, 
 there is no vision ; and that such as the 
 picture on the wiina i% such is the appear- 
 
 • It Is mnrtlliNia, lioiv wMdy boili natur I philo. 
 .Mipliirfl* anii ptijiloliiiilit* tft '«i variance with ra^.«rd 
 't(* 'ilic rttnt of tlie •;« at wilch. lita rafs mm* each 
 aflNt. 9mm pbise tliia point in 'tie oonica— Mtne 
 in Hm 'ifffiw 'STtlte'pipll^some In 'Uitofnlre of the 
 crpMliiM— and' Mmt m the vitftiiiia humuur. 
 Btmil experiroenu. instituted for the purpo«« of 
 flMtmilninf its locality, and ■till unknown In ihlf 
 cminltf. plaiw II iMihind the crfitalllne lena This 
 'la i:.i|iMl '10 h» at once tin* aorailip pint, buih of the 
 rap of Ughl ami of tlie line of v{«iiailticcii(ii*, nnd 
 tlittiaraiiw piiiit on wlilol* th(> »fe 'lol'la— II. 
 
 ance of the object, in colour and 6gure, 
 distinctness or indistinctness, brightness or 
 faintnesa 
 
 It is evident, therefor e^ that th e picture 
 
 a my^n of viamn ; hut jj^ ^.tia t wav they 
 accomplish their en d, we are totally igno - 
 rant. PhUo6ophers~conceive, tlwt Ine im- 
 pression made on the retina by the rays of 
 light, is communicated to the optic nerve, 
 and by the optic nerve conveyed to some 
 part of the brain, by them called the tensO" 
 rriim ; and tliat the impression thus conveyed 
 to the sensorium is immediately perceived 
 by the mind, which is supposed to reside 
 there. But we know nothing of the seat of 
 the soul : and we are so far from perceiving 
 immediately what is transacted in the brain, 
 that of all parts of the human body we know 
 least about il It is indeed very probable, 
 that the optic nerve is an instrument of 
 vision no leas necessary than the rettna ; 
 and that some impresstun is made upon it, 
 by means of the pictures on the retina. 
 But of what kind this impression is, we know 
 nothing. 
 
 There is not the least probability that 
 there is any picture or image of the ob- 
 wet either in the optic nerve or brain. 
 The pictures on tho retina are formed by 
 the rays of light ; and, whether we suppose^ 
 with some, that their impulse upon the re- 
 'ima causes some vibration of the fibres of 
 the optic nerve, or, with others, that it 
 ^ives motion to some subtile fluid contained 
 m the nerve, neither that vibration nor 
 this motion can resemble the visible ob- 
 ject which is presented to the mind. Nor ) 
 is there any probability that the mind per-j 
 ceives the pictures upon the retina. These 1 
 pictures are no more objects of our percep- 
 tion, than the brain is, or the optic nerve. 
 No man ever saw the pictures in his own 
 eye, nor indeed the pictures in the eye 
 of another, until it was taken out of the 
 head and duly prepared. 
 
 It is very strange, that philosophers, of 
 all ages, should have agreed in this notion, 
 that the images of external objects are con- 
 veyed by the organs of sense to the brain, 
 and are there perceived by the mind.* 
 Nothing can be more unphilosophical. For, 
 First, This notion hath no foundation in fact 
 and observation. Of all the organs of 
 sense, the eye only, as far as we can disco- 
 ver, forms any kind of image of its object ; 
 and the images formed by the eye are not 
 in the brain, but only in the bottom of the 
 eye ; nor are they at all perceived or felt 
 by the mind.t Secondly, It is as difficult 
 
 1.121'' •****°^* '" iti unquaJIfied tinlvenallty is 
 altogether errotieou8.-.H. 
 
 f Thin would requiw a tecond eje tiehimi the / 
 rr/ma j which eye wroiW ulto tee the iniaff«-t bt nt, '^ 
 
 to conceive how the mind perceives images 
 in the brain, as how it perceives things 
 more distant. If any man will shew how 
 ihe mind may perceive images in the brain, 
 I will undertake to shew how it may per- 
 ceive the most distant objects ; for, if we 
 give eyes to the mind, to perceive what is 
 transacted at home in its dark chamber, 
 why may we not make these eyes a little 
 longer-sighted ? and then we shall have no 
 occasion for that un_philo3ophical fi ction of 
 images in the brain. In a^^ord^^ the man- 
 ner and mechanig qi of t he_m?ud!s.per£ep- 
 tion is quite beyond-fturjcompcehfinsioii.; 
 and this way of explaining it, by images in 
 the brain, seems to be founded upon very 
 gross notions of the mind and its opera- 
 tions ; as if the supposed images in the 
 brain, by a kind of contact, formed similar 
 impressions or images of objects upon the 
 mmd, of which impressions it is supposed to 
 be conscious. 
 
 W e have end eavoured to s hew, through - 
 out the course of this inquiry, that t he im- 
 pressions made upon the mina by means nf 
 the five sense s, na ve not the least reseu^ - 
 blanc^ to the objects of s ense : and^ there - 
 fore, as we see no shadow -flf_ei'id£iicfi.Jliast 
 there are any such images in the brain, so 
 we see no purpose, in 4)hilosophy^ tTiar tTie 
 supposition of thcio can aiis\\ er. Since the 
 picture u pon the r eti na, tliey ^ fore, Is neither 
 itself seen by the miud,.jior p^roduces. any 
 Impression upon the bra in or sens orium, 
 which IS seen by the mincI7 nor makes an y 
 impression upon the mi nd tfiat ram bles 
 the object, it may stUI^e asked, ijpw this 
 picture upon the retina causes vision ? 
 
 Before we answer this question, it is pro- 
 per to observe, that, in the operations of the 
 i mmd. as well as in those of bodies, we must 
 often be satisfied with knowing that cer- 
 tain things are connected, and invariably 
 follow one another, without being able to 
 discover the chain that goes between them. 
 It is to such connection^ that we give the 
 name of laws qf nature j B^(i_ when we say 
 that one. thing produces another by a law 
 of nature, this signifies no more, but thj^t 
 one thing, which Y^e call i|i popular lan- 
 guage the caui^e, is constantly and invari- 
 ably followed -by-another, which we call/^ 
 effect ; and_that we know not h ow thfiy^arg 
 connected. Thus, we see it is a fact, that 
 bodies gravitate towards bodies; and that 
 this gravitation is regulated by certain 
 mathematical proportions, according to the 
 dibtances of the bodies from each other, 
 and their quantities of matter. Being un- 
 able to discover the cause of this gravita- 
 tion, and presuming that it is the immediate 
 operation, either of the Author of nature, 
 
 M they are pictured im the concavity of that mem- 
 liraiic.— H. 
 
 or of some subordinate cause, which we 
 have not hitherto been able to reach, we 
 call it a law of nature. If any philoso- 
 pher should hereafter be so happy as to 
 discover the cause of gravitation, this can 
 only be done by discovering some moi-e 
 general law of nature, of which the gravi- 
 tation of bodies is a necessary consequence. 
 In every chain of natural causes, the highest 
 link is a primary law of nature, and the 
 highest link which we can trace, by just 
 induction, is either this primary law of 
 nature, or a necessary consequence of it. 
 To trace out the laws of nature, by uiduc- 
 tion from the plia^nomena of nature, is all 
 that true philosophy aims at, and all that it 
 can ever reach. 
 
 There are laws of nature by which the 
 operations of the mind are regulated, there 
 are also laws of nature that govern the 
 material system ; and, as the latter are the 
 ultimate conclusions wliich the human 
 faculties can reach in the philosophy of 
 bodies, so the former are the ultimate con- 
 clusions we can reach in the philosophy of 
 minds. 
 
 To return, therefore, to the question! 
 above proposed, we may see, from what 
 hath been just now observed, that it 
 amounts to tills— By what law of nature is 
 a picture upon the retina the mean or 
 occasion of my seeing an external object of 
 the same figure and colour in a contrary 
 position, and iu a certain direction from the 
 eye? 
 
 It will, without doubt, be allowed that 
 I see the whole object in the same manner 
 and by the same law by which I see any 
 one point of it. Now, I know it to be a 
 fact, that, in direct vision, I see every point 
 of the object in the direction of the right line 
 that passeth from the centre of the eye to 
 tliat point of the object. And I know, 
 likewise, from optics, that the ray of 
 light that comes to the centre of my 
 eye, passes on to the retina in the same 
 direction. Hence, it appears to be a fact, 
 that every point of the object is seen in tJie 
 direction of a right line passing from the 
 picture of that point on the retina, thfough\ 
 the centre of the eye. As this is a fact that' 
 holds universally and invariably, it must 
 either be a law of nature, or the necessary 
 consequence of some more general law of 
 natiu-e ; and, according to the just rules of 
 philosophising, we may hold it for a law of 
 nature, until some more general law be 
 discovered, whereof it is a necessary conse- 
 quence — which, I suspect, can never be 
 done.* 
 
 * A confirmation of this doctrine is drawn f'<><.t\ 
 the cases of Cheseldeii and otiiers, in whirl) no nien> 
 tal Inversion of Ihe objects is noticed, and which liad 
 it occurred, is tou remarkalile a phenomenon to iuve 
 been overlooketi. II is, iiidct-d, generally ai):>erteti ilia' 
 
158 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 
 ! 
 
 Thus, w« ws© tlml th® phaenottieiui of 
 
 (wlmm leact us by tho hand to a law of na- 
 tiin» or a law of owr wmalitutioii, of which 
 law, ouf seoifig ol>|ett« meet by inverted 
 imagM, i» m ■•ceaaary comequence. For 
 it aaeeiianly follows, firom the law we have 
 mentioned, that the object whoae pictmro is 
 lowest on the reHna must be seen in the 
 ; h%heiit direetion from the eye; and *hat 
 t tlie object whose picture is on the right of 
 \ the mim must be seen on the left ; so 
 ' ilHt, If the plotMfs had 'been erect in the 
 ' i«JiiUL w AmM 'have :ieen the object m- 
 TWleA. My «hief intention in handling 
 this question, was to point out this law of 
 aaliive, whici, as it is a part of the consti- 
 tiitioii of tbe human mind, belongs properly 
 In Hm Mibjeei of this inquiry. For this 
 naaon, I shall make some farther remarks 
 upon it, afler doing justice to the ingenious 
 Br Porteiield, who, long ago, in Ae 
 ** Medical Essays," or, more Urtely, in his 
 
 inch inveraion Iiw newer been obscrtcd In any 
 
 MtimI, giiiiltaiillF teftored to right. I am «w«i», 
 kowifer, mmm mm of an opposite purport It to 
 mentioned, on his own otHervation^ by a very intelh- 
 gtnt philOMipher and physician, Profesaor Ixfiden- 
 llMl of Dulfcfgj and, as hi« rare work-" Confeisio 
 mM pntet per Experientiam didicisse de Mente 
 HUHiaiM,'' 1103— is altogether unknown in this 
 CPlBtlj/l ^Mdl extract from it the whole passage :-- 
 * Mm im^him fmmantur in organot non in 
 
 I— filutantiir et pervertunturi^ organo laeeo, 
 iUaetum maneat cefebram. Non eas con- 
 
 lIlliDiiSt led exercitio continuato eas formare 
 
 a Elegana exemplum habemus in evangeho 
 . a ct loh. ». Vir adultus a nativitate coccus, 
 ■ijiotentia mlmoilosa sancti servatorissubitocuratus 
 pcino actu vUonli utens distingucre uon poterat, 
 wIranuMi •tatnrae* ftuw videtut, homines essent, an 
 ■itMHML Sue daWo Jam ante curationem sdverat ex 
 ■rintiontafiilfllffllatlMi iiumuuni Marumexpenentia, 
 tun hmiilnla qiMn ttipltls arboreae ttaturas esse 
 •mta^ at liteiiori exercitio Juerit opus ad utrum. 
 fiat ikHnpifllMtlllil. Aliqutd simile aliquando in 
 pvflie 'ptfrtiiff' 'CtlMraetam congenitam coeco mihi 
 OliMfff an llHlll Hie ex paupercula familia rustira 
 ortiM, alatlai pott partum utramque pupillam habuit 
 dMCtuatam ; probatiiliter memhrana pupdlaris crasaa 
 it opaca eiaL Fro Inciirmhili habitus nullam cura- 
 tlMemi MNut ^a»lu excrevit, sed plane coecus| 
 ennl Itimine ortms, in scholas missus lepidi ingenii 
 ■Ipia dediL Anno aet<*tis circiter decimo septimo. 
 neieiii es fua causa gravtosima ophthalmia oorripitur 
 cum ttiiwm palpebrariini et acetbo dolore. In hoc 
 •lala aliqitalto medkatia adtiibita cat Obaenrarunt 
 nientea lucen id> eo ftigl, a luce dolorea crescere. 
 FMt aHfiiMt helxlamades febrls et ophthalmia de- 
 caiieilllti OUm mimmo eju^ stupore aliqualem lutninis 
 imnam nandicitur. Omitto Hcnbere plurcs memora. 
 Illtt hu}ut viaimua oonditiones, nam ab eo tempore 
 iMfuenter, etacmper adiiiltans, eum conipexl. Hoc 
 iinum, quod ad tem Ituiit, addo ; Imaginca in oculu 
 onii pcnilut ei novaa fliine. Ab Initio boo patletia. 
 tut ribi per4«tadeii» rdlquoi homines erectoa incedere, 
 
 \ hominua cagiiu «ui ipsiua pedibus esse ob. 
 
 flWiiter nlnics ct objecta omnia ratione sui 
 
 ■a COtofWn diversitale vehementer delec 
 
 ra ^WMlia iilliuin oonceptum habuerat Nam 
 ^MMill ooaein ecal, si quid de mbro nut alio colore 
 ■ndlraialt MccMnparaveratcnm scnRationibu^ gustus. 
 Mllliruiil iibi praesentaverat esse aliquid quasi tiulce, 
 algPia cum anuurore coraparaverat Succc«»ive tibt 
 inilllaii baa HMvubat, et dijudicabat, utrcHqulho. 
 Ml nee. In hoe bomine nuilac imagines vistvae prae 
 •atlteiunt, neque in orgdmo, neque in cerebro, cujus 
 nil la pairio alit nutalio facta erat Aliquot anuto 
 ptata^ wJiiffaii^niMirtnenico dolore, phthiticua 
 .rtebatur.**— P. M, 
 
 " Treatise of the Eye," pwin*4sd out,* as a 
 primary law of our nature^ That a visible 
 object appears in the durecdon of a right 
 line perpeudicuhir to the retina at that 
 point where its image is painted. If lines 
 drawn from the centre of the eye to all 
 parts of the retina be perpendicular to it, as 
 they must be very nearly, this coincides 
 with the kw we have mentioned, and is the 
 same in other words. In order, therefore, 
 that we may have a more distinct notion 
 of this law of our constitution, we may 
 observe— 
 
 1. That we can give no reason why the 
 relina is, of all parts of the body, the only 
 one on which pictiures made by the rays of 
 light cause vision ; and, therefore, we must 
 resolve this solely into a law of our consti- 
 tution. We may lorin such pictures by 
 
 OF SEEING 
 
 ■( 
 
 159 
 
 means of optical glasses, upon the hand, or 
 upon any other part of the body ; but they 
 are not felt, nor do they produce anything 
 like vision. A picture upon the retina is as 
 little felt as one upon the hand ; but it pro- 
 duces vision, for no other reason that we 
 know, but because it is destined by the 
 wisdom of nature to this purpose. The 
 vibrations of the air strike upon the eye, 
 the palate, and the olfactory membrane, 
 with the same force as upon the membrani 
 timpani of the ear. The unpression they 
 make upon the hist produces the sensation 
 of sound ; but their impression upon any of 
 the former produces no sensation at ail. 
 This may be extended to allJhe-Senses, 
 whereof each hath its peculiar laws, accord- ^ 
 ing to which the impressions made upon the ^ 
 or^n of that sense, produce sensiitionsjur 
 perceptioni in the mind, tliat caJmo|_Jie 
 produced by impressions made iipnn any 
 other organ. 
 
 2. We may observe, that the laws of per^ 
 ception, by the different senses, are very 
 different, not only in respect of the nature 
 of the objects perceived by them, but like- 
 wise in respect of the notices they give us 
 of the distance and situation of the object. 
 In all of them the object is conceivedf to < 
 be external, and to have real existence, in- 
 dependent of our perception : but in one, 
 the distance, figure, and situation of the 
 object, are all presented to the mind ; in 
 another, the figure and situation, but not 
 the distance ; and in others, neither figure, 
 situation, nor distance^ In vain do we at- : 
 tempt to account for these varieties in the 
 manner of perception by the different! 
 
 • Forterfleld did not first point this out; on the con- 
 trary, it was a common, if not the common doctrine 
 al the time h« wiote. See below, the first note of 
 \ xtiii.— H. 
 
 f The common sense of mankind assures lu that 
 the object ol sense, is not merely conceived to be cx> 
 ternal, hulpercfived'xn its externality ; that we know 
 the Non. Ego, not merely mediately, by a represcuta. 
 tJon in the Ego, but immediately, as existing though 
 only as existing in relation to our organs.— li. 
 
 r tenses, from principles of anatomy or na- 
 tural philosophy. They must at last be 
 resolved into the will of our Maker, who 
 intended that our powers of perception 
 should have certain limits, and adapted the 
 organs of perception, and the laws of na- 
 ture by which they operate, to his wise pur- 
 Jl68es. 
 f When we hear an unusual sound, the 
 sensation indeed is in the mind, but we 
 know that there is something external that 
 >P£odaced this sound. At the same time, our 
 I hearing does not inform us whether the 
 soimding body is near or at a distance, in 
 this direction or that ; and therefore we look 
 round to discover it. 
 
 If any new phcenomenon appears in the 
 heavens, we see exactly its colour, its ap- 
 parent place, magnitude, and figure ; but 
 we see not its distance. It may be in the 
 atmosphere, it may be among the planets, 
 or it may be in the sphere of the fixed stars, 
 for anything the eye can determine. 
 
 The testimony of the sense of touch 
 reaches only to objects that are contiguous 
 to the organ, but, with regard to them, is 
 more precise and determinate. When we 
 feel a body with our hand, we know the 
 figture, distance, and position of it, as well 
 as whether it is rough or smooth, hard or 
 soft, hot or cold. 
 
 The sensations of touch,, of seeing, and 
 heariQg, are all in the mind, and can have 
 no existence but when they are perceived. 
 How do they all constantly and invariably 
 suggest the conception and belief of external 
 objects, which exist whether they are pei;- 
 ceived or not ? No philosopher can give 
 any other answer to thia, but that such ig, 
 the constitution of our nature. "How do we 
 know that the object of touch is at the 
 finger's end, and nowhere else ? — that tlie 
 object of sight is in such a direction from 
 the eye, and in no other, but may be at any 
 distance ?*— and that the object of hearing 
 may be at any distance,* and in any direc- 
 tion ? Not by custom surely— not by rea- 
 soning, or comparing ideas — ^but by the con- 
 stitution of our nature. How do we per- 
 ceive visible objects in the direction of right 
 lines perpendicular to that part of the retina 
 on which the rays strike, while we do not 
 perceive the objects of hearing in lines per- 
 pendicular to the membrana tympani upon 
 which the vibrations of the air strike ? Be- 
 cause such are the laws of our nature. How 
 do we know the parts of our bodies affected 
 by particular pains ? Not by experience 
 or by reasoning, but by the constitution of 
 nature. The sensati on of^p ajn is, no doubt, 
 in_the mind, and cannot be saidto^aveany 
 relation71h)m its own nature, to any part 
 
 • It has been previously noticed, that in no $mH 
 does the mind pereetve any di tant or mediate ob. 
 ject— H. 
 
 of the body ; bulthis sensati on, by our eon- i 
 stitutio uy g ives a perception _Qi some^iaili- 
 cular partof the body^hoseilisnrflpr ra,nse9 j 
 tlie_uneasy,jsensation. If it were not so, a i 
 man who never before felt either the gout ( 
 or the toothache, when he is first seized with 
 the gout in his toe, might mistake it for 
 the toothache. 
 
 Every sense, therefore, hath its peculiar 
 laws and limits, by the constitution of our 
 nature ; and one of the laws of sight is, that 
 we always see an object in the direction of 
 a right Une, passing from its image on the 
 retina through the centre of the eye. 
 
 3. Perhaps some readers will imagine I 
 that it is easier, and will answer the pur- [ 
 pose as well, to conceive a law of nature,/ 
 by which we shall always see objects in, 
 the place in which they are, and in their 
 true position, without having recourse to! 
 images on the retina^ or to the optical centre i 
 of the eye. ' 
 
 To this I answer, that nothing can be a 
 law of nature which is contrary to fact. 
 The laws of nature are the most general 
 facts we can discover in the operations of 
 nature. Like other facts, they are not to 
 be hit upon by a happy conjecture, but 
 justly deduced from observation ; like other 
 general facts, they are not to be drawn from 
 a few particulars, but from a copious, pa- 
 tient, and cautious induction. That we see 
 things always in their true place and posi- 
 tion, is not fact ; and therefore it can be no 
 law of nature. In a plain mirror, I see 
 myself, and other things, m places very 
 different from those they really occupy.* 
 And so it happens in every instance where- 
 in the rays coming from the object are 
 either reflected or refracted before falling 
 upon the eye. Those who know anything 
 of optics, know that, in all such cases, the 
 object is seen in the direction of a line 
 passing from the centre of the eye, to the 
 point where the rays were last reflected 
 or refracted ; and that upon this all the 
 powers of the telescope and microscope 
 depend. 
 
 Shall we say, then, that it is a law of 
 nature, that the object is seen in the direc- 
 tion which the rays have when they fall 
 on the eye, or rather in the direction con- 
 trary to that of the rays when they fall 
 upon the eye ? No. This is not true ; 
 and therefore it is no law of nature. For 
 the rays, from any one point of the object, 
 come to all parts of the pupil ; and there- 
 fore must have different directions : but we 
 see the object only in one of these direc- 
 tions—to wit, in the direction of the rays 
 that come to the centre of the eye. And 
 this holds true, even when the rays that 
 should pass through the centre are stopped, 
 
 • This is a very inaccurate statement. In a 
 mirror 1 do not see mytelf^ ike— H. 
 

 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 aai theobjed is fwen hy imja thai paw ftt a 
 
 iiilHiiMi f^Ill the centre.* 
 
 .Piiiiaiw it may still, be imgiiied, that, 
 'alUMwdi we are not nuule lo^ m to see ob- 
 jeelia&rays in their true place, nor so as to 
 ■M ihem precisely in the direction of the 
 rays when they fall upon the efmrnn ; yet 
 we may be so made as to see the object 
 in the diftetifin which the rays have when 
 Ihey iai npon the feilm, after they liave im- 
 deffone m their refractions in the eye- 
 that is, m the diiectiiin u wMoh. the rays 
 pass from the' e^jottBint to tiM'Mfitia. But 
 neither it lliis tme; and Miiaeqiientlv it is 
 m law of our constitution. Im order to 
 nee that it is not true, we must conceive all 
 ilw rays thai pass from the crptalline to 
 •M' pobl 'if tbii 'Mffte, m formmg a smaU 
 mtmf whmm %mo is open the back of the 
 eiyitalluie, and whose vertox is a point of 
 «he ftiima. It .is etidanl thai the laya which 
 §mm 'the 'pirtiie in, Ihiapoimt, have various 
 diiMiloni,. 'even, after' they pass the crystal^ 
 line : yet the object is seen only in one of 
 Ihese directi.on8— to wit, in the direction of 
 the rays that come fwm the centre of the 
 m. Nor is this owing to any particular 
 vlrtoA in the central rays, or in the centre 
 itself; for the central rays may be stopped. 
 When they are stopped, the image will be 
 formed, upon the same, point of the mUma as 
 before, by rays thai are not 'teiilial, nor have 
 the same direction which the central ravs 
 lad: and in this case the object is seen in the 
 ■ame diieolicn m before, al,thoii|(h there 
 are now no rays coming in that direction.* 
 
 Fifomthis induction we conclude, That 
 our seeing an objeet in that particular di- 
 reetien .in whieh. we do see .it, ts not owing to 
 ai^ law of nalnfO' by whMi we are made to 
 laeO'll in the direction 'Of 'the rays, either be- 
 fme their refractions in the eye, or after, 
 hut to a kw of our nature, by which we 
 see the objeel iu the direotion of the right 
 Kne that pasaelh firom the picture of the 
 object upon the rvliiia to the centre of the 
 eye." 
 
 • But stilt we always ace in tlie direction of a line 
 
 iiMilc 'm'«ir tiM dlnctioitf of all the rayi of the pencil, 
 •lMl.'tUf in* 'Mcewartl'f coincidei with trie direction 
 of llie oeftttal laf, even where tliat ray itsrlf is mier. 
 iMplMll ftw the central line would still be the me. 
 illiiB iir'.|illlwliil«t of the various divergent or ron. 
 vwipBOt rafs in the itencil — H. 
 t It ia incorrect to say that " we ace the ohtiecr*** 
 
 Siianiiif tlie tliiiif frum which the rays come 
 tmamliMi or idMetlon. hut which is unknown 
 •Ml liMagnisalile iif sight*) and so fbrth. It %vould 
 temon-MTicctto drscrll« vlsioO'— a rerce|>tion. by 
 whirh we take imiMdilate cognlaafwa of ItRlit in re. 
 I to our orKalt-^lhat Is. as dliliscd and fiKured 
 „ the retina, undir various mudlflcations of de- 
 rand kind, (hrightnets and c«ilour,)— and likewise 
 as raitng on it in a particular direction, 'llie itnaiie 
 m nm tmm is not itieU an ol^ecl of visual per/q*. 
 till. It to OOlf to he Wianled as the complement o» 
 tlMHtpMBla, or *»t that sensitive surface, on which 
 tlw rail tellinit, and with which tlwy enter into re- 
 - - • — -- 'object of viMial perception ts ihun 
 
 nor the oigaii in il- 
 l organ in reciprocity : 
 
 lUtMi: 'Iln total object of vis»ial pi 
 naltittiis'npln thenuelvai, ^nor' 
 '■K'tal fke l»|t «iM» the livinf tirga 
 
 The hfiiB upon which I ground this in- 
 dnction, are taken from some curious ex- 
 perunents of Scheiner, in his " Fundamen- 
 tum Opticura," quoted by Dr Porterfield, 
 and confirmed by his experience. I have 
 also repeated these experiments, and found 
 them to answer. As they are easily made, 
 and tond to illustrato and confirm the law 
 of nature I have mentioned, I shall recito 
 them as briefly and distinctly as I can*^ 
 
 Experiment 1. Let a very small object, 
 such as the head of a pin, well illuminated, 
 be fixed at such a distance from the eye as 
 to be beyond the nearest limit and within 
 the farthest limit of distinct vision. For a 
 young eye, not near-sighted, the object may 
 be placed at the distance of eighteen inches. 
 Let the eye be kept steadily in one place, and 
 take a distinct view of the object. We 
 know, from the principles of optics, that 
 the rays from any one point of this object, 
 whether they pass through the centre of the 
 eye, or al any distance from the centre 
 which the breadth of the pupil will permit, 
 do all unite again in one point of the retina. 
 We know, also, that these rays have differ- 
 ent durections, both before they fall upon 
 the eye, and after they pass through the 
 crystalliue. 
 
 Now, we can see the object by any one 
 small parcel of these rays, excluding the 
 rest, by looking through a small pin-hole in 
 a card. Moving this pin-hole over the 
 various parts of the pupil, we can see the 
 object, first by the rays tluit pass above the 
 centre of the eye, then by the central rayat 
 then by the rays that pass below the centre, 
 and in like manner by tlie rays that pass on 
 the right and left of the centre. Thus, we 
 view this object, successively, by rays that 
 are central, and by rays that are not central ; 
 by rays that have difiereut directions, and 
 are variously inclined to each other, both 
 when they fall upon the cornea, and when 
 they fall upon the retina; but always by 
 rays which fall upon the same point of the 
 retina. And what is the event ? It is this — 
 that the object is seen in the same individual 
 direotion, whether seen by all these rays to- 
 gether, or by any one parcel of them. 
 
 Experimeni % Let the object above 
 mentioned be now placed within the nearest 
 limit of distinct vision— that is, for an eye 
 that is not near-sighted, at the distance of 
 
 this nrsan is not, however, to be viewed as merely 
 the retina, but as the whole tract of nervous fibre 
 pertaining to the senKe. In an act of vision, so 
 also in the other sensitive acts, I am thus cot- 
 tciuuM, (the word shouKl not be restricted to self, 
 consciousness,) or immediately cognizant, not only 
 of the aflections of self, but of the phanomena of 
 something diflerent from seU, both, however, always 
 in relation to each other. According, 4.s in differ, 
 ent senses, the subjective or the objfcttv. ekment 
 pr f ponderate*, wc have* n$atiOTH}i p<^c,-pttun, the 
 tfcunda-y or the p'lwia/y qiialite* of matter j di»- 
 tinctii>ns which are ihok idt-ntitii-d and carrietl up 
 intoagcneral aw. But of this again— II. 
 
 OF SEEING, 
 
 f 
 
 
 four or five inches. We know that, in this 
 case, the rays coming from one point of the 
 object do not meet in one point of the retina, 
 but spread over a small circular spot of it ; 
 the central rays occupying the centre of this 
 circle, the rays that pass above the centre 
 occupying the upper part of the circular spot, 
 and 80 of flie rest. And we know that the 
 object is, in this case, seen confused; every 
 point of it being seen, not in one, but in 
 various directions. To remedy this confu- 
 sion, we look at the object through the pin- 
 hole, and, while we move the pin-hole over 
 the various parts of the pupil, the object 
 does not keep its place, but seems to move in 
 a contrary direction. 
 
 It is here to be observed, that, when the 
 pin-hole is carried upwards over the pupil, 
 the picture of the object is carried upwards 
 upon the retina, and the object, at the same 
 time, seems to move downwards, so as to be 
 always in the right line, passing from the 
 picture through the centre of the eye. It is 
 likewise to be observed, that the rays whieh 
 form the upper and the lower pictures upon 
 the retina do not cross each other, as in or- 
 dinary vision ; yet, still, the higher picture 
 shews the object lower, and the lower pic- 
 ture shews the object higher, in the same 
 manner as when the rays cross each other. 
 Whence we may observe, by the way, that 
 this phaenomenon of our seeing objects in a 
 position contrary to that of their pictures 
 upon the telino, does not depend upon the 
 crossing of the rays, as Kepler and Des 
 Cartes conceived. 
 
 Experiment 3. Other things remaining 
 as in the hist experiment, make three [»in- 
 holes in a straight line, so near that the rays 
 coming from the object tlirough all the holes 
 may enter the pupil at the same time. In 
 this case, we have a very curious phaenome- 
 non ; for the object is seen triple with one 
 eye. And if you make more holes within 
 the breadth of the pupil, you will see as many 
 objects as there are holes. However, we 
 shall suppose them only three — one on the 
 right, one in the middle, and one on the left ; 
 in which case you see three objects standing 
 in a line from right to left. 
 
 It is here to be observed, that there are 
 three pictures on the retina ; that on the 
 left being formed by the rays which pass 
 on the left of the eye's centre, the middle 
 picture being formed by the central rays, 
 and the right-hand picture by the rays 
 which pass on the right of the eye's centre. 
 It is farther to be observed, that the object 
 which appears on the right, is not that 
 which is seen through the hole on the right, 
 but that which is seen through the hole on 
 the left; and, in like manner, the left- 
 hand object is seen through the hole on 
 the right, as is easily proved by covering 
 the holes successively : so that, whatever 
 
 is the direction of the rays which form the 
 right-hand and left-hand pictures, still the 
 right-hand picture shews a left-hand object, 
 and the left-hand picture shews a right- 
 hand object. 
 
 Experiment 4. It is easy to see how the 
 two last experiments may be varied, by 
 placing the object beyond the farthest limit 
 of distinct vision. In order to make thb 
 experiment, I looked at a candle at the dis- 
 tance of ten feet, and put the eye of my 
 spectacles behind the card, that the rays 
 from the same point of the object might 
 meet and cross each other, before they 
 reached the retina. In this case, as in the 
 former, the candle was seen triple through 
 the three pin-holes ; but the candle on the 
 right was seen through the hole on the 
 right ; and, on the contrary, the left-hand 
 candle was seen through the hole on the 
 left. In this experiment it is evident, 
 from the principles of optics, that the rays 
 forming the several pictures on the retina 
 cross each other a little before they reach 
 the retina ; and, therefore, the left-hand 
 picture is formed by the rays which pass 
 through the hole on the right : so that the 
 position of the pictures is contrary to that 
 of the holes by which they are formed ; and, 
 therefore, is also contrary to that of their 
 objects— as we have found it to be in the 
 former experiments. 
 
 These experiments exhibit several un- 
 common phsanomena, that regard the appa- 
 rent place, and the direction of visible 
 objects from the eye ; phaenomena that 
 seem to be most contrary to the common 
 rules of vision. When we look at the same 
 time through three holes that are in a right 
 line, and at certain distances from each 
 other, we expect tliat the objects seen 
 through them should really be, and should 
 ai)pear to be, at a distance from each other. 
 Yet, by the first experiment, we may, 
 through three such holes, see the same 
 object, and the same point of that object ; 
 and tlirough all the three it appears in the 
 same individual place and direction. 
 
 When the rays of light come from the 
 object in right lines to the eye, without 
 any reflection, inflection, or refraction, we 
 expect that the object should appear in its 
 real and proper direction from the eye ; 
 and so it commonly does. But in the 
 second, third, and fourth experiments, we 
 see the object in a direction which is not 
 its true and real direction from the eye, 
 although the rays come from the object to 
 the eye, without any inflection, reflection, 
 or refraction. 
 
 When both the object and the eye are 
 fixed without the least motion, and the 
 medium unchanged, we expect that the 
 object should appear to rest, and keep the 
 same place. Yet, in the second and fourth 
 
 M 
 
OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 it% when both tlie eje and tlie ob- 
 
 j«ci mm at Nst,, ^awl. tlit mediiun 'unclianged, 
 «• make tbe ob}««t apiwar to moT« upwards 
 m dowimards, or in any direction we please. 
 
 Wben we lool^ at tbe aame time and 
 ^iilli the same eye, through hutoa'fhaliilaiul. 
 in. a line from right to^ I«fl, we expect 
 that the object seen through the left- 
 hand hole should appear on the left, and the 
 object seen thnnigh the right-hand hole 
 ■Mmld appear mtlieiighi Yet, in the third. 
 '•sferiinent, we ted lie direct contrary. 
 
 Although, m^any instances occur in see- 
 ms the same object double with two eye% 
 we always expect that it should appear 
 single when seen, only by one eye. Yet, in 
 the second and iiurth experiments, we have 
 instances wherein the same object may 
 appear double, triple, or quadruple to one 
 i^e, without the help of a polyhedron or 
 mnltiplyi^g glass* 
 
 Al'tlieee' extraordinary phteuomena, n- 
 gavdhif the direction of vislhte objects from 
 the eye, as well as those that are common 
 and ordiuuy, lead us to that law' of nature 
 which I 'haire 'inenlloned, and are the n^eces- 
 ■ary conseouences of it. And, as there is 
 
 no pr o bi | |liilit yih at we shaJl ^f e£ ,hfi„ able t^ 
 
 give a reason why pictures upon_ the r^/ifia 
 makii us Eiee external objects, any more 
 than pictures upon the hand or upon the 
 cheek ; or, that we shall ever be able to 
 gire a reason, why we see the object in the 
 direction of a line passing from its picture 
 llifimgh the centre of the eye, rather than 
 in any other direction — I am, therefore, ajit 
 to look, up on this law as a p ^iBlor Ip^ "f 
 
 pierent being misunderstood, I beg 
 the reader to observe, that I do not mean 
 |to affirm that the picture upon the rttina 
 will make us see an object in the direction 
 
 nentioiifid, or in any dureetiou, imlesa the 
 optie' nenre. and the other monS' Immediate 
 nistruments of vision, be sound, and per- 
 foiB their function. We know not well 
 whai^ ia the office nf the optic nerve, nor in 
 'what' manner it perfomi' "^lat office ; but 
 that it hath some part in the faculty of see- 
 ii^ aiems to be certain ; because, in an 
 MMMirof Iff, which is believed to be a disorder 
 ef file optic nerve, the pictures on the retina 
 are dear and distinct, and yet there is no 
 irfslon. 
 
 We know still less of the use and fonc- 
 tion of the choroid membrane ; but it seems 
 likewise to be necessaiy to vision : for it is 
 well known, that pictures upon that part of 
 thA ffvfifin where it is not covered by the 
 ehomid — I mean at thc' entrance of the 
 #|iii8 nerve -produce no vision, any more 
 * picture upon the hand.* We ac- 
 
 • BddlicfeadoiilstlietbeorYorMariotte^whoflrft 
 
 1 UV'SUflNH Ihet Of thii locsl iiiiemibilitf » 
 
 knowledge, therefore, that the retina is not 
 the last and most immediate instrument of 
 the mind in vision. There are other mate- 
 rial organs, whose operation is necessary to 
 seeing, even after the pictures upon the 
 retina are formed. If ever we come to 
 know the structure and use of the choroid 
 membrane, the optic nerve, and the bnuUi 
 and what impressions are made upon them 
 by means of the pictures on the retinaf 
 some more links of the chain may be brought 
 within our view, and a more general law 
 of vision discovered ; but, while we know 
 so little of the nature and office of these 
 more immediate instruments of vision, it 
 seems to be impossible to trace its laws be* 
 yond the pictures upon the retina. 
 
 Neither do I pretend to say, that there 
 may not be diseases of the eye, or accidents, 
 which nuy occasion our seeing objects in a 
 direction somewhat different from that men- 
 tioned above. I shall beg leave to mention 
 one instance of this kind that concerns my- 
 self. 
 
 In May 1761, being occupied in making 
 an exact meridian, in order to observe the 
 transit of Venus, I rashly directed to the 
 sun, by my right eye, the cross hairs of a 
 small telescope, I had often done the like 
 in my younger days with impunity ; but I 
 suffered by it at last, which I mention as « 
 warning to others. 
 
 I soon observed a remarkable dimness in 
 that eye ; and for many weeks, when I was 
 in the dark, or shut my eyes, there ap- 
 peared before the right eye a lucid spot, 
 which trembled much like the image of the 
 sun seen by reflection from water. This 
 appearance grew fainter, and less frequent, 
 by degrees ; so that now there are seldom 
 any remains of it. But some other very 
 sensible effects of this hurt still remain. 
 For, First, The sight of the right eye con- 
 tinues to be more dim than that of the left. 
 Secondly, The nearest limit of distinct 
 vision is more remote in the right eye than 
 in the other; although, before the time 
 mentioned, they were equal in both these 
 respects, as I had found by many trials. 
 But, thirdly, what I chiefly intended to 
 mention is. That a straight line, in some 
 circumstances, appears to the ri.yht eye to 
 have a curvature in it. Thus, when I look 
 upim a music book, and, shutting my left 
 eye, direct the right to a point of the mid- 
 
 ■nd who ingeniously employed it in support of bif 
 opinion, that the choroid, not the retina, if th« 
 proximate organ in vision. But not only is the ab» 
 sence of the choroid not to be viewed aa the cause of 
 thifl phenomenon ; it is not even to be attributed to 
 the entrance of the optic nerve. For it is proved 
 that the impassive portion of the retina d'les not 
 occupy alx>ve a third part of the disc, correspondinK 
 to thc circumference of that nerve ; and the conjec- 
 ture of Hudolphi seems probable, that the insensi. 
 Inhty in limited to th«* »pot where the arlerfa eetUraii* 
 caters. —H. 
 
 ) 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 163 
 
 die line of the five wKich compose the staff 
 of music, the middle line appears dim, in- 
 deed, at the point to which the eye is di- 
 rected, but straight • at the same time, the 
 two lines above it, and the two below it, 
 appear to be bent outwards, and to be more 
 distant from each other and from the middle 
 line, than at other parts of the staff, to 
 which the eye is not directed. Fourthly, 
 Although I have repeated this experiment 
 times innumerable, within these sixteen 
 months, I do not find that custom and ex- 
 perience takes away this appearance of cur- 
 vature in straight lines. Lastly, This ap- 
 pearance of curvature is perceptible when 
 I look with the right eye only, but not when 
 I look with both eyes; yet I see better 
 with both eyes together, than even with 
 the left eye alone. 
 
 I have related this fact minutely as it is, 
 without regard to any hypothesis ; because 
 I think such uncommon facts deserve to be 
 recorded. I shall leave it to others to con- 
 jecture the cause of this appearance. To 
 me it seems most probable, that a small 
 part of the retina towards the centre is 
 shrunk, and that thereby the contiguous 
 parts are drawn nearer to the centre, and 
 to one another, than they were before ; and 
 that objects, whose images fall on these 
 parts, appear at that distance from each 
 other which corresponds, not to the interval 
 of the parts in their present preternatural 
 contraction, but to their interval in their 
 natural and sound state. 
 
 Section XIII, 
 
 OF SEEING OBJECTS SINGLE WITH TWO EYES. 
 
 Another phaenomenon of vision which 
 deserves attention, is our seeing objects 
 single with two eyes.* There are two pic- 
 
 • The opinions relative to single vision with two 
 eyes, may, I think, be reduced to two supreme classes. 
 I'he one attempt* to shew that tiere is no difficulty 
 to be solved ; the othe*- attempts to solve the difficulty 
 which is admitted.— Under the former class, there 
 are, as 1 recollect, three hypotheses. Ihejirst^up. 
 poses that we see only with one eye— that man is in 
 reality a Cyclops; the second t-upposort that the two 
 imi>rrB.^inn!< are not, in fact, made at ihetsame instant 
 In both eyt-s, and. consequently, that two sinmlta. 
 ueom imprt8«ioiis are not conveyed to ihe brain and 
 mind ; thc tftOd suppose* that, although a separate 
 impression be made on each retina, yet that the>e 
 several impression^ are, as it were, fused into one 
 b<>fore they reach the common sensory, in conse. 
 quence of a union of the optic nerves. — The hypo- 
 tlieset of the latter class which, I think, may also be 
 reduced to /Ar^*", all admitthattliereareslmultaneous 
 impressions on the two retime, and that these im- 
 prpskions are separately conveyf«> to the termination 
 of theoiKaiiicaipa'^atus; but still hold thai, in the 
 mind, there is Oeitrmined only a singl** perception. 
 Une opinion allows the perception to have been origi- 
 ■ally iwolold, and saves the phsiiomeiion, by suppos- 
 ing that it became single through the influence ol cus. 
 torn and association. Another explains it more sub- 
 *ectif eiy, by an uUimate aud uiexpUc^lt law of our 
 
 tures of the object, one on each retina , 
 and each picture by itself makes us see an 
 object in a certain direction from the eye ; 
 yet both together commonly make us see 
 only one object. All the accounts or solu-; 
 tions of this phaenomenon given by anato- \ 
 mists and philosophers seem to be unsatisfac- ' 
 tory. I shall pass over the opinions of Galen, 
 of Gassendus, of Baptista Porta, and of Ro- 
 hault. The reader may see these examined 
 and refuted by Dr Porterfield. I shall ex- 
 amine Dr Porterfield's own opinion. Bishop 
 Berkeley's, and some others. But it will be 
 necessary first to ascertain the facts : for, if 
 we mistake the phsenomena of single and 
 double vision, it is ten to one but this mis- 
 take will lead us wrong in assigning the 
 causes. This likewise we ought carefully to 
 attend to, which is acknowledged in theory 
 by all who have any true judgment or just 
 taste in inquiries of this nature, but is very 
 often overlooked in practice — namely, that, 
 in the solution of natural phaenomena, all 
 the length that the human faculties can 
 carry us, is only this, that, from particular 
 phsenomena, jwe^ may.»_by jiiductjon, irace 1 
 out _ff?ngral_iJTffinoTnpna, of whivh all thft I 
 particular ones are necessary conse quence s. } 
 And when we JiMe_ arrived at^thc^mpsjt 
 general pjigenomena 3^.e CJUL j:each,_Jhfirff 
 we must_gtop. If it is asked. Why such a 
 body gravitates towards the earth ? all the 
 answer that can be given is, Because all 
 bodies gravitate towards the earth. This I 
 is resolving a particular phaenomenon into] 
 a general one. If it should again be asked, | 
 Why do all bodies gravitate towards the; 
 earth ? we can give no other solution of this, 
 phaenomenon, but that all bodies what80-| 
 ever gravitate towards each other. This 
 is resolving a general phaenomenon into a 
 more general one. If it should be asked. 
 Why all bodies gravitate to one anotlier ? we 
 cannot tell ; but, if we could tell, it could 
 only be by resolving this universal gravita- 
 tion of bodies into some other phaenomenon 
 still more general, and of which the gravi- 
 tation of aU bodies is a particular instance. 
 The most general phsenomena we can reach, 
 are what we call laws vfnamre ; so that the 
 laws of nature are nothing else but the most 
 general facts relating to the operations of 
 nature, which include a great many parti- 
 cular facts under them. And if, in any case, 
 we should give the name of a law of nature 
 to a general phaenomenon, which human 
 ii.dustry shall afterwards trace to one more 
 general, there is no great harm done. The 
 most general assumes the name of a law of 
 nature when it is discovered, and the less 
 general is contained and comprehended in 
 it. Having premised these things, we pro- 
 ceed to consider the phaenomena of single 
 
 constitution ; and the last, more objccti*ely, on Win* 
 intelligible principle of optics,— H. 
 
 MS 
 
/ 
 
 \ 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 165 
 
 md,. imhle ▼islon, in orte to dtBCOver some 
 piMnil principle to wMeli liey all lead, and 
 of which they mm the neceeaarj conse- 
 qnenoea. If we can discover any such 
 genmilpriiiciple, it must either be a hiw of 
 nttaRi or the Beeeasary cou^sequence' of 
 ■OBW law of nature ; and its authority will 
 h& eqnal whether it is the first or the last. 
 
 L We find that,, when the ^es are sound 
 and feifeci, wd the axes of lioth directed 
 to one' 'piling an ohjed placed in that point is, 
 aeen single^and here we ohserve, that in 
 Ihis case the two pictures which shew the 
 ohjeel :single, are in. the centres of the 
 rAm. When two pictures of a small 
 ohjeet are formed upon points of the retina, 
 if tteyshew the object single, we shaD, for 
 the sake of pcrspieitiiyi eall such two points 
 of the r#liiMi, correspmtdinff ptdnls ,• and 
 when the object m seen double, we shall 
 call tho points of the retina on which the 
 netures are formed, poinis ihai do not cor- 
 fWtlMMwf.* Now, in this first plioenomenon, 
 it Is evident, that the two centres of the 
 reiina are corresponding points. 
 
 2. Supposing the same things as in the 
 last phxenomenon, other objects at the same 
 distance from the eyes as that to which 
 their axes are directed, do also appear 
 sbgle. Thus, if I direct my eyes to a 
 eandle placed at the distance of ten feet, 
 and, while I look at this candle, another 
 ■lands at the same distance from my eyes, 
 within the field of vision, I can, while I 
 look at the first candle, attend to the ap- 
 pearance which tiie ^second malces to the 
 Cfe I and I find that in thiS' case it always 
 appeam single. It is here to be observed, 
 iiat the pictures of the second candle do 
 not fall upon the centres of the rethnBy but 
 they both fall upon the same side of the 
 eentres — that is, both to the right, or both 
 til the left ; and both arp at the same dis- 
 tance from the centres. This might easily 
 be demonstrated from the principles of 
 nptics. Hence it appears, that in thk 
 eeeond phimomienon of single vision, the 
 corresponding points are points of the two 
 mihm, which ace simikrly situate with 
 .napect' to' 'the two eeBtie% being both upon 
 'the 'sane 'iide of the centre^ and at the same 
 distance from it. It appears likewise, from 
 Ulis phfenomenon, that every point in one 
 ffvUiis isoiies|M»,df|. with that which is simi- 
 larly sitiiate in the other. 
 
 • It !• to be noticed that Reld mm the tennt, cor. 
 
 fUMWitf itf' foiMl'f 'in a .leiMe Ofipotlre to that of 
 Mllil. 'MM MMat 0|itka] wrltcm. 'i Uifj u«e it ana/omt. 
 «i%,IliflffW*»fi««i%. Two points are anatomi- 
 •lif coffffffondeiil, when on opposite tide* or the 
 iMXiy thet Wfenllv hold the tame relation to (he 
 MBtre. J. Bluelleri and other rrcent phjM<iioiii«t<<. 
 ■■■lil'Oy thcfe terms in the taiM rilgnificaiion tu Keid 
 An •tftiaieiita pritwt hm been employed as<->iniit 
 'M donrlm here niatntalneil, on the Krounu' that 
 Hie congfimt 'polnti in 'llw 'Offoilte,. eyea ar« iiot 
 amtoni'leallf fMrnspomiliig pOlBii.— M, 
 
 S. Supposmg still the same things, ob- 
 jects which are much nearer to the eyes, or 
 much more distant from them, than that 
 to which the two eyes are directed, appear 
 double. Thus, if the candle is placed at 
 the distance of ten feet, and 1 hold my finger 
 at arms-length between my eyes and the can- 
 dle— when I look at the candle, I see my fin- 
 ger double ; and when 1 look at my finger, 
 1 see the candle double ; and the same thing 
 happens with regard to all other objects at 
 like distances which fall within the sphere 
 of vision. In this phcenomcnon, it is evi- 
 dent to those who miderstaud the prin- 
 ciples of optics, that the pictures of the ob- 
 jects which are seen double, do not fall upon 
 points of the retities which are similarly sit- 
 uate, but tliat the pictures of the objects 
 seen single do fall upon points similarly 
 situate. Whence we infer, that, as the points 
 of the two retina, which are similarly situate 
 with regard to the centres, do correspond, 
 so those which are dissimilarly situate do 
 not correspond. 
 
 4. It is to be observed, that, although, in 
 such cases as are mentioned in the hist 
 phfenomenon, we have been accustomed 
 from infancy to see objects double which 
 we know to be single j yet custom, and ex- 
 perience of the unity of the object, never 
 take away this appearance of duplicity. 
 
 b. It may, however, be remarked that 
 the custom of attending to visible appear- 
 ances has a considerable effect, and makes 
 the phsenomenon of double vision to be more 
 or less observed and remembered. Thus 
 you may find a man that can say, with a 
 good conscience, that he never saw things 
 double all his life ; yet this very man, put 
 in the situation above mentioned, with his 
 finger between him and the candle, and de- 
 sired to attend to the appearance of the 
 object which he does not look at, will, upon 
 the first trial, see the candle double, when 
 he looks at his finger ; and his finger double, 
 when he looks at the candle. Does he now 
 see otherwise than he saw before ? No, 
 surely; but he now attends to what he 
 never attended to before. The same double 
 appearance of an object hath been a thou- 
 sand times presented to his eye before now, 
 but he did not attend to it ; and so it is as 
 little an object of his reflection and memory, 
 as if it had never happened. 
 
 When we look at an object, the circum- 
 jacent objects may be seen at the same 
 time, although more obsciurely and indis- 
 tinctly: for the eye hath a considerable 
 field of vision, which it takes in at once. 
 But we attend only to the object we look at. 
 The other objects which fall within the field 
 of vision, are not attended to ; and therefore 
 are as if they were not seen. If any of 
 them draws our attention, it naturally draws 
 the eyes at the same time : for, in the com- 
 
 mon course of life, the eyes always follow 
 the attention : or if at any time, in a revery, 
 they are separated from it, we hardly at 
 that time see what is directly before us. 
 Hence we may see the reason why the man 
 we are speaking of thinks that he never 
 before saw an object double. When he 
 looks at any object, he sees it single, and 
 takes no notice of other visible objects at 
 that time, whether they appear siugle or 
 double. If any of them draws his attention, 
 it draws his eyes at the same time ; and, as 
 soon as the eyes are turned towards it, it 
 appears single. But, in order to see things 
 double— at least, in order to have any reflec- 
 tion or remembrance that he did so — it is 
 necessary that he should look at one object, 
 and at the same time attend to the faint 
 appearance of other objects which are within 
 the field of vision. This is a practice which 
 perhaps he never used, nor attempted ; and 
 therefore he does not recollect that ever he 
 saw an object double. But when he is put 
 upon giving this attention, he immediately 
 aces objects double, in the same manner, and 
 with the very same circumstances, as they 
 who have been accustomed, for the greatest 
 part of their lives, to give this attention. 
 
 There are many phaenomena of a similar 
 natiu«, which shew that the mind may not 
 attend to, and thereby, in some sort, not 
 perceive objects that strike the senses. I 
 had occasion to mention several instances 
 of this in the second chapter; and 1 have 
 been assured, by persons of the best skill hi 
 music, that, in hearing a tune upon tlie 
 . harpsichord, when they give attention to 
 I the treble, they do not hear the bass ; and 
 when they attend to the bass, they do not 
 perceive the air of the treble. Some per- 
 sons are so near-sighted, that, in reading, 
 they hold the book to one eye, while the 
 other is directed to other objects. Such 
 persons acquire the habit of attending, in 
 this case, to the objects of one eye, while 
 they give no attention to those of the other. 
 
 6. It is observable, that, in all cases 
 wherein we see an object double, the two 
 appearances have a certain position with 
 regard to one another, and a certain appar- 
 ent or angular distance. This apparent 
 distance is greater or less in difierent cir- ^ 
 cumstances ; but, in the same circumstances, 
 it is always the same, not only to the same, 
 but to difierent persons. 
 
 Thus, in the experiment above mentioned, 
 if twenty different persons, who see perfectly 
 with both eyes, shall place their finger and 
 the candle at the distances above expressed, 
 and hold their heads upright, looking at the 
 finger, they will see two candles, one on the 
 right, another on the left. That which is 
 seen on the right, is seen by the right eye, 
 and that which is seen on the left, by the 
 left eye j and tliey will see them at the wiiue 
 
 apparent distance from each other. If, 
 again, they look at the candle, they will 
 see two fingers, one on the right, and the 
 other on the left ; and all will see them at 
 the same apparent distance; the finger 
 towards the left being seen by the right eye, 
 and the other by the left. If the head is 
 laid horizontally to one side, other circum- 
 stances remaining the same, one appearance 
 of the object seen double, will be directly 
 above the other. In a word, vary the cir- 
 cumstances as you please, and the appear- 
 ances are varied to all the spectators in one 
 and the same manner. 
 
 7. Having made many experiments in 
 order to ascertain the apparent distance of 
 the two appearances of an object seen double, 
 I have found that in all cases this apparent 
 distance is proportioned to the distance be- 
 tween the point of the refina, where the 
 picture is made in one eye, and the point 
 which is situated similarly to that on which 
 the picture is made on the other eye; so 
 that, as the apparent distance of two objects 
 seen with one eye, is proportioned to the 
 arch of the retina, which lies between their 
 pictures, in like manner, when an object is 
 seen double with the two eyes, the apparent 
 distance of the two appearances is propor- 
 tioned to the arch of either retina, which 
 lies between the picture in that retina, and 
 the point corresponding to that of the pic- 
 ture ill the other retina. 
 
 8. As, in certain circumstances, we in- 
 variably see one object appear double, so, 
 in others, we as invariably see two objects 
 unite into one, and, in appearance, lose 
 their duplicity. This is evident in the ap- 
 pearance of the binocular telescope. And 
 the same thing happens when any two simi- 
 lar tubes are applied to the two eyes in a 
 parallel direction ; for, in this case, we see 
 only one tube. And if two shillings are 
 placed at the extremities of the two tubes, 
 one exactly in the axis of one eye, and the 
 other in the axis of the other eye, we shall 
 see but one shilling. If two pieces of coin, 
 or other bodit-S, of different colour, and of 
 difierent figure, be properly placed in the 
 two axes of the eyes, and at the extremi- 
 ties of the tubes, we shall see both the 
 bodies in one and the same place, each as 
 it were spread over the other, without hid- 
 ing it ; and the colour will be that which is 
 compounded of the two colours.* 
 
 • This last statement is incorrect ; it misrepresents. 
 if it docs not reverse, the observation of Du 1 our. 
 But, though Reid's assertion be inaccurate, tl.ere is 
 great difference (proba ly Irora the different co sti. 
 tution of their organs') in the pba'iiomeno , as re- 
 ported by various observers. None, seemingly, 
 (the reverse ot what Held f-a>s,) in looking, e.g., 
 with one eye through a blue, and with t' e other 
 through a yellow glass, experience a comple. 
 meiitary sensation of green. But some see both 
 colours at once; some only one colour— a colour, 
 however, wh ch coirespoiuls neither to yellow nor to 
 blue, and, at the same tiine, is r.ot giecn. In ir.y 
 
 / 
 
/ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 i. Fipon iiiMo pimioroeiia, and from all 
 
 '^e tiUi I 'iftve been able to make, ifc ap- 
 fears evMently, that, in peiiBet hmnan eyes, 
 the eentres of the two retinm oorreflpoiid and 
 iannoniBe wth one another, and that every 
 other point in one rvCtim doth correspond 
 and. hamnmijEe with the point which is 
 '■imiailyriitiiate in the other ; in such man- 
 iwr, that pietures falling on the corre- 
 ■Mndiiur points of the two ffliiuv, shew 
 ^S^^^ even when then are leally 
 tiMf aoi pietures falling upon points of 
 the tftinm which do not correspond, shew 
 ma two visihle appearances, although there 
 Iw Iml Me object : ao that pictures, upon 
 'foittRMiiKling points of the two reHnm, pre- 
 sent the same appearance to the mind as 
 illl^y had both laien upon the same point 
 of on* w^m I ani. piiotures. upon points of 
 the tini firfifitf, wbieh do^ not correspond, 
 'iHtMBt to the 'mind ttae same annarent 
 ^iiilanee and. position of two objeets, aa if' 
 one of 'those ;pi0lures was carried to tlP' 
 point corresponding to it in the other T§tkmu 
 This rehition .and sympathy bet^ween oor- 
 'mponding points of the two r»lifi.«, I do 
 not advance as an hypothesis, but as a 
 feneral ImI m fhwumietton. of vision. All 
 IImi 'phswiBMni: befire mentioned, of single 
 m dfmye visioUi. lead to it, and are ne«es- 
 iiinr' oonaequenoefl' of it It holds true in- 
 'vanaUy in all 'perfect buman eyes, as far 
 ■a I am able to eoUeet from innumerable 
 tciab of various kinds m.ade upon my own 
 eyes, and many made by others at my de- 
 ■L. Most of the hypotheses tliat have 
 btiii mntrived to resolve the phsenomena 
 iif' liiigle and double vision, suppose this 
 .fenanu fiiet, while their authors were not 
 aware of it Sir Isaac Newton, who was 
 too iudieious a philosopher, and too accu- 
 liHii an. observer, to tevo' offered even a 
 
 l|iiii|gjtf|i|l 'Vf llliilll ilioi Vlllib ' Iblfcl ilMf '''flflitll fill A YftJIIlftil 
 
 that bad iUlen under his observation, pro- 
 Mast % fnety with res:pect to the cause of 
 
 it—*' O'pwss,** duery. Id. The judicioiis 
 MW ilBiitli* m Us **' ^tlptles,* ISooK l, s Itl/i 
 lialh mnnrmed tiie tru.th of th.is general 
 pbanomenon from his own experience, not 
 only aa^tO' 'theaparent unity of objeets 
 'wlmae fiftiiMi' Hill. 'Upon, the 'Oorresponding 
 'foinia <if ' Urn w^mm^ but .alao aa to the ap- 
 parent diatanee of the two appearances of 
 the same object when seen double.* 
 
 4Mni tfe, I can Me eitiinr of theie phsoomeim. 
 
 r certain conditions, at will. Johannes Mueller, 
 Weber, VoUunann, and Heefinann. arc the mcict 
 recent obiervefa. 1 may aim aottce, that the 
 
 congniaMW lietween the cormpondinB points (in 
 
 lei^a Moart) el tlie two rGtlov, i admitted for the 
 ■emiilioa dtjbmre, but not for the aeniattons of 
 
 iuif sad. mkm. —n. 
 
 ^ .11 .ailglit lie nriiper here Hi aaj aometldng ot the 
 'lllistllBietf Or Writo <Ni. IMd% doctrine of tioslt 
 fWmii but, as Hit laallir ia. after all. of no hiRh 
 atyciiiiiiHical..inHi«llie% while the whole theory of 
 IM' :iMB ef Hit Btropter ia. in oonacq.u«nce of 
 
 This general phsenomenon appears, there* 
 fore, to be founded upon a very full indue* 
 tion, which is all the evidence we can have 
 for a fact of this nature. Before we make 
 an end of this subject, it will be proper to 
 inquire, First, Whether those animals wh<ise 
 eyes have an adverse position iu their heads, 
 and look contrary ways, have such corre* 
 sponding points in their retina: f Secondly, 
 What is the position of the corresponding 
 points in imperfect human eyes— I mean in 
 those that squint ? And, in the last plac^ 
 Whether this harmony of the correspond* 
 ing points in the retinoff be natural and 
 original, or the effect of custom ? And, if 
 it is original. Whether it can be accounted 
 for by any of the laws of nature already 
 discovered? or whether it is itself to be 
 looked upon as a law of nature, and a part 
 ofthehikanconstitntion? "^ 
 
 SeeHm XiV, 
 
 OP TBB LAWS OP VISION IN BEITTB INIMALS. 
 
 It is the intention of nature,in giving eyes 
 to animals, that they may perceive the 
 situation of visible objects, or the direction 
 in which they are placed— it is probable, 
 therefore, that, in ordinary cases, every 
 animal, whether it has many eyes or few, 
 whether of one structure or of another, sees 
 objeets single, and in their true and proper 
 direction. And, since there is a prodigious 
 variety in the structure, the motions, and 
 the number of eyes in different animals and 
 insects, it is probable tliat the laws by 
 which vision is regulated, are not the same 
 in all, but various, adapted to the eyes which 
 nature hath given them. 
 
 Mankind naturally turn their eyes al- 
 ways the same way, so that the axes of the 
 two eyes meet in one point. They natur- 
 ally attend to, or look at that object only 
 which is placed in the point where the axes 
 meet. And whether the object be more or 
 less distant, the configuration of the eye ia 
 adapted to the distance of the object, so as 
 to form a distinct picture of it. 
 
 When we use our eyes in this natural 
 way, the two pictures of the object we look 
 at are formed upon the centres of the two 
 rttbim f and the two pictures of any con- 
 tiguous object are formed upon the points 
 of the retinm which are similarly situate 
 with regard to the centres. Therefore, in 
 order to our seeing objects single, and in 
 their proper direction, with two eyes, it is 
 
 only r«>fer the reader who ia curious in such points, 
 to the following recent publications :^J. Mueller* 
 '• Zur Vergleichemlen Physiologie de Oetichusin. 
 nes," &r., law.— Volkmann, " Neue Beytraege aur 
 Physiologie des GesichUsinnes," lN3f>.— Hecrmann, 
 '< Ueber die Bildung dcr GesichtsvonteUungen/' He, 
 laSb-H. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 sufieient that we be so constituted, that 
 objects whose pictures are formed upon 
 the centres of the two relinm, or upon 
 points similarly situate with regard to these 
 centres, shall be seen iu the same visi- 
 ble place. And this is the constitution 
 which nature hath actually given to human 
 eyes. 
 
 When we distort our eyes from then: 
 parallel direction, which is an unnatural 
 motion, but may be leanied by practice ; or 
 when we direct the axes of the two eyes to 
 one point, and at the same time direct our 
 attention to some visible object much nearer 
 or much more distant than that point, which 
 is also unnatural, ^et may be learned : iu 
 these cases, and in these only, we see one 
 object double, or two objects confounded in 
 one. In these cases, the two pictures of 
 the same object are formed upon points of 
 the retina which are not similarly situate, 
 and so the object is seen double ; or the 
 two pictures of different objeets are formed 
 upon points of the retinee which are simi- 
 hixXy situate, and so the two objects are 
 seen confounded in one place. 
 
 Thus it appears, that the laws of vision 
 in the human constitution are wisely adapted 
 to the natural use of human eyes, but not 
 to that use of them which is unnatural. We 
 see objects truly when we use our eyes in 
 the natural way ; but have false appearances 
 presented to us when we use them in a way 
 that is unnatuTctl. We may reasonably 
 think that the case is the same with other 
 animals. But is it not unreasonable to 
 think, that those animals which naturally 
 turn one eye towards one object, and another 
 eye towards another object, must thereby 
 have such false appearances presented to 
 them, as we have when we do so against 
 nature ? 
 
 Many animals have their eyes by nature 
 placed adverse and immoveable, the axes 
 of the two eyes being always directed to 
 opposite points. Do objects painted on the 
 centres of the two retinee appear to such 
 animals as they do to human eyes, in one 
 and the same visible place ? I think it is 
 highly probable that they do not ; and that 
 they appear, as they really are, in opposite 
 places. 
 
 If we judge from analogy m this case, 
 it will lead us to think that there is a certain 
 correspondence between points of the two 
 retincB in such animals, but of a different 
 kind from that which we have found in 
 human eyes. The centre of one retina will 
 correspond with the centre of the other, 
 in such manner that the objects whose 
 pictures are formed upon these correspond- 
 ing points, shall ap)iear not to be in the 
 same place, as in human eyes, but in op- 
 posite places. And in the same manner 
 will the superior part of one retina corre- 
 
 spond with the inferior part of the other, 
 and the anterior part of one with the pos- 
 terior part of the other. 
 
 Some animals, by nature, turn their eyes 
 with equal facility, either the same way or 
 different ways, as we turn our hands and 
 arms. Have such animals corresponding 
 points in their retiruB, and points which do 
 not correspond, as the human kind has ? 
 I think it is probable that they have not ; 
 because such a constitution in them could 
 serve no other purpose but to exhibit false 
 appearances. 
 
 If we judge from analogy, it will lead us 
 to think, that, as such animals move their 
 eyes in a manner similar to that in which 
 we move our arms, they have an immediate 
 and natural perception of the direction they 
 give to their eyes, as we have of the direc- 
 tion we give to our arms ; and perceive the 
 situation of visible objects by their eyes, in 
 a manner similar to that in which we per- 
 ceive the situation of tangible objects with 
 our hands. 
 
 We cannot teach brute animals to use 
 their eyes in any other way than in that 
 which nature hath taught them ; nor can 
 we teach them to communicate to us the 
 appearances which visible objects make to 
 them, either in ordinary or in extraordinary 
 cases. We have not, therefore, the same 
 means of discovering the laws of vision in 
 them, as in our own kind, but must satisfy 
 ourselves with probable conjectures ; and 
 what we have said upon this subject, is 
 chiefly intended to shew, that animals to 
 which nature hath given eyes differing in 
 their number, in their position, and in 
 theu" natural motions, may very probably 
 be subjected to different laws of vision, 
 adapted to the peculiarities of their organs 
 of vision. 
 
 Seetian XV. 
 
 SQUINTING CONSIDERED HYPOTHBTICALLV. 
 
 Whether there be corresponding points 
 in the retina of those who have an invo- 
 luntary squint ? and, if there are, Whether 
 they be situate in the same manner as iu 
 those who have no squint ? are not ques- 
 tions of oiere curiosity. They are of real 
 importance to the physician who attempts 
 the cure of a squint, and to the patient who 
 submits to the cure. After so much has 
 been said of the stratfismusy or squint, both 
 by medical and by optical writers, one might 
 expect to find abundance of facts for deter- 
 mining these questions. Yet, I coufpss, I 
 have been disappointed in this expectation, 
 after taking some pains both to make ob- 
 servations, and to collect those which have 
 been oiade by others. 
 
f 
 
 108 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 Nor win iliit appetr very strange, if we 
 
 •onniier, ilial to make tie olieervatioBS 
 wliinli aie iieoewary tm detafiiiiiing tliese 
 fneitbiis, knowledge of tie frinciples of 
 optics, and of the laws of vieion, must 
 concur with opportunities rarely to be met 
 
 with. 
 
 Of those who squint, the fiir greater 
 MVi have no distinct vision with one eye.* 
 WliMi 1Mb 18 tlM CM% it is impossible, 
 'tad indeed of' no importMieey to determine 
 the situation of the oofrespondiiig points. 
 When both eyea are good, they commonly 
 diibr so mneh in theur divection, that the 
 .wuMi olyeet canwil be aeon, by both at the 
 IMIM tino ; and, in 'thb caae,. it will be 
 wmw diilonit to detormine the .situation 
 of we eorresponding points ; for such per- 
 ■ons will probably attend only to the ob- 
 jects of one eye, and the objects of the other 
 will be as little regarded as if they were not 
 
 We ha¥e beion obsenred, that, when we 
 ink St' a near object, and attend to it, we 
 do not Borceiire the double appearances of 
 more mstant objects, even wnen they are 
 in the same direction, and are presented 
 to the iiye at tie same time. It is probable 
 that a squinting person, when he attends to 
 the objects of one eye, will, m like manner, 
 have his attention totally diverted from the 
 objects of the other ; and that he will per- 
 m&m thorn aa little as we perceive the 
 doable appearances of objects when we use 
 onr eyes in the natural way. Such a per- 
 son, ^erefore, unless he is so much a phi- 
 iMopher as to have anqnifed the habit of 
 aHending very accurately to tie visible ap- 
 'pearaneea of objects, .and even of objects 
 which he does not look at, will not be able 
 to give any light to the questions now under 
 eomi^tan^Kn. 
 
 II :ia 'venr probable that 'iano, rabbits, 
 1iisi%: iind. iiio% 'Wiose eyes are fixed in 
 an advone position, have the natural fii- 
 «alty of attending' at tie Mae time to vi- 
 ■Ue objeets placed in different, and even 
 ill contrary directions i because, without 
 tiis Ikcolty, they could not have those ad- 
 vantages from the contrary direction of 
 tisir ^yesy which nature seems^ to have in- 
 tonded* Bni it is not probable that those 
 who squint have any such natural faculty ; 
 'bwanse we find no such iMilty in the rest 
 of iw' species. We natnraiy attend to ob- 
 Joeta' piaiied in thc' point wion the axes of 
 tie two eyes meet, and to them only. To 
 give attention to an object in a different di- 
 rection is unnatural, and not to be learned 
 ifitioiit pains and practice. 
 
 « On lilil ImperTection of vitloii i« rested the 
 
 Ibswry if tainting, propoted by Bufliio, and now 
 fenenilf aiiflSiL 'rhe defective eje is turned wide, 
 beemutt I' * w«te directed to the object, together 
 ivitiitlieiiftflct one, • confuted tnprmion would 
 
 IW' piewiCfd*""H* 
 
 A very convindng proof of this may bo 
 drawn from a fact now well known to phi< 
 losophers : when one eye is shut, there is 
 a certain space within the field of vision, 
 where we can see nothing at all — the space 
 which is directly opposed to that part of the 
 bottom of the eye where the optic nerve 
 enters. This defect of sight, in one part 
 of the eye, is common to all human eyes, 
 and hath been so from the beginning of the 
 world ; yet it was never known, until the 
 sagacity of the Abb€ Mariotte discovered 
 it in the last century. And now when it is 
 known, it cannot be perceived, but by means 
 of some particular experiments, which re-, 
 quire care and attention to make them 
 succeed. 
 
 What is the reason that so remarkable 
 a defect of sight, common to all mankind, 
 was so long unknown, and is now perceived 
 with so much difficulty ? It is surely this — 
 That the defect is at some distance from 
 the axis of the eye, and consequently in a 
 part of the field of vision to which we never 
 attend naturally, and to which we cannot 
 attend at all, without the aid of some par- 
 ticukr circumstances. 
 
 From what we have said, it appear^ 
 that, to determine the situation of the cor- 
 responding points in the eyes of those who 
 squint, is impossible, if they do not see dis- 
 tinctly with both eyes ; and that it will be 
 very difficult, unless the two eyes differ so 
 little in their direction, that the same object 
 may be seen with both at the same time. 
 Such patients I apprehend are rare; at 
 least there are very few of them with whom 
 I have had the fortune to meet i and there- 
 fore, for the assistance of those who may 
 have happier opportunities, and inclination 
 to make the proper use of them, we shall con- 
 sider the case of squinting, hypothetically, 
 pointing out the proper articles of inquiry, 
 the observations that are wanted, and the 
 conclusions that may be drawn from them. 
 
 1. It ought to be inquired, Whether the 
 squinting person sees equally well with 
 both eyes ? and, if there be a defect in one, 
 the nature and degree of that defect ought 
 to be remarked. The experiments by which 
 this may be done, are so obvious, that I 
 need not mention them. But I would ad- 
 vise the observer to make the proper ex- 
 periments, and not to rely upon the testi- 
 mony of the patient ; because I have found 
 many instances, both of persona that squint- 
 ed, and others who were found, upon trial, 
 to have a great defect in the sight of one 
 eye, although they were never aware of it 
 before. In all the following articles, it is 
 supposed that the patient sees with both 
 eyes so well as to be able to read with 
 either, when the other is covered. 
 
 2. It ought to be inquired. Whether, 
 When one eye is covered, thc other is turned 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 169 
 
 directly to the object ? This ought to be 
 tried in both eyes successively. By this 
 observation, as a touchstone, we may try 
 the hypothesis concerning squinting, in- 
 vented by M. de la Hire, and adopted by 
 Boerhaave, and many others of the medical 
 
 faculty. 
 
 The hypothesis is. That, m one eye of 
 a squmting person, the greatest sensibility 
 and the most distmct vision is not, aa in 
 other men, m the centre of the retina, but 
 upon one side of the centre ; and that he 
 turns the axis of this eye aside from the 
 object, in order that the picture of the object 
 may fall upon the most sensible part of the 
 retina, and thereby give the most distinct 
 vision. If this is the cause of squinting, 
 the squinting eye will be turned aside from 
 the object, when the other eye is covered, 
 as well as when it is not- 
 
 A trial so easy to be made, never was 
 made for more than forty years ; but the 
 hypothesis was very generally received— 
 so prone are men to invent hypotheses, 
 and so backward to examine them by facts. 
 At last, Dr Jurin havmg made the trial, 
 found that persons >ho squint turn the 
 axis of the squinting eye directly to the 
 object, when the other eye is covered. This 
 fact is confirmed by Dr Porterfield ; and I 
 have found it verified in all the instances 
 that have fallen under my observation. 
 
 3. It ought to be inquired. Whether the 
 axes of the two eyes follow one another, eo 
 as to have always the same incUnation, or 
 make the same angle, when the person 
 looks to the right or to the left, upward or 
 downward, or straight forward. By this 
 observation we may judge whether a squint 
 is owing to any defect in the muscles which 
 move the eye, as some have supposed. In 
 the following articles, we suppose tliat the 
 inclmation of the axes of the eyes is found 
 to be always the same. 
 
 4. It ought to be inquired. Whether the 
 person that squints sees an object smgle or 
 
 double ? . , .1. ^1. 
 
 If he sees the object double, and if the 
 two appearances have an angular distance, 
 equal to the angle which the axes of his 
 eyes make with each other, it may be con- 
 cluded that he hath corresponding points in 
 the retina of his eyes, and that they have 
 the same situation as in those who have no 
 squmt. If the two appearances should 
 have an angular distance which is always 
 the same, but manifestly greater or less 
 than the angle contained under the optic 
 axes, this would indicate corresponding 
 points in the retina, whose situation is not 
 the same as in those who have no squint ; 
 but it is difficult to judge accurately of the 
 angle which the optic axes make. 
 
 A squint .too small to be perceived, may 
 occasion double vision of objects : for, if we 
 
 speak strictly, every person squints more 
 or less, whose optic axes do not meet ex- 
 actly in the object which he looks at. Thus, 
 if a man can only bring the axes of his 
 eyes to be parallel, but cannot make them 
 converge in the least, he must have a small 
 squint in looking at near objects, and will 
 see them double, while he sees very distant 
 objects single. Again, if the optic axes 
 always converge, so as to meet eight or ten 
 feet before the face at farthest, such a per- 
 son will see near objects single ; but when 
 he looks at very distant objects, he will 
 squint a little, and see them double. 
 
 An instance of this kind is related by 
 Aguilonius m his »* Optics," who says, that 
 he had seen a young man to whom near 
 objects appeared single, but distant objects 
 appeared double. 
 
 Dr Briggs, in his " Nova Visionis Theo- 
 ria,'* having collected from authors several 
 instances of double vision, quotes this from 
 Aguilonius, as the most wonderful and un- 
 accountable of all, insomuch that he sus- 
 pects some imposition on the part of the 
 young man : but to those who understand 
 the laws by which single and double vision 
 are regulated, it appears to be the natural 
 effect of a very small squint.* 
 
 Double vision may always be owing to a 
 small squint, when the two appearances 
 are seen at a small angular distance, 
 although no squint was observed : and I do 
 not remember any instances of double 
 vision recorded by authors, wherein any 
 account is given of the angular distance of 
 the appearances. 
 
 In almost all the instances of double 
 vision, there is reason to suspect a squint 
 or distortion of the eyes, from the concomi- 
 tant circumstances, which we find to be 
 one or other of the following— the approach 
 of death or of a deliquium, excessive drink- 
 ing or other intemperance, violent headache, 
 blistering the head, smoking tobacco, blows 
 or wounds m the head. In all these cases, 
 it is reasonable to suspect a distortion of 
 the eyes, either from spasm, or paralysis in 
 the muscles that move them. But, although 
 it be probable that there is always a squmt 
 greater or less where there is double vision, 
 yet it is certain that there is not double 
 vision always where there is a squint. I 
 know no instance of double vision that con- 
 tinued for life, or even for a great number of 
 years. We shall therefore suppose, in the 
 following articles, that the squinting person 
 sees objects single. 
 
 5. The next inquiry, then, ought to be. 
 Whether the object is seen with both eyes 
 at the same time, or only with the eye 
 
 • It is observed by Purkinje and Volkroann, that 
 short-sighted persons, under certain conditions, see 
 distant objects double. Is the case of Aguilonnw 
 more than an example of this ? - H. 
 
170 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND, 
 
 wlMMsaiiik directed to It? It liaih been. 
 taikm. §m gnmtod, % «li« writers upoii. the 
 ifnaAiaintif , before Dr Jurin, tliat thoee who 
 ■quint emmiioiily see objects single with 
 both, ejm at. the same time i but I know 
 ml mm ilflt advaaeed by anj writer which 
 pidfea It. Br Jurin is of a contrary opi- 
 'nlm.} aod, as. it is. of conaequencey so .it is 
 wy eiif I tH' 'detsmiiMi' this point, in psrti- 
 eokr instaaees, by this obvious experiment 
 While the person that squints looks steadily 
 at an objeet, let the oluerver carefully le- 
 nqpHHSMi '■iiw iiiiiiiiiiVw'iMpypi^ m uMyiifiiji. ujui ©yciSi] flLUd 
 
 obaerve their 'inolifins i .and let an opaque 
 body be iniiff|Wiei betwaMi.. tlie' object and 
 lie two eyes successively. If the patient, 
 mtwi thstii i di i pp /tlils iuterposition, and wlth- 
 mI: nia ng i ng the direction of his eyes, con- 
 tiaiies to see the object all the time, it may 
 he eonduded that be saw it with both eyes 
 at once. But, if the interposition of the 
 bod^ between one eye and tfo object makes 
 it dkappear, then we may be oertain that it 
 was seen by that eye only. In the two 
 following articles, we shall suppose the first 
 to ha|viMi% according to the common hypo- 
 
 fi. Upon this sopfosilion. It ought to be 
 
 inquired, Whether the patient sees an ob- 
 ject double in those circumstances wherein 
 It appears double to them who have no 
 
 aquint? Let him, for instance, place a 
 
 oandle at the distance of ten feet i and 
 holding his finger at armVIength between 
 him and the candle, let him observe, when 
 
 he kioks at the eandl% whether he sees his 
 finger with both eyes, and whether he sees 
 it single or double ; and when he looks at 
 his finger, let him observe whether he sees 
 tha candfe with both eyes, and whether 
 aiiMia w double. 
 
 By tbia observation, it may be deter- 
 mined, whether to this patient, the phteno- 
 mena of double as well aa ^of smgle vision 
 an the same as to them who have no squint 
 .If tb^'.afe not the same— if he sees objects 
 :iinglo with two eyes, not only in the eases 
 wherein they appear single, but in those 
 also wherein they appear double to other 
 men^tho inclusion te' be diawn ;iiom this 
 Buppcaltlon is, that his single vision does not 
 arise from corresponding points in the re- 
 tmm of his eyes i and that the laws of vision 
 ^are not the same in Mm. aa< in the rest of 
 ^mankind. 
 
 7* Iff on the other hand, he sees objects 
 .double. In those cases wherein they appear 
 dnuble to others, 'the concl:Usion must be, 
 'that hC' hath correspon^ding points in the 
 'fftflfiMr of his eyes,, but 'Ui.natunilly situate. 
 Jjld their situation may he thus determined. 
 
 When he looks at an object, havmg the 
 :axii. of one eye directed to 'it,, .aod^ tha asia 
 cf ' 'tha 'Oiiflr 'turned aside from It,, let m 
 ■uppoee a right line to pass from the object 
 
 through the centre of the diverging eya. 
 We shall, for the sake of perspicuity, call 
 this right line, lAs natural axis of the eyei 
 and it will make an angle with the real 
 axis, greater or less, according as his squint 
 is greater or less. We shall also call that 
 point of the retina in which the natural 
 axis cuts it, tk» natural eeture qf the retina { 
 which will be more or less distant from the 
 real centre, according as the squint is 
 greater or less. 
 
 Having premised these definitions, it will 
 be evident to those who understand the 
 principles of optics, that in this person tlie 
 natural centre of one retina corresponds 
 with the real centre of the other, in the 
 very same manner as the two real centres 
 correspond^ in perfect eyes; and that the 
 points similarly situate with regard to the 
 real centre in one rettnay and the natural 
 oentre in the other, do likewise correspond, 
 in the very same manner as the points si* 
 milarly situate with regard to the two real 
 centres correspond in perfect eyes. 
 
 If it is true, as has been commonly af- 
 firmed, that one who squints sees an object 
 with both eyes at the same time, and yet 
 sees it single, the squint will most probably 
 be such as we have described in tliis article. 
 And we may further conclude, that, if a 
 person affected with such a squint as we 
 tiave supposed, could be brought to the 
 habit of looking straight, his sight would 
 thereby be greatly hurt; for he would 
 then see everything double which he saw 
 with both eyes at the same time ; and ob- 
 jects distant from one another would appear 
 to be confounded together. His eyes are 
 made for squinting, as much as those of 
 other men are made for looking straight; 
 and his sight would be no less injured by 
 looking straight, than that of another man 
 by squinting. He can never see perfectly 
 when he does not squint, unless the corre- 
 sponding points of his eyes should by custom 
 change their place ; but how small the pro- 
 bability of this is will appear in the 17th 
 section. 
 
 Those of the medical faculty who attempt 
 the cure of a squint, would do well to con- 
 sider whether it is attended with such symp- 
 toms as are above described. If it is, the 
 cure would be worse tlian the maktdy: for, 
 every one will readily acknowledge that it 
 is better to put up with the deformity of a 
 squint, than to purchase the cure by the 
 loss of perfect and distinct vision. 
 
 8. We shall now return to Dr Jurin*s 
 hypothesis, and suppose that our patient, 
 when he saw objects single notwithstanding 
 his squint, was found, upon trial, to have 
 seen them only with one eye. 
 
 We would advise such a patient to en- 
 deavour, by repeated efforts, to lessen his 
 squint, and to bring the axes of his eyes 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 171 
 
 ^ 
 
 to a parallel direction. We have 
 naturally the power of making small varia- 
 tions in the inclination of the ojitic axes ; 
 and this power may be greatly increased by 
 exercise. 
 
 In the ordinary and natural use of our 
 ayes, we can direct their axes to a fixed 
 atar ; in this case they must be parallel : 
 we can direct them also to an object six 
 inches distant from the eye; and in thb 
 ease the axes must make an angle of fif- 
 teen or twenty degrees. We see young 
 people in their frolics learn to squint, mak- 
 ing their eyes either converge or diverge, 
 when they will, to a very considerable de- 
 gree. Why should it be more difficult for 
 a squinting person to learn to look straight 
 when he pleases ? If once, by an effort of 
 his will, he can but lessen his squint, fre- 
 quent practice will make it easy to lessen 
 it, and will daily increase his power. So 
 that, if he begins this practice iu youth, and 
 perseveres in it, he may probably, after 
 some time, learn to direct both his eyes to 
 one object. 
 
 When he hath acquired this power, it 
 will be no difficult matter to determine, by 
 proper observations, whether the centres of 
 the retin^y and other points similarly situate 
 with regard to the centres, correspond, as 
 in other men. 
 
 9. Let us now suppose that he finds this 
 to be the case ; and that he sees an object 
 single with both eyes, when the axes of 
 both are directed to it. It will then concern 
 him to acquire the habit of looking straight, 
 as he hath got the jwwer, because he will 
 thereby not only remove a deformity, but 
 improve his sight ; and I conceive this ha- 
 bit, like all others, may be got by frequent 
 exercise. He may |tractise before a mirror 
 when alone, and m company he ought to have 
 those about him who will observe and ad- 
 monish him when he squints. 
 
 10. What is supposed in the 9th article 
 Is not merely imaginary ; it is really the 
 case of some squinting persons, as will 
 appear in the next section. Therefore, it 
 ought further to be inquired, How it comes 
 to pass that such a person sees an object 
 which he looks at, only with one eye, when 
 both are open ? In order to answer this 
 question, it may be observed, first. Whether, 
 when he looks at an object, the diverging 
 eye is not drai^Ti so close to the nose, that it 
 can have no distinct images ? Or, secondly, 
 whether the pupil of the diverging eye is not 
 covered wholly, or in part, by the upper eye- 
 lid ? Dr Jurin observed instances of these 
 cases in persons that squinted, and assigns 
 them as causes of their seeing the object 
 only with one eye. Thirdly, it may be 
 observed, whether the diverging eye is not 
 so directed, that the picture of the object 
 falls upon that part of the retina ^here the 
 
 optic nerve enters, and where there is no 
 vision ? This will probably happen in a 
 squint wherein the axes of the eyes converge 
 so as to meet about six inches before tho 
 nose. 
 
 11. In the last place, it ought to be 
 inquired. Whether such a person hath any 
 distinct vision at all with the diverging 
 e}'e, at the time he is looking at an object 
 with the other ? 
 
 It may seem very improbable that he 
 should be able to read with the diverging 
 eye when the other is covered, and yet, when 
 both are open, have no distinct vision with 
 it at all. But this, perhaps, will not appear 
 so improbable if the following considerations 
 are duly attended to. 
 
 Let us suppose that one who saw per- 
 fectly, gets, by a blow on the head, or some 
 other accident, a permanent and involun- 
 tary squint. According to the laws of vi- 
 sion, he will see objects double, and will see 
 objects distant from one another confounded 
 together ; but, such vision being very dis- 
 agreeable, as well as inconvenient, he will 
 do everything in his power to remedy it 
 For alleviating such distresses, nature often 
 teaches men wonderful expedients, which 
 the sagacity of a philosopher would be un- 
 able to discover. Every accidental motion, 
 every direction or conformation of his eyes, 
 which lessens the evil, will be agreeable ; 
 it will be repeated until it be learned to 
 perfection, and become habitual, even with- 
 out thought or design. Now, in this case, 
 what disturbs the sight of one eye is the 
 sight of the other ; and all the disagreeable 
 appearances in vision would cease if the 
 light of one eye was extinct. The sight of 
 one eye will become more distinct and 
 more agreeable, in the same proportion as 
 that of the other becomes faint and in- 
 distinct. It may, therefore, be expected, 
 that every habit will, by degrees, be ac- 
 quired which tends to destroy distinct vi- 
 8i(m in one eye while it is preserved in the 
 other. These habits will be greatly facili- 
 tated if one eye was at first better than the 
 other ; for, in that case, the best eye will 
 always be directed to the object which he 
 intends to look at, and every habit will be 
 acquired which tends to hinder his seeing 
 it at all, or seemg it distinctly by the other 
 at the same time. 
 
 I shall mention one or two habits that 
 may probably be acquired in such a case ; 
 perhaps there are others which we cannot 
 so easily conjecture. First, By a small in- 
 crease or diminution of his squint, he may 
 bruig it to correspond with one or other of 
 the cases mentioned in the last article. 
 Secondly, The diverging eye may be brought 
 to such a conformation as to be e.rtremely 
 short-sighted, and consequently to have no 
 distinct vision of objects at a distance 
 
m 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 knew tiif to be the mm 'Of one peraon tliat 
 ■qninted; but eannot naj whether the 
 ■liertH^Iitednesft of the diverging eye was 
 original, or acquired by habit. 
 
 We ae%. thimleps, thai 'One «iif>tfuinta,. 
 ud orignuly mm objeeti d^ble by reason 
 of that SN|niiitt imy acquire such habits 
 thai, when he looks at an object, he shall 
 •ee It only with one eye ; nay, he may ac- 
 
 3ttbre such habits that, when he looks at an 
 bject with hia best eye, he shall have no 
 dis^ct vision with the other at all. Whether 
 this is really the case— being unable to de- 
 termine in the .instaoees 'Wil have fallen 
 under my^ obsermfien— I shai. hme to fu- 
 ture' inquiry. 
 
 I have endeavoured, in the foregoing 
 '■diilefly to df jjnfin% audb a pmoees as^ ia 
 pEinMr iu. obaertiiig ilie phmnomena of 
 tfiunting. I knew 'well by experience, that 
 this process appears more easy in theory, 
 than it will be found to be in practice ; 
 ^aud tiia% in order to carry it on with success, 
 khm qualifications of mind are necessary 
 in the patient, which are not always to be 
 met with. But, if those who have proper 
 nfiportunities and ineliaatlon to observe 
 mdk phsenomena, attend dnly to thfe pro- 
 cess, they may bC' able to^ furnish facts less 
 V!i^^ and nninstructive than those we meet 
 with, even in authors of reputation. By 
 such facts, vain theories may be exploded, 
 and our knowledge of the laws of nature, 
 
 which regard 
 
 •nlanEed* 
 
 the noblest of our senses. 
 
 &cl»f» JTF/. 
 
 riCTS RlLATlNf} TO SaVINTIlfl]. 
 
 Having considered the phtenomena of 
 ■quinting, hypothetically, and their connec- 
 tion with corresponding points in the rf- 
 
 liiuv. I shall now mention the facts I have 
 oeeaaiou to obaerve myself, or have 
 with in .antliotB, that can, give any light 
 to this subject 
 
 Having examined al^ive twenty persons 
 
 feet in the eight of one eye.^ Wmat only 
 had so much of distinct vision in the weak 
 eye, as to be able to read with it, when the 
 
 mmt was 'Wvered. The rest saw nothing 
 .at al distinicily with one eyew 
 
 Dr Porterfield says, that this is generally 
 the case of people that squint : and I sus- 
 feet it is so more generally than is com- 
 Monly imagined. Br Jurtn, in a very 
 Indieieus liiaertatiou. upon squinting, 
 printed in Dr Smithes " Optics,** observes, 
 that these who squint, and see with both 
 •yes, never see the same object with both 
 at the same time; tliat, when one eye is 
 directed stmight forward, to an object, the 
 
 other is drawn so close to the nose that the 
 object cannot at all be seen by it, the 
 images being too oblique and too indistinct 
 to aSfect the eye. In some squinting per- 
 sons, he observed the diverging eye drawn 
 under the upper eyelid, wliile the other 
 was directed to the object. From these 
 observations, he concludes that " the eye is 
 thus distorted, not for the sake of seeing 
 better with it, but rather to avoid seeing at 
 all with it as much as possible." From all 
 the observations he had made, he was satis- 
 fied that there is nothing peculiar in the 
 structure of a squinting eye ; that the fault 
 is only in its wrong direction; and that 
 this wrong direction is got by habit. There- 
 fore, he proposes that method of cure which 
 we have described in the eighth and ninth 
 articles of the last section. He tells us, 
 that he had attempted a cure, after this 
 method, upon a young gentleman, with 
 promising hopes of succt-ss ; but was in- 
 terrupted by his falling ill of the small- 
 pox, of which he died. 
 
 It were to be wished that Dr Jurin had 
 acquainted us whether he ever brought the 
 young man to direct the axes of both eyes 
 to the same object, and whether, in that 
 case, he saw the object single, and saw it 
 with both eyes ; and that he had likewise 
 acquamted us, whether he saw objects 
 double when his squint was diminished. 
 But as to these facts he is silent. 
 
 I wished long for an opportunity of trying 
 Dr Jurin's method of curing a squint, with- 
 out finding one ; having always, upon ex- 
 amination, discovered so great a defect in 
 the sight of one eye of the patient as dis- 
 couraged the attempt. 
 
 But I have lately found three young 
 gentlemen, with whom I am hopeful this 
 method may have success, if they have 
 patience and perseverance in using it. Two 
 of them are brothers, and, before I had 
 access to examine them, had been practis- 
 ing this method by the direction of their 
 tutor, with such success that the elder looks 
 straight when he is upon his guard : the 
 younger can direct both hb eyes to one 
 object ; but they soon return to their usual 
 squint 
 
 A third young gentleman, who had never 
 heard of this method before, by a few days 
 practice, was able to direct both his eyes to 
 one object, but could not keep them long in 
 that direction. All the three agree in this, 
 that, when both eyes are direct^ to one ob- 
 ject, they see it and the adjacent objects 
 single; but, when they squint, they see 
 objects sometimes single and sometimes 
 double. I observed of all the three, that 
 when they squinted most — that is, m the 
 way they had been accustomed to — the axes 
 of their eyes converged so as to meet five 
 or six inches before the nose. It is pro- 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 173 
 
 bable that, in this case, the picture of the 
 object in the diverging eye, must fall upon 
 that part of the retina where the optic 
 nerve enters; and, therefore, the object 
 could not be seen by that eye. 
 
 All the three have some defect in the 
 flight of one eye, which none of them knew 
 until I put them upon making trials ; and 
 when they squint, the best eye is always 
 directed to the object, and the weak eye is 
 that which diverges from it. But when the 
 best eye is covered, the weak eye is turned 
 directly to the object. Whether this defect 
 of sight in one eye, be the effect of its hav- 
 ing been long disused, as it must have been 
 when they squinted ; or whether some ori- 
 ginal defect in one eye might be the occasion 
 of their squinting, time may discover. The 
 two brothers have found the sight of the 
 weak eye improved by using to read with it 
 while the other is covered. The elder can 
 read an ordinary print with the weak eye ; 
 the other, as well as the thu-d gentleman, 
 can only read a large print with the weak 
 eye. I have met with one other person 
 only who equmted, and yet could read a 
 krge print with the weak eye. He is a 
 young man, whose eyes arc both tender and 
 weak-sighted, but the left much weaker than 
 the right. When he looks at any object, 
 he always directs the right eye to it, and 
 then the left is turned towards the nose so 
 much that it is impossible for him to sec 
 the same object with both eyes at the same 
 tune. When the right eye is covered, he 
 turns the left directly to the oliject ; but he 
 sees it indbtinctly, and as if it had a mist 
 
 about it 
 
 I made several experiments, some of them 
 in the company and with the assistance of 
 an mgenious physician, in order to discover 
 whether objects that were in the axes of tlie 
 two eyes, were seen in one place confounded 
 together, as in those who have no involun- 
 tary squint The object placed in the axis 
 of the weak eye was a lighted candle, at the 
 distance of eight or ten feet Before the 
 other eye was placed a printed book, at such 
 a distance as that he could read upon it. 
 He said, that while he read upon the book, 
 he saw the candle but very faintly. And 
 from what we could learn, these two objects 
 did not appear in one place, but had all that 
 angular distance m appearance which they 
 had in reality.* 
 
 If this was really the case, the conclusion 
 to be drawn from it is, that the correspond- 
 ing points iu his eyes are not situate in the 
 same manner as in other men ; and that, if 
 he could be brought to direct both eyes to 
 one object, he would see it double. But 
 considering that the young man had never 
 been accustomed to observations of this 
 
 * S«e Weill— C * T'ffo Eswys," Ac , p. 26 )— H. 
 
 kmd, and that the sight of one eye was so 
 imperfect, I do not pretend to draw this 
 conclusion with certainty from this single 
 instance. 
 
 All that can be inferred from these facts 
 is, that, of four persons who squint, three 
 appear to have nothing preternatural in the 
 structure of their eyes. The centres of their 
 retirns, and the points similarly situate with 
 regard to the centres, do certainly corre- 
 spond in the same manner as in other men-— 
 so that, if they can be brought to the habit 
 of directing their eyes right to an object, 
 they will not only remove a deformity, but 
 improve their sight. With regard to the 
 fourth, the case is dubious, with some pro- 
 bability of a deviation from the usual course 
 of nature in the situation of the correspond- 
 ing points of his eyes. 
 
 Sectim XVIL 
 
 OF THE EFFECT OF CUSTOM IN SEEING TBJECTS 
 SINGLE. 
 
 It appears from the phsenomena of single 
 and double vision, recited in § 13, that 
 our seeing an object single with two eyes, 
 depends u^on these two things :— Firsts 
 Upon that mutual correspondence of certain 
 points of the retina which we have often 
 described; Secondly, Upon the two eyes 
 being directed to the object so accurately 
 thatlthe two uuages of it fall upon corre- 
 sponding points. These two things must 
 concur in order to our seeing an object 
 single with two eyes ; and, as far as they 
 depend upon custom, so far only can single 
 vision depend upon custom. 
 
 Withregard to the second— that is, the 
 accurate direction of both eyes to the ob- 
 ject— I think it must be acknowledged 
 that this is only learned bv custom. Na- 
 ture hath wisely ordained the eyes to move 
 in such manner that their axes shall 
 always be nearly parallel ; but hath left it 
 in our power to vary their inclination a 
 little, according to the distance of the ob- 
 ject we look at. Without this power, 
 objects would appear single at one parti- 
 cular distance only ; and, at distances much 
 less or much greater, would always appear 
 double. The wisdom of nature is conspi- 
 cuous in giving us this power, and no less 
 conspicuous in making the extent of it ex- 
 actly adequate to the end. 
 
 The parallelism of the eyes, m general, 
 is therefore the work of nature ; but that 
 precise and accurate du-ection, which must 
 be varied according to the distance of the 
 object, is the effect of custom. The power 
 which nature hath left us of varying the 
 inclination of the optic axes a httle, is 
 turned into a habit of giving them always 
 
174 
 
 OF THE HOMAN MIND. 
 
 tittl teiUiiiiiii^ wlilili h tAifM. to the 
 iiilMiM' of Ili0' i^ijimL 
 
 'But 11' wmy te aeksi, Wlial .gives rim to 
 
 !¥■■ htMt ? The only answer tlmt mn bo 
 
 given to thia question is, tlwt it is found 
 
 iMOHurj tO' pniaet' moA ilsliiwl' viiioii. A 
 
 'mill, «lio haJth lost the sight of one eye, 
 
 fvty oHen loses the hahit of directing it 
 
 eiaotly to the ohjeet he IooIbb at, because 
 
 that hftbll ii no longer of use to him. And 
 
 'if' he Aeuld feeoirer the sight of liis eye, 
 
 he would feeover this habiti by finding it 
 
 'Mif ul. No part of 'the hnnaa eoniiitntion 
 
 ii fliofe admiimble than 'that whereby we 
 
 ^aef iiiitt habits which are'foiiiMl 'useful, with- 
 
 ity 'design, or intention. Children 
 
 .seO' inperfeetlyat irst ; but, by using 
 
 ejea, they learn to use them in the 
 
 best manner, and acquire, without intends 
 
 ''ing it, the habits neoessary for that pur- 
 
 Ipose. Every man beeoroes most expert in 
 
 thai Mnd of vision which is most useful to 
 
 him in his particular profession and man* 
 
 net of hfe.. A m.iniatiii>e' painter, or an 
 
 engnverysees very near objects "better than 
 
 a sailor ; hut the sailor sees very distant 
 
 oileets much better than they. A pMBrson 
 
 tlial is short-sighted, in looking at distant 
 
 dbjeets, gets the habit of contracting the 
 
 aperture of his eyes, by almost closing his 
 
 eyelids. Why? For no other leason, 
 
 ml heeause this makeS' him see the object 
 
 ;iiMiffB' iislinet. In like man.ne'r,^the reason 
 
 why 'Overy 'man. aequirea the habit of diieel- 
 
 ing both eyes aeenmlely 'to the' obj^eet, must' 
 
 he, because thereby he sees it more per- 
 
 feetly and distinctly. 
 
 II fenainS' to be couiilflfed, whether' thai 
 
 I eoriespomltece between Miiiin. pokts of 
 
 the retinm, which is likewiBe' nsMSeary to 
 
 single vision, be the effect of cnstom, or an 
 
 original, property of human eyes. 
 
 A string argument for its being an ori- 
 i|iaal proprty, may he drawn from the 
 habit, just now mentioned, of directing the 
 eyes accurately to an object This habit 
 ^ fol by 'OUT finding il necessary to perfect 
 and' iislinel 'vision. But 'why u it neces- 
 ? For no other reason 'but this, be- 
 thereby Ihe two images of the object 
 
 'each other in 'virion, .and 'the object 
 is seen better by both ti^gelher, than it 
 'Oould he 'by one ; but when the eyes are not 
 aeonralely 'directed, the two images of an 
 oltjeet Ml 'upon points 'that do not corre- 
 
 rd, whereby the sight of one eye disturbs 
 right of the other, and the object is 
 seen more indistinctly with both eyes than 
 Il would be with one. WheU'Ce it is rea- 
 sonable to conclude, Ihal^ this correspond- 
 flnee of certain points of the retina/^ is prior 
 to the habits, we acquire in vision, and con- 
 
 ai aMiiied the: habU ^of 'diieeting our eyes 
 
 always in a particukr manner, which causea 
 single vision. Now, if nature hath ordained 
 that wo should have single vision only, when 
 our eyes are thus directed, there is an ob- 
 vious reason why all mankind should agree 
 in the habit of directing them in this manner. 
 But, if single vision is the effect of custom, 
 any other habit of directing the eyes would 
 have answered the purpose ; and no account 
 can be given why this particular habit should 
 be so universal ; and it must appear very 
 strange, that no one instance hath been 
 found of a person who had acquired the 
 habit of seeing objects single with both eyes, 
 while they were directed in any other man- 
 ner. • 
 
 The judicious Dr Smith, in his excellent 
 system of optics, maintains the contrary 
 opinion, and offers some reasoiiings and 
 facts in proof of it. He agrees with Bishop 
 Berkeleyt in attributing it entirely to cus- 
 tom, that we see objects single with two eyes, 
 aa well as thai we see objects erect by in- 
 verted images* Having considered Bishop 
 Berkeley's reasonings in the 1 1th section, 
 we shall now beg leave to make some 
 remarks on what Dr Smith hath said upon 
 this subject, with the respect due to an 
 author to whom the world owes, not only 
 many valuable discoveries of his own, but 
 those of the brightest mathematical genius 
 of this age, which, with great hibour, he 
 generously redeemed from oblivion. 
 
 He observes, that the question, Why we 
 see objects single with two eyes ? is of the 
 same sort with this. Why we hear sounds 
 single with two ears ?— and that the same 
 answer must serve both. The inference 
 intended to be drawn from this observation 
 is, that, as the second of these phsenomena 
 is the effect of custom, so likewise is the 
 first. 
 
 Now, I humbly conceive that the ques- 
 tions are not so much of the same sort, 
 that the same answer must serve for 
 both ; and, moreover, that our heariqf I 
 single with two ears, is not the effect m 
 cuatom. 
 
 • 'niii atywtion did not escape Dr Smith hinueiri 
 tat Rdd McnM to have overlooked his anfwer. 
 «« When we view," he *ays, *' an object steadily, we 
 have M*quired a habit of directing the optic axes to 
 tbe ptADi in view ; because its pictures, falling upon 
 the middle points of the retinas, are then distincter 
 than if they fell upon any other places ; and, since 
 the pictures of the whole object are equal to one 
 a'lother, and are both inverted with respect to the 
 o|>«ic axes, it follows that the pictures of any col> 
 lateral (loint are painted upon corresponding points of 
 the retinas." 
 
 This answer it rendered more plausible from the 
 subMquent anatomical discovery of Soemmering. 
 He found that, in that part of the retina uhich lies 
 at the axis of the eye. there is, in roan, and in other 
 animals of acute vision, an opening, real or appar- 
 ent. (Jbntmen centrale,) the dimensions of which 
 ara such that the images of dittincter viaion wouhl 
 seen to t>e endowed within it— H. 
 
 f This 1« an inadvertency. Bertdey haiaids no 
 siic:i opinion In any of his works.— H. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 175 
 
 Two or more visible objects, although 
 perfectly sunilar, and seen at the very same 
 time, may be distinguished by their visible 
 phices; but two sounds perfectly similar, 
 and heard at the same time, cannot be dis- 
 tinguished ; for, from the nature of sound, 
 the sensations they occasion must coalesce 
 into one, and lose all distinction. If, there- 
 fore, it is asked, Why we hear sounds single 
 with two ears ? I answer, Not from custom ; 
 but because two sounds which are perfectly 
 like and synchronous, have nothing by 
 which they can be distinguished. But will 
 this answer fit the other question ? I think 
 
 not. 
 
 The object makes an appearance to each 
 eye, as the sound makes an impression upon 
 each ear : so far the two senses agree. But 
 the visible appearances may be distin- 
 guished by place, when perfectly like in other 
 respects ; the sounds cannot be thus dis- 
 tinguished I and herein the two senses dif- 
 fer. Indeed, if the two appearances have 
 the same visible place, they are, in that 
 case, as incapable of distinction as the sounds 
 were, and we see the object single. But 
 when they have not the same visible place, 
 they are perfectly distinguishable, and we 
 see the object double. We see the object 
 single only, when the eyes are directed in 
 one particular manner ; while there are many 
 other ways of directing them within the 
 sphere of our power, by which we see the 
 object double. 
 
 Dr Smith justly attributes to custom that 
 well-known fallacy in feeling, whereby a 
 button pressed with two opposite sides of 
 two contiguous fingers laid across, is felt 
 double. I agree with him, that the cause 
 of this appearance is, that those opposite 
 sides of the fingers have never been used 
 to feel the same object, but two different 
 objects, at the same time. And I beg leave 
 to add, that, as custom produces this phae- 
 nomenon, so a contrary custom destroys it ; 
 for, if a man frequently accustoms himself 
 to feel the button with his fingers across, it 
 will at last be felt smgle ; as I have found 
 by experience. 
 
 It may be taken for a general rule, that 
 things which are produced by custom, may 
 be undone or changed by disuse, or by a 
 contrary custom. On the other hand, it 
 is a strong argument, that an effect is not 
 owing to custom, but to the constitution 
 of nature, when a contrary custom, long 
 continued, is found neither to change nor 
 weaken it. I take this to be the best rule 
 by which we can determine the question 
 presently* under consideration. I shall, 
 therefore, menti< n two facts brought by 
 Dr Smith, to prove that the corresponding 
 points of the relirus have been changed by 
 
 • See note • at p. 0(>, a.— H. 
 
 custom ; and then I shall mention some 
 facts tendmg to prove, tliat there are cor- 
 responding points of the retina of the eyes 
 originally, and that custom produces no 
 change in them. 
 
 " One fact is related upon the authority 
 of Martin Folkes, Esq., who was informed 
 by Dr Hepburn of Lynn, that the Rev. Mr 
 Foster of Clinchwharton, in that neighbour- 
 hood, having been blind for some years of a 
 gutla serena, was restored to sight by sali- 
 vation ; and that, upon his first beginning 
 to see, all objects appeared to him double i 
 but afterwards, the two appearances ap- 
 proaching by degrees, he came at last to 
 see smgle, and as distinctly as he did before 
 he was blind." 
 
 Upon this case, I observe, First, That it 
 does not prove any change of the corre- 
 sponding points of the eyes, unless we sup- 
 pose, what is not affirmed, that Mr Foster 
 directed his eyes to the object at first, when 
 he saw double, with the same accuracy, and 
 in the same manner, that he did afterwards, 
 when he saw single. Secondly, If we should 
 suppose this, no account can be given, why 
 at first the two appearances should be seen 
 at one certain angular distance rather than 
 another ; or why this angular distance should 
 gradually decrease, until at last the appear- 
 ances coincided. How could this effect be 
 produced by custom ? But, Thirdly, Every 
 circumstance of this case may be accounted 
 for on the supposition that Mr Foster had 
 corresponding points in the retince of his 
 eyes from the time he began to see, and that 
 custom made no change with regard to them. 
 We need only further suppose, what is 
 common in such cases, that, by some years' 
 blindness, he had lost the habit of directing 
 his eyes accurately to an object, and that he 
 gradually recovered this habit when he came 
 
 to see. 
 
 The second fact mentioned by Dr Smith, 
 is taken from Mr Cheselden's " Anatomy," 
 and is this :— " A gentleman who, from a 
 blow on the head, had one eye distorted, 
 found every object appear double ; but, by de- 
 grees, the most familiar ones became single ; 
 and, in time, all objects became so, without 
 any amendment of the distortion." 
 
 I observe here, that it is not said that 
 the two appearances gradually approached, 
 and at last united, without any amendment 
 of the distortion. This would indeed have 
 been a decisive proof of a change in the 
 corresponding ptiints of the retina, and yet 
 of such a change as could not be accounted 
 for from custom. But this is not said ; and, 
 if it had been observed, a circumstance so 
 remarkable would have been mentioned by 
 Mr Cheselden, as it was in the other case 
 by Dr Hepburn. We may, therefore, take 
 it for granted, that one of the appearances 
 vanished by degrees, without approaching to 
 
176 
 
 OP THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 iM) oOflr. And tM» I conmvemigM hap- 
 pen lewwa wiV* First, Tlie sight of the 
 £*irti»d «ye might gi^toiy *»«W.^i!! 
 iMil. I m w» tn^mrmmm fremxlM m mi* 
 ««« w©mM gftdumlly vanish. Secondly, A 
 ..|l i l f >ll and unperceived change in the man- 
 ner of directing the eyes, nii|lit occasion 
 Mi not seeing the object with the dw- 
 toftiid eye, as appears from § l&> A^- *^- 
 Thirdly, By acquiring th© habit of direcl- 
 ing one and the same eye always to the ob- 
 ject, the faint and obli<ine appearance pre- 
 mted by the other ey% mfhl bo so little 
 itlended to when it bectmft wmiliar, as not 
 to be perceived One of these causey or 
 more of them conmirring, might produce 
 the effect mmitionei without any change of 
 the corwtponding points of the «ye«. 
 
 For these reasons, th© facts mentioned 
 by Dr Smith, although curious, seem not 
 to be decisive. . * • 
 
 The foUoTOg ^^M ought to be put m 
 
 the oppoalt© ■ude. First, in the famous 
 
 mm of the young gentleman couched by Mr 
 
 Cheselden, after having had mtaracts on 
 
 both eyes uutihe was labo»l thirteen yeare 
 
 ef age, it appears that he taw objects single 
 
 ftmn the time he began to see with both 
 
 mm, Mr Cheselden's words are, " And 
 
 now, being lately couched of his other eye, 
 
 he says, that objects, at first, appeared 
 
 krge to this eye, but not so hirge as they 
 
 did at first to the other ; and, looking upon 
 
 the same object with both eyes, he thought 
 
 it looked about twice as krg© » wi**»^J*i« 
 
 first couched eye only, but not double, tbat 
 
 we can anywise discover." 
 
 Secondly, The three young genieinen 
 mentioned m the last section, who had 
 Miiiinted, •■ fwas ^ fen«^» from infancy, 
 3 soon aslhey feamed to direct both eyes to 
 an object, saw it single. In these four cases, 
 it i^pears evident that the centres of the 
 mtinm eotresponded originally, and before 
 enitom could produce any such effect ; for 
 Mr Cheselden's young geutleman had never 
 been accustomed to see at all before he was 
 couched; and th© other three had never 
 been accustomed to dupcct the axes of botH 
 eyes to the ohjeci. .. ^ . » •« 
 
 Thirdly, from the facte recited m g U, 
 it appears, tliat, from the time we are 
 capable of observing th© phaenomena of 
 single and double vision, custom makes no 
 eliange in them. 
 
 I iSive amused myself with such observ- 
 atieof' fcr nwie than thhrtj ,F«W'l « ^ in 
 ewf' ease wherein I saw iie ol^ieel double 
 at first, I see it so to this day, notwith- 
 standing the constant experience of its being 
 smgle. In other cases, where I know tliere 
 are two objects, there appears only one, 
 after thousands of especinients. 
 
 Lot a man look at a familiar object 
 through a polyhedron, ormultipljing-ghiai. 
 
 every hour of his life, the number of virfbto 
 appeamncee will be the same at last as ai 
 first ; nor does any number of experiments, 
 or length of time, make the least change. 
 
 Effects produced by habit^^iniiaL-Iftl^ 
 according as the actsby which the babilif 
 acqu red are more o r less J ieauenl;_MI 
 M,ttoJoracna of 8inglej,ndjoubl&jdai01i 
 ai© 80 invariablo aiul uniform- in-all JSep, 
 are 89 fixactly-X<>gulated by nmthpm a t i c al 
 rules, that I think we have good xeaaflnJP 
 conclude that thev are not the effect qfcus- 
 torn, but ofj xfgd and immutahla lawa^ 
 nature. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 Seciim XV UL 
 
 Of DR PORTBBFIKLn's ACCOUNT OP HINGLB 
 ANU nOUBLB VISION. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley and Dr Smith seem to 
 attribute too much to custom in vision, Ut 
 Porterfield too Uttle. ., , , 
 
 This ingenious writer thmks, that, by an 
 original hiw of our nature, antecedent to 
 custom and experience, we perceive visible 
 objects m their true place, not only as to 
 their direction, but likewise as to their dis- 
 tanoe from the eye ; and, therefore, ne 
 accounts for our seeing objects single, with 
 two eyes, in this manner. Haying tne 
 faculty of perceiving the object with each 
 eye in its true place, we must perceive it 
 with both eyes in the same place; and, 
 consequently, must perceive it smg e. 
 
 He is aware that this principle, although 
 it accounts for our seeing objects smgle 
 with two eyes, yet does not at all account 
 for our seeing objects double ; and, whereas 
 other writers on this subject take it to be a 
 sufficient cause for double yif^o" **^** '[^ 
 have two eyes, and only find it difficult to 
 assign a cause for single vision, on the 
 contrary, Dr Porteriield's principle throws 
 all the difficulty on the other side. 
 
 Therefore, in order to account for the 
 phenomena of double vision, he advances 
 knother principle, without signifying whe- 
 ther h© conceives it to be an origmal law of 
 our nature, or the effect of custom. It is, 
 That our natural perception of the distance 
 of objects from the eye, is not extended to 
 all th© objects that fall withm the field of 
 vision, but limited to that which we directly 
 look at ; and that the circumjacent object^ 
 whatever be their real distance, are seen a-t 
 the same distance with the object we look 
 at ; as if they were all in the surface of a 
 sphere, whereof the eye is the centre. 
 
 Thus, single vision is accounted tor by 
 our seeing the true distance of an object 
 which we look at ; and double vision, by a 
 false appearance of distance m objects 
 which we do not directly look at. 
 
 We agree with this learned and inge- 
 nious author, that it is by a natural and 
 original principle that we see visible objects 
 in a certain direction from the eye, and 
 honour him as the author of this discovery :* 
 but we cannot assent to either of those 
 principles by which he explains single and 
 double vision— for the following reasons : — 
 
 1. Our having a natural and original 
 perception of the distance of objects from 
 the eye, appears contrary to a we;l-attested 
 fact : for the young gentleman couched by 
 Mr Cheselden imagined, at first, that what- 
 ever he saw touched his eye, as what he 
 felt touched his hand.f 
 
 2. The perception we have of the distance 
 of objects from the eye, whether it be from 
 nature or custom, is not so accurate and 
 determinate as is necessary to produce sin- 
 gle vision. A mistake of the twentieth or 
 thirtieth part of the distance of a small 
 object, such as a pin, ought, according to 
 Dr Porterfield's hypothesis, to make it ap- 
 pear double. Very few can judge of the 
 distance of a visible object with such 
 accuracy. Yet we never find double vision 
 produced by mistaking the distance of the 
 object. There are many cases in vision, 
 even with the naked eye, whereui we mis- 
 take the distance of an object by one half 
 or more : why do we see such objects single ? 
 When I move my spectacles from my eyes 
 toward a small object, two or three feet dis- 
 tant, the object seems to approach, so as to 
 be seen at last at about half its real distance; 
 but it is seen single at that apparent distance, 
 
 « To this honour Porterfie'd has no title. The law 
 oithf line of visible direction^ was a common theory 
 long- before the publication of his writings ; lor it was 
 maintained by Kepler, Gassendi, Schemer, hohault, 
 Hegi«, Du Hameli Mariotte, De (-hales, Musschen- 
 broek, Molyneux, /(■c. &c., and manj^ of these main. 
 tain< d that this law was an original principle or in- 
 ititiition of our nature.— H 
 
 f W'e must be careful not, like Reid and.philo. 
 •ophets in general, to confound the perceptions of 
 mete externality or outness, and the knowltdgewe 
 havecf >tistance, through the eye. The (brmer may 
 be, and probably it, natural; v^hile the latter, in a 
 gre^t but unappretiable measure, is acquired. In the 
 case of Cheselden— that in which the blindness pre- 
 vious to the recovery of sight was most perfect, and. 
 therefore, the m>.'t instruc ivc upon record— the 
 patient, thoug i he had little or n . perception of 
 distance, i". e of the degree of externality, had still 
 • perctption of that exietnalify absolutely The 
 objects li- siiid, sfemcd to "touch his eyes, as what 
 he felt did his skin ;" but they did not apptar to him 
 lu if in his eyes, fat less as a mere affection of the or. 
 Ran. 'Ihis, however, is erroneously assumed by Mr 
 Fearn. This natural perception of OutMe.-s, which 
 is the foundation of our acquired knowledge of dis- 
 tance, set^ms given us in the'iiatural perctption we 
 have of the direction of the rays of light. 
 
 In like manner, we must i ot confound, as is com. 
 moiily done, tie fact of the eye Affording us a per- 
 ception of extension and plain figure^ or outline, 
 in thepercepfion^if colours, and the tact of its beinfj 
 the vehicle of intimations in regard to the compa- 
 rative magnitude and cubical forms of the objects 
 from which ihehC rays proceed. 'J heone i* a know- 
 tedgc bv sen^e— natural, immediate, and irfallible ; 
 the other like thai of distance, is, by infeicnce. ac 
 fuired, mediate, and at best always uisecure.— H- 
 
 { 
 
 I 
 
 177 
 
 as well as when we see it with the naked 
 eye at its real distance. And when we look 
 at an object with a binocular telescope, pro- 
 perly fitted to the eyes, we see it single, 
 while it appears fifteen or twenty times 
 nearer than it is. There are then few cases 
 wherein the distance of an object from the 
 eye is seen so accurately as is necessary for 
 single vision, upon this hypothesis : this 
 seems to be a conclusive argument against 
 the account given of single vision. We find, 
 likewise, that false judgments or fallacious 
 appearances of the distance of an object, do 
 not produce double vision : this seems to 
 be a conclusive argument against the account 
 given of double vision. 
 
 3. The perception we have of the linear i 
 distance of objects seems to be wholly thel 
 eflect of experience. This, I think, hatbA 
 been proved by Bishop Berkeley and by' 
 Dr Smith ; and when we come to point out 
 the means of judging of distance by sight, 
 it will appear that they are all furnished by 
 experience. 
 
 4. Supposing that, by a law of our nature, 
 the distance of objects from the eye Av^ere 
 perceived most accurately, as well as their 
 direction, it will not follow that we must 
 see the object single. Let us consider what 
 means such a law of nature would furnish 
 for resolving the question, Whether the 
 objects of the two eyes are in one and the 
 same place, and consequently arc not two, 
 but one ? 
 
 Suppose, then, two right lines, one drawn 
 from the centre of one eye to its object, the 
 other drawn, in like manner, from the centre 
 of the other eye to its object. This law of 
 nature gives us the direction or position of 
 each of these right lines, and the length of 
 each ; and this is all that it gives. These 
 are geometrical data, and we may learn from 
 geometry what is determined by theirmeans. 
 Is it, then, determined by these data, Whe- 
 ther the two right lines terminate in one 
 and the same point, or not ? No, truly. 
 In order to determine this, we must have 
 three other data. We must know whether 
 the two right lines are in one plane ; we 
 must know what angle they make ; and we 
 must know the distance between the centres 
 of the eyes. And when these things arc 
 known, we must a[)ply the rules of trigono- 
 metry, before we can resolve the question, 
 Whether the objects of the two eyes are in 
 oiie and the same place ; and, consequently, 
 whether they are two or one ? 
 
 6. That ftilse appearance of distance into 
 which double vision is resolved, cannot be 
 the effect of custom, for constant experience 
 contradicts it. Neither hath it the f eatui e.-s 
 of a law of nature, because it does not 
 answer any good purpose, nor, indeed, any 
 purpose at all, but to deceive us. But why 
 should we seek for arguments, in a question 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 •iiiMMniiiigwhjit appeoxs to ua, or iom not 
 appear? TlMfiiiatifiii i% At wliat distance 
 m the obJMtS: mm fa mj eje appear ? Do 
 they ai. appear at one ilvlaiiee, as M placed 
 in iie ooncave surface of a sphere, the ey© 
 lwim||- m thm oentre ? Every man, surely, 
 nay know tlito' witii eertainty ; and, if he 
 will hut pv9 .aitlenfion tO' the leatimony of 
 his eyes, needs not ask a philosopher how 
 ▼isibk ohjects appear to him. Now, it is 
 'Very true, that, M I look up tO' a itar m the 
 heaveiia, the otlier .■lam that appear at the 
 Mme time, do a|ipiar"iii this manner i yet 
 this phsenomenon does not favour Dr For- 
 letSeld's hypothesis ; for the stars and 
 iieavenly bodies do not .appear at their true 
 diatanois 'when we lode iireetly to them, 
 anymore than when they are Keen obliquely : 
 and if this pheenomenon be an argument for 
 Dr Porterield% second principle, it must 
 'destroy the irsl 
 
 The true cause of this phsenomenon will 
 be given afterwards ; therefore, setting it 
 amde for the present, let us put another 
 case. I sit in my room, and direct my 
 
 XB to the door, which appears to be 
 ut sixteen feet distant : at the same 
 time, I see many other objects faintly and 
 ol]liiiiiely---the floor, floorcloth, the table 
 whieli I write upon, papers, standish, 
 candle^ &c Now, do all these ohjeets ap- 
 pear at the same distance of sixteen feet ? 
 iJpon the closest attention, I find they do 
 not. 
 
 Seoii&n JtlX, 
 OP na BmiOG8*8 thiobt, anb sm isaac 
 
 mWT0N*8 CONJKTUEX ON THIS 6UB- 
 JBCT. 
 
 I am. afraid the .reader, as well as. the 
 writer, is abready 'tired of the subject of 
 sing^ and double vision. The multitude 
 ui theories advanced by authors of great 
 .name, and. the m.altitiide of facts, observed 
 withoul sufleieni skill in optics, or rehited 
 witlwul attention to the most material and 
 deosive circumstances, have equally contri- 
 
 In order to bring it to some issue, I have, 
 in the 13tb section, given a more full 
 and regular deduction than had been given 
 lietelomre, of the phsenomena of single and 
 double visio% in those whose sight is per- 
 fect i and 'have traced them up to one ge- 
 ■enl principle, which appears to be a kw 
 of vision in human eyes that are perfect and 
 in their natural state. 
 
 111 the 14th section, I have made it ap- 
 pear, that this biw of vision, although ex- 
 eelleutly adapted to the fabric of human 
 9§mt eannol .answer the purposes of vision 
 ill MRiM oilier animals ; and therefore, very 
 
 probably, is not common to all animals. 
 The purpose of the 15th and 16th sections 
 is, to inquire, Whether there be any de- 
 viation from this law of vision in those 
 who squint ? — a question which is of real 
 importance in the medical art, as well as 
 in the philosophy of vision; but which, 
 after aU that hath been observed and 
 written on the subject, seems not to be 
 ripe for a determination, for want of pro- 
 per observations. Those who have had 
 skill to make proper observations, have 
 wanted opportunities ; and those who have 
 had opportunities, have wanted skill or 
 attention. I have therefore thought it 
 worth while to give a distinct account of 
 the observations necessary for the deter- 
 mination of this question, and what con- 
 clusions may be drawn from the facts ob- 
 served. I have likewise collected, and set 
 in one view, the most conclusive facts that 
 have occurred in authors, or have fallen 
 under my own observation. 
 
 It must be confessed that these facts, 
 when applied to the question in hand, make 
 a very poor figure ; and the gentlemen of 
 the medical faculty are called upon, for the 
 honour of their profession, and for the bene* 
 fit of mankind, to add to them. 
 
 All the medical, and all the optical writers 
 upon the strabismus that I have met with, 
 except Dr Jurin, either affirm, or take it 
 for granted, that squinting persons see the 
 object with both eyes, and yet see it single. 
 Dr Jurin affirms that squinting persons 
 never see the object with both eyes ; and 
 that, if they did, they would see it double. 
 If the common opinion be true, the cure of 
 a squint would be as pernicious to the sight 
 of the patient, as the causing of a perma- 
 nent squint would be to one who naturallv 
 had no squint ; and, therefore, no physi- 
 cian ought to attempt such a cure, no 
 patient ou^ht to submit to it. But, if Dr 
 Juriu*8 opmion be true, most young people 
 that squint may cure themselves, by taking 
 some pains ; and may not only remove the 
 deformity, but, at the same time, improve 
 their sight. If the common opinion be 
 true, the centres, and other points of the two 
 retina^ in squinting persons, do not corre- 
 spond, as in other men, and Nature, in them, 
 deviates from her common rule. But, if 
 Dr Jurin^s opinion be true, there is reason 
 to think that the same general law of vision 
 which we have found in perfect human eyes, 
 extends also to those which squint. 
 
 It is impossible to determine, by reason- 
 ing, which of these opinions is true; or 
 whether one may not be found true in some 
 patients, and the other in others. Here, 
 experience and observation are our only 
 guides ; and a deduction of instances is the 
 only rational argument It might, there- 
 fori have been txnected. that 4e'patrona 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 I 
 
 179 
 
 of the contrary opinions should have given 
 instances in support of them that are clear 
 and indisputable ; but I have not found one 
 such instance on either side of the question, 
 in all the authors I have met with. I have 
 given three instances from my own observ- 
 ation, in confirmation of Dr Jurin*s opuiion, 
 which admit of no doubt ; and one which 
 leans rather to the other opinion, but is 
 dubious. And hers I must leave the matter 
 to further observation. 
 
 In the 17th section, I have endeavoured to 
 shew that the correspondence and [or] sym- 
 pathy of certain points of the two retina^ 
 into which we have resolved all the phseno- 
 mena of single and double vision, is not, as 
 Dr Smith conceived, the effect of custom, 
 nor can [it] be changed by custom, but is a 
 natural and original property of human 
 eyes ; and, in the last section, that it is not 
 owing to an original and natural perception 
 of the true distance of objects from the eye, 
 as Dr Porterfield imagined. After this re- 
 capitulation, which is intended to relieve the 
 attention of the reader, shall we enter into 
 more theories upon this subject ? 
 
 That of Dr Briggs — first published in 
 English, in the " Philosophical Transac- 
 tions," afterwards in Latin, under the title 
 of •* Nova Visionis Theoria," with a prefa- 
 tory epistle of Sir Isaac Newton to the 
 
 author amounts to this, That the fibres of 
 
 the optic nerves, passing from correspond- 
 ing points of the retinas to the thalami ner- 
 vorum opticorumy having the same length, 
 the same tension, and a similar situation, 
 will have the same tone; and, therefore, 
 their vibrations, excited by the impression 
 of the rays of fight, will be like unisons in 
 music, and will present one and the same 
 image to the mind : but the fibres passing 
 from parts of the retince which do not cor- 
 respond, having different tensions and tones, 
 will have discordant vibrations ; and, there- 
 fore, present different images to the mind. 
 I shall not enter upon a particular exam- 
 mation of this theory. It is enough to ob- 
 serve, in general, that it is a system of con- 
 jectures concerning things of which we are 
 entirely ignorant ; and that all such theories 
 in philosophy deserve rather to be laughed 
 at, than to be seriously refuted. 
 
 From the first dawn of philosophy to this 
 day, it hath been believed that the optic 
 nerves are intended to carry the images of 
 visible objects from the bottom of the eye to 
 the mind ; and that the nerves belonging to 
 the organs of the other senses have a like 
 office.* But how do we know this ? We 
 conjecture it; and, taking this conjecture 
 for a truth, we consider how the nerves may 
 best answer this purpose. The system of 
 the nerves, for many ages, was taken to be a 
 
 • ThU ttatement :s far too unqualified.— H. 
 
 hydraulic engine, consisting of a bundle of 
 pipes, which carried to and fro a liquor called 
 animal spirits. About the time of Dr 
 Briggs, it was thought rather to be a stringed 
 instrument, composed of vibrating chords, 
 each of which liad its proper tension and 
 tone. But some, with as great probability, 
 conceived it to be a wind instrument, which 
 played its part by the vibrations of an elastic 
 eether in the nervous fibrils. 
 
 These, I think, are all the engines into 
 which the nervous system hath been moulded 
 by philosophers, for conveying the images 
 of sensible things from the organ to the 
 sensorium. And, for all that we know of 
 the matter, every man may freely choose 
 which he thinks fittest for the purpose ; for, 
 from fact and experiment, no one of them 
 can claim preference to another. Indeed, 
 they all seem so unhandy engines for carry- 
 ing images, that a man would be tempted to 
 invent a new one. 
 
 Since, therefore, a blind man may guess 
 as well in the dark as one that sees, I beg 
 leave to offer another conjecture touching 
 the nervous system, which, I hope, will 
 answer the purpose as well as those we have 
 mentioned, and which recommends itself by 
 its sunplicity. Why may not the optic 
 nerves, for instance, be made up of empty 
 tubes, opening their mouths wide enough to 
 receive the rays of light which form tho 
 image upon the retints, and gently convey- 
 ing them safe, and in their proper order, to 
 the very seat of the soul, until they flash in 
 her face ? It is easy for an ingenious phi- 
 losopher to fit the caliber of these empty 
 tubes to the aiameter of the particles of 
 light, 60 as they shall receive no grosser 
 kind of matter ; and, if these rays should be 
 in danger of mistaking their way, an expe- 
 dient may also be found to prevent this ; 
 for it requires no more than to bestow upon 
 the tubes of the nervous system a peristal- 
 tic motion, like that of the alimentary tube. 
 It is a peculiar advantage of this hypo- 
 thesis, that, although all philosophers be- 
 lieve that the species or images of things 
 are conveyed by the nerves to the soul, yet 
 none of their hypotheses shew how this 
 may be done. For how can the images of 
 sound, taste, smell, colour, figure, and all 
 sensible qualities, be made out of the vibra- 
 tions of musical chords, or the undulations 
 of animal spirits, or of aether ? We ought 
 not to suppose means inadequate to the 
 end. Is it not as philosophical, and more 
 intelligible, to conceive, that, as the stomach 
 receives its food, so the soul receives her 
 images by a kind of nervous deglutition ? 
 I might add, that we need only continue 
 this peristaltic motion of the nervous tubes 
 from the sensorium to the extremities of the 
 nerves that serve the muscles, in order to 
 account for muscular motion. 
 
 N 9 
 
OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 Tlma Natare will be consonant to her- 
 mMt mA, m lenaition will be the convey. 
 
 ance of the ideal aliment to the mind, so 
 muscular motion will be the expulsion of 
 the recrementitiona part of it For who 
 can deny, that the imagies of things con- 
 ▼fjed by sensation, may, alter due con- 
 coction, become fit to be thrown off by 
 muscular motion ? I only giro hints of 
 these thlnga to the ingenious, hoping that in 
 time this hypothesis may be wrought up into 
 a nrsiem as truly philosophical as that of ani- 
 nal Bph(it% or the vibration of nervous fbrea 
 To be aefioiis : In the operations of na- 
 ture, I hold the theories of a philosopher, 
 wliieli. avO' msnpported by fact, in the same 
 ciliiiialioii. 'With Wm imams of a man asleep, 
 or the laviiut of m .itiaiiniaii. We laugh at^ 
 the Indian philoscmher, who, to ac^unt 
 for the support of the earth, contrived the 
 %pothefiia of a huge elephant, and, to 
 support the olephanli a .huge tortoise. 
 If we wii candidly ecnlfasi the truth, we 
 know as little of the operation of the nerves, 
 m he did of the manner in which the earth 
 h mpportedi .and. our hvpotheses about 
 .aiiial 'Spirits, or about the tension and 
 vimiloiis of the nerves, are as like to be 
 true^ as his about the support of the earth. 
 Bis elephant was a hypothesis, and our 
 Iqrpothfises are elephaiits» Every theory 
 la 'philosophy, which 'is biiit on pure con- 
 jecture, is an elephant ; and every theory 
 that Is supported partiy by fact, and partly 
 hf floi^eeture, is like Mehachadnezzar's 
 'iaiMl whose feet were partly of iron and 
 yvtlgf of idsy. 
 
 Tie great Newton first gave an example 
 tO: philoaophers, whieh always^ ought to be, 
 int 'mt^ :lath been foUowed, by distin- 
 i^nlshing h'is conjectures from his conclu- 
 aioQS, and putting the former by themselves, 
 in the modest form of queriea. This is fair 
 and liigal ; but ai other philimphical traf- 
 ie in conjecture ought to be held contra- 
 haad and Micit. Indeed, his conjectures 
 have commonly more foundation in fact, 
 :aiid note veritimiltnde, than the dogma- 
 Ileal theories of most other philosophers i 
 andy therefore^ we ought not to omit that 
 which he^ halli ^offered con.ceming the cause 
 of our seemg objects single with two eyes, 
 in. the l§th query annexel to 'Ms '* Optics.** 
 ^'Are not tho' species 'of objects seen 
 with both eyes, united where the optic 
 nerves meet before they come into the brain, 
 'the fibres mg 'the tight side of both nerves 
 'uaitfaig there, and. alter union .going thence 
 .faito. 'the brain 'in the^ nervO' which m on the 
 ikitl'"iide 'Of 'the head, and the 'fib.re8 on the 
 Mt side of both nerves unitine in the same 
 phusi and alter union going mio tiie braui 
 in tha .nerve which is on the left side of the 
 head, and these two nerves meeting in the 
 'Indn 'in. mch a manner that thar fibres 
 
 make but one entire species or picture, half 
 of which on the right side of the sensarium 
 comes from the right side of both eyes 
 through the right side of both optic nerves, 
 to the place where the nerves meet, and 
 from thence on the right side of the head 
 into the brain, and the other half on the 
 left side of the sensorium comes, in like 
 manner, from the left side of both eyes ? 
 For the optic nerves of such aniiuals as 
 look the same way with both eyes (as men, 
 dogs, sheep, oxen, &c.) meet before they 
 come into the brain ; but the optic nerves 
 of such animals as do not look the same 
 way with both eyes (as of fishes, and of the 
 chameleon) do not meet, if I am rightly in- 
 formed.** 
 
 I beg leave to distinguish this query into 
 two^ which are of very different natures ; 
 one being purely anatomical, the other re- 
 lating to the carrying species or pictures of 
 visible objects to the sensorium. 
 
 The first question is, Whether the fibres 
 coming from corresponding points of the 
 two reHnte do not unite at the place where 
 the optic nerves meet, and continue united 
 from thence to the brain ; so that the right 
 optic nerve, after the meeting of the two 
 nerves, is composed of the fibres coming 
 from the right side of both re^iia, and the 
 left, of the fibres coming from the left side 
 of both retina $ 
 
 This is undoubtedly a curious and rational 
 question ; because, if we could find ground 
 from anatomy to answer it in the affirm- 
 ative, it would lead us a step forward in 
 discovering the cause of the correspondence 
 and sympathy which there is between cer- 
 tain points of the two retina. For, although 
 we know not what is the prticular function 
 of the optic nerves, yet it is probable that 
 some impression made upon them, and 
 communicated along their fibres, is neces- 
 sary to vision ; and, whatever be the nature 
 of this impression, if two fibres are united 
 into one, an impression made upon one of 
 them, or upon both, may probably produce 
 the same effect Anatomists thmk it a 
 su£5cient account of a sympathy between 
 two parts of the body, when they are served 
 by branches of the same nerve ; we should, 
 therefore, look upon it as an important dis- 
 covery in anatomy, if it were found that the 
 same nerve sent branches to the corre- 
 sponding points of tlie retinte. 
 
 But hat^ any such discovery been made ? 
 No, not so much as in one subject, as far as 
 I can learn ; but, in several subjects, the 
 contrary seems to have been discovered. 
 Dr Porterfield hath given us two cases at 
 length from Vesalius, and one from Csesal- 
 pinus, wherein the optic nerves, after touch • 
 mg one another as usual, appeared to be 
 reflected back to the same side whence 
 they came, without any mixture of their 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 IBl 
 
 fibres. Each of these persons had lost an 
 eye some time before his death, and the 
 optic nerve belonging to that eye was 
 shrunk, so that it could be distinguished 
 from the other at the place where they met. 
 Another case, which the same author gives 
 from Vesalius, is still more remarkable; 
 for in it the optic nerves did not touch at 
 all ;Qand yet, upon inquiry, those who were 
 most familiar with the person in his life- 
 time, declared that he never complained of 
 any defect of sight, or of his seeing objects 
 double. Diemerbroeck tells us, that Aqua- 
 pendens [ab Aquapendeute] and Valverda 
 likewise affirm, that they have met with 
 subjects wherein the optic nerves did not 
 touch.* 
 
 As these observations were made before 
 Sir Isaac Newton put this query, it is un- 
 certain whether he was ignorant of them, 
 or whether he suspected some inaccu- 
 racy in them, and desired that the matter 
 might be more carefully examined. But, 
 from the following passage of the most 
 accurate AVinslow, it does not appear that 
 later observations have been more favour- 
 able to his conjecture. ** The union of 
 these (optic) nerves, by the small curva- 
 tures of their coriiua, is very difficult to be 
 unfolded in human bodies. This union is 
 commonly found to be very close ; but, in 
 some subjects, it seems to be no more than 
 a strong adhesion — in others, to be partly 
 made by an intersection or crossing of fibres. 
 They have been found quite separate ; and, 
 in other subjects, one of them has been 
 found to be very much altered both in size 
 and colour through its whole passage, the 
 other remaining in its natural state." 
 
 When we consider this conjecture of Sir 
 Isaac Newton by itself, it appears more 
 ingenious, and to have more verisimilitude, 
 than anything that has been offered upon 
 the subject; and we admire the caution 
 and modesty of the author, in proposing it 
 only as a subject of inquiry : but when we 
 compare it with the observations of anato- 
 mists which contradict itf we are naturally 
 
 • See Meckel's •• Pathologische Anatomie," I., p. 
 
 f Anatomists are now nearly agreed, that, in the 
 normal state, there is a partial decu^(ation of the 
 human optic nerve. Soemmering. Treviranus, Ru- 
 dolphi, Johannes Mueller, Langenbeck, Magendie, 
 Mayo, fcc.t are paramount authority for the fact. I 
 d»not know whether the obhervation has been made, 
 that the degree of decussation in different animals It 
 exactly in the inverse ratio e»f what we might have 
 been led, at first stght, theoretically to anticipate. In 
 proportion as the ronveigence is complete — i. e., 
 where the axis of the field of vision of the severafeyes 
 coincides with the axis of the fiold of vi»i< n common 
 trv ttoth, as in men and apes— there we find the de- 
 cussation most partial and obscure; whereas, in the 
 lower animals, in proportion as»we» find the fields of 
 the two eyes exclusive of each ot her, and where, conse- 
 quently, the necessity of brin^iiig the two organs into 
 union might seem abolished, there, however, we find 
 the creasing of the optic fibres complete. In fishes, 
 ■ccontingly. it i« distinct and isolated j in birds, it takes 
 
 led to this reflection. That, if we trust to 
 the conjectures of men of the greatest 
 genius in the operations of nature, we have 
 only the chance of going wrong in an inge- 
 nious manner. 
 
 The second part of the query is. Whether 
 the two species of objects from the two eyes 
 are not, at the place where the optic nerves 
 meet, united into one species or picture, 
 half of which is carried thence to the sen- 
 sorium in the right optic nerve, and the 
 other half in the left ? and whether these 
 two halves are not so put together again at 
 the sensorium, as to make one species or 
 picture ? 
 
 Here it seems natural to put the previous 
 question. What reason have we to believe 
 that pictures of objects are at all carried to 
 the sensorium, either by the optic nerves, 
 or by any other nerves ? Is it not possible 
 that this great philosopher, as well as many 
 of a lower form, having been led into this 
 opinion at first by education, may have con- 
 tinued in it, because he never thought of 
 calling it in question ? I confess this was 
 my own case for a considerable part of my 
 life. But since I was led by accident to 
 think seriously what reason I had to believe 
 it, I could find none at all. It seems to be 
 a mere hypothesis, as much as the Indian 
 philosopher's elephant. I am not conscious 
 of any pictures of externdL objects in mj 
 sensorium J any more tlian in my stomach : 
 the thin gs whjch 1 perceive by my senses, 
 appear to be e\ternalj and not in any^part 
 of the brain ; and my sensations^ prop e rl y 
 BO calle(UteiejSLlSfi§niblanee of external 
 
 objects. 
 
 The conclusion from all that hath been 
 said, in no less than seven sections, upon 
 our seeing objects single with two eyes, 
 is this— That, by an origmal property 
 of human eyes, objects painted upon the 
 centres of the two retina, or upon points 
 similarly situate with regard to the centres, 
 appear in the same visible place ; that the 
 most plausible attempts to account for this 
 property of the eyes, have been unsuccess- 
 ful ; and, therefore, that it must be either 
 a primary law of our constitution, or the 
 consequence of some more general law, 
 which is not yet discovered. \ 
 
 We have now finished what we intended 
 to say, both of the visible appearances of 
 thmgs to the eye, and of the laws of our 
 constitution by which those appearances 
 
 m re the appcaraiice of an interlacement ; In the 
 mammalia, that of a fusion of substance. A second 
 colisideratirn, however, reconci les theory and obserr. 
 a'ion. Some, however, as Woolabton, make the 
 parallel motion of the eyes to be dependent on the 
 connection of the optic nerves ; and, bisides experi- 
 ments, there ate varn us pathological cases in favour 
 of Magendie's opinion, that the fifth pair are thi 
 nerves on which the energies of tight, hraring, 
 smdl, and'taite are proximately and pnncipally da. 
 pendent —H, 
 
/ 
 
 im 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 J83 
 
 11 
 
 ■n tiliiliiisd. Bat ift wm obderved, in the 
 
 Iwgiiiiiillg, ff tbi9 «b«pt6r».llifti.lk£ ipible 
 
 appeamuoM of objects mt m mjy m w gna 
 of their diatance, mafpiiiic^ and 
 
 other' tau^ble qualities. Jklil. JwiWo apr 
 
 pearanoo ta that which i» pfMented to the 
 mind bj nature, aoisording to thofio hiwa of 
 our constitution which have been explained. 
 
 Put %m tliiiiff airnified by that appearance, 
 
 18 that wliii)|i..|i .prese^M *o w® vama by 
 
 '"euatom, 
 
 Wlieii on» spids to is in a huigniu;e 
 iVfe 18 fiuniliar, wO' hear certain 8oiind% 
 and this is all tlw diMt thai Ua dieeoarae 
 has upon us l^j ■■*m» ; but hy euBtom we 
 undeistaiil. Ii» 'Hwaning of these sounds ; 
 ■wl^ tlwfefote, wo £x our attention, not 
 imcn the sounds, but upon the things sig- 
 imai. 'hy them. In like manner, we .pge 
 
 lll4ttiii:.™tiiil»--»PJ?^^!i?«§»..^^ ,,obi^tJ>J 
 
 'iainiof Isi we learn by eu8||?i9 to inter- 
 pret these appearances, and to understand 
 
 their meaning AjriL when this visual 
 
 iaiiguag e is learned, and becomes familiar, 
 wm attend only to the things sigDified ; anjl 
 cannot, without great difficulty, attend to 
 the signs by which they are presenteiJOlfi 
 
 fijIBji, paaiiefl from one to the oiieg JO, 
 
 ■rapidly and so lampiarly, jBal nO'.tnMse of 
 
 the sign is left in the memory, aiid we seem 
 immediiii fe. an d without the intenrention 
 •i>f any sign, to perceive the thing sag- 
 nined. 
 
 Whm I look at the apple-tree which 
 I itands before my wmdow, I perceive, at the 
 first gkuioe, its distance and magnitude, the 
 roughness of its trunk, the disposition of 
 its biandi^ the figmre of its leaves and 
 iiruit. I seem to perceive all these things 
 immedialsir. TlW' irisUt'^HpSfwance which 
 pieseDtMl iMm aU to the mmd, liat entirehr 
 escaped mei I oannot, without great diffl^ 
 culty, and painiil libitraction, attend to it, 
 even when It stands before me. Yet it is 
 certain thai this visible appearanoe only 
 is piesented to my eye by nature, and that 
 I learned by custom to coUeel all the rest 
 fimn it If I had never seen before now, 
 I .f | l hiHil ii not perceive either the distance or 
 ingpUeigure of the tree; and it would 
 liavo required, the piaolioe of seeing for 
 many months, to change that original per- 
 m0mk iMbIi 'nature gave me by my eyes, 
 into ihal wMcli I now have by custom. 
 
 I||i ohjfets which we see naturally and 
 Mfgl^aUy, as hath been before observed, 
 Imjtoiigth and bfeidth, but no thickness 
 lOfifi-Jmiii the eye. Custom, by a 
 leserdemiin. withdraws gradually 
 
 jriginal and proper objects of sight, 
 
 aid substitutes in their place objects of 
 
 iiVPt'" *1P* ^^® l«n#*»i breadth, ^and 
 
 tSicEneeSj and a determumte distance from 
 the eye. By what means this change is 
 brought about, and what principles of the 
 
 hunuui mind eonear in it, we are next to 
 inquire. 
 
 Smtion XX. 
 
 or PSRCBFTION IN OXNBBAL. 
 
 Sensatio n, and t he perce ption-f-_Qf extern 
 nal ot)jects by the senses, though very di?' 
 ferent in their nature, have jcommonly been 
 considered as one and the. same th^g^ 
 The purposes of common life do not make 
 it necessary to distinguish them, and the 
 received opinions of philosophers tend ra* 
 ther to confound them; bur, without at- 
 tendini^ carefully, to , this. diatinctiQnj. Jt m 
 impossible to have any just conception of 
 the operations of our senses. The most 
 simple operations of the mind, admit not of 
 a logical definition : all we can do is to de- 
 scribe them, so as to lead those who are 
 conscious of them in themselves, to attend 
 to them, and reflect upon them ; and it is 
 often very difficult to describe them so as to 
 answer this intention. 
 
 The same mode of expression is used to 
 denote sensation and perception ; and, there- 
 fore, we are apt to look upon them as things 
 of the same nature. Thus, / feel a pain f 
 I see a tree: the first denoteth a sensation, 
 the last a perception. The grammatical 
 analysis of both expressions is the same : 
 
 • Notliiiig In the compass of inductive reasoning 
 appean more satistactory than ilerl^eley's demon, 
 •tration of the neceuity and manner of our leam. 
 ing> by a slow process of otiser vat ion and comparisun 
 alone, the connection l)etween the perceptions of 
 vision and touch, and, in general, all that relates to 
 the distance and real magnitude of external things. 
 But, although the same necessity seems in theory 
 equally incural)ent on the lower anim.-ils as on mani 
 j«t this theory is provokingly— and that by the most 
 manifest experience — tound totally at fault with re- 
 gaid to them ; for we find that .all the animals who 
 p tm ^M at birth the |>ower o( regulated motion (and 
 th«ieare those only through whom the truth ol the 
 theory can be brought to the test of a decisive ex. 
 
 Eeriment) possess also firom birth the whole ap(>re. 
 ension of distance, Sec, which they are ever known 
 to exhibit. The solution of this difference, by ■ 
 resort to instinct, is unsatisfactory ; for instinct ifi 
 In fact, an occult principle-a kind of natural rertl. 
 
 ation and the hyiMJthesisof instmct, therefore, only 
 
 a confesainn of our ignorance ; and, at the same time, 
 if instinct be allowed in the lower animals, how 
 can we determine whether and how far inttinct 
 may not in like manner operate to the same reitult 
 in man ?— 1 have discovered, and, by a wide indue 
 tion, estatiished, that the power ot regulated mo. 
 tinn at birth is, in all animals, govern^ by the de. 
 veloK'ment, at that period, of the cerebellum, in pro. 
 poi tion to the brain proper, is this law to be exte ded 
 to the faculty of delemuningdistancei, &c. by sight ? 
 
 t On the distinction of Sensation proper, from 
 Perception proper^ see " Essays on the Intellectual 
 Powers," Essay II.. chap. 16. and Note D.* Keid 
 himself, espedally in thiS work, has not tieen always 
 rigid in observing their discrimination. — H. 
 
 } Notonly are they different, but— what has escaped 
 our phtlogi phers — the law oi their mamlettation 
 is, that, while bnth are co-existent, e.tch is always in 
 the inverse ratio of the other. Perception is thevobjec. 
 live. Sensation the subjective, vlemeut. Xbti by tbe 
 way.— H. 
 
 for both consist of an active verb and an 
 object. But, if we attend to the things sig- 
 nified by these expressions, we shall find 
 that, in the first, the distinction between the 
 act and the object is not real but gramma- 
 tical ; in the second, the distinction is not 
 only grammatical but real. 
 
 The form of the expression, I feel pain, 
 might seem to imply that the feeling lis 
 some thing distinct from the pain felt ; yet, 
 in reality, there is no distinction. As 
 MinJcing a thought \a an expression which 
 ootild signify no more than thinking, so 
 fe e ling a p ain sig nifies no more tlmn being 
 penned. What we have said of pain is ap- 
 licable to every other mere sensation. It 
 is difficult to give instances, very few of 
 our sensations having names ; and, where 
 they have, the name being common to the 
 sensation, and to something else which is 
 
 1 associated with it. But, when we attend 
 to the sensation by itself, and separate it 
 
 J from other things which are conjoined 
 
 I with it in the imagination, it appears to 
 be something which can have no existence 
 but in a sentient mind, no distinction 
 
 j from the act of the mind by which it is 
 
 [felt 
 
 PerceptiQn,. mMC here understand it, 
 hath always an object distinct from the act 
 by which it is perceived ; an object whicB 
 may exist whether it be perceived or not. 
 I perceive a tree that grows before my win- 
 dow ; there is here an object which is per- 
 ceived, and an act of the mind by which it 
 is perceived ; and these two are not only 
 distinguishable, but they are extremely un- 
 like in their natures. The object is made 
 up of a trunk, branches, and leaves ; but 
 the act of the mind by which it is per- 
 ceived hath neither trunk, branches, nor 
 leaves. I am cnnscioiis of tjiis act of my 
 mind, an^X can reflect upon it ; btft it is 
 too simple to admit of an analysis, and I 
 cannot find proper words to describe it. | 
 find nothinif that reseqibles it_s o much as 
 the remembrance, of the. tEfifi» or tfieim a- 
 
 gination of Jt. Yet bo th these differ essen- 
 
 tiallyLflOm p«»r<»ftp»inn . ihoy ^liffpip fibpyrp^ 
 
 one from another. It is in vain that a 
 philosopher assures me, that the imagina- 
 tion of the tree, the remembrance of it, and 
 the perception of it, are all one, and differ 
 only in degree of vivacity. I know the 
 contrary ; for I am as well acquainted with 
 all the three as I am with the apartments 
 of my own house. I know this also, that 
 the perception of an object implies both a 
 conception of its form, and a belief of its 
 present existence. • I know, moreover, that 
 
 • It is to be observed that Reid himself does not 
 discrimina'e perception and imagination by any 
 essential difference. According to him, perception 
 Y is only the conception (imagination) of an object, ac 
 conpanietl with a belief of Us present existence; and 
 even this last di8tiiict;on, a mere ** laiih witliout 
 
 this belief is not the efffect of argumentation 
 and reasoning ; it is the imme^te effect of 
 my constitution. 
 
 I am aware that this belief which I have 
 in perception stands exposed to the strongest 
 batteries of scepticism. But they make no 
 great impression upon it. The sceptic asks 
 me. Why do you believe the existence of 
 the external object which you perceive? 
 This belief, sir, is none of my manufacture; 
 it came from the mint of Nature ; it bears 
 her image and superscription ; and, if it is 
 not right, the fault is not mine : I even took 
 it upon trust, and without suspicion. Rea- 
 son, says the sceptic, is the only judge of 
 truth, and you ought to throw off" every opi- 
 nion and every belief that is not grounded 
 on reason. Why, sir, should I believe the I 
 faculty of reason more than that of percep-! 
 tion ? — they came both out of the same shop, 
 and were made by the same artist ; and if 
 he puts one piece of false ware into my 
 hands, what should hinder him from put- 
 ting another ?• 
 
 Perhaps the sceptic will agree to distrust 
 reason, rather than give any credit to per- 
 ception. For, says he, since, by your own 
 concession, the object which you perceive, 
 and that act of your mind by which you: 
 perceive it, are quite different things, the| 
 one may exist without the other ; and, as 
 the object may exist without being per- 
 ceived, so the perception may exist without 
 an object There is nothing so shameful | 
 in a philosopher as to be deceived and de- 
 luded ; and, therefore, you ought to resolve 
 firmly to withhold assent, and to throw off 
 this belief of external objects, which may be 
 all delusion. For my part, I will never 
 attempt to throw it off"; and, although the 
 sober part of mankind will not be very 
 anxious to know my reasons, yet, if they 
 can be of use to any sceptic, they are 
 these :-> 
 
 First, because it is not in my power : why, 
 then, should I make a vain attempt ? It 
 would be agreeable to fly to the moon, and 
 to make a visit to Jupiter and Saturn; but, 
 when I know that Nature has bound me 
 down by the law of gravitation to this planet 
 which I inhabit, I rest contented, and quietly 
 
 knowledge," is surrendered by Mr Stewart Now, 
 as conception (imagination) is only immediately cog. 
 nisant of the ego, so must percrption on this doctrine 
 be a knowledge purely subjective. Perception must 
 be wholly different in kind from Concei>tion. if we are 
 to possess a faculty informing us of the existence and 
 qualities of an external world ; and, unless we are 
 possessed of such a faculty, we shall never be compe. 
 tent to vindicate more than an ideal reality to the 
 objects of our cognitions.— H. 
 
 ■ This argument would be good in favour of our 
 belief, that we are really percipient of a non.ego : 
 it is not good in favour of our belief that a non.ego 
 really exists, our perception of its re?l existence 
 t)eing abandoned. Mankind have the latter belief 
 only as they have the former ; and, if we are deceived 
 by our Nature touching the one, it is at)surd to ap. 
 peal to her veracity in proof of the other.— H. 
 
.184 
 
 OF THB HUMAN MIND. 
 
 ■tdfer ajidf to be 'iayaiMi.aliiiig.iiiitt orbit 
 .My b«lM is cftnrieil mhng by pematton, as 
 inmitibly m my body by the eartli. And 
 ^ greatest sceptic will find himself to be 
 in tilt .Humi eoulitifiii. Mm may struggle 
 'iiard to disbelievo tiM iiifMEiiutioiis of his 
 tenses, as a man does to awiiD Sfpinst a tor- 
 tent ; but, ah ! it is iu vain. It is in vain 
 that be stnuns every nerve, and wrestles 
 ^Mk raatnie, and with every object that 
 ■liilm nfon. his senses. For, after all, 
 when hia stiength is spent in the fruitless 
 attompt, he wil be carried down the tor- 
 venl wHli the oomraon befd 'Of bolifiven. 
 
 SMMiidlyi I think it would not 'be pru- 
 dent' to turow off this belief, if it were iu 
 I my power. If Nature intended to deceive 
 me, and impose upon me by false i^pear- 
 snoes, and I, by my gr«at cunning and pro- 
 found logic, have dlnovwed. the imposture, 
 prndmce would dictato to me, in this case, 
 even to put up [with] this indignity done 
 :ne, aS' quietly as I co^uld, and not to call 
 i«r an. impoator to her face, lest she should 
 te even, wllb me iu another way. For 
 what do I gain by resentin| this injury f 
 You ought at least not to believe what siie 
 M^ya. This indeed seems reasonable, if 
 ahe intonds to impose' upon m& But what 
 is the conseiiiMnce ? I resolve not to be- 
 lieve my senses. I break my nose against 
 ft poet that comes m. my way { I stop mto 
 ft dirty kennel ; and, - after tw'onty such 
 win and rational actions, I am taken up 
 and clapped into a mad-house. Now, I con- 
 ImS' 1 would .lather make one of the credu- 
 lous :iiob whom Nature imposes upon, than 
 of 'those wiae .and 'rational philoBophers 
 who resolve to withhold assent at all this 
 expense. If ft man pretonds to be a scep- 
 'tic 'With regard to^ the infomfttions of 
 ■erne, and yet prudently keeps out of harm'a 
 way as other men do, he must excuse my 
 suspicion, that he either acts the hypocrite, 
 dT' .Imposes, nmitt .UmseE For, if the scale 
 <of his beliei 'Were sO' evenly poined as to 
 'lean no more' to one aide' 'than to the con- 
 trary, it ia impossible that hisactions could be 
 dirteted by..any mlsBof common prudence.* 
 
 nirdly, .Altb.ough the two feasons al- 
 leaify-meutioned are perhaps 'twn more than 
 .enough, I shall offer ft th:ird. I gave im- 
 plicit beEef to the' mfoffmations of Nature 
 W my .senses,, 'liir ft.coBaideralile part of my 
 'Hi, before I had 'hamed so nudi logic as 
 'In be able to start a doubt concerning them. 
 .And now, when I reflect upon what is past, 
 I 'do not 'find, that I have, been nposed upon 
 "by this belief. I ind that wMhonI ii I must 
 'biive nerished by ft thousand aoeiileBta. 1 
 fnd. Ant without It I nhould have been no 
 wiier now than when 1 was bom. I shouM 
 
 a V'lI'MH 1111" aWHMIi 'WKw' ^^W"'*' 
 
 tec. It ift Mt. • 'riiHClito 
 
 tfAflif^iiM*:** M* 
 
 not even have been able to acquire that 
 logic which suggests these scepticul doubta 
 wSh regwd to my senses. Therefore, I 
 consider this inbtinctive belief as one of the 
 best gifts of Nature. I thank the Autlior of 
 my being, who bestowed it upon me before 
 the eyes of my reason were opened, and 
 still bestows it upon me, to be my guide 
 where reason leaves me in the dark. And 
 now I yield to the direction of my senses, 
 not from instinct only, but from confidence 
 and trust in a faithful and beneficent Moni- 
 tor, grounded upon the experience of his 
 paternal care and goodness. 
 
 In all this, I deal ^ ith the Author of my 
 being, no otherwise than I thought it reason- 
 able to deal with my parents and tutors. I 
 believed by usstinot whatever they told me, 
 long before I had the idea of a He, or thought 
 of the possibility of their deceiving me. 
 Aftorwards, upon reflection, I found they 
 had acted like fair and honest people, who 
 wished me well. I found that, if 1 had not 
 believed what they told me, before I could 
 give a reason of my belief, I had to this day 
 been little better than a changeling. Aud 
 although this natural credulity hatn some- 
 tmies occasioned my being imposed upon 
 by deceivers, yet it Imth been of infinito 
 advantage to me upon the whole ; therefore, 
 I consider it as another good gift of Nature. 
 And I continue to give that credit, from 
 reflection, to those of whose integrity and 
 veracity I have had experience, which be- 
 fore I gave from instinct. 
 
 There is a much greater similitude than 
 is commonly imagined, between the testi- 
 mony of nature given by our senses, and 
 the testimony of men given by language. 
 The credit we give to both is at first the 
 effect of instinct* only. When we grow 
 up, and begin to reason about them, the 
 credit given to human testimony is re- 
 strained and weakened, by the experience 
 we havd of deceit. But the credit given to 
 the testimony of our senses, ia established 
 and confirmed by the uniformity and con- 
 stancy of the laws of nature. 
 
 Our perception s are of two kinds: some 
 are natural ajid^ o riginal ; others acquired^ 
 and the fruit of experience. When I per-| 
 ceive that this is the taste of cyder, that off 
 brandy ; that thb is the smell of an apple,! 
 that of an orange ; that this is the noise of | 
 thunder, that the ringing of bells ; this the, 
 sound of a coach passing, that the voice of 
 such a friend : these perceptions, and othem 
 of the same kind, are not original— they are 
 acquired. But the perception which I have, 
 by touch, of the hardness and softness of 
 bodies, of their extension, figure, and mo- 
 tion, is not acquired— it is original. 
 
 • On tilt |ito|iffict]r ol the t«nii " Imtinct,** •*« Ui 
 Note A.— M. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 185 
 
 
 V 
 
 In A\ our lenses, the acquired percep- 
 tion^ are many more than the original, 
 especially in jfeight. By this sense we per- 
 cei>4 originafiy the visible figure and colour 
 of bodies oiily, and their visible place:* 
 but |we learn Ito perceive by the eye, almost 
 evei^thing which we can perceive by 
 touoL The >original perceptions of this 
 aenseWve only, as signs to introduce the 
 acquired. 
 
 The signs by which objects are presented 
 to us in perception, are the language of 
 Nature to man ; and as, in many respects, 
 it hath great affinity with the language of 
 man to man, so particularly iu this, that 
 both are partly natural and original, partly 
 acquired by custom. Our original or 
 natural perceptions are analogous to the 
 natural language of man to man, of which 
 we took notice in the fourth chapter ; and 
 our acquired perceptions are analogous to 
 artificial language, which, in our mother- 
 tongue, is got very much m the same man- 
 ner with our acquired perceptions — as we 
 shall afterwards more fully explain. 
 
 Not only men, but children, idiots, and 
 brutes, acquire by habit many perceptions 
 which they had not originally. Almost 
 every employment in life hath perceptio?is 
 of this kind that are peculiar to it. The 
 shepherd kaows every sheep of his flock, as 
 we do our acquaintance, and can pick them 
 out of another flock one by one. The 
 butcher knows by sight the weight and 
 quality of his beeves and sheep before they 
 are killed. The farmer perceives by his 
 eye, very nearly, the quantity of hay in a 
 rick, or of com in a heap. The sailor sees 
 the burthen, the built, and the distance of 
 a ship at sea, while she is a great way off. 
 Every man accustomed to writing, distin- 
 guishes his acquaintance by their hand- 
 writing, as he does by their faces. And 
 the painter distinguishes, in the works of his 
 art, the style of all the great masters. In 
 a word, acquired perception is very different 
 in different persons, acL-ording to the divers- 
 ity of objects about which they are era- 
 ployed, and the application they bestow in 
 qjoserving them. 
 
 ^ Perception ought not only to be distiii- 
 guished fnnu seusationj^but likewise from 
 taat kuowledge of the objects of sense 
 yi?icli_is got by reasoning. There Is no 
 reasoning in perception, as hath been ob- 
 served. The belief which is implied in It, 
 IS the effect of instinct. Bu t there are 
 many things^-with-iegacd. to RRnHil)le.g]b:i 
 J^Cta, which we can infer from what we_ 
 perceive ; and such conclusions of reason 
 ought to be distinguished from what is 
 merely perceived. When I look at the 
 
 • In thli paatage Reid admits Figure and Place 
 (rontequently. Extension) to be original prrceptions 
 of viainn. S«f> atwve, p. liS.h. note f.— H. 
 
 moon, I perceive her to be sometimes cir- 
 cular, sometimes homed, and sometimes 
 gibbous. This is simple perception, and is 
 the^ same in the philosopher and in the 
 clown : but from these various appearances 
 of her enlightened part, I infer that she is 
 really of a spherical figure. This conclu- 
 sion is not obtained by simple perception, 
 but by reasoning. Simple perception has 
 the same relation to the conclusions of rea- 
 son drawn from our perceptions, as the 
 axioms in mathematics have to the pro- 
 positions. I cannot demonstrate that two 
 quantities which are equal to the same 
 quantity, are equal to each other ; neither 
 can I demonstrate that the tree which 
 I perceive, exists. But, by the constitution 
 of my nature, my belief is irresistibly car- 
 ried along by my apprehension of the 
 axiom ; and, by the constitution of my 
 nature, my belief is no less irresistibly car- 
 ried along by my perception of the tree. 
 All reasoning is from principles. The first 
 principles of mathematical reasoning are 
 mathematical axioms and definitions ; and 
 t he first principles of all our reasoning 
 about existences, are our perceptions. The 
 first principles of every kind of reasoning 
 are given us by Nature, and are of equal 
 authority with the faculty of reason itself, 
 which is also the gift of Nature. The con- 
 clusions of reason are all built upon first 
 princi])les, and can have no other founda- 
 tion. Most justly, therefore, do such prin- 
 ciples disdain to be tried by reason, and 
 laugh at all the artillery of the logician, 
 when it is directed against them. 
 
 When a long train of reasoning is neces- 
 sary in demonstrating a mathematical pro- 
 position, it is easily distinguished from an 
 axiom ; and they seem to be things of a very 
 different nature. But there are some pro- 
 positions which lie so near to axioms, that 
 it is difiicult to say whether they ought to 
 be held as axioms, or demonstrated as pro- 
 positions. The same thing holds with 
 regard to perception, and the concfusions 
 drawn from it. Some of these conclusions 
 follow our perceptions so easily, and are so 
 immediately connected with them, that it 
 is difficult to fix the limit which divides the 
 one from the other. 
 
 Perception, whether original or acquired, 
 implies no exercise of reason ; and is com- 
 mon to men, children, idiots, and brutes. 
 The mo re obvious conclusiona drawn, from 
 pur perceptiona^^by reaaon, make wh at w e 
 call common understanding ; by which men 
 conduct themselves in the common affairs 
 of life, and by which they are distinguished 
 from idiots. The more remote conclusions 
 which are drawn from our perceptions!, iy 
 reason, make what we commonly call scien^ 
 in the various parts of nature, whether in 
 agriculture, medicine, mechanics, or in any 
 
"ill 
 
 OF THK HUMAN Mll^D. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 pot of Batunl phtooiiliy. Wlmi I 8e« a 
 niden in s[ood ordiff| i wm tei ml iig a great 
 f^y of tbingtof tt« iMMl MncK and in 
 ike moat floanshing conditiin, I imm«^; 
 ateW conclude from theee iigns the elciU 
 and. 'indirtfj' of the gardener. A fiwmer, 
 vlusn 'he rlwa^ In tlie. morning, and petceives 
 iiBl ihm nel#lMmfing bmok overflows luii 
 field, condndea tliat a gwat deal of laMi 
 hath fclkn in the night Perceivuy hi» 
 fence hroken, and hia com ttodden down, 
 he condndet thai iome of hia own orhui 
 BiiglilMiitn' cattle have broke loose. Per- 
 ceiving that Ms stahle-door is broke open, 
 aiMl seme of hia horses gone, he concludes 
 ihal. a 'ihiefhaa carried, them ott HetracM 
 ihei nrinta of hia hofsea' feet m the soft 
 
 SmmL and by them diMOvem which road 
 £ thief hath taken. These are instimcia 
 ot mammm undefsianding, which dwells m 
 mma U '|MMe|iliiii« that Ills difficult to trace 
 the inewhich divideathe one from the other. 
 In tike manner, the science of nature dwells 
 sn. ;near ,tn common nndeiatanduM that we 
 '•Miwl diicam where 'the toti«r"'ends and the 
 ,f. |yif u».' fcfg^ ;«. I perceive that bodies lighter 
 l%fy water swim in water, and that those 
 wiWi^aw. heavier' sink. Hence 1 conclude, 
 tiat. 'if' a'hi)% lenmins wherever it is put 
 'imder water, whether at the 'top or bottom, 
 itisprecisdyiif the same weigjht with water. 
 If it wil ;reit^ only 'when, 'fail «f it m above 
 water, it is lighter than, water. And the 
 greater 'the part above water is, compared 
 with iw wWe, the Mghter is the bodv. If 
 it had no gravity at all, it would make no 
 impieasiin Mwm the water, but stand wholly 
 above il Tbras, every man, by common 
 understanding, has a rule by ™ch he 
 lodges of the specific gravity of bodies 
 whteh swim in water : and a step or two 
 mere leads him into the science of hydro- 
 
 iitatics. 
 
 AU that we know of nature, or of exuit- 
 
 ances, may be compared, to a tree, which 
 
 'hath its :wMil, trunk,, and branches. In this 
 
 tree of 'knO'WledgSi. nereept'ion is the root, 
 common underatanding is. the trunk, and 
 
 the .seienees are the 'bninches. 
 
 or THK paocws of pattoi in FaicimoN. 
 
 Although there b no reaaouing in per- 
 eepBon, yet there are certom means and 
 
 Sfcuments,, which, by.tbf »PFi"t™«?* °f - 
 
 iiili5e,~must intervene between the object 
 S| our perception of it ; and, by th<»e, 
 iiiii'''''iwrce'Ption8 are 'limited and regulated. 
 lISSTn the object is not in eontact with 
 the onian of sense, there must be some 
 I aiedimn/whioh passes between them. Thus, 
 |!ln.¥irf«i,iia»yBoflighti to hearing, the 
 
 Tibrations of ekstie aur; to smellmg, the 
 effluvia of the body smelled— must pass from 
 tiM object to the organ ; otherwise we have 
 no perception.* Secondly, There must be 
 some action or impression upon the organ 
 of sense, either by the inunediate applica- 
 tion of the object, or by the medium that 
 goes between them. 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, pro- 
 bably, by means of the nerves, some im- 
 pression must be made upon the bram. 
 Fourthly, The_mgp»8BifillJMad£jipfiiLth^ 
 
 nriM^t^, ne fYff*! ^"'^ h rain, *« fnUnwtHl hy a 
 
 nm^ian. And, last of all. Thia-Se^fistiop 
 
 187 
 
 is foJliKttfidJ^JLtheperceptipn of the object, f 
 Thus, our perception of objects is the re- 
 sult of a tram of operations ; some of which 
 affect the body only, others affect the mmd. 
 We know very little of the nature of some 
 of these operations ; we know not at all how 
 they are connected together, or in what wapr 
 they contribute to that perception which m 
 the result of the whole ; but, by the laws of 
 our constitution, we perceive objects m this, 
 and in no other way. 
 
 There may be other beings who can j)erw 
 ceive external objects without^rays of light, 
 or vibrations of air, or effluvia of bodies — 
 without impressions on bodily organs, or 
 even without sensations ; but we are so 
 framed by the Author of ^^atu^e, tliat^even jj^ 
 when we arc surrounded by extecoal otagcts^ ^r 
 we may perceive none of thent^ Ou r faculty 
 of perceiving on object li efl flnrmnnt, until 
 
 it is roused and stimulated. by a rfirt li n 
 
 corresponding sensation. Nor is this^ns- 
 ation always at hand to perform its otficej 
 for it enifiiiJiESi lai^^ ^^^y iaj^anse.- 
 quence«if.m Cirtito correspondin^JfflBr^ 
 sion madtJilibe organ of seosehy mtW- 
 
 Let us trace this correspondence of im- 
 pressions, sensations, and perceptions, as 
 far as we can— beginning with that which 
 is first in order, the impression made upon 
 the bodily organ. But, alas ! we know qgt 
 Aff wh^f nature these impressisna^rfi^Jar 
 Ksnowthey-mctte sensations^milifi m!S9- 
 
 We know that one body may act upon 
 another by pressure, by percussion, by at- 
 traction, by repulsion, and, probably, m 
 many other ways which we neither know 
 nor have names to express. But in which \ 
 of these ways objects, when perceived by 
 us, act upon the organs of sense, these 
 organs upon the nerves, and the nerves i 
 
 • The only ol^t ol perctption it the imme^te . 
 ohiect. The rtUtant reaUty— he mediate object, ot J J 
 oSect iiinply of Rcid aim other p' Jlo^ophers-i» 11 n- 
 known to the perception of sense, and only reached 
 
 by reaioniBf. — H. 
 
 ♦ That Mentation propr precede* percept on pro. J 
 per i» u fal«e auumption. They are siinulUncoiit 
 elenicBtf of the same indivisible energy— H. 
 
 Inpon the brain, we know not. Can any 
 num tell me how, in vision, the rays of light 
 act upon the retinoy how the retina acts 
 upon the optic nerve, and how the optic 
 nerve acts upon the brain ? No man can. 
 When I feel the pain of the gout in my 
 toe, I know that there is some unusual im- 
 pression made upon that part of my body. 
 But of what kmd is it ? Are the small 
 vessels distended with some redundant 
 elastic, or unelastic fluid? Are the fibres 
 unusually stretched ? Are they torn 
 asunder by force, or gnawed and corroded 
 by some acrid humour ? I can answer 
 none of these questions. All that I feel is 
 
 Kin, which isjiot an impreswon jipon the 
 dy, but upon the mindj and" all that I 
 I perceive by this sensation is, that some dis- 
 i temper in my toe occasions this pain. But, 
 as I know not the natural temper and tex- 
 ture of my toe when it is at ease, I know as 
 little what change or disorder of its parts 
 occasions this uneasy sensation. In like 
 manner, in eyeryL other jens^tion, there is^ 
 without doubt, so me impression made upoi^ 
 the organ of sense ; but an inapgegfiJQ n pf 
 which we know not the natu re. It is too 
 wibtileto be discovered byj3ur sens es, an il 
 we may make a tTiousancI co nje ct ures with - 
 out coming near the truth, if we"under- 
 stood the structure of our organs of sense 
 so minutely as to discover what effects are 
 produced upon them by external objects, 
 this knowledge would contribute nothing to 
 our perception of the object ; for they per- 
 ceive as distinctly who know least about the 
 manner of perception, as the greatest adepts. 
 It is necessary that the impression be made 
 upon our organs, but not that it be known. 
 Nature carries on this part of the process 
 ■"f perception, without our consciousness or 
 concurreuce. 
 
 But we cannot be unconscious of the. next 
 step in this^^ocess— the sensation of the 
 mind, which always immediately follows the 
 impression made upon the body. It is 
 aisential to a sensation to be felt, and it can 
 ItJe nothing more than we feel it to be. If 
 we can only acquire the habit of attending 
 to our sensations, we may know them per- 
 fectly. Bjit how arc the sensations of the 
 mind prod|uced by .impressions upon the 
 body ? Of this we are absolutely ignorant, 
 having no means of knowing how the body 
 acts upon the mind, or the mind upon the 
 body. When we consider the nature and 
 attributes of both, they seem to be so differ- 
 ent, and so unlike, that we can find no handle 
 by which the one may lay hold of the other. 
 There is a deep and a dark gulf between 
 them, which our understanding cannot pass ; 
 and the manner of their correspondence and 
 totercourse is absolutely unknown. 
 
 £xperience_teaches us, that certain im- 
 prcSftipQS nppn the body are c onstan tly hi- 
 
 ^ 
 
 lowed by certjun sensations of the mind; 
 and thaj^on the other hand^ certain deter- 
 minations of the mind are constantly fol- 
 jowed by certain motions in the body ; but 
 we see not the chain that ties these things 
 together. Who knows but their connection 
 may be arbitrary, and owing to the will of 
 purJRIaker ? Perhaps the same sensations 
 might have been connected with other im- 
 pressions, or other bodily organa Perhaps 
 we might have been so made as to taste with 
 our fingers, to smell with our ears, and to 
 hear by the nose. Perhaps we might have 
 been so made as to have all the sensations 
 and perceptions which we have, without any 
 impression made upon our bodily organs at 
 all. 
 
 Howevetihfige things may be, if Nature 
 hacT^ven us nothing more than impressions 
 made upon the body, and sensations in our 
 minds correspondhig to them, we should, in r 
 that case, have been merely sentient, but not 
 percipient beings. We should never have 
 been able to form a conception of any ex- 
 ternal object, far less a belief of its exist- 
 ence. Our sensat ions have no resemblance 
 to_^iternal objects; nor can we discover, 
 by our reason, any necessary connection 
 between the existence of the former, and. 
 that of the latter. 
 
 We might, perhaps, have been made of 
 such a constitution as to have our present , 
 perceptions connected with other sensations. ' 
 We might, perhaps, have had the percep- 
 tion of external objects, without either im- 
 pressions upon the organs of sense, or sens- 
 ations. Or, lastly, The perceptions we have, 
 might have been immediately connected 
 with the impressions upon our organs, with- 
 out any intervention of sensations. This 
 last seems really to be the case in one in- ; 
 stance — to wit, in our perception of the'; 
 visible figure of bodies, as was observed in . 
 the eighth section of this chapter. ll 
 
 The process of Nature, in perception by 
 the senses, may, therefore, be conceived as a 
 kind of drama, wherein some things are per- 
 formed behind the scenes, others are repre- 
 sented to the mind in different scenes, one 
 succeeding another. The impression made 
 by the object upon the organ, either by im- 
 mediate contact or by some intervening 
 medium, as well as the impression made 
 upon the nerves and brain, is performed 
 behind the scenes, and the mind sees nothing 
 of it. But every such impression, by the 
 laws of the drama, is followed by a sensa- 
 tion, which is the first scene exhibited to 
 the mind; and this scene is quickly suc- 
 ceeded* by another, which is the percep- 
 tion of the object. 
 
 In this drama. Nature is the actor, we 
 are the spectators. We know nothing of 
 
 • See the preceding note— >!!• 
 
Jclfi 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 II 
 
 4> 
 
 «lio BMMjIiiiiery by mmm of which evorj 
 ilillteeiit impresHion wfonilieorgMi, mtvm, 
 mA liiaiii, exhibits^ Ito onmipoii&ig' eens- 
 Btioii; or of tho nmehiiiery by meana of 
 which each ueMation exhibits its corre- 
 sponding perceflioii. We are iEspired with 
 jthD' wnaitiiiii, «wl 'W© »f© inspired with the 
 I'oorrosponiing' 'pefoefiticiB, by means im- 
 'known.* And, beoanso the mind p—l - 
 immediately from the sensation to that con- 
 ception and belief of the object which we 
 
 ": haTO^' m ■perception, in th e same manner as 
 
 ItfiMm #roii ' . things , signified 
 
 by them, we have, thereftire, called^gur 
 
 sensations .jj fw "^'gMmud oJmm ; ^lidjug 
 
 mo worcTiioni' fwfg tojiiBll jhe fiMMh 
 
 tion which NatuM; totli assigned,,,, Aem^iu 
 
 purception, and the relation whicli..tlligf 
 bear to their corresponding objects. 
 There 'is no^ nece8sityji£,^Ajrfiifflibli!!fie 
 
 and indeed no sensalicin ean ;reiemble any 
 
 external object But there are two things 
 uMossaiy te iiir knowuig thipgt by means 
 of signa Hist, That a leai connection 
 I between the sign and thiiig signified be 
 I established, either by the course of nature, 
 W by the wil ^amd appoliitiiieiit of men. 
 'When they are cmmeeted hy the course of 
 nature, it is a natnal sign ; when by liu- 
 man appointment, it is an artificial sign. 
 Thus, smoke is a natwal m^ of fire ; cer- 
 tain featnies are natural agpis of anger s 
 but our wufds, whether ezpRMed by arti- 
 eulate sounds or by wrilmg, are artificial 
 signs of our thoughts and purposes. 
 I Another requisite to out knowing things 
 by signs is, thai the appeamnee of the sign 
 to the mind, be followicl by the conception 
 and belief of the thing signifieC Without 
 tibis, the sign is not understoodor interpreted ; 
 audi therefore, is no sign to us, however 
 it in its own nature for that purpose. 
 No w^ there are three ways in which the 
 
 mind ,piiisulklili^SE^ of "ft t^^^' 
 
 lal sia to lili Miception and belief of the 
 
 l»»hy orimn al principles^ g£ 
 
 jmem^imMm, hf mSm ^ an d by reaim- 
 
 ■■■■■ '■* ■■ m iiiji.jiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiilliii "i I iiiiiiiiiiiiillliilllil Ill mil II 
 
 jMilPlUMi ipllllllillHilliBB' ipini g"" m tHt 
 
 first , , of. Jloii 'wam oor MlBiWll gflfMp- 
 
 tions in the sec ond, "and all *>**♦] F^P dlf" 
 
 co vers of th e co uwie of nitoe* in the third . 
 Ii"5elisl'0f tfiese ways. Nature, t>y means 
 'Of Iht' aensationi of toadis informs us of the 
 .hatinesa .and soilness of 'bodies ; of their 
 extension, figure, and motion ; and of that 
 space in which they move and are placed — 
 as hath been already expkined in the filth 
 'diMitor of Ihis inquiry. And, in the second 
 of tiieie ways, she informs us, by means of 
 Mr eyes, of almost all the same thmp 
 
 which origmally wo could peroeive only Iqr 
 
 touch. 
 
 In order, therefore, to understand more 
 particuhtriy how we learn to perceive so 
 many things by the eye, which originally 
 could be peiceived only by touch, it will be 
 proper. First, To point out the signs by 
 which those things are exhibited to the eye, 
 and their connection with the things signi- 
 fied by thera ; and, Secondly, To consider 
 how the experience of this connection pro- 
 duces that habit by which the mind, with- 
 out any reasoning or reflection, passes from 
 the sign to the conception and belief of the 
 thing signified. 
 
 Of all the acquired perceptions which we 
 have by sight, the most remarkable is the 
 perception of the distance of objects from 
 the eye; we shall, therefore, particularly 
 consider the signs by which this perception 
 is exliibited, and only make some general 
 remarks with regard to the signs which are 
 used in other acquired perceptions. 
 
 SkcHon XXII. 
 
 or THE SIUNS BY WHICH WB LBARN TO 
 PIRCXIVE DlfiTANCB FROM THE EYR. 
 
 It was before observed in general, that 
 the origi na l perceptions of sight, are signs 
 which serve to introd uce those that are 
 acquired ; but thifllB_n6no l)e underst ^ 
 iflf mother aignsjoeMLemployLed forlHat 
 pnr pose. There are several motions of the 
 eyes, which, in order to distinct vision, 
 must be varied, according as the object is 
 more or less distant ; and such motions be- 
 ing by habit connected with the correspond- 
 ing distances of the object, become signs of 
 those distances.* These motions were at 
 first voluntary and unconfined ; but, as the 
 intention of nature was to produce perfect 
 and distinct vision by their means, we sonn 
 learn by experience to regulate them accord- 
 ing to that intention only, without the least 
 
 Pfin 4&C^ lon^ 
 
 A ship requires a different trim for every 
 variation of the direction and strength of 
 the whid ; and, if we may be allowed to 
 borrow that word, the eyes require a differ- 
 ent trim for every degree of light, and for 
 every variation of the distance of the object, 
 while it is within certain limits. The eyes 
 are trimmed for a particular object, by con- 
 tracting certain muscles and relaxing others; 
 ••the ship is trimmed for a particular wind 
 by drawing certain ropes and slackening 
 others. The sailor learns the trun of his 
 ship, as we kam the trun of our eyes, by- 
 experience. A ship, although the noblest 
 machine that human art can boast, is far 
 
 inferior to the eye in this respect, that it 
 requires art and ingenuity to navigate her ; 
 and a sailor muht Imow what ropes he must 
 pull, and what he must slacken, to fit her 
 to a particular wind ; but with such superior 
 wisdom is the fabric of the eye, and the 
 principles of its motion contrived, that it 
 requires no art nor ingenuity to see by it. 
 Even that part of vision which is got by 
 experience, is attained by idiots. We need 
 not know what muscles we are to contract, 
 and what we are to relax, in order to fit 
 the eye to a particular distance of the object. 
 
 But, although we are not conscious of the 
 motions we perform^ in^rder to fit the eyes 
 to_the distance of the object, we are jonr 
 scions, of _ the effor t em ployed in producing 
 these motions ; and probably have some 
 sensation which accompanies tliem, to which 
 we give as little attention as to other sensa- 
 tions. And thus, an effort consciously ex- 
 erted, or a sensation consequent upon tliat 
 effort, comeo to be conjoined with the dis- j 
 tance of the object which gave occasion to 
 it, and by this conjunction becomes a sign 
 of that distance. Some instances of this 
 will appear in considering the means or 
 signs by which we learn to see the distance 
 of objects from the eye. In the enumera- 
 tion of these, we agree with Dr Porterfield, 
 notwithstanding that distance from the eye, 
 in his opinion, is perceived originally, but, 
 in our opinion, by experience only. 
 
 In general, jvhen a near object affects the 
 eye in one manner, and the same object, 
 placed at a greater distance, affects it in a 
 different manner, these various affections 
 of the eye become signs of the correspond- 
 ing distances. The means of perceiving 
 distance by the eye will therefore be ex- 
 plained by shewing in what various ways 
 objects affect the eye differently, according 
 to their proximity or distance. 
 
 1. It is well known, that, to see objects 
 distinctly at various distances, the form of 
 the eye must undergo some change : and 
 nature hath given us the power of adapting 
 it to near objects, by the contraction of 
 certain muscles, and to distant objects by 
 the contraction of other muscles. As to 
 the manner in which this is done, and the 
 muscular parts employed, anatomists do not 
 altogether agree. The ingenious Dr Jurin, 
 in his excellent essay on distinct and indis- 
 tinct vision, seems to have given the most 
 probable account of this matter ; and to him 
 I refer the reader.* 
 
 But, whatever be the manner in which 
 this change of the form of the eye is ef- 
 fected, it is certain that young people have 
 commonly the power of adapting their eyes 
 
 On. m meeHiim m a reTdatiim— •* a miraculous 
 
 - >--•••■ imem\ '• -Daf M Hume."- H. 
 
 • See above, p. 188, note •.— H. 
 
 \ 
 
 * The mo "e in whicii the eye is accoramodated to itB 
 ▼arious perception*, is a subject which has obtained 
 much attention from the more recen* physiologists,— 
 U. 
 
 to all distances of the object, from six or ; 
 seven inches, to fifteen or sixteen feet ; so 
 as to have perfect and distinct vision at any 
 distance within tliese limits. From this it 
 follows, that the effort we consciously em- 
 ploy to adapt the eye to any particular dis-i 
 tance of objects within these limits, will be 
 connected and associated with that dis- 
 tance, and will become a sign of it. When 
 the object is removed beyond the farthest 
 limit of distinct vision, it will be seen in-i 
 distinctly; but, more or less so, according! 
 as its distance is greater or less ; so that \ 
 the degrees of indistinctness of the object 
 may become the signs of distances cousi- ) 
 derably beyond the farthest limit of distinct \ 
 vision. • 
 
 If we had no other mean but this, of per- 
 ceiving distance of visible objects, the most 
 distant would not appear to be above twenty 
 or thirty feet from the eye, and the tops of 
 houses and trees would seem to touch the 
 clouds ; for, in that case, the signs of all 
 greater distances being the same, they have 
 the same signification, and give the same 
 perception of distance. 
 
 But it is of more importance to observe, 
 that, because the nearest limit of distinct 
 vision in the time of youth, when we learn 
 to perceive distance by the eye, is about 
 six or seven inches, no object seen dis- 
 tinctly ever appears to be nearer than six 
 or seven inches from the eye. We can, 
 by art, make a small object appear dis- 
 tinct, when it is in reality not above half 
 an inch from the eye; either by using a 
 single microscope, or by looking through 
 a small pin-hole in a card. When, by 
 either of these means, an obiect is made 
 to appear distinct, however small its dis- 
 tance is in reality, it seems to be removed 
 at least to the distance of six or seven 
 inches— that is, within the limits of distinct 
 vision. 
 
 This observation is the more important, 
 because it affords the only reason we can 
 give why an object is magnified either by a 
 single microscope, or by being seen through 
 a pin-hole ; and the only mean by which 
 we can ascertain the degree in which the 
 object will be magnified by either. Thus, 
 if the object is really half an inch distant 
 from the eye, and appears to be seven inches 
 distant, its diameter will seem to be enlarged 
 in the same proportion as its distance — that 
 is, fourteen times. 
 
 2. In order to direct both eyes to an 
 object, the optic axes must have a greater 
 or less inclination, according as the object 
 is nearer or more distant. And, although 
 we are not conscious of this inclination, 
 yet we are conscious of the effort employed 
 in it. By this mean we perceive small 
 distances more accurately than we could 
 do by the conformation of the eye only. 
 
fO 
 
 OP THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 AwL llierefore, we iiii| Hhai thMe who hxre 
 loil tlm sight of one «y» M© apt, oven 
 within •rm's-length, to make muitakes in 
 
 the mumm of ohjecta, which «««*«>/ 
 
 wmmA hy ihoie who ■see with Iwih eyea 
 ft i fflj , mi fi^fciMt mm often disooveni in snuff- 
 iii|ft fiMidle, k thfedding a needle, or in 
 pimp ft tefl'^np.* 
 
 When a picture ia nfloi with hoth ejeii, 
 
 and alno gf«at dlataaoe, 4h« leprenentatton 
 
 .Mppeait' wm m^ nalitfal as when tt is seen 
 
 Mf wiih me. The intention of painting 
 
 beini to^ deceive the ^eje, Md tn :iiiali®' things 
 
 ai^pear at diffewnl 'dlrtaac- whieh to Teality 
 
 an npoB the ■wum piece of canvass, this 
 
 deception ia not so easily pot upon both 
 
 flfeS' as upon one | hecanie we perceive the 
 
 dikanfle rf TiilMe' objeeta 'BOte exactly and 
 
 deleiiiihiatalj with two egrw '*« with one. 
 
 If the ihadiiii and lelief be executed k the 
 
 heal manner, the picture may have ahnost 
 
 te aanie appearance t® m» eye as the 
 
 i«e«la'llieiii«ilw»wonldia*ei butitamnot 
 
 ham the lanA' appeanuwe to both. This is 
 
 not the fault of the artist, but au unavoid- 
 
 able impeffeution in the art And it is 
 
 owing to what we just now obeerved, that 
 
 the perception we have of the distance of 
 
 objeeta by one eye is more uncertain, and 
 
 more liable to deception, than that which 
 
 wc' have by both. 
 
 The creal hnfedunent, and I think the 
 only "inTOiciblo ta'pedhnent, to that agree- 
 able deception of the eye which the painter 
 ahnsat, is the pereeption which we have of 
 iM dlAnise of visible objects from the eye, 
 nitly by means of the confemation of the 
 m, but chiefly by means of the hiclination 
 of the optic axes. If this peweption could 
 be wiiwM I see m wmmm why a mcture 
 '■Uhl Mit' be made sO' 'perfect as to deceive 
 iheeye k ■fWilMy, and to be mistaken for 
 ibeori^nal object Therefore, in order to 
 Judge of the merit of a picture, we ought, 
 iHiiiiMh. as 'peMlble, to exclude these two 
 ■ m i ^ff f of "perceiving the distance' of the 
 ioveial. parts of it 
 
 la order to remove this percdftiora of dts- 
 iaiiise,, the oomioiBieuHi in pwratlng use a 
 Migbod which 'is very proper. They look 
 .flC'tie picture with one eye, 'through a tube 
 which eiwliidisth© view of all other objects. 
 
 By'iiiS'iiisiMid,. Il»f«n<#^ 
 w fiweliw the •distaws© 'Of ^m d>ject— to 
 wit, thehidlnation of the optic axea-is en- 
 tirely excluded. I would hmnhly proi>o«, 
 as an improir«i«t of this method of view- 
 km 'Wit^nam, <hal. 'Ihi> .aperture of the tube 
 
 ':ii0jit:iii'th*«yi>'iii«M^»'Ve'y «"^'** i'*^ * 
 as anal •• a pin-hole, lo much^the better, 
 providing there be light enough to tm the 
 piUHNideaily. Thoi«aaon.ofthispropo»l 
 
 # TlieMiiienstavk ia made Hf niMf ' Oftlctl wri. 
 'iciLiMsBdatv^M. 
 
 is, that, when w© look al an object through 
 a small aperture, it will be seen distinctly, 
 whether the conformation of the eye be 
 adapted to its distance or not ; and we have 
 no mean left to Judge of the distance, but 
 the light and colouring, which are m the 
 painter*s power. If, therefore, the artist 
 performs his part properly, the picture wiU 
 by this method aflect the eye in the same 
 manner tliat the object represented would 
 do ; which is the perfection of this art 
 
 Although this second mean of perceiving 
 the distance of visible objects be more de- 
 terminate and exact tlian the first, yet it 
 hath its limits, beyond which it can be of 
 no use. For when the optic axes directed 
 to an object are so nearly parallel that, in 
 directing them to an object yet more distant, 
 we are not conscious of any new effort, nor 
 have any different sensation, there our per- 
 ception of distance stops ; and, as all more 
 distant objects aflect the eye in the same 
 manner, we perceive them to be at the 
 same distance. This is the reason why the 
 sun, moon, planets, and fixed stars, when 
 seen not near the horizon, appear to be all 
 at the same distance, as if they touched the 
 concave surface of a great sphere. The 
 surface of this celestial sphere is at that 
 distance beyond which aU objects affect 
 the eye in the same manner. Why this 
 celestial vault appears more distant towards 
 the horizon, than towards the zenith, will 
 afterwards appear. 
 
 8. The colours of objects, according as 
 they are more distant, become more faint 
 and languid, and are tinged more with the 
 ami© of the intervening atmosphere : to 
 this we may add, that their minute parts 
 become more mdistmct, and their outline 
 IflSB accurately defined. It is by these 
 means chiefly, that painters can represent 
 objects at very different distjmces, upon the 
 same canvass. And the diminution of the 
 magnitude of an object would not have the 
 effect of making it appear to be at a great 
 distance, without this degradation of colour, 
 and indistinctness of the outline, and of the 
 minute parts. If a painter should make a 
 human figure ten tunes leas than other 
 human figures that are in the same piece, 
 having the colours as bright, and the out- 
 line and minute parts as accurately defined, 
 it would not have the appearance of a man 
 at a great distance, but of a pigmy or Lilli- 
 
 When an object hath a known variety of 
 colours, ita distance is more clearly indi- 
 cated by the gradual dilution of the colours 
 into one another, than when it is of one 
 uniform colour. In the steeple which 
 stands before me at a small distance, the 
 iomings of the stones are clearly percepti- 
 ble ; the grey colour of the stone, and the 
 white cement are distinctly limited i when 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 I9jf 
 
 I see it at a greater distance, the joinings 
 of the stones are less distinct, and the colours 
 of the stone and of the cement begm to 
 dilute into one another : at a distance still 
 greater, the joinings disappear altogether, 
 and the variety of colour vanishes. 
 
 In an apple-tree which stands at the dis- 
 tance of about twelve feet, covered with 
 flowers, I can perceive the figure and the 
 colour of the leaves and petals ; pieces of 
 branches, some larger, others smaller, peep- 
 ing through the intervals of the leaves- 
 some of them enlightened by the sun's rays. 
 Others shaded ; and some openings of the 
 sky are perceived through the whole. When 
 I gradually remove from tliis tree, the ap- 
 pearance, even as to colour, changes every 
 minute. First, the smaller parts, then the 
 larger, are gradually confounded and mixed. 
 The colours of leaves, petals, branches, 
 and sky, are gradually diluted into each 
 other, and the colour of the whole becomes 
 more and more uniform. This change of 
 appearance, corresponding to the several dis- 
 tances, marks tile distance more exactly tlian 
 if the whole object had been of one colour. 
 
 Dr Smith, in his " Optics,** gives us a very 
 curious observation made by Bishop Berke- 
 ley, in his travels through Italy and Sicily. 
 He observed, That, in those countries, 
 cities and palaces seen at a great distance 
 appeared nearer to him by several miles 
 than they really were : and he very judi- 
 ciously imputed it to this cause, That the 
 purity of the Italian and Sicilian air, gave 
 to very distant objects that degree of 
 brightness and distinctness which, in the 
 grosser air of his own country, was to be 
 seen only in those that are near. The 
 purity of the Italian air hath been assigned 
 as the reason why the Italian painters 
 commonly give a more lively colour to the 
 sky than the Flemish. Ought they not, 
 for the same re;ison, to give less degrad- 
 ation of the colours, and less indistinct- 
 ness of the minute parts, in the representa- 
 tion of very distant objects ? 
 
 It is very certain that, as in air uncom- 
 monly pure, we are apt to think vbible 
 objects nearer and less than they really 
 are, so, in air uncommonly foggy, we are 
 apt to think them more distant and larger 
 than the truth. Walkmg by the sea-side 
 in a thick fog, I see an object which seems 
 to me to be a man on horseback, and at 
 the distance of about half a mile. My com- 
 panion, who has better eyes, or is more 
 accustomed to see such objects in such cir- 
 cumstances, assures me that it is a sea- 
 gull, and not a man on horseback. Upon 
 a second view, I immediately assent to his 
 opinion ; and now it appears to me to be a 
 sea -gull, and at the distance only of seventy 
 or eighty yards. The mistake made on this 
 occasion, and the correction of it, are both 
 
 so sudden, that we are at a loss whether 
 to call them by the name of judgment, or 
 by that of simple perception, \ 
 
 It is not worth while to dispute about 
 names • but it is evident that my belief, 
 both first and last, was produced rather by 
 signs than by arguments, and that the 
 mind prpceeded to the conclusion in both 
 cases by habit, and not by ratiocination. 
 And the process of the mind seems to have 
 been this — First, Not knowing, or not 
 minding, the effect of a foggy air on the vis- 
 ible appearance of objects, the object seems 
 to me to have that degradation of colour, 
 and that indistinctness of the outline, which 
 objects have at the distance of half a mile ; 
 therefore, from the visible appearance as a 
 sign, I immediately proceed to the belief 
 that the object is half a mile distant. 
 Then, this distance, together with the vis- 
 ible magnitude, signify to me the real 
 magnitude, which, supposing the distance 
 to be half a mile, must be equal to that 
 of a man on horseback ; and the figure, 
 considering the indistinctness of the outline, 
 agrees with that of a man on horseback. 
 Thus the deception is brought about. But 
 when I am assured that it is a sea-gull, the 
 real magnitude of a sea-gull, together with 
 the visible magnitude presented to the eye, 
 immediately suggest the distance, which, 
 in this case, cannot be above seventy or 
 eighty yards : the indistinctness of the 
 figure likewise suggests the fogginess of the 
 air as its cause ; and now the whole chain 
 of signs, and things signified, seems stronger 
 and better connected than it was before ; 
 the half mile vanishes to eighty yards; 
 the man on horseback dwindles to a sea- 
 gull ; |_g?tanew perception, andwoader 
 hqwJjgotjHeTqi^ become gf 
 
 it; for it.ia_now6ft.,fintirely gone, th a t I 
 (j^nnpt recover it. 
 
 It ought to be" observed that, in order to 
 produce such deceptions from the clearness 
 or fogginess of the air, it must be uncom- 
 monly clear or uncommonly foggy ; for we 
 learn, from experience, to make allowance 
 for that variety of constitutions of the air 
 which we have been accustomed to observe, 
 and of which we are aware. Bishop 
 Berkeley therefore committed a mistake, 
 when he attributed the large appearance of 
 the horizontal moon to the faintness of her 
 light, occasioned by its passing through a 
 larger tract of atmosphere :* for we are so 
 much accustomed to see the moon in all 
 degrees of faintness and brightness, from 
 the greatest to the least, that we learn to 
 make allowance for it ; and do not imaghie 
 her magnitude increased by the faintness of 
 her appearance. Besides, it is certain that 
 the horizontal moon seen through a tube 
 
 •^C" 
 
 ij*» 
 
 • Thia explanation was not original to Berkeley.— H* 
 
 
m 
 
 OF THB HOMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 19, 
 
 wHitli emto ottbe view of the intarjactnt 
 gfoaiiil, mA of all terrestrial otojucts, loses 
 
 ,■1 Aat wnwwMil liPsiMiKso^ «f niMmitude, 
 
 r 
 
 4 Wo fktqueiitiy fmmitm Hm iistanoe' 
 
 of #liJMli, by means of intervening or oon- 
 
 lilpous objects, whose distance or magiii- 
 ISt ia^eOiiirwiMlciiiiifii. Wtaiil |»e««ve 
 i Mds or ■tnwli'of Honni to lie bo- 
 hM: and an objeisi, i is evident that 
 
 ^ „ fmmy lieoonie sigHi' of it*' distance. 
 
 Aid altbonili we have no pwftici^ in- 
 llkiniialiiiii «f the dlmenaiona of such Mda^ 
 » tia^ 7«t. tiieir dnliliide to others whieh 
 we 'hnow, auggests their dhnensions. 
 
 We are so much accustomed to measme 
 'With onr eye th«' gfouwl which ^vetwvel, 
 swl, to oompwf 'tlie Inigments of diataittia 
 ffoffmed. by laight, wlii our expenence or m- 
 imation, thai wo bam by ^egmB, in thia 
 way, to form a wmm accnrato Judgment of 
 liie distance of terrestrial objects, than we 
 'Omilide by any of the means before men- 
 ioiiMi An objeot placed upon the top of 
 m Ugh building, apfoaii Bwdi less than 
 when ftaeed/iiponAigwwiid, a* the same 
 idistanee. When It slanda upon 'the ground, 
 ae intervening tract of ground serves as a 
 sign of its distance ; and the distance, to- 
 gether with the^ viiible' magnitude, serves 
 iii»aigEofit».'Wid'mafiiitude. But when 
 the object is 'pheed' on high, this sign of ita 
 distance is taken away: the remaining 
 ■igns lead us to place it at a less distance ; 
 :iiml. thia lesa distance, together with the 
 viaiUe 'Bapnitade^ hecomea a sign of a leas 
 TCsl nagnitade. 
 
 The two first means we have mentioned, 
 I would .never of themselves make a T**™®' 
 oUoct appoar above a hundred, and fifty, 
 i or two hundred feet, distant } because, be- 
 yond that there is no sensible change, either 
 of the conformation of the eyes, or of the 
 inclination of their axes. The third mean 
 is but a vague and undeterminate sign, 
 when applied to distances above two or three 
 hundred feet, unless we know the leal colour 
 and figure of the object; .and the fifth 
 mean, to^ be afterwards menHillod, can 
 only be applied to objecta which a» fiuni- 
 1 liar, or whose real, magnitude is known. 
 I mmm it foiowi, that, when w^wa ^t" 
 j iefll% npon or 'near the su,rfiice of 'the ewtli, 
 '■ are 'perceived, 'to 'be at the distance of some 
 > miles, It IS always by this fourth mean that 
 ' we are led to that oonelwtei. 
 
 Br Smith, hath ohaufved, 'very justly, that 
 tie 'known, ■diataaoO' of' the terrestrial objects 
 which terminate onr view, makes that part 
 of the sky which ia towards the honaon 
 appear 'mora, 'distant than, that which is to. 
 'i^u^the ,wnith. Hence it come8.'to^pass, 
 tint. thO' .apparent figure of the sky is not 
 that of a hemisphete, but rather a la» seg- 
 ment of a sphere. And, hence, likewise, 
 it comes to pass, that the diameter of the 
 
 mm or moon, or the distance between two 
 fixed stars, seen contiguous to a hill, or t» 
 any distant terrestrial object, appears much 
 greater than when no such object strikes 
 the eye at the same time. , 
 
 These observations have been sufficienUy 
 exphOned and confirmed by Dr Smith. I 
 beg leave to add, that, when the visibte 
 horizon is terminated by very distant ob- 
 jects, the celestial vault seems to be en- 
 kiged in all its dimensions. When I view 
 1 it Mom a confined street or lane, it bears 
 some proportion to the buildings that sur- 
 round me ; but, when I view it from a hirgo 
 plain, terminated on all hands by hills which 
 rite one above another to the distance of 
 twenty miles from the eye, methmks 1 see 
 a new heaven, whose magnificence declares 
 the greatness of its Author, and puts every 
 human edifice out of countenance ; for now 
 the lofty spires and tlie gorgeous palacet 
 slirink hito nothing before it, and bear no 
 more proportion to the celestial dome than 
 their makers bear to its Maker. 
 
 liw There remains another mean by which 
 we perceive the distance of visible objects— 
 and that is, the diminution of their visible 
 or apparent magnitude. By exjierience, I 
 know what figure a man, or any other known 
 object, makes to my eye at the distance of 
 ten feet— I perceive the gradual and pro- 
 portional diminution of this visible figure, at 
 the distance of twenty, forty, a huudred 
 feet, and at greater dibtauces, until it vaoihh 
 altogether. Henco a certain visible magiii- » 
 tude of a kuown object becomes the sign of 
 a certain determinate distance, and carries 
 along with it the conception and belief of 
 that distance. 
 
 In this process of the mmd, the sign is | 
 not a sensation ; it is an original percep-| 
 tion. We perceive the visible figure audi 
 visible magnitude of the object, by the ori- 
 ginal powers of vision ; but the visible figure 
 is used only as a sign of the real figure, and 
 the visible magnitude is used only as a sign 
 either of the distance, or of the real magni- 
 tude, of the object ; and, therefore, these 
 original perceptions, like other mere signs, 
 pass through the mind without any atten- 
 tion or retlection. 
 
 This kat mean of perceivmg the dis- 
 tance of known objects, serves to explain 
 some very remarkable phcenomena iu op- 
 tics, which would otherwise appear very 
 mysterious. When we view objects of 
 known dimensions through optical glasses, 
 there is no other mean left of determining 
 their distance, but this fifth. Hence it 
 follows, that known objects seen throu|»h 
 glasses, must seem to be brought nearer, m 
 proportion to the naagnifying power of the 
 glass, or to be removed to a greater distance, 
 in proportion to the dimmishing power of 
 the glass. 
 
 I 
 
 If a man who had never before seen ob- 
 jects through a telescope, were told that 
 the telescope, which he is about to use, mag- 
 nifies the diameter of the object ten times ; 
 when he looks through this telescope at a 
 men six feet high, what would he expect 
 to see ? Surely he would very naturally 
 expect to see a giant sixty feet high. But 
 he sees no such thin^. The man appears 
 no more than six feet high, and conse- 
 quently no bigger than he really is ; but he 
 appears ten times nearer than he is. The 
 telescope indeed magnifies the image of 
 this man upon the retina ten times in dia- 
 meter, and must, therefore, magnify his 
 visible figure in the same proportion ; and, 
 as we have been accustomed to see him of 
 this visible magnitude when he was ten 
 times nearer than he is presently,* and in 
 no other case, this visible magnitude, there- 
 fore, suggests the conception and belief of 
 that distance of the object with which it 
 hath been always connected. We have 
 been accustomed to conceive this amplifi- 
 cation of the visible figure of a known ob- 
 ject, only as the effect or sign of its being 
 brought nearer: and we have annexed a 
 certain determinate distance to every de- 
 gree of visible magnitude of the object; 
 and, therefore, any particular degree of vi- 
 sible magnitude, whether seen by the naked 
 eye or by glasses, brings along with it the 
 conception and belief of the distance which 
 corresponds to it. This is the reason 
 why a telescope seems not to magnify known 
 objects, but to bring them nearer to the 
 eye. 
 
 When we look through a pin-hole, or a 
 single microscope, at an object which is 
 half an inch from the eye, the picture of 
 the object upon the retina is not enlarged, 
 but only rendered distinct ; neither is the 
 visible figure enlarged : yet the object ap- 
 pears to the eye twelve or fourteen times 
 more distant, and as nuiny times larger in 
 diameter, than it really is. Such a tele- 
 scope as we have mentioned amplifies the 
 unage on the reiina, and the visible figure 
 of the object, ten times in diameter, and yet 
 makes it seem no bigger, but only ten times 
 nearer. These appearances had been long 
 observed by the writers on optics ; they tor- 
 tured their invention to find the causes of 
 them from optical principles ; but in vain : 
 they must be resolved into habits of percep- 
 tion, which are acquired by custom, but 
 are apt to be mistaken for original percep- 
 tions. The Bishop of Cloyne first furnished 
 the world with the proper key for opening 
 up these mysterious a})pearances ; but he 
 made considerable mistakes in the applica- 
 tion of it. Dr Smith, in his elaborate and ju- 
 dicious treatise of '' Optics,** hath applied it 
 
 • See note ♦ p. 9R, a. — H. 
 
 to the apparent distance of objects seen with 
 glasses, and to the apparent figure of the 
 heavens, with such happy success, that there 
 can be no more doubt about the causes of 
 these phsenomena. 
 
 Secfion XXIII, 
 
 OP THE SIGNS USED IN OTHER AC(^UIRBD PER- 
 CKPTIONS. 
 
 The distance of objects from the eye is 
 the most important lesson in vision. Many 
 others are easily learned in consequence of 
 it. The distance of the object, joined with 
 its visible magnitude, is a sign of its real 
 magnitude : and the distance of the several 
 parts of an object, joined with its visible 
 figure, becomes a sign of its real figure. 
 Thus, when I look at a globe which stands 
 before me, by the original powers of sight 
 I perceive only something of a circular 
 form, variously coloured. The visible figure 
 hath no distance from the eye, no convexity, 
 nor hath it three dimensions ; even its length 
 and breadth are incapable of being mea- 
 sured by inches, feet, or other linear mea- 
 sures. But, when I have learned to per- 
 ceive the distance of every part of this 
 object from the eye, this perception gives it 
 convexity, and a spherical figure ; and adds 
 a third dimension to that which had but 
 two before. The distance of the whole 
 object makes me likewise perceive the real 
 magnitude ; for, being accustomed to ob- 
 serve how an inch or a foot of length affects 
 the eye at that distance, I plauily perceive 
 by my eye the linear dimensions of the 
 globe, and can affirm with certainty that 
 its diameter is about one foot and three 
 inches. 
 
 It was shewn in the 7th section of 
 this chapter that the visible figure of a 
 body may, by mathematical reasoning, be 
 inferred from its real figure, distance, and 
 position, with regard to the eye; in like 
 manner, we may, by mathematical reason- 
 ing, from the visible figure, together with 
 the distance of the^ several parts of it from 
 tEe^ye, infer the real figure and position. 
 But this last mierence is not commonly 
 made by mathematical reasoning, . npr,^ in- 
 deed, by reasoning of any kind, but by cus- 
 tom. 
 
 The o riginal appearance which the colouiv— • "" 
 of an object makes to the eye, ia & scn&air 
 tion for which we have no name, J^ecaiisfi 
 it is used merely as a sign, and is never. m§do 
 an object of attention in common life :_but 
 this appearance, according to the d ifferen t 
 circumstances, signifies various things. If 
 a piece of cloth, of one uniform colour, is 
 laid so that part of it is in the sun, and part 
 in the shade, the appearance of colour, in 
 
 o 
 
 r - --I 
 
^94 
 
 Of THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 tlwie 'iillinDi ,pn% is 'Tery different : yet 
 we 'peteeife: Hie eolour to be the same ; we 
 inlerpfeft tli« viriety of appeanuice as a 
 titm <if 1^1 ■nd shade, and 'mot as a skn 
 'Hi fill Aferenee in eohmi* Bat| if the 
 9^ mmM 'he so far tecived as not to per- 
 oeivo 'the difference 'Of BtM in the two 
 wrts of the cloth, we should, in that ease, 
 uilaniiit tha vacietV'Of appearance to signify 
 
 .jlfain, if we suppose a piece of cloth 
 piieed as hefore, but Iiaving the shaded part 
 it much brighter in the eolmir that it gives 
 
 'the same ^aiipeanince' to^ tie eye as the more 
 eni|piltiiM part, the sameneis^'af'aii^ear^ 
 anoo' will here be interp'reted to signffy a 
 varia^ of colour, beeaiiaa we shall make 
 aioimMe !<» IhO' effect <if 1^1 and sbada 
 When 'tiM' real colour of aa. object is 
 .known, 'the appearanoe of it indicates, in 
 •Mne circumstaiioes, the degree of light 
 or shades in othct%. Urn mkmx of the cir^ 
 eumamMent bodies, whose rays are reiected. 
 by it I and, in other circumataiifles, it indi- 
 cates the distance or proximity of the ob- 
 je4St— as was observed in the Isst section ; 
 and by .meaiis 'Of 'these,, manyother thwgs 
 Me suggtited to the nind.^ *I1iu& an uu- 
 BMial appearance in the colour of familiar 
 objeeis may be the diaguMlie of a disease 
 in. tiM' ipeelaliir. The appearance of things 
 ;in Bymoa 'may indicate sunshine or cloudy 
 'weamer, the earth eoTered with snow or 
 Uaitened 'with rain. It hath been oh-' 
 B«rfftd^ 'that the eohmr of the :sky, in a 
 
 of 'tlw' piintar, Mcause the Itaiia sky is 
 really of a different colour from the Flemish. 
 
 It was ^already observed,, that the oriaimal 
 .and aafiiiied. peroeptions which we have 
 
 great '"affinitv to i», iiiii.iMn .langnages*. The 
 mstaneeswhidiwt have given of acquired 
 perceptions, M^ggest this .affinity— that, as,. 
 In human languages, ambiguities are often 
 imnd, :so this language' 'Of nature 'm our ao- 
 
 niii'ff'iidl iiiiiiiMM IH 'iriiiiii. CMSMniivybGNili xViiiiii 
 
 '^tnem. We nave isem, hi' 'vision partieu.- 
 'I jwny, tiiat tue 'Sane^ ^aBpeaianee to^ tne eye, 
 may, in different c^Wstances, indickte 
 different things.. Therefore, when the «lr» 
 eismstances are unknown upon which the 
 interpretation of the signs depends, their 
 ~ ig m.ust he ambiguouS' ;. and when the 
 are nlililifni 'the meanin.g 
 tie aipMi .mnst'SiMi' IW' imnaien. 
 This .18' the easS' 'in all 'the^ 'phaenomena 
 iwhidh. WO' call, failmiea of *h§ temrn ; and 
 fartiailarly in those which are called 
 Jii'flnrict' 'te 'Hiflcni. The appearance' of 
 tMngs 'tO' tlW'm alwap' corresponds to the 
 ijM lawa of Matnm' { 'therelbre, if we speak 
 Niprty, there' is no fallaey in the senses. 
 'atnve'UwaysBpeakelh Ihe same hui.guage, 
 
 anduseth the same signs in the same eirj 
 cumstances ; but we sometimes mistake 
 the meaning of the signs, either througfal 
 ignorance of the hiws of Nature, or through 
 isnorance of the circumstances which attend 
 the sign& 
 
 To a man unacquainted with the prin- 
 dples of optics, almost every experiment 
 that is made with the prism, with the magic 
 lanthorn, with the telescope, with the mi- 
 eroecope, seems to produce some fallacy in 
 vision. Even the appearance of a common 
 mirror, to one altogether unacquainted with 
 the effects of it, would seem most remark- 
 ably fallacious. For how can a man be 
 more imposed upon, tlian in seeing that 
 before him which is really behind him ? 
 How can he he more imposed upon, than 
 in beuBg made to see himself several yards 
 removM from himself? Yet children, 
 even before they can speak their mother- 
 tongue, learn not to be deceived by these 
 appearances. Tliese, as well as all the 
 other surprising appearances produced by 
 optical glasses, are a part of the visual lan- 
 guage, and, to those who understand the 
 kws of Nature concerning light and colours, 
 are in nowise falbicious, but have a dis- 
 tinct and true meaning. 
 
 S^elioft XJT/r. 
 
 or THl ANALOGY BBTWBSN PERCBPTION 
 AND THB CREDIT WX OIVK TO HUMAN 
 TXSTlMONV.f 
 
 The Objects of human knowledge are in- 
 numerable ; but the channels by which it 
 |g oonveyed to the mind are few. Among 
 these, the perception of external things by 
 our senses, and the informations which we 
 receive upon human testimony, are not the 
 least considerable; and so remarkable is 
 the analogy between these two, and the 
 analogy between the principles of the mind 
 which are subservient to the one and those 
 whieh are subservient to the other, that, 
 without further apology, we shall consider 
 them together. 
 
 In the testimony of Nature given by the 
 senses, as well as in human testimony given 
 by language, things are signified to us by 
 signs : and in one as well as the other, the 
 mmd, either bv original principles or by 
 custom, paniMMfOTO the sign to the concep- 
 tion and bdief of the things signified. 
 
 We have distinguished our perceptions 
 
 • Thii it tlH» doctrine of Aristotle; who holdf 
 that the itntM never deceive us in relation to tlidir 
 pro|«r object^.— H. 
 
 t Comiwre Mr 8t«wait'« " Elementi," to'. I, 
 ch. ii., I 4f p. 147. Second edition. Campbell 
 *• On Mlracki/' Part I., \ 1. Smith's " 1 beory of 
 Moral Seottnent," *ol. II., p^ mi. Sixth edition.— 
 M.. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 J9ii 
 
 > 
 
 Into original and acquired ; and language, 
 into natural and artificial. Between 
 acquired perception and artificial language, 
 there is a great analogy ; hut still a greater 
 between original perception and natiual 
 language. 
 
 The si^^ inori^al perception are sensr 
 ations, of which Nature hath given us a great 
 variety, suited to the variety of the things 
 signified by them. Nature hath establiahed 
 a real connection between the signs and.th? 
 things sign^ed ; andNature hath also taught 
 uiT the interpretation of the signs — so tn^, 
 previous to experience, the sign suggests 
 the thing signified, and create the belief of 
 it. 
 
 The signs in natural language are features 
 of the face, gestures of the body, and modu- 
 lations of the voice ; the variety of which is 
 suited to the variety of the things signified 
 by them. Nature hath established a real 
 connection between these signs, and the 
 thoughts and dispositions of the mind which 
 are signified by them ; and Nature hath 
 taught us the interpretation of these signs ; 
 so that, previous to experience, the signs 
 suggest the thing signified, and create the 
 belief of it. 
 
 A man m company, without doing good 
 or evil, without uttering an articulate sound, 
 may behave hunself gracefully, civilly, 
 politely; or, on the contrary, meanly, 
 rudely, and impertinently. We see the 
 dispositions of his mmd by their natural 
 signs in his countenance and behaviour, in 
 the same manner as we perceive the figure 
 and other qualities of bodies by the sensa- 
 tions which nature hath connected with 
 them. 
 
 The signs in the natural knguage of the 
 hcunan countenance and behaviour, as well 
 as the signs in our original perceptions, 
 have the same signification in all climates 
 and in all nations ; and the skill of inter- 
 preting them ifl not acquired, but innate. 
 
 In acquired perception, the signs are 
 either sensationSj or things which we per- 
 ceive by means of sensations. The con- 
 nection between the sign and the thing sig- 
 nified, is established ny nature; and we 
 discover this connection by experience; 
 but not without the aid of our original per- 
 oej2tio^n8,_orof those which we have already 
 acquired. After this connection is dis- 
 covered, the sign, in like manner as in 
 original perception, always suggests the 
 things signified^ and creates tllfi.llfiLi^ pf 
 
 lis, 
 
 ~In artificial language, the signs are arti- 
 culate sounds, whose connection with the 
 things signified by them, is established by 
 the will of men; and, in learning our 
 mother tongue, we discover this connection 
 by experience ; but not without the aid of 
 natural language, or of what we had before 
 
 attained of artificial language. And, after 
 this connection is discovered, the sign, as 
 in natural language, always suggests the 
 thing signified, and creates the belief of it. 
 
 Our original perceptions are few, com- 
 pau:£d with-the acquired ; but, without the 
 former, we could not possibly attain the* 
 latter* In like manner, natural language 
 is scanty, compared with artificial ; but, 
 without the former, we could not possibly 
 attain the latter. 
 
 Our original perceptions, as well as the ' 
 natural language of human features and 
 gestures, must be resolved into p articular 
 princij^es of the human constitution. Thus, . 
 it IS by one particular principle of our con- 
 stitution that certain features express anger; 
 and, by another particular principle, that 
 certain features express benevolence. It is, 
 in like manner, by one particular principle 
 of our constitution that a certain sensation 
 signifies hardness in the body which I 
 handle; and it is by another particular 
 principle that a certain sensation signifies 
 motion in that body. 
 
 But our acquired perceptions, and the 
 information we receive by means of arti-|I 
 ficial language, must be resolved into gene- 
 ral principles of the human constitution. , 
 When a painter perceives that this picture 
 is the work of Raphael, that the work of 
 Titian ; a jeweller, that this is a true dia- 
 mond, that a counterfeit ; a sailor, that this 
 is a ship of five hundred ton, that of four 
 hundred; these different acquired percep- 
 tions are produced by the same general 
 principles of the human mind, which have 
 a different operation in the same person 
 according as they are variously applied, and 
 in different persons according to the divers- 
 ity of their education and manner of life. 
 In like manner, when certain articulate 
 sounds convey to my mind the knowledge of 
 the battle of Pharsalia, and others, the 
 knowledge of the battle of Poltowa— when a 
 Frenchman and an Englishman receive the 
 same information by different articulate 
 sounds— the signs used in these different 
 cases, produce the knowledge and belief of 
 the things signified, by means of the same 
 general principles of the human constitu- 
 tion. 
 
 Now, if we compare the general prin- 
 ciples of our constitution, which fit us for 
 receiving information from our fellow-crea- 
 tures by language, with the general prin- 
 ciples which fit us for acquiring the per- 
 ception of things by our senses, we shall 
 find them to be very similar in their nature 
 and manner of operation. 
 
 When we begin to learn our mother- 
 tongue, we perceive, by the help of natural 
 hmguage, that they who speak to us use 
 certain sounds to express certain thmgs 
 we imitate the same sounds when we would 
 
 o2 
 
im 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 1&7 V 
 
 ■\ 
 
 X 
 
 \ 
 
 'tte' ilMnO thingii I Anil. 'HimI thmt we 
 
 :■•• mcbntofid* 
 
 Bui lieni ft dilHiiilly oooars which morito 
 mat afitentioo, 'li«8Mite the solution of it 
 iaid» to aome origkal principles of the hu- 
 
 ■ai' nt 'Verj extensive .Mmsnce. we Icnow 
 If' exferieiMse that men ham mud such 
 words to expseei such thinsp ; hut all ex- 
 lee is of the p<uf, ana can, of itaelf, 
 ■0 :iiotiMi or Mief 'Of' what ia/ulur^. 
 w% Hm, to 'Mfeve, anclto lely 
 ■PHI it with aasnmnce, that men, who have 
 it in thair power to do otherwia% will con- 
 tiiiiit' td mm the same 'worda^ when they 
 think tile :8ame thinga^ ? Whence comes 
 tkiilawwledge and heUef—thts foresight, we 
 (Mght rather to call it— of the future and 
 
 .Have: lieij ^pHnnlsed tint iingr will never 
 |«i|iiMii^''mHtiii nn hy rn 11 i rttiiiitHi w flilmiihiifiifl ? 
 If e, they have not And, if they had, this 
 wnnld not solve the difficulty; for such 
 
 pnwiise mast be expressed by words or by 
 otlMT' ^aigni { and, hefbre we can rely upon 
 it, we must be assured that thev put the 
 
 liiial peaning upon the'^signs whiali expieii 
 tuaS' piM&iiie* Pto man. of common sense 
 '•m tkmght of tabing s man's own word 
 Imp his honesty ; and it is evident that we 
 take hiS' veracity for granted when we lay 
 itieis 'upon his word or promise. I 
 it aiid|. tlat this relian^ce' upon the de* 
 Ions and testimony of men is found 
 In children long before they know what a 
 teis. 
 'T hir O' is, therefore^ in. the human mtnd 
 
 ««Bii>~iiiiM«iiiwiM iiiiliiinii. ..I* mi»im ftmmmm |iii»iii<ii iliili iilll l liiliiiiiiiiiiiiiiii||||fi*ii|g|H< * "»»">' ■i||iiiliiiiiiiiwi igPHiHiiiiiiiiMiMMiiliM 
 
 an earlv ii.nii«iiati< iii:- neltnM'' dMttud Hnm 
 exfMence, nor from reason, nor from any 
 
 ■'SliiiCiK^ilffli^ t^at our fellow-cija: 
 
 lures will use the same signs in ...language^ 
 
 wieii' {ley have the same sentiments. 
 
 This is, in reality, a kind of prescience 
 of human actions ; and it seems to me to 
 *^ 11 1Wig^!"!ii p'^«M^ plB 'Of the h u man con - 
 ■iiiiiiglb JliiliMt-.»^ ye ahould he..in- 
 
 .•■pihle ;of |iiiigtiag€». and jaonflgigi ntly i n- 
 
 capable of i natruMi on. 
 
 Tiia''wlii '.iiiid' beneficent Author of Ma- 
 
 turn vho 'Intended that 'we sbo^uld be social 
 and that we should receive the 
 and most important part of our 
 iwiodjee by the information of others, 
 ]iath,forthe^'^.purMe^ in ou^ 
 
 utter. 
 Tbe inl of these principles' is, a |>'ro- 
 Hilly to speak. tru.th, ani to uso' the signs 
 of language m as to wnvey onr 'real, sen- 
 timents. 'ThiS' 'principk has^ a powerful 
 'Hferation, even in the greatest lla.rs; for 
 
 imlM times. 'Tmlii.isjdwaiS'Uppannoaly 
 and it the natural, iatue of m 'mind. It 
 requires no art or training, no inducement 
 
 or temptaton, but only that we yield to a 
 natural impulse. Lying, on the contrary, 
 is doinjr violence to our nature ; and is 
 never practised, even by the worst men, 
 without some toinptatton. Speaking truth 
 is like using our natural food, which we 
 would do from appetite, althou^j^h it an- 
 swered no end ; but lyhig is like taking 
 physic, which is nauseous to the taste, and 
 which no man takes but for some end which 
 he cannot otherwise attain. 
 
 If it should be objected, That men may 
 be influenced by moial or political consider- 
 ations to speak truth, and, therefore, that 
 their doing so is no proof of such an origi- 
 nal principle as wo have mentioned — I 
 answer, First, That moral or political con- 
 siderations can have no influence until we ^ 
 arrive at years of understanding and reflec- 
 
 that children keep to truth invariably, be- \ 
 fore they are capable of being influenced by 
 such considerations. Secondly, When we 
 are influenced by moral or political con- 
 siderations, 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 
 politiou. I find that truth is always at the 
 door of my lips, and goes forth sponta- 
 neously, if not held back. It requires 
 neither good nor bad intention to bring it 
 forth, but only that I be artless auu unde- 
 signing. There may indeed be temfitutio; 
 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— and this instinct is tlm^ 
 principle I have been explaining. 
 
 By this instinct, a real connection is 
 formed between our words and our thoughts, 
 and thereby the former become fit to be 
 
 Xs of the ktter, which they could not 
 »rwise be. And although this connec- 
 tion is broken In every instance of lying 
 and equivocation, yet these instances being 
 comparatively few, the authority of human 
 testimony h only weakened by them, but 
 not destroyed. 
 
 Another original principle implanted in 
 us by the Supreme Being, is a disposition 
 to confide in the veracity of others, and to 
 believe what they toll ua This la the 
 counterpart to the former ; and, as that 
 may be called the principle of veracity y we 
 shiUl, for want of a more proper name, call 
 this the principle qf credulity. It is un- 
 limited in children, until they meet with 
 instances of deceit and Iklsehood; and it 
 vetains a very considerable degree of strength 
 through life. 
 
 If Nature had left the mind of the speaker 
 
 mm 
 
 in aquilibrioy without any inclination to 
 the side of truth more than to that of false- 
 hood, children would lie as often as they 
 speak truth, until reason was so far ripened 
 as to suggest the imprudence of lying, or 
 eonscience, as to suggest its immorality. 
 And if Nature had left the mind of the 
 hearer in aguilibrioy without any inclina- 
 tion to the side of belief more than to that 
 of disbelief, we should take no mau*s word 
 until we had positive evidence that he 
 spoke truth. His testimony would, in this 
 case, have no more authority than his 
 dreams ; which may be true or false, but 
 no man is disposed to believe them, on this 
 account, that they were dreamed. It is 
 evident that, in the matter of testimony, 
 the balance of human judgment is by nature 
 inclined to the side of belief ; and turns to 
 that side of itself, when there is nothing 
 put into the opposite scale. If it was not 
 so, no proposition that is uttered in dis- 
 course would be believed, until it was 
 examined and tried by reason ; and most 
 men would be unable to find reasons for 
 believing the thousandth part of what is 
 tpld them. Such distrust and incredulity 
 ^^'''would deprive us of the greatest benefits of 
 society, and place us in a worse condition 
 than that of savages. 
 t Children, on this supposition, would be 
 
 I absolutely incredulous, and, therefore, ab- 
 solutely incapable of instruction : those who 
 had little knowledge of human life, and of 
 the manners and characters of men, would 
 be in the next degree incredulous : and the 
 ■*^.most credulous men would be those of 
 greatest experience, and of the deepest 
 penetration ; because, in many cases, they 
 would be able to find good reasons for 
 believing testimony, which the weak and 
 the ignorant could not discover. 
 
 In a word, if credulity were the effect of 
 reasoning and experience, it must grow up 
 and gather strength, in the same proportion 
 as reason and experience do. But, if it is 
 the gift of Nature, it will be strongest in 
 childhood, and limited and restrained by 
 experience ; and the most superficial view 
 of human life shews, that the last is really 
 the case, and not the first.* 
 
 It is the intention of Nature, that we 
 should be carried in arms before we are able 
 to walk upon our legs ; and it is likewise 
 the intention of Nature, that our belief 
 should be guided by the authority and rea- 
 son of others, before it can be guided by 
 our own reason. The weakness of the in- 
 fant, and the natural affection of the nlother, 
 plainly indicate the former ; and the natural 
 credulity of youth, and authority of age, as 
 pUinly indicate the latter. The infant, by 
 
 • See. con/fA. Priestley's" Examinatioi," p. 88. 
 ••Brown'ii Lcct" lect. Ixxxiv. 
 
 proper nursing and care, acquires strength 
 to walk without support. Reasou hath 
 likewise her infancy, when she must be 
 carried in arms : then she leans entirely 
 upon authority, by natural instinct, as if 
 she was conscious of her own weakness ; 
 and, without this support, she becomes ver- 
 tiginous. When brought to maturity by 
 proper culture, she begins to feel her own 
 strength, and leans less upon the reason of 
 others ; she learns to suspect testimony in 
 some cases, and to disbelieve it in others ; 
 and sets bounds to that authority to which 
 she was at first entirely subject. But stilL 
 to the end of life, she finds a necessity ot 
 borrowing light from testimony, where she 
 has none within herself, and of leaning, 
 in some degree, upon the reason of others, 
 where she is conscious of her own imbe- 
 cility. 
 
 And as, in many instances. Reason, even 
 in her maturity, borrows aid from testi- 
 mony, so in others she mutually gives aid 
 to it, and strengthens its authority. For. 
 as we find good reason to reject testimony in 
 some cases, so in others we find good reason 
 to rely upon it with perfect security, in our 
 most important concerns. The character, 
 the number, and the disinterestedness of 
 witnesses, the impossibility of collusion, and 
 the incredibility of their concurring in their 
 testimony without collusion, may give an 
 irresistible strength to testimony, compared 
 to which its native and intrinsic authority 
 is very inconsiderable. 
 
 Having now considered the general prin- 
 ciples of the human mind which fit us for 
 receiving information from our fellow-crea- 
 tures, by the means of language, let us next 
 ccmsider the general principles which fit us 
 for receiving the information of Nature by 
 our acquired perceptions. 
 
 It is undeniable, and indeed is acknow- 
 1 edged bx fliU-that-when we have foundtwo 
 things to liave been constantly conjoined in 
 the course of nature, the appearance of one 
 of them is immediately followed by the con- 
 ception and belief of the other. The for- 
 mer becomes a natural sign of the latter; 
 and the knowledge of their constant conjunc- 
 tion in time past, whether got by experience 
 or otherwise, is sufficient to make us re]y 
 with assurance upon the continuance of that 
 conjunction. 
 
 This process of the human mind is so 
 familiar that we never think of inquiring 
 into the principles upon which it is founded. 
 We are apt to conceive it as a self-evident 
 truth, that what is to come must be similar 
 to what is past. Thus, if a certain degree 
 of cold freezes water to-day, and has l^n 
 known to do so in all time past, we have 
 no doubt but the same degree of cold will 
 freeze water to-morrow, or a year hence. 
 That this is a truth which all men believe as 
 

 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 OF SEEING. 
 
 im 
 
 
 mm m 'tliv iiiJiwiPidit, I w«iay adiiiU; 
 tlie f iMtifn. is, WlMBOfi 'does 'its evi- 
 ariae ? N<»t ffom eoiniiaraig the 
 
 ,, , wutely. For, wli«i I compsf© the 
 
 Mm of ooM with that of water harctened 
 iiito a tiansparent solid hody, I can per- 
 lOeiTO no connection between them : no man 
 loan 4iew the one to be the eeceaaafy ©iSect 
 nfHie other ; no man can give a shadow nf 
 itawn why Nature hath conjoined lliflin. 
 But do we not learn their conjunction from 
 oxperience ? 'Trm | experience informs 
 JOS that they hare been conjoined in time 
 Ipasi s bat no man ever had any experience 
 of what is fiUure : and this is the very 
 kiwafon to be resolved, How we come to 
 jliiflfii that ^ fuiuri wiU be hke the 
 hmif Hath the Author of natnwi' pro- 
 imifled this f Or were we admitted to his 
 Uoondl, when he established the pwsent 
 fkws of iialiii% and determmed the time 
 !of their iwitliiiiaiwe. No, sorely. In- 
 1 deed, if wa' belimW' lU' iMia iS' a wise ^and 
 good Author of nature, wo may see a good 
 I tmmm wfaiy ho should continue the same 
 ' lawa of nature, and the same connections 
 I of things, for a long ttne i because, if he 
 did otherwise, we could learn nothing from 
 I what is past, and all our experience would 
 < be of no use to us. But, though this con- 
 ildetatloii, when we come to the use of rea- 
 80% may confirm our belief of the contin- 
 I uaoce of the present course of nature, it 
 !u cofftaia that it did not give rise to this 
 jibolflf ; for chfldren and idiots havothis be- 
 I lief as soon, as they know that fire will burn 
 ; them* It must.. thatiioiO i IW' t l m liiMii <lt 
 
 Authorof our nature intended, 
 
 thai » IW** Mid necesiary part of our know- 
 Wtao diould be derived from experience, 
 li^re we are capable of reasoning, and he 
 liHlh provided means poffeotly adequate to 
 fhhiinteBtion. For, Fteit, He gommis nature 
 by fixed laws, so that we find innumerable 
 connections of things which continue from 
 afp to age. Without this stability of the 
 Miifse Of nature, there could be no oxperi- 
 eiiee ; or, it would be a false guide, and lead 
 us into error and mischief. If there were 
 not m principle of veiaeityin the human 
 'vind, men^s words would not' be signs of 
 Ihoir thoughts : and if there were no rep- 
 larity in the course of nature, no one thmg 
 oould be a natural sign of another. Se- 
 mmMjt Ho hath implanted in human minds 
 m wlgliial prineipio' by wilA wo beieiro 
 lllli;l!ipoat mm continuance of the course of 
 imilirei and the continuamce of those connec- 
 
 tions which we have observed in time psst 
 It is by this general principle of our naturoi 
 that, when two things have been found con- 
 nected in time past, the appearance of tho 
 one produces the belief of the other. 
 
 I think the ingenious author of the "Trea-""* 
 tise of Human Nature" first observed. That 
 our belief of th© continuance of the laws of 
 nature cannot be founded either upon know- 
 ledge or probability: but, far from conceiv- 
 ing it to be an original princijple of the 
 mmd, he endeavours to account for it from 
 his favourite hypothesis. That beUef is no- \ 
 thing but a certain degree of vivacity m 
 the idea of the thing believed. I made a ' 
 remark upon this curious hypothesis in the 
 second chapter, and shaU now make an- 
 other. '-J 
 
 The beli^fjilid we hftve in |fflfception| 
 is a belief of the present existenc e of the 
 object; that which we have in memory^ is 
 a oelief of its past existence ; the beTierpf 
 wlilch we are now speaking is a belief jjfjts 
 future existence ; and in imagination there 
 is no belief at alL Now, I would gladly i 
 know of this author, how one degree of 
 vivacity fixes the existence of the object to 
 the present moment; another carries it 
 back to time past ; a third, taking a con- 
 trary direction, carries it into futurity ; and 
 a fourth cames it out of existence alto- ■ 
 gether. Suppose, for mstance, that I see \ 
 the sun rismg out of the sea : I remember 
 to have seen him rise yesterday ; I believe 
 he will rise to-morrow near the same place ; 
 I *«^" likewise imagine him rising in that 
 place, without any belief at all. Now, ac- 
 cording to this sceptical hypothesis, this 
 
 • ComiMire Stewart's " Bementi.*' vol. 1,. chap. 
 
 m VlL im^ inmh. eAttoai Boy er Collard, tn Joul 
 
 O ^^&Sm!mn!Wh iv . j, S79. too. i wtm 
 
 ^, ajRofW Coilard.in Jouf. 
 
 ffiAr' to woiiiii5iwi"''l© Jwwt <*i«tilii»-:a 
 
 perception, this memory, this foreknow- 
 ledge, and this imagination, are all the same 
 idea, diversified only by different degrees of 
 vivacity. The perception of the sun rising 
 is the most lively idea ; the memory of his 
 rising yesterday is the same idea a little 
 more faint ; the belief of his rising to-mor- 
 row iM tho same idea yet fainter ; and the 
 imagination of his rising is still the same 
 idea, but faintest of all. One is apt to ' 
 think, that this idea might gradually passt 
 through all possible degrees of vivacity with- 
 out stirring out of its phice. But, if we 
 think so, we deceive ourselves ; for no sooner ' 
 does it bog^ to grow huiguid than it moves 
 backward mto time past. Supposmg this 
 to be granted, we expect, at least, that, as 
 it moves backward by the decay of its 
 vivacity, the more that vivacity decays it 
 will go back the farther, until it remaTi 
 quite out of sight But here we are de- 
 ceived again ; for there is a certam pe- 
 riod of this declinmg vivacity, when, as 
 if it had met an elastic obstacle in its mo- 
 tion backward, it suddenly rebounds from 
 the past to tho future, without taking the 
 present hi its way. And now, having got 
 
 * hito the regions of futurity, we are apt to 
 think that it has room enough to spend all 
 
 1 its remaining vigour : but still we are de- 
 
 loeived ; for, by another sprightly bound, it 
 mounts up into the airy region of imagina- 
 
 1 tion. So that ideas, in the gradual declen- 
 sion of their vivacity, seem to imitate the 
 inflection of verbs in grammar. They be- 
 gin with the present, and proceed in order 
 to the preterite, the future, and the inde- 
 finite. This article of the sceptical creed is 
 indeed so full of mystery, on whatever side 
 we view it, that they who hold that creed 
 are very injuriously charged with incre- 
 dulity ; for, to me, it appears to require as 
 much faith as that of St Athanasius. 
 
 How§yjer,_WC agree with the .author of 
 theiLTreatiae.of Human Nature," in this, 
 ^hatourbelief of tlie continuance of nature's 
 laws^ is not derived from reason. It is 
 an instinctive prescience of the operations 
 oTnature, very Tike to that prescience of 
 buman actions which makes us rely upon 
 tFe testimony of our fellow-creatures ; and 
 as^ without the latter, we should be mcapa- 
 iSIe of receiving information from men by 
 tanguage^ so, without the former, we should 
 be mcapable of receiving the lnfonuiitifill.of 
 nature by means of experience. 
 
 All our knowledge of nature beyond our 
 original perceptions, is got by experience, 
 and consists in the interpretation of natural 
 signs. The constancy of nature's laws 
 connects the sign with the thing signified ; 
 and, by the natural principle just now ex- 
 plained, we rely upon the continuance of 
 the connections which experience hath dis- 
 covered ; and thus the appearance of the 
 sign is followed by the belief of the thmg 
 signified. 
 
 Upon this principle of our constitution, 
 not only acquired perception, but all induc- 
 tive reasonmg, and all our reasoning from 
 analogy, is grounded ; and, therefore, for 
 want of another name, we shall beg leave 
 to call it thje inductive piinciple. It if issm 
 Uie force of this principle that we imme- 
 liately assent to that axiom upon which all 
 our knowledge of nature is built, That 
 effects of the same kind must have the 
 same cause ; for effects and causes, in thQ 
 operations of nature, mean nothing birf 
 signs and the things signified by them. We 
 perceive no proper causality or efficiency in 
 any natural cause ; but only a connection 
 established by the course of nature between 
 it and what is called its effect. Anteced- 
 ently to all reasoning, we have, by our con- 
 stitution, an anticipation that there is a 
 fixed and steady course of nature : and we 
 have an eager desire to discover this course 
 of nature. We attend to every conj unction 
 of tilings which presents itself, and expect 
 the continuance of that conjunction. And, 
 when such a conjunction has been often 
 
 observed, we conceive the things to be 
 naturally connected, and the appearance of 
 one, without any reasoning or reflection, 
 carries along with it the belief of the other. 
 
 If any reader should imagine that thfj 
 inductive principle may be resolved into! 
 what philosophers usually call the assoei^^ 
 ation of ideas^ let him observe, that, by 
 this principle, natural signs are not asso- 
 ciated with the idea only, but with the be- 
 Uef of the things signified. Now, this can 
 with no propriety be called an association, 
 of ideas, unless ideas and belief be one and 
 the same thing. A child has found the! 
 prick of a pin conjoined with pain ; hence 
 he believes, and knows, that these things 
 are naturally connected ; he knows that the 
 one will always follow the other. If any 
 man will call this only an association of ideas, 
 I dispute not about words, but I think he 
 speaks very improperly. For, if we express 
 it in plain English, it is a prescience that 
 tlimgs which he hath found conjoined in 
 time past, will be conjoined in time to 
 come. And this prescience is not the effect 
 of reasoning, but of an original principle of 
 human nature, which I have called the 
 inductive principle,* 
 
 This principle, like that of credulity, isi 
 unlimited in infancy, and gradually re- 7 
 strained and regulated as we grow up. It | 
 leads us often mto mistakes ; but is of in- 
 finite advantage upon the whole. By it, the 
 child once burnt shuns the fire ; by it, he 
 likewise runs away from the surgeon by 
 whom he was inoculated. It is better that 
 he should do the last, than that he should 
 not do the first. 
 
 But the mistakes we are led into by these 
 two natural principles, are of a different 
 kind. Men sometimes lead us into mis- 
 takes, when we perfectly understand their 
 language, by speaking lies. But Nature f 
 never misleads us in this way : her lan-| 
 guage is always true; and it is only byi 
 misinterpreting it that we fall into error. 
 There must be many accidental conjunc- 
 tions of things, as well as natural connec- 
 tions ; and the former are apt to be mis- 
 taken for the latter. Thus, in the instance 
 above mentioned, the child connected the 
 pain of inoculation with the surgeon; 
 whereas it was really connected with the 
 incision only. Philosophers, and men of 
 science, are not exempted from such mis- 
 takes ; indeed, all false reasoning in philo- 
 sophy is owing to them ; it is drawn from 
 experience and analogy, as well as just rea- 
 soning, otherwise it could have no verisimili- 
 tude ; but the one is an unskilful and rash, 
 
 * This objection to the solution, on the gromid of 
 axtociation, is unsound. It is generally adiritted that 
 the term " Association of Ideas" is inadequate j tne 
 law of aMociation extending not ov\j to Ideas, DUl 
 to all our mental modifications.— H 
 
mp 
 
 OP THl HUMAN MINB. 
 
 'ip oilier s jitf '':iiiii Iflfitiiiiste' interpieto- 
 iiiiii df ' ntanl iteH. II » ©liild, o? » man 
 :iif ' 'tiiiiiiiMiii. im&nlMiiiiigt ««>«' P^^ ^ 
 inltipnl m liMik of science,, written in. his 
 motlier^toiigae, how many blniwliiii md 
 'iiiigtaknw<iiildliebe:a|>tto&Ui]itoP Yet 
 iM fcwiWB US much of this knguage as m 
 mmmmiy for hia manner of life. 
 
 Tlie laaguaiPS' of Nature ia the universal 
 'iliidy; .andSo atudenti are of different 
 dasMa. Bmtee, Miot% and ohildcen em- 
 nloy themaelvea In tUa atedy, and owe to it 
 all their acquired perceptions. Menofcom- 
 mm nndwrtaiiding make a tieater pro- 
 gran, and learn, by a small deiroe of 
 ieiiiitiM, manythinia of which children 
 
 f^OfKyphers fiU up the higMit fonn m 
 
 «|iia aalMMiL, and. mm critics in Ae .lao^spage 
 
 of nature. M 'Hmm different daiaea have 
 
 mm teacher_BsiMri»>Oi «Bii#*«>^«^ ^^ 
 ilie inductive prmelpla Tak» vm the 
 lUit of this inductive principle, and Ex- 
 perieneaiaaa blind as a mole j she may, 
 uideedy tot 'wiiit' » 'fnwnt, and what un- 
 mediately touches her ; but she sees nothing 
 that ia either before or behind, upon mo 
 right hand or upon tlie I«ft| iitare or past 
 The rules of inductive leaionhig, or of a 
 Imat interpretation of Nature, as well as the 
 fidhMsiea by which we are apt to misiuter- 
 pre*, her laagiiage, have^been, with. wonder- 
 Si iipiilfc'deiiieated by the great genius 
 Hf iSd iaeon : so that his " Novum 
 Offffliiiifii" may justly be called " A Gram- 
 mar of the Lai^pag^ of Nature." .It adds 
 rtly to the merit of tWa work, and atones 
 its delisets, that, at the time it was 
 'liiilten, the world had not seen any tole- 
 ^'lable model of indietiire reasoning,* from 
 ■wMA, the mka of It might be copied. Tlie 
 ■fli of poetry and eloquence were grown up 
 to perfection when Aristotle described them ; 
 but the art of interpreting Nature wm 
 yet iw fiaAffO when Bacon delineated its 
 manly faatuiia and proportions. Aristotle 
 imr hit rwlai from the best models of 
 IImmm arts tliat have yet appeared; but ttie 
 beat models of indietive reasoning tluit 
 ham ,yet aiipeared, which .1 take to he the 
 'giMboiA''Of the *' Pffineifla,'* and the 
 « Optics," of Newton, were drawn from 
 liAM^'b rules. The purpose of all thoee' 
 'flllia^, U to teach us to distinguish seeming 
 '•r afpMent connections of things, in the 
 mam of lilure, from such as are real 
 
 They that are unskilful m induetife 
 nniiffnW ,Hio more apt to Ml into error 
 hii.iiwir"fMM«iiliiii' from the phienomena of 
 ,illllllM.^ Hkm ii''tiiif mqt^ed peremtkm ,• 
 '- liiige we 'Oien. 'reason from, a few in- 
 clines, and thereby are apl to mistake acd- 
 dental conjunctions of tli kgs for natural 
 
 * ¥tt Galileo «M Mttffior to Bacoii.«M. 
 
 connections: but that habit of passing, 
 without leasonine, from the sign to the 
 thhig signified, which constitutes acquired 
 perception, must be learned by many in- 
 stances or experiments ; and the number of 
 experiments serves to disjoui those thm^ 
 which have been accidentally conjomed, 
 as wott as to confirm our belief of natural 
 connections. . 
 
 From the time that children begin to use 
 their hands, Nature directs them to handle 
 everything over and over, to look at it 
 while they handle it, and to put it m va- 
 rious positions, and at various distances 
 from the eye. We are apt to excuse this 
 as a childish diversion, because they must 
 be domg something, and have not reason 
 to entertain themselves in a more manly 
 way. But, if we think more justly, we 
 shall find, that Ihey are engaged i" **»• 
 most serious and important study ; and, if 
 they had all the reason of a philosopher, 
 they could not be more properly employed. 
 For it is this childish emploj-ment that 
 enables them to make the proper use of 
 their eyes. They are thereby every day 
 acquiring habits of perception, which are 
 of greater hnporUnce than anything we 
 can teach them. The original perceptions 
 which Nature gave them are few, and in- 
 sufficient for the purposes of life ; and, 
 therefore, she made them capable of ac- 
 quiring many more perceptions by habit. 
 And, to complete her work, she hath given 
 them an unwearied assiduity in applying to 
 the exercises by which those perceptions are 
 
 acQuired. 
 
 This is the education which Nature gives 
 to her children. And, since we have fallen 
 upon this subject, we may add, that another 
 part of Nature's education is, That, by the 
 course of things, children must often exert 
 all tlieir muscular force, and employ all 
 their ingenuity, in order to gratify their 
 curiosity, and satisfy their little appetites. 
 What they desire is only to be obtained 
 at the expense of labour and patience, and 
 many disappointments. By the exerciso 
 of body and mind necessary for satisfying 
 their deshws, they acquire agility, strength, 
 and dexterity in their motions, as well as 
 health and vigour to their constitutions ; 
 they leant patience and perseverance; 
 they learn to bear pain without dejection, 
 and disappo'mtment without despondence. 
 The education of Nature is most perfect in 
 savages, who have no other tutor ; and we 
 see tnftt, in the quickness of aU their senses, 
 in the agility of their motions, in the hardi- 
 ness of their constitutions, and in the 
 strength of their minds to bear hunger, 
 thirst, pain, and disappointment, they com- 
 monly fair exceed the civilized. A most 
 ingenious writer, on this account, seems to 
 prefer the savage life to that of society. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 201 
 
 But the education of Nature could never 
 of itself produce a Rousseau. It is the 
 intention of Nature that human educa- 
 tion should be jomed to her institution, in 
 order to form the man. And she hath 
 fitted us for human education, by the natm-al 
 principles of imitation and credulity, which 
 discover themselves almost in infancy, as 
 well as by others which are of hiter growth. 
 When the education which we receive 
 from men, does not give scope to the educa- 
 tion of Nature, it is wrong directed ; it tends 
 to hurt our faculties of perception, and to 
 enervate both the body and mind. Nature 
 hath her way of rearing men, as she hath 
 of curmg their diseases. The art of medi- 
 cine is to follow Nature, to imitate and to 
 assist her in the cure of diseases ; and the 
 art of education is to follow Nature, to 
 assist and to imitate her in her way of 
 rearing men. The ancient inhabitants of 
 the Baleares followed Nature in the man- 
 ner of teaching their children to be good 
 arehers, when they hung their dinner aloft 
 by a thread, and left the younkers to brmg 
 it down by their skill in archery. 
 
 The education of Nature, without any 
 more human care than is necessary to pre- 
 serve life, makes a perfect savage. H uman 
 education, joined to that of Nature, may 
 make a good citizen, a skilful artisan, or a 
 well-bred man ; but reason and reflection 
 must superadd their tutory, in order to 
 produce a Rousseau, a Bacon, or a Newton. 
 Notwithstanding the innumerable errors 
 committed in human education, there is 
 hardly any education so bad as to be worse 
 than none. And I apprehend that, if even 
 Rousseau were to choose whether to educate 
 a son among the French, the Italians, the 
 Chinese, or among the Eskimaux, he would 
 not give the preference to the last. 
 
 When Reason is property employed, she 
 will confirm the documents of Nature, which 
 are always true and wholesome ; she will 
 distinguish, in the documents of human 
 education, the good from the bad, rejecting 
 the last with modesty, and adhering to the 
 first with reverence. 
 
 Most men continue all their days to be 
 just what Nature and human education 
 made them. Theu- manners, theu- opinions, 
 their vktues, and their vices, are all got by 
 habit, imitation, and instruction ; and rea- 
 son has little or no share in forming them. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 ConoluiUm' 
 
 CONTAINING REFLECTIONS UPON THE OPINIONS 
 OP PHILOSOPHERS ON THIS SUBJECT. 
 
 There are two ways in which men may 
 
 form their notions and opinions concerning 
 the mind, and concerning its powers and oper- 
 ations. The first is the only way that leads 
 to truth ; but it is narrow and rugged, and 
 few have entered upon it. The second is 
 broad and smooth, and hath been much 
 beaten, not only by the vulgar, but even by 
 philosophers; it is sufficient for common 
 life, and is well adapted to the purposes of the 
 poet and orator : but, in philosophical dis- 
 quisitions concerning the mind, it leads to 
 error and delusion. 
 
 We may call the first of these ways, the] 
 way of reflection. When the operations of! 
 the mind are exerted, we are conscious of 
 them ; and it is in our power to attend to 
 them, and to reflect upon them, untU they 
 become familiar objects of thought. This 
 is the only way in which we can form just 
 and accurate notions of those operations. 
 But this attention and reflection is so diffi- 
 cult to man, surrounded on all hands by 
 external objects which constantly solicit his 
 attention, that it has been very Uttle prac- 
 tised, even by philosophers. In the course 
 of this inquiry, we have had many occa- 
 sions to shew how little attention hath been 
 given to the most familiar operations of the 
 
 senses. , 
 
 The second, and the most common way, 
 m which men form theu: opinions concern-, 
 ing the mind and its operations, we majj 
 call the way of analogy. There is nothinjj 
 in the course of nature so singular, but we 
 can find some resemblance, or at least some 
 analogy, between it and other things with 
 which we are acquainted. The mmd na- 
 turaUy delights ua huntmg after such analo- 
 gies, and attends to them with pleasure. 
 From them, poetry and wit derive a great 
 part of their charms ; and eloquence, not a 
 little of its persuasive force. 
 
 Besides the pleasure we receive from 
 analogies, they are of very considerable use, 
 both to facilitate the conception of things, 
 when they are not easily apprehended with- 
 out such a handle, and to lead us to probable 
 conjectures about their nature and qualities, 
 when we want the means of more direct 
 and immediate knowledge. When I con- 
 sider that the planet Jupiter, in like manner 
 as the earth, roUs round his own axis, and 
 revolves round the sun, and that he is en- 
 lightened by several secondary planets, as 
 the earth is enlightened by the moon, I am 
 apt to conjecture, from analogy, that, as the 
 earth by these means is fitted to be the 
 habitation of various orders of animals, so 
 the planet Jupiter is, by the like means, 
 fitted for the same purpose : and, havmg no 
 argument more dh-ect and conclusive to de- 
 termine me in this pomt, I yield, to tins 
 analogical reasoning, a degree of f»8e"* 
 proportioned to its strength. When I 
 observe that the potato plant very much 
 
OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 remrnhha thd Moiamm in ite fkmm aid 
 
 fmctificatkniy uid am inlbniiAd tiial' tlw 
 kst is jkctenous, I lun apt from analogy 
 to liave aone io^ieton of the former : bat, 
 
 m tUa^ iaa% I hum mamm to more direct 
 and eerlaiii: emiiiiOT i ani, 'tiiaivfoie, ought 
 not to trnat to analogy, wfaidi wmM lead 
 
 mo into ^mi: orror 
 
 ,4wwwwit " from analogy are always at 
 htuL and iiow up apontaneou^y 'in a 
 frnilnil 'Imaipiation i while argnmtnta thii * 
 an i B Offf?^ direct and moro (NMitliiiiTO 
 dften require painful attention and appli- 
 natioBs and llierefora manlwl in gene- 
 lal. haim htm 'vonr much 'diapofed to troat 
 to tilt' iwiiiir* If one attentively examines 
 Hio sptems of the ancient phUosophere, 
 
 tile .mind| he wil find them to 
 to 'Mil' :aoUly 'upon, tlie 'foundation of ana-' 
 tey. Lord Bacon first delineated the 
 ■SkandseTenmethodofmdiiction; since 
 Us time, It has been applied with Tery happy 
 ■neoesainsomeparts^natural phUo^phyll 
 and liaii% in anything else. But thero is 
 no 8ii1]|e<l in which mankind are so much 
 disposed to trust to the analogical way of 
 lUnMng and reasoning, as m what concerns 
 Hm mind, iand 'its operations ; because, to 
 iwm clear and distinct notions of those 
 tpiKtiiiia' in the direct and proper way, 
 and to reason about them, requires a habit 
 nf ' attentive' refieeticn, of which few aro 
 mpable, and which, even by those few, 
 '•annot' ho uttniaed without much pains and 
 
 Svenr' nan. is apt to form lis notions of 
 fUntS difiiailt to be apirehended, or less 
 ioiiar, from their anwilgy to things which 
 an imn Huniliar. Thus, 'if a .nan bred 'to 
 iM' ttaiiii!iiiM| iifi| .awl aiwiiatfiiiiifi to tiiiiik 
 and talk' 01%' of matten. selatlng-to naviga- 
 tlott, entors into discourse upon any other 
 ■nbjeet, it is well known that the language 
 and the notions pnper to his own profes- 
 sion an inlliBed into every subject, and all 
 things an m^easured by the rules of navign. 
 lion ; and, if he should take it into his head 
 to philoaophiie' concerning 'the ikenlties of 
 the mhad, 'it eannot be doubted but to would 
 draw Ms notions from the fabric of his ship, 
 and would find in the mind, sails, masts, 
 
 :SensiM0 ohjuelB, of out' hind or other, do 
 no less ooflipj and 'Oncroia fto nst of man- 
 kind, than, thmga rektqg to navigation the 
 ^aaaiirmg man. For a eonaiderable part of 
 W% we can think of nothu^ tot the objects 
 of' sense I and, to' attend to 'Ohjecto 'Of an- 
 'Otber nalnn, so as to form clear and dis- 
 tinct notions of ttom, la no easy matter, 
 oven alter we come to yean of reflection. 
 
 • 8m *■ liMf • on th« InttlMtail Powcn,*' En. 
 Vi,fll. vii. Not. SandOL^H. 
 
 Tto condition of mankind, therefon, affords 
 good reason to appnhend that their Ian- 
 ^uage^ and their common notions concern- 
 ing the mind and its operations, will be ana* 
 lo^cal, and derived from the objects ol 
 sense ; and that these analogies will to apt 
 to impose upon pbilosuphers, as well aa 
 upon the vulgar, and to lead them to ma- 
 terialize tto mind and ite faculties : and 
 experience abundantly oonfimis the trutli 
 of this. 
 
 How generally men of all nations, and in 
 all ages of the world, tove conceived tho 
 soul, or thinking principle in man, to to 
 some subtile matter, like breath or wind, 
 the names given to it almost in all huoguages 
 saffidently testify. * We have words which 
 an proper, and not analogical, to express 
 the various ways in which we perceive ex* 
 temal objects by the senses — such as fe§U 
 ing, sight, tmts ; but we an often obliged 
 to use these words analogically, to express 
 other powen of tto mind which are of a 
 veiy diffennt natiin. And the j^oweis 
 ifhjch imply some degree of reflection^ iiaxo 
 generally no names but.sucji as.arQ_aQalo- 
 gical. The objects of IhougUt are. fiaidJo 
 be i7i th € m 1 nd — to be^ a pprehended^ com . 
 nieKended. concAve^tnuifHtwd^ «-<>/«^nWj 
 
 "wGiSKi 
 
 ihed^ rum mat^* 
 
 does not appear that the notions of 
 the ancient philosophers, with regard to the 
 natun of the soul, were much more re- 
 fined than those of the vulgar, or that they 
 were formed in any other way. We tihall 
 distinguish the philosophy that regards our 
 subject into the aid and the new. The old 
 reaofaed down to Des Cartes, who gave it a 
 fiital blow, of which it has been gradually 
 expiringever since, and is now almost ex- 
 tinct Des Cartes is the father of the new 
 philosophy ttot relates to this subject ; hut 
 It toth been gradually improving since his 
 time, upon the principles laid down by hun. 
 The old philosophy seems to have been' 
 purely analogical ; the new is more derived 
 from reflection, but still with a very con- 
 siderable mixture of the old analogical no- 
 tions. 
 
 Because the objects of sense consist of 
 matier and form, the ancient philosophera 
 conceived everything to tolong to one of 
 these, or to to made up of toth. Some, 
 therefore, thought that the soul is a parti- 
 cular kind of subtile matter, separable from 
 our gross todies ; others thought that it is 
 only a particular form of the tody, and in- 
 separable from it. t For there seem to tovo 
 
 • The examplM th«t misht be given of thew, 
 would, I find, exceed the limiU of a foot-note.— H. 
 
 t It would, howeTer, be a very erroneous assump. 
 tion to hold, that those who viewed the sout u a form 
 lDaei)arable ttom the body, drnied the extatonce, a d 
 the iDdcpaident existence, of any mental principle 
 after (be dlMoIution of i he material oiganis<n. Thus, 
 Aristotle deflnet the soul, the Form or Enttlediy of an 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 203 
 
 been some among the ancients, as well as 
 among the modems, who conceived ttot a 
 certain structure or organization of the 
 body, is all ttot is necessary to render 
 it sensible and intelligent." The different 
 powers of the mind were, accordingly, by 
 the last sect of philosophers, conceived to 
 tolong to different parts of the body — as the 
 heart, the brain, the liver, the stomach, the 
 blood. *f 
 
 They who thought that the soul is a sub- 
 tile matter, separable from the body, dis- 
 puted to which of the four elements it be- 
 longs— whether to earth, water, air, of fire. 
 Of the three last, each had its particular 
 advocates.^ But some were of opinion, 
 ttot it partakes of all the elements ; that it 
 must have something in its composition 
 similar to everything we perceive ; and 
 ttot we perceive earth by the earthly part ; 
 water, by the watery part ; and fire, by 
 the fiery part of the 80ul.§ Some philoso- 
 phers, not satisfied with determming of 
 what kind of matter the soul is made, in- 
 quired likewise into ite figure, which they 
 determined to be spherical, that it might 
 be the more fit for motion. || The most 
 spiritual and sublime notion concerning the 
 nature of the soul, to be met with among 
 the ancient philosophers, I conceive to to 
 ttot of the Platonists, who held that it is 
 made of that celestial and incorruptible 
 matter of which the fixed stars were made, 
 and, therefore, has a natural tendency to 
 rejoin ite proper element.^ I am at a loss 
 
 organised body; and yet he, hypothetically at least, 
 admits that Nm;, or Intelligence, i»adventitiousto this 
 animated organism^and, therefore, possibly, and even 
 probably^ separable from it, and immortal. Theterm 
 «ou/ in this instance is not adequate to the Intellec- 
 tual Ego.— H. 
 « Thus Parmenidet:— 
 'Sit y»i i««s'4« l%u M^tirts /Juikian wtKurJmy*- 
 
 Tax »«»f ot*9(*twurt irm^irv***'^ to y*f atfre 
 'EWv '(iTif<fi»»lii fjbtkitn Ourit et*0e^roiri. 
 80 likewise Dicaearchus, (Talen, and others.— H. 
 
 t This is altogether erroneous. Those philoso. 
 phers who assigned jlifferent -seats or organs for dif- 
 ferent parts or functions of the soul, did not therefore 
 admit the absolute dependence of the soul upon the 
 body. For instance, the Pythagoreans and the Pla- 
 tonists.'— H. 
 
 J Aristotle observes that earth was the only ele- 
 ment which had found no advocate. This he means 
 only of earth by ttse(f-~for, in combination with one 
 or*more of the others, it was by many philosophers 
 allowed to be asconstituent of soul. Of these last, 
 toater had its champion in Hippo ; air, in Anaxi- 
 menes and Diogenes, with whom are sometimes 
 enumerated Anaximander, Anaxagoras, Archelaus. 
 iEnesidemus, Ac. ; ftre, in Democritus and Leucip. 
 pus, perhaps in Hipparchus and Ueraclitus — H. 
 
 \ Empedocles , and Plato, as interpreted by Aris- 
 totle— H. 
 
 II Democritus and Leuctppus held the soul, as 
 an igneous principle, to consist of spherical atoms. 
 
 t See the " Timaus*' of Plato. Plotinus, and 
 the lower Platonists in general, held the- human soul 
 tot)ean emanation from the Anima Mundi. Aristo. 
 tie seem;* to have favoured an opinion correspondent 
 to Plato's Even the sentient or animal soul, in. 
 separable as it is from body, he maintained to be 
 
 to say, in which of these classes of philoso- 
 phers Aristotle ought to be placed." Ho 
 defines the soul to be, The first ivriXfxfm 
 of a natural body which has potential life, 
 I beg to be excused from translating the 
 Greek word, because I know not the mean- 
 ing of it."!" $ 
 
 The notions of the ancient philosophers 
 with regard to the operations of the mind, 
 particularly with regard to perception and 
 ideas, seem likewise to have been formed 
 by the same kind of analogy. 
 
 Plato, of the writers that are extant, 
 first introduced the word idea into philoso- 
 phy; but his doctrine upon this subject 
 had somewhat peculiar. He agreed with 
 the rest of the* ancient philosophers in this— 
 that all things consist t>f matter and form ; 
 and that the matter of which all things 
 were made, existed from eternity, without 
 
 higher than any sublunary element, and supposed it 
 to be " analogous to the element of the stars."- D£ 
 Generatione Animaliumf L. II., c. 2.— H. 
 
 * This is the fonner of the two definitions which 
 Aristotle gives of the human soul, in the second 
 book of his treatise, " IltjJ •^yx^t" In the latter, he 
 defines it a posteriori from its phaenomena— /Aa< by 
 which we live, feel or perceive, VwiiJ,2 move, and 
 understand :— a definition which has been generally 
 adopted by philosophers, and, though more complete, 
 is in sut)stance that of Reid himself. " By the mind 
 of a man," (says Reid,) " we understand that in him 
 which thinks, remembers, reasons, wiUs,"--KssAVn 
 ON THE Intellectual PowerSi Essay I., chap. i. 
 — H. 
 
 f Though Cicero misapprehended, and Hermo. 
 laus Barbarus raised the Devil to expound it, this 
 Aristotelic term is by no means of a very arduous in- 
 terpretation. It is not, however, here the place to 
 explain the contents of this celebrated definition.— 
 
 H. 
 
 t •* For her [the soul's] true form how can my sparlc 
 discern. 
 Which, dim by nature, art did never clear ? 
 When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn. 
 Are ignorant both what she is, and where. 
 
 " One thinks the soul is air ; another, fire j 
 Another, blood, diffused about the heart; 
 
 Another salth, the elements conspire. 
 And to her essence each doih lend a part. 
 
 '< Musicians think our souls are harmonies ; 
 
 Physicians hold that they complexions be; 
 Epicures make them swaruis of atomies. 
 
 Which do by chance into our bodies flee. 
 
 " Some think one gen'ral soul fills every braini 
 As the bright sun sheds light in every star; 
 
 While others think the name of soul is vain. 
 And that we only welUmixt bodies are. 
 
 '* In judgment of her substance as they vary. 
 So vary they in judgment of her seat; 
 
 For some her chaii up to the brain do carry. 
 Some thrust it down into the stomach's heat 
 
 •« Some place it in the root of life, the heart j 
 Some in the liver fountain of the veins; 
 
 Some say, she's all in all, and all in ev'ry part; 
 Some that she's not contain'd, but all contains. 
 
 ** Thus these great clerks but little wisdom shew. 
 While witli- their dortrines they at hazard play j 
 
 Tossing their light opinions to and fro. 
 To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. 
 
 •' For no craz'd brain could ever yet propound. 
 
 Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought. 
 But some . mong these masters have been found. 
 Which, in their schools, the self-same thing hav# 
 taught." 
 
 Sir John Davies.- H. 
 
9(14 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 205 
 
 ffuni : but lie Iikewifle bdieved tbat there 
 •re etemjil forma of iili {iMiiMt things 
 whkli •xiiit, withiMt iMittef ; tmi to these 
 etemsl «d immiterW liirniB he gave the 
 mmm of itiem ; maiiitiiuiiDg tliai they are 
 the onlj object of true knowlete* It is off 
 no gnk.. noniBiit to us, whether he bor- 
 rowed these' notions from Parmenides, or 
 'irhflther thej were^ the issue of Ms own 
 creative unaginatiom. The If tter Platonists 
 aeem to have improved upon them, in con- 
 eeiThigthose ideas, orelemal forms of things, 
 to exist, not of IheniMiires, but in the di- 
 Tine mind,* and to be the models and pat- 
 teriis accofdipg to which all things were 
 maidei— 
 
 •• Tmii mm m Bemal One i tlifP. d«q» retitM 
 
 In lib unlhilMiifV emfhoe. viewM «t laigt 
 Tlw uncraited imrngfis of'tfaintt.'* 
 
 To these Platonic notions, that of Male- 
 
 btanche is very nearly allied. This author 
 
 seams, more than any otliOTf to^ .hiiTe been 
 aware of the difficulties ■Umiiiiqg 'Urn com- 
 .■HUi hypothesis concerraiiif Measf— to wit, 
 TliBt Ideas of all objects of thought are m 
 the human mind ; and, therefore, in order 
 tO' .avoid those' difficulties, makes the ideas 
 which are the immedialu oh|ects of human 
 thought, to be the ideas of things in the 
 Divine mind, who, being infimateiy present 
 'tO' every huulan. mind, may discover his 
 ideas to' it, aa Ikr as pleaaeth liln.. 
 
 The Ptetoiiils and llalebrancho ©»- 
 e«pted,t »11 other philosophers, as far as I 
 hnow, have conceived that theW'^ait' ideal; er 
 ima^iS' of every object of thought in the 
 hnmao mind, or, at least, in some part of 
 the bram, where the mind is 'supposed to 
 liave its residence. 
 
 Aristiitfe had mo good affection to the 
 word l<feif, md seldom o r never uses it but 
 
 • W'lwtlm n»to vlewfd Mtm m isltteiicct. in. 
 dcMndfnlof tiw dMMiniiiil. IsaflonlcrtM'iKiiat; 
 tiNPUgh, upon tJie whole, it si||Mf« more probable 
 lliat be did not. It b. howtftr, admit'ed, on all 
 f»andi,tobe hw doctrine, that IdiliWSre the pat terns 
 aeniiftiiigtowliicli the Deny fathknedthe ph»noine- 
 imlofeet.]rpilw«fI«l...— H. ^ .^ . ... . 
 
 f It >bouU be evffliif nlMCivgd 'that 'the tem 
 ma, m*iom to lit time of' Ilw Cwlifc ■«■' uaed 
 •mSibciy. or all Iml 'ijicltiriiwlf. In tli PUtonlc 
 llgfUiCBliOP:. By D» Carter .and other coniem- 
 piraij'pliilniiiphtft. It waa trei extended to denote 
 tmr rqiTeient«tl«»os In |«n"fal. Many cunom 
 MtiiKiera have ariien In ooiMtipence of an ignorance 
 of thif. I mat nollise, by the way, thai a confUion 
 ofidcaaliillMPIaloiik wtth Weai in the tarterian 
 rnnrn tm hen M. MM Into llw error of aatimiliitinR 
 fte'iiipcitliMla'nf' Wato mmI 'ttw hyppihc^sof Male. 
 Iir«nc e In fffiitd to our vMrn l« the divine mind 
 llie riatomclh«€iry of Ffretfliom^ in tfcct, beari a 
 cliiaef analogT to the l aiteslaii «nd Leilinitnan d«o- 
 tftatatlMMi mthiit of Malebraitcbr. See notes on the 
 •• '9m»m m the Intellectual Powraw." lija. II.,, ch- 
 :i». iirvil., tnd, Miife a-H. 
 
 t'Tlie HatMilitsartniiemceiitlom i ftwthjf «l o«m 
 tliS human mind to 'liave pitontiaHy within It ihe 
 §mtm or lepnMm'tat'ama'llir aiiioMib'le oltjectf of p(>t. 
 
 Sitioii : each rei»f«i«nt«lton httn||, by i he«pontaiietty 
 mind itielf, clkitttl into ciwIotuneM on occasion 
 of lla 'WllMlliOiMHiiie ot»jrcr cotning within the «i>liere 
 of ttni*. But i«f ■ I lib' ai»in.- H . 
 
 in refuting Plato's notions about ideas. He 
 thought that matter may exist without form ; 
 but mat forms cannot exist without matter. 
 But, at the same time, he taught, That 
 there can be no sensation, no imagination, 
 nor intellection, without forms, phantasms, 
 or species in the mind ; and that things 
 sensible are perceived by sensible species, 
 and things intelligible by intelligible 
 species.* His followers taught, more ex- 
 plicitly, that those sensible and intelligible 
 species are sent forth by the objects, and 
 make their unpressions upon the passive 
 intellect ; and that the active intellect per- 
 ceives them in the passive intellect. And 
 this seems to have been the common opinion 
 while the Peripatetic philosophy retained 
 its authority. 
 
 The Epicurean doctrme, as expkined by 
 Lucretius, though widely (Merent from the 
 Peripatetic in many things, is almost the 
 same in this. He affirms, that slender 
 films or ghosts (fenuia rerum ximniacra) are 
 still going off from all things, and flying 
 about; and that these, bemg extremely 
 subtile, easBy penetrate our gross bodies, 
 and, striking upon the mind, cause thought 
 and imagination. -f* 
 
 After the Peripatetic system had reigned 
 above a thousand years in the schools of 
 Europ, almost without a rival, it sunk be- 
 fore that of Dee Cartes; the perspicuity 
 of whose writings and notions, contrasted 
 with the obscurity of Aristotle and his com- 
 mentators, created a strong premdice in 
 favour of this new philosophy. The cha- 
 racteristic of Phito's genius was sublimity, 
 that of Aristotle's, subtilty ; but Des Cartes 
 far excelled both m perspicuity, and be- 
 queathed this spirit to his successors. The 
 system which is now generally received, 
 with regard to tliemind and its operations, 
 derives not only its spirit from Des Cartes, 
 but its fundamental principles ; and, after all 
 the improvements, made by Malebranche, 
 Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, may still be 
 called the Cartedan system : we shall, there- 
 fore, make some remarks upon its spirit 
 and tendency in general, and. upon its doc- 
 trine concerning ideas in particular. 
 
 1. It may be observed. That the method 
 which Des Cartes piursued, naturally led 
 him to attend more to the operations of the 
 mind by accurate reflection, and to trust 
 less to analogical reasoning upon this sub- 
 
 • The doctrine of Arittotle on thit subject, adrolta 
 of an interpretation far more philr>8ophical than that 
 given to it by most of his fnllowert. But of thif 
 again.— 'H. 
 
 4 The lie4Uimt, hittXm twtm. &c of Ueroo. 
 critui and Epicurufdiflftercd trom the hhi, or species 
 uf the later PeripatctiCi>, in this — that the tormer 
 were confc8«cdiy iubstautive and cor|>oreal, whila 
 the latter, as mere accidents, shrewdly puzzled thrlr 
 advocates, to say how tliey were separable from a 
 subjet t, and whether they were material, immaterial, 
 orsomct.ow intermediate beiween body and ipirll 
 -H. 
 
 y 
 
 feet, than any philosopher had done before 
 m. Intending to build a system upon a 
 new foundation, he began with a resolution 
 to admit nothing but what was abso- 
 lutely certain and evident. He supposed 
 that his senses, his memory, his reason, 
 and every other faculty to which we trust 
 in common life, might be fallacious; and 
 resolved to disbelieve everything, until he 
 was compelled by irresistible evidence to 
 yield assent. 
 
 In this method of proceeding, what ap- 
 peared to him, first of all, certain and 
 evident, was. That he thought— that he 
 doubted— that he deliberated. In a word, 
 the operations of his own mind, of which 
 he was conscious, must be real, and no de- 
 lusion ; and, though all his other faculties 
 should deceive him, his consciousness could 
 not.* This, therefore, he looked upon as 
 the first of all truths. This was the first 
 firm ground upon which he set his foot, 
 after being tossed in the ocean of scepticism ; 
 and he resolved to build all knowledge up- 
 on it, without seeking after any more first 
 jprtnciples. 
 r As every other truth, therefore, and par- 
 I ticularly the existence of the objects of 
 j sense, was to be deduced by a train of strict 
 argumentation from what he knew by con- 
 ' sciousness, he was naturally led to give 
 j attention to the operations of which he was 
 I conscious, without borrowing his notions of 
 them from external things. 
 
 It was not in the way of analogy, but 
 of attentive reflection, that he was led to 
 observe. That thought, volition, remem- 
 brance, and the other attributes of the 
 mind, are altogether unlike to extension, 
 to figure, and to all the attributes of body ; 
 that we have no reason, therefore, to con- 
 ceive thinking substances to have any re- 
 semblance to extended substances ; and 
 that, as the attributes of the thinking sub- 
 stance are things of which we arc conscious, 
 we may have a more certain and immediate 
 knowledge of them by reflection, than we 
 ,n have of external objects by our senses. 
 These observations, as far as I know, 
 were first made by Des Cartes ; and they 
 are of more importance, and throw more 
 light upon the subject, than all that had 
 been said upon it before. They ought to 
 make us diffident and jealous of every 
 notion concerning the mind and its oper- 
 ations, which is drawn from sensible ob- 
 jects in the way of analogy, and to make 
 us rely only upon accurate reflection, as 
 the source of all real knowledge upon this 
 subject. 
 2. I observe that, as the Peripatetic 
 
 ♦ Des Cartel did not commit Reid's error of mak- 
 Ingconaciousnesa a co-ordinate and s{>ecial faculty. 
 
 system has a tendency to materialize the 
 mind and its operations, so the Cartesian i 
 has a tendency to spiritualize body and its I 
 qualities. One errors conimon to _l»oth i 
 systems, leads to the first of these extreiujia 
 ULihe way of analogy, and to tlie last in 
 tlje way of reflection- The error 1 mean 
 is, That we can know nothing about body, 
 or its qualities, but as far as we have sens- 
 ations which resemble those qualities. Both 
 systems agreed in this : but, according to 
 their different methods of reasoning, they 
 drew very difterent conclusions from it ; the 
 Peripatetic drawing his notions of sensa- 
 tion from the qualities of body ; tlie Car- 
 tesian, on the contrary, drawing his notions 
 of the qualities of body from his sensa- 
 tions. -^ 
 
 The Peripatetic, taking it for granted' 
 that bodies and their qualities do really 
 exist, and are such as we commonly take 
 them to be, inferred from them the nature 
 of his sensations, and reasoned in this man- 
 ner: — Our sensations are the impressions 
 which hcnsible objects make upon the mind, 
 and may be compared to the impression of 
 a seal upon wax : the impression is the 
 image or form of the seal, without the mat- 
 ter of it ; in like manner, every sensation 
 is the image or form of some sensible qua- 
 Uty of the object. This is the reasoning of 
 Aristotle : and it has an evident tendency 
 to materialize the mind and its sensations^ 
 
 The Cartesian, on the contrary, thinks' 
 that the existence of body, or of any of 
 its qualities, is not to be taken as a first 
 principle ; and that we ought to admit no- 
 thing concerning it, but what, by just rea- 
 soning, can be deduced from our sensations ; 
 and he knows that, by reflection, we can 
 form clear and distinct notions of our sensa- 
 tions, without borrowing our notions of 
 them by analogy from the objects of sense. 
 The Cartesians, therefore, beginnmg to give 
 attention to their sensations, first discovered 
 that the sensations corresponding to second- 
 ary qualities, cannot resemble any quality 
 of body. Hence, Des Cartes and Locke 
 inferred, tliat sound, taste, smell, colour, 
 heat, and cold, which the vulgar took to 
 be qualities of body, were not qualities of 
 body, but mere sensations of the mind.* 
 
 « Des Cartes and Locke made no such inference. 
 They only maintained (as Reid himself states) that 
 sound, taste, \c., as sensations in us, have no re. 
 semblance to any quality in iMXIies. If the names, 
 therefore, of sound, taste, &c., were to be employed 
 univocally— ». e., to denote always things the same or 
 similar— in that case they argued that these terms, if 
 properly sigi ificant of the sensations, could not be 
 properly applied to the relative qualities in external 
 things. This is distinctly stated both by ' es Cartes 
 and Locke. But Pes Cartes and the Cartesians ob- 
 serve that the terms in question are iquivorally 
 used ; being commonly applie<l both to tliat in thmi^ 
 which occasions the sensation in us, and to that 
 sensation itself. Nay, th • Cartesians, to avoid the 
 ambiguity, dis'iiiguish id the two relatives by difl'er. 
 
1.I1A hujuapi mii^jj. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 207 
 
 AflmnmtiBf Ite inipiiiiiis B«ilralej, ocn- 
 ■bfariiw mora ■iteiitivielj"flwnitei« of aeno.^ 
 •tion m genenl, discoTend and demon- 
 
 ■tvatod, that ma mMttioa wiiatafier eooM 
 
 ''HikMUllHBMi ■1hl''IIHil'' iiHH|d|N|yM|yHyH|||jM|h|^^ 'itflk'ttK'MS' liM'iHMBiilwBHiW' ^uB< i^^h^^ S^m.^Bdih.i^^ 
 
 Hen! Miiii^ ■neii as bod j is supposed to be { 
 and beaoe he inferred, Tory justly, tbal 
 'IImm: :iB tlM saiiM naaon to hold extension, 
 %««, ^aiii al. 'IIm 'primary qualities, to be 
 :iiMVi aanaailifwis, as there is to hold the 
 •WondMy f ualities to be mere sensaliMis. 
 Thus, by just reasoning upon the Cartesian 
 principles, matter was stripped of all its 
 fualitieai the new qnliwi, by a kind of me- 
 taBliyaiealsiiblimatioii,;<(M»Terted all. the qua- 
 lilMS of matter into sensations, and spiritu- 
 ■ilnd body, as the old had matenaUzed 
 ipirit. 
 
 The way to atoid both these extremes, is 
 
 of what we see and 
 fiftsias > fiwt pritMii|il^ mm wM ^ tllfi f \i?! 
 
 «l>AjlftJhit.ipr notions of the qmJities of 
 bo<iat,JBElilLJtic testimo ny of our senses, 
 wiliLtne EjffinatofifB : and our notjons of 
 
 ith the Cartesiaiis. 
 e, That the mo^m scepticism 
 is the natural issue of the new system ; and 
 • liiat, although it did not bring forth this 
 
 imnster until. th« year 173§,*' It may be 
 aaii. to havii'eairied It In its womb &om 
 'the beginnmg. 
 
 The old system admitted all the priuci- 
 pies of Donmoii. itMe' as :iiat principles, 
 'witlnMt vef niriBf any proof of item ; and, 
 HlflMiM^ thoi|p its reasoning was com- 
 monly vague, analogioal, and dark, yet It 
 waS' bollt. ipim. a hroail fmmdation, .and had 
 ao tendency U ieeptiaiin. We do not 
 find that any Beiifalfliiis tinNight it incum- 
 bent upon him to prove the existence of a 
 nnteiial world t-f' but m&ey wri;ter upon 
 th« Carteslaii system attempted this, until 
 Berkdey elkai|y demonstrated the futility 
 of their aiiiiiiMnts; and thance concluded 
 
 To take ookNtr* §at ouunpltt tlicf 
 colour. ■• a MiiKitimi in the MnA^Jimmi 
 I eiAmw, m « t|iialtlr in bodies capable of 
 
 »f tlie aefiMtlos, mimHim or radicai colour. 
 hid lifcevlM auillitr UMiMtion of hss ia. 
 
 |iiiMtaiic»-4tiat off mmamimrp or SarHmtive colour ; 
 
 inpmt ufMiD 
 miimMimm 
 
 ttMli III 
 
 Him,;.! 
 
 Iiitte 
 
 tiMl which the coloured bodies 
 
 ealiinal medluin. Thua, again. 
 
 I Mntud was the propertv of abody 
 
 tin agitation in the air or other 
 
 ,1 or derivative sound, that agita- 
 
 I Itself } >brma/ sound, (he sensa- 
 
 - - J llf tile impression made by the radical 
 
 liii«lialel]r,aiid lif the derivaiive immediately, 
 
 I tlie organ oTJitfiRg. There is thus no dif- 
 
 'ST'tS? ^»««»' 1W<* ■•»■ tlW' Cartesians, except 
 
 ^_^* dooirlns vhkli be censures is In 4el mote 
 
 P'««*;« sn*! otplidt than hit own.- H. 
 
 • When Humes "Treatise of Human Nature'* 
 
 Tj l*lt is not correct j but the resson why Idealism 
 wm not prevail in theacboolf of the middle ages is 
 22* ■• ** appearito me, merely thcologicai Hut on 
 wm curious oucstltNi Icanno. now touch.— 1 1. 
 
 that there was no such thing as a material 
 world ; and that the belief of it ought to be 
 M|ected as a vulgar error. 
 
 The new system admits only one of the 
 principles of common sense as a first prin- 
 ciple ; and pretends, by strict argumenta- 
 tion, to deduce all the rest from it. That 
 our thoughts, our sensations, and every 
 thing of whidi we are conscious, hath a 
 real existence, is admitted in this system 
 as a first principle ; but everj-thing else 
 must be made evident by the light of rea- 
 son. Reason must rear the whole fabric of 
 knowledge upon this single principle of 
 consdotSnessT » f ** | 
 
 There is a disposition in human nature 
 to reduce things to as few principles as 
 possible ;* and this, without doubt, adds to 
 the beauty of a system, if the principles 
 are able to support what rests upon them. 
 The mathematicians glory, very justly, in 
 having raised so noble and magiiificent a 
 system of science, upon the foundatiun of 
 a few axioms and definitions. This love 
 of simplicity, and of reducing things to few 
 principles, hath produced many a false 
 system ; but there never was any system 
 in which it appears so remarkably as that 
 of Des Cartes.* His whole system con- 
 cemmg matter and spirit is built upon 
 one axiom, expressed in one word, cogito. 
 Upon the foundation of conscious thought, 
 with ideas for his materials, he builds his 
 system of the human imderstanding, and 
 attempts to account for all its phaenomena : 
 and having, as he imagined, from his con- 
 sciousness, proved the existence of matter ; 
 upon the existence of matter, and of a cer- 
 tain quantity of motion originally impressed 
 upon it, he builds his system of the material 
 world, and attempts to account for all its 
 pheenomena. 
 
 These principles, with regard to the ma- 
 terial system, have been foiuid insufficient ; 
 and it has been made evident that, besides 
 matter and motion, we must admit gravita- 
 tion, cohesion, corpuscular attraction, mag- 
 netism, and other centripetal and centri- 
 fugal forces, by which the particles of 
 matter attract and repel each other. New- 
 ton, having discovered this, and demon- 
 strated that these principles cannot be 
 resolved into matter and motion, was led, 
 by analogy and the love of simplicity, to 
 conjecture, but with a modesty and caution 
 peculiar to him, that all the pheenomena of 
 the material world depended upon attract- 
 ing and repelling forces in the particles of 
 matter. But we may now venture to say, 
 that this conjecture fell short of the mark. 
 For, even in the unorg anized kingdom, the 
 
 • See " E»says on the Intellectual Power8,"D Wfi- 
 iqq4fo edition.— H. » i . --v, 
 
 t We must eaoept, however, before Reid, among 
 others, ibe system of Mpinoca. and. since HcW. those 
 oTFichte. Schrlling, He^el, &c.— H. 
 
 powers by which salts, crystals, spars, and 
 many other bodies, concrete into regular 
 forms, can never be accounted for by at- 
 tracting and repelling forces in the particles 
 of matter. And in the vegetable and ani- 
 mal kingdoms, there are strong indications 
 of powers of a different nature from all the 
 
 r powers of unorganized bodies. We see, 
 then, that, although, in the structure of the 
 material world, there is, without doubt, all the 
 beautiful simplicity consistent with the pur- 
 poses for which it was made, it is not so 
 simple as the great Des Cartes determined 
 
 iJt to be ; nay, it is not so simple as the 
 greater Newton modestly conjectured it to 
 be. Both were misled by analogy, and 
 the love of simplicity. One had been 
 much conversant about extension, figure, 
 and motion; the other had enlarged his 
 views to attracting and repelling forces; 
 and both formed their notions of the un- 
 known parts of nature, from those with 
 which they were acquainted, as the shepherd 
 Tityrus formed his notion of the city of 
 Rome from his country village i— 
 
 " Urbem quam dicunt Rotnam, Meliboee, putavi 
 Stultus ego, huic nostrs simileni, quo sspe solemus 
 Pastores ovium teneros depellere foetus. 
 Sic canibus catuios fiiiniles, sic matribus haedoa 
 N^ram : sic parvis componere magna solebam." 
 
 This is a just picture of the analogical way 
 of thinking. 
 
 But to come to the system of Des Carte?, 
 concerning the human understanding. It 
 was built, as we have observed, upon con- 
 sciousness as its sole foundation, and with 
 ideas* as its materials ; and all his fol- 
 lowers have built upon the same foundation 
 and with the same materials. They acknow- 
 ledge that Nature hath given us various 
 simple ideas. These are analogous to the 
 matter of Des Cartes's physical system. 
 They acknowledge, likewise, a natural 
 power, by which ideas are compounded, dis- 
 joined, associated, compared. Thw is 
 aiuilogous to the original quantity of motion 
 in Des Cartes's physical system. From 
 these prmciples, they attempt to explain the 
 phenomena of the human understanding, 
 jnst as in the physical system the phaeno- 
 mena of nature were to be explained by 
 matter and motion. It must, indeed, Le 
 acknowledged, that there is great simpli- 
 city in this system, as well as in the other. 
 There is such a similitude between the two, 
 as may be expected between children of 
 the same father ; but, as the one has been 
 found to be the chUd of Des Cartes, and 
 not of Nature, there is ground to think 
 that the other is so likewise. 
 \ That the natural issue of this system is 
 
 * There is no valid ground (or supposing that 
 Pes Cartes meant by ideas aught but modifications 
 y of the mind itself That the majority of the Cartes, 
 iansdid not, is certain. The case is, however, diflPer- 
 eiiC with regard to Malebranche and Berkeley. But 
 of this again.— H. 
 
 scepticism with regard to everythmg ex- 
 cept the existence of our ideas, and of their 
 necessary relations, which appear upon com- 
 paring them, is evident ; for ideas, being the 
 only objects of thought, and having no ex- 
 istence 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 inde- 
 pendent of our thought, are all turned out 
 of existence by this short dilemma. Either 
 these things are ideas of sensation or re- 
 flection, 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.* 
 
 Neither Des Cartes nor Locke perceived 
 this consequence of their system concerning 
 ideas. Bishop Berkeley was the first who 
 discovered it. And what followed upon 
 this discovery ? Why, with regard to the 
 material world, and with regard to space 
 and time, he admits the consequence. That 
 these things are mere ideas, and have no 
 existence but in our minds ; but with regard 
 to the existence of spirits or minds, he does 
 not admit the consequence ; and, U" he had 
 admitted it, he must have been an absolute 
 sceptic. But how does he evade this con- 
 sequence with regard to the existence of 
 spirits ? The expedient which the good 
 Bishop uses on this occasion is very re- 
 markable, and shews his great aversion to 
 scepticism. He maintains that we have 
 no ideas of spirits ; and that we can think, 
 and speak, and reason about them, and 
 about their attributes, without having any 
 ideas of them. If this is so, my Lord, what 
 should hinder us from thinking and reason- 
 ing about bodies, and their qualities, with- 
 out having ideas of them ? The Bishop 
 either did not thmk of this question, or did 
 not think fit to give any answer to it. How- 
 ever, we may observe, that, in order to avoid 
 scepticism, he fairly starts out of the Car- 
 tesian system, without giving any reason 
 why he did so in this instance, and in no 
 other. This, indeed, is the only instance of 
 a deviation from Cartesian principles which 
 I have met with in the successors of Des 
 Cartes ; and it seems to have been only a 
 sudden start, occasioned by the terror of 
 scepticism ; for, in all other things, Berke- 
 ley's system is founded upon Cartesian 
 principles. 
 
 Thus we see that Des Cartes and Locke 
 take the road that leads to scepticism, with- 
 out knowing the end of it ; but they stop 
 
 • This dilemma applies to the tentualism of Locke, 
 but not to the rationalism of Des Cartes.— H. 
 
 .jktMif%-''^ 
 
WB 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 209 
 
 ■iMnt for want of light to cany tbeta fart]i«r. 
 Bttj^elfiv, Iriglited at the affMyfance of the 
 ^lilHidM aliyia, starts aside, and avoids it. 
 Butlhe author of the ** Treatise of Human 
 
 Katiiie/* mnre'dafiDgand intrepid, without 
 tiiminf uMb to Urn right hand or to the 
 kft, ma ¥irgil*s AlMto, shoots directly 
 hfi^ the fEnlf's 
 
 •« Hie .ipMiit Unrrendum. et mvl. ipliailiils Oltii 
 
 Monitranturt ■w i|t«><|ue inieiM AdMnmlB fwrano 
 
 4. We may obsenre^ That the account 
 
 given by the new system, of that furniture 
 if tiM human understanding which is the 
 gift of Mature, and not the aoquisition of our 
 
 mm fiiBoning iMully, 'is extremely lame 
 MM. uii|ieneei. 
 ~~ .natural fliiiiitnti^ of' 'tiio iuman 'un- 
 dmg is of 'twu' UodB': Fint, The 
 meOmu or simple a|ipr^eiiBi»s which we 
 ham of things ; and, secondly, The judff- 
 ■iwlf or the belief which w© have conoctn- 
 ing them. As to our notions, the new qrs- 
 tem reduces them to two classes— irf«iM «(f 
 amumtmmf and idmM qf rq/leotion : the first 
 ■n oonceived to be copies of our sensations, 
 ictelned in the memniy or imagination ; 
 the second, to be copies of the operations of 
 our minds whereof we are conscious, in like 
 ner retained in the memory or iraagin- 
 loa: and we are taught that these two 
 nnrehfind all. the materials about which 
 Urn Immn. imdanteiiiiiiig is, or can be em- 
 ployed. As to our judgment of things, or 
 'the bellif wWch we have concerning them, 
 Hm new system allows no part of it to be the 
 gift of nature, but holds it to be the acquisi- 
 tion of reason, and to be got by comparing 
 our ideaS) and perceiving their agreements 
 iir dissgiMmMits. Now I take this account, 
 hoA of our notions, and of our judgments 
 or bolief. 'to be extfemdy hnperfect ; and I 
 "^ 11 bneiiy point out some of its capital 
 
 Thodivisioiiof our notions into ideas of 
 
 ifioii,t and ideas of reflection, is con- 
 
 ftrary to iiU rules of logic; because the 
 
 liMCOiii. member of the division indodes the 
 For, can. wo form clear and. just 
 of our sensations any other way 
 |'tlui.n. by reflectbn? Surely we cannot 
 tion is an operation of the mind of 
 we am conscious ; and we got the 
 'Botion of sensation by reflecting upon that 
 wMeh we are conscious of. In llie manner, 
 doubting and believing are operations of the 
 BiiBd whereof 'we^ are' conscious ; and we 
 gel the notion 'Of 'them, by reflecting upon 
 what 'we are coaseiouS' of. The Meas of 
 
 aOeetion , 
 
 j MltfilH iii iM BB li 
 
 as mii elLJIS *!n Mnn "^ donhtfniy. or be* 
 [jeving f or fi ^n y Q ^w ideas whatsoever.* 
 
 But, to pass over the inaccuracy of this 
 division, it is extremely incomplete. For, 
 siucc sensation is an operation of the mindyl 
 as well as all the other things of which w© 
 form our notions by reflection, when it is| 
 aaaertod that all our notions are either i 
 ideas of sensation or ideas of reflection, the' 
 phun English of this is. That mankind 
 neither do nor can think of anything but 
 of the operations of their own minds. No- 
 thing can be more contrary to truth, or 
 more contrary to the experience of man- 
 kind. I know that Locke, while he main- 
 tained this doctrine, believed the notions 
 which we have of body and of its quahties, 
 and the notions which we have of motion 
 and of space, to be ideas of sensation. But 
 why did he beheve this? Because h© 
 believed those notions to he nothing els© 
 but images of our sensationa If, there- 
 fore, the notions of body and its qualities, 
 of motion and space, be not images of our 
 sensations, will it not follow that those 
 notions are not ideas of sensation ? Moil 
 certainly. "I* 
 
 • 'Tlie fMlowInf ■umimrf nfera |irl.iii:lpall]r to 
 fiOelic— 'li.> 
 
 f It 'niMt' lie 
 liiMke' mhI eClieffi ii 
 
 
 • I do not Me how this criticlimon Locke's divi. 
 «ion can be defended, or even excused It is per fcctly 
 evident that Reid here coniovknAt the proper ideat qf / 
 sensation— tha.t is, I he ideas of the qualities of matter, ^/ 
 about which sensaton (perception) is conversant— 
 with the idea of setiMtion it*elf— that is, the idea of 
 this facuUy as an attribute of mind, and which is the 
 oliject of a reflex consciousness. Kor would it be 
 Cotni>etent to maintain that Locke, allowing no ira- 
 mediste knowtetige of aught but of mind and its 
 contents, consequently reduces all our faculties to 
 self-consciousness, and thus aboliohes the distinction 
 01 sensation (perception) and reflection, as separate 
 faculties, the one conversant with the qualities of 
 the externtl world, the other with the qualities of 
 the internal For, in theirs/ place, it would still 
 be logically competent, on the hypothesis that ?i\\ 
 our knowledge is exclusively of self, to divide the 
 ideM we possessed, into classes, accor<iing as these 
 were given as representations of the non-etfO by the 
 ego, or as phienomena of the effo itself, in th^ $r. 
 coat! place, Reid's rriticism does not admit of this 
 excuse- But, in the third, if the defence were valid 
 in itself, and here available, the philosophy of HeicI 
 himself would be obnoxious to a similar criticism. For 
 he makes perception (consequently the olject known 
 in perception) an object of consciousness; but con. 
 •dousiic«8, in his view, is only of the phsnomera of 
 mind itseir->all conaciousness is to him sctf.conm 
 iciou$nei$. Thus, hi$ perception, as contained under 
 il^ consciousness, is only cognisant of the ego. With 
 all this, however, Reid distinguishea {Hjrception and 
 cnnt^ciousncss aa special and co-ordinate faculties; 
 l>ercei>tion being conversant about the qualities of 
 matter. ;is stipccjted—tha^ t«, a< rrpre>pnte<l in the 
 percipieni su*'jcct— consciousness as convervant about 
 perception and the other attributes of mind i'self. 
 —With the preceding observations, the reader may 
 compare Pri^tlcy's •• Examination," p S8, and 
 Stewait's *' Philosophical Kssav«," Note N — H. 
 
 f I may here notice*— what I shall hereafter more 
 Ajlly advert ic»— that Reid's criticism of Locke, here 
 and' eUcwhere, pr«ic<'ed8 upon the impliiation that 
 the English philosopher attached the same restricted 
 meaning to the term Si-nsatioo that he did himself. 
 But this is not ihe case, Locke employe<l Sensation 
 to denote both the tdef and the sentiment of the / 
 Cariealant— bo h the perceptiun and the sensatitm ^ 
 of Reid. To conlound this distinction was, indeed, 
 wrong; but ibis is a separate and special ground of 
 ceiisuiet imd, in a {;cncral criticl*m of Locke's i!oc 
 
 There is no doctrine in the new system 
 which more directly leads to scepticism 
 than this. And the author of the ^' Trea- 
 tise of Human Nature" knew very well 
 how to use it for that purpose ; for, if you 
 maintain that there is any such existence 
 as body or spirit, time or place, cause or 
 effect, he immediately catches you between 
 the horns of this dilemma ; your notions of 
 these existences are either ideas of sensa- 
 tion, or ideas of rei lection : if of sensation, 
 from what sensation are they copied ? if of 
 reflection, from what operatiou of the mind 
 are they copied ? 
 
 It is indeed to be wished tnat those who 
 have written much about sensation, and 
 about the other operations of the mind, had 
 likewise thought and reflected much, and 
 with great care, upon those operations ; but 
 is it not very strange that they will not 
 allow it to be possible for maukiud to think 
 of anything else ? 
 
 The account which this system gives of 
 our judgment and belief concerning things, 
 is as far from the truth as the account 
 it gives of our notions or simple appre- 
 hensions. It represents our senses as hav- 
 I ing no other oflice but that of furnishing 
 'the mind with notions or simple appre- 
 hensions of things ; and makes our judg- 
 ment and belief concerning those things to 
 be acquired by comparing our notions to- 
 gether, and perceiving their agreements or 
 disagreements. 
 
 We^have shewn^onJM^^c Ihal; 
 
 every operation of the, senses,. in_it&,yjBry 
 nature^ implies judgment or belief»_jaa-WfiJl 
 as simple axipr^hejision. Thus, when I feel 
 the pain of the gout in my toe, I have not 
 only a notion of pain, but a belief of its 
 existence, and a belief of some disorder in 
 my toe which occasions it ; and this bej ief 
 i js no t .produced by_^omparin^ ideas, _ and 
 perceiving their agceemeals. and digagree- 
 meutsilt is in<;luJed iiijhe verxjatMISjaf 
 the sensation. When I pe.ceive a tree 
 Defore me, my faculty of seeing gives me 
 not only a notion or simple apprehension of 
 the tree, but a belief of its existence, and 
 of its figure, distance, and magnitude ; and 
 this judgment or belief is not got by com- 
 paring ideas, it is included in the very na- 
 ture of the perception. We have taken 
 notice of several original principles of 
 belief in the course of this inquiry; and 
 
 trine, the fart i hat hedid so confound perception pro. 
 |ier anil sensation proper, should always be taken into 
 account. But, wavmg this, what is gained by the 
 distinction in Reid's hands? In his docirme, space, 
 motion, &c., as perceived, are only conception-:, only 
 moititications of self, suggested, in some unknown 
 way, on occasion of the impression made on the sense : 
 ramscqucnily, in the one doctrine as in tite other, 
 what is known is notliing beyond the affections of 
 the thinking i^ubjcct.itsoll ; and this is the only ba<^i8 
 required by the idealist and sceptic fir the foundation 
 of Ihclr syBtcms.— R 
 
 when other faculties of the miud are exa* 
 mined, we shall find more, which have not 
 occurred in the examination of the five 
 senses. ^ 
 
 Such original and natural judgments are, 
 therefore, a part of that furniture which 
 Nature hath given to the human under- 
 standing. They are the inspiration of the 
 Almighty, no less than our notions or simple 
 apprehensions. They serve to direct us in 
 the common affairs of life, where our rea- 
 soning faculty would leave us in the dark. 
 They are a part of our constitution ; and all 
 the discoveries of our reason are grounded 
 upon them. They make up what is called 
 the common sense of mankind ;* and, what | 
 is manifestly contrary to any of those first 
 principles, is what we call absurd. The 
 strength of them is good sense, which is 
 often found in those who are not acute in 
 reasoning. A remarkable deviation from 
 them, arising from a disorder in the con- 
 stitution, is what we call lunacy ; as when 
 a man believes that he is made of glass. 
 When a man suffers himself to be reasoned 
 out of the principles of common sense, by 
 metaphysical arguments, we may call this 
 metaphysical lunacy ; which differs from 
 the other species of the distemper in this, 
 that it is not continued, but intermittent : 
 it is apt to seize the patient in sohtary and 
 speculative moments ; but, when he enters 
 into society, Common Sense recovers her 
 authority. -j- A clear explication and enu- 
 meration of the principles of common sense, 
 is one of the chit f desiderata in logic. Wo 
 have only considered such of them as oc- 
 curred in the examination of the five 
 senses. 
 
 d. The last observation that I shall make 
 upon the new system, is, that, although it 
 professes to set out in the way of reflection, 
 and not of analogy, it hath retained some 
 of the old analogical notions concerning the 
 
 • See Note A — H. 
 
 t No one admits this more promptly than the 
 sceptic himself See Hume's " 'lYcatise of Human 
 Nature," Book I., Part Iv,, % 7, and •• Enquiry 
 Concerning Human Understanding," ^ 12, Part II. 
 " Nature," says he in the latter, " is always too strong 
 for principle ; and, though a I'yrihonian may throw 
 himself or others into a momentary amazement and 
 confusion by his profound reasonings, the first and 
 most trivial event in life will put to flight all his 
 doubts and scruples, and- leave him the same in every 
 point of action and speculation with the philosophers 
 of every other sect, or with tho.«e who never con- 
 cerned themselves i!» any -philosophical researches. 
 When he awakes from his dream, he will be the first 
 to join in the laugh against liimself, and to confess 
 that all his rbjcctions are mere amusement, and can , 
 have-no other tendency than to shew the wlunisieal ^ 
 condition of mankind, who must act, and reason, 
 and believe, though they arc not able, by their most 
 diligent enquiry, to satisiy themselves concernnigthe 
 foundation of the operations, or to remove the objec- 
 tions which may be j'aised against them " 
 
 *' La Nature confond les J'yrrhoniens," (says , 
 Pascal,) "et la Raison confond les Dogmatistes." 
 How can philosophy be realized ? is thus the grand 
 quesiion,— H. 
 
%m 
 
 OF THE HUMAN MIND. 
 
 iid tt^ ^iyifam- TMs doctrine appeani 
 ^pp jaf Hf glS'luntowgd Iroiii tli« old eys- 
 tan I wiiioli l«iigli» Hif titajal tMnp 
 Late impw^tai upon ^ ■mind, bke tlie 
 impiliiMiB 'Of' ft Mftl upon wax ; that il is 
 'l^' niMiia oflhoie impreiMaii that w«p«F- 
 Mim,. lemisinber, or iniagbaAflil | and 
 A^^ tlioM impressions mmt: mmilMO ^ tm 
 lliiiiga fimn whicli they are taken. When 
 we form onr notions of the opisaliiilit off tlie 
 mind by aiatajr, this way of eoncei^ 
 tiieni secmi to M TOijr iifttoiftl, and offers 
 itself to our thon||lla| for, as eveiTtWng 
 which is felt miwl iimJw aonio im|iwiitai 
 upon the body, wn a» ifl to think that 
 «vei7tbing whoisli it nnderslood must make 
 iOiii;6 impressiiMi. upon the mind. 
 
 From snob analogical reasoning, this 
 •pinion of the «palence of ideas or imap» 
 of things inJiiiJllilld. seemB to have taken 
 ita fise^ andto 'have been so uniYersally 
 MMived among nbioTOphers. It was ob- 
 ■"srved already, mA BetWey, m one m- 
 ilaBe%, mfo«tati«» ^frm tiia prmciple of 
 HkB mm ayrtem, by 'ailrmlmg that^ we.l»v® 
 Ml ideaa if spiritB, aud tliat we can tlunk of 
 Ihum immediately, without ideaa. But I 
 know not wbelher in this he has had any 
 Wlowers. lleHi is some diflerence, like- 
 'Wise, among modini philosophers with re- 
 nvd to the ideas or images by which we 
 perceive, remember, or imagine sensible 
 iUifigs. For, thoMgb,all agree in the exkt- 
 •Dceof snch imagpi,t they differiOiont their 
 place ; some placing them in a particnlar 
 part of the brain, where the sonl is thought to 
 lave her reiideiice, and others placing them 
 fathii mind, itialf. Des Cartes held the first 
 of these opinfans ?t to which Newton seems 
 likewise to have inclined ; for he proposes 
 liiis qnery in his ** Optics^ :*'— " Annon sen- 
 wrimii animalimm est^ loona cul substantia 
 :seiittens adest, et in qwtm sensihilea' toram 
 apeciea per nerves et cerebrum deferuntur, 
 ut ibi pmssentes a pneeente sentiri pos- 
 
 1 
 
 f i-«]ir<«ralaitv/ mUtlm 0gh«tdfimm 
 _ -ft of' alt wtkHi M$eif. Tlilt doct.iiiiei I havt 
 atoMif:.:aiitiB«|i bstHlliiMl/br laid too iinifomlli 
 lii';ipliiliiio|iliini Mii to alio a conpotattftlr wbn. 
 ' It tiiciiiiislaMc In leteence to the IdnalM and 
 
 iScO' Note C..-.II. 
 "let lail nott. Borkdej illo hoW tht hipotliiiito 
 # Itaf, m aMietilooi bg .iWft-»ll. 
 
 I An 'iiiii|:iiaiilMi mmtt aMiif .fkom tintiaiMier. 
 ■taMltitf III* amlilfiioiM tmgmiifj»t, »«• C^itct i 
 W'ho ca>li, lif tto coiDinoii 'Mune-oT lilriij, both tbe 
 miMiic mMions in IIm twain, of which the mind, in 
 Mm doetnn«ft necnMarllf knows nolhing, and ' the r«. 
 ■tatloot in tlitinlim mm, hifriphijleallf da. 
 [ 'On m e ni w i ef thMa 'iiiotioii%_'aiiflof ' wliien 
 I'te liliii. tovofisaal. Bat of tlhi;''iiiiifr ^fha 
 I m the Inlelecttia] Foiitn.**-ll 
 
 iint?" But Locke seems to place the ideaa 
 of sensible thimn in the mind ;• and that 
 Berkeley, mHL author of the « Treatise 
 of Human Nature," were of the same 
 opinion, is evident The htst makes a very 
 curious application of this doctrine, by en- 
 deavouring to prove from it, That the mind 
 either is no substance, or that it is an ex- 
 tended and divisible substance ; because the 
 ideas of extension cannot be m a subject 
 which is indivisible and unextcnded. 
 
 I confess I think his reasoning in this, 
 as in most cases, is elear and strong. For 
 whether the idea of extension be only 
 another name for extension itself, as Ber- 
 kekv and this author assert ; or whether 
 the Ideaof extension be an image and resem- 
 bknce of extension, as Locke conceived ; 
 I appeal to any man of common sense, 
 wliether extension, or any image of exten- 
 sion, can he in an unextended and indi- 
 visible subjectt But while I agree with 
 him in his reasoning, I would make a differ- 
 ent application of it. He takes it for grant- 
 ed, thattllfflaMfi idaw of extensioniaJtll© 
 mind iJijiJiifince infers, that, if it is atj|U 
 g'ljir^^ pfiini*^^ \\ miiftt be an extended and 
 divisible substance/ On tlie contra ry, I 
 take it for grantedj^. upon the testimony of 
 coiiiiuou sense, that my mind is a substAQse 
 —tliat is, a permanent subject of thoiuUii ; 
 and my reason convinces me that it- jfl an 
 unextended and indivisible substance ; juu} 
 hfnce I infer that there cannot- lie i n i t 
 anything that resembles extension. If this 
 reasoning had occurred to Berkeley, it 
 would probably have led him to acknow- 
 ledge that we may think and reason con- 
 cerning bodies, without having ideas of them 
 in the mind, as well as concerning spirits. 
 
 I intended to have exammed more par- 
 ticularly and fully this doctrine of the ex- 
 istence of ideas or images of things in the 
 mind ; and likewise another doctrine, which 
 is founded upon it—to wit. That judgment 
 or belief is nothing but a perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas { 
 but, having already shewn, through the 
 course of this inquiry, that the operations 
 of the mmd which we have examined, give 
 no countenance to either of these doctrines, 
 and in many things contradict them, I have 
 thought it proper to drop this part of my 
 design. It may be executed with more 
 advantage, if it is at all necessary, after in- 
 quiring into some other powers of the human 
 understanding. 
 
 • Lockc't opinion on this point is as obicuieand 
 dottbtAil a that of Dw Cartes to clear and certain. 
 But Reid Is prubably right,— H ^ ^ . 
 
 f I do not recollect heeing any argument raised in 
 favour or materiahfm, from the fact, that. sprtCie or 
 ertrmion is.a notion necessary to the mind ; and ret 
 itni«ght, with M«ne »how of plausibility, be main, 
 taiued, that extension is a necessary form of thought, 
 liscaufe the thinking prlncqple toltaclf eatendtd — H 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 211 
 
 Although we have examined only the five 
 senses, and the principles of the human 
 mind which are employed about them, or 
 such as have fallen in our way in the course 
 of this examination, we shall leave the 
 fiurther prosecution of this inquiry to future 
 deliberation. The powers of memory, of 
 imagination, of taste, of reasoning, of moral 
 perception, the will, the passions, the affec- 
 tions, and all the active powers of the soul, 
 present a vast and boundless field of philo- 
 sophical disquisition, which the author of 
 this inquiry is far. from thinking himself 
 able to survey with accuracy. Many authors 
 of ingenuity, ancient and modern, have 
 made excursions into this vast territory, 
 and have commtmicated useful observations : 
 but there is reason to believe that those 
 who have pretended to give us a map of the 
 whole, have satisfied themselves with a very 
 inaccurate and incomplete survey. If Ga- 
 lileo had attempted a complete system of 
 
 natural philosophy, he had, probably, done 
 little service to mankind : but by contining 
 himself to what was within lys comprehen- 
 sion, he laid the loundation of a system of 
 knowledge, which rises by degrees, and 
 does honour to the human understanding. 
 Newton, building upon this foundation, and, 
 in like manner, confining his inquiries to 
 the law of gravitation and the properties of 
 light, performed wonders. If he had at- 
 tempted a great deal more, he had ^one a ^ 
 great deal less, and perhaps nothing j,t aU. 
 Ambitious of following such great examples, 
 with imequal steps, alas! and unequal 
 force, we have attempted an inquiry only 
 into one little corner of the human mind^ 
 that corner which seems to be most exposedT' 
 to vulgar observation, and to be most easily 
 comprehended; and yet, if we have deline- 
 ated it justly, it must be acknowledged that 
 the accounts heretofore given of it wer*» 
 very hmie, and wide of the truth. 
 
E S S A I S 
 
 ON TUK 
 
 INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN. 
 
 By THOMAS REID, DD., F.R.S.E., 
 
 rSOFXSSOR OP MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASQO*r, 
 
 * Who iMtli put witdoBi in tli« inward parte r*- J«b- 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO' 
 
 MR DUGALD STEWART, 
 
 LATELY PROFESSOR OP MATHEMATICS, NOW PROFESSOR OP MORAL PHILOSOPHY, 
 
 AND 
 
 DR JAMES GREGORY, 
 
 PROFESSOR OF THE THEORY OP PHYSIO IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH.* 
 
 tf- This impression of tlie " Essays on the Intellectual Powers," is made from the 
 ©nly anthentic edition— that of 1785, in 4to. For the convenience of reference the pages 
 of that edition are distmguished in the present ; and by these pages I shall always, in 
 the notes, prospeetively, quote. They will be found marked both in the text and on the 
 lower margin. — H. 
 
 My Dbar Friends, — I know not to 
 whom I can address these Essays with 
 more propriety than to you ; not only on 
 Account of a friendship begun in early life 
 on your part, though in old age on mine, 
 and in one of you I may say hereditary ; 
 nor yet on account of that correspondence 
 in our literary pursuits and amusements, 
 which has always given me so great plea- 
 sure ; but because, if these Essays have 
 any merit, you have a considerable share 
 in it, having not only encouraged me to hope 
 that [iv. ] they may be useful, but favoured 
 mt with your observations on every part of 
 them, both before they were sent to the 
 press, and while they were under it 
 
 I have availed myself of your observa- 
 tions, so as to correct many faults that 
 might otherwise have escaped me ; and I 
 have a very grateful sense of your friend- 
 ship, in giving this aid to one who stood 
 much in need of it ; having no shame, but 
 much pleasure, in being instructed by those 
 who formerly were my pupils, as one of you 
 was. 
 
 It would be ingratitude to a man whose 
 memory I most highly respect, not to men- 
 tion my obligations to the late Lord Karnes, 
 for the concern he was pleased to take in 
 this Work. Having seen a small part of 
 it, he urged me to carry it on ; took acount 
 of my progress from time to time ; revised 
 it more than once, as far as it was carried, 
 before his death ; and gave me his observa- 
 tions on it, both with respect to the matter 
 and the expression. On some points we 
 
 • Sec above, in " Corre«pondence," p. (55, a.— H. 
 
 [iii.-vi.l 
 
 differed in opinion, and debated them 
 keenly, both in conversation and by many 
 letters, without any abatement of his affec- 
 tion, or of his zeal for the work's being 
 carried on and published : for he had too 
 much liberality of mind not to allow to [v.] 
 others the same liberty in judging which he 
 claimed to himself. 
 
 It is difficult to say whether that worthy 
 man was more eminent in active life or 
 in speculation. Very rare, surely, have 
 been the instances where the talents for 
 both were united in so eminent a degree. 
 
 His genius and industry, in many differ- 
 ent branches of hterature, will, by his 
 works, be known to posterity : his private 
 virtues and public spirit, his assiduity, 
 through a long and laborious life, in many 
 honourable public offices with which he was 
 entrusted, and his zeal to encourage and 
 promote everything that tended to the 
 improvement of his country in laws, litera- 
 ture, commerce, manufactures, and agricul- 
 ture, are best known to his friends and 
 contemporaries. 
 
 The favourable opinion which he, and 
 you my friends, were pleased to express 
 of this work, has been my chief encourage- 
 ment to lay it before the public ; and per- 
 haps, without that encouragement, it had 
 never seen the light : for I have always 
 found, that, without social intercourse, even 
 a favourite speculation languishes; and 
 that we cannot help thinking the better of our 
 own opinions [vi] when they are approved 
 by those whom we esteem good judges. 
 
 You know that the substance of these 
 Essays was delivered annually, for more 
 
fin 
 
 PEEFACB, 
 
 ilM twtnty jmn, m Jjxtutm *J» • '^tg® 
 iMdf nf tiie mow adiwnced^stiidMtomJiM* 
 
 IJiiwinllf t and for »'««» y«M« «»««» «» 
 
 wiii atteutioE, of whom I .f'^« f^^ 
 a« Boma hundreds ahve, ^f f«3"« ^^^ 
 dnetrine which thoy heard, aom* »' ^"e™ 
 
 4lftiJj,«iii with the repetitions and lUua- 
 
 iMitionB proper for Buch audioiott.' , 
 
 I am afraid, mdeea, ™J^'T^| ^ 
 limnt litdfif . who m i»iitt«a«i» ™ «"«" 
 i^JTSjistB, may thinks 'thul there lype 
 
 13^ iZiIii^ win conaider, thai wWt to 
 
 one reader ia a aiiperfluoiia WP«'^*^°»» *? 
 
 the greater part, !««« <^rf"*S ,Sat^ 
 subjects, may be very useful. If this apo- 
 loin- bedeemed insufficient, and be thought 
 to be the dictate of harness, I claim some 
 indulgence even for that harness, at my 
 
 '"^^ifu'iK"!.! the prime of life wM. 
 the vigour which it mspires, wdl, 1 Hope, 
 make more happy.advances in {^^s «;[ "1^°^ 
 other branch of science to which your talenta 
 
 may he applied. ^^^ ^^ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Htm AN know, 
 two geo^ml Jmu- — -- 
 to body or tomHlfti Jo 
 to things intellectual. ,. - .•_ 
 
 ft« whole system of bodies Im ^ um- 
 wJm of which w« know but a very small 
 ZT'may be called the MatwW World ; 
 
 So^hol/ «t«.i of «ft2^ 
 .Oimtor to tlMi' ■mmm^ emfam •ndowea 
 PSioujllt,i«yheedled^^ 
 IwroTld. Theao ar© the two gri«t Mngooms 
 J MLret that Wl within mm notice; 
 
 Sd":boetAhii^o«», "''^jft'^rjsr 
 
 prtmhig to them, every art, every science 
 Si«wry human thooght is employed ; nor 
 can the boldest ilghl of imagination carry 
 
 Hi ■beyond, their limita, ^ «„^«i:„cr 
 
 Xttij thingPi *•» ""' "^T\rSf w.d! 
 
 m ■mtam and th« f »''^%li?^°L^^, 
 
 mnd of mind, which our ftmiti» eaimot 
 
 ^OBJphef cannot leeolve; but of other 
 
 • iM' mmm'B •''ummi. vitmm f.^£ 
 
 hi* liSlKtnSSf woomMiM the Btitiili pub- 
 
 SK ao.y. and i. {STll^tlittS^ 
 
 tut mcnef. In , «>»• i2'!!i.fir«riiS the f^ 
 
 Umjhe *g«J^J^ 75?;^;, and IM corrective.. 
 !2tfii?iif oSSf lSu> ai-rif .noil, «re. i" ge'»^';A 
 
 [■fii.-2] 
 
 imtures, if any other there be,^ wo have no 
 knowledge, no conception at »"• . , 
 
 That everything that exists mi^ be ei^ 
 corporeal or incorporeal is . eyidei^. Bnt 
 it is not so evident that everything 12] that 
 exists must either be corporeal or endowed 
 with thought. Whether there be m the 
 universe beings which are neither extende^ 
 solid, and inert, Uko body, nor active and 
 inteUieent, like mmd, seems to be beyona 
 the r^h of our knowledge. There app^ 
 to be a vast interval between body and 
 mind; and whether there heanymteime- 
 diate nature that connects them togetner, 
 
 we know not . «. 
 
 We have no i«ason to ascribe mtelli- 
 sence, or even sensation, to plants; yet! 
 Siere appears in them an a^efojc^ and 
 energy, which cannot be thewsult of any 
 arrangement or combination of inert matter. 
 The ^me thing may be «aid of those powew 
 by which animals are nourished and grow, 
 by which matter gravitates, by which mag- 
 netieal and electrical bodies attract and 
 repel each other, and by which the parts of 
 
 solid bodies cohere. „k^„A 
 
 Some have conjectured tlmt the pheeno- 
 mena of the material world ^vhich reju^ 
 active force, are produced by the continual 
 operation of intelligent beings : others have 
 conjectured that there may be in the uni- 
 verse, beings that are active, without m- 
 Snce, which, as a kind of mcorporeal 
 mXer^, *^ntrived by the supreme ^^^^^^ 
 dom» perform their destmed t^^/^^^n^^^ 
 any knowledge or intention. »ui, laymg 
 Il^fde conjecture, andaU pretences to deter- 
 mine in thinga beyond onrreach , we must 
 
 » lik« Ihctripodi of Vukan— . . ~ . ^o 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 217 
 
 in this, that body and mind are the 
 only kinds of being of which we can have 
 any knowledge, or can form any concep- 
 tion» If there are other kinds, tlicy axe 
 not discoverable by the faculties which God 
 hath given us ; and, with regard to us, are 
 as if they were not. [3] 
 
 As, therefore, all our knowledge is con- 
 fined to body and mind, or things belonging 
 to them, there are two great branches of 
 philosophy, one relating to body, the other 
 to mind. The properties of body, and the 
 laws that obtain in the material system, are 
 the objects of natural philosophy, as that 
 word is now used. The branch which 
 treats of the nature and operations of minds 
 has, by some, been called Pneumatology.* 
 And to the one or the other of these branches, 
 the principles of all the sciences belong. 
 
 What variety there may be of min<£ or 
 thinking beings, throughout this vast uni- 
 verse, we cannot pretend to say. We dwell 
 in a little corner of God*s dominion, dis- 
 joined from the rest of it. The globe which 
 we inhabit is but one of seven planets that 
 encircle our sun. What various orders of 
 beings may inliabit the other six, their 
 secondaries, and the comets belonging to 
 our system, and how many other suns may 
 be encircled with like systems, are things 
 altogether hid from us. Although human 
 reason and industry have discovered, with 
 great accuracy, the order and distances of 
 the planets, and the laws of their motion, 
 we have no means of corresponding with 
 them. That they may be the habitation of 
 animated beings, is very probable ; but of 
 the nature or powers of their inhabitants, 
 we are perfectly ignorant. Every man is 
 conscious of a thinking principle, or mind, 
 in himself; and we have sufficient evidence 
 I of a like principle in other men. The 
 'tactions of brute animals shew that they 
 fliave some tliinking principle, though of a 
 nature far inferior to the human mind. And 
 everythhig about us may convince us of the 
 existence of a supreme mind, the Maker and 
 Governor of the universe. These are all 
 the minds of which reason can give us any 
 I certain knowledge. [4] 
 
 The mind of man is the noblest work of 
 God which reason discovers to us, and, 
 therefore, on account of its dignity, deserves 
 our study. -f- It must, indeed, be acknow- 
 ledged, that, although it is of all objects the 
 nearest to us, and seems the most within 
 our reach, it is very difficult to attend to 
 its operations so as to form a distinct notion 
 
 • Now properly superseded by the term PsyckoL 
 egy ; to which no competent objection can be made, 
 .ind which affords us — what the various clumsy peti- 
 phrases in u-e do not— aeon veniciit adjective,p«^cAo. 
 logical. — H. 
 
 > •• On earth," says a forgotten pliilosopher, 
 *• there is nothing great but Man ; in man there is 
 nothing great but Mind."— H. 
 £3-5j 
 
 of them ; and on that account there is no 
 branch of knowledge in which the ingenious 
 and speculative have fallen into so great 
 errors, and even absurdities. These errors 
 and absurdities have given rise to a general 
 prejudice against all inquiries of this nature. 
 Because ingenious men have, for many 
 ages, given different and contradictory 
 accounts of the powers of the mind, it is 
 concluded that all speculations concerning 
 them are chimerical and visionary. 
 
 But whatever effect this prejudice may 
 have with superficial thinkers, the judicious 
 will not be apt to be carried away with it 
 About two hundred years ago, the opinions 
 of men in natural philosophy were as various 
 and as contradictory as they are now con- 
 cerning the powers of the mind. Galileo, 
 Torricelli, Kepler, Bacon, and Newton, 
 had the same discouragement in their 
 attempts to throw light upon the material 
 system, as vi e have with regard to the in- 
 tellectual. If they had been deterred by 
 such prejudices, we should never have 
 reaped the benefit of their discoveries, 
 whicli do honour to human nature, and will 
 make their names immortal. The motto 
 which Lord Bacon prefixed to some of his 
 writings was worthy of his genius, Inveniam 
 viam out faciam. • 
 
 There is a natural order in the progress 
 of the sciences, and good reasons may be 
 assigned why the philosophy of body should 
 [6] be elder sisfer to that of mind, and of a 
 quicker growth ; but the last hath the prin- 
 ciple of life no less than the first, and will 
 grow up, though slowly, to maturity. The 
 remains of ancient philosophy upon this 
 subject, are venerable ruins, carrying the 
 marks of genius and industry, sufficient to 
 inflame, but not to satisfy our curiosity. In 
 later ages, Des Cartes was the first that 
 pointed out the road we ought to take in 
 those dark regions. Malebranche, Arnauld, 
 Locke, Berkeley, Buffier, Hutcheson, 
 Butler, Hume, Price, Lord Kames, have 
 laboured to make discoveries — nor have they 
 laboured in vain; for, however different 
 and contrary their conclusions are, how- 
 ever sceptical some of them, they have all 
 given new light, and cleared the way to those 
 who shall come after them. 
 
 We ought never to despair of human 
 genius, but rather to hope that, in time, 
 it may produce a system of the powers and 
 operations of the human mind, no less cer- 
 tain than those of optics or astronomy. 
 
 This is the more devoutly to be wished, 
 that a distinct knowledge of the powers of 
 the mind would undoubtedly give great Ught 
 to many other branches of science. Mr 
 Hume hath justly observed, that " all the 
 
 • See Mr Stewait's "Philosophical Essayt," Pre. 
 liminary Disaeitation, ch. ii 
 

 
 «lnve»nktioiito Imiiiftii nature i 
 
 , jfiff vlie any of them may Mflm 
 
 lupm froni it, tliey ttiU retura ImmIc by one 
 
 mmtm OFiiwIlier. TUi is'the oontieand 
 
 m^St 'if' 'iw MiMMM^* wbieh, Wng oniw^ 
 maitais. tf, 'WO nay 'oaiily extend our oon- 
 qiiestB ewywhem** 
 
 Tie ■fcmiltlii.of owf iiliiii awttatooh 
 :aiii.«iiginiB '«e 'DUiit uw in efvery aa|iuat- 
 liiiiil Mtlie htmmw nndeEilandlliflur[6] 
 iMtim :aiii force, tlio moie sueoeerfUly we 
 •haU U able to apply them. Mr I^e 
 dtiia thia acooant of the ooearaon of nts 
 Siliiimg'iinon his easay eoneeniinR human 
 
 iniiwni1hiar*^*',ff * ** ^v® or six nriencls,** 
 
 mm i«i •• mooting at my chamber, and dja- 
 emiiiiiig en, a subj^ect veqr remote .mrai 
 «|ii% found ilienaelvea qnleUy at a slani 
 by 'the diJIIenltita 'that .lose on every side. 
 Aier we had for a while punled ourselves, 
 widmit'eeBiug' any ii«i»ir to a resohitien, 
 of thow diMbli Aat' wwf^ed us, .it eame 
 into' 'my thoniiiii mt '«e took a wrong 
 course; andllat, before we set ourselves 
 Vfoi inquiries of that nature, it was neces- 
 •aiy 'tO' eiamine^ our 'Own abiities, and aeo' 
 wluittMwIa 'OnT'indaniandiiMp were' fitted 
 OT' not fitted to dial with. 'This I proposed 
 to the company, who all readily aswnted i 
 and, thereupon it was. agreed iml'ltas alouM 
 be.ourii8t.eniiniry.*» If tWa 'be commoner 
 'tie eauie of perplexity in those disquisi-' 
 lienS' wMeh have least relation to the mind, 
 it must be so much more in these that have 
 " winiBediale eenneetieii 'wiA, il, 
 
 The idaiiflia' tnay'be disthB^guished into 
 two filaiiiMi^ iiiwtnrilinf as they pertain to the 
 malerial or to the intelleetnal world. The 
 vaiimia. parte of natural, philosophy, the 
 aeehaiiical arts, chemistry, medicine, and 
 agriettltu% belong to the first ; but, to the 
 liMrt» belong grammar, logic, rhetoric, — 
 
 inral theology, morals, jurisprudence, law. 
 politiea, and the fine arts. The know* 
 Mge^ the human mind is the root from 
 whSsh these grow, and draw their nourish- 
 ment.* Whether, therefore, we consider 
 the dignity of thia subject, or its subser^ 
 viency to ecience in general, and to the 
 noblest branches of science in particular, it 
 highly deserves to be cultivated. [7] 
 
 A very elegant writer, on the tuidiaM ana 
 Iteautifulyf concludes his account of the 
 psBslons thus : — " The variety of the pas- 
 sions is great, and worthy, in every branch 
 of that variety, of the most diligent inves- 
 tigation. The more accurately we search 
 mto the human mind, the stronger traces 
 weevery where find of His wisdom who made 
 it. If a discourse on the use of the parts of 
 the body may be considered as a hymn to 
 the Cc«ator,t the use of the passions, 
 whieh are the organs of the mind, cannot 
 be barren of praineto Him, nor unproductive 
 to ourselves of that noble and uncommon 
 union of science and admiration, which a 
 oontemplation of the works of infinite Wis- 
 dom alone can aflbrd to a rational mind; 
 whikt referring to Him whatever we find of 
 right, or good, or fair, in ourselves, dis- 
 covering His strength and wisdom even in our 
 own weakness and imperfection, honouring 
 them where we discover them clearly, and 
 adoring their profundity where we are lost 
 in our search, we may be inquisitive with- 
 out impertinence, and elevated without 
 pride ; we may be admitted, if I may dare 
 to say so, into the counsels of the Almighty, 
 by a consideration of his works. This ele- 
 vation of the mind ought to be the principal 
 end of all our studies, which, if they do not 
 m some measure effect, they are of very 
 little service to us." 
 
 • Himw 
 JUf )of] 
 
 SiMi iie mim§ or M'liii'iii m. 
 Mum file 'iseliMt'illv umraMn- 
 
 • It it Juttly olwerved by M. Jouffroy, th»t the 
 division here enounced is not in principle identical 
 with that previoiuly pfopounded^^U. 
 
 f Burke.— H. 
 
 I Galea is leltered ta— U. 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 ON THS 
 
 INTELLECTUAL POWERS OF MAN 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 PRELIMINARY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ■XPLICATION OP WORDS. 
 
 Tmbrb is no greater impediment to the 
 advancement of knowledge than the ambi- 
 guity of words. To this chiefly it is owing 
 that we find sects and parties in most 
 branches of science ; and disputes which 
 are carried on from age to age, without being 
 brought to an issue. 
 
 Sophistry has been more effectually ex- 
 cluded from mathematics and natural 
 phUosophy than from other sciences. In 
 .mathematics it had no phice from the begin- 
 ling ; mathematicians having had the wis- 
 lom to define accurately the terms they use, 
 Mid to ky down, as axioms, the first prin- 
 iples on which their reasoning is grounded. 
 Iccordingly, we find no parties among nia- 
 ^ jmaticians, and hardlyany disputes.* [10] 
 In natural philosophy, there was no less 
 ilistry, no less dispute and uncertainty, 
 Jn in other sciences, until, about a cen- 
 ly and a half ago, this science began to be 
 Jult upon the foundation of clear defini- 
 [ms and self-evident axioms. Since that 
 me, the science, as if watered with the 
 5w of Heaven, hath grown apace ; dis- 
 ites have ceased, truth hath prevailed, 
 id the science hath received greater in- 
 ease in two centuries than in two thous- 
 id years before. 
 
 It were to be wished that this method, 
 .vhich hath been so successful in those 
 t>ranches of science, were attempted in 
 others ; for definitions and axioms are the 
 foundations of all science. But that defini- 
 tions may not be sought where no defini- 
 Vion can be given, nor logical definitions be 
 Attempted where the subject does not admit 
 >f them, it may be proper to lay down some 
 jeneml4)rmciplei cpnc§rning definition, for 
 
 the sake of those who are less conversant 
 in this branch of logic. 
 
 When one undertakes to explain any-art 
 or science, he will have occasion to use 
 many words that are common to all who 
 use the same language, and some that are 
 peculiar to that art or. science. Words of 
 the last kmd are called terms of the art, and 
 ought to be distinctly explained, that their 
 meaning may be understood. 
 
 A definition* is nothiwg §lse but an exr 
 plication of the meaning of a word, by words 
 whose meaning is already known. Hen^e 
 it is evident that every word cannot be 
 
 defined; for the definition must consist of 
 words ; and there could be no definition, it 
 "there were not words previously understood 
 without definition. Common words, there- 
 fore, ought to be used in their common 
 acceptation ; and, when they have different 
 acceptations m common hmguage, these, 
 when it is necessary, ought to be distm- 
 guished. But they require no definition. 
 It is sufficient to define words that are un- 
 common, or that are used in an uncommon 
 
 meaning. , ^v x xi. 
 
 It may farther be observed, that there 
 are many words, which, though they may 
 need explication, cannot be logically define(L 
 All n logical definition^that is, a strict and 
 proper jdefinition— must express the kind 
 f^S^l of the thing defined, and the spe- 
 ^c difference by wliich the species defined 
 iTdistmguished from every other species 
 belonging to that kind. . It is natural to the 
 mind of man to class things under various 
 kinds, and ag£un to subdivide every kind 
 into its various species. A species may 
 often be subdivided into subordinate species, 
 and then it is considered as a kind. 
 
 From what has been said of logical den- 
 nition, iiJ§j^Yident.ihat no word^n *,e 
 logically defined which does not denote a 
 
 • It was not the iuperior wisdom of mathema- 
 ticians, but the simple and palpaWecharacter ol tticir 
 otaject.matter, which determined the difterence.— n. 
 
 [9-11] 
 
 * In what follows, there is a confusion of defini- 
 tions *"r*al and r.«/, which should have been cart- 
 fully distinguished.— H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWEEa 
 
 £bI8AT 1. 
 
 1 1 OBAP. I.]] 
 
 EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 
 
 221 
 
 ■MisaBi ; lMC«pe mcli things only emi have 
 
 ft fpcpio ditferenoe' ; and, a s^ecifio^j^lprw 
 •ence is, easentkl to .% ,j|i2gMi|,.,. definitiafc 
 f On tliia acoount there can be no logioii 
 ; defii^tioii of individual thins^s, such as 
 LondMi or Fam Individuau an distin- 
 raidied either by proper names, or by aeci- 
 qfnifjul fljiiimnftiwii—ff' of tine or place ; but 
 they haw nH' iipedie diileieiice i and, there- 
 fore. Ibmich they 'uaf ' be hmyini by pro* 
 per names, or may be described by oiroom- 
 ^etanoes^ or relaitioiii,they eannot be defined. * 
 It h no leia evident that the .i^Qst geneisl 
 ifoiijiiiorie 
 
 a more generaiten%. of ,„ which 
 
 Naf • we cannot da fime evegv OMCiiiLilC 
 
 itlll'llllllL lliillM 'wjk llJUnilflllUft j^p|g|pi|p|^pj^ ' itrt:!!.!', 
 
 we 'haYe' iiiX^QrjlEi in ,fiprfa*« .thfi'^ n p^ ifie 
 
 difference. Thus, a somet colour is, no 
 
 aonbt, a species of .afefflri ^»* ^<*^ «*»^1 
 
 'ir«' eipees tie specific difference by which 
 ■cailet^ .it' disthi'guished from green or blue ? 
 Tha: dUfcrenoe of them is immediately per- 
 ceived by the eye ; but we have not words 
 
 to exprsis it These thinn w« are taught 
 by lo^ic. 
 
 Without having recourse to the prin- 
 ciples of logic, we may easOy be satisfied 
 thai words cannot bO' defined, which rignify 
 things perfectly simpioi, and void of all com- 
 position. This observation, I think, was 
 first made by Bcs Cartes, and afterwards 
 more fliliy illiistrated by Lockcf And, 
 however obvious it appears to^ be, many in- 
 stances may bO' given, of great phiosophers 
 wliiifi li&'vris^ iiiif^ I l.JSi'1! jku nl' oiflypKiiEi^ tiho 
 
 sahjectS' 'they have treated, by not knowing, 
 or not attending tO' it. 
 
 When men attempt to define 'things which 
 ^aasol he defined, their definttions will 
 always be^ either obscure or false. It was 
 one of the capital defects of Aristotle*s phi- 
 losophy, that he pretended to define the 
 simplest things, which 'neither can be,, nor 
 need, 'to be defined— such as time and tno- 
 ljim.$ Among modem philosophers. I 
 
 jk. ''^B''l|kili|fl| Mm\ 
 
 iJMte mi' 'tiHe lo 
 ollicrt t wliiito» 
 
 iUw-'iliMCf ii illff iftH JcfW'^o**'- Ar.f *lilt ii ini% 
 ■Mill: 'Of ' 'tni ollccla of Mwe, and of ih« cAiifcis of nU. 
 
 Btt CiTlM' ttm tittle, and 
 mtefor'tUfoliifrvatioii. It had 
 Iflflllllih .aiid. alttr Mm l.:y many 
 HHipMit to Dct Caitei, and pre. 
 Mcal ant tlw Poit. K«)yal Ixwiciaoi, 
 tea*f 'WOUilai'of • pi.per of Leibolta. in lesi, had ra. 
 dUced It to ■■Mllcr of commonplace. In thU inatance, 
 Locke CMi,fn«taid, it protwi a bonowar. Mr Stewart 
 ('• Philowpliical fam.** Note A) la wronK in think. 
 tns tJiat. alter Ilea Cfartet, Lord Stair ii the earlie.t 
 bf whom Ihif Inglail principle wm 
 in 'itair, at a wiltcr* is sulMaiuent to 
 
 rlf: 'Ml'. a Bttte liowefor, to bo aaW In rln- 
 dlcaiiiia: 'Of A'lMntte'i deflnitlona. l^tbn'its it not 
 tlie omlf modern phitoophcr who htfoiiplamlcd that 
 of Motiomt which fcouires, Iwwever. mnnc illi •. 
 tration of llie ^ccM iliBificance of iti termi — H. 
 
 isi 
 
 .plil 
 
 tiw 
 ..I 
 
 know none that has abused definition so 
 much as Carolus [Christianus] Wolfius, the 
 iunous German philosopher, who, in a 
 work on the human mind, called *' Psycho- 
 logia Empirica,** consisting of many hun- 
 dred propositions, fortified by demon- 
 strations, with a proportional accompani- 
 ment of definitions, corollaries, and scholia, 
 has given so many definitions of things 
 which cannot be defined, and so many de- 
 monstrations of things self-evident, that 
 the greatest part of the work consists of 
 U«^. uSTringmg ch^ge. upon 
 words.* 
 
 There is no subject in which there is 
 more frequent occasion to use.woSBL^i 
 «nnot b? logicaUy defined, than in tre.t«,g 
 of the powers and operations of theinind. 
 The simplest operations of our minds must 
 all be expressed by words of this kind. No 
 man can explain, by a logical definition, 
 what it is to ihiuk, to apprehend, to believe, 
 to wlUy to detlre. Every man who under- 
 stands the language, has some notion of the 
 meaning of those words ; and every man 
 who is capable of reflection may, by attend- 
 ing to the operations of his own mind, 
 which are signified by them, form a clear 
 and distinct notion of them ; but they can- 
 not be logically defined. 
 
 Since, therefore, it is often impossible to 
 d^ne words which we must use on this 
 subject, we must as much as possible use 
 conunon words, in their common accepta- 
 tion, pointing out their various senses where j 
 the^ are ambiguous ; and, when we ai 
 obliged to use words less common, we mus^ 
 end^vonr to explain them [13] as well 
 we can, without affecting to give logical d< 
 finitions, when the nature oi the thing do/ 
 not allow it 
 
 The following observations on the mf 
 ing of certam words are intended to supj 
 as far as we can, the want of definitions 
 preventing ambiguity or obscurity in 
 use of them. 
 
 I. ^^the mhvi of a man, we understaij 
 that tflLjEun which thinks, remcmbersj 
 sons, wills, -f The essence both of body ; 
 of miniSris unknown to us. We know i 
 tain properties of the first, and certain o] 
 atbns of the last, and by these only we c^ 
 define or describe them. We define " 
 to be that which is extended, solid, move 
 able, divisible. In like manner, we defini 
 mind to be that which thinks. We^^re con! 
 clous that w e think, and that we have ( 
 variety otihoughts of different kmds— sucj 
 as seeing, hearing, remembering, delil 
 rating, resolving, loving, hating, and manj 
 
 ■ m m — ■ mmmti^mm^i^mmmmmmmmmmmim^mmmm — — — wmmmmmmmmmmmm^mm 
 
 » Tbli ludgneiit ia not fUae : but tt Ii t xaggcrat 
 — H 
 
 t llil* corrctMinda to Ariatofle't actsond dcllnltloa 
 nf the loul, or tliat a pmlerlvn. Vide ntpm, p. MS 
 a, note •.— M. 
 
 other I^ifds of thought^all which we are 
 taught by nature to attribute to one internal 
 principle ; and this principle of thought we 
 •all the mind or soul of a man. 
 
 2. By the operations* of the niind, we un- 
 derstand every mode of thinking of wh ic h 
 we ace conscious. 
 
 It deserves our notice, that the various 
 modes of thinking have always, and in all 
 languages, as far as we know, been called 
 by the name of operations of the mind, or 
 by names of the same import. To body 
 we ascribe various properties, but not oper- 
 ations, properly so called : it is extended, 
 divisible, moveable, inert ; it continues in 
 any state in which it is put ; every change 
 of its state is the effect of some force im- 
 pressed upon it, and is exactly proportional 
 to the force impressed, and in the precise 
 direction of that force. These are the ge - 
 neral pipperties of matter, and these are 
 SSi-QftSjations; on the contrary, they all 
 iSBpiy its being a dead, inactive thing, 
 whjch moves only as it is moved, and acts 
 2BlyJiy_being acted upon. f [ 1 4 ] 
 
 But t he mind is, froni its very nature, a 
 lllMg and active being. Everything we 
 know of it implies life and active energy ; 
 
 *nd thfi-regfion^why all itejuodes of thinking 
 Mfi.called its operati£ms,.is,that in alitor in 
 most of them, it is not merely passive, as 
 body is, but is really and properly active. 
 
 In all ages, and in all languages, ancient 
 and modern, the various modes of thinking 
 have been expressed by words of active 
 signification, such as seeing, hearing, reason' 
 ing, willing, and the like. It seems, there- 
 fore, to be the natural judgment of man- 
 kind, that the mind is active in its various 
 ways of thinking : and, for this reason, they 
 are called its operations, and are expressed 
 by active verbs. 
 
 It may be made a question. What regard 
 is to be paid to this natural judgment ? 
 May it not be a vulgar error ? Philosophers 
 who think so have, no doubt, a right to be 
 heard. But, until it is proved that the 
 mind is not active in thinking, but merely 
 t passive, the common language with regard 
 to its operations ought to be used, and ought 
 not to give place to a phraseology invented 
 by philosophers, which implies its being 
 merely passive, 
 
 3. The words j^oicer and famify, which 
 are often used in speaking "oF the mind, 
 need little expUcation. Every operation 
 supposes a power in the being that oper- 
 n^tes ; for to suppose anything to operate, 
 which has no power to operate, is mani- 
 festly absurd. But, on the other hand, 
 
 • Operation, Act, Energtf, are nearly convertible 
 terms; and are opposed to f'acuitt/, (of which anon,) 
 at the actual to the potential — H. 
 
 f " Materiae datum est cogi, gcd cogere Memi." 
 
 Manilu's}.— H. 
 
 [U, 15] 
 
 there is no absurdity in supposing a being 
 to have power to operate, when it does not 
 operate. Thus I may have power to walk, 
 when^I sit ; or to speak, when I am silent. 
 Every operation, therefore, implies power j 
 but tlie-ppwer does not imply the operation. 
 The faculties of the mind, and its powers, 
 are often used as synonymous expressions. 
 But, as most synonymes have some minute 
 distinction that deserves notice, I apprehend 
 that the word /acM//y [15] is most properly 
 applied to those powers of the mind which 
 are original and natural, and which make a 
 part of the constitution of the mind. There 
 are other powers, which are acquired by 
 use, exercise, or study, which are not called 
 faculties, but habits. There must be some- 
 thing in the constitution of the mind neces- 
 sary to our being able to acquire habits 
 
 and this is commonly called capacity.* 
 
 4. We frequently meet with a distinction 
 in writers upon this subject, between things 
 in the mind, and things ear ternal to the mind. 
 The_powers, faculties, and operations of the 
 naind, are things in the mmd. Everything 
 is said to be in the mmd, of which the mmd 
 is the subject. IiLis self-evident that there 
 are some things which cannot exist without 
 a subject to which they belong, and of which 
 they are attributes. Thus, colour must be 
 in something coloured ; figure in something 
 figured ; thought can only be in something 
 that thinks ; wisdom and virtue cannot exist 
 but in some being that is wise and virtuous. 
 When, therefore, we speak of things in the 
 mind, we understand by this, things of which 
 the mind is the subject. Excepting the 
 mind itself, and things in the mind, all other 
 things are said to be external. It ought 
 therefore to be remembered, that this dis- 
 tinction between things in the mind and 
 things external, is not meant to signify the 
 place of the things we speak of, but their 
 subject."]- 
 
 There is a figurative sense in which things - 
 are said to be in the mind, which it is sirf- 
 ficient barely to mention. We say such a 
 thing was not in my mind; meanmg no more 
 than that I had not the least thouglit of it. 
 By a figure, we put thethiiig for the thought 
 
 * These terms properly stand in the follow ing re 
 lalions t^Powers are active and passive^ natural 
 and acquired. Powers, natural ar.d acti ve„are called 
 Faculties : rowers, natural and passive, Capacities 
 or Receptivities ; Powers acquired are Habits, and 
 habit IS used both in anactivcand in a pasisivc^ense: 
 the Power, again, of acquiring a habit, ie called a 
 D/j/)05rt/(m,— On the meaning of the term Power, see 
 further, under the first Essay on the Active Powers, 
 chap. iiS.p '23— H 
 
 f Subject and Object are correlative terms. The 
 former is properly id in qvo : the latter, id circa 
 quod. Hence, in psychological language, the svbjfxr, 
 absolutely, is the mind that knows or thinks— t e., 
 the mind considered as the-sul>ject r.f ki:ow!edge or 
 thought : the object, that which is known, or thought 
 about. The atljectivcs subjective and ofjective are 
 convenient, if not indispenjable, expressions.— H. 
 
 fin 
 4. 
 
V 
 
 ON TBI IMTILLICTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay I. 
 
 1 
 
 lyF 
 
 of it In iliii atmm extenml tMngs ftie in 
 gw mind m ottm. m Ikaij ^WO' 'IIm objods of 
 
 Mil tllOllgllt. . 
 
 IL f'|ifiJHn^iBiiwryg««fi!lwofd, wluch 
 
 lluilissilUtlw operations ofour mi»d», wif 
 
 m. mjgM lliaslood « to need no deftr 
 
 miiin.* 116] 
 To |wr«iiw, Ummm^er, to be <?ofMin©«f, 
 
 -Mii to mnmim wt lma§im, are worda eom- 
 Bioii to pUosophers and to the vulgar. 
 Tliey iignify 'dilliieiil ©perations of tlie 
 mind, wWijli ate di«&ig«Wied in all kn- 
 mm^m, and bj aU men that thmk I aliall 
 mMmmm' to nue them in their moet eom- 
 mon and proper acceptation, and I thinlc 
 they are hardly capable of etiict deinition. 
 Biil» aa 'iODie philoBophers, In trealmg of the 
 mind, 'haw tilien the liberty to mo gem 
 ▼ery Impfoperly, so aa to oonnpl the Eng- 
 lish langnage^ and to confonnd thmgp 
 which the ewnnitn nndetatandmg of ■»;- 
 Uai' hath always M. them to distiniiiiiaii, 
 I i ii«.ll make someobservations on the mean- 
 ing ef tbcm, that may prevent ambignity 
 •r confmiin, in <ha use of them. 
 
 IhiBft'Sfthe exlatm^M wMfift we. have 
 
 mot a full conviction^ IjBiaXJ*??"^"^* °' 
 imagine a mountaiajCpM, 5 » wiuRed 
 Iwne; bufiomansiya that he perceives 
 ■nch a creature of imagination. Thus p«r- 
 ctfpltofiiadistinstuished from emcepHon or 
 imagpation. ^mtMitf Penaeption is ap- 
 
 'pled'fl!i||.te: filtonul ol>iect»i.WSj ^ ^Jiose 
 
 that arehi.tho: mind itielf. ^en I„am 
 
 pianedj 1 do not say tliat I perceive pam, 
 but ibat I feel it, or that I ap wnscious of 
 
 It ■ 'Tksakiam^'' "» distinguwhed Irora 
 
 "ffiiiilliiiW- Thirdlg, The immediate 
 Object of pePSBplion must be somethmg pre- 
 sent, and jiol what is paii.-J* e may re- 
 mepaber Jthali-kflist, but do not perceive 
 It I may say, 1 perceive such a person 
 ha8hadthesmaIl*pox; but this phrase is 
 Ignnilive, although the fignie is so fiunihar 
 that it is not observed, fhii neanmg of it 
 'isi. that Iperoeive the pito^in hto lioe, whidi 
 re ttrtA- signs of his navinghad the small 
 ^po«- We say we_perceiv© mfi. .Ifeg »»gn- 
 I fed, wlill,it..^^iiiily perceive the sigp. But 
 when the wm^pmrcepHon, is used property, 
 and without any igure, it is never apphed 
 to things past And thus it ia distinguished 
 'imn rtnmnimmee. 
 
 In a word,, perception is moirt propedy 
 applied to the evidence which we have of 
 external objects by our senses. But, as 
 iiis is a [17] very clear and cogent kind of 
 evidence, the word is 'Oftan applied bjr ana-' 
 If^ to the evidence of reason or of testi- 
 
 mony, when it is clear and cogent The 
 
 peioeption of external objects by our senses, 
 L an operation of the mind of a peculiar 
 nature, and ought to have a name appro- 
 priated to it It has so in all languages. 
 And, in English, I know no word more 
 nroner to express this act of the mind than 
 JerS^ption. Seeing, hearing, smellmg, 
 tasting, and touching or feeling, are words 
 ^hf± express the operations, proper to eadi 
 sense ; perceiving expresses that which is 
 common to them alL ■ 
 
 The observations made on this word 
 would have been unnecessary, if it had not 
 been so much abused in philosophical 
 writings upon the mind ; fot, in other writ- 
 ings, it bas no obscurity. Although this 
 abuse is not chargeable on Mr Hume only, 
 yet I think he has carried it to the highest 
 pitoh. The first sentence of his " Treatise \ 
 of Human Nature** runs thus 1 — " All the ) 
 perceptions of the human mind resolve, 
 themselves into two distinct heads, wludi 
 I shall call impressions and ideas.** He I 
 adds, a little after, that, under the nam* 
 of impressions, he comprehends all our 
 sensations, passions, and emotions. Here 
 we learn that our passions and emotions 
 are perceptions. I beUeve, no English 
 writer before him ever gave the name of a 
 perception to any passion or emotion. 
 When a man is angiy, we must say that he 
 has the perception of anger. When he is 
 in love, that he has the perception of love. 
 He speaks often of the perceptions of me-( 
 mory, and of the perceptions of imagina- 
 tion ; and he might as well speak of the 
 hearing of sight, or of the smelling of touch ; 
 for, surely, hearing is not more different 
 from sight, or smelling from touch, than 
 perceiving is from remembering or imagin- 
 
 IDg." 
 
 7. Consoiousneas is a _wQjaL_nafid_.by 
 philosophers, to signif y that imme diate 
 knowledge which we ha>'e_of_our_j>r?seiit 
 thoughts and purposes, and, in j^eneraLsf 
 all the present operations of our min d s . 
 Wh_ence we may observe, that conscio us- 
 ness is only of things present. To apply 
 consciousness to things past, which some- 
 times [ 18] is done in popular discourse, is to 
 confound conscieusness with memory ; and 
 all such confusion of words ought to be 
 avoided in philosophical discourse, Itjs 
 likewise to be observed, tlu|| 60i§c|sMffiesB 
 
 • ITtoif ilsad liWOAMr an maAim amwe. sod In 
 
 ^mm& are limited to the metmim sncrgice itoae ; 
 lAlw latter, thsf are co-eateniWe with coiucious. 
 
 I I'fi— 18 1 
 
 • In the Ctrtctlaii and Lockian philoMpMe*. the 
 term Perception wat used almost converuWy with 
 ContcioutneM : wbateter we could t»e said to be 
 COiMciout of, that we could be »a«d to perceive. ADd 
 there u noihing in the etymoJogy of the word. Of in 
 Ittuse t>T ancient writer, that renders th» unexclu- 
 Are appllcaUon of It abusive. In the Leibnitxian 
 phllowphy. perception and ''FP«'<^''<^, *«'*J'*- 
 tinffuUhcd in a peculiar manner— of which again. 
 Reid u right in hu own reitrlction of the term; liul 
 he u not warranted in blaming Hume for having UMd 
 It III the wider ■ignlflcation of hii predeceMori.— M. 
 
 CHAP. I.J 
 
 EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 
 
 223 
 
 itJflttly of thinjgjnjhe mind^^nd not of 
 f*tornaJ things. It is^mproper to say I 
 am conscious of the table which is before 
 me. I perceive it, I see it ; but do not say 
 I am conscious of it As that consciousness 
 by which we have a knowledge of the opera- 
 tions of our own minds, is a different power 
 from that by which we perceive external 
 objects, and as these different powers have 
 different names in our language, and, I 
 believe, in all languages, a philosopher 
 ought carefully to preserve this distinction, 
 and never to confound thmgs so different in 
 their nature." 
 
 ^. Cgjic&ving, imagining, and appre- 
 f^^Baing, a^e commonly used as synony- 
 mjQiia in our language, and signify the same 
 J&mg which the logicians call simple appre- 
 hension. This is an operation of the mind 
 different from all those we have mentioned. 
 Whatever we perceive, whatever we re- 
 member, whatever we are conscious of, we 
 have a full persuasion or conviction of its 
 existence. But we may conceive or imagine 
 what has no existence, and what we firmly 
 believe to have no existence. What never 
 had an existence cannot be remembered ; 
 what has no existence at present cannot 
 be the object of perception or of conscious- 
 ness { but what never had, nor has any 
 existence, may be conceived. Every man 
 knows that it is as easy to conceive a winged 
 horse, oracentaur, as it is to conceive ahorse 
 or a man. Let it be observed, therefore, that 
 
 to conceive^ioimagine^ to apprehend, when 
 taken in the proper sense, signify an act of 
 the mind which implies no belief or judg- 
 ment at alLf It is an act of the mind by 
 which nothing is affirmed or denied, and 
 which, therefore, can neither be true nor 
 nlse. 
 
 But there is another and a very different 
 meaning of those words, so common and so 
 weU authorized in language that it cannot 
 easily be avoided; and on that account 
 we ought to be the more on our guard, that 
 we be not misled by the ambiguity. Po- 
 liteness and [ 1 9 ] good-breeding lead men, on 
 most occasions, to express their opinions 
 with modesty, especially when thev differ 
 from others whom they ought to respect. 
 Therefore, when we would express our 
 ppmion modestly, instead of saying, « This 
 IS my opinion," or, "This is my judgment," 
 which has the au* of dogmaticalness, we say, 
 I conceive it to be thus— I imagine, or ap- 
 prehend it to be thus ;" which is understood 
 as a modest declaration of our judgment 
 In like manner, when anything is said which 
 we take to be impossible, we say, " We can- 
 
 not conceive it;" meanmgthafc we cannot 
 believe it. 
 
 -JLi^f'f* degradation of Conscioutneis into a 
 ■peclal faculty, (m which he leems to follow Hut. 
 ^^'\L-\ opposition to other philosophers,) U, in 
 S..^i^"«°' view obnoxious to every possible ob- 
 Jcction. See note H.— H 
 
 t Except of iy own ideal realttv.^H. 
 
 . Tl>«? we see that the words conceive, 
 ^IH'MBh^apprehend^ have two meaniu^^s, 
 a«d are used to express two operations'^f 
 the mind, -whidi ou^t never to be con- 
 founded. Sometimes they express simple 
 apprehension, which implies no judgment 
 at all ; sometimes they express judgment or 
 opinion. This ambiguity ought to be ai^' 
 tended to, that we may not impose upon 
 ourselves or others in the use of them. The 
 ambiguity is indeed remedied, in a great 
 measure, by their construction. When 
 they are used to express simple apprehen. 
 sion, they are followed by a noun in the 
 accusative case, which signifies the object 
 conceived ; but, when they are used to ex- 
 press opmion or judgment, they are com- 
 monly followed by a verb, in the infinitive 
 mood. « I conceive an Egyptian pyramid." 
 This implies no judgment. "I conceive 
 the Egyptian pyramids to be the most an- 
 cient monuments of human art" This 
 implies judgment. When the words are 
 used in the last sense, the thing conceived 
 must be a proposition, because judgment 
 cannot be expressed but by a proposition. 
 When they are used in the first sense, the 
 thing conceived may be no proposition, but 
 a simple term only— as a pyramid, an obe- 
 lisk. Yet it may be observed, that even a 
 proposition may be simply apprehended, 
 without formmg any judgment of its truth 
 or falsehood : lor it is one thing to conceive 
 the meaning of a proposition ; it Is another 
 thing to judge it to be true or false. [20]" 
 Although the distinction between simple 
 apprehension, and every degree of assent or 
 judgment, be perfectly evident to every man 
 who reflects attentively on what passes in 
 his own mind— although it is very neces- 
 sary, in treating of the powers of the mind, 
 to attend carefully to this distinction—yet, 
 in the affairs of common life, it is seldom 
 necessary to observe it accurately. On 
 this account we shall find, in all common 
 languages, the words which express one of 
 those operations frequently applied to the 
 other. To think, to suppose, to imagme,| 
 to conceive, to apprehend, are the words we/ 
 use to express simple apprehension; bulj 
 they are all frequently used to express 
 judgment. Their ambiguity seldom occa- 
 sions any inconvenience in the commonl 
 affairs of life, for which language is framed. 
 But it has perplexed philosophers, in treat- 
 ing of the operations of the mind, and will 
 always perplex them, if they do not attend 
 accurately to the different meanings which 
 are put upon those words on different oc- 
 casions. ' 
 
 9. Mo§t of the operations of the mind, 
 from their very nature, must have objects 
 to which they are directed, and about which 
 
■»«.: 
 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay I. 
 
 tlioj mm employed. Ho that perceiven, 
 must peroeive someiliing; miid tnat which 
 he pewMsifW h mXkd the object of his per- 
 ■ ^'in.. To pcwoive, without hftving any 
 of penoption, is impoasihla. fM , 
 
 iat perceives, the object perceive?; 
 
 mill the nperatim of perceiving that object, 
 are distinct tllinp, and are distiiiguished m 
 the structure of aE langiiages. In this 
 sentence, " I see, or perceive the moon," 
 1 m the person or mind, th© active verb 
 #«« denotes the operation of that mind, and 
 the mmn denotes the object. What we 
 have said of perceiving, is equally appticable 
 to most operations of the mind. Such opera- 
 tions are, in att languages, expressed by 
 MtiTO 'tiansitive verbs; and we know that, 
 in all languages, such verbs require a thing 
 or person, which is the agent, and a noun 
 following in an oblique caw, which is th© 
 objecl Whence it is evident, that all 
 mankind, both tbosO' who have ^onntnved 
 mngnage, and those who use it with under- 
 standing, have distinguished these three 
 things as diffewnl— to wit, th© operations of 
 the mind, which IM] areexpressed byactiv© 
 'verbs ; the mind itaelf, which is the momin- 
 atiTc to those verbs; and the object, which 
 is, in the oblique case, governed by them. 
 
 It would, have been, unnecessary to ex- 
 plain, 80' obvions a di8la,netion, 'if some sys- 
 tems of phioflophy had not confounded it. 
 Mr Hume's svslem, iu particular, confounds 
 all distinction hetwen th© onemtions of the 
 mind and theuf objicts. When be speaks 
 of' 'the Ideas of 'memory, the ideas of imagin- 
 ation, and th© ideas of sense, it is often im- 
 iMMsible, from the tenor of his discourse, to 
 know whether, by those ideas, he means 
 the operations of the mmd, or th© objects 
 about which they are employed. And, 
 indeed, according to bis system, there is 
 no distinction between th© on© and the 
 other. 
 
 A philosopher is, no doubt, entitled to 
 eicamine even those distinctions that are to 
 he found in the structure of all languages ; 
 and, if h© is able to shew that ther© is no 
 foundation for them in the nature of th© 
 thhigs distinguished—if he can point out 
 some prejudice common to mankind which 
 has led th©m to distinguish things that are 
 not roally different— In that case, such a 
 distinction may be imputed to a vulgar 
 error, which ought to be corrected in philo- 
 iophy. But when, in his first setting out. 
 It takes it for granted, without proof, that 
 diattactlons found in the structure of all 
 languages, have no foundation in nature, 
 this, surely, is too laatldious a way of 
 trealiiqi. 'the common mum of manki,nd. 
 When 'W© eom© to be instficted by phio- 
 sophers, we must bring tli© old light of 
 common sense along with us, and by it 
 fudge of 'the new light which th© philo- 
 I SI '83 1 
 
 sopher communicates to ua But when we 
 are required to put out the old light alto- 
 gether, that w© may follow the new, we 
 hav© reastm to b© on our guard. There 
 may be distinctions that hav© a real foun- 
 dation, and which may b© necessary in 
 philosophy, which are not made in common 
 language, because not necessary in the com- 
 men business of life. But I believe [22] no 
 instance will be found of a distinction made 
 in all languages, which has not a Just found- 
 ation in nature. 
 
 10. The word idea* occurs so frequently 
 in modern philosophical writings upon the 
 mind, and is so ambiguous in its meaumg, 
 that it is'necessary to make some observa- 
 tions upon it. There are chiefly two mean- . 
 ings of this word in modern authors— a 
 pojtular and a philosophical. ^ 
 
 Firs^,_lli4^ular Jan^yiagjf* !fi!« Jlgllr 
 fi^jjifijame thing as conception^JtEfiJCP- 
 hension, notion. To^li^^vo an idea of anj. 
 things ifl tn iimmilHl' To have a distinct 
 idea, is to conceive It distinctly. To have 
 no idea of it, is not to conceive it at all. 
 It was before observed, that conceiving or 
 apprehending has always been considered 
 by all men as an act or operation of the 
 mind, and, on that account, has been ex- 
 pressed iu all languages by an active verb. 
 When, tlierefore, w© us© th© phras© of 
 having ideas, m th© popular sense, we 
 ought to attend to this, that it signifies 
 precisely the same thing which we com- 
 monly express by the active verbs, conceiv- 
 ing or apprehending. . ,, . 
 
 When th© word idea is taken in thi? po- f 
 pular sense, no man can possibly doubt , 
 whether he has ideas. For he tliat doubts i 
 must think, and to think is to have ideas. ^ 
 
 Sometimes, in popular language, a man s / 
 ideas signify his opinions. The ideas of I 
 Aristotle, or of Epicurus, signify the 
 opinions of these philosophers. What was 
 formerly said of the words imagine^ conceive, 
 apprehend, that they are sometimes used 
 to express judgment, is no less true of the 
 word idea. This signification of the word 
 seems indeed more common m the French 
 language than in English. But it h found 
 in this sense in good English authors, and 
 even in Mr Locke. Thus we see^^ Uiat 
 biiving ideast. tak en in the popular jense, 
 has precisely the same meaning with conceiv- 
 ing, imagining, apprehending^ and lias like- 
 wise [23] the sameambi^uit^. 1 1 may, there- 
 fore, be doubted, whether the mtroduction of 
 this word uito popular discourse, to sign ify th© 
 operation of conceivmg or apprehending, 
 was at all necessary. For, fir.st, We have, 
 as has been shewn, several words which ar© 
 either originally English, or have been long 
 naturalized, that express the same thing j 
 
 • Oh ihc hMtoiyofiheterai Wm,ic« NoteO.— H. 
 
 OOAF. 1.3 
 
 EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 
 
 225 
 
 why, therefore, should we adopt a Greek 
 word, in place of thes©, any more than a 
 French or a German word ? Besides, the 
 words of our own language are less ambi- 
 guous. For the word idea has, for many 
 ages, been used by philosophers as a term 
 of art ; and in the different systems of phi- 
 losophers means very different things. 
 
 Secondly, A ccording to the philosophi- 
 carmeimingj)rjthfe_word^dea, it does not 
 m^Jy That act of thejnind which we call 
 t^u^t or conceptioQjJwit. some object of 
 thought. Ideas, according to Mr Locke, 
 (whose very frequent us© of this word has 
 probably been the occasion of its being 
 adopted into common language,) "are 
 nothing but the immediate objects of the 
 mind in thinking." But of those objects of 
 thought called ideas, different sects of phi- 
 losophers have given a very different ac- 
 count. Bruckerus, a learned German, wrote 
 a whole book, giving the history of ideas. 
 
 The most ancient system we have con- 
 cerning ideas, is that which is explained in 
 several dialogues of Plato, and which many 
 ancient, as well as modern writers, have 
 ascribed to Plato, as the inventor. But it is 
 certain that Plato had his doctrine upon 
 this subject, as well as the name iiea, from 
 the school of Pythagoras. We have still 
 extant, a tract of Tiniaeus, the Locrian, a 
 Pythagorean philosopher, concerning the 
 soul of the world, in which we find the sub- 
 stance of Plato's doctrine concerning ideas.* 
 They were held to be eternal, uncreated, 
 and immutable forms, or models, according 
 to which the Deity mad© ©v©ry species of 
 things that exists, of an eternal matter. 
 Those philosophers held, that there are 
 three first principles of all thingjs : Firsi, 
 An eternal matter, of which all things were 
 made; Secondly, Eternal and immaterial 
 forms, or ideas, according to which they were 
 made; and, [24] T/iirrf/y, An efiicient cause, 
 the Deity who made them.f The mind of 
 man, in order to its being fitted for the con- 
 templation of these eternal ideas, must un- 
 dergo a certain purification, and be weaned 
 from sensible things. The eternal ideas are 
 the only object of science ; because the ob- 
 jects of sense, being in a perpetual flux, there 
 can be no real knowledge with regard to them. 
 
 The philosophers of the Alexandrian 
 school, commonly called the latter Plato- 
 nists, made some change upon the system of 
 the ancient Platonists with respect to the 
 eternal ideas. They held them not to be a 
 principle distinct from the Deity, but to b© 
 the conceptions of things in the divine un- 
 
 ♦ The whole «erles of Pythagorean treatiBM and 
 flragments In the Doric dialect, in which the doc- 
 trines and phraseology of PlatO'and Aristotle are so 
 marvellously anticipated, are now proved lo be com- 
 paratively recent forgeries. Of these, the treatise 
 under the name of Tirasus, is one.— H. 
 
 t See •ix)ve,p.20*, a, note ♦— H. 
 
 f 24, 25] 
 
 derstanding; the natures and essences of all 
 things being perfectly known to him from 
 eternity. 
 
 It ought to be observed that the Pythago- 
 reans, and the Platonists, whether elder or 
 latter, made the etemal'ideas to be objects 
 of science only, and of abstract contempla- 
 tion, not the objects of sense.* And in 
 this, the ancient system of eternal ideas 
 differs from the modem one of Father Ma- 
 lebranche. He held, in common with other 
 modern philosophers, that no external 
 thing is perceived by us immediately, but 
 only by ideas. But he thought that th© 
 ideas, by which we perceive an external 
 world, are the ideas of the Deity himself, 
 in whose mind the ideas of all things, past, 
 present, and future, must have been from 
 eternity; for the Deity being intimately 
 present to our minds at all times, may dis- 
 cover to us as much of his ideas as he sees 
 proper, according to certain established 
 laws of nature ; and in his ideas, as in a 
 mirror, we perceive whatever we do per- 
 ceive of the external world. 
 
 Thus we have three systems, which main- 
 tain that the ideas which are the imme- 
 diate objects of human knowledge, are 
 eternal and immutable, and existed before 
 the things which they represent. There 
 are other systems, according to which th© 
 ideas which are the immediate objects of 
 all our thoughts, are posterior to the things 
 which they represent, and derived from 
 them. We shall [25 J give some account of 
 these ; but, as they have gradually sprung 
 out of the ancient Peripatetic system, it is 
 necessary to begin with some account of it. 
 
 Aristotle taught that all the objects of 
 our thought enter at first by the senses ; 
 and, since the sense cannot receive external 
 material objects themselves, it receives their 
 species — that is, their images or forms, 
 without the matter ; as wax receives the form 
 of the seal without any of the matter of it. 
 These images or forms, impressed upon th© 
 senses, are called semiUe species, and ar© 
 the objects only of the sensitive part of the 
 mind ; but, by various internal powers, they 
 are retained, refined, and spiritualized, so as 
 to become objects of memory and imagina- 
 tion, and, at last, of pure intellection. 
 When they are objects of memory and of 
 imagination, they get the nameof phantasmsm 
 When, by farther refinement, and being 
 stripped of their particularities, they become 
 objects of science, they are called intelli- 
 gible spec ies: so that every immediate 
 
 * Reid, in common with our philosophers in general, 
 had no knowledge of the Platonic theory of sensible 
 perception; and yet the gnostic /orm$, the cognitive 
 reasons of the Platonists, hcUi a far more proximate 
 relation to ideas in the modern acccfjtation, than the 
 Platonc ideas themselves. These, in fact, as to all 
 that relates to the doctrine of perception and ima- 
 gination, may be thrown wholly out of account. Se# 
 t)elow,under p. Ilt>.— H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essat I. 
 
 '■f^I^H'^IIWIIfw^ w* ^i/w^0'^KB^^III'Wk mPip 
 
 CHAP. I.J 
 
 EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 
 
 227 
 
 of 'DMmoiy, of' 
 
 Vf' 
 
 Tlif 
 
 inMgfMliiiii,. or of reaaoning, must^ be eome 
 fbantiyMBi m ifMin in tlie 'mind itself.* 
 
 Tko lilovoit' of Arislolle^ oipeciaUj tho 
 ■dwoliiMn:, nuMle gml .aiicitioiis to IMb 
 ilMoiji which the author himself mentions 
 ■nil wMk an appearance of 
 ley onlml into .kige dis^niiii. 
 with rei^ird. 'to 'the muuble 'speeies t 
 Mnd of thiopt they are ; how they 
 •ont forth by the object, and enter by 
 tlw organs of the aenses^; how they ^ase 
 pcMTTod. and refined by 'varions agjentti 
 lalM. intemal. sensea, ooMMMiing the nmn- 
 ler and offieea of which they nad many 
 «lMitroviifi«ai^ Bui 'w« ahall not enter into 
 A delril 'Of 'thimi' 'imitfliii 
 
 The feaioii 'of ' ilfing 'tUs brief account of 
 the theoiy of the Ferii^telics, with regard to 
 'the imniMiat»' iili|jeeti of our thoaghts, Is, 
 beeanw th« doctiino of modem philoso- 
 phen Mneeming' 'ideas is built upon it Mr 
 lioeke^ who uses this word so very fre- 
 f uently, tells us, that he means thesame thiiig 
 by it aa is commonly [26] meant by Mpedm 
 Off' jiftai'iiiliiiwi. Gaaeendii from whom IiO<te 
 'loiMwed Bon 'than from, amj other anthor, 
 ■aya the same. The wons •peeks and 
 IMMHlaiiii, are 'tcrmfl' m ait m the Peripa» 
 tetfe systemf and miO' Bueaning of them, is to 
 be learned nom ii.^ 
 
 The theory of Democritus and Epicurus, 
 on. tUS' subject, was not very nnUke to that 
 
 'bodies 'Oontittually send 'lorth. .slender films 
 or spectres from their stttfiwe^ of such 
 oztreme snbtilty that they easily penetrate 
 our sroiB bodies, or enter by the organs of 
 mumf and stamp thew image upon the 
 mindt The sensible speeies of AristotlO' 
 'vore mere forms without matter. The 
 spectres of' Epionrus were composed of a 
 ¥ory^ nbtile matter. 
 Modenipliiowiphen, as well as the Peri- 
 
 £^tiaft e^^db^ilfi'^^tbeX 
 
 .iMneiiate objects of our tiiought; that' 
 llMM must be some unage of them in the 
 
 niiid Itself, in which, as in a mirror, they 
 •le seen. And the name Mmt, in tho' philo- 
 aofhiieal :aense of it, is. gi'ven to those inter- 
 
 Mi. ini/immediata .objecta of our tlioughts. 
 
 The 'eatienal thing is tiM' .remote m mediate 
 obfoet' I but 'the iAm, mt 'Image of 'that object. 
 In the mkd,.is the im.mediateob|efl*, without 
 
 • Tliili it a lalMabte acfxiiiiit of llit doetrin* 
 wtiUgmif .attrUmttd lo .A.iiaiiillL— .& 
 
 * If % tlilt It bt aiiMm 'tlMt. Ill* tmH. ^of ifMdkf 
 wnirn kmiamt m^ m iiciaaioiwllycmptofflfl iif OMwtidi 
 and IxKks, ais UMd bjr them in the common mean. 
 mg attadNid to Hmm In tbr Schools, Reid is wrnng. 
 (latarndi, mo mora than De* Cartn, m adoptitif 
 "" gg llj^ Heripateikt, adoftt^d them In 
 
 tic llpilicatioii. Both the«e pbikMo. 
 
 liH in dedartng the contrary } and 
 vtiat tiie»e tiisia m tmployed by them denote, tbty 
 bate '0li...afiy .M. tad.. liOckeUleiai>redi«.— H.. 
 
 which we could have no perception, no ra-i 
 membrance, no conception of the mediate I 
 object* * 
 
 When , therefore, in common langtiage, 
 we speak of liaviiig a n idea gf . an^'tliiAg^_Wfi 
 "1^*" Bft Tn^rft ^>Y that expression, but 
 ffimkiogjQf JL _ The. yul^r allow that this 
 ex prisma iniplias ^ mind that thinks, «ji 
 act of that mind which we call thinking, 
 and an objyct about which we tbiok. But> 
 besides these thr€!e^tlie. philosopher„con- 
 ceives that there is a fourth — to wit, the 
 
 rdea is in the mi nd itself^ and can have m 
 existence but in^ajnipd.tfeat thinks i bullhe 
 remote ftF "igfllfttfi "^j^fTt may N* fiOUlQlhiog 
 oxterxial^ as the sun or moon ; it may be 
 something past or future ; it may be some- 
 thing which never existed. [27] This is 
 the philosophical meaning of the word itiea ; 
 and we may observe that this meaning of 
 that word is built upon a philosophical 
 opinion ; for, if philosopb.ers had not be- 
 lieved that there are such immediate objects 
 of all our thoughts in the mind, they would 
 never have used the word idea to express 
 them. 
 
 I shall only add, on thb article, that, al- 
 though I mav have occasion to use the word 
 idea in this philosophical sense in explaining 
 the opinions of others, I shall have no occa- 
 sion to use it in expressing my own, because 
 I believe_tcteo<, ta ken in thi s sense, to be 
 a mere fiction of philosophers. And, in the 
 popularlieaning of the word, there is the 
 less occasion to use it, because the English 
 words thought^ notion ^ apprehmiswn, answer 
 the purpose as well as the Greek word 
 idea; with this advantage, that they are 
 less ambiguous. There is, indeed, a mean- 
 ing of the word idea, which I think most 
 agreeable to its use in ancient philosophy, 
 and which I would willingly adopt, if use, 
 the arbiter of language, did permit. But 
 this will come to be explained afterwards. 
 
 U. The word imprasmiLiB used by Mr 
 Hume, in speaking of the operations of the 
 mind, almost as oflen as the word idea is 
 by Mr Locke. What the latter calls ideas, 
 the former divides into two classes ; one of 
 which he calls impressions, the other ideas. 
 I shall make some observations upon Mr 
 Hume's explication of ihat word, and then 
 consider the proper meaning of it in the 
 English language^ 
 
 "We may divide," (says Mr Hume,\ 
 ** Essays," vol. II., p. 18, f) " all the percep- 
 tions of the human mind into two classes 
 or species, which are distinguished by their 
 
 • On Reldli ambiRUout employment of the ex. 
 
 Srpwiona tnrtlt te and immniMc of'jrct, tee Note 
 i ; and. on t\s ronfu»i<in ol tbc two hypotheses of 
 lepretentation. Note C ~H. 
 
 t ♦• Enquiry concerning Human tJnderftandlng.*' 
 \ 2. The quotation hat been fllkd up by the ortgi. 
 
 [26, 271 
 
 !•> 
 
 different degrees of force and vivacity. The 
 less lively and forcible are commonly deno- 
 minated THOUGHTS or msAS. The other 
 species want a name in our language, and 
 in most others ; [I suppose because it was 
 not requisite for any but philosophical pur- 
 poses to rank them under a general term 
 or appellation.] Let us, therefore, use a 
 Uttle freedom, and call them imprjbssions ; 
 [employing that word in a sense somewhat 
 different from the usual.] By the term 
 impression^ then, I mean all our more lively 
 perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, 
 or love, or hate, or desire, or will. [And 
 impressions are distinguished from] ideas 
 [which] are the [28] less lively perceptions, 
 of which we are conscious, when we reflect on 
 any of those sensations or movements above 
 mentioned." 
 
 This is the explication Mr Hume hath 
 given in his " Essays" of the term impres- 
 *iim», when applied to the mind : and his 
 explication of it, in his " Treatise of Human 
 Nature," is to Uie same purpose. [Vol. I. 
 p. U.] 
 
 Disputes about words belong rather to 
 granunarians than to philosophers ; but 
 philosophers ought not to escape censure 
 when Uiey corrupt a language, by using 
 words in a way which the purity of the lan- 
 guage will not admit. I find fault with Mr 
 11 unices phraseology in the words I have 
 quoted— 
 
 Firsty Because he gives the name of per- 
 ceptions to every operation of the mind. 
 Love is a perception, hatred a perception ; 
 desire is a perception, will is a perception ; 
 and, by the same rule, a doubt, a question, 
 a command, is a perception. This is an 
 intolerable abuse of language, which no phi- 
 losopher has authority to introduce.* 
 
 Secondii/y When Mr Hume says, tfiat we 
 map divide all the perceptions of the human 
 mind into two classes or species, which are 
 distinguished by their degrees of force and 
 viwMcityj the manner of expression is loose 
 and unphilosophical. To differ in species 
 is one thing; to differ in degree is an- 
 other. Things which differ in degree only 
 must be of the same species. It is a 
 maxim of common sense, admitted by all 
 men, that greater and less do not make 
 a change of species, f The same man 
 may differ in the degree of his force and 
 vivacity, in the morning and at night, in 
 health and in sickness ; but this is so far 
 from making him a different species, that 
 it does not so much as make him a dif- 
 \ ferent individual. To say, therefore, that 
 I two different classes, or species of percep- 
 
 • Hume did not introduce it The term Percep- 
 tion was so used by Des Cartes and many others ; and, 
 asdesiret, feelings, &c. exist only as known, so are they 
 all, in a certain sense, cognitions (perceptions.)~H. 
 
 t " Magli et minus non variant speciem.".— H. 
 
 [29, 29] 
 
 tions, are distinguished by the degrees of 
 their force and vivacity, is to confound a 
 difference of degree with a difference of 
 species, which every man of understanding 
 knows how to distinguish.* [29] 
 
 Thirdly, We nmy observe, that this 
 author, having given the general name of 
 perception to all the operations of the 
 mind,*f- and distinguished them into two 
 classes or species, which differ only in de- 
 gree of force and vivacity, tells us, that he 
 gives the name of impressions to all our 
 more lively perceptions— to wit, when we 
 hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or 
 desire, or will. There is great confusion 
 in this account of the meaning of the word 
 impression. When I see, this is an tm- 
 pressiun. But why has not the author 
 told us whether he gives the name of tm- 
 pression to the object seen, or to that act of 
 my mind by which I see it ? When I see 
 the full moon, the full moon is one thing, 
 my perceiving it is another thing. Which 
 of these two things does he call an impres- 
 sion ? We are left to guess this ; nor does 
 all that this author writes about impressions 
 clear this point. Everything he says tends 
 to darken it, and to lead ujjo th ink that the 
 fuU moon -Wiiich Xsee, and my aeeingiVAre 
 not two things,„but OAe.aud the same thingjf 
 The same observation may be applied to 
 every other instance the author gives to 
 illustrate the meaning of the word impress 
 sion» " When we hear, when we feel, 
 when we love, when we hate, when we de- 
 sire, when we will." In all these acts of 
 the mind there must be an object, which is 
 heard, or felt, or loved, or hated, or desired, 
 or willed. Thus, for instance, I love my 
 cotmtry. This, says Mr Hume, is an im- 
 pression. But what is the impression f Is it 
 my country, or is it the affection I bear to it ? 
 I ask the philosopher this question ; but I 
 find no answer to it. And when I read all 
 
 a This objection reaches far more extensirely than 
 to Hume ; in fact, to all who do not allow an imme. 
 diate knowlctge or consciousness of the non.cgo m 
 perception. Where are the philosophers who 1o?— 
 Aristotle and Hobbes call imagination a dying sense ; 
 and Des Cartes is equally explicit.— H. 
 
 t As others previously had done.— H. 
 
 X This objection is easily answered. The thing, 
 (Hume would say,) as unknown, as unperceived, as 
 beyond the sphere of my consciousness, is to me as 
 aero ; to that, therefore, I could not refer, St per. 
 ceived, as knoum, it must be within the sphere oj my 
 consciousness; but, as philosophers concur in main, 
 taining that I can only be conscious of my mind and 
 its contents, the object, as perceived, must be either 
 a mode of, or something contained within my mind, 
 and \oihht internal object, as perceived, I give the / 
 name of impression.— Hot can the act of perception 
 (he would add) be really distinguished from the ob- 
 ject perceived. Both are only relatives. mutuaJJy 
 constituent of the same indivi>ibie relation of know, 
 ledge J and to that relation and these relatives 1 give 
 the name of impression, precisely as, »'J.f'«^"ff"* 
 points of view, the term perception is applied lo ine 
 mind perceiving, to the object perceived, a"a-<;0 the 
 act of which these are the inseparable constituenta. 
 — I his likewise has reference to what follows.— m. 
 
ON<THB INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 C 
 
 i; 
 
 OSAP. X.] 
 
 EXPLICATION OF WORDS. 
 
 229 
 
 All M lit mri&9m on Hiis mbjeist, I ind 
 lliii wHi ^iiii|MWifiaii eometiiiiesiiMd tong- 
 '1% m. iipnillioii of thm mind, sometimes 
 ■%B t^Mt M ili» o|itiition ; but, for the 
 ■Mst psirt, 1 ii m vigoe mud indetermined 
 ivocd tliat ligiiilles both. 
 
 I know not whether it maybe considered 
 as an aplpgy for such abuse of words, in an 
 anlhiir who understood the language so well, 
 and iised il with so great poime^ in writ- 
 :% on other soli|eeta, (M] that Mr Hume*s 
 qriteni} with regard to the mind, required a 
 laaigiiagp of * dUfeiait struoCure from the 
 >«,if«p«ii«linpl.inE.«lid,, 
 
 WMild ham botn loO' tlioefcing to the oom- 
 ■mhi sense of mankind. To give an instance 
 rUr' twO' of this. If « man receives a present 
 'On. wMUk he pttfl^ « high value, if he see 
 and haadlO It, and put it in his pocket, this, 
 ■Ufa Mr Hume, is an impav»mn. If the 
 nan only dream that he received such a 
 present, tliia ia aa Mm, Wherein lies the 
 difference between this hnpession and this 
 idea— between the dream and the reality ? 
 They an diiferent classes or species, says 
 Mr Hmne : so Ikr all men wiE aeree with 
 bia. Blithe adds, that they aredistuigttished 
 «% by different dcj^rees of force and viva- 
 dly. ^ Here he insmuates a tenet of his 
 owoi in. coBttadidicii. to the eommonseoso 
 ofiiiaiikin.d. ^CommonaeMe^ convinces every 
 man, that a lively dream is no nearer to a 
 reality than a Ikint one ; and that, if a man 
 sImmU. 'dream that he had all the wealth of 
 dMHiiai ;il 'would not put one lartbtng in 
 bis ''poilM.. It :is unpoisible to iibricste ar- 
 giniMilS' apbist' meb undeniable principles, 
 I wilbont oonfoundingtho meaning of worda 
 
 In liks: maniMri n * man would nersuade 
 mm that Iho noon whlA I ;ai% ami my see* 
 faf 'it, am 'DoC' two things, "but one and the 
 aamo thing, he will answer his purpose less 
 by aigning this point in pkin English, than 
 by oonlMiMiin|' 'tho two 'nndmr one name — 
 sodi as that or 'an im^t^m, Wmt such is^ 
 the power of words, that, if we can be 
 bnra^t to the habit of calling two thuigs 
 that are connected If the same nanm, we are 
 the more eaaiy M to believe them to be 
 one and the same 'tUng. 
 
 Let US Best conaideff the proper meaning 
 
 of tfaewoti 
 
 M* in Englirii, that we 
 
 nay see bow mt it ia fit to expreas either 
 
 theopemtions of the mind or their objects. 
 
 When a figure is stamped upon a body by 
 
 presBore, thatigure is called an impresaiott^ 
 
 as the impressiim of a seal on wax, of [31 ] 
 'iirimting4ype«, or' of a copperpbiie on paper. 
 Tbis seems now to be the literal sense of 
 the word; the effect borrowing its name 
 firott/the cause.. Bnt|, hy metaphor or ana- 
 logy, Hke most other wiMrd% Its meaning is 
 extended, so as to signify any change pro- 
 
 " rii II I Ill ■■ iir ...J wmsmii .1 ..„ 
 
 * 'Skt'beloWa uwlerp 338.— H. 
 
 duoed in » body by the operation of some 
 external eanse. A blow of the band makes 
 no impression on a stone wall ; but a bat- 
 tery of cannon may. The moon raises a 
 tide in the ocean, but makes no impression 
 on rivers and lakes. 
 
 When we speak of making an impression 
 on the mind, the word is carried still farther 
 irom its literal meaning; use, however, 
 which is the arbiter of language, authorizes 
 this application of it — as when we say that 
 admonition and reproof make little impree- 
 sion on those who are confirmed in bad 
 habits. The same discourse delivered in 
 one way makes a strong impression on the 
 hearers ; delivered in another way, it makes 
 no impression at alL 
 
 It may be observed that, in such ex* I 
 amples, an impression made on the mind ^ 
 always implies some change of purpose or 
 will; some ne.v habit produced, or some 
 former habit weakened; some passion raised 
 or allayed. When such changes are pro* 
 duced by persuasion, example, or any ex- 
 ternal cause, we say that such causes make 
 an impression upon the mind; but, when 
 things are seen, or heard, or apprehended, 
 without producing any passion or emotioni 
 we say that they make no impression. 
 
 In the most extensive sense, an impres- 
 sion is a change produced in some passive 
 subject by the operation of an external 
 cause. If we suppose an active being to 
 produce any change in itself by its own 
 active power, this is never called an im- 
 pression. It is the act or operation of 
 the being itself, not an impression upon it. 
 From this it appears, that to give the name 
 of an impression to any effect produced in 
 the mind, is to suppose that the mind does 
 not act at all in the production of that effect. 
 If seeing, hearing, desiring, willing, be 
 operations of the mind, they cannot be im- 
 pressions. If [32] they be impressions, they 
 cannot be operations of the mind. In the 
 structure of all languages, they are con- 
 sidered as acts or operations of the mind it- 
 self, and the names given them imply this. 
 To call them impressions, therefore, is to 
 trespass against the structure, not of a par- 
 ticular language only, but of all hmguages.* 
 
 If the word impression be an improper 1 
 word to signify the operations of the mind, 
 it is at least as improper to signify their 
 objects ; for would any man be thought to 
 speak with propriety, who should say that 
 the sun is an impression, that the earth and 
 the sea are impressions ? 
 
 It is commonly believed, and taken for 
 granted, that every hinguage, if it be suffi- 
 ciently copious in wor<j^ is equally fit to 
 express all opinions, whether they be true 
 
 • But we 8«aligcr,«'l)e SubtUilite/ Exerc. SS8, 
 
 [30-321 
 
 > 
 
 V 
 
 or false. I apprehend, however, that there 
 is an exception to this general rule, which 
 deserves our notice. There are certain 
 common opinions of mankind, upon which 
 the structure and grammar of all languages 
 are founded. While these opinions are 
 common to all men, there will be a great 
 similarity in all languages that are to be 
 found on the face of the earth. Such a 
 similarity there really is ; for we find in all 
 if\ languages the same parts of speech, the 
 <• distinction of nouns and verbs, the distinc- 
 tion of nouns into adjective and substan- 
 tive, of verbs into active and passive. In 
 verbs we find like tenses, moods, persons, 
 and numbers. There are general rules of 
 granunar, the same in all languages. This 
 similarity of structure in aU languages, 
 shews an uniformity among men in those 
 opinions upon which the structure of lan- 
 guage is founded. 
 
 If, for instance, we should suppose that 
 there was a nation who believed that the 
 things which we call attributes might exist 
 without a subject, there would be in their 
 language no distinction between adjectives 
 and substantives, nor would it be a rule 
 with them that an adjective has no mean- 
 ing, unless when joined to a substantive. 
 If there was any nation who did not dis- 
 tingubh between [33] actingand being acted 
 upon, there would in their language be no 
 distinction between active and passive 
 verbs; nor would it be a rule that the 
 active verb must have an agent in the 
 nominative case, but that, in the passive 
 verb, the agent must be in an oblique case. 
 
 The structure of all languages is grounded 
 upon common notions, which Mr Hume's 
 philosophy opposes, and endeavours to 
 overturn. This, no doubt, led him to warp 
 the common language into a conformity with 
 his principles ; but we ought not to imitate 
 him in this, until we are satisfied that his 
 principles are built on a solid foundation. 
 
 12. Sensation is a name given by philo- 
 sophers to an act of nimd, wliich naay be 
 Histin^guished from all others by this, that 
 iThath no object distinct from theLad itself.* 
 Pain of every kind is an uneasy sensation. 
 When I am pained, I cannot say that the 
 pam^I feci is one thing, and that my feeling 
 »rw_anQther jy[iingj^_Jhfiy-are ojje and thg 
 same thing, and cannot be disjoined, even 
 in ima ginati on f Pain, when it is not felt, 
 
 Has no existence.^ It^canjae neither greater 
 
 nor less in degree Or duration, nor anything 
 else in kind than it ia felt to be. _It cannot 
 exist by itself, nor in any subject hut_jn_ a 
 sentient beine. No quality of an in animate 
 
 • But seniation, in the language of philosophert, 
 hat been generally employed to denote the whole pro> 
 ecu of sentttive.cognition, inc\a6ing\ioii\ perception 
 prooer and fcntation proper. On this <ii8tinction> 
 •ee below, F^say II., ch. xvi., and Note !>,*— -H. 
 
 [33, 34] 
 
 insentient bemg can have *H liftF* —""fir 
 
 blance to it. 
 
 \K.ha^we_have said^ of j?ain may be 
 
 ^'PJI^^^J^-^Y^^yj?^^ '^'^^^^^^ Some of 
 them are agreeable, others uneasy, in 
 various degrees. These being objects of 
 desire or aversion, have some attention 
 given to them ; but many are indifierent, 
 and so little attended to that they have no 
 name in any language. 
 
 Most operationg, of the mind that have 
 names in common language, are complex 
 in their nature, and made up of various 
 ingredients, or more simple acts ; which, 
 though conjoined in our constitution, must 
 be disjoined by abstraction, in order to our 
 having a distinct and scientific notion of the 
 complex operation. [34] In such operations, 
 sensation, for the most part, makes an in- 
 gredient. Those who do not attend to the 
 complex nature of such operations, are apt 
 to resolve them into some one of the simple 
 acts of which they are compounded, over- 
 looking the others. And from this cause 
 many disputes have been raised, and many 
 errors have been occasioned with regard to 
 the nature of such operations. 
 
 The pe rception of external o bjects is 
 accompanied with some sensation Q Qitfi r 
 sponding to t^e object perceived, andsuch 
 sensations have, in many cases, in all lan- 
 guages, the same name with the external 
 object which they always accompany. The 
 difficulty of disjoining, by abstraction, things 
 thus constantly conjoined in the course of 
 nature, and things which have one and the 
 same name in all languages, has likewise 
 been frequently an occasion of errors in the 
 philosophy of the mind. To avoid such 
 errors, nothing is of more importance than 
 to have a distinct notion of that simple 
 act of the mind which we call sensation, and 
 which we have endeavoured to describe. 
 By this means, we sliall find it more easy to 
 distinguish it from every external object that 
 it accompanies, and from every other act of 
 the mind that may be conjoined with it. 
 For this purpose, it is likewise of import- 
 ance that the name of sensation should, in 
 philosophical writings, be appropriated to 
 signify this simple act of the mind, without 
 including anything more in its signification, 
 or being applied to other purposes, 
 
 I shall add an observation concerning the 
 word feelinQ, This word has two meanings. 
 First, it signifies the perceptions we have of 
 external objects, by the sense of touch. 
 When we speak of feeling a body to be hard 
 or soft, rough or smooth, hot or cold, to 
 feel these things is to pereeive them by 
 touch. They are external things, and that 
 act of the mind by which we feel them is 
 easily distinguished from the objects felt. 
 Secondly, the viorA feeling is used to signify 
 the same thing as sensation, which we have 
 
jatk, ^^ Jtk, 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [■89 AY 
 
 CHAP. II. ] 
 
 PRINCIPLES TAKEN FOR GRANTED. 
 
 2ai 
 
 Jiitiwwiii^Wiieil 'Mii, in IMS ■eniie, it 
 luH 90 object; tlM feeliog and the thing 
 ftlt ans one and the eame. [3fi| 
 
 Perhaps betwixt feeling, taken in thie 
 kat eenae^ and ieneation, iiere may be thia 
 mall diiieronee, that aenaation ia meet oom- 
 iDoi% Ived to egnify ihoee feelings which 
 we have by our external senses and bodily 
 appetitiiai and all our lMMiil|r pins and 
 pleasuiea. Bui then are fmims of a 
 Mbter naliiio afiiMiipuiying ma affeetions, 
 our moral judgments, and our determina- 
 liona in matters of taste, to which the word 
 mmaiim is lesa^ prapei^ 'i#P^^ 
 
 I have wnamm thesO' obserratioiis on 
 «h«ii>.ani»fefi>«itainwordsthat^l^ 
 occur in twating of this subject, for two 
 l«iMiiis X Fimt, That I may be Hm better 
 indentood. when I use them ; and, Aciciu%, 
 That these who would make any pogiea 
 in tiiis branch of science, may accustom 
 iMBselvea to aHend wry canfiiUy to^ the 
 .iManing of 'wm^^ that are used In il They 
 may be aasuidl of this, that the ambiguity 
 nC iftfdM, and *• iragne and improper appli- 
 «riiiiii of them, have thrown more darkness 
 upon this subject than the subtilty and 
 fatricacy of things. 
 
 When we use common words, we ought 
 to use them in the sense in which they are 
 inoat eommonly used by the best and purest 
 writers in the hinguage ; and, when we have 
 ooossion to enlarge or restrict the m:esiiing 
 4if a common word, or give it more preeisbn 
 than it has in common lanfiiiie, the reader 
 :iii||^^ to .have warning 'Of ftis, otherwise we 
 .#21 impit 'npon oniselveB' and upon him. 
 
 A iwy fespeotahle writer has givoi. a 
 
 rl^ example of this kind, by explaining, 
 an. Appendix to his ** Elements of €rtti- 
 
 .ciam,*' the tunna he has occasion to use. 
 
 In that Appendix, most of the words are 
 'coqilaiiiied. on wMeh. I have' been making 
 obsefVBtion8'; and. the explication I have 
 given, I think, agrees, Iw the most part, 
 wiihbia. 
 
 Other words that need explication, shall 
 be explaiued as tbey occur. {M} 
 
 CHAPTER. IL 
 
 »IHa.FI.X8 TAKXN FOE (]mAIITB.D. 
 
 Aatheie arO' words eommou to philosophers 
 I'-tni to the vulgar, which need no explica- 
 tion, 80 there are principles common to both, 
 luiii^b need, no^ proo^ and which do not 
 ladmit of dirtcft. iirooC 
 
 One whO' applies to any branch of science, 
 .^piai be oone to years, of understanding,. 
 amdy mmmmmlijf wmmt have exercised Mb 
 wmmm* and Hm other' powers of bis mind, 
 in vanwa w^yik He must have formed 
 I, opiiiiini and principles, by which he 
 
 condncts himself in the affairs of life. Of 
 those principles, some are common to all 
 men, being evident in themselves, and so 
 neccasary m the conduct of life that a man 
 cannot hve and act according to the rulea 
 of common prudence without them. 
 
 AU men that have common understand- 
 ing, agree in such principles ; and consider 
 a man as lunatic or destitute of common 
 sense, who denies or calls them in question. 
 Thus, if any man were found of so strange 
 a turn aa not to believe his own eyes, to 
 put no trust in his senses, nor have the 
 least regard to their testimony, would any 
 man thmk it worth while to reason gravely 
 with such a person, and, by argument, to 
 convince him of his error ? Surely no wise 
 man would. For, before men can reason 
 together, they must agJSElElSpriaciEles; 
 amris im^ssible to reason with a man 
 who has no principles in common with you. 
 
 There are, tlierefore, common principles, 
 which are the foundation of all reasoning 
 and of all science. Suchcommoii^urimnplfit 
 seldom admi t of direct proof, nordo they 
 ISen need not to be_ 
 
 ^37 
 
 need it. 
 
 for they are such as all men of 
 mon u nderstandiDg knowj ' or"8UcIi^'at leas t, 
 a s they gi ve a rt>suiy aimpnt tOj as soon a s 
 they are ^rojKJsaiiiidJinderstood. 
 
 l^tcE^principIes, when we have occasion 
 to use them in science, are called ojckma. 
 And, although it be not absolutely neces- 
 eary, yet it may be of great use, to point 
 out the principles or axioms on which a 
 science is grounded.' 
 
 Thus, mathematicians, before they prove 
 any of tiie propositions of mathematics, la^ 
 down certain axioms, or common princi- 
 ples, upon which they build their reason- 
 ings. And although those axioms be truths 
 which everv man knew before — such as. 
 That the whole is greater than a part, That 
 equal quantities added to equal quantities 
 make equal sums ; yet, when we see no- 
 thmg assumed in the proof of mathematical 
 propositions, but such self-evident axioms, 
 the propositions appear more certa'm, and 
 leave no room for doubt or dispute. 
 
 In all other sciences, as well as in mathe- 
 matics, it will be found that there are a 
 few common principles, upon which all the 
 reasonings in that science are groimded, 
 and into which they may be resolved. If 
 these were pointed out and considered, we 
 should be better able to j udge wliat stress may 
 be laid upon the conclnsions in that science. 
 If the principles be certain, the conclusions 
 justly drawn from them must be certain. 
 If the principles be only probable, the con- 
 clusions can only be probabla If the prin- 
 ciples be iiilse, dubious, or obscure, the 
 ■uperstmcture that is built upon them 
 must partake of the weakness of the found- 
 ation. 
 
 [35-37] 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, the greatest of na- 
 tural philosophers, has given an example 
 well worthy of imitation, by laying down 
 the common principles or axioms, on which 
 the reasonings in natural philosophy are 
 built. Before this was done, the reason- 
 ings of philosophers in that science were 
 as vague and uncertain as they are in 
 most others- Nothing was fixed ; all was 
 dispute and controversy; [38] but, by 
 this happy expedient, a solid foundation 
 is laid in that science, and a noble super- 
 structure is raised upon it, about which 
 there is now no more dispute or con- 
 troversy among men of knowledge, than 
 there is about the conclusions of mathe- 
 matics. 
 
 It may, however be observed, that the 
 first prin ciples of natural philosophy are of 
 a quite different nature from mathematical 
 axioms : l-hey have not the same kind of 
 evidence, nor are they necessary truths, as 
 mathematical axioms are. They are such as 
 these : That simflar effects proceed from the 
 same or similar causes ; That we ought to 
 admit of no other causes of natural effects, 
 but such as are true^ and sufficient to ac- 
 count for the effects. These are principles 
 which, though tbey have not the same kind of 
 evidence that mathematical axioms have ; 
 yet have such evide nce that every man of 
 common understanding readily asseats to 
 them, and finds It'absolutely necessaryjo. 
 cii^fl^ct. his actions aiid opinions by tl)£m, 
 fii the ordinary affairs of life. 
 
 Though it has not been usual, yet I con- 
 ceive it may be useful, to point out some of 
 those things which I shall take for granted, 
 as first principles, in treating of the mind 
 and its faculties. There is the more oc- 
 casion for this ; because very mgenious 
 men, such as Des Cartes, Malebranche, 
 Amauld, Locke, and many others, have 
 lost much labour, by not distinguishing 
 things which require proof, from things 
 which, though they may admit of illustra- 
 tration, yet, being self-evident, do not admit 
 ofprool When men attempt to deduce 
 such self-evident principles from others 
 more evident, they always fall into incon- 
 clusive reasoning : and the consequence of 
 this has been, that others, such as Berkeley 
 and Hume, finding the arguments brought 
 to prove such first principles to be weak 
 and inconclusive, have been tempted first 
 to doubt of them, and afterwards to deny 
 them. 
 
 It is so irksome to reason with those who 
 deny first principles, that wise men com- 
 monly decline it. Yet it is not impossible, 
 that [39] what is only a vulgar prejudice 
 may be mistaken for a first principle. Nor 
 is it impossible that what is really a first 
 principle may, by the enchantment of words, 
 have such a mist thrown about it, as to 
 [3H 4')1 
 
 hide its evidence, and to make a man of 
 candour doubt of it. Such cases happen 
 more frequently, perhaps, in this science 
 than in any other ; but they are not alto- 
 gether without remedy. There are ways 
 by which the evidence of first principles 
 may be made more apparent when they are 
 brought into dispute ; but they require to 
 be handled in a way peculiar to themselves. 
 Their evidence is not demonstrative, but 
 mtuitive. They require not proof, but to 
 he placed in a proper point of vie w.^^ This 
 will be shewn more fully in its proper place, 
 and applied to those very principles which 
 we now assume. In the meantime, when 
 they are proposed as first principles, the 
 reader is put on his guard, and warned to 
 consider whether they have a just claim to 
 that character. 
 
 1. First ^ then, I shall take itibj^graatfid, 
 that I think J that J remember^ jthat I rea- 
 son, andj ia generaUtbat I really perform 
 all those operations of mind of which I am 
 conscious. 
 
 Xhe operations nf nnr mind s a r e a tte nded 
 with consciousnes s : and th is consciousness 
 is the_evidence^ the only "evidence, which 
 "weliave or can have of their existence. 11 
 a man should take it into his head to think 
 or to say that his consciousness may de- 
 ceive him, and to require proof that it can- 
 not, I know of no proof that can be given 
 him ; he must be left to hunself, as a man 
 that denies first principles, without which 
 there can be no reasoning. Every man 
 finds himself under a necessity of believing 
 what consciousness testifies, and everything 
 that hath this testimony is to be taken as a 
 first principle.* 
 
 2. As by consc iousnesa \y_^ know cer- 
 tainly the exiatencejif j}ur present thoughts 
 and passions ; so we know the past by re- 
 membrance. + And, when they are re-\ 
 cent, and the remembrance of them fresh, 
 [40] the knowledge of them, from such | 
 distinct remembrance, is, in its certainty } 
 and evidence, next to that of conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 3. But it is to be observed that we are 
 ^gflaacJQus of many thingslo which we give 
 little or ap attention. vVe can hardly at- 
 tend to several things at the same time; 
 and our attention is commonly employed 
 about that which is the object of our 
 
 (^J■iA^^*^i 
 
 thought, and rarely about the thoughtjt- 
 setf. Thus, when a man is angry, hi8\ 
 
 • To doubt that we are conscious of this or that, 
 18 impossible. For the doubt roust at least postulate 
 it«elf; but the doubt i« only a datum of coiibcious- 
 nesi; therefore, in postulating its own reality, it ad- 
 mits the truth of consciousness, and consequently 
 annihilates itself. See below, p. 679. On Con. 
 •ciousness, in the history of psychology, see Note H. 
 
 |j 
 
 t Remembrance cannot be taken out of Con- 
 sciousness. SeeNo'cH.— H 
 
ON THB INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 ■HAY If 
 
 V 
 
 •liiiitiiiii. m tiiiiii to Uw .iuory done' Mm, 
 ^arlii«:ii4iiiitiiii IMMiii tnd lie gires very 
 
 tihough be is eonscbus of it It is in our 
 
 fnver,. hoifwery when we eome to the 
 jMuni ofiiiiiiislaniiiig, to give attention to 
 our O'wn tlwi^ts and paeaioniiy and the va- 
 fioue oneiatione of our minda. And, when 
 
 HH -wnrnkm *^^jg/^ |h f ohtei|tfi m ou r atten- 
 
 'IMlllj ait^ iiy Wr ' i l l MWy HW pw^*pnt or 
 
 when they m gee eni and, fceeh in our me- 
 -"-- ^' act oCillLlllilldJlLJBaU reflex 
 
 '"lEt.Mo Illoi gnnlfl ii,e?ef<>w, .thjit, 
 
 If itlentiTe reflection, a man may have a 
 fpar and certain knowledge of the opera- 
 lions of hia own mind ; a knowledge no lesa 
 
 .'fifaat ^awl eeitain thak that whiali he .has 
 of' an. 'exlenai. object when It h let before 
 hiaejres. 
 
 This reiaeiion is a kind of intnitionj^it 
 
 objec ta of sight A man must, therefore, 
 
 lo 'JomS -wi ' hmwii 'irffp*""^ M. .doubt, 
 
 eirerything. ..ntfuBHWoi to the opera- 
 US of bis iim^,.JlMuil^ be ciarly 
 
 4. I take it for granted that all t he 
 
 I 
 
 arc' "t ht "ih 'oujiitB of' ' One .and 'iie,.„^i HiM> 
 
 tbinkScSSSt^^^ 
 
 my miffd. Every mauliaa an mimeaiate 
 and irresaatible' conviction, not only of bis 
 fresent existenee, but of hk oonttnued 
 existenoe and identity, as far back as he 
 can remember. If any man should think 
 'it iO' demand [41 ] a pcim thai the^ thoughts^ 
 he Is succesalTely eonadiimi <if» belong to 
 one and the same tW'wMMg principle — if 
 he should demand a proof that he is the 
 same person to«day as he was yesterday, or 
 a year ago — I know no proof that can be 
 given him; he must be left to himself, 
 either as a man that is lunatic, or as one 
 who denies first principles, and is not to be 
 .fcasoned with, 
 
 vegf man , of a -.80on<t. nund, nnds nm i- 
 
 J*m *— *»*■" ""'"**'' I I* H'lipili >il^ m MM I % ■■*"1|" T""""^ ■—I— m i. 
 
 ideitity * ^and. eoninned exMeM. The 
 
 aUe^ I and, if 'he should lose ^is conviction, 
 it would be a certain proof of insanity, 
 which is not to be remedied by reasoning. 
 •• I taha it for granted, that th ere are 
 
 iiiiil | »l|||ll ■IIIII P Iilllllll ■ lillliii i liliiiiiiiiii iig lliiiNg Il jl — Wi ■ I ■I'liWi K iP m o ■■ ■ . y II II 
 
 ■OBielhiniEt wniefa cannot exist by them- 
 'ptifw. bit nwsi be msomethiiiff^ge'lo 
 
 wbifibihoy bfjoug, as qualities,, or attnbutea. 
 
 Thus, motion cannol eiul, butin some- 
 
 
 0% lOSli 961 , when ■ fiMlsf*, and 
 'lilfeliisVlimaiitfircHi extemion is given to 
 Watk On Attoiillon ukI Reflection, in the 
 of pf chotogy, ifc Note I . — H. 
 
 thing that is moved. And to suppose that 
 there ean be motion while everything is at 
 rest, is a gross and palpable absurdity. In 
 like manner, hardness and softness, sweet- 
 ness and bitterness, are things which cannot 
 exist by themselves ; they are qualities of 
 something which is hard or soft, sweet or 
 bitter. That thing, whatever it be, of 
 which they are qualities, is called their sub- 
 ject ; and such qualities necessarily suppose 
 a subject. 
 
 Thmgs which may exist by themselves, 
 and do not neeessarily suppose the exist- 
 enee of anything else, are called substances ; 
 and, with relation to the qualities or attri- 
 butes that belong to them, they are called 
 the subjects of such qualities or attributes. 
 
 All _the things which _wfi immedi ately per - 
 ee^ehy our senses, and all the thioga-HO 
 are conscio us ofj are things which fflu^t b e 
 in something else, as their subject. Thus, i 
 by my senses, I perceive figure, colour, I 
 hardness, softness, motion, resistance, and 1 
 such [42] like things. But these are qualities, 
 and must necessarily be in something that 
 is figured, coloured, hard or soft, that 
 moves, or resists. It is not to these qua- 
 lities, but to that which is the subject of 
 them, that we give the name of body. If 
 anpr man should think fit to deny that these 
 thmgs are qualities, or that they require any 
 subject, I leave him to enjoy his opinion as 
 a man who denies first principles, and is 
 not fit to be reasoned with. If he has 
 common understanding, he will find that he 
 cannot converse half an hour without say- 
 ing things which imply the contrary of what 
 he professes to believe. 
 
 In like manner, the things I am conscious 
 of, such as thought, reasoning, desire, ne- 
 cessarily suppose something that thinks, 
 that reasons, that desires. We do not give 
 the na qiy of min djto thought, reason, or 
 desire ; -but. id tEat being^^ which thin£% 
 whic|yaafiona,.and wbieh_deMres. 
 
 That every act or operation, therefore, 
 supposes an agent, that every quality sup- 
 poses a subject, are things which I do not 
 attempt to prove, but take for granted. 
 Every man of common understanding dis- 
 cerns this immediately, and cannot enter- 
 tain the least doubt of it. In all languages, 
 we find certain words which, by gramma- 
 rians, are called adjectives. Such words 
 denote attributes, and every adjective must 
 have a substantive to which it belongs*— 
 that is, every attribute must have a subject. 
 In all languages, we find active verbs which 
 denote some action or operation ; and it 
 is a fundamental rule in the grammar of all 
 languages, that such a verb supposes a per- 
 Bon^-that is, in other words, that every 
 action must have an agent. We take it, 
 therefore, as a first principle, that goodness, 
 wisdom, and virtue, can only be in some 
 
 . II.] 
 
 PRINCIPLES TAKEN FOR GRANTED. 
 
 23S 
 
 being that is good, wise, and virtuous ; 
 that thinking supposes a being that thinks ; 
 and that every operation we are conscious 
 of supposes an sgent that operates, which 
 we call mind. 
 
 6. I take ^ it for gran ted, that, in most 
 o p erations of the mind, th ere [43] must be an 
 object d istJHc rfrom the'o perAtion itself. I 
 cannot see, ^thout seeing something. To 
 see without haying^ ?SJ. J^MS^* ofsighLis 
 absi^rd. I cannot remember, without re- 
 membering something. The thing remem- 
 bered is past, while the remembrance of it 
 is present; and, therefore, the operation 
 and the object of it must be distinct things. 
 The operations of our mind are denoted, in 
 all languages, by active transitive verbs, 
 which, from their construction in grammar, 
 require not only a person or agent, but 
 likewise an object of the operation. Thus, 
 the verb know, denotes an operation of 
 mind. From the general structure of lan- 
 guage, this verb requires a person — I know, 
 
 {rou know, or he knows ; but it requires no 
 ess a noun in the accusative case, denoting 
 the thing known ; for he that knows must 
 know something; and, to know, without 
 having any object of knowledge, is an ab- 
 surdity too gross to admit of reasoning* 
 
 7. Weoughtjikewfee tojajie fotgrant^ 
 as first principles, things -wherein we .find 
 ail universal agreement, among the learned 
 and unlearned, in the different nations and 
 ages of flie world. -j- A consent of ages and 
 iiations, of the learned and vulgar, ought, 
 at least, to have great authority, unless we 
 can shew some prejudice as universal as 
 that consent is, which might be the cause 
 of it. Truth is one, but error is infinite. 
 There are many truths so obvious to 
 the human faculties, that it may be ex- 
 pected that men should universally agree in 
 them. And this is actually found to be 
 the case with regard to many truths, against 
 which we find no dissent, unless perhaps 
 that of a few sceptical philosophers, who 
 may justly be suspected, in such cases, to 
 iifier from the rest of mankind, through 
 pride, obstinacy, or some favourite passion. 
 Where there is such universal consent 
 in things not deep nor intricate, but which 
 lie, as it were, on the surface, there is the 
 greatest presumption that can be, that it is 
 the natural result of the human faculties ; 
 audit must have great authority with every 
 Bober [44] mind that loves truth. Major 
 enim part eo fere deferri solet quo a natura 
 deducitur, — Cic. de Off. I. 41. 
 
 Perhaps it may be thought that it is 
 impossible to collect the opinions of all men 
 upon any point whatsoever; and, there- 
 fore, that this maxim can be of no use. 
 £ttt there are many cases wherein it is 
 
 • See Note B.-H. 
 [43-451 
 
 t See Note A.— H. 
 
 otherwise* Who can doubt, for instance, 
 whether mankind have, in all ages, believed 
 the existence of a material world, and that 
 those things which they see and handle are 
 real, and not mere illusions and appari- 
 tions ? Who can doubt whether mankind 
 have universally believed that everything 
 that begins to exist, and every change that 
 happens in nature, must have a cause? 
 Who can doubt whether mankind have 
 been universally persuaded that there is a 
 right and a wrong in human conduct ? — 
 some things which, in certain circumstan- 
 ces, they ought to do, and other things 
 which they ought not to do ? The univers- 
 ality of these opinions, and of many such 
 that might be named, is sufiiciently evi- 
 dent, from the whole tenor of men*s con- 
 duct, as far as our acquaintance reaches, 
 and from the records of history, in all 
 ages and nations, that are transmitted to 
 US- 
 There are other opinions that appear to 
 be universal, from what is common in the 
 structure of all languages, ancient and mo- 
 dern, polished and barbarous. Language is 
 the express image and picture of human 
 thoughts ; and, from the picture, we mayoften 
 draw very certain conclusions with regard 
 to the origmal. We find in all languages the 
 same parts of speech — nouns substantive 
 and adjective, verbs active and passive, 
 varied according to the tenses of past, pre- 
 sent, and future ; we find adverbs, preposi- 
 tions, and conjunctions. There are general 
 rules of syntax common to all languages. 
 This uniformity in the structure of lan- 
 guage shews a certain degree of uniformity 
 in those notions upon which the structure of 
 language is grounded. 
 
 We find, in the structure of all lan- 
 guages, the distinction of [45] acting and 
 being acted upon, the distinction of action 
 and agent, of quality and subject, and many 
 others of the like kind ; which shews that 
 these distinctions are founded in the uni- 
 versal sense of mankind. We shall have 
 frequent occasion to argue from the sense 
 of mankind expressed in the structure of 
 language; and therefore it was proper 
 here to take notice of the force of argu- 
 ments drawn from this topic 
 
 8. I jieedL hardly say that I shall also 
 take for granted such facts as are attested 
 tothe conviction of all sober and reasonable 
 inen^ either by our senses, by memory, or 
 by bunian testimony. Although some wri- 
 ters on this subject have disputed the 
 authority of the senses, of memory, and of 
 every human faculty, yet we find that such 
 persons, in the conduct of life, in pursuing 
 their ends, or in avoiding dangers, pay the 
 same regard to the authority of their senses 
 and other faculties, as the rest of mankind. 
 By this they give us just ground to doubt of 
 
834 
 
 ON THE INTILLBCTUAL POWERS. 
 
 t 
 
 ^tif ma^m im ^kA wmt^mmm ^ mm^ 
 
 Tim, indeed, Ims al«»jB been the iate of 
 
 Hm fnr tliat luiTe froiefified f9cepticisni,'*tlitt, 
 vim Hiey I»Te done wliat they can to 
 iimedil their .eemee, 'th^ ind themselTes, 
 aHer mil, under m neceantj of tnutinf to 
 tlwn* Mr Hume has been ao candid as to 
 'adai««iai|i|i this ; and it is^ no less true of 
 Ihoee who lupre mH shewn thft mmm «in^ 
 dour ; lor I aiwier' lioanl that^ any weplie 
 'mi. Hi head, vgiliial » post, or stepped into 
 • ^imaillli ImipBe be did not believe his 
 
 Upn the whole, I acknowledge that we 
 Mlplil to be caitioas that we do' not adopt 
 opiiiMis aS' first principles which are not 
 cntiiled to that '«»anu3ter. But there is 
 nunfar the least danger of' men^s being im- 
 foaol ipon in this way, when sueh prin- 
 'fl^piei openly lay daim to tbe character, and 
 'iMnifaf' lyilT expoeed/to theexamina- 
 of' those who nny dispute their au- 
 We do not pretend that those 
 tU^gp that are kid down as first principles 
 may not be examined, and that we ought 
 wit to [4i] have our ears open to what 
 
 'fad as mmk 'IM ns deal with them as an 
 vpeight jad^ does, with a witness who .has 
 a^'iiir 'Ohaimeter.. He pap a. icpurd to the 
 testkiony of isneh • witness while his cha- 
 racter is 'unlnpeaehed .; but, if it can be 
 shewn that he is suborned, or that be is 
 infineneed by malice or partial favour, his 
 testimony loses all .its^ credit,, .and is justly 
 rejected. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 OF HYFOTHBSBIi 
 
 Bvmi 'biMHli' 'Of hnman knowledge hath. 
 its proper prinei|ilei, .ila 'proper foundation 
 and method, of reasoning | and, if we en> 
 deavour to build it upon any other found- 
 ation, it will never stand firm and stable. 
 Thasi, the historian hnildt' upon testimony, 
 and. far%' indulges ooi^jecture; the antl- 
 f lacian. mixee conjeetnn with testimony, 
 Md tlie former often, makes the larger 
 imiadient ; the martimiwitiiian pays not tbe 
 least^ 'regard either 'tO' 'tsalimony or oonjec- 
 tnre,^ but deduces everything, by demon- 
 strative reasonmg, from hta definitions and 
 luiiona* Indeed, whatever .is built upon 
 ^mmjmfmm^ h 'imp'roperly called science; 
 'tm emjeiitaie may beget opinion, but can- 
 not produce knowledge llatiiral philoao- 
 lliy mist be built upon the phaenomena of 
 lie material system, discovered by observ- 
 ittion and axpeiimant. 
 
 When :nwB. iiral begpm to philosophise— 
 iMt is, to carry tlietr thoughts beyond the 
 
 ohjeets of sense, and to inquire into Hw 
 causes of things, and the secret opeiationB 
 of nature— it was very natural for them to 
 indulge conjecture; nor was it to be ex* 
 peeted that, in many ages, they should dis* 
 cover the proper and scientific way of pro- 
 ceeding k philosophical disquisitions. Ac- 
 cordingly, we find that the most ancient 
 systems in every branch of philosophy were 
 nothing but the conjectures of men famous 
 for their wisdom, whose fame gave author- 
 ity to theur opiniona Thus, in early ages, 
 [47] wise men conjectured that this e^rXk 
 is a vast phun, surrounded on all hands 
 by a boundless ocean; that, from this ocean, 
 the sun, moon, and stars emerge at their 
 rising, and plunge into it again at their 
 setting. 
 
 With regard to the mind, men in their 
 rodest state are apt to conjecture that the 
 principle of life in a man is his breath ; be- 
 cause the most obvious distinction between 
 a living and a dead man is, that the one 
 breathes, and the other does not. To this 
 it is owing that, in ancient languages, the 
 word which denotes the soul, is that which 
 properly signifies breath or air. 
 
 As men advance in knowledge, their first 
 conjectures appear silly and childisli, and 
 
 S' ve phice to others, which tally better with 
 ter observations and discoveriea Thus 
 one s}*stem of philosophy succeeds another, 
 without an^ daim to superior merit, but 
 this — ^that it is a more ingenious system of 
 conjectures, and accounts better for com- 
 mon appearances. 
 
 To omit many ancient systems of this 
 kind, Des Cartes, about the middle of the 
 last century, dissatisfied with the materia 
 prtma, the substantieU formSf and the occult 
 quaiitiei of the Peripatetics, conjectured 
 boldly, that the heavenly bodies of our s^ 
 tem are carried round by a vortex or whurl- 
 pool of subtile matter, just as straws and 
 chaff are carried round in a tub of water. 
 He conjectured, that the soul is seated in a 
 small gland in the brain, called the pineal 
 gland; that there, as in her cAamber of 
 presence, she receives intelligence of every- 
 thing that affects the senses, by means of a 
 subtile fluid contained in the nerves, called 
 the animal spirits ; and that she dispatches 
 these animal spirits, as her messengers, to 
 put In motion the several muscles of the 
 body, as there is occasion.* By such con- 
 
 • It It not, lioirrrer, to beiuppoted that Det Cartes 
 •llowcfi the loul to be leated by Wal presence in any 
 part of the lody ; (or the smallest point of body u 
 •till extei^ded, and mind ia absolutely simple and In. 
 capable of occupy ing'place. The pineal gland, in tbe 
 Cartesian doctrine, is only analogically called theieat 
 of the soul, inasmuch as this it viewed as thecen. 
 tral point of the corporeal organism ; but while 
 through thia point the mind and body are mutually 
 connected, that connection is not one of a men 
 pbyalcaldcprndenre. aathejdo not operate on each 
 by tllract ami natural eausation.^H. 
 
 [4fi. 471 
 
 OSAF. IU.3 
 
 OF HYPOTHESES. 
 
 235 
 
 i> 
 
 lectures as these, Des Cartes could account 
 for every pha?uomenon in nature, in such a 
 plausible manner as gave satisfaction to a 
 great part of the learned world for more 
 than half a century. [48] 
 
 Suchj?iiBJecture8 in philosophical jnatters 
 have com monlj^ got the n ame of hi/jpothesjS^^ 
 or th ioriesy And the i nvention of a h>:pi?- 
 thesis, founded on some slight probabilities, 
 which accounts for many appearances of 
 nature, has been considered as the highest 
 attainment of a philosopher. If the hypo- 
 thesis hangs well together, is embellished 
 by a lively imagination, and serves to ac- 
 count for common appearances, it is con- 
 sidered by many as having all the qualities 
 that should recommend it to our belief, 
 and all that ought to be required in a philo- 
 sophical system. 
 
 There is such proneness in men of genius 
 to invent hypotheses, and in others to 
 acquiesce in them, as the utmost which the 
 human faculties can attain in philosophy, 
 that it is of the last consequence to the pro- 
 gress uf real knowledge, that men should 
 have a clear and distinct understanding of 
 the nature of hypotheses in philosophy, and 
 of the regard that is due to them. 
 
 Althqtigh jome conjectures may have a 
 considerabl e degree o f prpbabilityj^yrerKB 
 evidently in the nature of conjecture to be 
 uncertain. In every case Jhe assent ought 
 to be proportiQ iiedt tglthe Ev idence ; for to 
 believe firmly what has but a small degree 
 of probability, is a manifest abuse of our 
 understanding. Now, though we may, in 
 many cases, form very probable conjectures 
 concerning the works of men, every conjec- 
 ture we can form with regard to the works 
 of God has as little probability as the con- 
 jectures of a child with regard to the works 
 of a man. 
 
 The wisdom of God exceeds that of the 
 wisest man, more than his wisdom exceeds 
 that of a child. If a child were to conjec- 
 ture how an army is to be formed in the 
 day of battle — how a city is to be fortified, 
 or a state governed— what chance has he 
 to guess right ? As little chance has the 
 wisest man when he pretends to conjecture . 
 how the planets move in their courses, how 
 the sea ebbs and flows, and how our minds 
 act upon our bodies. [49] 
 
 If a thousand of the greatest wits that 
 ever the world produced were, without any 
 previous knowledge in anatomy, to sit down 
 and contrive how, and by what internal 
 organs, the various functions of the human 
 body are carried on, how tbe blood is made 
 to circulate and the limbs to move, they 
 would not, in a thousand years, hit upon any- 
 thing like the truth. 
 
 Of all the discoveries that have been 
 
 • Sec alKjve, note *. p. 97, b— H, 
 [48-50] 
 
 made concerning the inward structure of 
 the human body, never one was made by 
 conjecture. Accurate observations of ana- 
 tomists have brought to light innumerable 
 artifices of Nature in the contrivance of this 
 machine of the human body, which we can- 
 not but admire as excellently adapted to 
 their several purposes. But the most saga- 
 cious physiologist never dreamed of them 
 till they were discovered. On the other 
 hand, innumerable conjectures, formed in 
 difierent ages, with regard to the structure 
 of the body, have been confuted by obser- 
 vation, and none ever confirmed. 
 
 What we have said of the internal struc- 
 ture of the human body, may be said, with 
 justice, of every other part of the works of 
 Gk)d, wherein any real discovery has been 
 made. Such discoveries have always been ' 
 made by patient observation, by accurate 
 experiments, or by conclusions drawn by 
 strict reasoning from observations and ex- j 
 periments ; and such discoveries have always 
 tended to refute, but not to confirm, the! 
 theories and hypotheses which ingenious ! 
 men have invented. 1 
 
 As this is a fact confirmed by the history 
 of philosophy in all past ages, it ought to 
 have taught men, long ago, to treat with 
 just contempt hypotheses in every branch 
 of philosophy, and to despair of ever ad- 
 vancing real knowledge in that way. The 
 Indian philosopher, being at a loss to know 
 how the earth was supported, invented the 
 hypothesis of a huge elephant; and this 
 elephant he supposed to stand upon the 
 back of a huge tortoise. This hypothesis, 
 however ridiculous it appears to us, might 
 seem very reasonable [50] toother Indians, 
 who knew no more than the inventor of it ; 
 and the same will be the fate of all hypo- 
 theses invented by men to account for the 
 works of God. They may have a decent 
 and plausible appearance to those who are 
 not more knowing than the inventor ; but, 
 when men come to be more enlightened, 
 they will always appear ridiculous and 
 childish. 
 
 This has been the case with regard to 
 hypotheses that have been revered by the 
 most enlightened part of mankind for hun- 
 dreds of years ; and it will always be the 
 case to the end of the world. For, until 
 the wisdom of men bear some proportion to 
 the wisdom of God, their attempts to find 
 out the structure of his works, by the force 
 of their wit and genius, will be vain. 
 
 The finest productions of human art are 
 immensely short of the meanest works of 
 Nature. The nicest artist cannot make a 
 feather or the leaf of a tree. Human 
 workmanship will never bear a comparison 
 with divine. Conjectures and hypotheses 
 are the invention and the workmanship of 
 men, and must bear proportion to the capa- 
 
ox THB INTELIJX)TUAL POWERa 
 
 CB88AY 
 ■ 
 
 1. 
 
 tilgr' aai. tiUi of ibe iiiT«iitor;:iiiid, there« 
 
 9am,. will aliiBys be very unlijce to the 
 woilit of CM, wliich it It the biisineaa of 
 
 ;pliiloKiIi%' ^ ^noorm, 
 
 Tim wmM hm been bo long befooled by 
 bywiUMms in all parts of philosophy, that 
 il li ©f the mtmcMit coneequence to every 
 ■MB whu would make any progress in real 
 kaowliidg^ to treat them with just con- 
 tompt, •• the rereries. of vain and fkneif ul 
 men,whoae pildtmalratlhem conceive them- 
 ■elvea aUe-'to iniiU'the myatoriee of nature 
 %''th«f0i«e of 'their genim. A learned man, 
 in an epistle to Des Cartes, has the follow. 
 ing oheMmition, which very much deserved 
 the •tliniiiiii of that phiooopher, and of all 
 that, eonie' .tiler Mm :— << When men, sit- 
 lip| in their etoset, and consulting only 
 thetr books, attoni|it.&fiiititiim8into nature, 
 Ih0y aityi indeed, tei hew they would have 
 made the^wwld, if God .hiii.given them that 
 In commitiifn { 'thtt :i% th^ 'nay describe 
 f il J chimeras, which correspond with the 
 iiiieciitj of their own nunds, no less than 
 the admliaMe bflmty of the universe cor- 
 responds with the Ininito perfeetion of its 
 Creator; but without an understaodhig 
 Iflly divine, they can never form such an 
 Idea to themselvea as the Deity had in 
 creating thmgi.** 
 
 Let HI,, therefore, hy down this as a 
 imdameiital prhiciple in our inquiries into 
 the .■Imeture of the 'mind and its opera- 
 tioMp— that no rqitrd. 10 due to'theoonieo> 
 tnieior hypotheses of philosophera, how- 
 ever anoient, however generally received.. 
 Let as ae enstom ouraalirffi ii| |ry evawr 
 opinion by the to uchstone rfiigt and ex- 
 
 rata _^ . 
 
 from facts duly obecrved or lufficientlv at« 
 Mgennbeydgm} it is the voice 
 __ and no netion of human Imagina- 
 titn. 
 
 The iiat rule of phOosopMsmg hud down 
 by the great Mewton, is this s^Camm re~ 
 rum MatmaMmm, mm piureg mimitii tkbmre, 
 §ttmm qme ei verm aini, et mmm pkmno 
 msnu eaepBmnMi m^jffkiant, ••No more 
 nor any other causes of natuisl 
 >, ought to be admitted, but such as 
 :Mi'^ both true, and are^ sufficient for ex- 
 pMiihig their apfeftouicea'' Thisiaagolden 
 nle $ it is the' 'tme and proper 'test, by 
 whioh what is sound and solid in phUoso- 
 tarn be distiugiidied from what is hol- 
 and vain.* 
 
 If a philciopher, therefore^ pretends to 
 ■hew us the cause of any natural effect, 
 whether ndalhig to matter or to mind, let 
 la Ibst consider whether there is sufficient 
 
 "i^B wifr^twf^ i^ihi'fli flNiiiiHdk ^H^^|j|b ^kiiMi^^ ■tt.rfiiijki' ftiMLtfiuHPi^hribJi ii'rf'k iWjfeii^HiaiJKiMft 
 
 It Is Milf 'llM nMI. tenT'MMliMMir. Mni that ambigu. 
 •wtf fxpiMMi* lor. In thHr piain ncaniug, tlie 
 iMMift««f ■in»'.|«l^ar«redundant ; or wtiMfoUoivsli 
 MaMdMit, aiMl tlM Whole rule « twrren tniism.~ll 
 
 evidence that the cause he assigns does 
 really exist. If there is not, reject it with 
 disdain, as a fiction which ougbt to tiave no 
 phuse in genuine philosophy. If the cause 
 assigned really exists, conmder, in the next 
 place, whether the effect it is brought to 
 explain nesfiSBacily follows from it. Un- 
 less it has these two conditions, it is good 
 for nothing. 
 
 When Newton had shewn the admirable 
 effects of gravitation in our pUnetary sys- 
 tem, he must have felt a strong desire to 
 know [521 its cause. He could have in- 
 vented a nypothesis for this purpose, aa 
 many had done before him. But his phi- 
 losophy was of another complexion. Let 
 us bear what he says : JRafionem Aamm 
 gravitatis proprietatum eje phanomenis mn 
 poivi dedtwere^ et hypotheses non Jingo, 
 Qidcguid enim ex'pharyymenis non dedttd- 
 tur hypothesis vocanda ei^t. Et ^potheees^ 
 seu metaphysii€B, seu phjfsicte, sen qualUum 
 turn occullarum, seu mechanica^ in phiiusom 
 phia ejtperimentali locum non habent. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 or ANALOGY. 
 
 latii. 
 
 of„ 
 
 less known| fay sgi pft »lniiliiiiJi» »tM»y ^ 
 « ^'7V>r th ink thev obaeyvey betwecn'yttap 
 mral^^^inore famijiajr.or better koo^ui. 
 In many cases, we liavo no better wayj^f 
 judging. Aud, where the things compared 
 nave really a great similityde in thcir^oa- 
 lure, when there is reason_to think thaUhi^ 
 are subject to the same laws, there may he 
 ^jamaiderable degree oLpiuhahiiityJiLfiflji- 
 clnsio na drauii froin analogy. 
 
 Thus, we may observe a very great si- 
 militude between this earth which we in- 
 habit, and the other phmets, Saturn, Ju- 
 piter, Mars, Venus, and Mercury. They 
 all revolve round the sun, as the earth 
 does, although at different distances and 
 in different periods. They borrow all their 
 light from the sun, as the earth does. 
 Several of them are knoHn to revolve round 
 their axis like the earth, and, by that 
 means, must have a like succession of day 
 and night Some of them have moons, 
 that serve to give them light in the absence 
 of the sun, as our moon does to us. They 
 are all, in their motions, subject to the 
 same law of gravitation, as the earth is. 
 From all this similitude, it is not unrea- 
 sonable to think, that those phmets may, 
 like our earth, be the habitation of va- 
 rious [63] orders of Uvmg creatures. There 
 is some probability in this conclusbn fhou 
 analogy. 
 
 In medicine, physicians must, for the 
 most part, be directed k their preecriptions 
 
 ) 
 
 CHAP. IV.] 
 
 OF ANALOGY. 
 
 237 
 
 by analogy. The constitution of one human 
 body is so like to that of another that it is 
 reasonable to think that what is the cause 
 of health or sickness to one, may have the 
 same effect upon another. And this ge- 
 nerally is found true, though not without 
 some exceptions. 
 
 In politics we reason, for the most part, 
 from analogy. The constitution of human 
 nature is so similar in different societies or 
 commonwealths, that the causes of peace 
 and war, of tranquillity and sedition, of 
 riches and poverty, of improvement and 
 degeneracy, are much the same in all. 
 
 Analogical reasoning, therefore, is not, 
 in all cases, to be rejected. It may afford 
 a[Jreater or a less degree of probability, 
 according as the things compared are more 
 or less similar in their nature. Biit. Jt 
 ought to be observed, that,_as_tfii8 kind i)f 
 reasoning can afford only probable evidence 
 at best; so, unless great caution be used, 
 we are apt to be led into error by it. For 
 men are naturally disposed to conceive a 
 greater similitude in things than there 
 really is. 
 
 To give an instance of this : Anatomists, 
 in ancient ages, seldom dissected human 
 bodies ; but very often the bodies of those 
 quadrupeds whose internal structure was 
 thought to approach nearest to that of the 
 human body. Modem anatomists have 
 discovered many mistakes the ancients 
 were led into, by their conceiving a greater 
 similitude between the structure of men 
 and of some beasts than there is in reality. 
 By this, and many other instances that 
 might be given, it appears that conclusions 
 built on analogy stand on a slippery founda- 
 tion ; and that we ought never to rest upon 
 evidence of this kind, when we can have 
 more direct evidence. [54] 
 
 I know no author who has made a more 
 just and a more happy use of this mode of 
 reasoning than Bishop Butler, in his " Ana- 
 logy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to 
 the Constitution and Course of Nature." 
 In that excellent work the author does not 
 ground any of the truths of religion upon 
 analogy, as their proper evidence. He 
 only makes use of analogy to answer objec- 
 tions against them. When objections are 
 made against the truths of reUgion, which 
 may be made with equal strength agamst 
 what we know to be true in the course 
 of nature, such objections can have no 
 weight. 
 
 Analogical reasoning, therefore, may be 
 of excellent use in answering objections 
 against truths which have other evidence. 
 It may likewise give a greater or a less 
 degree of probability in cases where we can 
 find no other evidence. But all arguments, 
 drawn from analogy, are still the weaker, 
 the greater disparity there is between the | 
 r54. 55] 
 
 things compared; and, therefore, must be" 
 weakest of all when we compare body with 
 mind, because there are no two things in 
 nature more unlike. ' 
 
 There is no subject in which men have 
 always been so prone to form their notions 
 by analogies of this kind, as in what re- 
 lates to the mind. We form an early ac- 
 quaintance with material things by means 
 of our senses, and are bred up in a con- 
 stant familiarity with them. Hence we 
 are apt to measure all things by them ; and 
 to ascribe to things most remote from mat- 
 ter, the qualities that belong to material 
 things. It is fp jLthis reason, that man- 
 kind haxe, in all agea, begn so j)rfine to 
 concei ve the mind itself to be some sub - 
 tile kind_of matter : that they have been 
 disposed to ascribe human figure and hu- 
 man organs, not only to angels, but even 
 to the Deity. Though we are conscious of 
 the operations of our own minds when they 
 are exerted, and are capable of attending 
 to them, so as to form a distinct notion of 
 them, this is so difficult a work to men 
 whose attention is constantly solicited by 
 external objects, that we give them names 
 from things that are familiar, and which 
 [55] are conceived to have some similitude 
 to them ; and the notions we form of them 
 are no lesi analogical than the names we 
 give them. Almost all the words by which 
 we express the operations of the mind, are 
 borrowed from material objects. To un- 
 derstand, to conceive, to imagine, to com- 
 prehend, to deliberate, to infer, and many 
 others, are words of this kind ; so that the 
 very language of mankind, with regard to 
 the operations of our minds, is analogical. 
 Because bodies are affected only by con- 
 tact and pressure, we are apt to conceive 
 that what is an immediate object of thought, 
 and affects the mind, must be in contact 
 with it, and make some impression upon 
 it. Wjljen we imagine anything, the very 
 wordTeads us to think that there must Ibe 
 some image in the mind of the thing con- 
 cei yed. It i? evident that t hegjg, jiotioiig 
 are drawn from some similitude cojaceiYfid 
 Between body and mindj and between -thfii 
 properties of bpdy and the QperatiQna..ol 
 mind* 
 
 ' To illustrate more fully that analogical 
 reasoning from a supposed similitude of 
 mind to body, which I conceive to be the 
 most fruitful source of error with regard to 
 the operations of our minds, I shall give an 
 instance of it. 
 
 When a man is urged by contrary motives 
 — those on one hand inciting him to do some 
 action, those on the other to forbear it — he 
 deliberates about it, and at last resolves to 
 do it, or not to do it. The contrary motives 
 are here compared to the weights in tha 
 opposite scales of a balance ; and there is 
 
'Ssn 
 
 ON THE INTKLLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay I. 
 
 fJllAP. V.J 
 
 OPERATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 230 
 
 not, |Mvli«P|: motf instttiMie 'iiai ean te 
 '■Mini Hff ft num itrikiiig analogy betwoon 
 'kidj' and. minii Hence the pluraaeo of 
 weigUng motiYe^ of Miberating upon 
 aelMna, ai«< eommoir'to all langiuures. 
 
 From, iliis analdgj,. .lome jdoeodhefe 
 draw very imporlaiit eonelmiiinfl. They 
 say, tbat, as the balance cannot incliue to 
 :BiOfe^ than tlie other when the 
 'Uppoeite' weirhta are eqnal, so a man ean^ 
 .not possibly deimmim hinseH ^'if the motiveS' 
 on both hands are equal ; and, as the bal- 
 aniie nnat BMftianly turn to that side [56] 
 whiei haa most weight, so the roan must 
 necessarily he determmed to that hand 
 whefe the motive is strongest. And on 
 thja foundation some of the schoolmen* 
 'that, if a hungry ass 
 
 pliwed: hot«rm two bundles, of hay equally 
 inviUnf , te'lioaal' mnat: stand stiU and starve 
 to death, being unable to turn to either, 
 beeamse tisve are equal motives to both. 
 This is an instance of that analogical rea- 
 soning which I conceive ought never to be 
 Inated ; for the analogy between a balance 
 and a 'naai. ieliheiat»jE|. tliough one of the 
 •tPMipst' that ean. be fiaiid 'between matter 
 and nind, fa 'too 'weak to 'Support any argu- 
 ment A piece of dead inactive matter, 
 and an active intelligent being, are things 
 veiy wttlike; and, because the one would 
 renain a* rest in acertain case, it does not 
 follow that the other would be inactive in a 
 similar. Ilie argument is 
 thia— lliiUly because a dead 
 tio<ffa'iiii]|v aa it 'is pushed, and, if 
 will, equal imsO' in contrary direc- 
 tions, must remain at rest ; therefore, the 
 ■MM' tUnf iitiat..lia|fiii to a llvmg annual. ; 
 'In;, aiiib^^ Urn shnitidie between a dead 
 'Hiiiiial. Mi a livi.ng, is aa gnat aa that 
 'Ipliioeii. a balance and a man. 
 
 TIM' MUtlnrion I would draw from all 
 'tiwt' has been. 'Said on analogy, is, that, in 
 nor inquiries concerning the mbd and its 
 operation% we ought never to trust to rea- 
 sonings dmwn from some supposed simili- 
 'toii of' 1w%' to mind ; .and that we ought 
 to be very mnch npou our guard that we 
 be not imposed upon by those analogical 
 toma and nluaass, by which the operations 
 ef'tiemkd 
 
 fi71 
 
 are expressed in all kmguages. 
 
 • nto ttliastntimi li •pceiallv aMoeiated wi.th 
 JoamiMt .ioiManN, a. eaMnatod womiiuillti of tht 
 lUii ewllirrt md oneof the acutett rauwners on the 
 , — -Ion of moral liberty. Tha supposition 
 «f tlw aaa,. %«,«. to HOC, however, as I have ajcertAined. 
 to be flMiMl la bii writtngs. Perhaps it was orally 
 — i in liapiitatlon. or in lecturing, as an ex. 
 I MnHiillon of hia Oe'erminidm : perhaps it 
 Otufioroil lif bto opponents as an inttancc to 
 NO tlMi dodtfine lo aonudlty. With this latter 
 i. ilaiilav P oilH atlon of the pcl.iicl»tes of our 
 
 VMilMi «■% oa we 'ham mm, tngeoiously 
 
 '•Mtyfi 'if' MtMt* inoai sai :iiaBMMi, Dr Jamii 
 Orfgiiry.— H, 
 
 chapteb v. 
 
 OP THB PROPBR MKAN8 OP KNOWINO TUB 
 OPBBATION8 OP TBI MINn, 
 
 SiNcn we onght to pay no regard to hypo- ) 
 theses, and to be very suspicious of analo- 
 gical reasoning, it may be asked, From what 
 source must the knowledge cf the mind 
 and its Acuities be drawn ? 
 
 I answer, the chief and proper source o f 
 this branch oTkno wledge jg^acc urate reflec - 
 tion upon the ODcrationa of ourl^m^fflja. 
 Of this source we shall speak more fully, 
 after making some remarks upon two others 
 that may be subservient to it The first of 
 ^^"^ ^ attention to th e structure fif I f" - ^ 
 guage. 
 
 The language of mankind is expressive of 
 their thoughts, and of the various opera- 
 tions of their minds. The various opera- 
 tions of the understanding, will, and pas- 
 sions, which are common to mankind, have 
 various forma of speech corresponding to 
 them in all hinguages, which are the signs 
 of them, and by which they are expressed ; 
 And a due attention to the signs may, in ] 
 many cases, give considerable light to the I 
 thii^ signified by them. * 
 
 There are in all languages modes of 
 speech, by which men sign^jr their judg- 
 ment, or give their testunony; by which 
 they accept or refuse ; by which they ask 
 information or advice ; by which they com- 
 mand, or threaten, or supplicate ; by which 
 they plight their faith in promises or con- 
 tracts. If such operations were not com* 
 mon to mankind, we should not find m all 
 hmguages forms of speech, by which they 
 are expressed. 
 
 All languages, indeed, have their imper- 
 fections—they can never be adequate to all 
 the varieties of human thought ; and there- 
 fore things may be really distinct in their 
 nature, and capable of being distinguished 
 by the human mind, which are not distin- 
 guished [58] in common language. We can 
 only expect, in the structure of languages, 
 those distinctions which all mankind in the 
 common business of life have occasion to 
 make. 
 
 There mav be peculiarities in a particular 
 language, of the causes of which we are 
 %norant, and from which, therefore, we can 
 draw no conclusion. But whatever we find 
 common to all languages, must have a com- 
 mon cause ; must be owing to some com- 
 mon notion or sentiment of the human 
 mind. 
 
 We gave some examples of this before, 
 and shall here add another. All langiuiges 
 have a phiral number in many of their 
 nouns ; firom which we may infer tlmt all 
 men have notbns, not of individual things 
 
 [56-59] 
 
 Jim \ 
 
 only, but of attributes, or thmgs which are 
 common to many individuals ; for no indi- 
 vidual can have a plural number. 
 
 Another source of information in ihig 
 ■ubje ct, is a due attention to the miiV p fi pf 
 
 !iumanacttons_and . flondnrt. The actions 
 of men are effects ; their sentiments, their 
 passions, and their affections, are the causes 
 of those effects ; and we may, in many cases, 
 form a judgment of the cause from the 
 i effect. 
 
 The behaviour of parents towards their 
 children gives sufficient evidence even to 
 those who never had children, that the 
 parental affection is common to mankind. 
 It is easy to see, from the general conduct 
 of men, what are the natural objects of their 
 esteem, their admiration, their love, their 
 approbation, their resentment, and of all 
 their other original dispositions. It is 
 obvious, from the conduct of men in all 
 ages, that man is by his nature a social 
 animal; that he delights to associate with 
 his species ; to converse, and to exchange 
 good offices with them. 
 
 Not only the act iong,_but„ev en the op i- 
 pious of raen^may sometime s give light 
 into The 7mme of t]^ liumsm' mind. The 
 opinions of men may be consideredas the 
 effejcfe onheir irileltectual power8jT59J as 
 t lie i r a cti aaa .Ardlie^fiffecMDijitei.r active" 
 principles. Even the prejudices and errors 
 of mankinTd, when they are general, must 
 have some cause no less general ; the dis- 
 covery of which will throw some light upon 
 the frame of the human understanding. 
 
 I conceive this to be the principal use of 
 the history of philosophy. When we trace 
 the history of the various philosophical opin- 
 ions that have sprung up among thinking 
 men, we are led into a labyrmth of fanciful 
 opinions, contradictions, and absurdities, 
 intennixed with some truths ; yet we may 
 sometimes find a clue to lead us through the 
 several windings of this kbyrinth. We may 
 find that point of view which presented 
 things to the author of the system, in the 
 li^ht in which they appeared to him. This 
 will often give a consistency to things seem- 
 ingly contradictory, and some degree of 
 probability to those that appeared most 
 fanciful. • 
 
 The history of philosophy, considered as 
 a map of the intellectual operations of men 
 of genius, must always be entertaining, and 
 may sometimes give us views of the human 
 understanding, which could not easily be had 
 any other way. 
 
 I return to what I mentioned as the main 
 source of information on this subject at- 
 tentive reflection upon the operations of our 
 own minds. 
 
 • " Every error, 
 •buaed.'*— H. 
 
 [59-61] 
 
 ft 
 
 saji Botsuet. "is a truth 
 
 All the notions we have of mind and of 
 its operations, are, by Mr Locke, called 
 tdeas of reflection.* A man may have as 
 distmct notions of remembrance, of judg- 
 ment, of will, of desire, as he has of any 
 object whatever. Such notions, as Mr 
 Locke justly observes, are got by the power 
 of reflection. But what is this power of 
 reflection ? " It is," says the same author, 
 that power by which the mind turns its 
 view inward, and observes its own actions 
 and operations." He observes elsewhere, 
 "That the understanding, like the eye, 
 whilst it makes us see and perceive all [60] 
 other things, takes no notice of itself; and 
 that it requires art and pains to set it at a 
 distance, and make it its own object." 
 Cicero hath expressed this sentiment most 
 beautifully. Tusc. I. 28. 
 
 This power of the understanding to make I 
 Its own operations its object, to attend to| 
 them, and examine them on all sides, is the' 
 power of reflection, by which alone we can I 
 have any distmct notion of the powers of our l 
 own or of other minds. * 
 
 This reflection ought to be distinguished 
 from consciousness, with which it is too 
 often confounded, even by Mr Locke. All 
 men are conscious of the operations of their 
 own imnHs,. "af aHJ times, while "they ai» 
 awake J but there are few who reflect upon 
 them, or make them objects of thought. 
 
 From infancy, till we come to the years 
 of understanding, we are employed solely 
 about external objects. And, although the 
 mind is conscious of its operations, it does 
 not attend to them ; its attention is turned 
 solely to the external objects, about which 
 those operations are employed. Thus, when 
 a man is angry, he is conscious of his pas- 
 sion; but his attention is turned to the 
 person who offended him, and the circum- 
 stances of the offence, while the passion of 
 anger is not in the least the object of his 
 attention. 
 
 I conceive this is sufficient to shew the 
 difference between consciousness of the 
 operations of our minds, and reflection upon 
 them ; and to shew that we may have the 
 former without any degree of the latter. 
 T^jdifference between jBqnsciou8nes§_ and 
 i^ectipn, is like to the difference between 
 3. superficial view of an object which pre- 
 sents itself to the eye while we are engaged 
 about something _ else, and. that' attentoe 
 examination which we give to. ^n object 
 .^}*®P W6 are wholly employed in surveying 
 ^ AttentionJs_^_volimtarj>^^ it te- 
 
 qui^es^an activ e exertion to Cegin and to 
 cwatinue~rfj an3_jf~iMy"Be continued as 
 ^®°S as we will; but conscT olTsn esi TOTls 
 
 • Locke is not (as Reid seems tn think, and as M. 
 Stewart expressly says) the first who introduced Re. 
 flection either as a p%\ chologiral terin> or a nsvcfaola 
 gicaJ principle. See Note I.~H, 
 
 V 
 
 s/" 
 
S40 
 
 ON THE lOTlLIilCTUAL POWIBS. 
 
 [essay 
 
 I. 
 
 f'nii'aiiiiliBiiMifltt oliuiKiiyL 
 
 •^ foifer drmfleetioii upon tlie oper- 
 aMmmm tlwrfr own miiidt, does not appear 
 ■I ■■ in lAildren. Men mnit be come to 
 some ripeness of untoilHicling before they 
 ■19 ^otfiiiik of it. Of al. Hie powera of the 
 innaii Mini, M seems to be tlie last that 
 imiiUs itself. Most men seem incapable of 
 aeqnifipg it in any considerable degfee. 
 Mm ai oir ullief powers, it is greatly im- 
 'pmved % mmmm i and until, a man has 
 fot^ 'tiw 'InMi of attending to the opeiations 
 of Ms own mind, be can never have dear 
 and iialinfll noliiiiis of them^ nor form any 
 steady jndgOMil eonceming them. His 
 opinions must be borrowed from others, hia 
 notions confused and indistinct, and he may 
 easOy be led to swallow very gross absurd- 
 ities. To acfuire this habit, is a work of 
 tine and labour, even in those who begin it 
 eailyi and whose natural talents are toler* 
 ■blT f tted for it ; but the difficulty will be 
 daily diminisiing, and the advantage of it 
 isgreat; Thqr wli, tbeioby, be enabled to 
 Himk witb ■pfeoUon .and aoeuracy on every 
 ■iib]fl«t, «8pecially on those subjects that 
 are more abstract They wfll be able to 
 jidgO' for 'tbemselves in many important 
 points, whofelD ofteia must blindly follow a 
 leader. 
 
 CHAPTBB VI. 
 
 or THB mwnCVLTY OF ATT«NniNO TO TH« 
 
 ..wmjiTioiis OF O'lm own mnmn. 
 
 Tmm difficulty of attending to our mental 
 
 upeiafloiis, ought to be wel understood, and 
 jnsttly emMitod, by those who would make 
 .aaar pugnsa^ in this science ; that they may 
 'iMillier, OB the one hand, ex,pect success 
 without pains and appiaalioa of thought ; 
 nor, on the other, be discoura^, by con- 
 ceiving thai the obstacles that lie in the way 
 are insuperable, and that there is no cer- 
 tainty to be attained in it I shall, there- 
 fore, endeavour to point [62] out the causes 
 of this difficulty, and the effects that have 
 arisen fkom it, that we may be able to form 
 a true judgment of both. 
 
 1. The nnmber and quick succession of 
 I Hie operations of the mind, make it difficult 
 I to give' due attention, to them. It is weU 
 known that, if a gnat nmnber of objects be 
 presented 'in quick succession, even to the 
 eye, they are confounded in the memory 
 and imagination. We retain a confused 
 wytaon of the whole, and a more confused 
 me of the seveial pift% especially if they 
 are objoeli to which we have never before 
 given particular attention* No succession 
 can be more quick than thai of thought 
 The mind, it busy while we^ are awake, wn- 
 
 tinually passing frem one thought and one 
 operation to another. The scene is con- 
 stantly shifting. Every man will be sen- 
 sible of this, who tries but for one minute 
 to keep the same thought in bis imagination, 
 without addition or variation. He will find 
 it impossible to keep the scene of his imagin- 
 ation fixed. Other objects will intrude, 
 without being called, and all he can do is to 
 reject diese intruders as quickly as possible^ 
 and retom to his principal object 
 
 2, In this exereise, we go contrary to 
 habits which have been early acquired, and 
 confirmed by long unvaried practice. From 
 infancy, we are accustomed to attend to 
 objects of sense, and to them only ; and, 
 when sensible objects have got such strong 
 hold of the attention by confirmed habit, it 
 is not easy to dispossess them. When we 
 grow up, a variety of external objects 
 solicits our attention, excites our curiosity, 
 engages our affections, or touches our pas- 
 sions ; and the constant round of employ- 
 ment, about extemal objects, draws off the 
 mind from attending to itself; so that 
 nothing is more just than the observation 
 of Mr Locke, before mentioned, "That the 
 understanding, like the eye, while it sur- 
 veys all the objects around it, commonly 
 takes no notice of itself." ^ 
 
 3, The operations ofthemuid, from their 
 very nature, lead the mind to give ite atten* 
 tion to some other object. Our sensations, 
 1631 as will be shewn afterwards, are natu- 
 ral signs, and turn our attention to the thmgs 
 signified by them ; so much thjit most of 
 them, and those the most frequent and 
 familiar, have no name in any language. lu 
 perception, memory, judgment, im;igiiiation, 
 and reasoning, there b an object distinct 
 from the operation itself ; and, whi'e we are 
 led by a strong impulse to attend to the 
 object, the operation escapes our notice. 
 Our passions, affections, and all our active 
 powers, have, in like manner, their objects 
 which engross our attention, and divert it 
 from the pjission itself. 
 
 4, To this we may add a just observation 
 made by Mr Hume, That, when the mind 
 Is agitated by any passion, as soon as we 
 turn our attention from the object to the 
 passion itself, the passion subsides or van- 
 ishes, and, by that means, escapes our 
 inquiry. This, indeed, is common to almost 
 every operation of the mind. When it is 
 exerted, we are conscious of it ; but then 
 we do not attend to the operation, but to 
 ite object When the mind is drawn off 
 from the object to attend to its own_opera- 
 tion, that operation ceases, and escapes our 
 notice. 
 
 6. As it is not sufficient to the discovery 
 of mathematical truths, that a man be able 
 to attend to mathematical figures, as it is 
 necessary that he should have the ability to 
 
 [6«, «3] 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 OPERATIONS OF THE MIND. 
 
 241 
 
 fistinguish accurately things that differ, 
 and to discern clearly the various relations 
 of the quantities he compares — an ability 
 which, though much greater in those who 
 have the force of genius than in others, 
 yet, even in them, requires exercise and 
 I habit to bring it to maturity — so, in order 
 to discover the truth in what relates to the 
 I operations of the mind, it is not enough that 
 a man be able to give attention to them : 
 he must have the ability to distinguish ac- 
 curately their minute differences ; to resolve 
 and analyse complex operations into their 
 simple ingredients ; to unfold the ambiguity 
 of words, which in this science is greater 
 than in any other, and to give them the same 
 accuracy and precision that mathematical 
 terms have ; for, indeed, the same precision 
 in the use of words, the same cool attention 
 to [64] the minute differences of things, 
 the same talent for abstraction and analys- 
 ing, which fit a man for the study of math- 
 ematics, are no less necessary in this. But 
 there is thisgreat difference between the two 
 sciences — that the objecte of mathematics 
 being things external to the mind, it is 
 much more easy to attend to them, and fix 
 them steadily in the imagination. 
 
 The difficulty attending our inquiries 
 into the powers of the mind, serves to 
 account for some events respecting this 
 branch of philosophy, which deserve to be 
 mentioned. 
 
 While most branches of science have, 
 either in ancient or in modem times, been 
 highly cultivated, and brought to a con- 
 siderable degree of perfection, this remains, 
 to this day, in a very low state, and, as it 
 were, in its infancy. 
 
 Every science invented by men must 
 liave its be^uning and its progress ; and, 
 from various causes, it may happen that 
 one science shall be brought to a great 
 degree of maturity, while another is yet in 
 I its infancy. The maturity of a science may 
 I be judged of by this — When it contains a 
 1 system of principles, and conclusions drawn 
 from them, which are so firmly established 
 that, among thinking and intelligent men, 
 there remains no doubt or dispute about 
 them ; so that those who come after may 
 raise the superstructure higher, but shall 
 never be able to overturn what is already 
 built, in order to begin on a new founda- 
 tion. 
 
 Geometry seems to have been in its in- 
 fancy about the time of Thales and Pytha- 
 goras; because many of the elementary 
 propositions, on which the whole science is 
 built, are ascribed to them as the inventors. 
 Euclid's '' Elements," which were written 
 some ages after Pythagoras, exhibit a sys- 
 tem of geometry which deserves the name 
 of a science ; and, though great additions 
 have been made by Apollonius, Archi- 
 r6*~66l 
 
 medes, Pappus, and others among\he an- 
 cients, and still greater by the modems ; 
 yet what [65] was laid down in Euclid's 
 " Elements" was never set aside. It re- 
 mains as the firm foundation of all future 
 superstructures in that science. 
 
 Natural philosophy remained in its in- 
 fant state near two thousand years after 
 geometry had attained to its manly form : 
 for natural philosophy seems not to have 
 been built on a stable foundation, nor carried 
 to any degree of maturity, till the last cen- 
 tury. The system of Des Cartes, which was 
 all hypothesis, prevailed in the most enlight- 
 ened part of Europe till towards the end of 
 last century. Sir Isaac Newton has the 
 merit of giving the form of a science to this 
 branch of philosophy ; and it need not ap- 
 pear surprising, if the philosophy of the 
 human mind should be a century or two 
 later in being brought to maturity. 
 
 It has received great accessions from the 
 labours of several modern authors ; and 
 perhaps wants little more to entitle it to the 
 name of a science, but to be purged of cer- 
 tain hypotheses, which have imposed on 
 some of the most acute writers on this sub- 
 ject, and led them into downright scepticism. 
 
 What the ancients have delivered to us 
 concerning the mind and its operations, is 
 almost entirely drawn, not from accurate 
 reflection, but from some conceived analogy 
 between body and mind. And, although 
 the modern authors I formerly named have 
 given more attention to the operations of 
 their own minds, and by that means have 
 made important discoveries, yet, by re- 
 taining some of the ancient analogical no- 
 tions, their discoveries have been less use- 
 ful than they might have been, and have 
 led to scepticism. 
 
 It may happen in science, as in building, 
 that an error in the foundation shall weaken 
 the whole ; and the farther the building is 
 carried on, this weakness shall become the 
 more apparent and the more threatening. 
 Something of this kind seems to have hap- 
 pened in our systems concerning the mind. 
 The accession they [66] have received by 
 modern discoveries, though very important in 
 itself, has thrown darkness and obscurity 
 upon the whole, and has led men rather to 
 scepticism than to knowledge. This must 
 be owing to some fundamental errors that 
 have not been observed ; and when these 
 are corrected, it is to be hoped that the im- 
 provements that have been made will have 
 their due effect 
 
 The last effect I observe of the difficulty 
 of inquirieiS into the powers of the mind, is, 
 that there is no other part of human know- 
 ledge in which ingenious authors have been 
 so apt to run into strange paradoxes, and 
 even into gross absurdities. 
 
 When we find philosophen maintaining 
 
 li 
 
ON THB INTELLECTOAL FOWBRS. 
 
 r^MMjl JLV 
 
 I. 
 
 CHAP. VII.] DIVISION OF THE POWERS OF THE MIND. 
 
 243 
 
 tkftilMraiiiiolietttiiitliefifii, nor colour 
 
 in. ilM .isinliov ;* when we find the gravest 
 
 fliiitoplMis, firom Des Cmtm down to 
 BUmiII' lMwfey» Bnutoring up ftigitimitt 
 tO' fmvt iiw^ aiiilMco of & nuiteriiil world, 
 aai 'unMo U §mi my that will bear ex- 
 .■niiiiatiom 8 when wo find Bishop Berkeley 
 and Mr Hnmo, the acutest meta^hjiiciana 
 of lho:.ap, maiatainimg that there u no siieh 
 tUng m wmMmf 'in the 'imlTerse— that lun, 
 mmm,. and^atara, 'thoearth, which we inhabit, 
 our own hodfes, and thoae of our friends, are 
 onlj idieaa< in our minds, 'and have no exiit- 
 ence hnl la 'thought ; when we find thC' 
 last maintaining that there is neither body 
 nor mind — nothing in nature hut ideas and 
 iBipmiioii% withont MvsulKtance on which 
 tioy are impressed — ^that th^ero is no cer- 
 tainty, nor indeed probability, even in ma- 
 HlMiiatiail axioms 1 1 say, when we consider 
 aueh extravagancies of many of the most 
 aeite writeia^ on 'thismhject, wo may be apt 
 In think the whole to he only a dream of 
 iMeifnl men, who have entangled ^them- 
 aelves in cobwebs spun out of thiir own 
 'hiBln. But we onght to oonsidar thai the 
 BMMe ekwely and. ii^goniMdy 'nen. wmmm 
 from false principles, 'the 'more ahsurditioB 
 lAmj 'wiU he led intO' ; ai:.d when such absur* 
 diUca help to bring to light the false prin- 
 '•iplea fmm which they are 'drawn, they may 
 to the more easily forgiven. [(17] 
 
 CHAPTEB. VII. 
 
 ni'VISION' Of TH« FOWEIS Of THl MlNn. 
 
 The powers of the mind are so many, so 
 
 ,varioii%. and so^ eonneeted and complicated 
 'in 'nmol of its opeiatlona, that there 'never 
 has been any division of them proposed 
 which is not liable to comudemhle objec- 
 tions. We shall, thewibfo, take that gene- 
 fal division which ia^'thi'moit^ common, into 
 'the powers of mtderMmdmff and those of 
 •"''•f Under the will w ejjgmprefaend our 
 active p o'w e iB, andldl that lead to action, 
 
 lii^'passion%afilMstions. Th e nnderstan J - 
 
 ly whicn we perceive objects ; by which 
 
 n> '" coii.ceive or renwap ber thfiHli-by.^hi<^i 
 
 iio"ai ialwff compound theipj nid It Y ^^ 'Ttr 
 we luige... a nd l e a a on coneerning them.. 
 
 m A mcrety viflMil fUsimte. flee before, p. Bft. b, 
 
 f llwouM be etat of place to tnltr on the exten- 
 ■ivc idd of bitlory and discuMion rdativn to the 
 iiattilwlion of out menial j<owen. It it luiBcicnt 
 |» Bill llMt the vulfir divUion of the facultic«, 
 ^ Mm»jnm tbom ot the Undertiandinj 
 mm tImWM !• to bo traced to ihe daanfi- 
 , totea In the ArittoCdie acbooJ. of the power* 
 tmUtt *f oogtiitlf Ot and orecttc, or mppetent 
 OntiMatbofeodtrmaycontultthc adroirableiintro. 
 iueUoil of Fllilo|M>oua->or rather of Amtnomus Her. 
 the hooka of Ariatotie upon the Sioul.— H. 
 
 Although this general division may be of 
 use in order to our proceeding more metho* 
 dically in our subject, we are not to under- 
 stand it as if, in those operations which are 
 ascribed to the understanding, there were 
 no exertion of will or activity, or as if thel 
 understanding were not employed in thel 
 operations ascribed to the will ; for I con- 1 
 oeive there is jio op eration_ pf the under- 
 standing w herein the nund is n ot a ctive in 
 gome degreE^' W<rhave~8ome conjmand 
 over our thoughts, and can attend to this 
 or to that, of many objects which present 
 themselves to our senses, to our memory, 
 or to otur imagination. We can survey an 
 object on this side or that, superficially or 
 accurately, for a longer or a shorter time ; 
 BO that our contemplative powers are under 
 the guidance and direction of the active ; 
 and the former never pursue their object 
 without being led and directed, urged or 
 restrained by the latter : and because the 
 understanding is always more or less di- 
 rected by the will, mankind have ascribed 
 some degree of activity to [68] the mind in 
 its inteUectual operations, as well as in those 
 which belong to the will, and have ex- 
 pressed them by active verbs, such as see- 
 ing, hearing, judgmg, reasoning, and the 
 like. 
 
 And as the mind exerts some degree of 
 activity even in the operations of under- 
 standing, so it is certain that there can be 
 no act of will which is not accompanied 
 with some act of understanding. The will 
 must have an object, and that object must 
 be apprehended or conceived in the under- 
 standing. It is, therefore, to be remem- 
 bered, that, in most, if not all operations of 
 the mind, both faculties concur ; and we 
 range the operation under that faculty which 
 hath the largest share in it.* 
 
 The intellectual powers ar e common ly 
 divr4i!d into simple appreliensionju dgmen t. 
 imjrcasojping.t As this (Inision has in 
 lis iavotir the authority of antiquity, and of 
 a very general reception, it would be im- 
 proper to set it aside without giving any 
 reason : I shall, therefore, explain it briefly, 
 and give the reasons why I choose to follow 
 another. 
 
 • It ihouM be always remembered that the vafioui 
 mental energies are all only ponible in and through 
 each other; and that our ptychological analyie^do nut 
 suppoae anyieal diatjnctioD of the opcrationa which 
 we diicriminate by diflFerent names. Thouglit and 
 volition can no more be txertcd apait, than the tides 
 and angles of « square can exist •cparately from eaen 
 other— H. . »_ .. . 
 
 4 This is a singular misapprehension. The divU 
 •ion In question, I malcc Irold to saT, nevtr was 
 propoaed by any philosopher as a ptycAologicai dls. 
 tribution of the cognitive facultiei in gfnercl : on 
 thi* contrary, it is only a logical di>>tribution of .that •* 
 aeetlon of the cognitive faculties which we.denonii. 
 nateifOcuriiVi', a« those alone which are proaimalely 
 loiicerned in the prooesa ot reaaoninf— or thoueht. in 
 its ttnctcst iigniflcation.— H. 
 
 [6T. 68] 
 
 I It may be observed that, without appre- 
 I hension of the objects concerning which 
 we judge, there can be no judgment ; as 
 little can there be reasoning without both 
 appreheuBiou and judgment : these three 
 operations, therefore, are not independent 
 lof each other. The second includes the 
 first, and the third includes both the first 
 iand second; but the first may be exer- 
 Icised without either of the other two." It 
 is on that account called simple apprehc n- 
 fiOB ; that is, apprehension unacccmpanied 
 with any judgment about the object appre- 
 I bended. This simple apprehension of an 
 object is, in common language, called having 
 a notioUy &r having a conception of the ob- 
 ject, and by late authors is called having 
 an idea of if. In speaking, it is expressed 
 by a word, or by a part of a proposition, 
 without that composition and structure 
 which makes a complete sentence; as a 
 many a man of fortune. Such words, taken 
 by themselves, signify simple apprehen- 
 sions. They neither affirm nor [69] deny ; 
 they imply no judgment or opinion of the 
 thing signified by them; and, therefore, 
 cannot be said to be either true or false. 
 
 The second operation in this division is 
 judgment : in which, say the philosophers, 
 there must be two objects of thought com- 
 pared, and some agreement or disagree- 
 ment, or, in general, some relation discerned 
 between them; in consequence of which, 
 i there is an opinion or belief of that relation 
 J which we discern. This operation is ex- 
 pressed in speech by a proposition, in which 
 some relation between the things compared 
 is afiirmed or denied : as when we say, AU 
 men are fallible, 
 
 I Truth and falsehood are qualities which 
 1 belong to judgment only; or to proposi- 
 tions by which judgment is exi)ressed. 
 Every judgment, every opinion, and every 
 proposition, is either true or false. But 
 words which neither aftirm nor deny any- 
 thing, can have neither of those qualities ; 
 and the same may be said of sunple appre- 
 hensions, which are signified by such words. 
 I The third operation is reasonij w : in 
 1 which, from two or more judgments, we 
 .draw a conclusion, 
 
 ~~ This division of our intellectual powers 
 corresponds perfectly with the account com- 
 monly given by philosophers, of the suc- 
 cessive steps by which the mind proceeds 
 in the acquisition of its knowledge ; which 
 are these three : First, By the senses, or 
 by other means, it is furnished with various 
 
 • This is inot correct. ApprehenMon is a- impos. 
 sible without judgment, r s judgment is impossible 
 
 /withoutapprrhensio\ Theapp^(•he^^ion of a thing 
 or notion, is only realized in the mental affirmation 
 that the concept ideally exiK's, and this affirmation is 
 a judgment. In fact, all consciousness supposes a 
 Judpnent. as all consciousness supposes a discrimina- 
 tion.— H 
 
 M 
 
 [69-71] 
 
 simple apprehensions, notions, or ideas. 
 These are the materials which nature gives 
 it to work upon ; and from the simple ideas 
 it is furnished with by nature, it forms 
 various others more complex. Secondly, 
 By comparing its ideas, and by perceiving 
 their agreements and disagreements, it 
 forms its judgments. And, Lastly, From 
 two or more judgiLOnts, it deduces con- 
 clusious of reasoning. 
 
 Jsovv, if all our knowledge is got by a 
 procedure of this kind, [70] certainly the 
 threefold division of the powers of under- 
 standing, into simple apprehension, judg- 
 ment, and reasoning, is the most natural 
 and the most proper that can be devised. 
 This theory and that division are so closely 
 connected that it is difficult to judge which 
 of them has given rise t ) the other ; and 
 they must stand or fall together. But, if 
 all our knowledge is not got by a process 
 of this kind— if there are other avenues 
 of knowledge besides the comparing our 
 ideas, and perceiving their agi cements and 
 disagreements — it is probable that there may 
 be operations of the understanding which 
 cannot be properly reduced under any of 
 the three that have been explained. 
 
 Let us consider some of the most familiar i 
 operations of our minds, and see to which 
 of the three they belong. I begin with 
 consciousness. I know that I think, and 
 this of all knowledge is the most certain. 
 Is that operation of my mind which gives 
 me this certain knowledge, to be called 
 simple apprehension ? No, surely. Simple 
 apprehension neither affirms nor denies. 
 It will not be said that it is by reason- 
 ing that I know that I think. It re- 
 mains, therefore, that it must be by judg- 
 ment — ^that is, according to the account 
 given of judgment, by comparing two ideas, 
 and perceiving the agreement between 
 them. But what are the ideas compared P 
 They must be the idea of myself, and the 
 idea of thought, for they are the terms of 
 the proposition / think. According to this 
 account, then, first, I have the idea of my- 
 self and the idea of thought ; then, by com- 
 paring these two ideas, I perceive that I 
 think. 
 
 Let any man who is capable of reflection 
 judge for hhnself, whether it is by an opera- 
 tion of this kind that he comes to be con- 
 vinced that he thmks ? To me it appears 
 evident, that the conviction I have that I 
 think, is not got in this way ; and, therefore, 
 I conclude, either that consciousness is not 
 judgment, or that judgment is not rightly 
 defined to be the perception of some agree- 
 ment oi disagreement between two ideas. ^ 
 
 The perception of an object by my 
 senses is another operation of [71] the 
 understanding. 1 would know whether it 
 be simple apprehension, or judgment, or 
 
 n 2 
 
M4 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 fMwniiiK II is not ainiple apprehension, 
 becairae I am peroiiadod of tlie exiatenoe of 
 tho object as much as I couM he by demon- 
 
 •tnlioii. It ia not Judgment, if by judg- 
 ment be rneanl tbe eoniparing ideiw, and 
 
 'fon«tiriii| tlioir agnementa or diiiigree- 
 
 ia^ not veaMMliig, because Ibom 
 vIm camwt 'naaom, can peioeiTe. 
 
 I find the same difficulty in classing me- 
 mory under any of the operations men- 
 £_tioiied. 
 
 ' There ia not a mora fniitful source of 
 error in this branch of phiosophy, than 
 divisions of things which are taken to be 
 •omplete when thw am^ not :i«aMy bo. To 
 make a perfect division of any ckss of 
 'fkmgs, a man ought to 'have the whole 
 under his view at once. But the greatest 
 capacity verv often is not sufficient for 
 'thiSt jSonwIliinf .is lefifc out wliieh did not 
 oona' uder fho phiosopher*s view when 
 ho made his division : and ta suit this to 
 the division, it must be made what nature 
 affrar :mado it. This has been so common, 
 a IWt of pMloiOphers, that one who wonM. 
 avoid error ought to be suspicious of divi- 
 sions, though long received, and of great 
 anthmrity, espocially whun they act' gvounded 
 OB. a 'iiiMify thai may te ealM m question. 
 In a anblecl imferfecfly Icnown, we ought 
 not to pretend to perfect divisions, but to 
 kave room for such additions or alterations 
 as a 'mora patleol' view of the^ subj^ect may 
 iHanraida ipgigest. 
 
 I shall not, therefore, attempt a oom- 
 pfete enumeration of the powers of the hu- 
 man undentanding. I sWil only mention 
 time which I propose to exphln { and they 
 .■Mthelbllowingi^ 
 
 iMi, The powers we have by means of 
 onr«stemal«»Ma. .Sld%, Memory. Miy, 
 Comaiption. 41%, The poweia of resolv- 
 ing Md analysing complex objects, and 
 oonpiounding those that ara more simple. 
 ftl%, Judging. 6/%, Reasoning. 7thly, 
 Taste.' 81%, Moral Penscftion ;* and, kut 
 ofai, Cte8eioiisness.t [72] 
 
 CHAPTEE Vlir. 
 or aocEAi. opiRATiona or m wn. 
 
 .iyjigp of the powers 
 
 Ts'im. ia 
 
 of tho ,., ,,^_,^_, ^„, „ ^ 
 
 onihl not' iH' 'bo. overlook^ by writeia on 
 Hm subject, because it has a real founda- 
 tion m nature. Some opera%n |. t f 
 minds, Mm th eir very nature, are §ma 
 
 .PMj^,^, - -—NP «^ 1 1111111,1, ^^p^immitm>m....mm~'m>' »- «_SV , ,«, jf "^ ^^ 
 
 • MorSI JtaHplion it titataii under the Aettve 
 
 'f emmSm amam tUMm onlyaDliidiltntal coml. 
 iawUoii. miller Jndpmeiit. in Um rutli CbniCer or 
 the Sixth £aM7.->H. 
 
 By the first, I understand such operations 
 as nej^Sarily sui^pose an Intercou rse wifl b 
 spm& otlier intelligent being. ATman may 
 understand and will ; he may apprehend, 
 and judge, and reason, though he should 
 know of no intelligent being in the universe 
 besides himself. But, when he asks inform- 
 ation, or receives it ; when he bears tes- 
 timony, or receives the testimony of an- 
 other ; when he asks a favour, or accepts 
 one ; when he gives a command to his ser- 
 vant, or receives one from a superior ; when 
 he plights his faith in a promise or con- 
 tract—these are acts of social intercourse 
 between intelligent beings, and can have no 
 place in solitude. They suppose undfil? 
 standing and will ; but l£ey.^up{)og£. soma- 
 thing more, whlcb is neither understanding 
 nor will ; that is, society jvith other intelli- 
 gent beings . They may be called intellec- 
 tual, because they can only be in intellectual 
 bein^; but they are neither simple appre- 
 hension, nor judgment, nor reasoning, nor are 
 thfw any combination of these operations. 
 
 To ^^^ a.queation^i8jaa simple, an. opera- 
 tion as to_ judge or to reasQai 3'et it j» 
 neitber jiulgment nor reasoning^ nQr.aim|d0 
 appre^tenaion*. nor is it suo compiisitiQa-Qf 
 these. Testimony is neither simple appre- 
 hension, nor judgment, nor reasoning. The 
 same may be said of a promise, or of a con- 
 tract. These acts of mind are perfectly 
 understood by every man of common under- 
 standing ; but, when philosophers attempt 
 to brmg them within the pale of their divi- 
 sions, by analysing them, they find inex- 
 plicable mysteries, [73] and even contradic- 
 tions, in them. One may see an instance 
 of this, of many that might be mentioned, 
 in Mr Hume*s " Enquiry concerning the 
 Principles of Morals," § 3, part 2, note, 
 near the end. 
 
 The attempts of philosophers to reduce 
 the social operations under the common 
 phiI{)8ophicai divisions, resemble very much 
 the attempts of some philosophers to re- 
 duce all our social affections to certain 
 modifications of self-love. The Author of 
 our being intended us to be social beings, 
 and has, for that end, given us social intel- 
 lectual powers, as well as social affections.* 
 Both are original parts of our constitution, 
 and the exertions of both no less natural 
 than the exertions of those powers that are 
 solitary and selfish. 
 
 Our social intellectual operations, as well 
 as our social affections, appear very early 
 in lif^ beforo we are capable of reasoning ; 
 yet both suppose a conviction of the exist- 
 ence of other intelligent beings. When a 
 child asks a question of his nurse, this act 
 
 • •* Man.** uyt Arirtoile. •• I*, by nature, mne 
 IMilitiaa than any t>ee or ant." And, in anothct 
 wmlc. •« Man ia the sweetest thinf to iiian"~A*«(^ 
 
 I 78, 7S] 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAr. VIII.] OF SOCIAL OPERATIONS OF MIND. 
 
 245 
 
 of his mind supposes not only a desire to 
 know what he asks ; it supposes, likewise, 
 a conviction that the nurse is an intelligent 
 being, to whom he can communicate his 
 thoughts, and who can communicate her 
 thoughts to him. How he came by this 
 conviction so early, is a question of some 
 importance in the knowledge of the human 
 mind, and, therefore, worthy of the con- 
 sideration of philosophers. But they seem 
 to have given no attention, either to this 
 early conviction, or to those operations of 
 mind which suppose it. Of this we shall 
 have occasion to treat afterwards. 
 
 All languages are fitted to express the 
 social as well as the solitary operations of 
 the mind. It may indeed be affirmed, that, 
 j to express the former, is the primary and 
 direct intention of language. A man who 
 had no intercourse with any other intelli- 
 gent being, would never think of language. 
 He would be as mute as the beasts of the 
 fiold; even more so, because they have 
 some degree of social intercourse with one 
 another, and some of them [74] with man. 
 When language is once learned, it may be 
 useful even in our solitary meditations ; and 
 by clothing our thoughts with words, we 
 may have a firmer hold of them. But 
 this was not its first intention ; and the 
 structure of every language shews that it is 
 not intended solely for this purpose. 
 
 In every language, a question, a com- 
 mand, a promise, which are social acts, can 
 be expressed as easily and as properly as 
 judgment, which is a solitary act. The ex- 
 pression of the last has been honoured with 
 a particular name ; it is called a proposition ; 
 it has been an object of great attention to 
 
 philosophers ; it has been analysed into its 
 very elements of subject predicate, and co- 
 pula. All the various modifications of these, 
 and of propositions which are compounded of 
 them, have been anxiously examined in 
 many voluminous tracts. The expression 
 of a question, of a command, or of a pro- 
 mise, is as capable of being analysed as a 
 proposition is ; but we do not find that this 
 has been attempted ; we have not so much 
 as given them a name different from the 
 operations which they express. 
 
 Why have speculative men laboured so 
 anxiously to analyse our solitary operations, 
 and given so little attention to the social ? 
 I know no other reason but this, that, in 
 the divisions that have been made of the 
 mind*s operations, the social have been 
 omitted, and thereby thrown behind the 
 curtain. 
 
 In all languages, the second person of 
 verbs, the pronoun of the second person, and 
 the vocative case in nouns, are appropriated 
 to the expression of social operations of mind, 
 and could never have had place in language 
 but for this purpose : nor is it a good 
 argument against this observation, that, by 
 a rhetorical figure, we sometimes address 
 persons that are absent, or even inanimated 
 beings, in the second person. For it ought 
 to be remembered, that all figurative ways 
 of using words or phrases suppose a natural 
 and literal meaning of them.* [76] 
 
 * What, throtighout this chapter, is implied, ought 
 to have been explicitly stated— that language is nalu. 
 ral to man ; and consequently ihc faculty of speech 
 ought to have been enumerated among the mental 
 powers.— U. 
 
 ESSAY II. 
 
 OF THE POWERS WE HAVE BY MEANS OF OUR 
 
 EXTERNAL SENSES* 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OP THB ORGANS OF SENSE. 
 
 Of all the operations of our minds, the 
 perception of external objects is the most 
 familiar. The senses come to maturity 
 even in infancy, when other powers have 
 not yet sprung up. They are conunon to 
 us with brute animals, and furnish us with 
 the objects about which our other powers 
 are the most frequently employed. We 
 find it easy to attend to their operations ; 
 and, because they are familiar, the names 
 which properly belong to them are applied 
 [7i, 75] 
 
 to other powers which are thought to re- 
 semble them. For these reasons, they claim 
 to be first considered. 
 
 The percep tion_Q£ cxtCTna l objects is oPf 
 mam link of that mysterious cnain which 
 connects t he material world with the iniel - 
 lectual. We shall find many things in tliis 
 operation unaccountable ; sufficient to con- 
 vince us that we know but little of our own 
 frame ; and that a perfect comprehension | 
 of our mental powers, and of the manner of ■' 
 their operation, is beyond the reach of our 
 understanding. 
 
 In perce ption^ th ere are i mpressions up on 
 the ftrgMff ^f sense, the ncrrca^^amLJiri 
 
 ,u 
 
'M. 
 
 'il w lafw ^ mx nature, .ife.„fol: 
 
 flflfftainillltiatifini o' mind. 1 lifitS 
 
 ON THl INTELLECTUAL P0WBB8. [may ii. 
 
 perceiving •sternal objects without such or- 
 gans.* We have reason to believe that, when 
 we put off these bodies and all the organs 
 belonging to them, our perceptive powers 
 tihall rather be improved than destroyed or 
 impaired. We have reason to believe that I 
 the Supreme Being perceives everything in I 
 a much more perfect manner than we do, \ 
 without bodily organs. We have reason to I 
 believe that there are other created beings 
 endowed with powers of perception more 
 perfect and more extensive than ours, with- 
 out any such organs as we find necessary. 
 
 Wemighl not,^Uierefore,_to conclude, 
 th at sucfit bodlly organs are^ in tEeirown 
 natiuSxiBecessary to percept ipnj but rather 
 ffjyi^^ ^y ^^P will o f God, our power^Tper- 
 ceivigg^ external objects is limited and cir- 
 cumscrib ed b y our o rf ;anfl of bcnse ; 80_H'*t 
 we perceive nlufXtlt in ft MrtMP F*""grT 
 Mud in certain circn mRtAnceai and, ift go 
 dther.-j" 
 TTa man was shut up in a dark room, so 
 that he could see nothing but through one 
 small hole in the shutter of a window, 
 would he conclude that the hole was the 
 cause of his seeing, and tliat it is impos- 
 sible to see any other way ? Perhaps, if he 
 had never in his life seen but in this way, 
 he might be apt to think so; but the con- 
 clusion is rash and groundless. He se^ 
 b^usejGtod JmiSl give n him the power of 
 seeing; and he sees onlyJhroughjhisjniiiP 
 hoIeTbecause his power of seeing iscm;u^- 
 scribed by impediments on all other hands, 
 ""^aother necessary cautio n in this matter 
 in, that /we ought not to confound t he or ^ 
 gans of perception with the behig that per- 
 celves. Perception must be thfiJuiToriome 
 teing^hat perceives. The e^e 178] js not 
 that wliicha^miitia only the orgtm by which 
 wi]Me.$ The ear is not that whicli hears, 
 but the organ by which we hear ; and so of 
 
 the re8t.§ 
 
 A man cannot see the satellites of Jupiter 
 but by a telescope. Does he conclude from 
 this, that it iS the telescope that sees those 
 stars ? By no means— such a conclusion 
 would be abwird. It is no less absurd to 
 
 pn i ^j piMMM ipiMMrsj Without good reasout 
 
 mm mmmtA 'thrt. the 176] impressions 
 na^ on tit body •» the proper efficient 
 causo of fOMMfition. Others, with as httle 
 leaMin, have cowiliiiBd that imprenions are 
 nuMle on the mini ilinllar to those made on 
 'tiw^lMidy. Fltonitli«».iiii«talwiniwiy others 
 Mm arisen. The wmng imliona men have 
 fMhly taken, up with nprd. to the senses, 
 have led to wrong notions wMh i^gafd to 
 otherpowecswhiflii^^an ooncitved,tor«seinliIe 
 them. Mam toportaiit powers of mmd 
 liave, iiptdally of hite, been called mtemal 
 wmses, ffom a supposed resembknce to the 
 •xlefml^-msh. ^a% 'tliii..«ine of beauty, the 
 '■eniO' 'Ol' hammmjt tte inonl. Mnse.* And 
 ft ;ia to ho flfiprehflnded 'thai errora,. with. 
 iMiid to the external, have, from analog, 
 liito ifaillar' effOfS^ with regard to the 
 InliBiilt it Ii, thewfore, of some conse- 
 niiiim, even with ■logaid to othtfr brandies 
 A mm subject, to have just notions concem- 
 ■iiw the eatemal senses. 
 
 Im offdor m thi% we »hai.begln. with some 
 lAMffvatiint'W the organ* rf ■sense,^ and on 
 the impwiiiona which m perception are 
 made upon them, and upon the nerves and 
 
 IT* mrmim rnt MM^mal oMmJ hui 
 
 lg7fim.?g tff-ga .'-!,''l'-J,T 'm| 
 
 In- 
 
 'pieme Bemg who made us, and piaeea ui^ 
 L thia world, hath given us meh powers of 
 i bM as he saw to be allied to our state 
 and tank in his creation. He has given us 
 the power of perceiving many oWects around 
 iis.-th«8un, moon, and stars, the earth and 
 
 aani a variety off animals, vegetables, 
 liiaiilinate bodiee. But otur 'power of 
 pefeeiving these objects is limited in various 
 ways, and particularly in thia— that, with- 
 out 'lit' oiiHis of the :seTe«l tenses, we 
 pensaiva no eatemal object. We cannot 
 ••• 'Without eyes, nor hear without ears ; it 
 Is not only necessary that we should have 
 thaw organs, but that they should be in a 
 ■mnd and natural state. Thai® are many 
 ^diioidera off the eye that eanae total blind- 
 nma t others that impair the powers of vi- 
 sion, without destroying it altogether : and 
 tiM same may be said of the organs of all 
 "IIM' other senses. IHI 
 
 AM this is io wtllnown from exoencnce, 
 that it needs no proof; but it onght to he 
 obiorvi^ that wo know it from experience 
 m^. We can give no teason for it, but 
 thai: andi is the will of our Maker. No 
 f n ffn eaa shew it to hO' imponihle to the 
 ,i«|ifeme Being to have given 'oa thepower of 
 
 • WefffcriteMinehMiwi.— It. 
 
 »I1 rational doubt, thai. In certain abnoma! itaiw 
 
 through other than the wdloarf channel* of the 
 
 **4*lii7"octrine of Plato and of many other pM. 
 JLpher.. ReW ought, however, to ha«e aald, 
 i2r.W/o inite^ of " Ay cwr organs o/smse :'• for, 
 Kl^t^l bf JtewSd .Tihe pr/on of the iouU the 
 leSJrmmt be wiewed at leait aa partial otttleta.- 
 
 by a hoirotphnoaopfier., comparing thetenacato 
 
 ''^'Th^t\nV"iS', ~«y. Ep^charmu.-" the mind 
 hilrt *n elte i» deaf and blind"— a »«ymg alluded to 
 «. rrV«l-bVal by ArUtotle. in a paatage to the Mine 
 Jftert which cannot adequately »« tran-Uted ;- 
 
 %^,^:^m «:r«rrK «m.ii««. ««fl«»»t «»-/r«.,T.. 
 
 Jit;. Ix«' •'**^ •'t'^*' *!'.!' V •t»»»' »«" 
 
 '"^'iliaf 
 
 is •^11- '*^'' 
 j*e« p. RT^i n. 
 
 e»c«pefl thi' commcttfAlois.— H. 
 [76-781 
 
 CMAF. II.] OF IMPRESSIONS ON THE ORGANS, &c. 
 
 247 
 
 conclude that it is the eye that sees, or 
 the ear that hears. The telescope is an 
 artificial organ of sight, but it sees not 
 The eye is a natural organ of sight, by 
 which we see ; but the natural organ sees 
 as little as the artificial. 
 
 The eye is a machine iwiet admirably 
 contrived for refracting the rays of light, 
 and forming a distinct picture of objects 
 upon the retina; but it sees neither the 
 object nor the picture. It can form the 
 picture after it is taken out of the head ; 
 but no vision ensues. Even when it is in 
 its proper place, and perfectly sound, it is 
 well known that an obstruction in the optic 
 nerve takes away vision, though the eye 
 has performed all that belongs to it< 
 
 If anything more were necessary to be 
 said on a point so evident, we might ob- 
 serve that, if the faculty of seeing were in 
 the eye, that of hearing in the ear, and so 
 of the other se. ses, the necessary conse- 
 quence of this would be, that the thinking 
 principle, which I call myself, is not one, 
 but many. But this is contrary to the ir- 
 resistible conviction of every man. When 
 I say I see, I hear, I feel, I remember, 
 this implies that it is one and the same self 
 that performs all these operations ; and, as 
 it would be absurd to say that my memory, 
 another man*s imagination, and a third 
 man*s reason, may make one individual 
 intelligent being, it would be equally ab- 
 surd to say that one piece of matter see- 
 ing, another hearing, and a third feeling, 
 may make one and the same percipient 
 being. 
 
 These sentiments are not new ; they have 
 occurred to thinking men from early ages. 
 Cicero, in his " Tusculan Questions,*' Book 
 I., chap. 20, has expressed them very dis- 
 tinctly. Those who choose may consult the 
 passage.* [79] 
 
 .CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF1 U& IMPRESSIONS ON TH£ ORGANS, NBRVES, 
 AND BRAINS. 
 
 AjBBCOND law of our nature rega rding 
 perce ptioin sTTAq/ tee perceive _no object, 
 iw5#f j Qiag. JmjtCfssion is^made yj)pn the 
 organ _of^Mns!t^j^lher by . the immediate 
 application of the object, or by mmie medium 
 which ^miiS£AJi£tmeciiih€ object and i&e, 
 organ. 
 
 In two of our senses — to wit, touch and 
 ^/</e_there must be an immediate applica- 
 tion of the object to the organ. In the 
 other three, the object is perceived at a dis- 
 tance, but still by means of a medium, by 
 
 • Cicero lays imthing on this head that had not 
 been said bcftnrt him by the (%wck pbilo«o|ihera.— >H. 
 
 [79, 807 
 
 which some impression is made upon the 
 organ. ■ 
 
 The effluvia of bodies drawn into the 
 nostrils with the breath, are the medium of 
 smell ; the undulations of the air are th*» 
 medium of hearing ; and the rays of ligh 
 passing from visible objects to the eye, ar 
 the medium of sight. We see no object 
 unless rays of light come from it to the eye. 
 We hear not the sound of any body, unless 
 the vibrations of some elastic medium, oc- 
 casioned by the tremulous motion of the 
 sounding body, reach our ear. We per- 
 ceive no smell, unless the effluvia of the 
 smelling body enter into the nostrils. We 
 perceive no taste, unless the sapid body be 
 applied to the tongue, or some part of the 
 organ of taste. Nor do we perceive any 
 tangible quality of a body, unless it touch 
 the hands, or some part cif our bodies. 
 
 These are facts known from experience 
 to hold universally and invariably, both in 
 men and brutes. By this law of our na- 
 ture, our powers of perceiving external ob- 
 jects, are farther limited and circumscribed. 
 Nor can we give any other reason for this, 
 than [80] that it is the will of our Maker, who 
 knows best what powers, and Vhat degrees 
 of them, are suited to our state. We were 
 once in a state, I mean in the womb, wherein 
 our powers of perception were more limited 
 than in the present, and, in a future state, 
 they may be more enlarged. 
 
 Ttisjikewifsfi a law of our nature, that^ 
 in order to .our_^erceiying objects, the Jm- 
 pressiona made upon the. organs of &eiise 
 must be_communicated to the nerves^apd 
 b£3B^~^? j^he brain. This is perfectly 
 known to those wlio know anything of ana- 
 tomy. 
 
 The nerves are fine cords, which pass 
 from the brain, or from the spinal marrow, 
 which is a production of the brain, to all 
 parts of the body, dividing into smaller 
 branches as they proceed, until at last they 
 escape our eyesight : and it is found by 
 experience, that all the voluntary and in- 
 voluntary motions of the body are performed 
 by their means. When the nerves that 
 serve any limb, are cut, or tied hard, we 
 have then no more power to move that limb 
 than if it was no part of the body. 
 
 As there are nerves that serve the mus- 
 cular motions, so there are others that serve 
 the several senses ; and as without the for- 
 mer we cannot move a limb, so without the 
 latter we can have no perception. 
 
 • This distinction of a mediate and immediate ob. 
 Ject. or of an object and a medium, in perception, is 
 inaccurate, and a source of sad contusion, we per- 
 ceive, and can perceive, nothing but what is in rela- 
 tion to the organ, and nothing is in relation to the 
 organ that is not present to it. All the tenses are, in 
 fact, modifications of touch, as Democrilui of old 
 taught. We reach the distant reality, not by scns^ 
 not by perception, but by inference Beid, how. 
 cTcr, in this only follows his predecessors —H. 
 
 S# 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERa 
 
 [laSAT 11. 
 
 
 OBAF. Ill] HYPOTHESES CONCERNING THE NERVES, &c. 249 
 
 nil' ti«iii oi mtAiaerj Urn wiadom of 
 
 Ond lias niftile mmamay m mm ftntlf ing 
 
 'to 11, and 'Mdi IiM' Hm mm fmue&m, Firt/, 
 
 i The^oVHUiiML «' ^Z ««™^ 
 
 m^um, WttSjiml^ impression on the 
 
 f organ. Ti© orgiin serves only as a medium 
 
 by whicli lui impression is made on tie 
 
 • ^wrni iPll'e nerve 'aerYcs as a mediillli 
 
 .,, liiO lUMiliitS' mmM gPllM i liiTillW I i ^ Jiiif^ ■■ 
 
 Itrfmr t tie' :ii>ii 6 jil,. 
 
 caniracSTT " 
 
 The proof of them impreisiomi upon the 
 
 ■Hrret and teain in [81] porceptioii is this, 
 ikuM, fmm nianf oliinnratlons. and expen- 
 
 ■miIl it ii femi tliat, when llie organ of 
 'a^yaomieis perfectly lound, aad^lM' tte 
 inpfOiBion iiade upon it by the object ever 
 
 m ;attt«iigly, pt, tf *1» i»«v® **»*> ^>^^ 
 'tliat ofgaii ho 4»t or 'tied 'hard, there la no 
 peioep&n ; and it is well known that dis- 
 'miiKm in the brain deprive m of the power 
 
 nf pefMjption. when, both the organ and 'its 
 'Mffve avi wnnd*' 
 
 Tb«fe is, thewfofo, sufficient reason to 
 CMMslide that, in perception, the object pro- 
 dncea some change in the organ i that the 
 oroan 'prodooes some dhanip ufon. the 
 < n^l and that the neirO' pradneea 'sonie 
 I ehang^' hi the brahi. And we give the 
 ' name of an inipivsfi^m to those' changes, 
 'liMinte' we have not a 'name 'more proper to 
 '«nina% :in a leneral manner, any change 
 fiodiced. in a liody, by an externa! cause, 
 without specifying rae nature of that 
 i change Whether it be pwssure, or at- 
 "tnetm, or^rcpuhion, or vlbratio'n, or .some- 
 thing 'unhnoim, 'for 'which we have ^ no 
 HMno, itilit may |e called an impression, 
 Bat% with regard to the partiflohir .kind of 
 'this 'Change *» imp wssion, 'f Mksophers 
 ;haTe never been able tO' 'diseover anything 
 
 at alL 
 
 But, whatever be the nature of those im- 
 
 nessiona upon the oi^^ans, nerves, and 
 biain, we perceive nothm| without them... 
 'Bxperience informs that 'it 'is aO' ; but we 
 oinnot give a 'reason why it is so. In the 
 constitation of man, perception, by iiced 
 .Iftws of nature, is connected 'wlth. thoiO' im* 
 pieesions ; but we can diseovw no neees- 
 aaiy connection. The Supreme Bemg has 
 seen iit to limit our power of perception ; so 
 that we perceive not without such impres- 
 and 'this is all we know of the 
 
 eludeingenetaU^bat, as the impreasiomion 
 the organs, nerves, and brain, correspond 
 exactly to the nature and conditions of the 
 objects by which they are made, so our 
 perceptions and sensations correspond to 
 those impressions, and vary in kind, and in 
 degree, as they vary. [82] Without thisexact 
 correspondence, the information we receive 
 by our senses would not only be imperfect, 
 as it undoubtedly is, but would be iallaciouB, 
 which we have no reason to think it is. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 UYrOTBItW CONCEENINO TBI NKRVBS AWn 
 
 bhain. 
 
 Wi are kformed by anatomists, that, al- 
 though the two coats which inclose a nerve, 
 and which it derives from the coats of the 
 brain, are tough and ehistic, yet the nerve 
 itself has a very small degree of consistence, 
 being almost like marrow. It has, how- 
 ever, a fibrous texture, and may be divided 
 and subdivided, tUl its fibres escape our 
 senses ; and, as we know so very little about 
 the texture of the nerves, there is great 
 room left for those who choose to indulge 
 themselves in conjecture. 
 
 The ancients conjectured that the ner- 
 voaa fibres are fine tubes, filled with a very 
 mbtlle spirit, or vapour, which they called 
 mdmal tpirit* ; that the brain is a gland, 
 by which the animal spirits are secreted 
 from the finer part of the blood, and their 
 continual waste repaired ; and that it is by 
 these animal spurits that the nerves perform 
 their functions. Dea Cartes has shewn 
 how, by these animal spirits, going and re- 
 tummg in the nerves, muscular motion, 
 perception, memory, and imagination, are 
 effected. All this he has described as dis- 
 tinctly as if he had been an eye-witness of 
 all th«)se operations. But it happens that 
 the tubukr structure of the nerves was 
 never perceived by the human eye, nor 
 shewn by the nicest injections ; and all that 
 has been said about animal spirits, through 
 more than fifteen centuries, is mere con- 
 jecture. 
 
 Dr Briggs, who was Sir Isaac Newton's 
 master in anatomy, was the first, as far as 
 I know, who advanced a new system 
 concerning [83] the nerves.* He conceived 
 them to be soUd filaments of prodigious 
 
 This, however, 'we have reason to con- 
 
 • Thtieeaii lie no dowbt that the whole organlifn 
 
 •f 'iiM'ttiin, Imii fwiphetf ' tocentf©, iimitco.opcr.te 
 
 •m to DlMe mm miwl at the centt «l cxtwiniiy alone, 
 ■Hi toliolil that not only ■ certain »one« of organic 
 
 ^^fiy ., hut a MMalioD, must precede theroenui 
 
 OTfiSlra.. This li aittt 'lifpolhcii, and oppoted to 
 
 the iMttiwiiiy ercemliiiMiMia.— i:. 
 
 • Brtfid WM not Ihc flr«t. The Jesuit, Hon". 
 ffBliu Fah^, had before him dcnic«Hhe old hypothe- 
 £ of tpirtit ; and the new hypot hms of cerebral 
 fibrM. and fibrils. »^5 uliich he explain. t»ie pha^no. 
 mena of leme. imagination an.l memory, i« not on'jf 
 the flrBt, but perhap* the mort ingen.ou. of the claw 
 that has been propo«cd. Yet the rery aiine of 1-abry 
 itiholly unnoticed by tho»e hutonana of philosophy 
 
 [81-83] 
 
 tenuity ; and this opinion, as it accords bet- 
 ter with observation, seems to have been 
 more generally received since his time. As 
 to the maimer of performing their office, 
 Dr Briggs thought that, like musical cords, 
 they have vibrations differing according to 
 their length and tension. They seem, how- 
 ever, very imfit for this purpose, on account 
 of their want of tenacity, their moisture, 
 and being through their whole length in 
 contact with moist substances ; so that, al- 
 though Dr Briggs wrote a book upon this 
 system, called Nova Visionis Theoria, it 
 seems not to have been much followed. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, in all his philosophical 
 writings, took great care to distinguish his 
 doctrines, which he pretended to prove by 
 just induction, from his conjectures, which 
 were to stand or fall according as future 
 experiments and observations should esta- 
 blish or refute them. His conjectures he 
 has put in the form of queries, that they 
 might not be received as truths, but be 
 inquired into, and determined according to 
 the evidence to be found for or against 
 them. Those who mistake his queries for 
 a part of his doctrine, do him great injus- 
 tice, and degrade him to the rank of the 
 common herd of philosophers, who have in 
 all ages adulterated philosophy, by mixing 
 conjecture with truth, and their own fancies 
 with the oracles of Nature. Among other 
 queries, this truly great phUosopher pro- 
 posed this. Whether there may not be an 
 elastic medium, or nether, immensely more 
 rare than air, which pervades all bodies, 
 and which is the cause of gravitation ; of 
 the refraction and reflection of the rays of 
 light ; of the transmission of heat, through 
 spaces void of air ; and of many other phae- 
 nomena ? In the 23d query subjoined to his 
 "Optics," he puts this question with regard 
 to the impressions made on the nerves and 
 brain in perception. Whether vision is 
 effected chiefly by the vibrations of this 
 medium, excited in the bottom of the eye 
 by the rays of light, and propagated along 
 the solid, pellucid, and uniibrm capillaments 
 of the optic nerve ? And whether hearing 
 is effected [84] by the vibrations of this or 
 some other medium, excited by the tremor 
 of the air in the auditory nerves, and pro- 
 pagated along the solid, pellucid, and uni- 
 form capillaments of those nerves ? And 
 80 with regard to the other senses. 
 
 What Newton only proposed as a matter 
 to be inquired into, Dr Hartley conceived 
 to have such evidence, that, in his " Ob- 
 servations on Man," he has deduced, in a 
 mathematical form, a very ample system 
 concerning the faculties of the mind, from 
 the doctrine of vibrations, joined with that 
 of association. 
 
 His notion of the vibrations excited in 
 the nerves, is expressed in Propositions 4 
 [81., 851 
 
 and 5 of the first part of his " Observa- 
 tions on Man." " Prop. 4. External objects 
 impressed on the senses occasion, first in 
 the nerves on which they are impressed, 
 and then in the brain, vibrations of the 
 small, and, as one may say, infinitesimal 
 medullary particles. Prop. 5. The vibra- 
 tions mentioned in the last proposition are 
 excited, propagated, and kept up, partly by 
 the sether — that is, by a very subtile elastic 
 fluid ; partly by the uniformity, continuity, 
 softness, and active powers of the medullary 
 substance of the bram, spmal marrow, and 
 nerves." 
 
 The modesty and diffidence with which 
 Dr Hartley offera his system to the world- 
 by desiring his reader " to expect nothing 
 but hints and conjectures in difficult and 
 obscure matters, and a short detail of the 
 principal reasons and evidences in those 
 that are clear ; by acknowledging, that he 
 shall not be able to execute, with any ac- 
 curacy, the proper method of philosophising, 
 recommended and followed by Sir Isaao 
 Newton ; and that he will attempt a sketch 
 only for the benefit of future enquirers"— 
 seem to forbid any criticism upon it. One 
 cannot, without reluctance, criticise what is 
 proposed in such a manner, and with so 
 good intention ; yet, as the tendency of this 
 system of vibrations is to make all the oper- 
 ations of the mind mere mechanism, depend- 
 ent [85] on the laws of matter and motion, 
 and, as it has been held forth by its vota- 
 ries, as in a manner demonstrated^ I sliall 
 make some remarks on that part of the sys- 
 tem which relates to the impressions made 
 on the nerves and brain in perception. . 
 
 It may be observed, in general, that Dr 
 Hartley's work consists of a chain of pro- 
 positions, with their proofs and corollaries, 
 digested in good order, and in a scientific 
 form. A great part of them, however, are, 
 as he candidly acknowledges, conjectures 
 and hints only ; yet these are mixed with 
 the propositions legitimately proved, with- 
 out any distinction. Corollaries are drawn 
 from them, and other propositions grounded 
 upon them, whicli, all taken together, make 
 up a system. A system of this kind re- 
 sembles a chain, of which some links are 
 abimdantly strong, others very weak. The 
 strength of the chain is determined by that 
 of the weakest links ; for, if they give way, 
 the whole falls to pieces, and the weight 
 supported by it falls to the ground. 
 
 Philosophy has been, in all ages, adul- 
 terated by hypotheses ; that is, by systems 
 built partly on facts, and much upon con- 
 jecture. It is pity that a man of Dr Hart- 
 ley's knowledge and candour should have 
 followed the multitude in this fallacious 
 tract, after expressing his approbation of 
 the proper method of philosophising, pointed 
 out by Bacon and Newton. The hist con^ 
 
"t 
 
 ON TBI INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [BSSAV II 
 
 CHAP. III.] HYPOTHESES CONCERNING THE NERVES, &c. 251 
 
 .•idefed it m % repraadi wlieii M» .^ytt«in 
 wm mMmk hm Iigrpothesis ; and my, wilh 
 iliiiaiii. fii'mA imimtiition, Mpptdkimi mm 
 JImpt MM It ia very stmng© tlmt Dr 
 Huitey should not only follow such a me- 
 tliod of phiiMiiiiiliiiiiiig litnmelf, l>til tlmt he 
 ibMld dinct others in their u<iii.lne9 to 
 follow it. So he does in Proposition 87, 
 Part L, where he deduces relet for the 
 aseertainment of troth, from the rale of 
 .iila%. in. .arithmetic, and from the art of 
 'flHmiliering; and in other places. 
 
 'Mm to the vihimtiona and vibrattuncles, 
 whether of an elastic lether, or of the in- 
 finiteaimal partieies of the hcaiii.>aiid :iierve», 
 them [86] nay he such thing! for what we 
 Imow't and. men may rationally in^quire 
 whether they can find any evidence of their 
 euBtenoe; hut, while we have no proof of 
 their existence, to apply them to tho aiolu- 
 tion of phienomena, and to hulld a ayatem 
 upon tliem, is what I conceive we call bnild- 
 ing a castle in the air. 
 
 When men pietend to aeemiml lor any 
 of the opemtioBt of Nature, the eanses 
 assigned hy them ought, as Sir Isaac New- 
 ton has taught us, to have two conditions, 
 otherwise they are good for nothing. Fwit, 
 They ought to be true, to have a real oiist- 
 enoe, and not to he harely conjeetaired to 
 Miiat, without proof. Seemtdiif, They ought 
 to be sufficient to produce the effect. 
 
 M' to tto •xistenee' of vibratoij motions 
 'is the mdiiilhuj mbstance ^of the nerves 
 and 'hiain, tha evUeDce produced is this : 
 First J It is obferved. that the .sensations of 
 leeiiig and hearing, and some s on aa tion i of 
 'toiieh|. have some short duration and con- 
 tiinaaoe. #«mfii%, 'Though there he no 
 direct evidence that the sensations of taste 
 and smell, and the greater part of these of 
 toidh, have the like continuance^ yet, says 
 the author, anah^ 'woald inclme one to 
 believe that they must resemble the sensa- 
 tions of sight and hearing in this particular. 
 Thirdip^ The continosnce of all our senaa- 
 tionS' being thus established, it follows, that 
 cxtonai Mijeets .impreit vibratory motious 
 on thC' mednllary .sabatance of 'the 'nerves 
 and brain ; because no motion, besides a 
 'Vibratory ono, 'Can reside in. any part for a 
 moment of time. 
 
 This is the ehahi of proof, m which the 
 init link is strong, being confirmed by ex> 
 'petiBWie .| tho second is very weak i and the 
 'third:. 'Itil wealnr. .For other kinds of mo- 
 tloB,. hoiidies thal^ 'Of vibration, may have 
 some continuance — such as rotation, bending 
 or unbending of a springy, and perliape others 
 
 «•' ,ltnow 'whelher it iS' motion that is pro- 
 dooed in. the nerveS'— it may be pressure, 
 atteaoion, repulsion, or somethhig we do 
 
 not .know. This, indeed, .la the common 
 
 '■el^ge of all hypotheses, [87] that wo know 
 
 no other way in which the pbaenomena may 
 bo produced, and, therefore, they must he 
 produced in this way. There is, therefore, 
 no proof of vibrations in the infinitesimal 
 particles of the brain and nerves. 
 
 It may be thought that the existence of 
 an elastic vibrating aether stands on a firmer 
 foundation, having the authority of Sir 
 Isaac Newton. But it ought to be observed 
 that, although this great man had formed 
 conjectures about this eether near fifty 
 years before he died, and had it in his eye 
 during that long space as a subject of in> 
 quiry, yet it does not appear that he ever 
 found any convincing proof of its existence, 
 but considered it to the last as a question 
 whether there he such an lether or not. 
 In the premonition to the reader, prefixed 
 to the second edition of his " Optics," 
 anno 1717, ho expresses himself thus with 
 regard to it : — *' Lest any one should think 
 that I place gravity among the essential 
 properties of bodies, I have subjoined one 
 question concerning its cause ; a question, 
 I say, for I do not hold it as a thing estab- 
 lished.** If, therefore, we regard the 
 authority of Sir Isaac Newton, we ought 
 to liold the existence of such an aether as a 
 matter not established by proof, but to be 
 examined into hy experiments ; and I have 
 never heard that, since his time, any new 
 evidence has been found of its existence. 
 
 " But," says Dr Hartley, " supposing 
 the existence of the mther, and of its pro- 
 perties, to be destitute of all direct evidence, 
 still, if it serves to account for a great 
 variety of phsenomena, it will have an in- 
 direct evidence in its favour by this means." 
 There never was an hypothesis invented by 
 an mgenious man which has not this evi- 
 dence in its favour. The vortices of Des 
 Cartes, the sylphs and gnomes of Mr Pope, 
 serve to account for a great variety of 
 phsenomena. 
 
 When a man has, with kbour and iu- 
 gOluity, wrought up an hypothesis into a 
 system, ho contracts a fondness for it, 
 which is apt [88] to warp the best judgment. 
 This, I humbly think, appears remarkably 
 in Dr Hartley. In his preface, he declares 
 his approbation of the method of philoso- 
 phising recommended and followed by Sir 
 Isaac Newton ; but, having first deviated 
 from this method in his practice, he is 
 brought at last to justify this deviation in 
 theory, and to bring arguments in defence 
 of a metliod diametri(^y opposite to it 
 " We admit," says he, " the key of a cypher 
 to he a true one when it explains the cypher 
 completely.*' I answer. To find the key 
 requires an understanding equal or supe- 
 rior to that which made the cypher. This 
 instance, therefore, will then be in point, 
 when he who attempts to decypher the 
 works of Nature hy an hypothesis, has an 
 
 [86-881 
 
 understanding equal or superior to that 
 which made them. The votaries of hypo- 
 theses have often been challenged to shew 
 one useful discovery in the works of Nature 
 that was ever made in that way. If in- 
 stances of this kind could be produced, we 
 ought to concluae that Lord Bacon and 
 Sir Isaac Newton have done great disser- 
 vice to philosophy by what they have said 
 against hypotheses. But, if no such in- 
 stance can be produced, we must conclude, 
 with those great men, that every system 
 which pretends to account for the phseno- 
 mena of Nature by hypotheses or conjecture, 
 is spurious and illegitimate, and serves only 
 to flatter tho pride of man with a vain con- 
 ceit of knowledge which he has not attained. 
 The author tells us, "that any hypo- 
 thesis that has so much plausibility as to 
 explain a considerable number of facts, helps 
 us to digest these facts in proper order, to 
 bring new ones to light, and to make w- 
 perimenta crvcis for the sake of future 
 inquirers." 
 
 Let hypotheses be put to any of these 
 uses as far as they can serve. Let them 
 suggest experiments, or direct our inquiries; 
 but let just induction alone govern our 
 belief. 
 
 " The rule of false affords an obvious and 
 strong instance of the possibilityof being led, 
 with precision and certainty, to a [89] true 
 conclusion from a false position. And it is 
 of the very essence of algebra to proceed in 
 the way of supposition." 
 
 This is true ; but, when brought to jus- 
 tify the accounting for natural phaenomena 
 by hypotheses, is foreign to the purpose. 
 When an unknown number, or any un- 
 known quantity, is sought, which must have 
 certain conditions, it may be found in a 
 scientific manner by the rule of false, or 
 by an algebraical analysis; and, when 
 found, may be synthetically demonstrated 
 to be the number or the quantity sought, 
 by its answering all the conditions required. 
 But it is one thing to find a quantity which 
 shall have certain conditions ; it is a very 
 different thing to find out the laws by which 
 it pleases God to govern the world and 
 produce the plicenomena which fall under 
 our observation. And we can then only 
 allow some weight to thisarguraent in favour 
 of hypotheses, when it can be shewn that 
 the cause of any one phsenomenon in nature 
 has been, or can be found, as an unknown 
 quantity is, by the rule of false, or by alge- 
 braical analysis. This, I apprehend, will 
 never be, till the sera arrives, which Dr 
 Hartley seems to foretell, ** When future 
 generations shall put all kinds of evidences 
 and enquiries into mathematical forms; 
 and, as it were, reduce Aristotle's ten Ca- 
 tegories, and Bishop Wilkin's forty Summa 
 Genera to the head of quantity alone, so as 
 [89, 901 
 
 to make mathematics and logic, natural 
 history and civil history, natural philoso- 
 phy and philosophy of all other kinds, 
 coincide ow/tt (X parte.** 
 
 Since Sir Isaac Newton laid down the 
 rules of philosophising in our inquiries into 
 the works of Nature, many philosophers 
 have deviated from them in practice ; per- 
 haps few have paid that regard to them 
 which they deserve. But they have met 
 with very general approbation, as being 
 founded in reason, and pointing out the 
 only path to the knowledge of Nature's 
 works. Dr Hartley is the only author I 
 have met with who reasons against them, 
 and has taken pains to find out arguments 
 in defence of the exploded method of hy- 
 pothesis. [90] 
 
 Another condition which Sir Isaac New- 
 ton requires in the causes of natural things 
 assigned by philosophers, is, that they be 
 sufiicient to account for the phsenomena. 
 Vibrations, and vibratiuncles of the me- 
 dullary substance of the nerves and brain, 
 are assigned by Dr Hartley to account for 
 all our sensations and ideas, and, in a word, 
 for all the operations of our minds. Let 
 us consider very briefly how far they are 
 sufficient for that purpose. 
 
 It would be injustice to this author to 
 conceive him a materialist. He proposes 
 his sentiments with great candour, and they 
 ought not to be carried beyond what his 
 words express. He thinks it a consequence 
 of his theory, that matter, if it can be 
 endued with the most simple kinds of sens- 
 ation, might arrive at all that intelligence 
 of which the human mind is possessed. 
 He thinks that his theory overturns all 
 the arguments that are usually brought for 
 the immateriality of the soul, from the 
 subtilty of the hitemal senses, and of the 
 rational faculty ; but he does not take upon 
 him to determine whether matter can be 
 endued with sensation or no. He even 
 acknowledges that matter and motion, 
 however subtilly divided and reasoned upon, 
 } ield nothmg more than matter and motion 
 still ; and therefore he would not be any 
 way interpreted so as to oppose the imma- 
 teriality of the soul. 
 
 It would, therefore, be unreasonable to 
 requke that his theory of vibrations should, 
 in the proper sense, account for our sensa- 
 tions. It would, indeed, be ridiculous in 
 any maii to pretend that thought of any kind 
 must necessarily result from motion, .or 
 that vibrations in the nerves must neces- 
 sarily produce thought, any more than the 
 vibrations of a pendulum. Dr Hartley 
 dischums this way of thinkmg, and there- 
 fore it ought not to be imputed to him. 
 All that he pretends is, that, in the human 
 constitution, there is a certain connection 
 between vibrations in the medullary sub- 
 
SS9 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 CHIIAV fl« 
 
 CHAP. IV.] 
 
 FALSE CONCLUSIONS, &c. 
 
 253 
 
 \ 
 
 «liiiii|^lB of tlie viiiil I 10 ihftt tlie last de- 
 '■Mud entirely uiMn the irot, sod everj' lend 
 ^nf'tlifiiiglit If l] iiitli©iniiidw*M» Im mmm- 
 'ilHMiH' <if ' m 6iitffei|Mndiiig vibntioii, or 
 Yibniliiiiicte in tlie nerres and brain. Our 
 mnaliona arise from vibrations, and oar 
 'ideas, from. vHiBatiimeles, or miniatafe vibra- 
 tions; aid 'be eontiiieliends, under these 
 two words of §mmi'mm and idmi, all the 
 operations of the mind. 
 
 But how ean we exneet ^tiigr poof of the 
 .iMiiiiieetio& 'between vifnations^ and 'tiMmght, 
 vImi 'fhi' 'OiiitaiMe of such vihralioma was 
 nevit fMved ? The proof of their conneo* 
 Umi eannot he stronger than the proof of 
 thiiff^ miaikam ; lor, as 'thewthor aolmow- 
 latas thai 'We^ cannot' infer the existence 
 'Of ihe thmghia 'iponi, the existence of the 
 viiiatioiis, it is no less evident that we can- 
 not infer the existence of vibwtaons from 
 the Mistenec' of oitf 'thoughts. The exist- 
 mm of both must he 'Imown before we can. 
 know their connection. As to the exist- 
 •nee of our thoughts, we have the evidence 
 nf e«iiiii«sne«i, a kind of evidence that 
 never waS' ealled in. question. But as to 
 the existence of vibiations in the medullary 
 ■nhiiance of the nerves and brain, no proof 
 yet been brought 
 
 Ak therefore, we have to expect from 
 
 IS' hypothesis, is, that in vibiainns, con- 
 iiderad abstractly, there should be a variety 
 in kind and degree, which tallies so exactly 
 with the varieties of the thong hts they are to 
 ■eeouut tor, as. may lend, ns to suspect some 
 cimneciion 'between, the one and the other. 
 If the diTisions and subdivisions of thought 
 he found to run parallel with the divisions 
 and. subdivisions^ of vibrations, this would 
 live that kkd of plausibility to the hypo- 
 ttisiB of thehf corinection, which we com- 
 monly expect even in a mere hypothesis j 
 bnt we do not find even this. 
 
 Ar, to omit all those thoughts and. oper^ 
 :atii»B which ths' 'author eouiimiendt 'under 
 the name of idmt, and which he thinks are 
 connected with vibratiuncles ; to omit the 
 'perception 'Of external. objeet% which he 
 eompfehendS' under 'the name 'Of ffnioliont ; 
 to omit the sensations, properly so called, 
 'which, accompany our passions [92] and 
 affections, and to confine ourselves to the 
 
 •Btermi' Hniea, w« can. perceive no corre** 
 ■pondenoe between the variety we find in 
 
 'tneir^ kinds and degrees, and that whieh may 
 bO' supposed, in vibrations, 
 f We have five senses, whose .sensations 
 iifbr totaUy in 'kind. Bv each 'Of these, 
 nxaepthig' 'pcfhsp. 'thai of hearing, we have 
 a va^oraMMitiOMi, which. 'di£r spectfie- 
 ally, and not. 'In degree only. How many 
 taales and. smiillB are there which are .spe- 
 'ioalty diibrenty each of them capable of all 
 
 degrees of strength and weaicness ? Heal i 
 and cold, roughness and smoothness, hard- 
 ness and soilness, pahi and pleasure, are 
 sensations of touch that diifer in kind, and 
 mxk has an endless variety of degrees. 
 Sounds have the qualities of acute and 
 grave, loud and low, with all different de- 
 grees of each. The varieties of colour are 
 many more than we have names to express. 
 How shall we find varieties in vibrations 
 corresponding to all this variety of sensa- 
 tions which we have by our five senses 
 only? 
 
 1 kn ow two qualities of yibrationiJiL A& 
 uniform sUstic jnedium. and I know na 
 more. They may be quick or slow in vari- 
 ous degrees^ and they may be strong _o.r 
 weak in various degreeaj but I cannot find 
 any division of our sensations that will maJ^e 
 them _.ta^_ with Ah(^ ^ divisions of jdhci- 
 tl on^ If wo had no^ other sensation s but 
 those^ oL hearing, the tlieory would an swer 
 well J for sounds are cither acute or^rave, 
 which may answer to (j^ulck or slow vibra- 
 tions ; or they are loud or lowj which .an- 
 swer to strong or weak viJ)nition8. But 
 then we have no va.riety of vibrations cor- 
 responding to the immense iiatnety of_8eji8- 
 ations whush veh^ve by aigh(»jmcLU^ 
 and touch. 
 
 Dr Hartley has endeavoured to find on 
 other two qualities of vibrations ; to wi 
 that they may primarily aflfect one part oj 
 the brain or another, and that they may; 
 vary in their direction according as they 
 enter by different external nerves ; but these 
 [93] seem to be added to make a number; 
 for, as far as we know, vibrations in an 
 uuUbrm ehistic substance spread over the 
 whole, and in all directions. However, 
 that we may be liberal, we shall grant him 
 four different kinds of vibrations, each of 
 them having as many degrees as he pleases. 
 Can he, or any man, reduce all our sensa- 
 tions to four kinds ? We have five senses, 
 and by each of them a variety of sensations, 
 more than sufficient to exhaust all the 
 varieties we are able to conceive in vibra- 
 tions. 
 
 Dr Hartley, indeed, was sensible of the 
 difficulty of findmg vibrations to suit all the 
 variety of our sensations. His extensive 
 knowledge of physiology and pathology 
 could yield him but a feeble aid ; and, there- 
 lore, he is often reduced to the necessity of 
 heaping supposition upon supposition, con- 
 jecture upon conjecture, to give sonie credi- 
 bility to his hypothesis ; and, in seeking out 
 vibrations which may correspond with the 
 sensations of one sense, he seems to forget 
 that those must he omitted which have been 
 appropriated to another. 
 
 Philosophers have accounted in some de- 
 gree for our various sensations of sound by 
 the vibrations of ehutic au:; but it is to be 
 
 [©1-93 
 
 ^v 
 
 1 
 
 observed, firsij That we know that such vi- 
 brations do really exist ; and, secondly, That 
 they tally exactly with the most remarkable 
 phienomena of sound. We cannot, indeed, 
 shew how any vibration sHoifld^produceJIie 
 sens ation of sound. This must be resolved 
 into the^ill of God, or into some cause 
 altogether unknown. But we know that, 
 as the vibration is strong or weak, the 
 sound is loud or low ; we know that, as the 
 vibration is quick or slow, the sound is 
 acute or grave. We can point out that 
 relation of synchronous vibrations which 
 produces harmony or discord, and that 
 relation of successive vibrations which pro- 
 duces melody ; and all this is not conjec- 
 tured, but proved by a sufficient induction. 
 This account of sounds, therefore, is philo- 
 sophical : although, perhaps, there may be 
 many things relating to sound that we can- 
 not account for, and of which the causes 
 remain latent. The connections described 
 [94] in this branch of philosophy are the 
 work of God, and not the fancy of men. 
 
 If anything similar to this could be shewn 
 in accounting for all our sensations by 
 vibrations in the medullary substance of the 
 nerves and brain, it would deserve a place 
 m sound philosophy ; but, when we are told 
 of vibrations in a substance which no man 
 could ever prove to have vibrations, or to 
 be capable of them ; when such imaginary 
 vibrations are brought to account for all our 
 sensations, though we can perceive no cor- 
 respondence in their variety of kind and 
 degree to the variety of sensations — the con- 
 nections described in such a system are the 
 creatures of human imagination, not the 
 work of God. 
 
 The rays of light make an impression 
 upon the optic nerves ; but they make none 
 upon the auditory or olfactory. The vibra- 
 tions of the air make an impression upon 
 the auditory nerves ; but none upon the 
 optic or the olfactory. The effluvia of 
 bodies make an impression upon the olfac- 
 tory nerves ; but make none upon the optic 
 or auditory. No man has been able to give 
 a shadow of reason for this. While this is 
 the case, is it not better to confess our 
 ignorance of the nature of those impressions 
 made upon the nerves and brain in percep- 
 tion, than to flatter our pride with the con- 
 ceit of knowledge which we have not, and 
 to adulterate philosophy with the spurious 
 brood of hypotheses ?• 
 
 « Reid appears to have been unacquainted with 
 the works and theory of Bonnet. — With our author's 
 strictures on the physiological hvpotheses, the reader 
 may compare those of TeCens, in hit " Versuche." 
 •lid of Siewa t in hia *' Philosophical Essays."— H. 
 
 [94, 95] 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FALSE CONCLUSIONS ORAWN FROM THl 
 JMFIIESSIUNS BEFORB MENTIONED. 
 
 Some philosop hers among the ancients, 
 as^ell as among the modems, imagijged 
 that nian isjiothing J)ut a piece of matter, 
 so curiously organized that the impressions 
 of external objects produce in it sensation, 
 perception, remembrance, and all the other 
 operations [95] we are conscious of.* This 
 foolish opinion could only take its rise from 
 obgervin^ the constant connection which 
 the Author of Nature hath established be- 
 tween certain impressions made upon our 
 senses and our perception of the objects by 
 which the impression is made ; from which 
 they weakly inferred that those impressions 
 were the proper efficient causes of the cor- 
 responding perception. 
 
 But^no reasoning is more fallacious than 
 this — that, because two things are always 
 conjoined, therefore one must be the cause 
 eLthe. other. Day and night have been 
 joined in a constant succession since the 
 beginning of the world; but who is so foolish 
 as to conclude from this that day is the 
 cause of night, or night the cause of the 
 following day ? There is indeed nothing 
 more ridiculous than to imagine that any 
 motion or modification of matter should pro« 
 duce thought. 
 
 Ifone sX)Quld tfill of a telpspopft sn ftTfnf>tly 
 made, as to have ,tJig_poweiLfiL seeing ; of a 
 whispering gallery that had the power of 
 hearing ; of a cabinet so nicely framed as to 
 have the power of memory ; or of a machine 
 so delicate as to feel pain when it was 
 touched — such absurdities are so shocking to 
 common sense that tliey would not find belief 
 even among savages; yet it is .,tbe same 
 absurdity to think that the , impressions of 
 external objects upon tlie machine of our 
 bodieg .can. he the jrealZefficiffltjeftMifijel 
 tlioughtand.perceptipn. 
 
 Passing this, therefore, as a notion too 
 absurd to admit of reasoning, another con- 
 clusion very generally made by philoso- 
 phers is, that, in perception, an impression 
 is made upon the mind as well as upon the 
 organ, nerves, and brain. Aristotle, as 
 was before observed, thought that the form 
 or image of the object perceived, enters by 
 
 * The Stoics are reprehended for such a doctrine 
 by Boethius:— 
 
 •' Quondam porticus attulit 
 
 Obscuros nimium sencs. 
 
 Qui sensus et imagines 
 
 £ corporibus extimis 
 
 Creiiant mentibus iniprimi. 
 
 lit qucimiamceleri stylo 
 
 Mos est squore pagins 
 
 Quae nullas habeat nota^i, 
 
 Pressa.s figere literas." /fee. 
 The tabula rasa remounts, howerer, to Aristotlt 
 —indeed to Piato~as an illustration.— H. 
 
 ) s 
 
OKI 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [ejssay II. 
 
 tho offpyi; of' 
 ■mind.*! 
 
 ., . .and Mkm upon the 
 
 „^^ Mr flmM! ,giiri». ilM tmme of .im- 
 nroafiioiis to all otir fwraMitioiiii, to all our 
 iflusaitbns, and even to the objects wliioh 
 wii perceive. Mr Locke affitnia jreiy posi- 
 tively, tbat the ideas of extenal objects are 
 pfoduoed [96] in out miiida bj impulse, 
 " thai being the only way we can conceive 
 bodies to operate in." It ought, however, to 
 be obnerved, in justice to Mr Locke, that he 
 letiMsted tWa motiiin in his first letter to the 
 Bishop of WoraMtar, and pramised, in the 
 next edition of his Essay, to have that pas- 
 'lagO' rectified ; but, either fram fiii|^ul- 
 jMss. ;te tbo anthor, or negligence m the 
 pinler, ^m 'paMue remaim in. all the sub- 
 ^Moiiinl 'editinna f have seen. 
 
 There is no piejudlee more natural to 
 mail than to conceive of the mind .as hav- 
 ipf tone iimilitnde to body in its opera- 
 fLwtMi- H'Cnee men have been prone to 
 imagine that, as bodies are put in motion 
 by some impulse or Impression mado upon 
 them by ©ontignoua boiiee, so A* mind is 
 made to 'think .and tn^ 'pensulTii by mmm im- 
 f naslon made upon it, or some impulse 
 I given lo it by contiguous objects. If we 
 'nave .such a notion of the mind .as Homer 
 bad of Ms gods— who might be bruised or 
 iraMiided 'witli, amiKlB ani ■■pears— we may 
 then understand what is meant by Impriss- 
 sions made upon it by a body; but^ jfwe 
 
 -iMineeive the mind, to be; 'iaimiatorial-of 
 
 lmk.weEKve'Viry 
 
 .1 
 
 we shall find il difficult to 
 
 >rgfiiofif mmk upon it 
 
 a meanmg 
 
 Theie'ls a figuntive .meaning, ni immm- 
 ■MM 'Oil the mmd w]iieh.'ii wei antlioiiied, 
 and. of 'whidi ira 'tcMk imliM in the observa- 
 tions made on that word ; but thkmeanhig 
 ■Miiea only to objeeta. that are interesting, 
 •ft^'iay 'thi* an object which I ■•© with per- 
 feet tadiibieDoe makes an impression upon 
 my mind, is not, as I apprehend, good 
 E^lish. If pMlosophera mean no more 
 bat that I les tiie object, wiqr should they 
 Invent an hnpMiper phrase to expeis what 
 every man knows how to express in plain 
 Blttfish? 
 
 .ftit it is evident, from the manner^ hi 
 vhidi this, phrase is. used by modem philo- 
 .Hi|ih6rs,. that they mean, not barely to ex- 
 f nas by it my perceiving an object, but to 
 
 Zlain. the manner of peneptaon. They 
 k that the cibjeet pcineived acts upon 
 the: mind in mmm way shnihir to '"that k 
 which one body acts upon another, by 
 
 ting [97] an impression upon it The 
 
 hnpression upon the mind is oonceived to 
 be: KMBetUng wherehi the mhid. is alto- 
 gether' 'paasiire, and haa some effect, pro- 
 
 • A mcro mdaiilMNr in Atlitolie. (See Notes K. 
 - X) Al SBV rate, tlie tiii|irriiiioii. «•■ iiti|i|KMed 
 In iM iMiie MO tilt uilawtitd mamnf, mn not on tbe 
 . |i ii f f Bf eti;i»Hii 
 
 dnced m it by the object. But this is W 
 hypothesis which contradicts the commouj 
 sense of mankind, and which ought not tol 
 be admitted without proof, 
 
 When 1 look upon the wall of my room, 
 
 the wall does not act at all, norjs capable. 
 
 of acting ; the perceiving it Js. jyL_aet_or, 
 operation in me. That this is the^ conuijon 
 apprehension of mankind. with-JceganLtP 
 perception, is evident from the^mftWlfiLfif 
 expressing it in all languages. 
 
 The vulgar give themselves no trouble 
 how they perceive objects — they express 
 what they are conscious of, and they express 
 it with propriety ; but philosophers have an 
 avidity to know how we perceive objects; 
 and, conceiving some similitude between a 
 body that is put in motion, and a mind that 
 is made to perceive, they are led to think 
 that, as the body must receive some impulse 
 to make it move, so the mind must receive 
 some impulse or unpression to make it per- 
 ceive. This analogy seems to be confirmed, 
 by observing that we perceive objects only 
 when they make some impression upon the 
 organs of sense, and upon the nerves and 
 brain ; but it ought to be observed, that 
 such is the nature gf bodyj h a t it fi a nnffit \ 
 cli ^ageits^ tej)ut by some fwrcfeimpressed f 
 upon It. 'I 'His is not the nature pLniind. 
 All thatwe knQ>v about it shews it tft be inj 
 its nature living and active, aud to^bavej 
 the power of perception in its constitution, ' 
 but still withm those limits to whicli. it Jaj 
 confined by the laws of Nature. 
 
 it appears, therefore, that this phrase of 
 the mind*s havmg impressions made upon 
 it by corporeal objects in perception, ia 
 either a phrase without any distmct mean- 
 ing, and contrary to the propriety of the 
 English language, or it is grounded upon 
 an hypothesfe which is destitute of proof.) 
 On that account, thou gh we grant that in 
 p ercept ion Jthere is an impre88ion_madfi 
 S)n the organ of [981 sense, and u^onth© 
 iiervea and boun,_JKfi- 4o. a< i A a it niit t ha t 
 t Tm object makja PUJWP^^ * * ^*^" Upon tho 
 
 There is another conclusion drawn from 
 the Impressions made upon the brain in 
 perception, which I conceive to have no 
 solid foundation, though it haa been adopted 
 very generally by philosophers. It is, that, 
 by the impressions made on the brain,! 
 images are formed of the object perceived ;l 
 and that the mind, being seated in the brami 
 as ita chamber of presence, unmediately 
 perceives those unagea only, and has no 
 perception of the external object but by 
 them. This notion of our perceivmg ex- 
 ternal objects, not immediately, but in cer- 
 tain images or species of them conveyed by 
 the senses, seems to be the most ancient 
 philomiphical hypothesis we have on the 
 subject of perception, and to have with 
 
 I Ho— •Ho I 
 
 CHAF. IV.J 
 
 FALSE CONCLUSIONS, &c. 
 
 255 
 
 *^r ft 
 
 
 small variations retained its authority to 
 
 this day. 
 
 Aristotle, as was before observed, main- 
 tained, that the species, images, or forms 
 of external objects, coming from the object, 
 are impressed on the mind. The followers 
 of Democritus and Epicurus held the same 
 thing, with regard to slender fihns of sub- 
 tile matter coming from the object, that 
 Aristotle did with regard to his immaterial 
 species or forms. 
 
 Aristotle thought every object of hatnan 
 understanding enters at first by the senses ;* 
 and that the notions got by them are by 
 the powers of the mind refined and spirit- 
 ualized, so as at last to become objects of 
 the most sublime and abstracted sciences. 
 Plato, on the other hand, had a very mean 
 opinion of all the knowledge we get by the 
 senses. He thought it did not deserve the 
 name of knowledge, and could not be the 
 foundation of science ; because the objects 
 of sense are individuals only, and are in a 
 constant fluctuation. All science, according 
 to him, must be employed about those 
 eternal and immutable ideas which existed 
 11^ the objects of sense, and are not liable 
 • to any change. In this there was an essen- 
 tial difference between the systems of these 
 two philosophers. [99] The notion of eter- 
 nal and immutable ideas, which Plato bor- 
 rowed from the Pythagorean school, was 
 totally rejected by Aristotle, who held it as 
 a maxim, that there is nothing hi the intel- 
 lect, which was not at first in the senses. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this great difference 
 in those two ancient systems, they might 
 both agree as to the manner in which we 
 perceive objects by our senses: and that 
 they did so, I think, is probable ; because 
 Aristotle, as far as I know, neither takes 
 notice of any difierence between himself 
 and his master upon this point, nor hiys 
 chiim to his theory of the manner of our 
 perceiving objects as his own invention. 
 It is still more probable, from the hints 
 which Plato gives in the seventh book of his 
 Republic, concerning the manner in which 
 we perceive the objects of sense ; which he 
 compares to persons in a deep and dark cave, 
 who see not external objects themselves but 
 only their shadows, by a light let into the 
 cave through a small opening.+ 
 
 It seems, therefore, probable that the Py- 
 thagoreans and Platonists agreed with the 
 Peripatetics in this general theory of per- 
 ception—to wit, that the objects of sense 
 
 • Thi§ it a very doubtftil point, and hac accord- 
 ingly divided hi» follower*. Texts can be quoted to 
 prove, on the one tide, that Aristotle derited all our 
 notion*, a posteriori, from the experience of sense ; 
 and, on the otlier, that he viewed sense only as alrord. 
 ing to infellect the c ndition requisite for it to be. 
 come actually conscious of the native and necessary 
 notionsit, fl priori, virtually possessed.— H. 
 
 f Beid wholly mitUkes the meaning of Plato • 
 ■imile of tbe cave. See below, under p. 1 1 &— H. 
 
 [99, 100] 
 
 are perceived only by certain images, or 
 shadows of them, let into the mind, as mto 
 a camera obscura. • 
 
 The notions of the ancienis were very 
 various with regard to the seat of the soul 
 Since it has been discovered, by the im- 
 provements in anatomy, that the nerves 
 are the instruments of perception, and of 
 the sensations accompanying it, and that 
 the nerves ultimately terminate in the 
 brain,i- it lias been the general opinion of 
 philosophers that the brain is the seat of 
 the soul ; and that she perceives the images 
 that are brought there, and external things, 
 only by means of them. 
 
 Des Cartes, observing that the pineal 
 gland is the only part of the brain that is 
 single, all the other parts being double,^ 
 and thinking that the soul must have one 
 seat, was determined by this [ 100] to make 
 that gland the souFs habitation, to which, 
 by means of the animal spirits, intelligence 
 is brought of all objects that afiecc the 
 senses. § 
 
 Others have not thought proper to con- 
 fine the habitation of the soul to the pineal 
 gland, but to the brain in general, or to 
 some part of it, which they call the «e«- 
 sorium. Even the great Newton favoured 
 this opinion, though he proposes it only as 
 a query, with that modesty which dis- 
 tinguished him no less than his great genius. 
 " Is not,*' says he, " thesensorium of animals 
 the place where the sentient substance is 
 present, and to which the sensible species of 
 things are brought through the nerves and 
 brain, that there they may be perceived by 
 the mind present in that place? And ia 
 there not an incorporeal, living, intelligent, 
 and omnipresent Being, who, in infinite 
 space, as if it were in his sensoriura, inti- 
 mately perceives thing's themselves, and 
 comprehends them perfectly, as being pre- 
 sent to them ; of which things, that prin- 
 ciple in us, which perceives and thh)ks, 
 discerns only, in its little sensorium, the 
 images brought to it through the organs of 
 the senses ?**!! 
 
 His great friend Dr Samuel Clarke 
 adopted the same sentiment with more con- 
 fidence. In his papers to Leibnitz, we 
 find the following passages: "Without 
 bemg present to the images of the things 
 perceived, it (the soul) could not possibly 
 perceive them. A living substance can 
 only there perceive where it is present, 
 either to the things themselves, (as the 
 omnipresent God is to the w hole universe,) 
 
 • An error. See below, under p. 1 16 —H. 
 
 + That is, since the time of Erasistratusand l.alen. 
 
 t Which is not the case. The Hypophysis, the 
 
 Vermiform process, Ac, f re not leu single than tbe 
 
 Conarium. — H. 
 
 ^ See above, p. 234, b, note ♦.—«. . „„„,^ 
 
 II Before Reid, thews crude conjectures of Kewton 
 
 were justly censured by Genoveei, and others— .fi. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [kSSaY II. 
 
 ilio oiniB <if iiiii«>|. m4 Mbnikm upon the 
 f ffff ii..* Mr iltniie gives the nAme of im- 
 prweiiMiB to all ow perceptioraa, to all our 
 fietisations, and even to the objects which 
 we perceive. Mr Locke aSuQs ^ery posi- 
 tively, that the ideea of external objecte are 
 ptoliMeit iSiJ in our miads by impube* 
 *' # « ! * heliig the only way we can conceive 
 ItMMliea to operate in.*' It ought, however, to 
 he observed, in jnatice to Mr Locke, that he 
 retimeted thia notion In hia i»t letter to the 
 Hiiop ^if Woreesler, and praiiiiied, in the 
 next edition of his Eaaay, to have that pas- 
 sage rectiied ; hut, either from foiMtliil- 
 neas. in the. Mlhor, or negligence' li the 
 " 'priater, fhe^ fMsaage remains fe all 'the aub- 
 .isqnenl editims i have seen. 
 
 There is no prejudice more natural to 
 imi.w than to conceive of the mind as hav- 
 ii|f seme aimiitnde to body in its opera- 
 ihmk Mmtm men have been proue to 
 imagiue that, as bodies are put in motion 
 by some impulse or impression made^ upon 
 tibeni: hj eont^uonS' bodies,, so the mind is 
 naile to> think, ani to pereeive by some im- 
 fteaslen made' npon it, or some unpulse 
 given to it by oontiguous objects. If we 
 have aieh a notion of the mind as Homer 
 had of :his geds-*who might he bruised or 
 wounded with snwiiii; and apeais^we may 
 
 then understand what is meant by un|»res- 
 sions made upon it by a body; but, if we 
 
 thfljamd. Jo be hnmateriat-pf 
 
 >liave very 
 
 'Oonceive 
 
 icn I tnmk 
 we shall find it difficult to affix a meaning 
 
 i fijt^iigrcwi'oii* made upon t/. 
 
 There"' is a ig'uratlve meaning of im|pres- 
 ■ons on the mmd which is weQ authorised, 
 ■mi of which we took notice in the oheerva- 
 made on that word ; but this meaning 
 ^.js only to ohjeets that, am): inteiesting. 
 a^f that m. olfeet wUeh. I see' with per- 
 feet indiflbfenee' makes, .aa. inpreasiott upon 
 my mind, is not, as I apprehend, good 
 Eftglish. If philosophers meau no more 
 but that I see the object, why should they 
 invent an hnpMper phrase to exp'ress what 
 every man knows ^hew tO' express in pkin 
 Sunjush ? 
 
 «it it is evident, from the manner in 
 which this phrase is used by modem philo- 
 sophers, that they mean, not barely to ex- 
 piesa by it my perceiving an object, but to 
 ! explain the manner of perception. They 
 thmk that the object perceived acts upon 
 the mind In some way similar to that in 
 which one body acts upon another, by 
 i making [97] an impression upon it. The 
 i impressien vpeii 'the 'mind h eoneeived to 
 I be sometUug" 'wherein 'the ininil is alto- 
 igetber passive, and has some effect pro- 
 
 gm jM. ,^^^|^^_^^ ■■■i^ilF'MSlilai'lMB'' flm Jk V'ftdff'i'Ul'triB' ^''fflyHII' Idti'Ml'liMH H! 
 
 .ini ' M.). M mif tarn, the Impn '.moa wm iWipiiHil 
 " ' *R on ibe sniiDalMl mmofj, mc nee on lite 
 
 duced in it by the objed But this is W 
 hypothesis which contradicts the commoni 
 sense of mankind, and which ought not tol 
 be admitted without proof, ' 
 
 When 1 look upon the wall ofmy room, 
 the wall does not act at all, n ofls capa ble, 
 of acting ; the perceivin^t it is an act or 
 operation in me. That this is tUe_ conijnon 
 apprehension of mankind witLjiegadlP 
 perception, is evident from the_jaaBJlfi£o| 
 expressing it in all liuiguaiges. 
 
 The vulgar give themselves no trouble 
 how they perceive objects — they express 
 what they are conscious of, and they express 
 it with propriety ; but philosophers have an 
 avidity to know how we perceive objects ; 
 and, conceiving some similitude between a 
 body that is put in motion, and a mind that 
 is made to perceive, they are led to think 
 that, as the body must receive some impulse 
 to make it move, so the mind must receive 
 some impulse or impression to make it per- 
 ceive. This analogy seems to be confirmed, 
 by observing that we perceive objects only 
 when they make some impression upon the 
 organs of sense, and upon the nerves and 
 brain; but it ought to be observed, that 
 such is th e nature of body that- it canng^ 
 c hange itsst»te« bu t by some furceinipressed 
 upon it. T tojTnot the nature of niind.! 
 Jul ihajTwe kuow'ahfiWt it diews it tflibe inj 
 its nature living and active, and to_haA;ej 
 thepojKcr of perception in its constitution,* 
 but still within those limits to whiclLit is! 
 confined by the laws of Nature. * 
 
 it appears, therefore, that this phrase of 
 the mind's having impressions made upon 
 it by corporeal objects in perception, is 
 either a phrase without any distinct mean* 
 ing, and contrary to the propriety of the 
 English language, or it is grounded upon 
 an hypothesis which is destitute of proof. 
 On that account, tho ugh we grant that in 
 perception Jhere. is an_ impression made 
 upon the organ "of 198] sense, and u^n the 
 nerves and brain, we do nol admit tlint 
 tb!P objfilA.W^ ft'tfi^pr*^ ' "" "P» " ^ hD 
 
 ^"^ . . , * 
 
 There is another conclusion drawn from I 
 
 the impressions made upon the brain in 
 perception, which 1 conceive to have no 
 solid foundation, though it has been adopted 
 very generally by philosophers. It is, that, 
 by the impressions made on the brain, 
 images are formed of the object perceived ;( 
 and that the mind, being seated in the bram 
 as its chamber of presence, mimediately 
 perceives those unages only, and has no'= 
 perception of the external object but by 
 them. This notion of our perceiving ex- » 
 temal objects, not immediately, but m cer- 
 tain images or species of them conveyed by 
 the senses, seems to be the most ancient 
 philosophical hypothesis we have on the 
 subject of perception, and to have with 
 
 [96-98J 
 
 CHAP. IV.] 
 
 FALSE CONCLUSIONS, &c. 
 
 255 
 
 I 
 
 
 tCft 
 
 small variations retained its authority to 
 
 this day. 
 
 Aristotle, as was before observed, main- 
 tained, that the species, images, «)r forms 
 of external objects, coming from the object, 
 are impressed on the mind. The followers 
 of Democritus and Epicurus held the same 
 thing, with regard to slender films of sub- 
 tile matter coming from the object, that 
 Aristotle did with regard to his immaterial 
 species or forms. 
 
 Aristotle thought every object of liJiiman 
 understanding enters at first by the senses ;• 
 and that the notions got by them are by 
 the powers of the mind refined and spirit- 
 ualized, so as at last to become objects of 
 the most sublime and abstracted sciences. 
 Plato, on the other hand, had a very mean 
 opinion of all the knowledge we get by the 
 senses. He thought it did not deserve the 
 name of knowledge, and could not be the 
 foundation of science ; because the objects 
 of sense are individuals only,'and are iii a 
 constant fluctuation. All science, according 
 to him, must be employed about those 
 eternal and immutable ideas which existed 
 before the objects of sense, and are not liable 
 to any change. In this there was an essen- 
 tial difference between the systems of these 
 two philosophers. [99] The notion of eter- 
 nal and immutable ideas, which Plato bor- 
 rowed from the Pythagorean school, was 
 totally rejected by Aristotle, who held it as 
 a maxim, that there is nothing in the intel- 
 lect, which was not at first in the senses. 
 
 But, notwithstanding this great difference 
 in those two ancient systems, they might 
 both agree as to the manner in which we 
 perceive objects by our senses: and that 
 they did so, I think, is probable ; because 
 Aristotle, as far as I know, neither takes 
 notice of any difference between himself 
 and his master upon this point, nor lays 
 claim to his theory of the manner of our 
 perceiving objects as his own invention. 
 It is still more probable, from the hints 
 which Plato gives in the seventh book of his 
 Republic, concerning the manner in which 
 we perceive the objects of sense ; which he 
 compares to persons in a deep and dark cave, 
 who see not external objects themselves but 
 only their shadows, by a light let into the 
 cave through a small opening. -f 
 
 It seems, therefore, probable that the Py- 
 thagoreans and Platonists agreed with the 
 Peripatetics in this general theory of per- 
 ception—to wit, that the objects of sense 
 
 • Thii is a very doubtftil point, «nd has accord, 
 ingly divided his followers. Texts can be quoted to 
 prove, on the one side, that Aristotle derived all our 
 notions, a posteriori, from the experience of sense ; 
 and, on the other, that he viewed sense only as afford, 
 ing to intellect the cmdition requisite for it to lie. 
 come actually conscious of the native and necessary 
 notions it, a priori, virtually possessed.— H- 
 
 f Reid wholly mistakes the meaninjt of Plato's 
 •imile of the cave. See below, under p. 1 16.-11. 
 
 1:99, 100] 
 
 are perceived only by certain images, or 
 shadows of them, let into the mind, as into 
 a camera obscura, * 
 
 The notions of the ancients were very 
 various with regard to the seat of the sotil 
 Since it has been discovered, by the im- 
 provements in anatomy, that the nerves 
 are the instruments of perception, and of 
 the sensations accompanying it, and that 
 the nerves ultimately terminate in the 
 brain,f it has been the general opinion of 
 philosophers that the brain is the seat of 
 the soul ; and that she perceives the images 
 that are brought there, and external things, 
 only by means of them. 
 
 Des Cartes, observing that the pineal 
 gland is the only part of the brain that is 
 single, all the other parts being double, J 
 and thinking that the soul must have one 
 seat, was determined by this [100] to make 
 that gland the soul's habitation, to which, 
 by means of the animal spirits, intelligence 
 is brought of all objects that affect the 
 senses. § 
 
 Others have not thought proper to con- 
 fine the habitation of the soul to the pineal 
 gland, but to the brain in general, or to 
 some part of it, which they call the seu^ 
 sorium. Even the great Newton favoured 
 this opinion, though he proposes it only as 
 a query, with that modesty which dis- 
 tinguished him no less than his great genius. 
 " Is nGt,*'sayshe, "thesensorium of animals 
 the place where the sentient substance is 
 present, and to which the sensible species of 
 things are brought through the nerves and 
 brain, that there they may be perceived by 
 the mind present in that place ? And is 
 there not an incorporeal, living, intelligent, 
 and omnipresent Being, who, in infinite 
 space, as if it were in his sensoriura, inti- 
 mately perceives thin<»s themselves, and 
 comprehends them perfectly, as being pre- 
 sent to them ; of which things, that prin- 
 ciple in us, which perceives and thinks, 
 discerns only, in its little sensorium, the 
 images brought to it through the organs of 
 the senses?*' II 
 
 His great friend Br Samuel Clarke 
 adopted the same sentiment with more con- 
 fidence. In his papers to Leibnitz, we 
 find the following passages: "Without 
 being present to the images of the things 
 perceived, it (the soul) could not possibly 
 perceive them. A living substance can 
 only there perceive where it is present, 
 either to the things themselves, (as the 
 omnipresent God is to the whole u niverse,) 
 
 • An error. Seet)elow, underp. 116.— -H, 
 
 f That is, since the time of Erasistratusand Galen. 
 — H 
 
 X Vvhich is not the case. The Hypophysis, the 
 Vermiform process, &c., ; re not less single than the 
 Conarium. — H. 
 
 « See above, p. 234, b, note ♦.— H. 
 
 II Before Reid, these crude conjectures of ^ewton 
 were justly censured by Genovesi, and otheri— .H. 
 
I 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay If. 
 
 tt to Hm 'imagM of things, (as the soul of 
 -mil ii im te proper senaoij.) Hothiiig 
 
 nn. Mj :iiiim .aist, or be acted uiwii, where 
 it is BitjmMaty 'tiaii it am be where it is 
 not We are sure the soul cannoi perceive 
 vlial it is not ftesent to^ beeause nothing 
 '•an ,aist, or M aotai upon, where it is not'* 
 Mr Loda czpNtses himself .so upon 
 this point, that, for the [101] most part, 
 'One would imagme that he thowht that 
 the idea% or Innipi of things, which he ^be- 
 ''lievedte 'he the Immediate objects of per- 
 eetitioii, are impressions upon the mind it- 
 aen; yet, in some passages, he rather 
 phMseS'' ihem in the brain, and nai«i them 
 til 'be perceived hj the mind there present. 
 ** There are some ideas,** sajs he, " which 
 have admittance only through one sense ; 
 andi if the organs or the nerves, whieh are 
 the eonduits to convey them from without 
 to their audience in the brain, the niind^s 
 prceenoe room, if I may so call, it, are so 
 disordered as not to perform their function, 
 'dMT have no postem to be admitted by* 
 
 <* There seems to be a 'Comtaiit' decay of 
 all our ideas, even of those that are' struck 
 deepest The pictures drawn in our minds 
 are laid in fading colours. Whether the 
 temper of the brain makes 'iiis difference, 
 thai' hi some it 'retains the ehanelers drawn 
 on it like marble, in others like freestone, 
 and in othero little better than sand, I shall 
 not enquire.*** 
 
 From these passages of Mr Locke, and 
 others of a like nature, it is pkm that he 
 thought that there are images of external 
 objects conveyed to' the brain. But whether 
 he'iunight with Dm Cartest and Newton, 
 thai tlie 'images in the brain are perceived 
 by the mind there present, or that they are 
 imprinted on the mind itself, is not' sO' evi- 
 dent. 
 
 Now, with regard to this hypothesis, 
 there are three things that deserve to be 
 considered, because the hypothesis leans 
 upon them ; and, if any one of them fail, it 
 most fall to' the ground. The firsi is, That 
 the Mul has its 'Seat, or, as Mr Locke calls 
 it, ito presence room in the brain. The 
 second^ That there are images formed in 
 the brain of all the objects of sense. The 
 lllif^, That the mind or soul pefoeives these 
 images in the brain ; and that it perceives 
 not external o'bjects immediately, but only 
 
 rorceives them by means of those images. 
 lOJi] 
 As to the^rsl point— that the soul has its 
 
 Ho grot ilftit ibMiM be laid, oa 'inah. ipinitive 
 • m iwilisatieiis of tlie rati CfMaion of JLoeke» 
 w.tw«, on thia point, it if not easy to diicovcr. See 
 Mole a— H. 
 
 f Hcf Cartet f ■ pcfti«iM «n erratuni for Hr Clarke. 
 If' Mil llie^fllilntaof fM €mtm tamffreprMeotedi 
 
 Bil'Ofllitosgiiii. 'Set Mtitf M.— tl. 
 
 seat in the brain — this, surely, b not so well 
 established as that we can safely build 
 other principles upon it. There have been 
 various opinions and much disputation about 
 the pkce of spirits i whether they have a 
 pkoe ? and, if they have, how they occupy 
 that place ? After men had fought in the 
 dark about those points for ages, the wiser 
 part seem to have left oif dbputing about 
 them, as matters beyond the reach of the 
 human faculties. 
 
 As to the second point — that images of all 
 the objects of sense are formed in the bram — 
 we may venture to affirm that there is no 
 proof nor probability of this, with regard to 
 any of the objects of sense ; and that, with 
 regard to the greater part of them, it is 
 words without any meaning." 
 
 We have not the least evidence th at the 
 ii Auy^fl\tfimal ohje r t , ia-icimed in 
 
 The brain has been dissected 
 times Innumerable by the nicest ana- 
 tomists ; every part of it examined by the 
 naked eye, and with the help of microscopes { 
 but no vestige of an image of any external 
 object was ever found. The brain seems 
 to be the most improper substance that can 
 be imagined for receiving or retaining images, 
 being a soft, moist, medullary substance. 
 
 But how are these images formed ? or 
 whence do they come ? Says Mr Locke, the 
 organs of sense and nerves convey them from 
 without. This is just the Aristotelian 
 hypotliesis of sensible species, which modern 
 philosophers have been at great pains to 
 refute, and which must be acknowledged to 
 be one of the most unintelUgible parts of 
 the Peripatetic system. Those who con- 
 sider species of colour, figure, sound, and 
 smell, coming from the object, and entering 
 by the organs of sense, as a part of the 
 achokstic jargon long ago discarded from 
 sound philosophy, ought to have discarded 
 images in the brain along with them. 
 There never was a shadow of argument 
 bfonght by any author, to shew that an 
 [103] image of any external object ever 
 entered by any of the organs of sense. 
 
 Th||^.£xtei%|BLolttecta. make sQiiifiiiDitEBfe 
 sion on the organs of sense, and bxthe mon 
 
 the nerves and braip, is grant ed ; bu t thjtt 
 those impressions resemble t he objec ts 
 they are made by. so as tliat thejr may'^Ei 
 called iMages of tne objects, is most mjjym- 
 b^m& £very hypotnesis that has been 
 contrived, shews that there can be no such 
 resemblance; for neither the motions of 
 animal spirits, nor the vibrations of elastic 
 chords, or of ekstic aether, orof themfinites- 
 
 • It would be r«ih to «8«uine that, because a phU 
 lotopher uaea the term image, or impretsion, or idea, 
 and place* what it denotes in the brain, that be 
 therefore nifaii5 that the mind was cognisant of audi 
 coqioreal aAction» at of iU object, either in peroep. 
 tion or tmnglnacion. See ftote K.— H. 
 
 [101-103] 
 
 PHAP. IV.] 
 
 FALSE CONCLUSIONS, &c. 
 
 m 
 
 imal particles of the nerves, can be sup- 
 posed to resemble the objects by which 
 they are excited. 
 
 We know that, in vision, an image of the 
 visible object is formed in the bottom of the 
 eye by the rays of light. But we know, 
 also, that this image cannot be conveyed to 
 the brain, because the optic nerve, and all 
 the parts that surround it, are opaque and 
 impervious to the rays of light ; and there 
 is no other organ of sense in which any 
 image of the object is formed. 
 
 It is farther to be observed, that, with 
 regard to some objects of sense, we may 
 understand what is meant by an image of 
 them imprmted on the brain; but, with 
 regard to most objects of sense, the phrase 
 is absolutely unmtelligible, and conveys no 
 meaning at all. As to objects of sight, I 
 understand what is meant by an image of 
 their figure in the brain. But how shall we 
 conceive an image of their colour where there 
 is absolute darkness ? And as to a lj^other 
 objects of se nse, except figu re and colour, 
 1 fl^m nnaT^TptoGoriceive w hat Is meant by an 
 iniage of them. L et any man kw what he 
 ineans by an miaffLK)f heat andcqlj a'^i^age 
 of hardiiefiaJir.s3tiiess» animate orioimd, 
 or smell, gr. taste. . The word iwioj^f^^^eu 
 applied to these objects of sensejias .abso- 
 lutely no meanmg. Upon what a weak 
 foundation^then, does this hypothesis stand, 
 when it supposes that images of all the 
 objects of sense are imprinted on the brain, 
 being conveyed thither by the conduits of the 
 organs and nerves ! • [ 104] 
 
 Th^i^tV^ pnint in this hypothesis is . 
 T ha t ♦^^ n iin^ pi^rnpivPH the images in the 
 $^ brnjn, nnfl eyt^''"''^ "V^jp^tA only by means 
 of them. This is ,as improbable as that 
 there are such images to be' perceived IT. 
 5UJ powers of perception be not altogether 
 fiUlftCimiSr-^hfi -Objects we perceive are riot 
 mour brain, but without us.t We are so 
 far from perceiving images in the brain, 
 ^ that we do not perceive our brain at all ; 
 nor would any man ever have known that 
 he had a brain, if anatomy had not dis- 
 I covered, by dissection, that the brain is a 
 I constituent part of the human body. 
 
 To sum up what has been said with re- 
 gard to the organs of perception, and the 
 impressions made upon our nerves and 
 brain. It is a law of our nature, estab- 
 lished by the will of the Supreme Being, 
 that we perceive no external object but by 
 
 ♦ Thc«e objections to the hypolheiii in que«tion, 
 have been frequently urged both in ancient and in 
 modern time*. See Note K'.—H. 
 
 t If this I e taken literally and by itself, then, ac 
 cording to Reid, perception is not an immanent oog- 
 nitiiin ; extension and fipure are, in that a«t, not 
 merely suggested conceptions ; and, as we are perci- 
 pient of the non-ego, and, conscious of (he perception, 
 we are tberefbre conscious of the uon-ego. But lee 
 Note C— H. 
 [104, 105] 
 
 means of the organs given us for that pur- 
 pose. But these organs do not perceive. 
 The eye is the organ of sight, but it sees 
 not. A telescope is an artificial organ of 
 sight. The eye is a natural organ of sight, 
 but it sees as little as the telescope. We 
 know how the eye for ms a picture of lie 
 visible object upon the retina ; but how this 
 gicturg..ijijakg3 us see j}ie'objecl_ we know 
 not jjand if experience hadjgot ijA)xmed us 
 that such a picture is necessary to vision, 
 we_8Hould never have known it. "We can 
 give no reason why the picture on the re- 
 tina should be followed by vision, while a 
 like picture on any other part of the body 
 produces nothing like vision. 
 
 It is likewise 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 
 nerves and brain. But of the nature of J 
 those impressions we are perfectly ignorant ; ( 
 and though they are conjoined with percep- f ^^ 
 
 tion by the will of our Maker, yet it does '^^^ imM- 
 not appear that theyhave any necessary con- /^^jb «^^ 
 nection with it in their own nature, far lesa ^ * 
 that they can be the prop er effic ient cause 
 pfiti [105] We perceive, because God has 
 given us the power of perceiving, and i;ot 
 because we have impressions from objects. 
 We perceive nothing without those impres- 
 sions, because our Maker has limited and 
 circumscribed our powers of perception, by 
 such laws of Nature as to his wisdom seemed 
 meet, and such as suited our rank in his 
 creation.' 
 
 .•'.. fc^' 
 
 ♦ The doctrine of Reid and Stewart, in regard to 
 our perception of external things, bears a close ana. 
 logy to the (artesian scheme of divine assisfance, or 
 ol occasional causes. It seems, however, to coincide 
 most completely with the opinion of Ruardus Andala, 
 a Dutch Cartesian, who attempted to reconcile the 
 theory of assistance with that o( physical ivfiuence. 
 •♦StatuOj^hesays, ••nosclarissimametdistiiictissimani 
 
 hujus operationis et unionis posse habere ideutn, si 
 inodo, quod omnino fact-re oportet, ad Ueum, caus- 
 sam ejus primara et liberam ascendamus, et abejus 
 bcneplacito admiraudum hunc effectum derivemus. 
 Nos posi-umus huic vel illi motui e. gr. campane, 
 sic et hederEE suspettsae, Uteris scriptis, verbis quibus. 
 cunque pronunciatis, aliisque signis, varias ideas 
 alligare, ita, ut per visum, vel auditum in mente ex. 
 citentur variae idea, perceptiones et sensationes .• 
 annon hincclare et facile intellii?imus, Deum crea- 
 toremm ntis et corporis pofuisse instituere et on'i. 
 I are, ut per va ios in corpore rootus variae in rr.ente 
 excitentur ideae et perceptiones; et vicissini, ut pei 
 varias mentis volitione*, varii in corpore excitentur 
 ct producantur m^tus ? H nc et pro varia alter- 
 utrius partis di>positione altera pars variis motlis 
 affici potest. Hoc autem a Deo ita ordinatumet 
 effectum esse, a posteriori, continua. certissima et 
 clarissima experientia docet Testes irretragabjies 
 omnique cxceptione majores reciproci hujus com- 
 niercii, operationis mentis in corpus, et corporis in 
 nientem, nee non communionis status, sunt tensus 
 omnes turn extcni, turn interni ; ut et omnes et 
 singulx et continuae actiones mentis in corp'.'S, de 
 quibus modo fuit actum. «l quis vero a proprteta. 
 ?/Att5 mentis ad ;jropr»«a/M corporis pr^gj^'*' '^J" 'i* 
 aut cxna/Krfldiversissimarnm harum «ul>sfantiaruni 
 dedu( tre motum in corpore, & perceptiones in "'^eiite, 
 aut hos effectus ut necessano connexos spectare ; 
 naeiifrustraerit, nihil inteUiget. perve.sissimephi. 
 
 S 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [cssjLf in 
 
 CHAP, v.] 
 
 OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 259 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 fir rmcxPTioN. 
 
 Im :ipea]ci]ig of iiw impfeniiiiis made on 
 our orgms m Minptiiiii, we build upon 
 wmm borrowcKi from ■tmnomjmm physio- 
 liMry, for wMoh we hmm Hm tottimon y of 
 ov mmmm. Biit» being^ now to^ wprnk of 
 ■ mm ntton 'MmHj wUcli is aolely an act of 
 tlw niiMly _we nmst Appeal to anotner 
 anthority. 
 
 own« n ot hj icpiei t>iit by 
 
 -^^■nwTpp ■^••■fcijftlijffi ., ..„ _ *^ *!y„*..P'^* ** 
 
 ^■pil :» f i iyfw^Mftihl« a« th fil pf Rfl| | ||<] ^ 
 
 In order, however, to our having a distinct 
 notion of any of the operations of our own 
 minds, it is not enough that we be oonsoious 
 rfthem,forJlme»£iTethi.«a»doum«». 
 
 I It isfiirtber necessary tliat we attend to them 
 I wUi* they are exerted, and reflect upon them 
 
 villi. MTOi while they are recent and fresh 
 in our imemeiy. It is necessary that, by 
 iOiplflfim unfMlves frequently in this way, 
 we get the habit of this attention and rellee^ 
 
 tloo.t and, Iherelaiei te the proof of facts 
 whioii I'^anaH/have oeearinn. to 'mention upon 
 'lihla nibJMl, I can only appeal tn the' reader's 
 own thoogbti) whether such facts are not 
 agreeable to what he is conscious of in his 
 own mind. [106] 
 
 If, therefore, we attend to that act of 
 onr mind which we call the perception of an 
 «aitemal objeet of sense, we shall find in it 
 three things i — Firatf Some y on . 
 of the objec t p erceive d ; 
 
 nt e xistence : a^^gl y 
 
 iil|«it' without having some notion or con- 
 Ciftifn of liiai whieh we perceive. We 
 
 1 tm^f. indeed, coneeive an. object which we 
 do wit pereeife ; biit|. when we perceive the 
 object, we must 'have acme oonecpion of it 
 ■al the same time ; and we have commonly 
 a more dear and iteady notion of the object 
 whie' we peiMife: it,. 'Ihaa we. .have from 
 'ntiniwy or hnagliniiiiii whan it fa not per* 
 ccived. Yet, even k peroeplioii, the notion 
 idiidi our aenaes give of the object may be 
 :note or le«. 'dear, more or leaS' distinct, in 
 ai jNMilla digreea. 
 
 Thua we aee 'more dialhietly an. object at 
 a laal ttiaa at a great distance. An object 
 at a great distance is seen more distinctly in 
 
 'totapMiltiir nnllaaiQiM ii^ rai. Mean lubere po. 
 teilt aivcro ad Drain trmtorein aiiteeDdamut, 
 tmnque vne ^pioteuBtti, nib a hie cril obacurl. 
 
 iMMe iilMtiai CHirlfilnM Intclligemu*, ct qnldem per 
 
 •ilMMiitt i;|i» Kliniiii I qua pofiKtiutea tknum 
 Ml identia**— H. 
 
 '■MNI: aHVPHH '^Lwiii'''''''^^ 
 
 a clear than in a foggy day. An object 
 seen indistinctly with the naked eye, on 
 account of its smalluess, may be seen dis- 
 tinctly with a microscope. The objects in 
 this room will be seen by a person in the 
 room less and less distinctly as the light of 
 the day faik; they pass through aU the 
 various degrees of distinctness according to 
 the degrees of the light, and, at last, in 
 total darkness they are not seen at all. 
 What has been said of the objects of sight 
 is so easily applied to the objects of the 
 other aenaes, that the application may be 
 left to the r««der. 
 
 In a matter so obvious to every person 
 capable of reflection, it is necessary enly 
 farther to observe, that the notion which 
 we get of an object, merely by our external 
 sense, ought not to be confounded with that 
 more scientific notion which a man, come to 
 the years of understanding, may have of the 
 same object, by attendmg to its various 
 attributes, or to its various parts, and their 
 relation to each other, and to the whole. 
 [ 107] Thus, the notion which a child has of 
 a jack for roasting meat, will be acknowledged 
 to be very different from that of a man who 
 understands its construction, and perceives 
 the relation of the parts to one another, and 
 to the whole. The child sees the jack and 
 every part of it as well as the man. The 
 child, therefore, has all the notion of it 
 which sight gives ; whatever there is more 
 in the notion which the man forms of it, 
 must be derived from other powers of the 
 mind, which may afterwards be explained. 
 This observation is made here only that we 
 may not confound the operations of differ- 
 ent powers of the mind, which by being 
 always conjoined after we grow up to under- 
 standing, areapt to pass for oneand the same. 
 
 Seeo^/ifj In perception we not only have 
 a notion more or less distinct of the object 
 perceived, but also an irresistible conviction 
 and belief of its existence. This is alwa^ 
 thfi,^5ejvli^nL we jjvB^ certain ihat^ we ^er^ 
 ceiye it. There may be a perception so 
 faint and indistinct as to leave us in doubt 
 whether wo perceive the object or not. 
 Thus, when a star begms to twinkle aa the 
 light of the ann withdraws, one may, for a 
 short time, think be sees it without being 
 certam, untO the perception acquire some 
 strength and steadinefls. When a ship just 
 begins to appear in the utmost verge of the 
 horizon, we may at first be dubious whether 
 we perceive it or not ; but whenthe^percep- o.^j*''? 
 tion » in any degree d ear and steads, ihere r^< '^ 
 remains no doubt of its reality ; and when ^ 
 t he re ality of the^pfifccption is asce rtained. 
 the existence of the nhJAntn<»rp'AivA"^ gm, n^ 
 longer he doubted.^ *~ -| 
 
 • In thif paraftraph th«fe U a conAulon of tliat // 
 wlikli Uptreeiveaamd that which la ii^firred turn ^-^ 
 
 UMTfMaptlon.— H. 
 
 rioii. 1071 
 
 d.. 
 
 By the laws of all nations, in the most 
 solemn judicial trials, wherein men^s for- 
 tunes and lives are at stake, the sentence 
 passes according to the testimony of eye or 
 ear witnesses of good credit. An upright 
 judge will give a fair hearing to every objec- 
 tion that can be made to the integrity of a 
 witness, and allow it to be possible that he 
 may be corrupted ; but no judge will ever 
 suppose that witnesses maybe imposed upon 
 by trusting to their eyes and ears. And if 
 a sceptical counsel should plead against the 
 testimony of the witnesses, that they had 
 no other evidence for what they [108] de- 
 clared but the testimony of their eyes and 
 ears, and that we ought not to put so much 
 faith in our senses as to deprive men of life 
 or fortune upon their testimony, surely no 
 upright judge would admit a plea of this 
 kind. I believe no counsel, however scep- 
 tical, ever dared to offer such an argument ; 
 and, if it was offered, it would be rejected 
 with disdain. 
 
 Can any stronger proof be given that it 
 IB the universal judgment of mankind that 
 the evidence of sense is a kind of evidence 
 which we may securely rest upon in the 
 most momentous concerns of mankind ; 
 that it is a kind of evidence against which 
 we ought not to admit any reasoning ; and, 
 therefore, that to reason either for or agaiust 
 it is an insult to common sense ? 
 
 The whole conduct of mankind in the 
 daily occurrences of life, as well as the so- 
 lemn procedure of judicatories in the trial 
 of causes civil and criminal, demonstrates 
 this. I know only of two exceptions that 
 may be offered against this being the uni- 
 veisal belief of mankind. 
 
 The first exception is that of some luna- 
 tics who have been persuaded of things that 
 seem to contradict the clear testimony of 
 their senses. It is said there have been 
 lunatics and hypochondriacal persons, who 
 seriously believed themselves to be made of 
 glass ; and, in consequence of this, lived in 
 continual terror of having their brittle frame 
 shivered into pieces. 
 
 All I have to say to this is, that our 
 minds, in our present state, are, as well ais 
 our bodies, liable to strange disorders ; and, 
 as we do not judge of the natural constitu- 
 tion of the body from the disorders or dis- 
 eases to which it is subject from accidents, 
 so neither ought we to judge of the natural 
 powers of the mind from its disorders, but 
 from its sound state. It is natural to man, 
 and common to the species, to have two 
 hands and two feet ; yet I have seen a man, 
 and a very ingenious one, who was born 
 without either hands or feet. [109] It is 
 natural to man to have faculties superior to 
 those of brutes ; yet we see some indivi- 
 duals whose faculties are not equal to those 
 of many brutes { and the wisest man may, 
 [108-110] 
 
 by various accidents, be reduced to this 
 state. General rules that regard those 
 whose intellects are sound are not over- 
 thrown by instances of men whose intellects 
 are hurt by any constitutional or accidental 
 disorder. 
 
 The other exception that may be made 
 to the principle we have laid down is that 
 of some philosophers who have maintained 
 that the testimony of sense is fallacious, 
 and therefore ought never to be trusted. 
 Perhaps it might be a sufficient answer to 
 this to say, that there is nothing so absurd 
 which some philosophers have not main- 
 tained.* It is one thing to profess a doc- 
 trine of this kind, another seriously to be- 
 lieve it, and to be governed by it in the 
 conduct of Ufe. It is evident that a man 
 who did not believe his senses could not 
 keep out of harm's way an hour of his life ; 
 yet, in all the history of phOosophy, we 
 never read of any sceptic that ever stepped 
 into fire or water because he did not believe 
 his senses, or that shewed in the conduct of 
 life less trust in his senses than other men 
 have.-f This gives us just ground to appre- 
 hend that philosophy was never able to 
 conquer that natural belief which men have 
 in their senses ; and that all their subtile 
 reasonings against this belief were lievcr 
 able to persuade themselves. 
 
 It appears, therefore, that the clear and 
 distinct testimony of our senses carrier 
 irresistible conviction along with it to ever^ 
 man in his right judgment. 
 
 I observed, Thirdlt^ ^ That this conviction 
 is not only irresistible, but it is immediate ; 
 that is, it is not by a train of reasoning 
 and argumentation that we come to be 
 convinced of the existence of what we 
 perceive ; we ask no argument for the 
 existence of the object, but that we per- 
 ceive it; pe rception commands our belief 
 iiji>nn_jt9 Qvyrn authority, afl'j dJ^^J"" ♦" 
 
 rest its authOTityjipQi].any rfiaflonins-what* 
 soever, ij: [110] 
 
 The conviction of a truth may be irre- 
 sistible, and yet not immediate. Thus, my 
 conviction that the three angles of every 
 plain triangle are equal to two right angles, 
 is irresistible, but it is not immediate ; I 
 am convinced of it by demonstrative rea- 
 soning. There are other truths in mathe- 
 matics of which we have not only an irre- 
 sistible but an immediate conviction. Such 
 are the axioms. Our belief of the axioms 
 in mathematics is not grounded upon argu- 
 
 • A MTing of Varro.— H. 
 
 t All this we read, however, in Laertius, of Pyrrboj 
 and on the authority of Antigonus Carystiuit the 
 great sceptic's contemporary. Whether we are to 
 believe the narrative is another question.— H. 
 
 X If Rcid holds that in perception we have only a 
 conception of the Non.EfiO in the Ego, this Uelief is 
 either not the reflex of a cogninon, but- a blind faith, 
 or it is mediate, as held by Stewart.— /**» c. Est. \i 
 c 8.— H. 
 
:SM) 
 
 ON THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [lasAT ri. 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 ACCOUNT OF A PHENOMENON. 
 
 261 
 
 ..„ it«-«igiiiii«iil»^tt«'lfimiid<id upon ttiem ; 
 
 M-'fiwir evid^nee 'Ummmmd imnieduitely 
 hy tlie haman understanding. 
 
 It is, no doubt, one tlimg to have an 
 ■iwedifttft oonnotion of a Mlf-evident 
 sximi ; it h anotlier thing to^ hme an im- 
 mediato contfetion of the eiiil«oe of what 
 Wo am ; hut the conviction is equally hnme- 
 Idiate and eqiia% iirMiitihk} in both caaes. 
 |f o man thinks, df ':Mtkh|g'ft naaon to believe 
 what he sees ; and, hefofe m art ea|iable of 
 naaoniog, we put no leas conidieioe in our 
 senses than alter. The nidest savage is as 
 lyiy oonvinfled 'Of what' he sees, and hears, 
 and feels, as the most expert logician. The 
 constitution of our understanding deter- 
 mines us to hold the truth of a mathematical 
 .aximn as aiisl prineiple^ from whieh. ether 
 'tnths may he dedneed, hut il fa dsdueed 
 flpom none; and the constitution of our 
 power efpereeption determines us to hold 
 the exittoice of what we distanetly perceive 
 m m list piinsipie^ fmrn wMeh cither truths 
 ;iuiy 1M' deda«sed ; but it is deduced from, 
 nene^ What has been said of the irresls- 
 tiUe and immediate belief of the existence 
 of objects dbtmetly perceived, I mean only 
 te affiim with regiurd to persons so far ad- 
 vaneed in understanding as to distinguish 
 ohjecis of mere imaghiation from tings, 
 which have .a real existence. Every man 
 knows that he mm have a notloii of Don 
 Qsixote, or of Cifictpntii% without any 
 'hdief that such perscina ever' existed.; and 
 that of Julius CcBsar and Oliver Crom- 
 well, he has not only a notion, but a belief 
 that they did really exist [111] But 
 'Whether children, from the time that 'they 
 hegin to use their senses, make a distinction 
 between tbings^ which .are only conceived or 
 imagined, and things which really exist, 
 mav he doubted. Until we are able to 
 .male this 'disliaetbn, we cannot properly 
 he said to believe or to disbelieve the 
 existence of anything. The belief of the 
 existence of anything seems to suppose a 
 notion of exiatenee— a notion too abstract, 
 pethaps, tO' 'enter into the mind of an in- 
 mnt. I speak of the power of perception 
 in those that are adult and of a sound 
 mind,, who believe that there are some 
 'things 'whieh 'do really exist; and that there 
 are many things conceived by themselves, 
 and by others, which have no existence. 
 That' such persons do invariably ascribe 
 •xialenee toeverjthing which they distinctly 
 peieelve, without aeenng reasons or argu- 
 ments for doing so, is perfectly evident from 
 the ' whole' 'tenor of' human life. 
 
 The aeeonnt I have given of our percep- 
 tion, of external ohjeets, is intended as. a 
 lUiifU delineation of what every man, come 
 to years of understanding, and capable of 
 givimf .attention, to what passes in. his own 
 'lAiii- wmv §tM in himself. In what man- 
 
 ■*■' • - - II I Ill — " Il 
 
 nerjhe nqtion_fif_fixtenml objectSj andtiie 
 inimediiite belief of their exibtence,_i§ pE8- 
 duced by means of our »?naes» 1 am_not 
 able to sliew,.and_I do not pretend to shew. 
 If the power of perceiyhig externjj^b]ects 
 in certain circumstances, be a partofthe 
 original constitution of the human mi nd , 
 all attempts to account for it will he va in. 
 yb othe r account can be given of th e cou- 
 stitution of thjiJgs, but the will pf Him tbftt 
 mode them. As we can give no reason w hy 
 matter is extended and inert, why the mind 
 thinks and is conscious of its thoughts, but 
 tlie will of Him who made both ; so I sus- 
 pect we can give no other reason why, in 
 certain circumstances, we perceive external 
 objects, and in others do not* 
 
 Tlie Supreme Being intended that we 
 should have such knowledge of the material 
 objects that surround us, as is necessary in 
 oroer to our supplying the wants of nature, 
 and avoiding the dangers to which we are 
 constantly exposed ; and he has admirably 
 itted our powers of perception to this 
 purpose. [112] Ifthe intelligence we have 
 of external objects were to be got by 
 reasoning only, the greatest part of men 
 would be destitute of it ; for the greatest 
 part of men hardly ever learn to reason ; 
 and in infancy and childhood no man can 
 reason: Therefore, as this intelligence of 
 the obje<;ts that surround us, and from 
 which we may receive so much benefit or 
 harm, is equally necessary to children and 
 to men, to the ignorant and to the learned, 
 God in his wisdom conveys it to us in a 
 way that puts al 1 u pon a level. The inform- 
 ation of the senses is as perfect, and gives 
 as full conviction to the most ignorant as to 
 the most learned. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 WHAT IT IS TO ACCOUNT FOR A PHJBNOHBNOM 
 IN NATtJRK. 
 
 An Object placed at a proper distance, 
 and in a good light, while the eyes are shut, 
 is not perceived at all ; but no sooner do 
 we open our eyes upon it than we have, as 
 it were by inspiration, a certain knowledge 
 of its existence, of its colour, figure, and 
 distance. This is a fact which every one 
 knows. The vulgar are satisfied with know- 
 ing the fiict, and give themselves no trouble 
 al^ut the cause of it : but a philosopher is 
 impatient to know how this event is pro- 
 duced, to account for it, or assign its cause. 
 
 This avidity to know the causes of things 
 is the parent of all philosophy, true and 
 liilse. Men of speculation place a great 
 part of their happiness in such knowledge. 
 
 • 9m at>ovtt. jji 188, b» note «, and p. 190, b> note • | 
 •1 Aloe* A.»H. 
 
 [HI. 118] 
 
 \ i 
 
 m 
 
 ., 
 
 FeUx qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, 
 has always been a sentiment of human 
 nature. But, as in the pursuit of other 
 kinds of happiness men often mistake the 
 road, so in none have they more frequently 
 done it than in the philosophical pursuit of 
 the causes of things. [113] 
 
 It is a dictate of common sense, that the 
 causes we assign of appearances ought to 
 be real, and not fictions of human imagina- 
 tion. It is likewise self-evident, that such 
 causes ought to be adequate to the effects 
 that are conceived to be produced by them. 
 
 That those who are less accustomed to 
 inquiries into the causes of natural appear- 
 ances, may the better understand what it 
 b to shew the cause of such appearances, 
 or to account for them, I shall borrow a 
 plain instance of a phsenomenon or appear- 
 ance, of which a full and satisfactory ac- 
 count has been given. The phaenomenon 
 is this : That a stone, or any lieavy body, 
 falling from a height, continually increases 
 its velocity as it descends ; so that, if it 
 acquire a certain velocity in one second of 
 time, it will have twice that velocity at the 
 end of two seconds, thrice at the end of 
 three seconds, and so on in proportion to 
 the time. This accelerated velocity in a 
 stone falling must liave been observed from 
 the beginning of the world ; but the first 
 person, as far as we know, who accounted 
 for it in a proper and philosophical manner, 
 was the famous Galileo, after innumer^ 
 able false and fictitious accounts had been 
 given of it. 
 
 He observed, that bodies once put in 
 motion continue that motion with the same 
 velocity, and in the same direction, until 
 they be stopped or retarded, or have the 
 direction of their motion altered, by some 
 force impressed upon them. This property 
 of bodies is called their inertia^ or inac- 
 tivity; for it implies no more than that 
 bodies cannot of themselves change their 
 state from r 3st to motion, or from motion 
 to rest He observed also, that gravity acts 
 constantly and equally upon a body, and 
 therefore will give equal degrees of velocity 
 to a body in equal times. From these 
 principles, which are known from experi- 
 ence to be fixed laws of nature, Galileo 
 shewed that heavy bodies must descend 
 with a velocity uniformly accelerated, as 
 by experience they are found to do. [114] 
 
 For if the body by its gravitation ac- 
 quire a certain velocity at the end of one 
 second, it would, though its gravitation 
 should cease that moment, continue to go on 
 with that velocity ; but its gravitation con- 
 tinues, and will in another second give it an 
 additional velocity, eqiial to that which it gave 
 in the first ; so that the whole velocity at 
 the end of two seconds, will be twice as great 
 as at the end of one. In like manner, this 
 ri 13-1 151 
 
 velocity being continued through the third 
 second, and having the same addition by 
 gravitation as in any of the preceding, the 
 whole velocity at the end of the third second 
 will be thrice as great as at the end of the 
 first, and so on continually. 
 
 We may here observe, that the causes 
 assigned of this phaenomenon are two : First, 
 That bodies once put in motion retain their 
 velocity and their direction, until it is changed 
 by some force impressed upon them. Se- 
 condlyy That the weight or gravitation of a 
 body is always the same. These are laws 
 of Nature, confirmed by universal experi- 
 ence, and therefore are not feigned but true 
 causes. Then, they are precisely adequate 
 to the effect ascribed to them ; they must 
 necessarily produce that very motion in 
 descending bodies which we find to take 
 place ; and neither more nor less. The 
 account, therefore, given of this phsenom- 
 non, is just and philosophical ; no other 
 will ever be required or admitted by those 
 who understand this. 
 
 It ought likewise to be observed, that 
 the causes assigned of this phaenomenon, 
 are things of which we can assign no cause. 
 Why bodies once put in motion continue to 
 move — why bodies constantly gravitate to- 
 wards the earth with the same force — no 
 man has been able to shew : these are facts 
 confirmed by universal experience, and 
 they must no doubt have a cause ; but their 
 cause is unknown, and we call them laws 
 of Nature, because we know no cause of 
 them, but the will of the Supreme Being. 
 
 But may we not attempt to find the cause 
 of gravitation, and of other pbaenomena, 
 which we call laws of Nature ? No doubt 
 we may. [115] We know not the limit which 
 has been set to human knowledge, and our 
 knowledge of the works of God can never 
 be carried too far. But, supposing gravita- 
 tion to be accounted for, by an a^tliereal 
 elastic medium, for instance, this can only be 
 done, fintf by proving the existence and the 
 elasticity of this medium ; and, secondly, 
 by shewing that this medium must neces- 
 sarily produce that gravitation which bodies 
 are known to have. Until this be done, 
 gravitation is not accounted for, nor is 
 its cause known; and when this is done, 
 the elasticity of this medium will be consi- 
 dered as a law of nature whose cause is 
 unknown. Th e chain of nat ural causes has, 
 not unfitly^ been compared to achainliang- 
 Ing down from heaven. : ^ a. liuk_that is. jiig- 
 covered supports the links below ifc, .but Jt 
 must itself be supported ; ^nd that_wliich 
 supporls'Titrmusl; hi&lsuppnrtefT, nntlFwe 
 come to the first link, which is su pported 
 by the throne of the Al.mi;j^hty. Every na- 
 tural cause_must have a^ cause, until we 
 ascejid to the first cause^ which is u ncafised . 
 and operates not by necessity but byjoll- 
 
 J 4f..* v,.,|'il. A 
 
 C^Xp^ 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 fElflAT IL 
 
 By 'Vlwt bat lieai mM in lUt chapter, 
 tlMMt wlM am but little Msqiuiiiited with 
 
 'pUfMOIiliial. inquiriei}, may seo what is 
 •Miiit Igr accomiting for a phaenomeiioii, 
 
 Hff' dMvripff' ita isanse, wbkk mAi to be well 
 mileialiMil, is mim to judge of 'the theories 
 % wiieli pHlfMophan. .ha^e attampted to 
 aMoimt for our peimplioii of extnilob- 
 JMli by the aensoe. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 ■BNTIMBNTS* OF PHII^SOPHBEfl ABOUT THE 
 
 f BECsraoN or nnaNAL objbcts ; and, 
 
 WmM(r,09 VBI TBlOaV op father UMM" 
 WtUkMMMm'f' 
 
 How the iMifai|MiiidaiMSO' it eanried on 
 between tlietiiiiildng''piiiMiii^ within. u% and 
 the material imM wMiont na, has always 
 been found a very difficult problem to thoiie 
 '|iUleiii|iher8 who think thenaelires obliged 
 to aMoniil for every phtenmnenon in nature. 
 [110] Many philosophera, ancient and 
 qiodem, have employed the^ invention to 
 diioover how we are made to perceive ex- 
 ternal objects by oar senies; and there 
 .appears to be^ a very great unilbrmity in 
 their aenfinenls 'in the main, notwithstand- 
 ingtbeir variations in particular points. 
 
 Fkto Olnatratesour manner of perceiving 
 iheohjeets of sense, in this manner. He 
 anppoies a dark subterraneous cave, in 
 whieh men he bound in such a manner 
 that they eaa direct their eym only to one 
 part of the cave : far bemod, there is a 
 igbty some rays of whieh eone over a wall 
 tH' thai' 'part' off the mve 'whieh is before the 
 eyesof our 'prisoners. A number of per^ 
 sons, variously employed, pas between 
 tlwn. and the light, whoaa .sbadowB are seen 
 % <he' prisoners, but not tlie penniis them- 
 
 In this manner, thai philosopher con- 
 'Osived tliat, by our aenisi, we perceive the 
 :iliadiiWB 'Of tningiB only, and not things 
 'lhanisdivea.. He seems to have borrowed 
 his notions on this subject, from the Pytha- 
 goreans, and they very probably from Py- 
 inasmia himself. If we make allO'Wmnce 
 te'Philo^ allegorical genius, his sentiments 
 on this subject, correspond very well with 
 
 • Semitmattt m here and •ImrlMfe' tniloTed bf 
 Reid, in the metiiiliig oTafiliiiiii, fjumimiia,) is not 
 in to iniitaiti. There tre, uiidoabtodlr, precedents 
 to l« iiliail Unt rach UMft In Englbh writera ; and, In 
 tto' Fraiclii moA Itaiim languatra. ihU is ooc of the 
 
 'f II !■ mC' wif ' to coneelTe by what principle the 
 oraer of Hit ll'Matf of opinions touching Pfereeption, 
 ctmiaiiMil In the nine foUowing chaptera, is deter. 
 
 ■gllMi It la wadmiliological, and it is not systematic 
 Of'thiH^tlliiOllMh Hwre is a very able survey, by M. 
 Hvmr Cotlaid. amoiif the fragmenti of bis lectures, 
 
 ll llitliivil votuinoof Jooffiroy's " Ocuvrca de Reid." 
 TllSt iittinguliMI.|iUioi(M>bcr baa» however, placed 
 
 tt a reli'MMiii Upon tiW' accuracf of Reid.— 'H. 
 
 those of his scholar, Aristotle, and of the 
 Peripatetics. The shadows of Plato may 
 very well represent the species and phan- 
 tasms of the Peripatetic school, and the 
 ideas and impressions of modern phUo- 
 sophers.* 
 
 • Thlf interpretation of the meaning of Plato^ 
 comparison of the cave exhibits a curious mistake* 
 in which Keid is followed by Mr Stewart and many 
 others, and which, it is remarkable, has never vet 
 been detected. In the similitude mi question, (which 
 will be found In the seventh book of ttie Republic*) 
 Plato is supposed to intend an illustration of tbe 
 mode in which the shadows or vicarious images of 
 external tilings are admitted into the mind— to 
 tvpliy, in short, an hypothesis of sensitive perception. 
 On I Ills supposition, the identity of the Platonic* 
 Pythagorean, and Peripatetic theories of this pro. 
 oew Is inferred. Nothing can, however, be more 
 gronndlcM than the supposition ; nothing more erro. 
 neous than the inference. By his cave, images^ and 
 $hadotos, Pinto meant simply to illustrate the grand 
 principle of his philosophy — that the Sensible or Ec. 
 typal world, (phaenomenal, transitory, ytyrefjttiit*, •» 
 Mm fii) •»,) stands to the Noetic or Archetypal, (sub. 
 •tantial, i>ermanent. «»TA»f »*,) in the same relation 
 of comparative unreality, in which the shadows cifthe 
 fmofff of sensible existences themselves, stand to the 
 things of which they are the dim and distant adum. 
 brations. In the language of an illustrious poet^ — 
 "An nescis, quscunque beic sunt* que bac oocfet 
 
 teguntur* 
 Omnia ret pronus veru non esse, scd umbras, 
 Aut specula, unde ad nos aliena elucet imago ? 
 llerra quidem, et marla alU, atque bia ciicumiuut 
 
 aer, 
 Et qua: consistunt ex lis, haec omnia tenueii 
 Sunt umbrae, humanos qua tanquam tomnla qiui* 
 
 dam 
 Pertingunt animos, fallaci et imagine ludunt, 
 Nunquam eadem, fliixu semper variata perenni. 
 Sol auteni, Lunsque globus, Ailgentiaque astra 
 <!aitera, sint quamvis nieliori prsdita vita, 
 Et donata levo immortal i, hsc ipsa tamen sunt 
 iEtemi specula, in quae animus, qui est inde profeo. 
 
 tus, 
 Inspiciens, palris quodam quasi tactui amore* 
 Ardescit. Verum quoniam heic non perstat et ultra 
 Nescio quid sequitur secum, tacitusque requirit, 
 Nosse licet circum h«c ipsuni consistere verum, 
 Non finem : scd enim esse aliud quid, cujus imago 
 Splendet In iii, quod per se ipsum est* et principium 
 
 OHAP. ¥11.] 
 
 SENTIMENTS ABOUT PERCEPTION. 
 
 263 
 
 amnibm sternum, ante omnem numerumque diem. 
 
 que; 
 In quo alium Sblem atque allam iplendescere Lu. 
 
 nam 
 Adspicias, aliosque orbes, alia aitra manere. 
 Terramque, fluviosque alios, atque aera, et ignem* 
 Et nemora, atque aliis errare anini.ilia silvis." 
 
 And as the comparison is misunderstood, so no* 
 thing can be conceived more advrrse to the doctrine 
 of Plato than the theory it is supposed to elucidate. 
 Plotinus* indeed, formally refutes, as contrary to the 
 Platonic, the very livpothesis thus attributed to hia 
 master. (Enn. IV, I. vi.,cc. I.,3.) The doctrineof 
 tbe Platonists on this j>oint has been almost wholly 
 neglected ; and the author among them whose work 
 contains its most articulate developcment has been 
 so completely overlooked, lioth by scholars and phi. 
 losoptiers, that hi, work is of the rarest, while even 
 bis name is mentioned in no history of ^>hilosopliy« 
 Ir is here sufficient to state, that the t/^AiXat, the 
 A»y« y»<wr«J5«i, the forms representative of external 
 things, and corresponding to the species tenUles fn. 
 prrssit of the schoolmen, were not hfld by the Plato. 
 nists to be derived from without. Prior to the act ol 
 I>erception, they have a latent but real existence in 
 tbe soul ; and, by the impassive energy of the mind 
 itself* are elicited into consciousness, on occasion of the 
 impression {m4*v<ri(,^x6»(,iiu,^»«-*<) made on theexter. 
 nai organ, and of ihc viral furm {C»i>riKc* i7S«f), in con- 
 sequence thereof, cublimated in the animal life. The 
 ▼eraca of Boethius, which have been so frequently 
 ttliundentood. conUin an accurate statement of the 
 Platonic theory of peiccptloa After leftiting the 
 
 11161 
 
 <iif 1 
 
 I 
 
 Two thousand years after Plato, Mr 
 Locke, who studied tbe operations of the 
 human mind so much, and with so great 
 success, represents our manner of perceiving 
 external objects,, by a simUitude very much 
 resembling that of the cave. " Metliinks," 
 says he, "the understanding is not much 
 unlike a closet wholly shut from light, with 
 only some little opening left, to let in exter- 
 nal visible resemblances or ideas of things 
 without. Would the pictures coming into 
 such a dark room but stay there, and lie so 
 orderly as to be found upon occasion, it 
 would very much resemble the under- 
 standing of a man, in reference to all objects 
 of sight, and the ideas of them. " [ 1 1 7 J 
 
 Plato*8 subterranean cave, and Mr Locke*s 
 dark closet, may be applied with ease to all 
 the systems of perception that have been 
 invented: for they all suppose that we 
 perceive not external objects immediately, 
 and that the immediate objects of percep- 
 tion are only certain shadows of the ex- 
 ternal objects. Those shadows or images, 
 which we immediately perceive, were by 
 the ancients called species, forms, phan- 
 tasms. Since the time of Des Cartes, they 
 have commonly been called ideas, and by 
 Mr Hume, impressions. But all philoso- 
 phers, from Plato to Mr Hume, agree in 
 this. That we do not perceive external ob- 
 jects immediately, and that the immediate 
 object of perception must be some image 
 present to the mind.* So far there ap- 
 
 Stoical doctrine of the passivity of mind in this pro- 
 cess, he proceeds :— 
 
 " Mens est efficiens magis 
 
 Ix)nge cau^a potentior, 
 
 Quam quae matei isa modo 
 
 Impressat patilur notas. 
 
 Preecedit tamen excitans 
 
 Ac vires animi movens 
 
 Vivo in cor pore passio. 
 
 Cum vel lux oculos ferit, 
 
 Vel vox auribus instrepit: 
 
 Tum mentis vigor excitus 
 
 Quai ill tus species tcnet^ 
 
 Ad motus similes vocaiis* 
 
 Notis appiicat exteris, 
 
 Jntrorsumque recondttis 
 
 Formis miscet imagines." 
 1 cannot now do more than indicate the contrast 
 of this doctrine to the Peripatetic (I do not say Aris. 
 totelian) theory, and its approximation to the Carte- 
 sian and Leibnitzian hypotheses; which, however, 
 both attempt to explain, what the Platonic did not— 
 how the mind, ex hypothesis above all physical in. 
 Huence, is determined, on the presence of the un. 
 known reality within the sphere a{ sense ^ to call into 
 consciousness the representation through which that 
 reality is made known to us. I may add, that not 
 merely the Platonists, but some of the older Peripa- 
 tetics held that the soul virtually contained within it- 
 self representative forms, which were only excited 
 by the external reality ; as Theophrastus and The. 
 ttiifttius, to say nothing of the Platonixing Porphyry, 
 Simplicius and Ammonius Hermiae ; and the same 
 opinion, adopted probably from the latter, by his 
 pupil, the Arabian Adclandus, subsequently lie. 
 came even tbe common doctrine of the Mooiish 
 Aristotelians. 
 
 I shall afterwards have occasion to notice that 
 Bacon has also wrested Plato's simiiiiudeuf the cave 
 fi'om its genuine signification.— H. 
 • This is not correct. There were philosophers 
 
 [117, 118T 
 
 pears an imanimity, rarely to be fonnd among 
 philosophers on such abstruse points.* 
 
 If it should be asked, Whether, accord- 
 ing to the opinion of philosophers, we per- 
 ceive the images or ideas only, and infer the 
 existence and qualities of the external ob- 
 ject from what we perceive in the image ; 
 or, whether we really perceive the external 
 object as well as its image ? — the answer 
 to this question is not quite obvious. -f* 
 
 On the one hand, phUosophers, if we ex- 
 cept Berkeley and Hume, believe the ex- 
 istence of external objects of sense, and call 
 them objects of perception, though not im- 
 mediate objects. But what they mean by 
 a mediate object of perception I do not find 
 clearly explained : whether they suit their 
 language to popular opinion, and mean that 
 we perceive external objects in that figura- 
 tive sense in which we say that we perceive 
 an absent friend when we look on his pic- 
 ture ; or whether they mean that, really, 
 and without a figure, we perceive both the 
 external object and its idea in the mind. 
 If the last be their meaning, it would follow 
 that, in every instance of perception, there 
 is a double object perceived: [118] that 
 I perceive, for instance, one sun in the 
 heavens, and another in my own mind.:{: 
 But I do not find that they affirm this ; 
 and, as it contradicts the experience of all 
 mankind, I will not impute it to them. 
 
 It seems, therefore, that their opinion is, 
 That we do not really perceive the external 
 object, but the internal only ; and that, when 
 they speak of perceiving external objects, 
 they mean it only in a popular or in a figur- 
 ative sense, as above explained. Several 
 reasons lead me to think this to be the 
 opinion of philosophers, beside what is 
 mentioned above. First, If we do really 
 perceive the external object itself, there 
 seems to be no necessity, no use, for an 
 image of it. Secondly, Since the time of 
 Des Cartes, philosophers have very gene- 
 rally thought that the existence of external 
 objects of sense requires proof, and can only 
 be proved from the existence of their ideas. 
 Thirdly, The way in which philosophers 
 speak of ideas, seems to imply that they 
 are the only objects of perception. 
 
 who held a purer and preciser doctrine of immediate 
 perception than Reid himself contemplated. — H. 
 
 41 Reid him'^elf, like the philosophers in general, 
 really holds, that we do not perceive external things 
 immediately, if he does not allow us a consciousness 
 of the non-ego. It matters not whether the external 
 reality 1)6 represented in a lertium quid, or in a mo- 
 ditication of the mind itself; In eitiier case, it is not 
 known in itself, but in something numerically dif- 
 ferent.— H. 
 
 + Nothing can be clearer than would he this answer, 
 —in perception, the external reality, (the mediate 
 object,) is only known to us in a'>d thiough theim. 
 mediate object, r. <■., the representation of which we 
 are conscious, jis exitinp, and beyond the sphere of 
 confciousne»s, the external reality i< unknown. —H. 
 
 t " Et solem geminum tt duplices »e ostendere 
 Thebas!"— H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 264 
 
 MftTlng m^mmmmi to expkiE what is 
 ,aiiiiiiiMm ti> pMlnwiplieW' in accomntrng for 
 iMr 'periiqitloii of external objects, we simil 
 five «ome detail of their differencea. 
 
 Th« Mean by which wo perceive oxtofniil 
 oMwsts, are eaM by nome to be the ideas of 
 ni IMty t bum has hmm^mm generally 
 iwidht, that iwirj man's ideas mm proper 
 It Uiiiself, and are either in his mind, or 
 in his «#iiforiii«, where the mind is unme- 
 ^lictiiy'IinMiiiit. Tlie /r«l is the theory of 
 ;|ia]«£iMiiiie i the mmmd we ihai. 'fiill tho^ 
 oohhmh 'theory. 
 
 With re^ird to that of llal0bniiiiili«i it 
 teems to have some affinity with the Phi- 
 ionio notion of ideas,* bnt is not the same. 
 flat© believed that there are three eternal 
 ifftt principles, from which all things have 
 their origin— matter, ideas, and an efficient 
 HMse. Matter is that of which aU things 
 are ■vmMf which, by all the ancient philo- 
 ■ophoia, was ooneeived to he eternal. 1119] 
 Ites are forms without matter of every 
 kind of thinp wWch can e»st ; which fonns 
 van) .also concnivnd by Pfeto to be eternal 
 ■ai ■ImmntaMe, wd to he the models or 
 patterns by which the efficient canse— that 
 £7 the Deity— formed every part of this 
 nniverse. These ideas were conceived to 
 Im the sole objects of idence, and mdeed 
 of »U true knowledge. While we are im- 
 prisoned In the body, wo are prone to give 
 attention to the olijects of sense only ; but 
 these being individual tbinfi, and in a con- 
 ■lanl ftnctnation, being indeed shadows 
 father than realities, cannot be the object 
 of real knowledge. All sdenoo is employed 
 not aboml individma Hiiiiii, but about 
 fhiiiniinlvenal. and abstraut from matter. 
 Tmm. Im etenial and immutable, and there- 
 fore must have for ita object eternal and 
 Immutable ideas; these we are capftble of 
 iKiiitenplating in some degree even m^our 
 pfesenl atate, but not without a «»™° 
 pifiieation of mind, and abstraction firom 
 the objects of sense. Such, as far aa I am 
 tbfe to oomfiehiiicl, were the ijmmie 
 ■otiona of Plato, and probably of Pytlia- 
 
 IWBBAY If. 
 
 The philosophers of the Alexandrian 
 school, commonly ■died. th# Iptter Plato- 
 nista, seem to have adopted th© same sys- 
 tem; but with this difference, that they 
 made the eternal ideas not to be a pnnoiple 
 distinct from the Deity, hut to be in the 
 divine imteltoct, as the objects of those con- 
 eeptiona which the divine mind must, from 
 all' etewity, h ave had, not only of every 
 
 • TlitPlstoalB thmm of /*«<». '»«"°*!';"»iSjj!* 
 with a d«!tfl*w of MjniittircpercciitMiii ; and "•!«>"«• 
 
 fiiaions while. "» regawHo ieofitWe pCTceimon, ine 
 
 anssi.?!?. hf much f"«^?,5i^x «ii;r'.«d 
 
 flalMio than the cotnmoii laru»i»n ineory, ana 
 
 llw Lf lliniiaian.— H. 
 
 thing which he has made, bnt of every pos- 
 sible existence, and of aU the relations of 
 things.* By a proper purification and 
 abstraction from the objects of sense, we 
 may bo in some measure united to the 
 Deity, and, in the eternal light, be enabled 
 to diaoem the moot sublime mteUectual 
 
 truHia. J, . 
 
 These Platonic notions, grafted upon 
 Christianity, probably gave "«» to the 
 sect called Mystics, which, though m its 
 spirit and principles extremely opposite to 
 the Peripatetic, yet was never extmguished, 
 but subsists to this day. [1201 
 
 Many of the Fathers of the Christian 
 church have a tincture of the tenets of the 
 Alexandrian school; among others, St 
 Augustine. But it does not appear, aa far 
 as I know, that either Plato, or the latter 
 Pktonists, or St Augustine, or the Mystics, 
 thought that we perceive the objects of 
 sense in the divine ideas. They had too 
 mean a notion of our perception of sensible 
 objects to ascribe to it so high an origin. 
 This theory, therefore, of our perceiving 
 the objects of sense in the ideas of the 
 Deity, I take to be the invention of Father 
 Malebranche luraself. He, indeed, brings 
 many passages of St Augustine to counte- 
 nance it, and seems very desirous to have 
 that Father of his party. But in those 
 paasageSy though the Father speaks in a 
 veryligh strain of God's being the light of 
 our minds, of our being illuminated imme- 
 diately by the eternal light, and uses other 
 similar expressions ; yet he seems to apply 
 those expressions only to our illumination 
 in moral and divine things, and not to the 
 perception of objects by the senses. Mr 
 Bayle imagines that some traces of this 
 opinion of Malebranche are to be found in 
 Amelius the Pktonist, and even in Demo- 
 critus; but his authorities seem to be 
 strained, t ^ . 
 
 Malebranche, with a very penetrating 
 genius, entered into a more minute examin- 
 ation of the powers of the human mind, 
 than any one before him. H e had the advan- 
 tage of the discoveries made by Des Cartes, 
 whom he followed withodt slavish attach- 
 
 He hiys it down as a principle admitted 
 by all philosophers, and which could not 
 be called in question, that we do not per- 
 ceive external objects immediately, but by 
 means of images or ideas of them present 
 to the mmd. " I suppose," says he, " that 
 
 • And thif, though Ariitotte aiwerti the contrary, 
 was Dcrhapa alio the il«»ctrine of Plato.— H. 
 
 t ^he theory of Malebranche ha<« been vainly 
 -ought for in the Bible, the PlatonisU, and the Father4 
 It 18 in fact, more clearly enounced in Homer thatt 
 In aiy of these graver wurcet 
 
 T«7« y»j »••< trt» i»ix»«»'«;» *»?«•*•*•. 
 
 But for aiillcipalloni, wx" N oie P.- li 
 
 [11!>, 120J 
 
 J 
 
 ♦!* 
 
 diAP. vn.] SBNTIMENTS ABOUT EXTERNAL OBJECTS. 265 
 
 every one will grant that we perceive not 
 tlie objects that are without us immediately, 
 and of themselves." We see the sun, the 
 stars, and an infinity of objects without us ; 
 and it is not at all likely that the soul sal- 
 lies out of the body, and, as it were, takes a 
 walk through the heavens, to contemplate 
 all those objects. [121] She sees them not, 
 therefore, by themselves; and the imme- 
 diate object of the mind, when it sees the 
 sun, for example, is not the sun, but some- 
 thing which is intimately united to the 
 soul ; and it is that which I call an idea. 
 So that by the word ideoj I understand 
 nothing else here but that which is the im- 
 mediate object, or nearest to the mind, 
 when we perceivef any object.^ It ought 
 to be carefully observed, that, in order to 
 the mind's perceiving any object, it is abso- 
 lutely necessary that the idea of that ob- 
 ject be actually present to it. Of this it 
 
 is not possible to doubt 
 
 The things which the soul perceives are of 
 two kinds. They are either in the soul, or 
 they are without the souL Those that are 
 in the soul are its own thoughts— that is to 
 say, all its different modifications. [For 
 by these words— /Aom^A/, manner of thinks 
 hig, or modification of the soul, I under- 
 stand in general whatever cannot be in the 
 mind without the mind perceiving it, as its 
 proper sensations, its imaginations, its pure 
 intellections, or simply its conceptions, its 
 
 passions even, 
 
 and its natural inclina- 
 
 tions. ] § The soul has no need of ideas for 
 perceiving these things. || But with regard 
 to things without the soul, we cannot per- 
 ceive them but by means of ideas. "i[ 
 
 Having laid this foundation, as a prin- 
 ciple common to all philosophers, and which 
 admits of no doubt, he proceeds to enume- 
 rate all the possible ways by which the ideas 
 of sensible objects may be presented to the 
 mmd : Either, fi'st, they come from the 
 bodies which we perceive ;• • or, secondly, the 
 soul has the power of producing thera in it- 
 self ;tt or, thirdly, they are produced by the 
 
 • Rather in or by themsdves {par eu* mime$.) 
 
 ♦ "That ii, ill the language of philosophers before 
 Held, •• where we have the apprehensive cognition 
 or consciousness of any object. ' — H. 
 
 t In this liefinitjon, all philosophers concur, ues 
 Cartes, Locke, &c., give it in almost the same terms. 
 |j 
 
 I l have inserted this sentence, omitted by Reid, 
 from the original, in order to ^hew in how exten- 
 sive a meaning the term thought wa-* used in the 
 Cartesian school See Cartesii iTinc, P. l.,\ «•—"• 
 
 II Henre the distinction precisely taken by Male. 
 branche ot Idea {iddt-) and Feeling, {ientiment, )cor. 
 responding in principle to our Perception ot the 
 primary, and our Sensation of the secondary quahties 
 
 "~t he la Recherche dela Veriti. Liv. III., Partie 
 
 11., ch. I.— H. ..... «« u 
 
 •• The common Peripatetic doctrine, &c --H. 
 4+ Malebranche refers, 1 i)resume, to the opinions 
 
 of certain Cartesians. See Gassendi Opera, iii. p 32 1 . 
 
 [li\, 122] 
 
 Deity, either in our creation, or occasionally, 
 as there is use for them ;* or, fourthly, the 
 soul has in itself virtually and eminently, as 
 the schools speak, all the perfections which 
 it perceives in bodies ;t or, fifthly, the soul 
 is united with a Being possessed of all per- 
 fection, who has in himself the ideas of all 
 created things. 
 
 This he takes to be a complete enumera- 
 tions of all the possible ways in which the 
 ideas of external objects may be presented 
 to our minds. He employs a whole chapter 
 upon each ; refuting the four first, and con- 
 firming the last by various arguments. 
 The Deity, being always present to our 
 minds in a more intimate manner than any 
 other being, may, upon occasion of the im- 
 pressions made on our bodies, discover to us, 
 as far as he thinks proper, and according 
 to fixed laws, his own ideas of the object ; 
 and thus we see all things in God, or in the 
 divine ideas.$ [122] 
 
 However visionary this system may ap- 
 pear on a superficial view, yet, when we 
 consider that he agreed with the whole tribe 
 of philosophers in conceiving ideas to be the 
 immediate objects of perception, and that 
 he found insuperable difiiculties, and even 
 absurdities, in every other hypothesis con- 
 cerning them, it will not appear so wonder- 
 ful that a man of very great genius should 
 fall into thb ; and, probably, it pleased 
 so devout a man the more, that it sets, in 
 the most striking light, our dependence upon 
 God, and his continual presence with us. 
 
 He distinguished, more accurately than 
 any philosopher had done before, the objects 
 which we perceive from the sensations in 
 our own minds, which, by the laws of 
 Nature, always accompany the perception 
 of the object As in many things, so par- 
 ticularly in this, he has great merit. For 
 this, I apprehend, is a key that opens the 
 way to a right understanding, both of our 
 external senses and of other powers of the 
 mind. The vulgar confound sensation with 
 other powers of the mind, and with theur 
 objects, because the purposes of life do not 
 make a distinction necessary. The con- 
 founding of these in common language, has 
 led philosophers, in one period, to make 
 those things external which really are sens- 
 ations in our own minds ; and, in another 
 period, running, as i s usual, into the con- 
 
 "inDpinio* 8 analogous to the second or third, were 
 held by the Platonists, by some of the Greek, and 
 by many of the Arabian Aristotelians. See t-bove, p. 
 
 *'+ StomethinT similar to this is hazarded by Des 
 Cartes in his Third •' Meditation, 'which it is likely 
 that Malebranche had in his eye— H. 
 
 ? It should havcbet-n noticed that .he MalebrancI - 
 ian philosophy is fundami ntally fa'^fsian, and that, 
 aftef De la Forge and Geulinx, the doctrine ol 
 Divine Assistance, implicitly maintained by Ues 
 Cartes, was most ably developed by Malebranche. to 
 whom it owes, ,ndeed, a principal share of its ceU 
 brity.-H. 
 
266 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [bsiat n 
 
 to be » MneKHon or feeimf in ©iir minclfl. 
 It is obvious tiiat the system of Male- 
 
 bniMiMi Immm no evidence of the existence 
 of AHllterial worid, from what we perceive 
 l^mr senses; for the divine ideas, which 
 ■re the objects immediately perceived, were 
 1km same before the world was created. 
 .JMUMnnnehe' was too .aente not to discern 
 'CliliiMiiisei|iMnM' of his system., and too oan- 
 'ild nut to'aalaiiiirleige it [ 1 23] He liiirly 
 owns it, and emdsavours to make advantage 
 of it, testing 'the eomflete evidence we have 
 of the eiistenee of 'matter upon tbs' author- 
 'ity of levehiion.^ He shews^ tint 'the argn- 
 meats brought by Des Cartes to prove the 
 existence' m a material world, though as^ 
 
 'flnflflo' AJI ILiri'lf' 'fttlSL^ TVNUDtflTI i''!lillfflll1 'ffilfllfVVI'linlll JAVA 
 
 ■et perfeeilly 'eonduslve ; and, 'though lie 
 aefaMiwie%ee with Des Carles thai 'we feel 
 a strong propensity to believe the existence 
 of m material world, yet he thinks this is 
 not sufficient ; and that to yield to such 
 propensities 'Without evidence, is to expose 
 ourselves to perpetual delusion. He thinks, 
 therefore, that the only convincing evidence 
 ve have of the eiiatenes of a material world 
 .1% Ihat^ 've are' assured, by revelation that 
 CM eteated the heavens and the earth, 
 and that the Word was made flesh, lie is 
 ■enaiblii' 'Of the ridieule to which so strange 
 an. opinion 'may expose him. among those 
 u^o are guided by prejudice $ 'hut, nr 'the 
 ■ake of troth, he is willing to bear it. But 
 no author, not even Bishop Berkeley, hath 
 idiewn more' clearly, thai, either upon his 
 nwa. .mraleni,, or 'upon the common pnnciplcs 
 of 'philosopnefs with re|ard to ideas, we 
 have no evidence left, either from reason 
 or from our senses, of the existence of a 
 material world. It is no more than J wtice 
 to^ Father Matehmnehe, 'to ^telaMwieiigetliat 
 Bishop Berkeley's arguments are to be 
 found in him in their whole force. 
 
 Mr Norris, an English divine, enooied. 
 'the system of Malebranche, hi his * *Easay 
 towards the Theory of the Ideal or Intol- 
 Jectnal World,** pnblbhed in two volumes 
 T^ mmm 1701. This author has made a 
 teble effort to' supply a defeet^ which is to 
 lie found not ;iii Malebianclie only, but in 
 almost all the authors who have treated of 
 ideas— I mean, to prove their existence.* 
 He has employed a whole chapter to prove 
 that matorial tnings cannot be an immediate 
 object of perception. His arguments are 
 these : i«l. They are without the mind, and, 
 therefore there can be no union between the 
 oljeist and the perception. 2<%, They are 
 disproporlioned to the mind, and removed 
 
 • 'This. .!■ tncorrecl. In alm<»t every lysteiii of 
 the ArMoMtaMciOlaftlc iihilosophy, the attempt ii 
 ma^ lopnif » lit taitleiice of Species ; nor U Reld'i 
 anvitliiii tnit evta «r falciui in the Cartesian philoso. 
 |Aj. la iMl, Monriili arguments are all old and 
 
 '"" I, "HJI 
 
 from It by the whole diameter of bemg. 
 M^, Because, if material objects were 
 immediate objects of perception, there could 
 be no physical science; things necessary 
 and immutable being the only objects of 
 science. [124] 4^A/y, If material things were 
 perceived by themselves, they would be a 
 true light to our minds, as being the intel- 
 ligible form of our understandings, and con- 
 sequently perfective of them, and, indeed, 
 superior to them. 
 
 Malebranche*8 system was adopted by 
 many devout people in France of both 
 sexes ; but it seems to have had no great 
 currency in other countries. Mr Locke 
 wrote a small tract against it, which is 
 found among his posthumous works:* but, 
 whether it was written in haste, or after 
 the vigour of his understanding was im- 
 paired b^ age, there is less of strength and 
 solidity m it than in most of his writings. 
 The most formidable antagonist Male- 
 branche met with was in his own country — 
 Antony Arnauld, doctor of the Sorbonne, 
 and one of the acutest writers the Jansenists 
 have to boast of, though that sect has pro- 
 duced many. Malebranche was a Jesuit, 
 and the antipathy between the Jesuits and 
 Jansenists left him no room to expect 
 quarter from his learned antagonisL-f* Those 
 who choose to see this system attacked on 
 the one hand, and defended on the other, 
 with subtilty of argument and elegance of 
 expression,^ and on the part of Arnauld 
 with much wit and humour, may find satis- 
 faction by reading Malebranche's " Enquury 
 after Truth ;'* Arnauld's book " Of True and 
 False Ideas ;** Malebranche*s *' Defence ;** 
 and some subsequent replies and defences. 
 In controversies of this kind, the assailant 
 commonly has the advantage, if they are 
 not unequally matched ; for it is easier to 
 overturn all the theories of philosophers 
 upon this subject, than to defend any one 
 of them. Mr Bayle makes a very just re- 
 mark upon this controversy— that the argu- 
 ments of Mr Arnauld against the svstem of 
 Malebranche, were often unanswerable, but 
 
 • In answer to I^ocke's «« Examination of P. Male. 
 Iiranche*s Opinion,** Leibnitt wrote " Remarks/ 
 which are to be found among his posthumous worki, 
 pubh»t)od by Raspe— H. 
 
 t Malebranche was not a Jesuit, but a Priest of the 
 Oratory; and so little was he cither a favourer or 
 favourite of the Jesuits, that, by the Pere de Valois, 
 be was accuseii ol heresy, by the Pire Hardouin. of 
 Atheism. The en<icavou r« of the Jcsuitii in France to 
 prohibit the introdttction of every form of the Carte- 
 sian doctrine into the public seminaries of education, 
 are well known. Malebranche and Arnauld were 
 therefore not opposed as Jesuit and Jansenist, and it 
 should likewise be remembered that ihey were both 
 Cartesians. — H. 
 
 t Independently of his principal hypothesft alto- 
 gether, the works of Malebranche deserve the most 
 attentive study, both on account of the m^ny ad. 
 mirable thoughts and observations with which they 
 alx)und, and because they are among the few con. 
 ttimmate models of philoK phical eloquence— H. 
 
 ri23, 124] 
 
 \> 
 
 ' 
 
 OHAP. vui.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION, &c. 
 
 they were capable of being retorted against 
 his own system ; and his ingenious antag- 
 iMiist knew well ho w to use this defence. [ 1 25 ] 
 
 267 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF THB COMMON THEORY OP PBRCEPTION, 
 AND OP THS SENTIMENTS OF THE FERIPA- 
 TBTIC8, AND OP DES CARTES. 
 
 This theory, in general, is, that we per- 
 ceive external objects only by certain images 
 which are in our minds, or in the sensorium 
 to which the mind is immediately present. 
 Philosophers in different ages have differed 
 both in the names they have given to those 
 images, and in their notions concerning 
 them. It would be a laborious task to 
 enumerate all their variations, and per- 
 haps would not requite the labour. I shall 
 only give a sketch of the principal dif- 
 ferences with regard to their names and 
 their nature. 
 
 By Aristotle and the Peripatetics, the 
 images presented to our senses were called 
 seimble species or forms ; those presented 
 to the memory or imagination were called 
 phantasms ,* and those presented to the 
 intellect were called intelligible species ; 
 and they thought that there can be no 
 perception, no imagination, no intellection, 
 without species or phantasms.* What the 
 ancient philosophers called species, sensible 
 and intelligible, and phantasms, in later 
 times, and especially since the time of Des 
 Cartes, came to be called by the common 
 name of ideas, f The Cartesians divided 
 our ideas into three classes — those of sensa- 
 tioHy of imaifination, and of pure intellection. 
 Of the objects of sensation and imagination, 
 they thought the images are in the brain ;$ 
 but of objects that are incorporeal the 
 images are in the understanding or pure 
 intellect. 
 
 Mr Locke, taking the word idea in the 
 same sense as Des Cartes had done before 
 him, to signify whatever is meant by phan- 
 tasm, notion, or species, divides ideas into 
 those of sensation, and those of reflection ; 
 meaning by the first, the ideas of all corpo- 
 real objects, whether perceived, remem- 
 bered, or imagined; by the second, the 
 ideas of the powers and operations of our 
 minds. [126] What Mr Locke calls ideas, 
 Mr Hume divides into two distinct kinds, 
 impressions and ideas. The difference be- 
 twixt these, he says, consists in the degrees 
 of force and hveliness with which they strike 
 upon the mind. Under impressions he com- 
 prehends all our sensations, passions, and 
 
 • See Nc te M.— H. 
 
 t Not merely especiaUt/f bat cniy since the time of 
 DctCxrtes. &ce Note ft.— H. 
 t Incorrect. See Note N.— H. 
 
 [125, 126] 
 
 emotions, as they make their first appear- 
 ance in the souL By idea'., he means the 
 faint images of these in thinking and rea- 
 soning. 
 
 Dr Hartley gives the same meaning to 
 ideas as Mr' Hume does, and what Mr 
 Hume c^Sis impressions he calls sensations ; 
 conceiving our sensations to be occasioned 
 by vibrations of the infinitesimal particles 
 of the brain, and ideas by miniature vibra- 
 tions or vibratiuncles. Such differences 
 we find among philosophers, with regard to 
 the name of those internal images of objects 
 of sense which they hold to be the imme- 
 diate objects of perception.* 
 
 We shall next give a short detail of tho 
 sentiments of the Peripatetics and Carte- 
 sians, of Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, con- 
 cerning them. 
 
 Aristotle seems to have thought that the 
 soul consists of two parts, or rather that 
 we have two souls — the animal and the ra- 
 tional ; or, as he calls them, the soul and 
 the intellect f To the first, belong the 
 senses, memory, and imagination ; to the 
 last, judgment, opmion, belief, and reason- 
 ing. The first we have in common with 
 brute animals ; the last is peculiar to man. 
 The animal soul he 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 sensi- 
 ble forms or species of objects, without any 
 of the matter of them ; as wax receives the 
 form of the seal without any of the matter 
 of it. The forms of sound, of colour, of 
 
 ♦ Reid, 1 may observe in general, does not dis. 
 tingui8h,.a8 it especially behoved him to do, between 
 what were held by philosophers to be the proximate 
 causes of our mental representations, and these 
 representations themselves asHhe objects of cognition 
 — r. e , between what are known in the schools as 
 ihcspecies imp'eiste, and the species expressee. 'J'he 
 former, to which the name of siecies, image, idea, 
 was olteii given, in common with the latter, was held 
 on all handH to be unknown to consciousness, and 
 generally supposed to be merely certain occult motions 
 in the organism. The latter, the result determined 
 by the former, is the mental repiesentation, and 
 the immediate or proper object in perception. Great 
 confusion, to those who do i.ot bear this distinction in 
 mind, is, however, the consequence of the verbal 
 ambiguity; and Reid's misrepresentations of the 
 doctrine of the philosophers w, in a great measure, to 
 be traced to this source. — H. 
 
 f This not correct. Instead nf two, the animal and 
 rational, Aristotle gave to the soul three generic 
 functions, the vegetable, the animator sensual, and 
 the rational ; but whether he 8U|ipo>es these to 
 constitute three concentric pot cnces, three separate 
 parts, or three distinct souls, has divided his disciples. 
 tie also defines the soul in general, and not, as Reid 
 supposes, the mere * animal soul,' to be the form or 
 ivTiXexuct of the body . — (De Animal, ii. c. I.) In- 
 tellect {vS() he however thought was inorganic; but 
 there is some ground fur believing thai he did not 
 view this as personal, but harboured an opinion 
 which, under various modifications, many of t.is fol 
 lowers also held, tha' the active intellect was com. 
 mon to all men, inimortal and divine. K<»(7 yet( irate 
 «r«^r« ro iv ri/M» 0**»w' Xiyev V »-jlX*l ^" Xoyot iXjM rt 
 K^tiTTO* ri w* kf K(UTTo* xxt iirig-vf*r,( Iswu, irXm 
 
/ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ON THE INTMLLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 C ESSAY lit 
 
 ^'^ wiAP. VIII.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION, &c. 
 
 269 
 
 tafte^. and of tiiher sensilile quiltto, are, 
 in maimer, recij ived by the aeniiefl, " [ 12? ] 
 It afl«ii»' to be' a nemmmf mmmimmm 
 nf l.fitlotfe*8 docttfiiif,, 'Ijiat bodies are con- 
 itanliy sending fortb, in all directions, as 
 manj different kinds of ISedib without 
 matter as Hkey have different aeiilihle qua- 
 Itiesi for the forms of coknur must enter 
 >y the^ eje^, the' forms of sound by the ear, 
 '■nd so m Urn otiiar' senses. This, aeeord* 
 iii|py» was maintained by the followers of 
 Anitntle, though not, as far as I know, 
 ailireisly mentioned by hirasellf They 
 •diqinted. 'emeeffning the nature, of those 
 forms of species, whether they were real 
 bangs or nonentities;:^ and some held 
 -them to be of an inlermediatd nature be^- 
 tween 'the twa The whole d^ietrine of the 
 Peripateties and schoolmen concerning 
 fomui^ substantial and accidental, and con- 
 cerning the 'trmnamiision of sensible species 
 :imn oljectS' of sense to the mind, if it be 
 at all inteUtgtble, is so far above my com- 
 
 E'lension that I should perhaps do it In- 
 ice, by entering into it more minutely. 
 ebranche, in hia " Recherche de la 
 Terite,** has employed a chapter to shew 
 that material objects do not send forth 
 sensible species of their several sensible 
 qualities* 
 
 The great revolution which Des Cartes 
 poduced in philosophy, was the effect of a 
 superiority of genius, aided by the circum- 
 stances of the times. Men had, for more 
 than a thousand years, looked up to Ari- 
 stotle as an oracle in philosophy. His. 
 authority was the test of truth. The small 
 remains of the Phitonic system were con- 
 ined to a few mysties, whose prmciples and 
 manner of life drew little attention. The 
 feeble attempts of Ramus, and of some 
 others, to make improvements in the sys- 
 tem, had little effect The Peripatetic 
 doctrines 'were so interwwven with, 'tit: whole 
 ,qrstcm of schohtttle theology, thai, to dissent 
 from Aristotle was to alarm the Church. 
 The most useful and intelligible part% 
 even, of . AzistO'tle% writings, were neglected, 
 and philosophy was become an art of speak- 
 ing learnedly, and disputing snbtilely, with- 
 out producing any invention of use in human 
 life. It was fruitful of words, but barren 
 of works, and admirably contrived for 
 drawing a veil over human ignolawie, and 
 
 # S9t Note il.iB>iif 
 
 t ll<«r If ilMMf aitt gmtiiMl' im «imMiriiit tiii ,iiioli 
 mt nptnlmi, «■■ efftii' Imiiitleltlf litlii '% tit Siaglrito. 
 :M'iiaf^ alio eanlieitif rrniiilsted liy many or hk IbL 
 
 .Iowa, nflv nop* M*—-'!! . 
 
 t The fgwliip In tlw •cfooob, tietween tliow wIhi 
 
 i|BWlP#BiPiiP'W''WWi'PW' ■^^■PwtW'vw'IPtIi. wff^'iWiP 'MIIHMniliML ^WavS^SwSSpS SiWJW|i("Si^*^PW* v^W Wm^^^^^^ 
 
 mj; iffiwi iiiai' bdiip' nr^ mmemiMm (which would 
 Imw been, ^M Ibsf fsfft or not,} iMt whether mh. 
 il ii mecicf w«M' wn^grimt, immattriat, or of a 
 
 nafureoelMMfiilHMlfaiid ipirft— « problem, II mutt 
 ll*aQiivid» MiiMtiitly IMIe* but not, like the other, 
 
 ■lDiiatMill*ioif.-M. 
 
 putting a stop to the progress of knowledge, 
 by filling men with a conceit that they 
 Icneweverythmg. [128] It was very fruitful 
 also in controversies ; but, for the most part, 
 they were controversies about words, or 
 about things of no moment, or things above 
 the reach of the human faculties. And the 
 
 issue of them was what might be expected 
 
 that the contending parties fought, without 
 gaining or losing au inch of ground, till they 
 were weary of the dispute, or their atten- 
 tion was called off to some other subject* 
 
 Such was the philosophy of the schools of 
 Europe, during many ages of darkness and 
 barbarism that succeeded the decline of the 
 Roman empire; so that there was great 
 need of a reformation in philosophy as well 
 as in religion. The light began to dawn at 
 last ; a spirit of inquiry sprang up, and 
 men got the courage to doubt of the dogmas 
 of Aristotle, as well as of the decrees of 
 Popes. The most important step in the 
 reformation of religion, was to destroy 
 the claim of infallibility, which hindered 
 men from using their judgment in matters 
 of religion ; and the most important step in 
 the reformation of philosophy, was to destroy 
 the authority of which Aristotle had so long 
 had peaceable possession. The last had 
 been attempted by Lord Bacon and others, 
 with no less zeal than the first by Luther 
 aud Calvin. 
 
 Des Cartes knew well the defects of the 
 prevailing system, which had begun to lose 
 Its authority. His genius enabled him, and 
 his spirit prompted him, to attempt a new 
 one. He had applied much to the mathe- 
 matical sciences, and had made considerable 
 improvement in them. He wished to in- 
 troduce that perspicuity and evidence into 
 other branches of phUosophy which he 
 found in them. 
 
 Being sensible how apt we are to be led 
 astray by prejudices of education, he thought 
 the only way to avoid error was to resolve 
 to doubt of everything, and hold everything 
 to be uncertam, even those things which 
 he had been taught to hold as most certain, 
 until he had such clear and cogent evidence 
 as compelled his assent. [129] 
 
 In this state of universal doubt, that 
 which first appeared to him to be clear and 
 certain, was his own existence. Of this he 
 Was certain, because he was conscious that he 
 thought, that he reasoned, and that he 
 doubted. He used this argument, there- 
 fore, to prove his own existence, Conxt(H 
 erff& turn. This he conceived to be the first 
 of all truths, the foundation-stotie upon 
 which the whole fabric of human knowledge 
 
 'I 
 
 • Thii Ii the vulgar opinion In regard to the 
 ■chohutic i^lkMophy. The few are. however, now 
 aware that the human mind, though partially, wa« 
 never more i>oweffully developed than during the 
 iDifidle ageii— (I. 
 
 [127-1291 
 
 isbuUt, and on which it must rest.* And, 
 as Archimedes thought that, if he had one 
 fixed point to rest his engines upon, he 
 could move the earth; so Des Cartes, 
 ehanned with the discovery of one certain 
 principle, by which he emerged from the 
 state of universal doubt, believed that this 
 principle alone would be a sufiicient found- 
 ation on which he might build the whole 
 system of science. He seems, therefore, to 
 nave taken no great trouble to examine 
 whether there might not be other first prin- 
 ciples, which, on account of their own light 
 and evidence, ought to be admitted by 
 every man of sound judgment. f The love 
 of simplicity so natural to the mind of man, 
 led him to apply the whole force of his mind 
 to raise the fabric of knowledge upou this 
 one principle, rather than seek a broader 
 foundation. 
 
 Accordingly, he does not admit the evi- 
 dence of sense to be a first principle, as he 
 does that of consciousness. The argu- 
 ments of the ancient sceptics here occurred 
 to him, that our senses often deceive us, 
 and therefore ought never to be trusted on 
 their o\vn authority : that, in sleep, we often 
 seem to see and hear things which we are 
 convinced to have had no existence. But 
 that which chiefly led Des Cartes to think 
 that he ought not to trust to his senses, 
 without proof of their veracity, was, that he 
 took it for granted, as all philosophers had 
 done before him, that he did not perceive 
 external objects themselves, but certain 
 images of them in his own mind, called 
 ideas. He was certain, by consciousness, 
 that he had the ideas of sun and moon, 
 earth and sea ; but how could he be assured 
 that there really existed external objects 
 like to these ideas ?$ [130] 
 
 Hitherto he was uncertain of everything 
 but of his own existence, and the existence 
 of the operations and ideas of his own mind. 
 Some of his disciplesi, it is said, remained at 
 this stage of his system, and got the name 
 of Egoists. § They could not find evidence 
 in the subsequent stages of his progress. 
 But Des Cartes resolved not to stop here ; 
 he endeavoured to prove, by a new argu- 
 ment, drawn from his idea of a Deity, the 
 existence of an infinitely perfect Being, who 
 made him and all his faculties. From the 
 perfection of this Being, he inferred that he 
 could be no deceiver ; and therefore con- 
 cluded that his senses, and the other facul- 
 ties he found in hunself, are not fallacious, 
 
 ■ On the Cartesian doubt, see Note R.~H. 
 
 t Thif cannot justly be aflSrmed of Det Cat tea. 
 
 ; On this point it is probable that Des Cartes and 
 Reid are at one. See Notes C and N— H. 
 
 \ I am doubtful alx>ut the existence of this sup- 
 posed sect of Ego'stn. The Chevalier Ramsay, 
 above a century ago, incidentally speaks of this doc 
 trine as an otfthoot of Spinosism, and under the 
 
 tl30, 131] 
 
 but may be trusted, when a proper use is 
 made of them. 
 
 The system of Des Cartes is, with great 
 perspicuity and acuteness, explained by 
 himself in his writmgs, which ought to bo 
 consulted by those who would understand it. 
 The merit of Des Cartes cannot be easily 
 conceived by those who have not some 
 notion of the Peripatetic system, in which 
 he was educated. To throw off the preju- 
 dices of education, and to create a system of 
 nature, totally different from that which 
 had subdued the UQderstanding of mankind, 
 and kept it in subjection for so many cen- 
 turies, required an uncommon force of mind. 
 The world which Des Cartes exhibits to 
 our view, is not only in its structure very 
 different from that of the Peripatetics, but 
 is, as we may say, composed of diflerent 
 materials. 
 
 In the old system, everything was, by a 
 kind of metaphysical sublimation, resolved 
 into principles so mysterious that it may be 
 a question whether they were words with- 
 out meaning, or were notions too refined for 
 liuman understanding. 
 
 All that we observe in nature is, accord- 
 ing to Aristotle, a constant succession of 
 the operations of generation and corruption. 
 [131 J The principles of generation are mat- 
 ter and form. The principle of corruption is 
 privation. All natural things are produced 
 or generated by the union of matter and 
 form ; matter being, as it were, the mother, 
 and form the father. As to matter, or the 
 first matter, as it is called, it is neither 
 substance nor accident ; it has no quality 
 or property; it is nothing actually, but 
 everything potentially. It has so strong 
 an appetite for form, that it is no sooner 
 divested of one form than it is clothed with 
 another, and is equally susceptible of ail 
 forms successively. It has no nature, but 
 only the capacity of having any one. 
 
 This is the account which the Peripate- 
 tics give of the first matter. The other 
 principle of generation is form, act, perjev- 
 tion ; for these three words signify the same 
 thing. But we must not conceive form to 
 consist in the figure, size, arrangement, or 
 motion of the parts of matter. These, in- 
 deed, are accidental forms, by which things 
 
 name of Enomisme. But Father BuflSer, about the 
 same time, and, t>e it noted, in a work published some 
 ten years t>efore Hume's " 'Iroatise of Human Na- 
 ture," talks of it, on hearsay, as the speculation nl a 
 Scotch philosopher:—" Un^crivain F?cossoisapubiie, 
 dit on, un ouvragepour prouverqu'il n'avoit aucune 
 Evidence de I'existeiice d'aucun etre que de lui ; et 
 encoie de lui, en tani qu' esprit; n'aiaiil aucune de- 
 monstration veritable de I'^xistence d'aucun cori^s." 
 —Element de Metaphysique, i 61. Now, we know 
 that there is no sucn work. 1 am aware, houevtr, 
 that there is some discussion on this point'in the 
 " Memoirs de Trcvoux," anno 171.% p.9:^; to which 
 however, I most refer the reader, as I have not-that 
 journal at hand.— >But more of this below, under 
 p 187.— H. 
 
270 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERa 
 
 [EISJIT II, 
 
 
 ■rtiidbil. SK Ibrnidl : tmt vwmj production 
 nf Hatan bas a Bubstantial form/ which, 
 Mned to matter, makes it to be what it is. 
 Thii'iiibftiiitial form is a kind of informing 
 ■Mil, whieh gives the thing its speeifio na- 
 ture, and lul its quaMtieii, powers, and 
 aetivity. Thus the substantial form of 
 heavy bodies, is that whieh makes them 
 descend ; of light bodies, that which makes 
 them ascend. The nibstantial form of 
 ffold, is that which gives it its ductility, its 
 iiiihility, its weight, its colour, and all its 
 f laities ; and the same ia to be understood of 
 mmy latufal prndoQiion. A change m the 
 aeisidenial. 'form ^of any 'body, is alteration 
 dnly ; but a change in the substantial form 
 is generation and corruption t it is oormp- 
 tiiw with lespeot to the substantial form, ol 
 whi«h the 'body ia^ ■deprived ; it is genera- 
 tion with respect to the substantial form 
 tlmt succeeds. Thus, when a horse dies 
 and tunw todnat, the philosophical account 
 of the jhtanmnenon is this t-Zk certain por*' 
 lion, of 'the wm^flm ptkm^ wUeh was Joined 
 to the substantial form of a horse, is de- 
 prived of it by privation, and in the same 
 instant is invested with the substantial form 
 nff earth. [132] As every substance must 
 'have a mbslaatial form, there are some of 
 'ihi»e forms manimate, some vegetative, 
 '■Mne .animal, and some rational. The 'three 
 fotner .Mnds can only subsist in matter; 
 tel 'the 'iaet, according to 'the scb.oolmen, is 
 immediately created by Ood, and infused 
 into the body, making one substance with 
 it, wMie they are united; yet capable of 
 heu^ disjoined from the body, and of sub- 
 ■istiiig by itseE 
 
 Sneh are the principles of natural things in 
 tfao Peripatetic systeiiL It retains so much 
 <if^ the. ancient fythagoiean doctrine, tliat 
 we esnnot ascribe 'the invention of it solely 
 to Aristotle, although he^ no doubt, made 
 considerable alterations in it. The irst 
 natter was probably the same in both eys- 
 iems, and was in both held to be eternal 
 They differed more about form. The Py- 
 thagoreans and Platonists held forms or 
 ideM, as they called them, to be eternal, 
 'immutable^ and self-eaistent. Aristotle 
 Maintained that they weM' not eternal, nor 
 self-eidstent On the other hand, he did 
 'not .alow them, to be pfodaced, but educed 
 imi. natteri yet he 'held, 'them not to be 
 ..aelndly :in 'tho' 'matter from 'which they are 
 el^iMd, bnt potentially only. 'Bat these' 
 two systems differed less from one another, 
 than that' of ^ Des Carles did. :from both. 
 
 iB'tiw world of Bes 'Cartes 'we meet with 
 two Unds df beings only — to wit, body and 
 mind; the first the object of our senses. 
 
 the other of consciousness ; both of them 
 things of which we have a distinct appre- 
 hension, if the human mind be capable of 
 distinct apprehension at all. To the first, 
 no qualities are ascribed but extension, 
 figure, and motion ; to the Ust, nothing but 
 thought, and its various modifications, of 
 which we are conscious.* He could ob- 
 serve no common attribute, no resembling 
 feature, in the attributes of body and mind, 
 and therefore concluded them to be distinct 
 substances, and totally of a different nature ; 
 iwd that body, from its very nature, is in- 
 animate and inert, incapable of any kind of 
 thought or sensation, or of producing any 
 change or alteration in itself. [133] 
 
 Des Cartes must be allowed the honour 
 of being the first who drew a distinct line 
 between the material and intellectual world, 
 which, m all the old systems, were so 
 blended together that it was impossible to 
 say whiire tiie one ends and the other be- 
 gina.*!* How much this distinction hath 
 contributed to the improvements of modern 
 times, in the philosophy both of body and 
 of mincl, is not easy to say. 
 
 One obvious consequence of this distinc- 
 tion was, that accurate reflection on the 
 operations of our own mind is the only way 
 to make any progress in the knowledge of 
 it Malebranche, Locke, Berkeley, and 
 Hume, were taught this lesson by Des 
 Cartes ; and to it we owe their most va- 
 luable discoveries in this branch of philo- 
 sophy. The analogical way of reasoning 
 concerning the powers of the mind from the 
 properties of body, which is the source of 
 almost all the errors on this subject, and 
 which is so natural to the bulk of mankind, 
 was as contrary to the principles of Des 
 Cartes, as it was agreeable to the princi- 
 nles of the old philosophy. We may there- 
 ibre truly say, that, in that part of philoso- 
 phy which relates to the mind, Des Cartes 
 laid the foundation, and put us into that 
 tract which all wise men now acknowledge 
 to be the only one in which we can expect 
 
 • It !■ not, liowe»CT, »o be supposed that the 
 icliolaitle doctrine ciSuhstantiat Forms receivrtany 
 countenance IbaiB the autliortty of Aristotle, if wr 
 1«T aside hli'laiigiiap londiltif tlM'.|0iiL«M:H. 
 
 With tmtA to phyties. or the philosophy 
 of body, if Des Cartes had not the merit of 
 leading men into the right tract, we must 
 allow him that of bringing them out of a 
 wrong one. The Peripatetics, by assigning 
 to every species of body a particular sub- 
 stantial form, which produces, m an un- 
 known manner, all the effects we observe 
 in it, put a stop to all improvement in this 
 branch of philosophy. Gravity and levity, 
 fluidity and hardness, heat and cold, were 
 qualities arising from the substantial form 
 of the bodies to which they belonged. Cen- 
 
 • In the Cartesian language, the term Ihot^kt in. 
 eluded all of which we are conscious — H. 
 
 •f This assenion in true in general ; but MMne in. 
 dividual exceptions might be taken —H. 
 
 £132,1331 
 
 CHAP. VIII.] OF THE THEORY OF PERCEPTION, &c. 
 
 271 
 
 oration and corruption, substantial forms 
 and occult qualities, were always at hand, 
 to resolve every phsenomenon. This phi- 
 losophy, therefore, instead of accounting 
 for any of the phsenomena of Nature, con- 
 trived only to give learned names to their 
 unknown causes, and fed men with the husks 
 of barbarous terms, instead of the fruit of 
 real knowledge. [ 134 ] 
 
 By the spreading of the Cartesian system, 
 materia prima, substantial forms, and oc- 
 cult qualities, with all the jargon of the 
 Aristotelian physics, fell into utter disgrace, 
 and were never mentioned by the followers 
 of the new system, but as a subject of ridi- 
 cule. Men became sensible that their un- 
 derstanding had been hoodwinked by those 
 hard terms. They were now accustomed 
 to explain the phsenomena of nature, by 
 the figure, size, and motion of the particles 
 of matter, things perfectly level to human 
 understanding, and could relish nothing in 
 philosophy that was dark and unintelligible. 
 Aristotle, after a reign of more than a 
 thousand years, was now exposed as an 
 object of derision even to the vulgar, arrayed 
 in the mock majesty of his substantial forms 
 and occult qualities. The ladies berame 
 fond of a philosophy which was easily learned, 
 and required no words too harsh for their 
 delicate organs. Queens and princesses, 
 the most distinguished personages of the 
 age, courted the conversation of Des Cartes, 
 and became adepts in his philosophy. Wit- 
 ness Christina, Queen of Sweden, and 
 Elizabeth, daughter of Frederick, King of 
 Bohemia, the mother of our Royal Family. 
 The last, though very young when Des 
 Cartes wrote his " Principia," he declares 
 to be the only person he knew, who per- 
 fectly understood not only all his philoso- 
 phical writings, but the most abstruse of 
 his mathematical works. 
 
 That men should rush with violence from 
 one extreme, without going more or less 
 into the contrary extreme, is not to be ex- 
 pected from the weakness of human nature. 
 Des Cartes and his followers were not ex- 
 empted from this weakness ; they thought 
 that extension, figure, and motion, were 
 sufiScient to resolve all the pheenomena of 
 the material system. To admit other qua- 
 lities, whose cause is unknown, was to 
 return to Egypt, from which they had been 
 ao happily delivered. [ 135] 
 
 When Sir Isaac Newton*8 doctrine of 
 gravitation was published, the great objec- 
 tion to it, which hindered its general recep- 
 tion in Europe for half a century, was, that 
 gravitation seemed to be an occult quality, 
 as it could not be accounted for by exten- 
 sion, figure, and motion, the known attri- 
 butes of body. They who defended him 
 found it diflScult to answer this objection to 
 the satisfaction of those who had been 
 [134-1361 
 
 initiated in the principles of the Cartesian 
 system. But, by degrees, men came to 
 be sensible that, in revolting from Ari- 
 stotle, the Cartesians had gone into the oppo- 
 site extreme ; experience convinced them 
 that there are qualities in the material 
 world, whose existence is certain though 
 their cause be occult. To acknowledge this, 
 is only a candid confession of human ignor- 
 ance, than which there is nothing more be- 
 coming a philosopher. 
 
 As all that we can know of the mind UT^st 
 be derived from a careful observation of its 
 operations in ourselves ; so all that we can 
 know of the material system must be derived 
 from what can be discovered by our senses. 
 Des Cartes was not ignorant of this ; nor 
 was his system so unfriendly to observation 
 and experiment as the old system was.* 
 He made many experiments, and called 
 earnestly upon all lovers of truth to aid him 
 in this way; but, believing that all the 
 phaeuomena of the material world are the 
 result of extension, figure, and motion, and 
 that the Deity always combines these, so as 
 to produce the phsenomena in the simplest 
 manner possible, he thought that, from a 
 few experiments, he might be able to dis- 
 cover the simplest way in which the obvious 
 plutnoraena of nature can be produced by 
 matter and motion only ; and that this must 
 be the way in which they are actually pro- 
 duced. His conjectures were ingenious, upon 
 the principles he had adopted ; but they are 
 found to be so far from the truth, that they 
 ought for ever to discourage philosophers 
 from trusting to conjecture iu the operations 
 of nature. [136] 
 
 The vortices or whirlpools of subtile 
 matter by which Des Cartes endeavoured 
 to account for the phsenomena of the ma- 
 terial world, are now found to be fictions, 
 no less than the sensible species of Ari- 
 stotle. -f 
 
 It was reserved for Sir Isaac Newton to 
 point out clearly the road to the knowledge 
 of nature's works. Taught by Lord Bacon 
 to despise hypotheses as the fictions of hu- 
 man fancy, he laid it down as a rule of 
 philosophising, that no causes of natural 
 things ought to be assigned but such as can 
 be proved to have a real existence. He 
 saw that all the length men can go in ac- 
 counting for phsenomena, is to discover the 
 laws of nature according to which they are 
 produced; and, therefore, that the true 
 method of philosophising is this : From 
 real facts, ascertained by observation and 
 experiment, to collect by just induction the 
 
 • That is, the Aristotelic. But Aristotle himself 
 was as declared an advocate of ezperlinent as any 
 philosopher; and it is not to be imputed to him that 
 his authoruy had subsequently the effect of imped- 
 ing, by being held to supersede, ol^servation — H. 
 
 t Read '< tiie sensible species of tlie schoolmen.* 
 See Note M.— H. 
 
272 
 
 • 
 
 ON TBI INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 f BflSAY fl. 
 
 CHAP. VIII.] OF THE THEOEY OF PERCEPTION, &c. 
 
 273 
 
 liiwa of Nature, and to apply th© lawg so 
 ilsfsovered, to aecount for the phnnomeiia 
 
 of NMIIV& 
 
 Tim, tlie natural pfaHoeoplier liaa tlie 
 rules of Ms art fixed with no less precision 
 than the mathematician, and may be no less 
 
 aertain when he keeps within them, and 
 vheii he deviates from them. And, though 
 the eridenee' of a kw of nalitre from induc- 
 tion is not demonstrative, it is the only kind 
 of evidence on which all the most import- 
 ant adirs of human life must rest 
 
 Pursuing this road without deviation, 
 Newton discovered the kws of our planet- 
 ary system, and of the rays of light ; and 
 gave the first and the noblest examples of 
 'iliat' 'Ohftste induction which Lord. Bacon 
 Mvld only delmeate in theory. 
 
 How strange is it that the human mind 
 •hould have wamdewd for so many ages, 
 wiAout fiiUipg Into this tract ! How much 
 more strange, that, after it has been clearly 
 discovered, and a happy progress made in it, 
 many choose rather to wander in the fairy 
 rn^rn of hypothesis ! [ 137] 
 
 To return to Bes Cartes's notions of the 
 manner of our perceiving external objects, 
 from which a concern to do justice to the 
 merit of that great reformer in philosophy 
 liaa led me to digress, he took it for granted, 
 m the old philosophers had done, that what 
 we immediately perceive must be either in 
 the mind itself, or in the brain, to which 
 tiie mind la .hnmediately present. The ini- 
 pieasiena mad« upon our organs, nerves, 
 and brain could be nothing, according to 
 his philosophy, but various modifications of 
 extension, figure, and motion. There could 
 1m nothing in the brain like sound or colour, 
 tail0 or smell, heat or cold ; these are sens- 
 ations m the mind, which, by the kws of 
 the union of sou! and body, are raised on 
 oceasion of certain tfaces in the brain 1 and 
 aitliongh he givea the name of ideas to those 
 traces in the brain, he does not think it 
 necessary that they should be perfectly 
 ike to the things which they represent, 
 any more than that words or 8%ns sliuuld 
 resemble the thuigs they signify. But, 
 says he, that we may follow tne received 
 opinkm as far as k possible, we may allow 
 a dight :re8crablsnce. Thus we know that 
 m. 'print in a book 'may represent houses, 
 lanples,. and groves ; and so kr k it from 
 being necessary that the print should be 
 
 EilMtly like the thmg 'k fepresents^ that 
 pecfeetlon. often 'Kquifea the eontiary : 
 'fSpff' a einsle mnii^ollm. m rapNtented by an 
 '<llipa% a aqnafe by a rhombus, and m of 
 oilier' thmgs.* 
 
 ■ But be {t otoertcd that Det Cartci did not allow, 
 Ihr hm hold, that the mind had any eojrnliance of 
 
 tiM9t orgMiie iBOtioiii— of tha» maiorial idejii They 
 
 wife meietf lUtaMMtitento, ••tablished by the taw of 
 «llllMI,liriil«llMIUtat Idea ; which mental ideawasno- 
 
 The perceptions of sense, he thought, are 
 to be referred solely to the union of soul 
 and body. They commonly exhibit to ua 
 only what may hurt or profit our bodies ; 
 and rarely, and by accident only, exhibit 
 things as they are in themselves. It is by 
 observing this, that we must learn to throw 
 off the prejudices of sense, and to attend 
 with our intellect to the ideas which are by 
 nature implanted in it. By this means we 
 shall understand that the nature of matter 
 does not consist in those things that affect 
 our senses, such as colour, or smell, or taste ; 
 but only in this, that it is something ex- 
 tended in length, breadth, and depth. [138] 
 
 The writings of Des Cartes have, in ge- 
 neral, a remarkable degree of perspicuity ; 
 and he undoubtedly intended that, in thk 
 particukr, his philosophy should be a per- 
 fect contnist to that of Aristotle; yet, in 
 what he has said, in different parts of his 
 writings, of our perceptions of external 
 objects, there seems to be some obscurity, 
 and even inconsistency ; whether owing to 
 hk having had different opinions on the sub- 
 ject at different times, or to the difficulty he 
 found in it, I will not pretend to say. 
 
 There are two pomts, in particular, 
 wherein I cannot reconcile hun to himself : 
 the first, regarding the place of the ideas 
 or images of external objects, which are the 
 immedjate objects of perception ; the ieeond, 
 with regard to the veracity of our externai 
 senses. 
 
 As to the first, he sometimes places the 
 ideas of materkl objects in the brain, not 
 only when they are perceived, but when 
 they are remembered or imagined; and 
 this has always been held to be the Car- 
 teskn doctrine;* yet he sometimes says, 
 that we are not to conceive the images or 
 traces in the brain to be perceived, as if 
 there were eyes in the brain ; these traces 
 are only occasions on which, by the kws of 
 the union of soul and body, ideas are ex- 
 cited in the mind ; and, therefore, it k not 
 necessary that there should be an exact 
 resemblance between the traces and the 
 things represented by them, any more than 
 that words or signs should be exactly like 
 the things signified by them.-f 
 
 These two opinions, I think, cannot be 
 reconciled. For, if the images or traces in 
 the brain are perceived,:^ they must be the 
 
 thing more than a modification of the mind itself.— 
 
 H, 
 
 * But not in Rcid's exclusive sense of the word 
 liipii.— H. 
 
 t The non-nej^atinn, in thi« instance, of all re- 
 lemblanre between the material Ideas, or organic 
 motions in ihe brain, and the external reality, is one 
 of the occasional i tistancus of D.'s Cartes's ret icence '>f 
 his subordinate doctrinrs, in order to avoid all useless 
 tilting against prevalent opinions. Another is his 
 sometimes giving to these motions the name of Spe. 
 a'es.—H. 
 
 I Which, in l>et Cartes' doctrine, they are not.— H. 
 
 [137, 138] 
 
 objects of perception, and not the occasions 
 of it only. On the other hand, if they are 
 only the occasions of our perceiving, they 
 are not perceived at all. Des Cartes seems 
 to have hesitated between the two opinions, 
 or to have passed from the one to the 
 other.* Mr Locke seems, in like manner, 
 to have wavered between the two ; some- 
 times representing the ideas of material 
 things as being in the brain, but more fre- 
 quently as in the mind itself. -f- [139] 
 Neither Des Cartes nor Mr Locke could, 
 consistently with themselves, attribute any 
 other qualities to images in the brain but 
 extension, figure, and motion ; for as to 
 those qualities which Mr Locke distin- 
 guished by the name of secondary qualities, 
 both philosophers believed them not to be- 
 long to body at all,J and, therefore, could 
 not ascribe them to images in the brain. § 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton and Dr Samuel Clarke 
 uniformly speak of the species or images of 
 material things as being in that part of the 
 brain called the sensoriwrty and perceived 
 by the mind there present ; but the former 
 speaks of this point only incidentally, and 
 with his usual modesty, in the form of a 
 query. |) Malebranche is perfectly clear and 
 unambiguous in this matter. According to 
 his system, the images or traces in the 
 brain are not perceived at all — they are 
 only occasions upon which, by the kws of 
 Nature, certain sensations are felt by us, 
 and certain of the divine ideas discovered to 
 our minds. 
 
 The second point on which Des Cartes 
 seems to waver, is with regard to the credit 
 that k due to the testimony of our senses. 
 
 Sometimes, from the perfection of the 
 Deity, and his being no deceiver, he infers 
 that our senses and our other faculties can- 
 not be fallacious ; and since we seem clearly 
 to perceive that the idea of matter comes 
 to us from things external, which it per- 
 fectly resembles, therefore we must con- 
 clude that there really exists something 
 extended in length, breadth, and depth, 
 having all the properties which we clearly 
 perceive to belong to an extended thing. 
 
 At other times, we find Des Cartes and 
 hk followers making frequent complaints, 
 
 • Des Cartes had only one opinion on the point. 
 The difficulty which perplexes Reid arose from his 
 want of a systematic comprehension of the Cartesian 
 
 fihilosophy, and his being unaware that, by Ideas, 
 )e8 Cartes designated two very different things — viz. , 
 the proximate bodily antcc^ent, and the mental 
 consequent.— H. 
 
 + Locke's opinion, if he had a precise one on the 
 matter, it is impossible to ascertain. See Note O.— 
 n. 
 J See above, p. 205, note * — H. 
 
 I Yet 1 oclce expressly denies them to be modifica- 
 tions of mind. See Note O.— H. 
 
 II Reid is correct in all he here says of Newton and 
 Clarke; it is indeed virtually admitted by Clarke 
 himself, in his controversy with Leibnitz. Compare 
 Leibnitii Opera. IL, p. 161. and p. 183i.<~H. 
 
 ri39, 140] 
 
 as all the ancient philosophers did, of the 
 fallacies of sense. He warns us to throw 
 off its prejudices, and to attend only with 
 our intellect, to the ideas implanted there. 
 By this means we may perceive, that the 
 nature of matter does not consist in hard- 
 ness, colour, weight, or any of those things 
 that afiect our senses, but in this only, that 
 it is something extended in length, breadth, 
 and depth. [140] The senses, he says, 
 are only rektive to our present state ; they 
 exhibit things only as they tend to profit 
 or to hurt us, and rarely, and by accident 
 only, as they are in themselves. • 
 
 It was probably owing to an aversion to 
 admit anything into philosophy, of which 
 we have not a clear and distinct concep- 
 tion, that Des Cartes was led to deny that 
 there is any substance of matter distinct from 
 those qualities of it which we perceive. -f- 
 We say that matter is something extended, 
 figured, moveable. Extension, figure, mo- 
 bility, therefore, are not matter, but quali- 
 ties, belonging to this something, which 
 we call matter. Des Cartes could not 
 relish this obscure something, which is sup- 
 posed to be the subject or substratum of 
 those qualities ; and, therefore, maintained 
 that extension is the very essence of mat- 
 ter. But, as we must ascribe extension to 
 space as well as to matter, he found him- 
 self under a necessity of holding that space 
 and matter are the same thing, and difier 
 only in our way of conceiving them ; so 
 that, wherever there is space there is mat- 
 ter, and no void left in the universe. The 
 necessary consequence of this is, that the 
 materkl world has no bounds nor limits. 
 He did not, however, choose to call it in- 
 finite, but indefinite. 
 
 It was probably owing to the same cause 
 that Des Cartes made the essence of the 
 soul to consist in thought. He would not 
 allow it to be an unknown something that 
 has the power of thinking ; it cannot, there- 
 fore, be without thought ; and, as he con- 
 ceived that there can be no thought with- 
 out ideas, the soul must have had ideas in 
 its first formation, which, of consequence, 
 are innate. :{: 
 
 The sentiments of those who came after 
 Des Cartes, with regard to the nature of 
 body and mind, have been various. Many 
 have maintained that body is only a collec- 
 tion of qualities to which we give one 
 
 • But see " Principia." \ 66, tqq.— H. 
 
 t See Stewart's " Elements." 1., Note A j Royer 
 Collard's Fragment, VIII.— H. 
 
 I The doctrine of Des Cartes, in relation to Innate 
 Ideas, has been very generally misunderstood j and 
 by no one more than by Locke. What it really 
 amounted to, is clearly stated In his strictures on 
 the Program of Regius. Justice has latterly been 
 donehim, among others, by Mr Stewart, in his" Dis. 
 sertation/ and by M. Laromiguiere, in his " Cours. 
 See also the old controversy of De Vnes with Kdeii 
 on ibis point.— H. 
 
274 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS, 
 
 [ 
 
 II. 
 
 name i and timt the notion of a subject of 
 
 imlwsion, tnwikii. tkmm qualities b«long, 
 is mly a iuticn of tlie mind.* [141] 
 'SfiiMi' iiaT0 eftti maintained that the eoiil 
 ii imly a ■accession of related ideas, with- 
 cnt amj Mbjeet of inliesion.t It appears, 
 'hf vlliit 'luM Iwen said, how far these no- 
 'tions aio aiidl. to the Cartesian system. 
 
 The triumph of the Cartesian system 
 over thai of Aristotle, is one of the most 
 ranarlcable ieTolutioiii.iii tha .hiit<iry' of phi- 
 iMophar, and has M. 'iM' to imm longer 
 spoB it than thO' present nib|e»t perhaps 
 required. The authority of Aristotle was 
 aciw no mora That reverence for hard 
 votdt' and 'darli :iMitioii%. hy which men's 
 'vinleiiilaiiilinf :had. 'Iwai strangled in early 
 years, was turned into contempt, and every- 
 liiiiig"«iipeeled which was not dearlv and 
 diatiM% mdetstood. This is the spirit of 
 'th0' Cbiieaiaii mhilosophy, and is a more 
 important Mfniiilifin tO' mankind than any 
 of its particular tenets ; and for exerting 
 this spirit so zealously, and spreading it so 
 ■uciieasfully, Des Cartes deserves immortal 
 ImiNir* 
 
 It is to be ohserved, however, that Des 
 Oartes rejected a part only of the ancient 
 theo^, comeaniiig tho ,|iereeption of ex* 
 'temai oMe«ts hy the iensMi ' and that he 
 adopted the other part That theory may 
 be divided into two parts : The JirMt, that 
 hnages, species, or forms of external objects, 
 mam ftom the object^ and enter by the 
 avenues of the ssmms to the mind; the 
 mcQnd part is. That the external object 
 itself is not perceived, but only the species 
 cir image of it in the mind. Thii irst part 
 Dea Cwles and his followers nrfected, and 
 leilted by solid aigoments ; hut the second 
 part, neither he nor his followers' have 
 thm^t of 'Oalipg in. fuestion ; being per- 
 snadtod that it is auj a representative 
 imafA k the mind of the external object 
 that we perceive, and not the object itseE 
 .And. thiS' iaa§0, wfaieh 'tha Peripatetics 
 called a species, be calls an idea,, changing 
 the name only, while he admits the thing.! 
 114311 
 
 It seena alisqge that the great pains 
 which this pUlosopher took to throw off the 
 pejadioes of education, to dismiss all his 
 iirmer opinions, and to assent to nothing, 
 til he found evidence that eompeUed his 
 assent, should mot have led Mm to doubt of 
 this opinlfin of the ancient philosophy. It 
 is evidently a philosophical opinion ; for the 
 vulgar undoubtedly believe that it is the 
 
 • Am Locke* {bill lie is not conttttent.) Law, 
 
 'fen. Wall*.: ani. ellieii. See Couiin ,'< Court de 
 
 wH^Hit **■•■«■: «iHi.pin«iii. oee vouiin, " 
 
 tMkmtUtet** Tome Ii* Lmioii icTiii.— ti.. 
 
 iiiai: Caitet and Raid coiniida In doctriiiet if 
 
 iUHi Imldi tiiat 'Wa fcnov Ilia exiaiMled .and ester* 
 
 '*** *i^f* ''"^*!L''g..*..^ °"**P***'*'' 'ttT'tulijcctifa modii. 
 tioB' aff llw ipiniplial mind. Saa Motaa N and C*«>ll. 
 
 external object which we immediately per- 
 ceive, and not a representative image of it 
 only. It is for this reason that they look 
 upon it as perfect lunacy to call in question 
 the existence of external objects.* 
 
 It seems to be admitted as a first prin- 
 ciple, by the learned and the unlearned, that 
 what is really perceived must exist, and that 
 to perceive what does not exist is impossible. 
 So far the unlearned man and the philoso* 
 pher agree. The unlearned man says— I 
 perceive the external object, and I perceive 
 It to exist. Nothing can be more absurd 
 than to doubt of it. The Peripatetic says — 
 What I perceive is the very identical form 
 of the object, which came immediately from 
 the object, and makes an impression upon 
 my mind, as a seal does upon wax ; and, 
 therefore, I can have no doubt of the ex- 
 istence of an object whose form I perceive, f 
 But what says the Cartesian ? I perceive 
 not, says he, the external object itself. So 
 far he agrees with the Peripatetic, and differs 
 from the unlearned man. But I perceive 
 an image, or form, or idea, in my own 
 mind, or m my bnun. I am certain of the 
 existence of the idea, because I imme- 
 diately perceive it.+ But how this idea is 
 formed, or what it represents, is not self, 
 evident; and therefore I must find argu- 
 ments by which, from the existence of the 
 idea which I perceive, I can mfer the ex- 
 istence of an external object which it re- 
 presents. 
 
 As I take this to be a just view of the 
 prmciples of the unlearned man, of the Peri- 
 patetic, and of the Cartesian, so I think 
 they all reason consequentially from their 
 several principles : that the Cartesian has 
 strong grounds to doubt of the existence of 
 external objects ; the Peripatetic very little 
 ground of doubt ; and the unlearned [143] 
 man none at all ; and that the difference of 
 their situation arises from this— that the un- 
 learned man has no hypothesis; the Peri- 
 patetic leans upon an hypothesis ; and the 
 Cartesian upon one half of that hypothesis. 
 
 Des Cartes, according to the spirit of his 
 own philosophy, ought to have doubted of 
 both parts of the Peripatetic hypothesis, or to 
 have given his reasons why he adopted one 
 part, as well as why he rejected the other 
 
 • Thii la one of the passagea which fafour the 
 opinion that Reid did suppose the non-ego to be 
 luiown in itself as existing, and not only in and 
 through the ego ; for mankind in general tjeliere 
 that the extended reality, as perceived, is something 
 more than a mere internal repre^^entation by the 
 mind, suggested in confequence of the impression 
 made by an unknown something on the sense. See 
 Note C— H. 
 
 f The Peripatetic and the Cartctian held that Ui« 
 tptciet or idea was an object of consciouanesa. If 
 Reid understood the language he uses, he must hold 
 that the external and extended reality is an object of 
 consciousness. But this does not quadrate wiih his 
 doctrine, that we only Icnow extension and figure by 
 a suggeated conception in the mind. See Note C.~H. 
 
 [141-1131 
 
 CHAP. K.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF MR LOCKE. 
 
 275 
 
 part ; especially, since the unlearned, who 
 have the faculty of perceiving objects by 
 their senses in no less peri'ection than 
 philosophers, and should, therefore, know, 
 as well as they, what it is they perceive, 
 have been unanimous in this, that the 
 objects they perceive are not ideas in their 
 own minds, but things external. It might 
 have been expected that a philosopher who 
 was so cautious as not to take his own ex- 
 istence for granted without proof, would not 
 have taken it for granted without proof, 
 that everything he perceived was only ideas 
 in his own mind. 
 
 But, if Des Cartes made a rash step in 
 this, as I apprehend he did, he ought not 
 to bear the blame alone. His successors 
 have still continued in the same track, and, 
 aftor his example, have adopted one part of 
 the ancient theory — to wit, that the objects 
 we immediately perceive are ideas only. All 
 their systems l^ built on this foundation. 
 
 CHAPTER liv* 
 
 OF THB SENTIMENTS OP MR LOCKE. 
 
 The reputation which Locke's ** Essay on 
 Human Understanding^' had at home from 
 the beginning, and which it has gradually 
 acquired abroad, is a sufficient testimony of 
 its merit, [144] There is, perhaps, no 
 book of the metaphysical kind that has been 
 so generally read by those who understand 
 the language, or that is more adapted to 
 teach men to think with precision,* and to 
 inspire them with that candour and love of 
 truth which is the genuine spirit of philo- 
 sophy. He gave, I believe, the first ex- 
 ample in the English language of writing 
 on such abstract subjects, with a remarkable 
 degree of simplicity and perspicuity ; and 
 in this he has been happily imitated by 
 others that came after him. No author 
 hath more successfully pointed out the 
 danger of ambiguous words, and the im- 
 portance of having distinct and determin- 
 ate notions in judging and reasoning. His 
 observations on the various powers of the 
 human understanding, on the use and abuse 
 of words, and on the extent and limits of 
 human knowledge, are drawn from atten- 
 tive reflection on the operations of his own 
 mind, the true source of all real knowledge 
 on these subjects ; and shew an imcommon 
 degree of penetration and judgment. But 
 he needs no panegyric of mine, and I men- 
 tion these things, only that, when I have 
 occasion to differ from him, I may not be 
 thought insensible of the merit of an author 
 whom I highly respect, and to whom I owe 
 
 • To praise 
 niueh.->H. 
 
 [144, U5] 
 
 Locke for precition, is rather too 
 
 
 my first lights in those studies* as well as 
 my attachment to them. 
 
 He sets out in his essay with a full con- 
 viction, common to him with other philo- 
 sophers, that ideas in the mind are the 
 objects of all our thoughts in every opera- 
 tion of the understanding. This leads him 
 to use the word idea* so very frequently, 
 beyond what was usual in the English 
 language, that he thought it necessary, in 
 his introduction, to make this apology : — 
 " It being that term,** says he, " which, I 
 I think, serves best to stand for whatsoever 
 is the object of understanding when a man 
 thinks, I have used it to express whatever 
 is meant by phantasm, notion, species, or 
 whatever it is which the mind can be em- 
 ployed about in thinking ; and I could not 
 avoid frequently using it. I presume it 
 will be granted me, that there are such 
 ideas in men's minds ; every man is con- 
 scious of them in himself, and men's words 
 and actions will satisfy him that they are in 
 others." [145] 
 
 Speaking of the reality of our knowledge, 
 he says, " It is evident the mind knows not 
 things immediately, but only by the inter- 
 vention of the ideas it has of them. Our 
 knowledge, therefore, is real, only so far as 
 there is a conformity between our ideas and 
 the reality of things. But what shall be 
 here the criterion ? How shall the mind, 
 when it perceives nothing but its own ideas, 
 know that they agree with things them- 
 selves ? This, though it seems not to want 
 difficulty, yet, I think, there be two sorts 
 of ideas that we may be assiured agree with 
 things." 
 
 We see that Mr Locke was aware, no 
 less than Des Cartes, that the doctrine o< 
 ideas made it necessary, and at the samr 
 time difficult, to prove the existence of • 
 material world without us; because ths 
 mind, according to that doctrine, perceives 
 nothing but a world of ideas in itself. Not 
 only Des Cartes, butMalebranche, Arnauld, 
 and Norris, had perceived this difficulty, 
 and attempted to remove it with little suc- 
 cess. Mr Locke attempts the same thing ; 
 but his arguments are feeble. He even 
 seems to be conscious of this ; for he con- 
 cludes his reasoning with this observation 
 — " That we have evidence sufficient to 
 direct us in attaining the good and avoiding 
 the evil, caused by external objects, and 
 that this is the important concern we have 
 in being made acquainted with them." This, 
 indeed, is saying no more than will be 
 granted by those who deny the existence of 
 a material world. 
 
 As there is no material diflTerence between 
 
 • Locke may be said to have first naturalize* *^he 
 word in English philosophical language, ii» its Caste, 
 sitn extension.— H. 
 
 T 2 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 
 on THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay II. 
 
 CHAP. «.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF MR LOCKE. 
 
 277 
 
 Iioel» and .Bi*. Cteft«9 villi n|pKl to the 
 'perception of #lij«elB: "bj ili« Hnsea,. there 
 k the less^oeouioii, in 'this plaee, to taike 
 notice of all their differences in other points. 
 TIm^ differed about the origin of our ideas. 
 Iha Oirtflt Ihonght some of them were 
 innate; tho other maintamed that there 
 are no innato ideas, and that they are all 
 derived from two sources— to wit, temalmn 
 and r^0mdm ; meaning, by sensation, the 
 ofwrationii of onr external senses ; and, by 
 reflection, that attention which we aiv 
 capable of giving to the operations of our 
 own minda.^ [Mi] 
 
 They 'diftmd. 'With regard to the 'CHenee 
 ifrfll of nattor and of mmd : thO' British 
 
 n' loaopher holding that the real essence of 
 h is beyond the reach of human know- 
 ledge ; the other conceiving that the very 
 essence of mind coubIbIs in thought, and 
 that of mattor in extension, by which he 
 ll^nuitterandspacenottodifferin reality, 
 ami. .mo 'pnt of space to be void, of matter. 
 Mr Xioele explained, more dis&ietly than 
 had been done before, the operations of the 
 mind in ckseing the various objects of 
 thought, and reducing them to genera and 
 ^ledes. He was the first, I think, who 
 distinguisbed in substances what he calk 
 the nominal essence— which is only the 
 notion we form of a genus or species, and 
 whiiA, wo express by a defin.ition— from the 
 real 'essence or mtemal eonstitution of the 
 thine, which makes it to be what it is.* 
 Without this distinction, the subtile dis- 
 putes which tortured tho sohoolmen for so 
 many ages, in the controversy between the 
 Bo mm a n sts and realists, could never be 
 brought to an issue. He shews distinctly 
 how we form abatiaet and general notions, 
 and the use ani aeceisity ^of them in na- 
 mmkig, Ini as. (aeeotdhig 'to 'the 'neeived 
 principles of philosophers) ©very notion of 
 our mind must have for itif object an idea 
 in. the mind, itielf^f .he 'thinks that we form 
 afaateet ideas by leaving out of the idea of 
 an individual everything wherein it differs 
 tern othar individuals of the same species 
 nrgenni} and 'that. 'this power of forming 
 abatxaol Mea^. la. that wftieh. chiefly dis- 
 tingnishes us from brute animals, .m whom 
 he could see no evidence of any abstract 
 
 ibce the time of lies Cartes, philoso- 
 phers have differed much with repird to the 
 abare Ihey ascribe to the mmd itself, m the 
 
 lUififlBtion of those repreaentative bein||s 
 
 oalM iikm, and the manner in 'wbieh tins 
 voEfc. la earned, on* 
 
 • Loeke hm no cnriilnallty In llili retpect.— H. 
 
 f Mutliim 'ia litf e imhI $m tli« apfircbentfon' o.f the 
 iil%'(irra|irawiitativ« rMlltf, which Retd mppomd 
 that all phUoiopbera itWmi at MMnething more than 
 the mere act or knowledgt, ooiifldered in relation to 
 waal was, throuf li It, known Off w p twant a d ,— H. 
 
 Of the authors I have met with, Dr 
 Robert Hook is the most explicit. He waa 
 one of the most ingenious and active mem- 
 bers of the Royal Society of London at its 
 first institution ; and frequently read lec- 
 tures to the Society, which were published 
 among his posthumous works. [147] In his 
 ** Lectures upon Light,** § 7, he makes 
 ideas to be material substances ; and thinks 
 that the brain is furnished with a proper 
 kind of matter for fabricating the ideas of 
 each sense. The ideas of sight, lie thinks, 
 are formed of a kind of matter resembling 
 the Bononian stone, or some kind of phos- 
 phorus ; that the ideas of sound are formed 
 of some matter resembling the chords or 
 glasses which take a sound from the vibra- 
 tions of the air ; and so of the rest 
 
 The soul, he thinks, may fabricate some 
 hundreds of those ideas in a day ; and that, 
 as they are formed, they are pushed farther 
 off from the centre of the brain where the 
 soul resides. By tliis means they make a con- 
 tinued cliain of ideas, coy led up in the brain ; 
 the first end of which is farthest removed 
 from the centre or seat of the soul, and the 
 other end is always at the centre, being the 
 last idea formed, which is alwa)s present 
 the moment when considered ; and, there- 
 fore, according as there is a greater number 
 of ideas between the present sensation or 
 thought in the centre and any other, the 
 soul IS apprehensive of a larger portion of 
 time interposed. 
 
 Mr Locke has not entered into so minuto 
 a detail of this manufacture of ideas ; but he 
 ascribes to the mind a very considerable 
 hand in forming its own ideas. With re- 
 gard to our sensations, the mind is passive, 
 " they being produced in «», only bTdif- 
 ferent degrees and modes of motion in our 
 animal spirits, variously agitated by ex- 
 ternal objects,** These, however, cease to 
 be as soon as they cease to be perceived ; 
 but, by the faculties of memory and imagin- 
 ation, " the mind has an ability, when it 
 wills, to revive them again, and, as it were, 
 to paint them anew upon itself, though 
 some with more, some with less difficulty.** 
 As to the ideas of reflection, he ascribes 
 them to no other cause but to that attention 
 which the mind Is capable of giving to ita 
 own operation& These, therefore, are 
 formed by the mind itself. [148] He ascribes 
 likewise to the mind the power of com- 
 pounding ita simple ideas into complex ones 
 of various forms; of repeating them, and 
 adding the repetitious together ; of dividing 
 and classing them; of comparing them, 
 and, from that comparison, of forming the 
 ideas of their relation ; nay, of forming a 
 general idea of a species or genus, by taking 
 from the idea of an individual everything 
 by which it is distinguished from other in- 
 dividuals of the kind, till at last it becomes 
 
 [146-1481 
 
 an abstract general idea, common to all the 
 individuals of the kind. 
 
 These, I think, are the powers which Mr 
 Locke ascribes to the mind itself in the 
 fabrication of its ideas. Bishop Berkeley, 
 as we shall see afterwards, abridged them 
 considerably, and Mr Hume much more. 
 
 The ideas we have of the various quali- 
 ties of bodies are not all, as Mr Locke 
 thinks, of the same kind. Some of them 
 are images or resemblances of what is really 
 in the body; others are not. There are 
 certain qualities inseparable from matter; 
 Buch as extension, solidity, figure, mobility. 
 Our ideas of these are real resemblances of 
 the qualities in the body ; and these he 
 calls primary qualities. But colour, sound, 
 taste, smell, heat, and cold, he calls second- 
 ary qualities, and thinks that they are 
 only powers in bodies of producing cer- 
 tain sensations in us ; which sensations 
 have nothing resembling them, though they 
 are commonly thought to be exact resem- 
 blances of something in the body. " Thus," 
 Bays he, " the idea of heat or light, which 
 we receive, by our eye or touch, from the 
 Bun, are commonly thought real qualities 
 existing in the sun, and something more 
 than mere powers in it.*' 
 
 The names of primary and secondary 
 qnalitie, were, I l^lieve/first used by d 
 Locke ; but the distinction which they ex- 
 press, was well understood by Des Cartes, 
 and is explained by him in his " Principia,'* 
 Part I., § 69, 70, 71. [149] 
 
 Although no author has more merit than 
 Mr Locke, in pointing out the ambiguity of 
 words, and resolving, by that means, many 
 knotty questions, which had tortured the 
 wits of the schoolmen, yet, I apprehend, 
 he has been sometimes misled by the ambi- 
 guity of the word idea, which he uses so 
 often almost in every page of his essay. 
 
 In the explication given of this word, we 
 took notice of two meanings given to it — a 
 popular and a philosophical. In the popu- 
 lar meaning, to have an idea of anything, 
 signifies nothing more than to think of it. 
 
 Although the operations of the mind are 
 most properly and naturally, and indeed 
 most commonly in all vulgar languages, ex- 
 pressed by active verbs, thei-e is another 
 way of expressing them, less common, but 
 equally well understood. To think of a 
 thing, and to have a thought of it ; to be- 
 lieve a thing, and to have a belief of it ; to 
 Bee a thing, and have ^ sight of it ; to con- 
 ceive a thing, and to have a conception, 
 notion, or idea of it — are phrases perfectly 
 synonymous. In these phrases, the thought 
 y means nothing but the act of thinking ; the 
 belief, the act of believing; and the con- 
 ception, notion, or idea, the act of conceiv- 
 ing. To have a clear and distinct idea is, 
 in this sense, nothing else but to conceive 
 ri49, 1501 
 
 the thing clearly and distinctly. When the 
 word idea is taken in this popular sense, 
 there can be no doubt of our having ideas in 
 our minds. To think without ideas would 
 be to think without thought, which is a 
 manifest contradiction.* 
 
 But there is another meaning of the word 
 idea peculiar to philosophers, and groimded 
 upon a philosophical theory, which the vul- 
 gar never think of. Philosophers, ancient 
 and modem, have maintained that the 
 operations of the mind, like the tools of an 
 artificer, can only be employed upon objects 
 that are present in the mind, or in the 
 brain, where the mind is supposed to reside. 
 [ 1 50] Therefore, objects that are distant in 
 time or place must have a representative in 
 the mind, or in the brain — some image or 
 picture of them, which is the object that the 
 mind contemplates. This representative 
 image was, in the old philosophy, called a 
 species or phantasm. Since the time of 
 Des Cartes, it has more commonly been 
 called an idea ; and every thought is con- 
 ceived to have an idea of its object. As 
 this has been a common opinion among 
 philosophers, as far back as we can trace phi- 
 losophy, it is the less to be wondered at that 
 they should be apt to confound the opera- 
 tion of the mind in thinking with the idea 
 or object of thought, which is supposed to 
 be its inseparable concomitant.* 
 
 If we pay any regard to the common 
 sense of mankind, thought and the object 
 of thought are different things, and ought 
 to be distinguished. It is true, thought 
 cannot be without an object — for every 
 man who thinks must think of something ; 
 but the object he thinks of is one thing, liis 
 thought of that object is another thing. 
 They are distinguished in all languages, even 
 by the vulgar ; and many things may be 
 affirmed of thought — that is, of the opera- 
 tion of the mind in thinking — which cannot, 
 without error, and even absurdity, be af- 
 firmed of the object of that operation.* 
 
 From this, I think, it is evident that, if 
 the word idea, in a work where it occurs in 
 every paragraph, is used without any inti- 
 mation of the ambiguity of the word, some- 
 times to signify thought, or the operation 
 of the mind in thinking, sometimes to sig- 
 nify those internal objects of thought which 
 philosophers suppose, this must occasion 
 confusion in the thoughts both of the au- 
 thor and of the readers. I take this to be 
 the greatest blemish in the " Essay on Hu- 
 man Understanding.** I apprehend this is 
 the true source of several paradoxical opin- 
 ions in that excellent work, which I shall 
 have occasion to take notice of. 
 
 Here it is very natural to ask. Whether 
 it was Mr Locke's opinion, that ideas are 
 
 • See Note C— H. 
 
 '/ 
 
S7i 
 
 ON THE INTILLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [BtSAT U. 
 
 CHAP. IX.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF MR LOCKE. 
 
 279 
 
 «lw ooly objecfca of tlwrnglifc ? or, Whether 
 it is not poBuible for men to think of things 
 
 which an not ideas in the mini f * [ 151 ] 
 To this qnestlon it is not easy to give a 
 iiiect mmmm. On the one hand, he says 
 nffceii, is distinot and studied expressions, 
 Ihal Hw t«iB Mm stands for whatever is 
 ^h» olffMlof the understandini; when a man 
 thinks, or whatever it is which the mind 
 ciB be eniiiiyed about in thinMnp : that 
 'ih« 'iniiid peroeives nothing but its own 
 idMai that all knowledge consists m the 
 petoMiition of the agreement or disagree- 
 nMnt of our ideas 1 that we ean have no 
 kiMiwle%i farther than we have ideas. 
 Thesis and many other expressions of the 
 like import, evidently imply that every 
 objeet of thought must be an idea, and can 
 be nothing elMb 
 
 On the other hand, I am persuaded that 
 Mr Iioeke would have acknowledged that 
 we may think of Alexander the Great, or 
 of 'the planet Jopiler, and of numberless 
 things which hO'Wonld have owned are^ not 
 ideas in the mind, but objects which exist 
 independent of the mind tiiat thinks of 
 
 Bow idiai 'we^ leeoncile the^ two ;parts of 
 Ihis apparent eoatradietion ? Ill I am able 
 to say, upon Mr Lockers principles, to recon« 
 eie them, is this. That we cannot think of 
 .Alexander, or of the planet Jupiter, unless 
 w 'have in onr minds an idea — that is, an 
 image or picture of those objects. The 
 idea of Alexander is an image, or picture, 
 or representation of that hero in my mind ; 
 
 * It is to be remembcted that Edd metiii, lif 
 IdbtM, rqwowntative entlUe* different from tlie cog. 
 nitlva modifleaiioM of Urn miod itteie— H. 
 
 t On the confkuiim oriMs and the four subsequent 
 ptragnplM, lee Note C— Whatever i« the immediate 
 el^ect or thought, of that we are neoeasarily conscious. 
 But of Atatamter* Hmt example, at existiDg, we are 
 neoestaillr aol dWdoiii. Alexander, aa exi&ting, 
 CMuml, tlMMiilS, pMiilllf be an immediate object of 
 tiiottglil| comfquentif, if we can be said to think of 
 Jklcxander at all. we can only be said to think oi him 
 iMdiately. in and through a representation of which 
 Wt aBtCMMCiimti and Ifiat lepretentation is the im. 
 nediate oUect or thongiit. It icakes no diff*erence 
 whether this innnediate oMect be viewed as a Urtium 
 fttitf, distinct fironi the existing reality and from the 
 conscious mind: or whether as a mere modality of 
 
 the consctooB mimdi l a tlt ■asthe mere act of thought 
 
 ootiridered in 111 nlatlim to lomething beyond the 
 .||iiim''Of eomoiiMan^eas. In neither case, can we be 
 Mi As it ia llw teiif ImU'Oft of a possible or the 
 ffiialieeMw of a pait' ex'iitence) to know a thing as 
 CXiilin#— llHl III ImiiMdiatdy ; and, therefore, if In 
 tlMBM OMOtllMMI W9 b* Said to know aught out the 
 mind at all, «• ean only be said to know it me. 
 di«l«ty^4ii oilier 'wnrda. m a incdiate object. The 
 'Wbole 'peroicxity' ailM' ^iponi tte .aaibiguity of the 
 iMMoivect. that 'term being used. DOtn for the exter. 
 ndl IMdity of which we are here not conscious, and 
 camwt therefore know in itself, and for the menul 
 ISIumwtaHiim v'Ucli we know in itself, but which is 
 known only as relativeto the other. Reid chooses to 
 idwUiii Ibe Ibnneff algniicaaoo. on the supposition 
 liMt tt 'Hull iSipliMito a representative entity differ. 
 tlw ant nf Ibowgbt la this supposition. 
 
 ent mm mm ant m laowgnt. u mis suppoiiuon, 
 
 hmiifer. be is vranc f nor mmpt obtain an Inmt- 
 ilsto fcnowMite, even'in fi«r«ifite, >iy merely deny, 
 tltcmdk hfiiotbcsii of repriseiJtaii«.n -H. 
 
 and this idea is the immediate object of my 
 thought when I think of Alexander. That 
 this was Locke*B opinion, and that it has 
 been generally the opinion of philosophers, 
 there can be no doubt. 
 
 But, instead of giving light to the ques- 
 tion proposed, it seems to involve it m 
 greater darkness. 
 
 When I thmk of Alexander, I am told 
 there is an image or idea of Alexander in 
 my mind, which is the immediate object of 
 this thought. The necessary consequence 
 of this seems to be, that there are two ob« 
 jects of this thought — the idea, which is in 
 the mind, and the person represented by that 
 idea ; the first, the immediate object of the 
 thought, the hist, the object of the same 
 thought, but not the immediate object. 
 [152] This is a hard saying ; for it makes 
 every thought of things external to have a 
 double object. Every man is conscious of 
 his thoughts, and yet, upon attentive reflec- 
 tion, he perceives no such duplicity in the 
 object he thinks about. Sometimes men 
 see objects double, but they always know 
 when they do so : and I know of no philo- 
 sopher who has expressly owned this dupU- 
 city in the object of thought, though it fol- 
 lows necessarily from maintaining that, in 
 the same thought, there is one object that 
 is immediate and in the mind itself, and 
 another object which is not immediate, and 
 which is not in the mind.* 
 
 Besides this, it seems very hard, or rather 
 impossible, to understand what is meant by 
 an object of thought that is not an imme- 
 diate object of thought. A body in motion 
 may move another that was at rest, by the 
 medium of a third body that is interposed. 
 Tiiis is easily understood ; but we are unable 
 to oonoeive any medium interposed between 
 a mind and the thought of that mind ; and, 
 to think of any object by a medium, seems 
 to be words without any meaning. There 
 is a sense in which a thing may be said to 
 be perceived by a medium. Thus any kind 
 of sign may be said to be the medium by 
 which I perceive or understand the thing 
 signified. The sign by custom, or compact, 
 or perhaps by nature, introduces the thoutrht 
 of the thing signified. But here the thing 
 signified, when it is introduced to the 
 thought, is an object of thought no less 
 immediate than the sign was before. And 
 there are here two objects of thought, one 
 succeedmg another, which we have shewn 
 is not the case with respect to an idea, and 
 the object it represents. 
 
 • 'lliat is, if by object was meant the same thing, 
 when the term Is applied to the external reality, 
 and to its mental representation. Even under the 
 Scholastic theory of repeesentation, it was generally 
 maintainc'i that xhopecica itself is not an object of 
 perception, but the external r.ality throui^h it; a 
 mode of speaking justly reprehended by the acuter 
 iOhoolmeu. But in this respect Reid is equally to 
 buune. 3ee Note C.—H. 
 
 ri61 '«2l 
 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that, if philoso- 
 phers will maintain that ideas in the mind 
 are the only immediate objects of thought, 
 they will be forced to grant that they are the 
 sole objects of thought, and that it is im- 
 
 fossible for men to think of anything else. 
 163] Yet, surely, Mr Locke believed that 
 we can think of many things that are not 
 ideas in the mind ; but he seems not to have 
 perceived, that the maintaining that ideas 
 in the mind are the only immediate objects 
 of thought, must necessarily draw this con- 
 ■equence along with it. 
 
 The consequence, however, was seen by 
 Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume, who rather 
 chose to admit the consequence than to give 
 up the principle from which it follows. 
 
 Perhaps it was unfortunate for Mr Locke 
 that he used the word idea so very fre- 
 •luently as to make it very difficult to give 
 the attention necessary to put it always to 
 the same meaning. And it appears evident 
 that, in many places, he means nothing 
 more by it but the notion or conception we 
 have of any object of thought ; that is, the 
 act of the mind in conceiving it, and not the 
 object conceived.* 
 
 In explaining this word, he says that he 
 uses it for whatever is meant by phantasm, 
 notion, species. Here are three synonymes 
 to the word idea. The first and last are 
 very proper to express the philosophical 
 meaning of the word, being terms of art in 
 the Peripatetic philosophy, and signifying 
 images of external things in the mind, 
 which, according to that philosophy, are 
 objects of thought. But the word rwiion is 
 a word in common language, whose meaning 
 agrees exactly with the popular meaning of 
 
 ♦ When we contemplate a triangle, we may consider 
 it either as a complement of three sides or of three 
 angles ; not that the three side* and the three angles 
 are possible except through each other, but because 
 we may in thought view the figure— qua triangle, 
 in reality one and indivisible— in different relations. 
 Ill like manner, we may consider a representative act 
 of knowledge in two relations— I", as an act represen- 
 tative of something, and, 'i? as an act cognitive of 
 that representation, although, in truth, these are both 
 only one indivisible energy — the representation only 
 existing as known, the cognition being only possible in 
 m representation. Thus, e. g., in the imagination of 
 a Centaur — the Centaur represented is the Centaur 
 known, the Centaur known is the Centaur repre- 
 sented. It is one act under two relations— a relation 
 to the subject knowing — a relation to the object re- 
 presented. But to a cognitive act considered in these 
 several relations we may give either different names, 
 or we may confound them under one, or we may do 
 both ; and this is actually done ; some words express. 
 Ing only one relation, others iKith or either, and 
 Others properly the one but abusively also the other. 
 Thus idea properly denotes an act of thought con- 
 sidered in relation to an external something beyond 
 the sphere of consciousness— a representation; but 
 some philosophers, as Locke, abuse it to comprehend 
 the thought also, viewed as cognitive of this reprcscn- 
 tation. Again, perception^ notion, conception, &c. 
 {concept is, unfortunately, obsolete) comprehend 
 both, or may be used to denote either of the rela- 
 tions ; and it is only by the context that we can ever 
 ▼aguely discover in which ai>plication they are in- 
 tended. This is unfoitunate ; but so it is.— H. 
 
 [153-155] 
 
 the word ttfea, but not with the philosophi- 
 cal. 
 
 When these two different meanmgs 01 
 the word idea are confounded in a studied 
 explication of it, there is little reason to 
 expect that they should be carefully dis- 
 tinguished in the frequent use of it. There 
 are many passages in the Essay in which, 
 to make them intelligible, the word idea 
 must be taken in one of those senses, and 
 many others in which it must be taken in 
 the other. It seems probable that the 
 author, not attending to this ambiguity of 
 the word, used it in the one sense or the 
 other, as the subject-matter required ; and 
 the far greater part of his readers have done 
 the same. [154] 
 
 There is a third sense, in which he uses 
 the word not unfrequently, to signify objects 
 of thought that are not in tEb mind, but 
 external. Of this he seems to be sensible, 
 and somewhere makes an apology for it. 
 When he affirms, as he does in innumerable 
 places, that all human knowledge consists 
 in the perception of the agreement or dis- 
 agreement of our ideas, it is impossible to 
 put a meaning upon this, consistent with 
 his principles, unless he means by ideas 
 every object of human thought, whether 
 mediate or immediate ; everything, in a 
 word, that can be signified by the subject, 
 or predicate of a proposition. 
 
 Thus, we see that the word idea has three 
 difierent meanings in the essay; and the 
 author seems to have used it sometimes in one, 
 sometimes in another, without being aware 
 of any change in the meaning. The reader 
 slides easily into the same fallacy, that 
 meaning occurring most readily to his mind 
 which gives the best sense to what he reads. 
 I have met with persons professing no slight 
 acquaintance with the " Essay on Hiiman 
 Understanding," who maintained that the 
 word idea, wherever it occurs, means 
 nothing more than thought ; and that, 
 where he speaks of ideas as images in the 
 mind, and as objects of thought, he is not 
 to be understood as speaking properly, but 
 figuratively or analogically. And, indeed, 
 I apprehend that it would be no small 
 advantage to many passages in the book, 
 if they could admit of this interpretation. 
 
 It is not the fault of this philosopher 
 alone to have given too little attention to 
 the distinction between the operations of 
 the mind and the objects of those opera- 
 tions. Although this distinction be familiar 
 to the vulgar, and found in the structure of 
 all languages, philosophers, when they speak 
 of ideas, often confound [155] the two to- 
 gether ; and their theory concerning ideas 
 has led them to do so; for ideas, being 
 supposed to be a shadowy kind of beings, 
 intermediate between the thought and the 
 object of thought, sometimes seem to cos- 
 
l_ 
 
 ON THB INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [^BSSAY II 
 
 OHAF. X.] OF THB SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 
 
 281 
 
 o1>j0et <if 'Hwii^Iii audMOMtiBMi to bave m 
 ctiniMt mk0mm of thflir own. 
 
 Tlw MM pUloKiiiliiml theory of ideas 
 baB led pMlosophers to confoimd the differ- 
 ent operations of the uuderotanding, and 
 to isaU them all bv Oie name of fofeeption.* 
 Mr Locke, tbongli not free ftom Hiis Ikult, 
 is not flo often chargeable with it as some 
 who oune alter him. The vulgar give the 
 name of penwptioiitothat immSiato know. 
 ledge of emtemal objects which wo have by 
 our external senseaf This is its proper 
 meaning in otir language, thoagh sometimes 
 it maj be applied to other things metaphort- 
 «•% or .siialiig;ically4' When I think of 
 anything 'Ihaft does not exist, as of the 
 republic of Oceana, I do not perceive it — I 
 only eonoeive or imafAie it.§ When I 
 think of what .happoiM. to .me yesterday, I 
 do :not ;perioeive but remember il|| When 
 I am pained with the gout, it is not proper 
 to say I perceive the pain ; I feel it, or am 
 eonsdoaa of it t it is not an oblect of per- 
 e^ion, but of sensation and of eonsdous- 
 ne8s.il So far, the vulgar distinguish very 
 properly the different operations of the 
 mind, and never confonnd the names of 
 things so different in. their nature. But 
 the theory of ideas leads pMloiophers to 
 conceive all those operations to be of one 
 nature^ and to give them one name. They 
 are all, according to that theory, the per- 
 eq*k.i of lde»in the mind. Perceiving. 
 'remembering, nnagining, being conscious, 
 are all perceiving ideas m the mind, and 
 .are ^called ■perceptimts. Hence it is that 
 pbUoiopbefs speak of the^ perceptions of 
 niemorv .and the neroentiona' of 'hnaoFina^' 
 
 • Mo more than bf caillnf tlwa all by the iMne 
 
 of CoptHiompm Acts of Cmudkmmesi, There was 
 no rvMMiii., dttier Ihm ctnniilMgy or lua^e, why prr. 
 eqfOion •biniM iwl df nifi tht eaerpy of tminediately 
 appreheitdi'iig, In ftnatal j. and until Eelil Broited th.e 
 
 word tO' our apprehciition of an csternal world,, tt 
 wai,. in fact, employed by .phUcmiihtfa, as tanta- 
 mount to an act oreomdouineM. We weie la 'aetd 
 'Of' a word to expreit our amm&im mgmiUom m dlf-^ 
 tlnet fkom our temitiwe ,fii§Miig», (for the term $m*. 
 0^m involved both,) and. therelbre. Reid't rettilo. 
 Hun* though contrary to ail precedent, may bt •!> 
 mlttcd; bu.t hi*' criticism of otlicr pliiioMi|iliMi .iir 
 llMlr eui^loyroent ol the levOt In a lilitir :iiieiiiiiiig^ 
 la wholly ffrouad.leii.— M. 
 
 t But nM oiclaslvely.— H. 
 
 i nit is not coriect ^M* 
 
 I A'nd why t &iai|ilv because we do not, l>y sudi. 
 .■a. aelt Mmamt or apprtkfmt stich vn ohiect to eiist.^ } 
 ■HRly rieiireseni It. But pefce|ition waa ^only 
 J'for such an nmhcnslon. We «niM aaf . 'hew- 
 
 MlMSliiiii' of) tiM 'rapulile' of OeeiiMi, aa Imaiined 
 If «•.. aHm Harrington.— M.. 
 
 I .And this, iir 'the same reason. What la remeai. 
 'Iierod. is not and can n.ot lie inanedlalely icnown ; 
 nought but the present mental r«|Mrfs«itailoii is so 
 known ; and this we could pioiierly say ttiat we 
 peTOeiven,.""!!. 
 
 f Because the feelinit of piin, though only possible 
 fiiniiiili' eomciouafieaia Is not aa act of knowledge. 
 .But II COttld lit pMfMlty said,. .1 jwcrtfar a feeling qf 
 jMiB. .Alanrrat«,ilieeaiiiiMaiMl|wrc«^«f«patfi» 
 la 11 corteel aa 1 am oMfvlMt 4if a f.tKm.-^H. 
 
 tion. They make sensation to be a percep- 
 tion; and everything we perceive by our 
 senses to be an idea of sensation. Some* 
 times they say that they are conscious of 
 the ideas in their own minds, sometimes 
 that they perceive them.* [136] 
 
 However improbable it may appear that 
 philosophers who have taken pains to study 
 the operations of their own minds, should 
 express them less properly and less dis* 
 tinctly than the vulgar, it seems really to be 
 the case ; and the only account that can be 
 given of this strange phsenomenon, I take 
 to be this : that the vulgar seek no theory 
 to account for the operations of their minds ; 
 they know that they see, and hear, and re- 
 member, and imagine ; and those who think 
 distinctly will express these operations dis- 
 tinctlyi as their consciousness represents 
 them to the mind ; but philosophers think 
 they ought to know not only that there are 
 such operations, but how they are per- 
 formed ; how they see, and hear, and re- 
 member, and imagine; and, having invented 
 a theory to explain these operations, by 
 ideas or images in the mind, they suit their 
 expressions to their theory ; and, as a false 
 comment throws a cloud upon the text, so 
 a false theory darkens the ph^enomena 
 which it attempts to explain. 
 
 We shall examine this theory afterwards. 
 Here I would only observe that, if it is not 
 true, it may be expected that it should lead 
 ingenious men who adopt it to confound the 
 operations of the mind with their objects, 
 and with one another, even where the com- 
 mon language of the unlearned clearly dis- 
 tinguishes them. One that trusts to a false 
 guide is in greater danger of being led 
 astray, than he who trusts his own eyes, 
 though he should be but indifferently ac 
 quainted with the road. 
 
 7 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OP THB BBNTIIIBNTS OP BISHOP BBRKBLET. 
 
 OBoaoB Bbrkslby, afterwards Bishop 
 of Cloyne, published his " New Theory dt 
 Vision," in 1709; his "Treatise concern- 
 ing the Principles of Human Knowledge,** in 
 1710 ; and his " Dialogues between Hylaa 
 and Philonous,** in 1713 ; being then a Fel- 
 low of Trinity College, Dublm. [167] He is 
 acknowledged universally to have great 
 merit, as an excellent writer, and a very 
 acute and clear reasoner on the most ab- 
 stract subjects, not to speak of his virtues 
 as a man, which were very conspicuous : 
 yet the doctrine chiefly held forth in the 
 treatises above mentioned, especially in the 
 
 * The connection of the wider signification of the 
 term perception, with the more complex theory cf 
 representation, haa no foundation^H. 
 
 [156. 1571 
 
 two last, has generally been thought so very 
 absurd, that few can be brought to think 
 that he either believed it himself, or that 
 he seriously meant to persuade others of its 
 truth. 
 
 He maintains, and thinks he has demon- 
 strated, by a variety of arguments, ground- 
 ed on principles of philosophy universally 
 received, that there is no such thing as 
 matter in the universe ; that sun and moon, 
 earth and sea, our own bodies, and those of 
 our friends, are nothing but ideas in the 
 minds of those who think of them, and that 
 they have no existence when they are not 
 the objects of thought ; that all that is in 
 the universe may be reduced to two cate- 
 gories — ^to wit, minds, and ideas in the 
 mind. 
 
 But, however absurd this doctrine might 
 appear to the unlearned, who consider the 
 existence of the objects of sense as the 
 most evident of all truths, and what no man 
 in his senses can doubt, the philosophers 
 who had been accustomed to consider ideas 
 as the immediate objects of all thought, had 
 no title to view this doctrine of Berkeley in 
 so unfavourable a light. 
 
 They were taught by Des Cartes, and by 
 all that came after him, that the existence 
 of the objects of sense is not self-evident, 
 but requires to be proved by arguments ; 
 and, although Des Cartes, and many others, 
 had laboured to find arguments for this 
 purpose, there did not appear to be that 
 force and clearness in them which might 
 have been expected in a matter of such im- 
 portance. Mr Norris had declared that, 
 after all the arguments that had been 
 offered, the existence of an external world 
 is only probable, but by no means certain. 
 [168] Malebranche thought it rested upon the 
 authority of revelation, and that the argu- 
 ments drawn from reason were not perfectly 
 conclusive. Others thought that the argu- 
 ment from revelation was a mere sophism, 
 because revelation comes to us by our 
 senses, and must rest upon their authority. 
 
 Thus we see that the new philosophy 
 had been making gradual approaches towards 
 Berkeley*s opinion ; and, whatever others 
 might do, the philosophers had no title to 
 look upon it as absurd, or unworthy of a 
 fair examination. Severalauthors attempt- 
 ed to answer his arguments, but with little 
 success, and others acknowledged that they 
 could neither answer them nor assent to 
 them. It is probable the Bishop made but 
 few converts to his doctrine ; but it is cer- 
 tain he made some ; and that he himself 
 continued, to the end of his life, firmly per- 
 suaded, not only of its truth,* but of its 
 
 • Berkeley's confidence in his idealism was, how- 
 ever, nothing to Fichte's, This philosoplier, in one 
 of hib controversial treatises, imprecates everlasting 
 damnation on himeelt not only should he retract, but 
 
 ri5K, 1591 
 
 great importance for the improvement of 
 human knowledge, and especially for tho 
 defence of religion. Dial. Pref. " If the 
 principles which I here endeavour to pro- 
 pagate, are admitted for true, the conse- 
 quences which I think evidently flow from 
 thence are, that atheism and scepticism 
 will be utterly destroyed, many intricate 
 points made plain, great difficulties solved, 
 several useless parts of science retrenched, 
 speculation referred to practice, and men 
 reduced from paradoxes to common sense." 
 
 In the " Theory of Vision," he goes no 
 farther than to assert that the objects of 
 sight are nothing but ideas in the mind, 
 granting, or at least not denying, that there 
 is a tangible world, which is really external, 
 and which exists whether we perceive it or 
 not. Whether the reason of this was, that his 
 system had not, at that time, wholly opened 
 to his own mind, or whether he thought it 
 prudent to let it enter into the minds of his 
 readers by degrees, I cannot say. I think 
 he insinuates the last as the reason, in the 
 " Principles of Human Knowledge." [159] 
 
 The " Theory of Vision," however, taken 
 by itself, and without relation to the main 
 branch of his system, contains very important 
 discoveries, and marks of great genius. He 
 distinguishes more accurately than any that 
 went before him, between the immediate 
 objects of sight, and those of the other 
 senses which are early associated with them. 
 He shews that distance, of itself and imme- 
 diately, is not seen ; but that we learn to 
 judge of it by certain sensations and per- 
 ceptions which are connected with it. This 
 is a very important observation ; and, I 
 believe, was first made by this author.* 
 It gives much new light to the operations 
 of our senses, and serves to account for 
 many phaenomena in optics, of which the 
 greatest adepts in that science had always 
 either given a false account, or acknow- 
 ledged that they could give none at all. 
 
 We may observe, by the way, that the 
 ingenious author seems not to have attended 
 to a distinction by which his general asser- 
 tion ought to have been limited. It is true 
 that the distance of an object from the eye ia 
 not immediately seen ; but there is a certain 
 kind of distance of one object from another 
 which we see immediately. The author 
 acknowledges that there is a visible exten- 
 sion, and visible figures, which are proper 
 objects of sight ; there must therefore be a 
 visible distance. Astronomers call it an- 
 gular distance ; and, although they measmre 
 
 should he even waver in regard to any one principle 
 of his doctrine; a doctrine, the speculative result of 
 which led him, as he confesses, without even a cer. 
 tainty of his own existence. (See above, p. I'^, 
 note «.) It is Varro who speaks of tlie creduia 
 phflosophoum natio : but this is to be credulous 
 even in incredulity. — H. 
 
 • This last statement is inaccurate. — H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [eSBAT II. 
 
 OHAP. X.J OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 283 
 
 Hl^ Hm ^MmK wlikli i» niiidft by two linea 
 iamm hmm ^meyoUUm two dintant ob- 
 j«el% jpvl it is immediately perceived by 
 tight, erm. by tboi© wbo never thought of 
 that ' Hi d % 
 
 H» W tb« way in ihewing bow we le«m 
 to perceive the distaiice of an object from 
 the eye, though this speculttifflliwwi carried 
 iurther by others who came after Wm. He 
 made the disttnetion between that extension 
 and figure which we perceive by sight only, 
 and that which we perceive by touch ; call- 
 liig:'tlitiiit,TiiibH the:laal,: tangible ex- 
 •iiSalmi' ■ad.igiir*. He shewed, likewise, 
 Ihat^ taagiib' extension, and not visible, is 
 the object of geomelry, although mathema- 
 tieiana oommonlv use visibl© diagrams in 
 tlMiz demoBBteation&* [160] 
 
 The notion of extension and figure which 
 we get from sight only, and that which we 
 get from toutm, have been so constantly 
 eoBJoined from our infancy in all the judg- 
 mmts we flirm of the objects of sense^ 
 that it required great abilities to distm- 
 giiish them accurately, and to assign to 
 each seaw what truly belongs to it; " so 
 difficult a Alng it Is/* as Bttilieley justly 
 observes, ^* to dissolve an union so early 
 b^un, and confirmed by so long a habit.** 
 Wm point be baa kboured, through the 
 whole of the essay on vision, with that 
 uncommon penetration and judgment which 
 he possessed, and with as groat success as 
 MMild be expMted in a first attempt upon 
 
 He condndiia lUs essay, by shewing, in 
 m less than seven sections, the notions 
 which an intelligent being, endowed with 
 
 light,, without tlw sense' 'Of touch, m%ht 
 fbnn. of 'the obtate of sense. This specu- 
 
 lalion. to riiaimr 'tifnhers, may appear tO' 
 be egngious trififag-f To Biihep Ber^ 
 ln% it ^amaied in .anotheff .li#i» mA «ii 
 in m to mm whO' are espaUe of' entering 
 hite' it, and. wbe 'knew the importance of it,. 
 in solving many of the phienomena of vision. 
 He seems, indeed, to have exerted mora 
 Ibrce of aenius m this than :iii. the main 
 branch of his system. 
 
 In the new philosophy, the piUars by 
 vMob 'the existence of amaleiial world was 
 ■upportedy were m feeble that it ^ did not 
 lequiTO' the force of a Samson to 'bring them 
 
 • Pioprrlf tpttk ng* It if niltliisr' tangible nor 
 'vfslMe •xIaniiMi vhidi if die oliifct of giwmetrir. 
 Iiiit intdli|11i% wammm • fflBf#«it»niio« — H. 
 
 t XbiLTlMve m irnM*. m In tXtmlm to PriMtlef . 
 Tlwt fnrtlcff liad, not very OMttiniuly. taid. in hit 
 ^ lilMlioii of Reid'i Iiiqiilrj** '• I do net r©. 
 ftolisiCMcn a room tgrrgious piece of so. 
 J lliaw tlw chapter which our author calU 
 mmm - llMiiifltirf «f Vlfililes,* and bit account of the 
 • Wo«ienliiii,*a«hetermttllf •elmaginary bcingawho 
 nail no Hmm orsubatance Isut ihnn slfht.^— In a note 
 •Ma tliatellifter of •• Th- Inquiry," I atated tliat 
 dltlNNiglit era Oeonetry of Viaihlea vaa original to 
 aodl nad then no rMsollestlon 'Of RtldH 
 
 ;eic]ri and I 
 iQufatomiinl 
 
 ta the pnatent pnsfraiih.^Il. 
 
 down { and in this we have not so much 
 reason to admiro the strength of Berkeley's 
 genius, as his boldness in publishing to the 
 world an opinion which the unlearned would 
 be apt to mterpret as the sign of a crazy 
 intellect. A man who was firmly persuaded 
 of the doctrine universally received by phi* 
 losophers concerning ideas, if he could but 
 take courage to call in question the exist- 
 ence of a material world, would easily find 
 unanswerable arguments in that doctrine. 
 [ 161] " Some truths there are," says Berke- 
 ley, '* so near and obvious to the mind, that 
 a man need only open his eyes to see them. 
 Such,** he adds, " 1 take this important one 
 to be, that all the choir of heaven, and fur- 
 nituro of the earth — in a word, all those 
 bodies which compose the mighty frame 
 of the world — have not any subsistence 
 without a mind.** Princ. § 6. 
 
 The principle from which this important 
 conclusion is obviously deduced, is laid down 
 hi tihe first sentence of his principles of 
 knowledge, as evident ; and, indeed, it has 
 always been acknowledged by philosophers. 
 " It is evident,'* says he, " to any one who 
 takes a survey of the objects of human 
 knowledge, that they aro either ideas ao» 
 tually imprinted on the senses, or else such 
 as aro perceived, by attending to the pas- 
 sions and operations of the mind ; or, lastly, 
 ideas formed by help of memory and imagin- 
 ation, either compounding, dividing, or 
 baroly representing those originally per- 
 ceived in the foresaid ways.*! 
 
 This is the foundation on which the whole 
 system resta If this be true, then, indeed, 
 the existence of a material world must be 
 a droain that has imposed upon all mankind 
 from the beginning of the world. 
 
 The foundation on which such a fabric 
 rests ought to be very solid and well esta- 
 blished ;yet Berkeley says nothing more for 
 it than that it is evident. If he means that 
 it is self-evident, this indeed might be a 
 good reason for not offering any direct argu- 
 ment in proof of it. But I apprehend this 
 cannot justly be said. Self-evident propo- 
 sitions aro those which appear evident to 
 every man of sound understanding who ap- 
 prohends the meaning of them distinctly, 
 and attends to them without prejudice. Can 
 I this be said of this proposition, That all the 
 objects of our knowledge are ideas in our 
 own minds ?• I believe that, to any man 
 
 a To the Idealist, it ic of perfect indifference whether 
 
 this propofitior), in Reid's 8en»e of the expreMioii 
 Ideas, be admitted, or whether it be held that we are 
 con»ciou» of nothing but of the modifications of our 
 own minds. For, on the supiiositioii that we can 
 itnow the non-ego onl? in and through the ego^ it 
 follows, (since we can know nothing immediately of 
 which we are not conscious, and it being allowed 
 tbat wt are conscious only of mind,) that it is con. 
 tradlctory to suppose aught, as known, (i.e.. any ot»- 
 |eet of knowledge.) to be known oClMnrise than aa a 
 fbirooiiiaiioo ol mind.— M. 
 
 [160, 1611 
 
 uninstructed in philosophy, this proposition 
 will appear very improbable, if not absurd. 
 [162] However scanty his knowledge may 
 be, he considers the sun and moon, the earth 
 and sea, as obj ects of it ; and it will be difficult 
 to persuade him that those objects of his 
 knowledge are ideas in his own mind, and 
 have no existence when he does not think 
 of them. If I may presume to speak my 
 own sentiments, I once believed this doc- 
 trine of ideas so firmly as to embrace the 
 whole of Berkeley *s system in consequence 
 of it; till, finding other consequences to 
 follow from it, which gave me more unea- 
 siness than the want of a material world, 
 it came into my mind, more than forty 
 years ago, to put the question, What evi- 
 dence have I for this doctrine, that all the 
 objects of my knowledge aro ideas in my 
 own mind ? From that time to the pro- 
 sent I have been candidly and impartially, 
 as I think, seeking for the evidence of this 
 principle, but can find none, excepting the 
 authority of philosophers. 
 
 We shall have occasion to examine its 
 evidence afterwards. I would at present 
 only observe, that all the arguments brought 
 by Berkeley against the existence of a ma- 
 terial world are grounded upon it ; and that 
 he has not attempted to give any evidence 
 Tor it, but takes it for granted, as other 
 philosophers had done before hun. 
 
 But, supposing this principle to be true, 
 Berkeley's system is impregnable. No 
 demonstration can be more evident than 
 his reasoning from it. Whatever is per- 
 ceived is an idea, and an idea can only 
 exist in a mind. It has no existence when 
 it is not perceived ; nor can there b^adjy- 
 thing like an idea, but an idea. y/' 
 
 So sensible he was that it reqmxCid no 
 laborious reasoning to deduce his system 
 from the principle laid down, that he was 
 afraid of being thought needlessly prolix in 
 handling the subject, and makes an apology 
 for it Princ. § 22. " To what purpose 
 is it,** says he, " to dilate upon that which 
 may be demonstrated, with the utmost evi- 
 dence, in a line or two, to any one who is 
 capable of the least reflection ?** [ 1 63 ] But, 
 though his demonstration might have been 
 comprehended in a line or two, he very pru- 
 dently thought that an opinion which the 
 world would be apt to look upon as a mon- 
 ster of absurdity, would not be able to make 
 its way at once, even by the force of a naked 
 demonstration. He observes, justly. Dial. 
 2, " That, though a demonstration be never 
 so well grounded and fairly proposed, yet 
 if thero is, withal, a strain of prejudice, or 
 a wrong bias on the understanding, can it 
 be expected to peroeive clearly, and adhere 
 firmly to the truth ? No ; there is need of 
 time and pains; the attention must be 
 twakened and detained, by a frequent re- 
 
 petition of the same thing, placed often in 
 the same, often in different hghts.*' 
 
 It was, therefore, necessary to dwell 
 upon it, and turn it on all sides, tUl it became 
 familiar ; to consider all its consequences, 
 and to obviate every prejudice and pre- 
 possession that might hinder its admittance. 
 It was even a matter of some difficulty to 
 fit it to common language, so far as to 
 enable men to speak and reason about it 
 intelligibly. Those who have entered se- 
 riously into Berkeley's system, have found, 
 after all the assistance which his writings 
 give, that time and practice are necessary 
 to acquire the habit of speaking and think- 
 ing distinctly upon it. 
 
 Berkeley foresaw the opposition that 
 would be made to his system, from two 
 different quarters: Jirsty from the philos- 
 ophers; and, secondly, from the vulgar, 
 who are led by the plain dictates of nature. 
 The first he had the courage to oppose 
 openly and avowedly; the second, he 
 dreaded much more, and, therefore, takes 
 a great deal of pains, and, I think, uses 
 some art, to court into his party. This 
 is particularly observable in his " Dia- 
 logues.** He sets out with a declaration. 
 Dial. 1, " That, of late, he had quitted 
 several of the sublime notions he had got 
 in the schools of the philosophers, for vul- 
 gar opinions,*' _and assures Hylas, his fel- 
 low-dialogis^ " That, since this revolt from 
 metaphysical notions to the plain dictates 
 of nature and common sense, he found his 
 understanding strangely enlightened; so 
 that he could now easily comprehend a great 
 many things, which before were all mys- 
 tery and riddle." [ 164] Pref. to Dial. " If 
 his principles are admitted for true, men 
 will be reduced from paradoxes to common 
 •ense.** At the same time, he acknowledges, 
 " That they carry with them a great opposi- 
 tion to the prejudices of philosophers, which 
 have so far prevailed against the common 
 sense and natural notions of mankind.*' 
 
 When Hylas objects to him. Dial. 3, 
 ** You can never persuade me, Philonous, 
 that the denying of matter or corporeal 
 substance is not repugnant to the universal 
 sense of mankind" — he answers, " I wish 
 both our opinions were fairly stated, and 
 submitted to the judgment of men who had 
 plain common sense, without the prejudices 
 of a learned education. Let me be repre- 
 sented as one who trusts his senses, who 
 thinks he knows the things he sees and 
 feels, and entertains no doubt of their ex- 
 istence If by material substance is meant 
 
 only sensible body, that which is seen and 
 felt, (and the unphilosophical part of the 
 world, I dare say, mean no more,) then I 
 am more certain of matter's existence than 
 you or any other philosopher pretend to be. 
 If there be anything which makes the 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [kssav n. 
 
 OBAP. x] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 285 
 
 gpnaniity 'Of miuikuid avenie from the 
 iwlioBi I espouM, it is a misapprehensioii 
 tliat I deny the realitj «ff nensible things : 
 Imt, m it is yoa who are guMty of that, and 
 not I, it follows, that, in truth, their aversion 
 ii agpunst your notions, and not mine. I 
 Mil eontent to appeal to the common sense 
 of the world for the truth of my notion. I 
 ■n uf a vulgaf cast, simple enough to 
 Wlavii my senses, and to leave things as I 
 'ind than. I'OaiiiMt, for my life^ help 
 thinking that snow is white and fire hot** 
 When Hylas is. at last tntinlaf conmted, 
 he ohsufvis to Philonous, « After al, th© 
 oontRiteny about matter, in the strict 
 ■cceptatiou of it, lies altogether between 
 yon and the philosophers, whose principles, 
 I aelcnowled^, are not near' so natural, or 
 m agroeahk to the common .sense of man- 
 kind, and Holy Scripture, as yours.'* [165] 
 Philonous observes, in the end, " That he 
 ihm not' protind to be a ^sstler' up of new 
 'Wltioas.; bis endeavours tend only to unite, 
 tad. to phoe in a clearer light, that truth 
 which was before shared between the vul- 
 Ipr and the philosophers ; the former being 
 of opinion, that those thinp they im- 
 mediately perceive are the real things; and 
 the latter, that the things immediately 
 perceived, are ideas which exist only in the 
 mind ; which two things put together do^, 
 in effect, constitute the substance of what 
 he advances.** And he conelndes by ob. 
 serving, "That those principles which at 
 list view lead to scepticism, pursued to a 
 iseffliltn point, bring men back to common 
 
 ft 
 
 These passages shew sufficiently the 
 author*s concern to reconcile his system to 
 
 the plain dictates of nature and common 
 .sense, whle he expresses no concern to 
 leeoncile it to the received doctrines of 
 philosophers. He is fond to take part with 
 the 'Vulgar' against the philosophers, and to 
 ▼indicate common .sense against their inno- 
 vations; What pity is it that he did not 
 carry this sospicion of the doctrine of phUo- 
 ■opbers so far as to doubt of that philoso- 
 phical tenet on which his whole system is 
 Innlt— to 'wit, that the things temediaiely 
 fofceived. 'hy the senses are ideas which 
 exist, only in ibe mind ! 
 
 After all, it seems .no ^easy matter to make 
 the vulgar opinloa and that of Berkeley to 
 meet And, to accomplish this, he seems 
 to me to draw each out of its line towards 
 the other, not without some straining. 
 
 The vulgar opinion he reduces to this, 
 that the vety thmgs which we perceive by 
 our senses do really exist This he grants ;• 
 fir these things, mp he, are ideas in our 
 minds, or complexions of ideas, to which 
 
 • lliii !• one of the iMiiagei that aiay tm broitgliC 
 
 rmva ihat Eeid did allow to the rgo an Imwidiate 
 rcsl knowMgt of the wow-ciftf.— H. 
 
 we give one name, and consider as one 
 thing ; these are the immediate objects of 
 sense, and these do really exist As to the 
 notion that those things have an absolute 
 external existence, independent of being 
 perceived by any mind, bethinks [166] that 
 this is no notion t)f the vulgar, but a refine- 
 ment of philosophers ; and that the notion of 
 material substance, as a »'i6»/rfl/ttOT, or sup- 
 port of that collection of sensible qualities 
 to which we give the name of an apple or m 
 melon, is likewise an invention of philoso- 
 phers, and is not found with the vulgar tUl 
 they are instructed by philosophers. The 
 substance not being an object of sens©, th© 
 vulgjur never think of it ; or, if they are 
 taught the use of the word, they mean no 
 more by it but that collection of sensible 
 qualities which they, from finding them con- 
 joined in nature, have been accustomed to 
 call by one name, and to consider as one 
 thing. 
 
 Thus he draws the vulgar opinion near 
 to his own ; and, that he may meet it half 
 way, he acknowledges that material things 
 have a real existence out of the mind of 
 this or that person ; but the question, says 
 he, between the materialist and me, is, 
 Whether they have an absolute existence 
 distinct from their being perceived by God, 
 and exterior to all minds ? This, indeed, 
 he «y5, some heathens and philosophers 
 have affirmed ; but whoever entertains no- 
 tions of the Deity, suitable to the Holy 
 Scripture, will be of another opinion. 
 
 But here an objection occurs, which it 
 required all his ingenuity to answer. It is 
 this : The ideas in my mind cannot be the 
 same with the ideas of any other mind ; 
 therefore, if the objects I perceive be only 
 ideas, it is impossible that the objects I per- 
 ceive can exist anywhere, when I do not 
 perceive them; and it is impossible that 
 two or more minds can perceive the same 
 object. 
 
 To this Berkeley answers, that this ob- 
 jection presses no less the opinion of the 
 materialist philosopher than his. But the 
 difficulty is to make his opinion coincide 
 with the notions of the vulgar, who are 
 firmly persuaded that the very identical 
 objects which they perceive, continue to 
 exist when they do not perceive them ; and 
 who are no less firmly persuaded that, when 
 ten men look at the sun or the moon, they 
 all see the same individual object* [167] 
 
 To reconcile this repugnancy, he observes, 
 Dial. 3_" That, if the term same be taken 
 in the vulgar acceptation, it is certain (and 
 not at all repugnant to the principles he 
 maintains) that difl*erent persons may per- 
 ceive the same thing ; or the same thing or 
 idea exist in different minds. Words are 
 
 • 8ce ttie lait note.— ff. 
 
 [165-167] 
 
 of arbitrary imposition ; and, since men are 
 used to apply the word samcy where no dis- 
 tinction or variety is perceived, and he does 
 not pretend to alter their perceptions, it 
 follows that, as men have said before, 
 several saw the same ihing^ so they may, 
 upon like occasions, still continue to use the 
 same phrase, without any deviation, either 
 from propriety of language, or the truth of 
 things ; but, if the term same be used in the 
 acceptation of philosophers, who pretend to 
 an abstracted notion of identity, then, 
 according to their sundry definitions of this 
 term, (for it is not yet agreed wherein that 
 philosophic identity consists,) it may or 
 may not be possible for divers persons to 
 perceive the same thing ; but whether phi- 
 losophers shall think fit to call a thing the 
 same or no is, I conceive, of small import- 
 ance. Men may dispute about identity and 
 diversity, without any real difference in 
 their thoughts and opinions, abstracted from 
 names.*' 
 
 Upon the whole, I apprehend that Berk- 
 eley has carried this attempt to reconcile 
 his system to the vulgar opinion farther 
 than reason supports him ; and he was no 
 doubt tempted to do so, from a just appre- 
 hension that, in a controversy of this kind, 
 the common sense of mankind is the most 
 formidable antagonist 
 
 Berkeley has employed much pains and 
 ingenuity to shew that his system, if re- 
 ceived and believed, would not be attended 
 with those bad consequences in the conduct 
 of life, which superficial thinkers may be apt 
 to impute to it His system does not take 
 away or make any alteration upon our plea- 
 sures or our pains : our sensations, whether 
 agreeable or disagreable, are the, same upon 
 h is system as upon any other. These are real 
 things, and the only things that interest us. 
 [168] They are produced in us according to 
 certain laws of nature, by which our con- 
 duct will be directed in attaining the one, 
 and avoiding the other ; and it is of no 
 moment to us, whether they are produced 
 immediately by the operation of some power- 
 ful intelligent being upon our minds: or 
 by the mediation of some inanimate being 
 which we call matter. 
 
 The evidence of an all-governing mind, 
 so far from being weakened, seems to appear 
 even in a more striking light upon his 
 hypothesis, than upon the common one. 
 The powers which inanimate matter ia sup- 
 posed to -possess, have always been the 
 stronghold of atheists, to which they had 
 recourse in defence of their system. This 
 fortress of atheism must be most effectually 
 overturned, if there is no such thing as 
 matter in the universe. In all this the 
 Bishop reasons justly and acutely. But 
 there is one uncomfortable consequence of 
 his system, which he seems not to have at- 
 [168, 1691 
 
 tended to, and from which it will be found 
 difficult, if at all possible, to guard it. 
 
 The consequence I mean is this— that, 
 although it leaves us sufficient evidence of a 
 supreme intelligent mind, it seems to take 
 away all the evidence we have of other 
 intelligent beings like ourselves. What I 
 call a father, a brother, or a friend, is only 
 a parcel of ideas in my own mind ; and, being 
 ideas in my mind, they cannot possibly have 
 that relation to another mind which they have 
 to mine, any more than the pain felt by me 
 can be the individual pain felt by another. I 
 can find no principle in Berkeley's system, 
 which affords me even probable ground to 
 conclude that there are other intelligent 
 beings, like myself, in the relations of father, 
 brother, friend, or fellow-citizen. I am left 
 alone, as the only creature of God in the 
 universe, in that forlorn state of effoism 
 into which it is said some of the disciples of 
 Des Cartes were brought by his philo- 
 sophy.* [169] 
 
 Of all the opinions that have ever been 
 advanced by philosophers, this of Bishop 
 Berkeley, that there is no material world, 
 seems the strangest, and the most apt to 
 bring philosophy into ridicule with plain 
 men who are guided by the dictates of nature 
 and common sense. And, it will not, I ap- 
 prehend, be improper to trace this progeny 
 of the doctrine of ideas from its origin, and 
 to observe its gradual progress, till it acquired 
 such strength that a pious and learned 
 bishop had the boldness to usher it into the 
 world, as demonstrable from the principles 
 of philosophy universally received, aiid as 
 an admirable expedient for the advance- 
 ment of knowledge and for the defence of 
 religion. 
 
 During the reign of the Peripatetic phi- 
 losophy, men were little disposed to doubt, 
 and much to dogmatize. The existence of 
 the objects of sense was held as a first prin- 
 ciple ; and the received doctrine was, that 
 the sensible species or idea is the very form 
 of the external object, just separated from 
 the matter of it, and sent into the mind that 
 perceives it ; so that we find no appearance 
 of scepticism about the existence of mat- 
 ter under that philosophy. -j- 
 
 Des Cartes taught men to doubt even of 
 those things that had been taken for first 
 principles. He rejected $ the doctrine of 
 
 • In which the soul, like the unhappy Dido— 
 III <* semperque relinqui 
 
 Sola Bibi, Bemper longam inromitata vidctur 
 Ireviam." — H. 
 f This is rot the case. It could easily be ihewn 
 that, in the schools of the middle ages, the argumentij 
 in favour of Idealisoi were fully undtrstood ; and 
 they would certainly have obtained numerous parti- 
 sans, had it not been seen that such a philosophical 
 opinion involved a theological heresy touching tilt 
 eucharitt This was even recognised by St Augut*- 
 
 t After many of the Peripatetics themidvei—H. 
 
ON THl INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I^BSiATU. 
 
 CHAP.X.J OF THE SENTIMENTS OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 28? 
 
 tfteciea or i<leiiii oominff tmm olijeets } but 
 ■tUl wiMntainfld tliat wluii we immediately 
 'mmmi9% Is not the external object, but an 
 Mea or image of it in our mind. This led 
 tome of his disciples into Egoism, and to dis* 
 bdieve the existence of every creature in the 
 'imivone but themidTeS'and their own ideas. * 
 
 But Des Cartes himself— either from 
 iiiad of the cenaiife 'Of the church, which 
 Iw' 'took, .great care not to provoke; or to shun 
 tlM' liiHule of the world, which might have 
 aroiied his system at once, as it did that of 
 the Egoists ;• or, perhaps, from inward 
 eonvistioii^— was leiolveil. to support the ex- 
 istenee of naitflr. To do this consistently 
 with Ms prineiiiles, he found himself obliged 
 to have recourse to arguments that are &r. 
 fsleimi, and not very cogent Sometimes 
 'Iw' anpws that our senses are given us by 
 Cbd, vlif»' b ma deceiver ; and, therefore, 
 weougbt to believe their testimony. [170] 
 But ihia aijpmientis weak ; because, accord- 
 iug to US' principles,, our senses testify no 
 BWM 'Int liat' 'we' 'have certain ideas : and, 
 If we draw oondusbns from this testimony, 
 which the premises will not support, we 
 deceive ourselves. To give more force to 
 'tils weak argument, he sometimes adds, 
 'tiiat'we^ have by nature a strong propensity 
 to believe that there Is an external world 
 oorresponding to our idiiaf 
 
 .Ifalebianche thought that this strong 
 pra^ensily is not a sulliciiiit reason for be- 
 lievmg the existence of matter ; and that it 
 is to be received as an article of faith, not 
 certeiraljr diaeoveiable by reason. He is 
 aware tiat fUth comes by hearing ; and that 
 it may be said that prophets, apostles, and 
 miracles are only ideas in our minds. But 
 to this he answers, that, though these things 
 are <m]y ideas, yet faith toms them into 
 naitles ; and this answer, he hopes, will 
 satisfy those who are not too morose. 
 
 Itmajiwrbapseen.stiange that Locke, 
 who wrote BO niiflli alMMit ideas, should not 
 see those cnnae^nenises which Berkeley 
 thoiuilt so obviously deducible from that 
 dneSm If r Locke surely was not willing 
 that the doctrine of ideas should be thought 
 to te'loaded. with such consequeU'Cea He 
 acknowledges that the existence of a mate- 
 rial world is not to be received as a first 
 principle— nor la it democstrable ; but he 
 oites the best argumento for it he can ; and 
 supplies the weakness of his arguments by 
 this observation-that we have such evi- 
 
 • 9m alofe,, p. SW, note 1 1 niil Mow, under p. 
 
 f Wt 9m mtf bf Mtnn M to beliere in the mlrt. 
 eiioe ofau outer iiiiili, §emmm we are by nature led 
 to tidleve that wt !!•«• an immediate knowledge of 
 it m txittlng. Now, Dm Chrtct and tbe ph iloisnphers 
 ill miciml (is Reid an exaptiiMi t) bold that we are 
 deitiMI In llie latter belief | and yet they tagm, on 
 ttiesiitllatitroftlie former, that an eitemid world 
 txi»ta..— M. 
 
 dence as is BufBoient to direct us in pur. 
 suing the good and avoiding the ill we may 
 receive from external things, beyond which 
 we have no concern. 
 
 There is, indeed, a single passage in 
 Lockers essay, which may lead one to con- 
 jecture that he had a glimjise of that sys- 
 tem which Berkeley afterwards advanced, 
 but thought proper to suppress it within hia 
 own breast. [171] The passage is in Book 
 4, c. 10, where, having proved the existence 
 of an eternal intelligent mind, he comes 
 to answer those who conceive that matter 
 also must be eternal, because we cannot 
 conceive how it could be made out of 
 nothing; and having observed that the 
 creation of mind requires no less power than 
 the creation of matter, he adds what fol- 
 lows : — " Nay, possibly, if we could eman- 
 cipate ourselves from vulgar notions, and 
 raise our thoughts, as fittf as they would 
 reach, to a closer contemplation of things, 
 we might be able to aim at some dim and 
 seeming conception, how matter might at 
 first be made and begin to exist, by the 
 power of that eternal first Being ; but to 
 give beginning and being to a spirit, would 
 be found a more inconceivable effect of om- 
 nipotent power. But this being what would 
 perhaps lead us too far from the notions on 
 which the philosophy now in the world is 
 built, it would not be pardonable to deviate 
 so far from them, or to inquire, so far as 
 grammar itself would authorize, if the com- 
 mon settled opinion opposes it ; especially 
 in this place, where the received doctrine 
 serves well enough to our present purpose.* 
 
 It appears from this passage — First, That 
 Mr Locke had some system in his mind, 
 perhaps not fully digested, to which we 
 might be led, by raising our thoughts to a 
 closer contemplation of things, and emanci- 
 pating them from vulgar notions ; Secondly, 
 That this system would lead so far from the 
 notions on which the philosophy now in the 
 world is built, that he thought proper to 
 keep it within his own breast ; Thirdly, 
 That it might be doubted whether this sys- 
 tem differed so far from the common settled 
 opinion in reality, as it seemed to do in 
 words ; Fourthly, By this system, we might 
 possibly be enabled to aim at some dim and 
 seeming conception how matter might at 
 first be made and begin to exist; but it 
 would give no aid in conceiving how a 
 spirit might be made. These are the cha- 
 racteriKtics of that system which Mr Locke 
 had in his mmd, and thought it prudent to 
 suppress. May they not lead to a probable 
 conjecture, that it was the same, or some- 
 thing similar to that of Bishop Berkeley ? 
 
 • Mr Stewart plautibly auppoaet that this panago 
 contains rather an anticipation of Rofcovicirg Theory 
 of' Matter, than of Bcrke'ey'* Theory of Ideah»m. 
 Fhitoiophical Etiayt, p. 61. But sec note F.^H. 
 
 [170, 171) 
 
 According to Berkeley*Bsy8tem, Crod'screat- 
 ing the material world at such a time, means 
 no more but that he decreed from that time, 
 to produce ideas in the minds of finite spirits' 
 in that order and according to those rules 
 which we call the laws of Nature. [172] 
 This, indeed, removes all difficulty, in con- 
 ceiving how matter was created; and 
 Berkeley does not fail to take notice of the 
 advantage of his system on that account. 
 But his system gives no aid in conceiving 
 how a spirit may be made. It appears, 
 therefore, that every particular Mr Locke 
 has hinted, with regard to that system which 
 he had m his mind, but thought it prudent 
 to suppress, tallies exactly with the system 
 of Berkeley. If we add to this, that 
 Berkeley's system follows from Mr Locke's, 
 by very obvious consequence, it seems rea- 
 sonable to conjecture, from the passage now 
 quoted, that he was not unaware of that 
 consequence, but left it to those who should 
 come after him to carry his principles their 
 fill! length, when they should by time be 
 better established, and able to bear the shock 
 of their opposition to vulgar notions. Mr 
 Norris, m his " Essay towards the Theory 
 of the Ideal or Intelligible World," pub- 
 lished in 1701, observes, that the material 
 world is not an object of sense; because 
 sensation is within us, and has no object. 
 Its existence, therefore, he says, is a collec- 
 tion of reason, and not a very evident one. 
 From this detail we may learn that the 
 doctrine of ideas, as it was new-modelled 
 by^Des Cartes, looked with an unfriendly 
 aspect upon the material world ; and, al- 
 though philosophers were very unwilling to 
 give up either, they found it a very difficult 
 task to reconcile them to each other. In 
 this state of things, Berkeley, I think, is 
 reputed the first who had the daring reso- 
 lution to give up the material world alto- 
 gether, as a sacrifice to the received phi- 
 losophy of ideas. 
 
 But we ought not, in this historical sketcli, 
 to omit an author of far inferior name, 
 Arthur Collier, Rector of Langford Magna, 
 near Sarum. He published a book in 1713, 
 which he calls " Clavis Universalis ; or, a 
 New Inquiry after Truth ; being a demon- 
 stration of the non-existence or impossibility 
 of an external world." His arguments are the 
 same in substance with Berkeley's; and he 
 appears to understand the whole strength of 
 his cause. [ 1 73 ] Though he is not deficient 
 in metaphysical acuteness, his style is dis- 
 agreeable, being full of conceits, of new- 
 coined words, scholastic terms, and per- 
 plexed sentences. He appears to be well 
 acquainted with Des Cartes, Malebranche, 
 and Norris, as well as with Aristotle and 
 the schoolmen. But, what is very strange, 
 it does not appear that he had ever heard 
 of Locke's Essay, which had been pub- 
 [172-174] 
 
 lished twenty-four years, or of Berkeley's 
 " Principles of Knowledge," which had 
 been published three years. 
 
 He says he had been ten years firmly 
 convinced of the non-existence of an ex- 
 ternal world, before he ventured to publish 
 his book. He is far from thinking, as Ber- 
 keley does, that the vulgar are of his opi- 
 nion. If his book should make any con- 
 verts to his system, (of which he expresses 
 little hope, though he has supported it by 
 nine demonstrations,) he takes pains to 
 shew that his disciples, notwithstanding 
 theu- opinion, may, with the unenlightened, 
 speak of material things in the common 
 style. He himself had scruples of con- 
 science about this for some time ; and, if 
 he had not got over them, he must have 
 shut his lips for ever ; but he considered 
 that God himself has used this style in 
 speaking to men in the Holy Scripture, and 
 has thereby sanctified it to all the faithful ; 
 and that to the pure all things are pure. 
 He thinks his opinion may be of great 
 use, especially in religion ; and applies it, 
 in particular, to put an end to the con- 
 troversy about Christ's presence in the 
 sacrament. 
 
 I have taken the liberty to give this 
 short account of Collier's book, because I 
 believe it is rare, and little known. I have 
 only seen one copy of it, which is in the 
 University library of Glasgow. • [ 1 74] 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 BISHOP Berkeley's sentisients op the 
 
 NATURE OP IDEAS. 
 
 I PASS over the sentiments of Bishop 
 Berkeley, with respect to abstract ideas, 
 and witii respect to space and time, as 
 things which may more properly be consi- 
 dered in another place. But I must take 
 notice of one part of his system, wherein he 
 
 • This work, though of extreme rarity, and long 
 absolutely unknown to the philosophers of this coun. 
 try, had excited, from the firtt, the attention of the 
 Ocrman metaphysicians. A long analysis of it was 
 given in the " Acta Eruditorum ;" it is tound quoted 
 by Bilfinger, and other Lebnitzians; and was sutj. 
 sequently translated into (ierman, with controver- 
 sial notes by Professor Eschenbach of Kostock,in hit 
 " Collection of the principal writers who deny the 
 Reality of their own Body and of the whole Corporeal 
 World," 1756. The late learned Dr Parr had long 
 the intention of publishing the work of Collier along 
 with some other rare metaphysical treatises. He did 
 not, however, accomplish his purpose; which in- 
 volved, likewise, an introductory disquisition by him. 
 self; but a complete impression of the" Clavis Univer. 
 salis" and four other tracts, was found, after his 
 death ; snd this having been purchased by Mr Lum. 
 ley, has by him, been recently published, under the 
 title—" Metaphysical Tracts, by English Philoso- 
 phers of the Eighteenth Century," &c. London: 
 1837. A very small edition of the " Cla*is" had been 
 printed in Edinburgh, by private subscription, in th« 
 previous year. A Life of Collier has likewise n». 
 cently appeared.— H. 
 
WB 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I (•sSAT lla 
 
 io h»m divktod from tlie eomHioii 
 opinion abmil ites. 
 
 Though he nets out in his principles of 
 Imwle^e^ hy telling us that it is evident 
 'dM: ohJMta^ 'Of human, knowledge are ideas,. 
 and 'Muldie hit whole sjsCem upon this prin* 
 eiple; jet, in the progress of it, he finds 
 thai there are certain objeciii of human 
 knowledfe that are not ideas, litit' tMngs 
 whieh have a permaneiit existence. The 
 eliieets of knowledge, of which we have no 
 idfMS, are our own minds, and their various 
 iferations, other finite minds, and the 
 flopreme Hin4 The reason why there 
 can be nO' ideaS' 'Of spirits :and their O'pera- 
 tions, the author informs us is this, That 
 ideas are passive, inert, unthinking' heiiigs ;* 
 tliey cannot, tiierefoie, be the .image or 
 likeness of things that have though^ And 
 will, and active power ; we have notions of 
 minds, and of their opeimtions, but not 
 iteT We know what l!mmiiirby think. 
 ing, wiling, and 'pereeiving ; we can rea- 
 son about beingp endowed, with those 
 powers, but 'we^ have no ideas of them. A 
 ■pirit or mmd is the only snbatance or 
 support wherein the unthinkhig' betngs or 
 ideas can exist ; but diat this substance 
 which supports or perceives ideas, should 
 iMf be an idea, or like an idea, is evidently 
 
 He observes, farther, Princip. sed 142, 
 iluit ^ all rektions, including an act of the 
 Blind, we cannot properly be said to have 
 
 an Idea, '1ml .rather a notion of the relations 
 or haMtudes. 'between things. [173] But 
 if, in the modem way, the word idea is 
 
 extended to spirits, and relations, and acts, 
 'ihii 'is, alter all, an affair of verbal coup 
 
 ■em .; yet it conduces to clearness and pn- 
 pietj, that we distinguish, 'things very dif* 
 •MNmt by difftareiit names.** 
 
 lliis IS an. unpMant part of .tserMeiey a 
 qyitem, and 'deserves' attention. We are 
 lad by it to divide the objects of human 
 knowMge into two kinds. The irst is ideas, 
 which we have by our five senses; they 
 iaire nO' existence when they are not per- 
 ceived, .and 'Oxist only in the 'minds of those 
 who perceive them. The second kind of 
 objects, comprehends spirits, 'their ^acts, and 
 'thO' rehitiens nad habitudes of things. Of 
 tliese we havi' notions, 'hut no .ideas. No 
 idea can represent them, or have any simi- 
 litude to them t yet we understand what 
 
 .■Imdhif , and reason .about them, without 
 ideas. 
 This account of ideas is veiy diff^irent 
 
 from thai which. 'Iioofce' has given. In his 
 
 system, we have no knowledge where we 
 mm no ideas. Every thought must have 
 
 • Betfetlkr h '(Mt er tlM pbltotopliert who rea.ity 
 
 :lMil. lli»"«liwtffi!M' of iits%. tmniioiitlf , bf ficid, at. 
 lilNitiiil. to alL— ti. 
 
 an idea for its immediate object. In Ber- 
 keley's, the most important objects are 
 known without ideas. In Locke*8 system, 
 there are two sources of our ideas, sensa- 
 tion and reflection. In Berkeley's, sensa- 
 tion is the only source, because of the objects 
 of reflection there can be no ideas. We 
 know them without ideas. Locke divides 
 our ideas into those of substances, modes, 
 and relations. In Berl^eley*s system, there 
 are no ideas of substances, or of relations ; 
 but notions only. And even in the chiss of 
 modes, the operations of our own minds 
 are things of which we have distinct notions ; 
 but no ideas. 
 
 We ought to do the justice to Malebranche 
 to acknowledge that, in this point, as well 
 as in many others, his system comes nearer 
 to Berkeley*s tlian the latter seems willing 
 to own. That author tells us that there 
 are four different ways in which we come 
 to the knowledge of things. To know things 
 by their ideas, is only one of the four. [ 176} 
 He affirms that we have no idea of our 
 own mind, or any of its modifications : that 
 we know these things by consciousness, 
 without ideas. Whether these two acute 
 philosophers foresaw the consequences that 
 may be drawn from the system of ideas, 
 taken in its full extent, and which were after- 
 wards drawn by Mr Hume, I cannot pre- 
 tend to say. If they did, their re^rd to 
 religion was too great to permit them to ad- 
 mit those consequences, or the principles 
 with which they were necessarily connected. 
 
 However this may be, if there be so many 
 things that may be apprehended and known 
 without ideas, this very naturally suggef>ts 
 a scruple with regard to those that are left : 
 for it may be said, If we can apprehend 
 and reason about the world of spirits, with- 
 out ideas. Is it not possible that we may 
 apprehend and reason about a materii 
 world, without ideas? If consciousness 
 and leflection furnish us with notions of 
 spirits and of their attributes, without ideas, 
 may not onr senses furnish us with notions 
 of bodies and their attributes, without ideas ? 
 
 Berkeley foresaw this objection to his 
 system, and puts it in the mouth of Hylas, 
 in the following words : — Dial. 3, Hylas. 
 " If you can conceive the mind of God, 
 without having an idea of it, why may not 
 I be allowed to conceive the existence of 
 matter, notwithstanding that I have no idea 
 
 of it?*» The answer of Philonous is 
 
 " You neither perceive matter objectively, 
 as you do an inactive being or idea, nor 
 know it, as you do yourself^ by a reflex act, 
 neither do you inomediately apprehend it by 
 similitude of the one or the other, nor yet 
 collect it by reasoning from that which you 
 know imme<liately ; all which makes the 
 case of matter widely different from that of 
 the Deity.** 
 
 ri7a. 1761 
 
 CHAP. XI.] BISHOP BERKELEY'S SENTIMENTS OF IDEAS. 289 
 
 Though Hylas declares himself satisfied 
 with this answer, I confess I am not : be- 
 cause, if I may trust the faculties that God 
 has given me, I do perceive matter objec- 
 tively — tliat is, something which is extended 
 and solid, which may be measured and 
 weighed, is the immediate object of my touch 
 and bight.* [177] And this object I take to 
 be matter, and not an idea. And, though I 
 have been taught by philosophers, that what 
 I immediately touch is an idea, and not 
 matter ; yet I have never been able to dis- 
 cover this by the most accurate attention 
 to my own perceptions. 
 
 It were to be wished that this ingenious 
 author had explained what he means by 
 ideas, as distinguished from notions. The 
 word notion, being a word in common lan- 
 guage, is well understood. All men mean 
 by it, the conception, the apprehension, or 
 thought which we have of any object of 
 thought. A notion, therefore, is an act 
 of the mind conceiving or thinking of some 
 object. The object of thought may be 
 either something that is in the mind, or 
 something that is not in the mind. It may 
 be something that has no existence, or 
 something that did, or does, or shall exist. 
 But the notion which I have of that ob- 
 ject, is an act of my mind which really 
 exists while I think of the object ; but has 
 no existence when I do not think of it. 
 The word idea, in popular language, has 
 precisely the same meaning as the word 
 notion. But philosophers have another 
 meaning to the word idea ; and what that 
 meaning is, I think, is very difficult to say. 
 
 The whole of Bishop Berkeley's system 
 depends upon the distinction between no- 
 tions and ideas ; and, therefore, it is worth 
 while to find, if we are able, what those 
 things are which he calls ideas, as distin- 
 guished from notions. 
 
 For this purpose, we may observe, that 
 he takes notice of two kinds of ideas — the 
 ideas of sense, and the ideas of imagina- 
 tion. " The ideas imprinted on the senses 
 by the Author of Nature," he says, " are 
 called real things; and those excited in the 
 imagination, being less regular, vivid, and 
 constant, are more properly termed ideas, 
 or images of things, which they copy and 
 represent. [ 1 73 ] But then our sensations, 
 be they never so vivid and distinct, are 
 nevertheless ideas ; that is, they exist in 
 the mind, or are perceived by it as truly 
 as the ideas of its own framing. The ideas 
 of sense are allowed to have more reality 
 in them — that is, to be more strong, or- 
 derly, and coherent — than the creatures of 
 
 • Doe* Reidmean *o surrender his doctrine, ;hat 
 perception i* a conception ~that extension and figure 
 are not known by sense, but are notions suggested on 
 the occaKion of fensation ? If he does not. his Ian. 
 guagc in the text is inaccurate.— H. 
 
 [177-179] 
 
 the mind. They are also less dependent 
 on the spirit, or thinking substance which 
 perceives theui, in that they are excited by 
 the will of another and more powerful 
 spirit; yet still they are ideas; and cer- 
 tainly no idea, whether faint or strong, can 
 exist, otherwise than in a mind perceiving 
 it." Principles, § 33. 
 
 From this passage we see that, by the 
 ideas of sense, the author means sensa- 
 tions ;• and this, indeed, is evident from 
 many other passages, of wliich I shall men- 
 tion a few. — Principles, § 6. " Light and 
 colours, heat an d cold, extension and figure — 
 in a word, the things we see and feel — what 
 are they but so many sensations, notions, 
 ideas, or impressions on the sense ? — and is 
 it possible to separate, even in thought, 
 any of these from perception ? For my 
 part, I might as easily divide a thing from 
 itself.** § 18. "As for our senses, by 
 them we have the knowledge only of our 
 sensations, ideas, or those things that are 
 immediately perceived by sense, call them 
 what you will ; — but they do not inform us 
 that things exist without the mind, or un- 
 perceived, like to those which are per- 
 ceived." § 25. " All our ideas, sensa- 
 tions, or the things which we perceive, by 
 whatever names they may be distinguished, 
 are visibly inactive; there is nothing of 
 power or agency included in them.*' 
 
 Til is, therefore, appears certain — that, 
 by the ideas of sense, the author meant the 
 sensations we have by means of our senses. 
 I have endeavoured to explain the meaning 
 of the word sensation, Essay I., chap. 1, 
 [p. 229,] and refer to the explication there 
 given of it, w hich appears to me to be per- 
 fectly agreeable to the sense in which Bishop 
 Berkeley uses it.* 
 
 As there can be no notion or thought 
 but in a thinking being ; so there can be 
 no sensation but in a sentient being. [ 1 79] 
 It is the act or feeling of a sentient being ; 
 its very essence consists in its being felt. 
 Nothing can resemble a sensation, but a 
 similar sensation in the same or in some 
 other mind. To think that any quality in 
 a thing that is inanimate can resemble a 
 sensation, is a great absurdity. In all this, 
 1 cannot but agree perfectly with Bishop 
 Berkeley ; and I think his notions of sensa- 
 
 • How it can be^asserted that by idea* of sense 
 Berkeley meant only what Raid did by sensations^ 
 I cannot comprehend. 'I'hat the former used ideas 
 qf sense and sensations as convertible expressions, is 
 true. But then Berkeley's sensation was equivalent 
 to Rcid's sensation plus hit perception. This is mani. 
 Test even by the passages adduced in the text. In 
 that from § v. of the " Principles," Berkeley ex- 
 pre«s!y calls extension inA fgure sensations. But 
 it is a fundamental principle of ReidV philosophy, 
 not only that neither extensiijn nor figurr, but that 
 none of the primary qualiiies, are sensations. To 
 make a single quotation— "'The pni»ar//qual. ties," 
 he says, *• are. neither sensations, nor are they the 
 resemblances of sensations,"— /n/Va, p. 23S.— H. 
 
 U 
 
OJf THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I B8IA.T II* 
 
 mMi moro disliiifit and aceiinite tliaii 
 
 ■tgtHtUm <if body are. raneiiiblaiioes of ow 
 
 liooi,* Init. imt tlie eeoondary am' not 
 Thai W9 Ikto maiiy Mm'mlifWfi by meana 
 nf OUT' ntenial 8eiiae«» <iit«B am be no 
 doabl' s and, tf ha fa pleased tO' ^call thoie 
 idaaii ikum ongbt to be uo dispute about 
 'His ' "^•ffp t w of a word. Bail aaya Biabop 
 BmlMley, by our teuaea, we bave the know- 
 ladge.oid^of our aeiiaatioua or ideaa, eall 
 Hbmi which you will. I aiow him to call 
 
 'iiiiiri.'Oii%;iii,lhfa. aeutencO' to be^'weU weighed, 
 'liwiiiii» s .peat 'iaal'dtopenda upon it 
 
 Fur, if it be true that, by our eenies, we 
 haTO the loiowledgn of our aenaations only, 
 tbea his system must be admitted, and the 
 •liBteDce of a material world must begiven 
 
 up as a dwiiiM No demonstration ean be 
 
 more iaviuelble than this. If we have any 
 inowledge of a insteffial world, it must be 
 If the 8enM8' : but, by the senses, we have 
 DO knowledge but of our sensationa only ; 
 and our aanaaiiona have no resembknce of 
 anything that eau be in a material world.t 
 The only proposition in this demonstration 
 which admits of doubt is, that, by our senses, 
 «• have the knowleto of our sensations 
 mdy, and. of 'nothing' elae. If there are ob- 
 
 'vtfMilbii iJiw 'AnuHi' 'flUHfliittDifli taiBiiJitil'iL ■n.ffitfi' n/iiii 'Bur\fii loii.'f* i fn m n 
 
 nil aigiimMitB' do not touch them : ^ey may 
 be things which do not exist in the mind, as 
 ■iiMiaations do ; they may be thingsof which, 
 
 bf nor sauaa^ w« hii¥e notions, though no 
 
 WHtKUHHHif wf a 'a(aBaw''iawiPi|' ■Brjf i^^BsiiBi^P'uw^^ww^Baa'ii'^wt' •■■■^iw a ^■'••'^r*' w»^i#'»« % 
 
 w« ium notmaa oC spirits and of theur oper- 
 atiMS, without ideas or sensations. t [ 1 ^ ] 
 Shall we say, then, that, by our senses, 
 w hxm the .Inowiedge of our sensationa 
 «% } and that they give us no notion of 
 amUng but of our semaliiins ? Perhaps 
 this has been the doctrine of philosophers, 
 and not of Bishop Berheley alone, otherwise 
 he wuuld have supported it by arguments. 
 Mr Lodte calls all the notions weVve by 
 our aenaes^ ideaa of sensation ; and in this 
 haa been wmy generally followed. Henee 
 H ieiMS n ▼ary natural inference, that ideaa 
 
 • Mett ■gain «• haire a ciiticinn which procccda 
 •a lilt Cffiiiit«Nif InutUaitloii, that Locke meant bf 
 mmaoMtm wliat Bm hlaMlf did. If for aenMitkiii 
 we tulMtltute percejxUm^ (and by aenMtion Locke 
 dmoted both aenution proper and perception proper.) 
 nothing to centure ; for Keid main 
 
 lilai tiat ■* mrteoies give ua a direct and a dUtioct 
 aeHtneff UMpriMflvy mialltiea, and inform us wkai 
 fMr arv la lllMMlM* ^ (tn/^> p. 1237 ;) which ia only 
 LoekelmwuiiQg in other worda. 'J he aame observa. 
 lion applies to many of the following paiaagea —H. 
 
 t See the last note.— H. 
 
 t But, unliit that be admitted* wbicblbe satuial 
 •onvietkMi iff Mankind cettifica, that we have an 
 limnedlalijieiteplion— a coniCiou«nei»— ol external 
 aadcxtaillM iSistencet* It makea no difference, in 
 Hpid la tba conclualon of the Idealist, whether 
 wbat we are conadoua of in pawptioD be tuppoMd 
 an cnHtf in the mind, (an idea in Reid a meaning,) 
 or a modlficaiiotK/ the miodt (a notion or conoep. 
 lien.) See above, p. 188, nocag «d— H. 
 
 of sensation are sensations. But philoso- 
 phers may err : let us hear the dictates of 
 common sense upon this point 
 
 Suppose I am pricked with a pin, I ask. 
 Is the pain 1 feel, a sensation ? Undoubtedly 
 it is. There can be nothing that resembles 
 pain in any inanimate being. But I ask 
 again, Is the pin a sensatfon ? To this 
 question I ind myself under a necessity of 
 answering, that the pin is not a sensation, 
 nor can have the least resemblance to any 
 sensation. The pin has length and thick- 
 ness, and figure and weight. A sensation 
 can have none of those qualities. I am not 
 more certain that the pain I feel is a sensa- 
 tion, than that the pm is not a sensation ; 
 yet the pin is an object of sense ; and I am 
 as certain that I perceive its figure and 
 hardness by my senses, as that I feel pain 
 when pricked by il* 
 
 Having said so much of the ideas of sense 
 in Berkeley's system, we are next to con- 
 sider the account he gives of the ideas of 
 imagination. Of these he says. Principles, 
 § 28 — ** 1 find I ean excite ideas in my 
 mind at pleasure, and vary and shift the 
 scene as mt as I think fit. It is no more 
 than willing ; and straightway this or that idea 
 arises in my fancy ; and by the same power 
 it is obliterated, and makes way for another. 
 This making and unmaking of ideas, doth 
 very properly denominate the mind active. 
 Thus much is certain, and grounded on 
 experience. Our sensations," he says, ** are 
 called real things ; the ideas of imagination 
 are more properly termed ideas, or images 
 of things ;"i- that is, as I apprehend, they 
 are the images of our sensations. [181] 
 It might surely be expected that we should 
 be well acquainted with the ideas of imagin- 
 ation, as they are of our making ; yet, after 
 all the Bishop has said about them, I am 
 at a loss to know what they are. 
 
 I would observe, in the first place, with 
 regard to these ideas of imagination — ^that 
 they are not sensations ; for surely sensation 
 is the work of the senses, and not of imagin- 
 ation; and, though pain be a sensation, the 
 thought of pain, when I am not puned, is 
 no sensation. 
 
 I observe, in the meond place — ^that I can 
 find no distinction between ideas of imagin- 
 ation and notions, which the author says 
 are not ideas. I can easily distinguish be- 
 
 « Thia illuatration ia taken ftonx Dei Caitea. In 
 tbla paragraph, the term senaation is again not used 
 in the .extension given to it bj the pbilosophera In 
 question^^H. 
 
 t Berkeley's real worda are—" 1 he ideaa impitnf.. 
 edon the Senses by the Autlior of Nature are called 
 real thingst and those excited in the Imagination 
 being len regular, vivid and constant, are more pro. 
 per ly termed irf<-a/ -or images of things, which they 
 copy and represent But then our ^>cn8ation8, be they 
 never ao vivid and. dist nct.ate nevertheless ideaa— 
 that Is, they exist in the mind, or are perceived by 
 It, aa tnilv as the ideas of its own fk-aming.'' Sect. 
 xxiili— M. 
 
 f 180, 181] 
 
 
 CHAP. Jci.| BISHOP BERKELEY'S SENTIMENTS OF IDEAS. 2di 
 
 tween a notion and a sensation. It is one 
 thing to say, I have the sensation of pain. 
 It is another thing to say, I have a notion of 
 pain. The last expression signifies no more 
 than that I understand what is meant by the 
 word pain. The first signifies that I really 
 feel pain. But I can find no distinction 
 between the notion of pain and the imagin- 
 ation of it, or indeed between the notion 
 of anything else, and the imagination of it. 
 I can, therefore, give no account of the 
 distinction which Berkeley makes between 
 ideas of imagination and notions, which, he 
 says, are not ideas. They seem to me per- 
 fectly to coincide.* 
 
 He seems, indeed, to say, that the ideas 
 of imagination differ not in kind from those 
 of the senses, but only in the degree of their 
 regularity, vivacity, and constancy. " They 
 are,** says he, " less regular, vivid, and con- 
 stant.** This doctrine was afterwards greed- 
 ily embraced by Mr Hiune, and makes a 
 main pillar of his system ; but it cannot be 
 reconciled to common sense, to which Bishop 
 Berkeley professes a great regard. For, 
 according to this doctrine, if we compare the 
 state of a man racked with the gout, with 
 his state when, being at perfect ease, he 
 relates what he has suffered, the difference 
 of these two states is only this — that, in the 
 last, the pain is less regular, vivid, and con- 
 stant, than in the first. [ 1 82] We cannot 
 possibly assent to this. Every man knows 
 that he can relate the pain he suffered, not 
 only without pain, but with pleasure ; and 
 that to suffer pain, and to think of it, are 
 things which totally differ in kind, and not, ' 
 in degree only.+ ^ 
 
 We see, therefore, upon the whole, that, 
 according to this system, of the most im- 
 portant objects of knowledge— that is, of 
 
 * Yet the distinction of ideas, strictly socalled, and 
 notions, is one of the most common and important in 
 the philosophy of mind. Nortloweoweit, as hasbeen 
 asserted, to Berkeley. It was virtually taken by Des 
 Cartes and the Cartesians, >n their discrimination of 
 ideas of imagination and ide 8.of intelligence; it was 
 in terms vindicated against Locke, by ^erjeant, StiU 
 lingfleet,.,Norris, Z. Mayne, bishop Brown, and 
 others: Bonnet signalize I it; and, under the con. 
 trast of Anschamaxgen and Begrife, it has long been 
 aiiK established and classical discrimination with the 
 philosophers of Germany. Nay, Reid himself sug- 
 gests it in the distinction he requires between ima- 
 gination and conception, a'distinction which he unfor- 
 Uinately did not. carry out, and which Mr Stewart 
 itill more unhappily again perverted. See below, p. 
 371. The terms notiotuind conception, (or more cor- 
 rectly co»JC<7?< in thi&> sense, 1 should- be reserved 
 taexpress what we. comprehend but cannot picture 
 In imagination, such as- a relation, a general term, 
 Ac, The word idea, as one prostituted to all mean. 
 Ings, it were perhaps better altogether to discard. 
 As for the representations oPfimagination orphan. 
 tasy, I would employ the term* image or phatitasm, it 
 being distinctly understood*that these terms are ap- 
 plied to denote the re-presentations, not of our visible 
 perceptions merely, as the terms taken literally would 
 indicate, but ot our sensible perceptions in general.— 
 H. 
 
 i There is here a confusion between pain considered 
 aa a feeling, and as the cognition of a feeling, to 
 Which thephiloaophera would object. — H. 
 
 [182, 183] 
 
 spirits, of their operations, and of the rehi^ 
 tions of things — we have no ideas at all ;• 
 we have notions of them, but not ideas ; the 
 ideas we have are those of sense, and those 
 of imagination. The first are the sensa- 
 tions we have by means of our senses, whose 
 existence no man can deny, because he is 
 conscious of them ; and whose nature hath 
 been explained by this author with great 
 accuracy. As to the ideas of imagination, 
 he hath left us much in the dark. He makes 
 them images of our sensations; though, 
 according to his own doctrine, nothing can 
 resemble a sensatien but a sensation.-|- He 
 seems to think that they differ from sensa- 
 tions only in the degree of their regularity, 
 vivacity, and constancy. But this cannot 
 be reconciled to the experience of mankind ; 
 and, besides this mark, which cannot be 
 admitted, he hath given us no other mark 
 by which they may be distinguished from 
 notions. Nay, it may be observed, that the 
 very reason he gives why we can have no 
 ideas of the acts of the mind about its ideas, 
 nor of the relations of things, is applicable 
 to what he calls ideas of imagination. 
 Principles, § 142. ** We may not, I think, 
 strictly be said to have an idea of an active 
 being, or of an action, although we may be 
 said to have a notion of them. I have some 
 knowledge or notion of my mind, and its 
 acts about ideas, in as much as I know or 
 understand what is meant by these words. 
 [I will not say that the terms Idea and 
 Notion may not be used convertibly, if the 
 world will have it so. But yet it conduces to 
 clearness and propriety that we distinguish 
 things very different by different names.] 
 It is also to be remarked, that all relations 
 including an act of the mind, we cannot so 
 properly be said to have an idea, but rather 
 a notion of the relations and habitudes be- 
 tween things.** From this it follows, that our 
 imaginations are not properly ideas, but no- 
 tions, becausethey include an act of the mind. 
 [ 1 83] For he tells us, in a passage already 
 quoted, that they are creatures of the mind, 
 of its own framing, and that it makes and 
 unmakes them as it thinks fit, and from this 
 is properly denominated active. If it be a 
 good reason why we have not ideas, but 
 notions only of relations, because they in- 
 clude an act of the mind, the same reason 
 must lead us to conclude, that our imagina- 
 tions are notions and not ideas, since they 
 are made and unmade by the mind as it 
 thinks fit : and, from this, it is properly de- 
 nomin ated active, j: 
 
 • That is, no images of them in the pharitasy. Reid 
 hWself would not say that such could be tmagtiiM.-^ 
 
 u 
 
 t Berkeley does not say so in the meaning sup- 
 
 ninil^nation is an ambiguous word; ".«»«*»• 
 either the act of imagining, or the ^J^^^'f^^J.* *;* 
 image imagined. Of the foimer Be keley held, we 
 can form a notion, but not an idea, m the sense be 
 
 V 2 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay II. 
 
 Wlien so much haa lieen written, iirail m 
 many disputas raised about ideai, it were 
 ieaiiabie that we knew what they are, and 
 to what cate|ury or class of beings they be- 
 %mg. In tliia. we might expeet satisfaction 
 in iie writinn of Bi£op Berkeley, if any- 
 where, considering liii' 'knmn. accaraey and 
 f reoiaion in the use of wo^rds ; and it is for 
 this reason that I have taken so much pains 
 to ind out what ho took them to be. 
 
 After all, if I undentand what he calls the 
 Utofts of sense, they are the seusations which 
 we have by means of our fire senses ; but 
 1km are, he says, less properly termed ideas. 
 
 1 understand, likewise, what he calls 
 notions ; bat they, says he, are very diifer- 
 enl from ideas, though, m the modem way, 
 ^oHea called by tiiat name. 
 
 'HM' idMi' 'Of .miKgi.ttatioii remain, which 
 ■M Boai^ 'ptwpefly 'twmed 'ideas, as he says ; 
 and, with regard to these, I am still very 
 much in the dark. When I imagine a lion 
 or an elephant, the lion or elephant is the 
 object imagined. The act of the mind, in 
 conceiving that object, is the notion, the 
 oonceptioii, or imagination of the object. If 
 hesides the object, and the act of the mind 
 about it, there be something called the idea 
 of the object, I know not what it is.* 
 
 If we consult other authors who have 
 Iftated of ideas, we shall find as little satis- 
 iMtioii. with regard to the meaning of this 
 
 eiosophieai term. [1114] The vulgar 
 ve adopted it ; but they only mean hy 
 it the notion or conception we have of any 
 objeet, espeeially our more ahstmct or geii- 
 eml notions. When it is thns put to sig- 
 nify the operation of the mind about objects, 
 whether in conceiving, remembering, or 
 
 K»ivhif , it is well understood. But phi- 
 phors will have ideas to be the objects 
 of the mhid*s operations, and not the oper- 
 ations themselves. There is, indeed, great 
 variety of objects of thought We can 
 ihmk of mhids, and of their opeiations ; of 
 bodies, and of their qualities and relations. 
 If ideas* are not comprehended under any of 
 these classes, I am at a loss to comprehend 
 what the;^ an. 
 
 In aneient phiosophy, ideas were said to 
 be immaterial forms, which, aeeoiding to 
 one system, existed from all eternity ; and, 
 ■Msording to another, are sent forth from 
 'the objeeta whose form they are. f In mo- 
 deni philosophy, they are things in the 
 mind, which are the immediate objects of 
 all our thoughts, and which have no exist- 
 •noe when we do not 'think of them. They 
 mm 'Called, the '"hnagea, the resemblances, the 
 
 iiMt the IftBi wlMfMi. of' ibm^ Wtcr, we can form 
 m 'MM 'bf ncftff itpwlitig Cli« Imaginatorf act— 
 H. 
 
 • On lleii't nlaoiMceptioii on IMm point, tee Mote 
 f Mottling 1^' ilw mam at Mm was iait off from ' 
 
 representatives of external objects of sense ; 
 yet they have neither colour, nor smell, nor 
 figure, nor motion, nor any sensible quality. 
 I revere the authority of philosophers, espe- 
 cially where they are so unanimous ; but 
 until I can comprehend what they mean by 
 ideas, I nmst thiuknudspeak with the vulgar. 
 In sensation, properly so called, I can 
 distinguish two thingn^the mind, or sen- 
 tient being, and the sensation. Whether 
 the last is to be called a feeling or an oper- 
 ation, I dispute not ; but it has no object 
 distinct from the sensation itself. If in 
 sensation there be a third thing, called an 
 idea, I know not what it Is. 
 
 In perception, in remembrance, and in 
 conception, or imagination, I distinguish 
 three things — the mind that operates, the 
 operation of the mind, and the object of that 
 operation.* [186] That the object per- 
 ceived is one thing, and the perception of 
 that object another, I am as certain as I 
 can be of anything. The same may be 
 said of conception, of remembrance, of love 
 and hatred, of desire and aversion. In all 
 these, the act of the mind about its object is 
 one thing, the object is another thing. 
 There must be an object, real or imaginary, 
 distinct from the operation of the mind 
 about itf Now, if in these operations the 
 idea be a fourth thing different from the 
 three I have mentioned, I know not what it 
 is, nor have been able to learn from all that 
 has been written about ideas. And if the 
 doctrine of philosophers about ideas con- 
 founds any two of these things which I have 
 mentioned as distinct— if, for example, it 
 confounds the object perceived with the 
 perception of that object, and represents 
 them as one and the same thing— such doc- 
 trine is altogether repugnant to all that I am 
 able to discover of the operations of my own 
 mind ; and it is repugnant to the common 
 sense of mankind, expressed in the struc- 
 ture of all languages. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 or rum skntuibnts op mh huhb. 
 
 Two volumes of the "Treatise of Human 
 Nature*' were published in 1739, and the 
 third in 1740. The doctrine contained in 
 this Treatise was published anew in a more 
 popular form in Mr Hume's "Philosophical 
 Essays," of which there have been various 
 editions. What other authors, from the 
 
 • See Note B.— H. 
 
 f If there be an imagiiuiry ottject distinct from the 
 1^ of itnagination, where does it exist? It cannot 
 lie externiU to the mind— for, fjc hypolhesi, it is ima. 
 ginary; and, if in the mind iiseir, distinct from the act 
 of Imagination— why. what \» this but the very crudest 
 doctrine of specUt f Foe Rcid's puule, aee Note U. 
 
 fl84, 185] 
 
 CHAP. XII.] OF. THE SENTIMENTS OF MR HUME. 
 
 293 
 
 time of Des Cartes, had called ideaa, this 
 author distinguishes into two kinds — to wit, 
 impressions BiuA ideas ; comprehending under 
 the first, all our sensations, passions, and 
 emotions; and under the last, the fiunt 
 images of these, when we remember or 
 imagine them. [ 1 86] 
 
 He sets out with this, as a principle that 
 needed no proof, and of which therefore he 
 offers none — that all the perceptions of the 
 human mind resolve themselves into these 
 two kinds, impressions and if/ea/t. 
 
 As this proposition is the foundation upon 
 which the whole of Mr Hume's system 
 rests, and from which it is raised with great 
 acuteness indeed, and ingenuity, it were to 
 be wished that he had told us upon what 
 authority this fundamental proposition rests. 
 But we are left to guess, whether it is held 
 forth as a first principle, which has its 
 evidence in itself; or whether it is to be 
 received upon the authority of philosophers. 
 
 Mr Locke had taught us, that all the 
 immediate objects of human knowledge are 
 ideas in the mind. Bishop Berkeley, pro- 
 ceeding upon this foundation, demonstrated, 
 very easily, that there is no material world. 
 And he thought that, for the purposes 
 both of philosophy and religion, we should 
 find no loss, but great benefit, in the want 
 of it. But the Bishop, as became his order, 
 was unwilling to give up the world of spirits. 
 He saw very well, that ideas are as unfit to 
 represent spirits as they are to represent 
 bodies. Perhaps he saw that, if we per- 
 ceive only the ideas of spirits, we shall find 
 the same difficulty in inferring their real 
 existence from the existence of their ideas, as 
 we find in inferring the existence of matter 
 from the idea of it ; and, therefore, while he 
 gives up the material world in favour of the 
 system of ideas, he gives up one-half of that 
 system in favour of the world of spirits ; and 
 maintains that we can, without ideas, think, 
 and speak, and reason, intelligibly about 
 spirits, and what belongs to them. 
 
 Mr Hume shews no such partiality in 
 favour of the world of spirits. He acijpts 
 the theory of ideas in its full extent ; and, 
 in consequence, shews that there is neither 
 matter nor mind in the universe ; nothing 
 but impressions and ideas. What we call 
 a body J is only a bundle of sensations ; and 
 what we call the mind is only a bundle of 
 tlioughts, passions, and emotions, without 
 any subject. [1 87 J 
 
 Some ages hence, it will perhaps be 
 looked upon «8 a curious anecdote, that 
 two philosophers of the eighteenth century, 
 of very distinguished rank, were led, by a 
 philosophical hypothesis, one, to disbelieve 
 the existence of matter, and the other, to 
 disbelieve the existence both of matter and 
 of mind. Such an anecdote may not l>e 
 uninstmctive, if it prove a warning to 
 [ 18A-I88J 
 
 philosophers to beware of h3^otheses, espe- 
 cially when they lead to conclusions which 
 contradict the principles upon which all men 
 of common sense must act in comn»on life. 
 
 The Egoists,* whom we mentioned be- 
 fore, were left far behind by Mr Hume ; 
 for they believed their own existence, and 
 perhaps also the existence of a Deity. But 
 Mr Hume's system does not even leave him 
 a self to claim the property of his impres- 
 sions and ideas. 
 
 A system of consequences, however ab- 
 surd, acutely and justly drawn from a few 
 principles, in very abstract matters, is of 
 real utility in science, and may be made 
 subservient to real knowledge. This merit 
 Mr Hume's metaphysical writings have in 
 a great degree. 
 
 We had occasion before to observe, that, 
 since the time of Des Cartes, philosophers, 
 in treating of the powers of the mind, have, 
 in many instances, confounded things which 
 the common sense of mankind has always 
 led them to distinguish, and which have 
 different names in all languages. ThuE, in 
 the perception of an external object, all 
 languages distinguish three things— the 
 mind that perceives, the operation of that 
 mind, which is called perception^ and the 
 oftject perceived. -f Nothing appears more 
 evident to a mind untutored by philosophy, 
 than that these three are distinct things, 
 which, though related, ought never to be 
 confounded. [188] The structure of all 
 languages supposes this distinction, and is 
 built upon it. Philosophers have intro- 
 duced a fourth thing in this process, which 
 they call the idea of the object, which is 
 supposed to be an image, or representative 
 of the object, and is said to be the imme- 
 diate object. The vulgar know nothing 
 about this idea ; it is a creature of philo- 
 sophy,introduced to account for and explain 
 the manner of our perceiving external objects. 
 
 * In supplement to no»e § at p 269, ttipra, in re- 
 gard to the pretended^ sect of Bigoists, (here is to be 
 added the following notices, which I did not recol- 
 lect till after that note was s^t:^ 
 
 Wolf, {^Psychologia Rationality S 38.) after dividing 
 Idealists into Et;oists and PluralisU, says, mtero/ta, of 
 the former ; — '" Fuit paucis althinc annis assecla 
 
 ?|uidam Malefjranchii, Farisiis, qui Egoismum pro. 
 essus est (quod niirum mihi videtur) asseclas et ipse 
 nactus est." In his Vernnrnftige Gedanken von Gott, 
 &c.,c. I, ^ 2, he also mentions this allcrseltsamtte 
 Secte. There is also an oration by I hristopher 
 Matthaeus Pfaff, the Charctlior of Tuebingen— 
 " De Egoisnto, «ora philosonMca haeresi" in 172ii— 
 which I have not seen— lhu8, what I formerly ha- 
 zarded. Is still farther confirmed. All is vague and 
 contradictory hearsay in regard to the Egi'i>ts. The 
 French place them in Scotland; the Scoich in Hoi. 
 land ; the Germans in France; and they are variously 
 stated as the immcdia'e disciples of Ues Cartes, 
 Malebranche, Spinoza. There is certainly no reason 
 why an Egoistical Idealism should not have been 
 explicitiv promulyaied l)elore Fichte, (whose- doctrine, 
 however, is not the same ;) but I have, as yet, seen 
 no satisfactory grounds on which it can be shewn 
 that this had actua ly been done — H. 
 f Sec Notes B and t .— H. 
 
M4 
 
 ON THB INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [B^tAir II. 
 
 It Is pleaBKnt to observe tbal, while philo- 
 ■ophers, for more tlian a century, bave been 
 
 Mwniiiif , by means of ideas, to expliiin 
 poneffioii and tbe other operations of the 
 aiiMl, those ideas have by degrees itsorped 
 Hm ftese off perception, object, and even of 
 the mind itself, and have snppbnted those 
 veiy thinp they 'were brought to explain. 
 Bes Chrtes reduced aU the operations of the 
 miefslaiiding to perception ; and what can 
 be more natural to those who believe that 
 they are only different modes of perceiving 
 ideas in our' own miwiB ? .Locke confounds 
 ideas amnstiiiies "with the perception of an 
 esctemal object, eometimea with the external 
 object itself. In Berkeley's system, the idea 
 is liw mly ohjeot, and jet is often oon- 
 imadsd 'with the perception of it. But, in 
 Hume's, the idea or the impression, which 
 is only a more lively idea, is mind, percep- 
 tion, and object, all in one : so that, by the 
 term perception, in Mr liiime*s system, we 
 must understand the nliii itself, all its 
 operations, both of understanding and will, 
 and all the objects of these oimnitiiops. Per- 
 cMBtion taken. :in tbas .sense ne divides into 
 our :nion livel j pereeptions, which he calls 
 lim»r««8tomr,* and the less lively, which he 
 calls Mem» To prevent repetition, I must 
 here refer the reader to some renaiiDi made 
 upon this division, Essay I. chap. 1, in the 
 
 S plication there given of the wordis, per- 
 iw, sAJfcl, impression, [pp. 222, 223, 226.] 
 Philosophers have differed very much 
 with r^;ard to the origin of our ideas, or 
 the sources whence they are derived* The 
 Peripatetics held that all knowledge Is de- 
 rived originallv from the senses ;t and this 
 ■MieBt doctnno' seems to be revived by 
 ■omii bte Praieb philosophers, and by Dr 
 Bsrtlmr and 0r Priestley among the Brit- 
 ish, fm®] Des Cartes maintained, that 
 many of our ideas are innate. Locke op- 
 'posed, the doetcine of innate ideas with 
 Bimflh. .nal, and employs the whole first 
 lM»i of his Essay sgainst it But he ad- 
 mits two different sources of ideas . the 
 Qferations of our external senses, which he 
 cais^ .ifiMiliiMi, by' which 'w« get all our 
 ideas of body, and ils^ .attvibiites ; and re- 
 Jkeiion upon the ofOiatlODB of our minds, by 
 which we get the ideas of everything be- 
 
 • Mr ilewart (Am. III. Addmda towol L p. 
 18) aeeiM to thiiik that the word imprenioH wu 
 iitt Introdiiocd m » tfcknieaHerm, into the phi In. 
 •Opbf of niiMl, by Hume. This if not altogether 
 
 covMHk PoT) htililct the iMtancee which M r Stewart 
 " iietit of Ih* Ittuatratioii attempted, of the 
 •f mmamy tnm the analogy of an im. 
 
 It iNH»,«oilla corretponding to imfrretfion 
 laf tlM ■neioila familiarly applied to the pro- 
 
 rciBltfllllli|NflMptlOlit. iinagination, &c.,iii the 
 Aloiiliilifl|.tlM FfaiOIIM^ IJie Aristotelian, and the 
 Stoical pliiliMnlllct ; wmM, amotig modem paycholo. 
 ■Mi, (M Pet GtilH «iMi <iaittttili,i the tarm was like* 
 
 t Tliit'iif am'ticiinnect, at least a loo uni|iiaififld» 
 
 ■■ SiVHIVlll'ii^B' Bl. 
 
 longing to the mind. The main design of 
 the second book of Locke's ** Essay," is to 
 shew, that all our simple ideas, without 
 exception, are derived from the one or the 
 other, or both of these sources. In doing 
 this, the author i? led into some paradoxes, 
 although, in general, he is not fond of para- 
 doxes : And had he foreseen all the con- 
 sequences that may be drawn from his ac- 
 count of the origin of our ideas, he would 
 probably have examined it more carefully.* 
 
 Mr Hume adopts Lockers account of the 
 origin of our ideas ; and from that principle 
 infers, that we have no idea of substance, 
 corporeal or spiritual, no idea of power, no 
 other idea of a cause, but that it is something 
 antecedent, and constantly conjoined to that 
 which we call its effect ; and, in a word, 
 that we can have no idea of anythmg but 
 our sensations, and the operations of mind 
 we are conscious of. 
 
 This author leaves no power to the mind 
 in framing its ideas and impressions ; and, 
 no wonder, since he holds that we have no 
 idea of power ; and the mind is nothing but 
 that succession of impressions and ideas of 
 which we are intimately conscious. 
 
 He thinks, therefore, that our impressions 
 arise from unknown causes, and that the 
 impressions are the causes of their corre- 
 sponding ideas. By this he means no more 
 but that they always go before the ideas ; 
 for this is all that is necessary to constitute 
 the relation of cause and effect. [190] 
 
 As to the order and succession of our 
 ideas, he holds it ta be determined by three 
 laws of attraction or association, which he 
 takes to he. original properties of the ideas, 
 hy which they attract, as it were, or asso- 
 ciate themselves with other ideas which 
 either resemble them, or which have been 
 contiguous to them in time and place, or to 
 which they have the relations of cause and 
 
 "^e may he™ observe, by the way. that 
 the last of these three laws seems to be in- 
 cluded in the second, since causation, ac- 
 cording to him, implies no more than con- 
 tiguit/in tune Wplacct 
 
 • At any rate, according to I.ocfce, all our know. 
 
 ledge it a derivation from ejqierietice.— H. 
 
 -t Mr Hume •ays—" I do not find that any philo. 
 •opher ha> attempted to enumerate or clau all the 
 principles of Association ; a subject, however, that 
 neerr* to me very woithy of curiosity. To me there 
 appear* to be only three principles of connection 
 among ideas: Uesemblance — Contiguity in lime or 
 place^ — Cause and EtFoct." — Ktsays, vol. ii., p. 2-1.^ 
 Aristotle, and, after him, manv other philosophers, 
 had, however, done this, and with even greater success 
 thjii Hume himself. Aiistotle's reduction is to the 
 four following heads j— I^oximity in time— Cunti- 
 guity in place— Rc»em»)laiice — Contrast. This is 
 more correct than Hume's; for Hume's second head 
 ought to be divided into two; while our connecting 
 any partieuiar events in the relation of cause and 
 tflrct, is itself the resu't of their otiserved proximity 
 In time and contiguity in place ; nay, to custom and 
 tilit empirical connectio.i (as observed by Keid} doea 
 
 [189, 190] 
 
 f 5 
 
 It is not my design at present to shew 
 how Mr Hume, upon the principles he has 
 borrowed from Locke and Berkeley, has, 
 with great acuteness, reared a system of 
 absolute scepticism, which leaves no rational 
 groimd to beUeve any one proposition, 
 rather than its contrary : my intention in 
 this place being only to give a detail of the 
 sentiments of philosophers concerning ideas 
 since they became an object of speculation, 
 and concerning the manner of our perceiv- 
 ing external objects by theur means. 
 
 .«u.]OF THE SENTIMENTS OF ANTHONY ARNAULD. 295 
 
 therefore, that, when they make sensation, 
 perception, memory, and imagination, to 
 be various modifications of the mind, they 
 mean no more but that these are things 
 which can only exist in the mind as their 
 subject. We express the same thing, by 
 calUng them various modes of thinking, or 
 various operations of the mind.* 
 
 The things which the mind perceives, 
 says Malebranche, are of two kinds. They 
 are either in the mind itself, or they are 
 external to it. The things in the mind, 
 are all its different modifications, its sensa- 
 tions, its imaginations, its pure intellec- 
 tions, its passions and affections. These 
 are immediately perceived ; we are con- 
 scious of them, and have no need of ideas 
 to represent them to us. [192] 
 
 Things external to the mind, are either 
 corporeal or spiritual. With regard to the 
 last, he thinks it possible that, in another 
 state, spirits may be an immediate object 
 of our understandings, and so be perceived 
 without ideas ; that there may be such an 
 union of spirits as that they may imme- 
 diately perceive each other, and communi- 
 cate their thoughts mutually, without signs 
 and without ideas. 
 
 But, leaving this as a problematical point, 
 he holds it to be undeniable, that material 
 things cannot be perceived immediately, 
 but only by the mediation of ideas. He 
 thought it likewise undeniable, that the idea 
 must be immediately present to the mind, 
 that it must touch the soul as it were, and 
 modify its perception of the object. 
 
 From these principles we must neces- 
 sarily conclude, either that the idea is 
 some modification of the hiunan mind, or 
 that it must be an idea in the Divine 
 Mind, which is always intimately present 
 with our minds. The matter being brought 
 to this alternative, Malebranche considers 
 first all the possible ways such a modifica- 
 tion may be produced in our mind as that 
 we call an idea of a nmterial object, taking 
 it for granted always, that it must be an 
 object perceived, and something different 
 from the act of the mind in perceiving it. 
 He finds insuperable objections against 
 every hypothesis of such ideas being pro- 
 duced in our minds; and therefore con- 
 cludes, that the immediate objects of per- 
 ception are the ideas of the Divine Mind. 
 
 Against this system Amauld wrote his 
 book " Of True and False Ideas.*' He 
 does not object to the alternative men- 
 tioned by Malebranche ; but he maintains, 
 that ideas are modifications of our minds. 
 And, finding no other modification of the 
 
 ♦ Modes, or tnodificationt of mind, in the CartMian 
 school, mean merely what some recent philosophers 
 express by states of mind and include .both the 
 active »nd paxsivephsinomeutLof the conscious sub. 
 
 {ect. I he terms were used by Des Cartes a» well a* 
 »y his disciples.— H. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 OF THB SSNTIMBNirS OF ANTHONY ARNAULD. 
 
 In this sketch of the opinions of philoso- 
 phers concerning ideas, we must not omit 
 Anthony Amauld, doctor of the Sorbonne, 
 who, in the year 1683, published his book 
 *'0f True and False Ideas," in opposition 
 to the system of Malebranche before men- 
 tioned. It is only about ten years since I 
 eould find this book, and I believe it is 
 rare.* [191] 
 
 Though Arnauld wrote before Locke, 
 Berkeley, and Hume, I have reserved to 
 the last place some account of his senti- 
 ments, because it seems difficult to deter- 
 mine whether he adopted the conunon theory 
 of ideas, or whether he is singular in reject- 
 ing it altogether as a fiction of philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 The controversy between Malebranche 
 and Amauld necessarily led them to con- 
 sider what kind of things ideas are — a point 
 upon which other philosophers had very 
 eenerally been silent. Both of them pro- 
 fessed the doctrine universally received: 
 that we perceive not material things imme- 
 diately — that it is their ideas that are the 
 immediate objects of our thought — and that 
 it is in the idea of everything that we per- 
 ceive its properties. 
 
 It is necessary to premise that both 
 these authors use the word perception, as 
 Des Cartes had done before them, to sig- 
 nify every operation of the understand- 
 ing, i* " To think, to know, to perceive, are 
 the same thing,** says Mr Arnauld, chap. 
 V. def. 2. It is likewise to be observed, 
 that the various operations of the mind are 
 by both called modifications of the mind. 
 Perhaps they were led into this phrase by 
 the Cartesian doctrine, that the essence of 
 the mind consists in thinking, as that of 
 body consists in extension. I apprehend, 
 
 Hume himself endeavour to reduce the principle of 
 Causality altogether.— H. See Notes D** and D»»«. 
 
 • The treatises of Arnauld in his controversy with 
 Malebranche, are to be found in the thirty. eiahth 
 volume of his collected works in 4to.— H. 
 
 t Every apprehensive, or strictly cognitive oiptXM- 
 tinn of the understanding.— H. 
 
 [191,192] 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essai II 
 
 iMian. :iiiiiii wMeh can li»' mIM the idea 
 nf tn «tenial object, lie wm It is only 
 mioiier word for perception. Chap. ▼., del 
 3. [ltB| ** I take the idea of an object, 
 ■anil 'the pmregpHim of an object,, to' b^ the 
 fane thbg, I dO' nut say whetlier' there 
 may b© other things to which the name of 
 idea may be given. But it is certain that 
 there .are ideas taken in. this sense, and that 
 i||Mae: iiitaa mm «ther attributes or modifi- 
 futioBS of' onr minds.*** 
 
 This, I think, indeed, was to attack the 
 Mtem of Malebranche upon ita weak side, 
 and wheB%, at the same time, an attack was 
 least' esfwoted. Philosophers had. been bo 
 unanimous in maintaining that we do not 
 perceive external objects inimediately,t 
 but by certain representative images jf 
 them called W«i*,| that Malebranche 
 might wei think his system secure upon 
 that quarter, and that theonly question to 
 be determined was, in what subject those 
 idfltts arc pbced, whether in the human or 
 m the divine mind ? 
 
 But, says Mr Arnauld, those ideas are 
 mere chimeras — ^fictiona of philosophers; 
 there are no such beings in nature ; and, 
 therefore, it is to no purpose to inquire 
 whether they are in the divine or in the hu- 
 man mind. The only true and real ideas 
 are our penseptlons, wliich§ are acknow- 
 ledged, by all philosophers, and by Malo- 
 .hianche himself, to tewts or modiications 
 of onr own minds. I|e does not say that 
 the ictitious ideas were a fiction of Male- 
 " branche. Me wskwiwled|es that they had 
 'bean very gensfally niam.tained^ by the 
 lehohstic philosophers, II and points out, 
 very judiciously, the prejudices that had 
 led them into the belief of such ideas. 
 
 Of all the powers of our mind, the 
 
 • Arnauld did not tllow tliat perceiitloni and 
 
 .Ideas mn 'ffMJ% or ii«iiMri<»i%'dMtiiguidiiid--i &« m 
 •m thine fran anotlw thing; not tveti tlwl tii«f 
 «reiiwAiJll|fdliilingui»he(l-f. «, m a thing irom lU 
 iiHKfc. Me maintained ih.*« they are mi% itlcmical. 
 and only ndimmllv ditcriinin itcd aa viuwc-d in dif. 
 fieicat retotioM i the ifidivi»ib:e menial mo« I ificatiun 
 'htini called a ptn^tton, by rtferencf to ilie imiid or 
 lhinling»tiliircl^aiildi»,hy reference lo the mediate 
 ohjfct or thing thouglil. Arnauld every w here avow* 
 that he denriw ideal, onlf ■• exiatencei distinct (rom 
 -tbeactitfeirof perct>|M.ion..«ttee'Oiai:im>, U xxxvui. 
 .I>i». 187, IVW. ls«, a«i.— H. 
 
 f Ariiauld doci not assert afenimt llaldiranchi*, 
 *• thattm percdm external uttjects iiitiiMillii«#"— that 
 if, tn Ihcniel t ei, and as exMiiiig. He was too acoi- 
 late te this. By an Mmmkte eogniiion, Keid 
 I tmeidf the nrgaiion of the Intermediation of 
 
 external senses are thought to be the 
 best understood, and theur objects are the 
 most familiar. Hence we measure other 
 powers by them, and transfer to other 
 powers the huignage which properly be- 
 longs to them. The objects of sense must 
 be present to the sense, or within its 
 sphere, in order to theur being perceived. 
 Hence, by analogy, we are led to say of 
 everything when we think of it, that it is 
 present to the mind, or in the mind. [194] 
 But this presence is metaphorical, or ana- 
 logical only; and Arnauld calls it objec- 
 tive presence, to distinguish it from that 
 local presence which is required in objects 
 that are perceived by sense. But both 
 being called by the same name, they are 
 confounded together, and those things that 
 belong only to real or local presence, are 
 attributed to the metaphorical. 
 
 We are Hkewise accustomed to see objecta 
 by theur images in a mirror, or in water ; 
 and hence are led, by analogy, to think that 
 objects may be presented to the memory or 
 hnagination in some simihir manner, by 
 unages, which philosopher have called ideas. 
 
 By such prejudices and analogies, Arnauld 
 conceives, men have been led to believe that 
 the objects of memory and iniaguiation 
 must be presented to the mind by images 
 or ideas ; and the philosophers have been 
 more carried away by these prejudices than 
 even the vulgar, because the ueo nmde of 
 this theory was to explain and account for 
 the various operations of the mind— a matter 
 in which the vulgar take no concern. 
 
 He thinks, however, that Des Cartes had 
 got the better of these prejudices, and that 
 he uses the word idea as signilying the same 
 thing with perception,* and is, therefore, 
 surprised that a disciple of Des Cartes, and 
 one who was so great an admirer of him as 
 Malebranche was, should be carrit d away 
 by them. It is strange, indeed, that the 
 two most eminent disciples of Des Cartes 
 and his contemporaries should difier so 
 essentially with regard to his doctrine con- 
 cerning ideas, i* 
 
 I shall not attempt to give the reader an 
 account of the continuation of this contro- 
 versy between those two acute philosophers, 
 in the subsequent defences and replies ; be- 
 cause I have not access to see them. After 
 much rcasonmg, and some animosity, etich 
 
 CHAP. XIII.] OF THE SENTIMENTS OF ANTHONY ARNAULD. 29? 
 
 ..anf thtid. thing iMtween. the reality 'perceived and 
 |JM' 'painMcttl Mind..— >!!• 
 
 t J*«. wai not the wo.rd hy which representative 
 "Illiapt,.'diiafi:nftt. flrom the pereipicnt act. had been 
 .jMUMnoalyealM ; nor were ph.lloiM>ph«rt at atl unanl. 
 ...:iMiat ..;te IIW' ladaiilllMl at such vicariottt oblecia.— 
 ''See Ifiitef O., 1„ M, "M, O. &c.— a 
 
 I That is, PWBipltoM, (thecognitlTO acti^ hut not 
 lAlkilhei««edlaieobJecu of thoeeaota) Tbt latter 
 «ei« not acknowledged by Matebranobe awl all phi. 
 'IHMphcra to be mere acii or modiications oi our own 
 almla.— M. 
 
 I hnt % a CHerent nsme.— M. 
 
 • 1 am convinced Ihat in thi» interpretation of Dei 
 Cartes' doctrine, Arnauld i« right ; for I)c8 Cartes 
 define* roentu) ideas — those, to wit, </ which tPC are 
 conscious — to be " Coifitationes prout sunt tanquam 
 ii/Miy* >!<•*— tliat is, tntiii({hts considered in their repre* 
 •cnt.it iverapacily ; nor is there any passage to be found 
 in the writings oi tiiis philosopher, which, if properly 
 understoid. warrants lnecnnclu^ion, that, by idean j» 
 the mind, he meant augut dt»tinct fnm the cognitive 
 act. 'J he double use of the term idea by Dfs Cartes 
 htis, however, led Keid and others into a mi8Con> 
 reption on thi* point. See Note N.— H. 
 
 f Iteid's own ducti ne is farnioreanibigur'US.<— H. 
 
 £193, 194] 
 
 
 
 continued m hta own opinion, and left his 
 antagonist where he found him. [195] 
 Malebranche^s opinion of our seeing all 
 things in God, soon died away of itself ; and 
 Arnauld^s notion of ideas seems to have 
 been less regarded than it deserved, by the 
 philosophers that came after him ;* per- 
 haps for this reasr i, among others, that it 
 seemed to be, in .ome sort, given up by 
 himself, in his attempting to reconcile it to 
 the common doctrine concerning ideas. 
 
 From the account I have given, one 
 would be apt to conclude that Arnauld 
 totally denied the existence of ideas, in the 
 philosophical sense of that word, and that 
 he adopted the notion of the vulgar, who 
 acknowledge no object of perception but the 
 external object But he seems very un- 
 willing to deviate so far from the common 
 track, and, what he had given up with one 
 hand, he takes back with the other. 
 
 For, y?r«/, Having defined ideas to be the 
 same thing with perceptions, he adds this 
 qualiiicatian to his definition : — " I do not 
 here consider whether there are other things 
 that may be called ideas ; but it is certain 
 there are ideas taken in this sense. -|- I 
 believe, indeed, there is no philosopher who 
 does not, on some occasions, use the word 
 idea in this popular sense. 
 
 • The opinion of Arnauld in regard to the nature 
 ofideaswasby no means overlouked iiy subsequent 
 philosophers. It is found fully detailed iti almoet 
 every systematic course or compend ol philosophy, 
 which appeared for a long time after its first promul. 
 gation, and in many of these it is the d<'Ctriiie re- 
 commended as the true. Arnauld's was indeed the 
 npininn which •latterly prevailed in the Cartesian 
 school. From this it passed into other schools. Leib- 
 nitz, like Arnauld, regarded Ideas, Notions, Repre- 
 sentations, as mere motlifications of the mind, (what 
 by his disciples, were called material ideas, like the 
 cerebral ideas (•( Des Cartes, are out ofihe quest ion,) 
 and no cruder opinion than this has ever subse. 
 quently found a looting in any of the German 
 »»y»ttenis. 
 
 " I don't know," says Mr Stewart, " of any author 
 who, prior to l)r Hcid, has expressed hiinselt on this 
 FUliject with somuch j-siness and precision as Father 
 lUittier, in the following passage of his I'reatise on 
 • First Truths :'— 
 
 ** < If we confine ourselves to what is intelligible in 
 our oliservations on ideas, we will say, they are no. 
 thing* but mere modifications of the mind as a think- 
 ing being. The> are called ideas with regard to the 
 ,obje<:t represented ; and jjcrccidions with regard lo 
 the faculty representing. It is manifest that our 
 Ideas, considered in this sense, are not more dis>tin. 
 ■guiihed than motion is from a body moved.' — (P. 
 'MlfEnalish Translation.Y' — t lira. iii. Add. to vol. i. 
 p. 10. 
 
 In this passage, Bufflrr only repeats thedrctrinc of 
 Arnauld, in Arnauld'sown words. 
 
 Dx Thomas Brown, on the other hand, has en- 
 deavoured to shew that th s doctrine, (which he 
 identities with Reid's,) had been long the catholic 
 opinion ; and that Keid, in his attack on the Ideal 
 system, only refuted what had been already almost 
 universally exploded. In this att> mpt he is, how- 
 ever, singularly unfortunate; for, with the excep- 
 tion of Crousaz, all the examples he-ad'iuces to 
 evince the prevalence of A rnauld's doctrine are only 
 •0 many miptakes, so many instance:!, in (act, which 
 might be alleged in confirmationof the very opposite 
 conclusion, bee Edinburgh Review^ vol. Hi., \t. 181- 
 IW6-H. 
 
 t See following note.— U. 
 
 [195, 19G] 
 
 Secondly, He supports this popular sense 
 of the word by the authority of Des Cartes, 
 who, in his demonstration of the existence 
 of God, from the idea of him in our minds, 
 defines an idea thus : — " By the word ideoy 
 I understand that form of any thought, by 
 the immediate perception of which I am 
 conscious of that thought ; so that I can ex- 
 press nothing by words, with understanding, 
 without being certain that there is in my mind 
 the idea of that which is exjjressed by the 
 words." This defijiition seems, indeed, to 
 be of the same import with that which is 
 given by Arnauld. But Des Cartes adds 
 a qualification to it, which Arnauld, in 
 quoting it, omits ; and which shews that 
 Des Cartes meant to limit his definition to 
 the idea then treated of — that is, to the idea 
 of the Deity ; and that there are other ideas 
 to which this defininion does not apply. [ 1 96] 
 For he adds : — " And thus I give th.e name 
 of idea, not solely to the images painted in 
 the phantasy; nay, in this place, I do not 
 at all give the name of ideas to those 
 images, in so far as they are painted in the 
 corporeal phantasy that is in some part of 
 the braui, but only in so far as they inform 
 the mind, turning its attention to that part 
 of the brain"* 
 
 Thirdly, Arnauld has employed the whole 
 of his sixth chapter, to shew that these ways 
 of speaking, common among philosophers — 
 to wit, ihat we perceive not things imme- 
 diately ; that it is their ideas that are the 
 immediate objects of our thoughts; that it is 
 in the idea of everything thuVwe perceive its 
 jnoperties — are not to be rejected, but are 
 true when rightly understood. He labours 
 to reconcile these expressions to his own 
 definition of ideas, by observing, that every 
 perception and every thought is necessarily 
 conscious of itself, and reflects upon itself ; 
 and that, by this consciousness and reflec- 
 tion, it is its own immediate object Whence 
 he infers, that the idea->that is, the percep- 
 tion — is the immediate object of perception. 
 
 This looks Uke a weak attempt to recon- 
 cile two inconsistent doctrines by one who 
 wishes to hold both.-j- It is true, that con- 
 sciousness always goes along with percep- 
 tion; but they are difierent operations of 
 the mind, and they have their difierent 
 objects. Consciousness is not perception, 
 nor is the object of consciousness the object 
 of percei'tion.:J: The same may be sa d cf 
 
 • Dos Cartes here refers to the other meaning which 
 he gives to the term idea — that in, to denote the 
 material motion, the organic afffectinn of the biain, 
 of which the mind is not conscious. On Reid's mis- 
 apprehension of the Cartesian doctrine touching this 
 matter, see Note N—H. 
 
 f Arnauld's attempt is neither weak nor inconsist- 
 ent. He had, in lact, a clearer view of the condi- 
 tions of the problem than Reid himself, who has, in 
 fact, confounded two opposite doctrines. See Note C. 
 — H. 
 
 t On Reid's error in reducing consciousness to a 
 fpccial faculty, see Note H— Jl. 
 
)' 
 
 ON THB INTELLECTUAL POWERa 
 
 1} 
 
 •fiigr optnilioii of mind Hial hif tnolijeet 
 nmip 'lojiify m 'tbe object of w—ili m n fc 
 'WImh. I itMiil an. injurv, I am eomoloiis^ 
 of' my KMntnMil— tliat i% mjr nmntment 
 is llie immediate and the only oljeist of my 
 eonMaonBneaa ; but it would be abeiird to 
 infer ffom tbi% that my resentment is the 
 iiiimediateohjeolofmyreMitment [197] 
 Ufon the whole, if Amanld— in oonae- 
 
 Jinenee of hia doctrine, that ideaa, taken 
 or ref reaentatiTe images of external ob- 
 ieata, ^are a wmm iutbn of the philosophers 
 !I]Sl rejected boldly the doctrine of Dea 
 diitos, as well aa of the other philosophers, 
 Mneeming those fictitious beings, and aU 
 the ways of speaking that imply their ex- 
 istenee; I should Mm thought him more 
 ^Qonsistent with hinati; and his doctrine 
 MMnmlng ideaa^ "ineie' raiional and more 
 uitelligible than that of any other author of 
 
 CHAPTBE XIV. 
 
 vmnm» on thb common theory op 
 
 insAs. 
 
 AmE io tag a detail of the sentiments 
 
 'Of 'fUoeof hers,, ancient and modem, con- 
 'Mining ideas, it may seem presumptuouB 
 to call in question their existence. But no 
 mUlosophieal opinion, however ancient, 
 iowerer generally .received, ought to rest 
 upon authority. There' is no presumption 
 in requiring evidence for it, or in regukt- 
 ingour belief by the evidence we can find. 
 To prevent mistakes, the reader must 
 .ftgi^n be reminded, that i f by ideas ar e 
 meant only the acts or opmiiQna. iifjinr 
 
 tc*! 
 
 
 minds in perce ivint^, remembering,L. orhnaj 
 
 f-^lBifliiBSb } »m';''|ar from cail^lE I" 
 
 are conscious of them every d ay a nd every 
 
 hour of life; and I believe iiojman of a 
 'sound ..mind.... ever doubtel ojflCieal. eiui^ 
 
 ^•■B^P^S* '''iiJHHiiiiiiiHiHpMlilpi'iiiillllBp^^ mi^^^^^^^^ ■"'"■ ' 
 
 is eonseitiii. Nor is It to be doubted that, 
 by the faculties which God has given us, 
 we «an conceive things thai are absent, as 
 wm m peroelve those that are within the 
 fsacii of OUT' senses ; and that such concep- 
 tiona may be more or less distinct, and 
 
 • EjM* dkcontenl with AmmMs oi^nion— «n 
 
 uplnioawlitelilsatatedwith great feri|>*cuity by Us 
 author— may h* uacd m an arKuiii?iit to shew that his 
 mm doetiint l|» iowef er ambiguous, that of intui. 
 timtoriniiiiecaateMnefiiion. (See Note C ) Amauld*k 
 llltOtT Is identical with the finer fonr.-«.f represei)t»- 
 Civt or niMliale perception, and the difficulties of ^at 
 dUCtmwwvnnoC overlooked h? his great antagonist. 
 Amaiild Will tinted that, when we see a horse, ac 
 •omUni to Maiehranche, what we see is in reality 
 (Millllilliiri but Malebranche well rejoined, that. 
 When waste a hone, according to Arnault i, what w« 
 i U, in reality, only a modification of ourselTf«.->II. 
 
 II. 
 
 more or len lively and strong. We have 
 reason to ascribe to the all-knowing and 
 all-perfect Being distinct conceptions of all 
 things existent and possible, and of all their 
 relations; and if these conceptions are called 
 his eternal ideas, there ought to be no dis- 
 
 fute among philosophers about a word, 
 198] The ideas, of whose existence. I 
 requi re the p roof, are n qt the operati ons^ 
 ^y m it^H, hnt MippoB^ obj ects of those 
 operation s. They are not perception, re * 
 mgm1 ^]-an<*ft, or eonceptlOUi DUt things th at 
 
 HBAP. XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 
 
 299 
 
 jTfifli flr rfHHflmpe fSOi o r 
 
 ledt 
 
 Nor do I disp ute the exis tence of what 
 the~vu jgar^calljhe objec|a_jttf pereeptipp. 
 Th^j[Jy all who acknowledge ih«k_e5Jfitr 
 ence^ j^re called real thinga,JiQLidfiaaa. Bui 
 philoeophersjnaintajya tbf^^, baa^iiftg thpfw.^ 
 thejg_Me immediate obje cts of perception 
 in the jnind itself; that^ ioiLiafitaQCfi^^Se 
 do not see the sun immediately, but an 
 
 ~i ~ '"~ \ 1 ikf. m. - - "rrrr-n — f^z 
 
 idea ; or, as Mr Hume calls it, an impres- 
 mon in our own minds. This ideais^said 
 to be the image, t he resembEnce^hfl-ie- 
 presentative ol the «6un,. if therp. hp. a hhtl 
 rt is from tlie existence of the ideaLihat w© 
 must infer the existence of thesun. But 
 iEeTdea,beingimmediately perceived,^there 
 ain 1)0 no ^ouDt, as phflosophers thmk^jof 
 its existence. 
 
 In like manner, when I remember, or 
 when I imagine anything, all men acknow- 
 ledge that there must be something that is 
 remembered, or that is imagined ; that is, 
 some object of those operations. The 
 object remembered must be something that 
 did exist in time past : the object imagined 
 may be something that never existed.* 
 But, say the philosophers, besides these 
 objects which all men acknowledge, there 
 is a more immediate object which really 
 exists in the mind at the same time we 
 lemember or imagine. This object is an 
 idea or image of the thing remembered or 
 imagined. 
 
 ThejSr«l r gJetf igi I would make on this 
 philosophlcai opmion is, thatll ia_diraaQt 
 contrary to the universal scn^e of men who 
 have not been instructed. in. philosophy. 
 When we see the sun or moon, we have no 
 doubt that the very objects which we im- 
 mediately see are very far distant from us, 
 and from one another. We have not the 
 least doubt that this is the sun and moon 
 which God created some thousands of years 
 ago, and which have continued to perform 
 their revolutions in the heavens ever since. 
 [199] But how are we astonished when 
 the philosopher informs us that we are mis- 
 taken in all this ; that the sun and moon 
 which we see are not, as we imagine, many 
 miles distant from us, and from each other, 
 
 *%/ 
 
 ■ 8ce Note B.— H 
 
 £197-199] 
 
 but that they are in our own nund ; that 
 they had no existence before we saw them, 
 and will have none when we cease to per- 
 ceive and to think of them; because the 
 objects we perceive are only ideas in our 
 own minds, which can have no existence a 
 moment longer than we think of them !* 
 
 If a plain man, uninstructed in philoso- 
 phy, has faith to receive these mysteries, 
 how great must be his astonishment ! He 
 is brought into a new world, where every- 
 thing he sees, tastes, or touches, is an idea 
 —a fleeting kind of being which he can con- 
 jure into existence, or can annihilate in the 
 twinkling of an eye. 
 
 After his mind is somewhat composed, it 
 will be natural for him to ask his philoso- 
 phical instructor. Pray, sir, are there then 
 no substantial and permanent beings called 
 the sun and moon, which continue to exist 
 whether we think of them or not ? 
 
 Here the philosophers differ. Mr Locke, 
 and those that were before him, will answer 
 to this question, that it is very true there 
 are substantial and permanent beings called 
 the sun and moon ; but they never appear 
 to us in their own person, but by their re- 
 presentatives, the ideas in our own minds, 
 and we know nothing of them but what we 
 can gather from those ideas. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume would 
 give a different answer to the question pro- 
 posed. They would assure the querist that 
 it is a vulgar error, a mere prejudice of the 
 ignorant and unlearned, to think that there 
 are any permanent and substantial beings 
 called the sun and moon ; that the heavenly 
 bodies, our own bodies, and all bodies what- 
 soever, are nothing but ideas in our mmds ; 
 and that there can be nothing like the ideas 
 of one mind, but the ideas of another mind. 
 [200] There is nothing in nature but 
 minds and ideas, says the Bishop; — nay, 
 says Mr Hume, there is nothing in nature 
 but ideas only ; for what we call a mind is 
 nothing but a train of ideas connected by 
 certain relations between themselves. 
 
 In this representation of the theory of 
 ideas, there is nothing exaggerated or mis- 
 represented, vas far as I am able to judge ; 
 and surely nothing farther is necessary to 
 shew that, to the uninstructed in philoso- 
 phy, it must appear extravagant and vision- 
 ary, and most contrary to the dictates of 
 common understanding. 
 
 There is the less need of any farther 
 proof of this, that it is very amply acknow- 
 
 • Whether Reid himself do not virtually bold thi» 
 last opinion, see Note C. At any rate, it is very in- 
 correct to say t hat the ntn, moont Sec. , are, or can be* 
 perceived. by us as existent, and in their real dis. 
 tance in the heavens ; all that wc can be cognisant 
 of (supposing that we are immediateli/ percipient of 
 the non-ego) is the rays of .light emanating ftom them, 
 a6din> contact and relation with our organ of sight. 
 
 ledged by Mr Hiune in his Essay on the 
 Academical or Sceptical Philosophy. '* It 
 seems evident,** says he, *^ that men are car- 
 ried, by a natural instinct or prepossession, 
 to repose faith in their senses; and that, 
 without any reasoning, or even almost be- 
 fore the use of reason, we always suppose an 
 external universe, which depends not on 
 our perception, but would exist though we 
 and every sensible creature were absent or 
 annihilated. Even the animal creation are 
 governed by a like opinion, and preserve this 
 belief of external objects in all their thoughts, 
 designs, and actions.** 
 
 " It seems also evident that, whenfmen 
 follow this blind and powerful instinct of 
 nature, they always suppose the very im- 
 ages presented by the senses to be the ex- 
 ternal objects, and never entertain any 
 suspicion that the one are nothing but re- 
 presentations of the other. This very table 
 which we see white, and feel hard, is be- 
 lieved to exist independent of our percep- 
 tion, and to be something external to the 
 mind which perceives it ; our presence be- 
 stows not being upon it ; our absence anni- 
 hilates it not: it preserves its existence 
 imiform and entire, independent of the situ- 
 ation of intelligent beings who perceive or 
 contemplate it. [201] 
 
 " But this universal and primary notion 
 of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest 
 philosophy, which teaches us that nothuig 
 can ever be present to the mind, but an 
 image or perception ; and that the senses 
 are only the inlets through which these 
 images are received, without being ever 
 able to produce any immediate intercourse 
 between the mind and the object.** 
 
 It is therefore acknowledged by this phi- 
 losopher, to be a natural instinct or pre- 
 possession, an universal and primary opinion 
 of all men, a primary instinct of nature, that 
 the objects which we immediately perceive 
 by our senses, are not images in our minds, 
 but external objects, and that their exist- 
 ence is independent of us and our percep- 
 tion. 
 
 In this acknowledgment, Mr Hume in- 
 deed seems to me more generous, and even 
 more ingenuous than Bishop Berkeley, who 
 would persuade us that his opinion does 
 not oppose the vulgar opinion, but only that 
 of the philosophers ; and that the external 
 existence of a material world is a philoso- 
 phical hypothesis, and not the natural dic- 
 tate of our perceptive powers. The Bishop 
 shews a timidity of engaging such an adver- 
 sary, as a primary and universal opinion of 
 all men. He is rather fond to court its pa- 
 tronage. But the philosopher intrepidly gives 
 a defiance to this>antagonist, and seems to 
 glory in a confl ict that was worthy of his arm. 
 Optat aprum ant fulvum descendere monle 
 Icoriem. After all, I suspect that a philo- 
 
 r«00,2011 
 
dm 
 
 ON THB INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 f^ESSAY II. 
 
 miAP. XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 
 
 301 
 
 ■npliof vim mcBi wsf with thm adversary, 
 «jil:iiid liiiiinl.iii. 'Hw wmae condition as a 
 —JiwiiwitiiiiaB, vlio should undertake to 
 demonslfste thftt there is no truth in the 
 axioms of mathematics. 
 
 A itfCKWilgdiecti onupo n this subject is— » 
 ftat the authors w ho liave' treated of ideas, 
 lilTc generally ta^en their exis tence for 
 gwrnted, m S thing that coulcllibt be called 
 ^ mwHion^; anJLwch arguments as they 
 lave iiieniirai^ii^ ^n^dmitally^ in nr3S^n 
 
 aagn. ^IIST w 
 
 Mr Locke, in the introduction to ms 
 
 EBsajr, tells us, that he uses the word idea 
 to wtgpSij whatever is the immediate object 
 llf umigiit; and then adds, " I presume it 
 wll he easily granted me that there an 
 ■mil ideas in men*8 minds; every one is 
 iMWScious of them in himself; and men*s 
 vnrds and actions will satis^ him that they 
 a»' 'in otheia*' I am indeed conscious of 
 perceivlnf. remember i«^B,. iii>*fl8nmp ; hll^ 
 that the ohiects of these operations are 
 Iff . :iittJaMnd^ I ,«m :iiot cdnsciouj. 
 
 am aatisied, by men's words and actions, 
 that they often perceive the same objects 
 which I perceive, which could not be, if 
 
 thuM' O'bfMta were ideas in their own minds. 
 Mr Miirfii is the only author I have met 
 
 with, wh© :|»nifet8eillj puts the quest;ion, 
 
 JBsilginiifcriili thiiB fliiii ' 
 
 us imuii 
 
 Ifiy,,? Hfi.,|as J 
 
 arguments to she w that they can not . _ 
 
 "fjiateriai objects are without the mmu, 
 and therefore there can be no union between 
 the object, and the percipient.*' Amwer^ 
 Thia ailment is lame, until it is shewn to 
 be neceiiaiif that in perception there should 
 be a uni«Mi iMtween the object and the per- 
 cipient Sewnffy " Material objects are 
 disproportioned to the mind, and removed 
 from it by the whole diameter of Being." 
 This argument I cannot answer, because I 
 do not understand it.* Third, " Because, 
 
 •Tliif cMilkMioii would, of itelf, pmw bow luner. 
 icially Mekl was verwd tu llie literature of philo. 
 Mi|iliy. Motris's secoixt argumeiit b only the state. 
 atetit of a principle generally aMuned by (ihtlosophcTH 
 —that the relation ol knowiedctlnfinra a correspond. 
 enceof nature between Ihetubjeci knowing, and the 
 oliaet known. Ibit principle bat. |>ertiap$, exerted 
 anoreextenalwliiaurnceon spCGUlation than any 
 other ; and yet it has not been prof ed, and is incapatile 
 of pnof— oaf, ii contiadictcd l>y the eridcnce of 
 eenidoiiatieti liaeir. To trace the influence of this 
 ■MtiupCion would l>e, in lact. In a certain lort/ to 
 write tile history of philo«ophy ; for, though thi« in- 
 ■Hence has never yet been historically devel ped, it 
 wotiM be easy to shew that the belief, oicplicit 
 or inpllelt, thai wbat knows and what is imme- 
 diately kiMWii iniist bt of an analogous nature. lies 
 ■C llie rant of ilniost eterw theory of cognif inn. from 
 tlM'Vtlf iarite»t to the very latest 8|>eculati»n«. In 
 tlM nioit aneient pl.ilusopby of Greece, three phllo. 
 SoplltrB (Anaxagara». Heraclitus, and Alctuieon) arc 
 iMMif wlio MnfiHied the opposite doctrine— that the 
 CWMi^Meii •rkiiovW|elles in tbe contrariety, in the 
 nalHtal aMtithesis. nf snUect and ot^l. Aristotle. 
 likewise, in his treatise &» ite Soul, txprculy coiv 
 ienins the prevalent opinloti. that the similar is only 
 
 if material objects were immediate objects 
 of perception, there could be no physical 
 science — things necessary and immuable 
 being the only object of science." Atinoer^ 
 Although things necessary and immutable) 
 be not the immediate objects of perception,/^ 
 they may be immediate objects of other! 
 powers of the mind. Fowth ^ " If material * 
 things were perceived ' by themselves, they 
 would be a true light to our minds, as being 
 the intelligible form of our understandings, 
 and consequently perfective of them, and 
 indeed superior to them.** If I comprehend 
 anything of this mysterious argument, it 
 follows from it, that the Deity perceives 
 nothing at all, because nothing can be supe- 
 rior to his understanding, or perfective of 
 it [2031 
 
 There is an argument which is hinted 
 at by Malebranche, and by several other 
 authors, which deserves to be more seriously 
 considered. As 1 find it most clearly ex- 
 pressed and most fully urged by Dr Samuel 
 Clarke, I shall give it in his words, in his 
 second reply to Leibnitz, § 4. " The soul, 
 without being present to the images of the 
 things perceived, could not possibly perceive 
 thenu A living substance can only there 
 perceive, where it is present, either to the 
 
 cognisable by the similar ; but, In his NicomaeMan 
 Ethics, he reverts ti> the doctiine which, in the for. 
 mer work, he had rejected. VViih tliese exceptions, 
 no principle, since the time of Kmpedocies, by whom 
 It seems nrsl to have been explicitly announced, has 
 been more universally received, than this— that the 
 ri/alion (ifkuoulcdge infers an tmaioyp o/existence, 
 3 his analogy may be of two degrees. What knows, 
 and trttat is known, may be either similar or the 
 same; and, i the principle Uself le admitted, the 
 latter alternative is the more philosr>|ihical. V\ it hout 
 entering on details, 1 may here notice some of the 
 more remarkalile reiulisot this principle, in both its 
 degrees. 1 he general principle, not, indeed, cxclu. 
 sively, but mamly, determined the admissinn of a 
 repre«>entativepercepiion, by disallowing the possibil- 
 ity ol any consciouj>nc*8, or immediate knowLdj^e of 
 matter, by a nature so different from it as mind ; 
 and, in its two degrees, it determined the various hy- 
 potheses, by which it was attempted in explain the 
 jo^sibility of a representative or mediate perception 
 of the external world. 'Jo this principle, in its 
 lower potence— that what knows must be WmtTar in 
 nature to what is immediately known— we owe the 
 intA'.ntional species of the Ariytotelians, and therVfeat 
 of Malebranche and Berkeley. From this principle, 
 ill its higher potence— that what knows must 1^ 
 idetilical m nature with what is immediately known 
 — Ihere flow the gnostic reasons of the Platunisrs, the 
 pr«;.«'j-i'>f*>»<;/(>rm»or#/j<TiV*of 'i'heophrastus and I'he. 
 misiius, of Adelandus and Avicenna, tbe (mental) 
 ideas of Pes Cartes and Arnauld, therepresentatiortSt 
 sensual ideas, 4c. of Ltibnits and V\off, the phtmo. 
 mcna of Knnt, the states of Brown, and (snail we 
 say?; the vacillating doctrine of i)erceptioit held by 
 Keid himhelf. Meniately, this principle was the 
 on^'in of many other famous theories '.—of the hier- 
 archical gradation ol si>ult> or faculties ot the Aristo. 
 telians : of the vehicular media of the Platonists; 
 ot the hypotheses of a common intellect of Alex. 
 aitder, Themistius, A«erroes, (ajetanus, and Zabar. 
 ella ; of the vision in the deity ot Malebranche ; and of 
 the c artesian and [..eibnitzian (toctnnes of aRsiht.inre 
 and pre.establiEhed harmony, rinalty. to this prin. 
 ciple i> to lieascribttl the refusal ot the evidence ot con. 
 «ciousne«> to the primary tact, the duality of its per. 
 ception ; and the unitarian schemes of Absolute Iden- 
 tity. Materialismi and Idealism, are the results.— H. 
 
 [202, 203] 
 
 thmgs themselves, (as the omnipresent (Jod 
 is to the whole universe,) or to the images 
 of thiugs, as the soul is in its proper senso- 
 riiiw." 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton expresses the same 
 sentiment, but with his usual reserve, in a 
 query only. 
 
 The ingenious Dr Porterfield, in his Essay 
 concerning the motions of our eyes, adopts 
 this opinion with more con deuce. His 
 words are : " How body acts upon mind, 
 or mind upon body, I know not ; but this I 
 am very certain of, that nothing can act, or 
 be acted upon, where it is not ; and there- 
 fore our mind can ne ve r perceive any tjiing 
 but Its own proper modificatijonsj^ anilhe 
 ^jiousstates of the sensodiUilxisjvhiclut 
 5^ present ; so that it is not the external 
 sun and' moon which are in the heavens, 
 which our mind perceives, but only their 
 image or representation impressed upon the 
 sensorium. How the soul of a seeing man 
 sees these images, or how it receives those 
 
 I ideas, from such agitations in the sensorium, 
 
 I I Imow not ; but I am sure it can never 
 J |>erceive the external bodies themselves, to 
 i which it is not present.*' 
 
 These, indeed, are great authorities : but, 
 in matters of philosophy, we must not be 
 guided by authority, but by reason. Dr 
 Clarke, in the place cited, mentions slightly, 
 as the reason of his opinion, that " nothing 
 can any more act, or be acted upon when 
 it is not present, than it can be where it is 
 not.** [204] And again, in hb third 
 reply to Leibnitz, § 1 1—" W^_aro-aure_ihe 
 SQ^l cannot perceive what it is not prps^pf 
 .to.t_bficaiuse nothing can act, o r l>ft ^^-^(^'1 
 upoa^ w he re it is not.*' The same reason 
 we see is urged by Dr Porterfield. 
 
 That notliing can act immediately wher e 
 it is notj ^I think must be a^mitte4^; for T 
 agree witn Sir Isaac Newton, that power 
 without substance is inconceivable. It is a 
 consequence of this, that notliiijg^ can be 
 acted upon immediately wherc^thft agent is 
 not present : let this, therefore be" graHled. 
 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-evi- 
 dent, nor have I ever met with any proof 
 of it. I shall briefly offer the reasons why I 
 think it ought not to be admitted. 
 
 When we say that one being acts upon 
 a^aaJEJE^j^e mean that some pow e r or force 
 
 w exerted by the a^nt^^lufih J>i^il"liceSiJ2?' 
 hajs^jtendeney to produce, a change in the 
 *!*Sg^cle(l' upon. Trtlii8T3e tlieiiieanjflg 
 of the phrase^ ^s I conpniv^ itjs> th^**^ 
 appears nu reuaon.for asaeitiflftjthak-is 
 perceptiouj eithet. the olyect. acts JipoiUlie 
 mind, or tlie mind iipon the jp.l^igfif . 
 
 Au object^ in beinff oer ^^ived. does np t 
 
 »^t at alL-oUgiSfiive |hy walfaff tfiejagffl 
 [201, 205] 
 
 where_I_gitxbut they are perfectly inactive, 
 and^therefgrejLCtjmi_upon the mind. ~To 
 be perceived, is what logicians call an ex- 
 ternal denomination, which implies neither 
 action nor quality in the object perceived.* 
 Nor could men ever have gone into this 
 notion, that perception is owing to some 
 action of the object upon the mind, were 
 it not that we are so prone to form our 
 notions of the mind from some similitude 
 we conceive between it and body. Thought 
 in the mind is conceived to have some 
 analogy to motion in a body : and, as a bod y 
 is put in jnotion, -by. being._a£ted_iipQn_by 
 some .plUeiibody j so j>: eare apt t o think the 
 mincHs made to perceive^ by so me imp ulse 
 It recedes fcom the nbjfict*_,But reasonings, 
 drawn from such analqgieSjjo\i^tJieyfir-to 
 be trugtetL I205X They are, indeed, the 
 cause, of most of our errors with regard to 
 the mmd. And we might as well conclude, 
 that minds may be measured by feet and 
 inches, or weighed by ounces and drachms, 
 because bodies have those properties, f 
 
 I see as little reason, in the second place . 
 to believe that in r er^g£tionlhejiiind^ta 
 upon tlie object. To perceive an objectig 
 onelljing^ to act upon, it .ig_anQtherj_jiorL^' 
 tITelast at all included in the first . To say 
 that Ilct upon the wall by looking at it, is 
 an abuse of language, and has no meaning. 
 Logicians distinguish two kinds of opera- 
 tions of mind : the first' kind produces no 
 effect without the mind; the last does. 
 The first they call immunen' acts, the se- 
 cond transitive. All intellectual operations 
 belong to the first class ; they produce no 
 effect upon any external object. But, witjj- 
 out having recourse to logical distinctions, 
 every man of com mo n sense knows, that to 
 
 ♦ This passage, among others that follow, afford 
 the foundation of an argument, to prove that lleid 
 is not original in his doctrine of Perception ; but 
 that it was borrowed from the speculations of cert in 
 older ph losophers, of which he was aware. See 
 Note S— H. 
 
 t This reasoning, which is not originjil to Held, 
 (see Note S.) is not clearly or precisely expressed. 
 In asserting that «• an object, in being perceived, does 
 not act at all," our author cai;not mean that it does 
 not act upon the organ of sense ; for this would not 
 only be absurd in itsell, but in contradiction to his 
 own doctrine—" it being," he says, " a law of our 
 nature that we perceive not external objects un- 
 less certain impressions be made on Uie rwrves and 
 brain." i'he assertion—" I perceive the walls ol the 
 room wbeie 1 sit, -but they are perfectly inactive, 
 and, therefore, act not on the mind," is equally in- 
 correct in statement. Tlie walls of the-.romn, strictly 
 so called, assiirtdly do not act on the mind' or on the 
 eye; but ihe walls of the loom, in this sens , are, in 
 fact, no object of (visua') perception at all. VV'hat 
 we sec in this instance, aiid what we loosoly call the 
 walls of the room, is only the light nflcctrd from 
 their surface in its relation to the organ of sight — i e., 
 colour; but it cannot be atfirmed that ihe r.ys of 
 light do not act on and affect the retina, optic nerve, 
 and brain. What Aristotle distingui>hed as the 
 conc<Mnmitants of sen^atiui: — is extaision, motion, 
 }>osition, &c. — are, indeed, fwrceived wittiout any 
 lelat've passion of the seiibe. Bw, whatever may 
 be Keid's meaning, it is, at best, vague and inezpli. 
 cit — 11. 
 
ON 
 
 INTMLLECTUAL PO#EES. [esbay ii. 
 
 tli iii|c 
 
 Mijnl^jiaii^. mM\ to .Mst upon it. tm 
 "' !wt tlimgs. 
 we imve/therefo re^ no evide nce that, 
 , lith e mind aotoipon the obiect, 
 „ Pljcci pp on thejmn4Jmteiron£.rea:^ 
 eons lo tfe gontrary, Dr Clarke's argument 
 against oiir perceiyiii^ leit t p.nml ofcaRCla.im- 
 
 mediately falls to theXfouni. 
 
 This not ion^ that, in perc eption, the ob ject 
 must be contiguous to the percipientj seenii, 
 with iSaiiyolneiMp^i^^ 
 
 lirom analogy. In all the external senses, 
 liere niust, as hasl)een before observed, be 
 some impression made upon the organ^ of 
 leiiee byth eobjecliOtby something coming 
 
 ' i jli H i I | i n ii|iiiW "J*' ! * """ *' " Ill i iiiiii^iiiiii M mU fi W -• « "^ '_^_ 
 
 IfOiillie obj'ect. An impression supposes 
 oontiguitv. Hence we are led by analogy 
 to conceive something similar in the opera- 
 
 llaiii cil Ihe mind. Many philosophers ra- 
 ■olve iliiost ©verv operation of mind mto 
 inpnasions and nelmgs, words manifestly 
 licmpiiwed from the sense of touch* And it 
 ll ¥«iy matwnil to conceive contiguity neces- 
 wmf Mvten. tlwt wludi makes the impres- 
 ■iiP, and that wMch leoeives it ; between 
 llliiivllielifeeKandthatwhichisfelt [206] 
 And though no philosonlwr will now pre- 
 iMid to justify such analogical reasoning as 
 «lii% yet it has a jpowetM influence upon 
 the judgment, while we contempUite the 
 opaimtioma of our minds, only as they ap- 
 ptf 'through the deeeltfiil. m^edium of such 
 ■aalc^ial. nutiiMM and expressions." 
 'When 'we lay a iide those Mutlo gies, .and 
 "" "■" "■"^"^■'■■^ i Tonr perc eption oC 
 
 i'liiii'i'JllJ 
 
 ma obiect aof sen se, w e must acknowledge 
 iiiL 'though.. wfijure conscious of perceiving 
 
 ^j% we are altogether ign orant how _ it 
 
 Sfought about; and hiww a s, little, Ilqw 
 
 lowwe were made. 
 
 .>'S£ZiIJliTniEl3^ 
 
 '■PA , , ^^ 
 
 lit iffwe: sh ouii^init an. iuMgJaJhe 
 
 i mxiQ,i or contigm ^m tfi 'V we know as 
 
 1^1^ K^w PCTfflitSM liimr bA pmHiined by 
 
 " WKttciS rh should we be led, by > 
 
 iiffgl, jliidi h Ilfitther^ grounded on evi- 
 
 Ipyq i ' i p i i if admitted, can explain anyjQne 
 pDlillWIMIKIII ^^ percept ion J to reject t\ke 
 
 natumf^j^^ dictatef of thpse 
 
 VM aajvjt ** **iS"'i..., *•,■ ^^Xi Njilirl!^^ iijiiiiiiij min iiiii>|lii...iiiii,ini.„iiniiiiiiii.ipiiiii iiiiMiiBliii liPnirT 
 
 fUdt^ submission ? 
 
 "Sere 'remains only one other argument 
 Hial I have been able to find urged against 
 ma |»«fOiiiviii|{ external objects immediately. 
 II ia prapoMi %y My Hum e, who, in the 
 essay already qnotedf after acknowledgmg 
 that it ia an universal and primary opi- 
 nion of all men, that we perceive external 
 
 • II tftclf.evident that. If • thing ii to be an ob. 
 
 jMt lu m mW iiilf known. It murt be known «• it 
 •Sills. Mow, • body mutt exkt In tome definite 
 airt of ipece— « a certain plact; it cannot, there. 
 
 llic. be isnmedlsttly known <u existing, except it be 
 WammMUtptiust. Bm thii mipiMMce the mind to 
 " "tmy ptwiBi to it In ipece.— H, 
 
 objects immediately, sabjolna what fol» 
 
 lows I— 
 
 *^ But this universal and primary opinion 
 of all men is soon destroyed by the slightest 
 philosophy, which teaches us that nothing 
 can ever be present to the mind but an 
 image or perception ; and that the senses 
 are only the inlets through which these 
 images are received, without being ever 
 able to produce any immediate intercourse 
 between the mind and the object. The] 
 table, which we see, seems to diminish as 
 we remove farther from it : but the real 
 table, which exists independent of us, suf- | 
 fers no alteration. [207] It was, therefore, ' 
 nothing but its image which was present to 
 the mind. These are the obvious dictates of 
 reason ; and no man who reflects ever doubted 
 that the existences which we consider, when 
 we say this hmi»e, and that iree^ are nothing 
 but perceptions in the mind, and fleeting 
 copies and representations of other exist- 
 ences, which remain uniform and independ- 
 ent So far, then, we are necessitated, by 
 reasonmg, to depart from the primary in- 
 stincts of nature, and to embrace a new 
 system with regard to the evidence of our 
 senses." 
 
 We have here a remarkable conflict be- 
 tween two contradictory opinions, wherein 
 all mankind are engaged. On the one side 
 stand all the vulgar, who are unpractised in 
 phi!osophical reseaches, and guided by the 
 uncornipted primary instincts of nature. 
 On the other side stand all the philoso- 
 phers, ancient and modem ; every man, 
 without exception, who reflects. In this 
 division, to my great humiliation, I find 
 myself classed wiSi the vulgar. 
 
 The passage now quoted is all I have 
 found in Mr Hume*s writings upon this 
 point : and, indeed, there is more reason- 
 ing in it than I have found in any other 
 author ; I shall, therefore, examine it min- 
 utely. 
 
 First, He tells us, that " this universal 
 and primary opinion of all men is soon 
 destroyed by the slightest philosophy, which 
 teaches us that nothing can ever be pre- 
 sent to the mind but an image or percep- 
 tion." 
 
 The phrase of being present to the mind 
 has some obscurity; but I conceive he 
 means being an immediate object of thought ; 
 an immediate object, for instance, of per- 
 ception, of memory, or of imagination. If 
 this be the meaning, (and it is the only 
 pertinent one I can think of,) there is no 
 more in this passage but an assertion of the 
 proposition to be proved, and an assertion 
 that philosophy teaches it. If this be so, 
 I beg leave to diasent from philosophy till 
 she givoa me reason for what she teaches. 
 [208] For, though common sense and my 
 external senses demand my assent to their 
 
 [806-808] 
 
 CHAP. XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 303 
 
 dietates upon their own authority, yet phi- 
 losophy is not entitled to this privilege. 
 But, that I may not dissent from so grave 
 a personage without giving a reason, I give 
 this as the reason of my dissent : — I see 
 the sun when he shines ; I rememhfijL Uie 
 battle^oT Culloden ;* and neither of_these 
 objects is an image or perception- 
 
 He tells us, in the next place, " That the 
 senses are only the inlets through which 
 these images are received." 
 
 I know that Aristotle and the schoolmen 
 taught that images or species flow from ob- 
 jects, and are let in by the senses, and strike 
 upon the mind ; but this has been so effectu- 
 ally refuted by Des Cartes, by Malebranche, 
 and many others, that nobody now pretends 
 to defend it. Reasonable men consider it 
 as one of the most unintelligible and un- 
 meaning parts of the ancient system. To 
 what cause is it owing that modern philo- 
 sophers are so prone to fall back into this 
 hypothesis, as if they really believed it ? 
 For, of this proneness I could give many 
 instances besides this of Mr Hiune ; and I 
 take the cause to be, that images in the 
 mind, and images let in by the senses, are 
 so nearly alUed, and so strictly connected, 
 that they must stand or fall together. The 
 old system consistently maintained both : 
 but the new system has rejected the doc- 
 trine of images let in by the senses, hold- 
 ing, nevertheless, that there are images in 
 the mind ; and, having made this unnatural 
 divorce of two doctrines which ought not 
 to be put asunder, that which they have 
 retained often leads them back involim- 
 tarily to that which they have rejected. 
 I Mr Hume surely did not seriously be- 
 llieve that an image of sound is let in by the 
 ear, an image of smell by the nose, an 
 , image of hardness and softness, of solidity 
 and resistance, by the touch. For, besides 
 the absurdity of the thing, which has often 
 been shewn, Mr Hume, and all modem 
 philosophers, maintain that the images which 
 are the immediate objects of perception 
 have no existence when they are not per- 
 'ceived; whereas, if they we4 let in by*^*e 
 \ senses, they must be, before they are per- 
 l ceived, and have aseparate existence. [209] 
 
 He tell us, farther, that philosophy teaches 
 that the senses are unable to produce any 
 immediate intercourse between the mind 
 and the object. Here, I still require the 
 reasons that philosophy gives for this ; for, 
 to my apprehension, I immediately per- 
 ceive external objects, and this, I conceive 
 is the immediate intercourse here meant. 
 
 Hitherto I see nothing that can be called 
 
 • The sun can be no immediateobject of conscious. 
 Deas in perception, but only certain rays in connec- 
 tion with the eye. The battle of Cuiloden can be no 
 mmediate object of consciousness in recollection, but 
 only a certain representation by the mind itself.^H. 
 
 [209, 210] 
 
 an argument. Perhaps it was intended 
 only for illustration. The argument, the 
 only argument, follows ; — 
 
 The table which we see, seems to dimin- 
 ish as we remove farther from it ; but the / 
 real table, which exists independent of us 
 sufiers no alteration. It was, therefore, 
 nothing but its image which was presented 
 to the mind. These are the obvious dic- 
 tates of reason. 
 
 To judge of the strength of this argu- 
 ment, it is necessary to attend to a distinc- 
 tion which is familiar to those who are con- 
 versant in the mathematical sciences — I 
 mean the distinction between real and ap- 
 parent magnitude. The real magnitude of 
 a line is measured by some known measure 
 of length — as inches, feet, or miles : the 
 real magnitude of a surface or solid, by 
 known measures of surface or of capacity. 
 This ma^itude is an object of touch only, 
 and not of sight ; nor could we even have 
 had any conception of it, without the sense 
 of touch; and Bishop Berkeley, on that 
 account, calls it tangible magnitude.* 
 
 Apparent magnitude is measured by the 
 angle which an object subtends at the eye. 
 Supposing two right lines drawn from the 
 eye to the extremities of the object making 
 an angle, of which the object is the sub- 
 tense, the apparent magnitude is measured 
 by this angle. [210] This apparent mag- 
 nitud§JLa_aa nhj^nt of aight, a^Kji not of 
 touch. Bishop Berkeley calls it visible 
 magnitude. 
 
 If it is asked what is the apparent mag- 
 nitude .of the sun's diameter, the answer 
 is, that it isabout^thirty-one minutes of a 
 d^rfifi. _ J3.ut, if it is asked what. is the 
 real magnitude of the sun's diameter, the 
 answer must be, so many thousand miles, 
 or so many diameters of the earth. From 
 which it is evident that real magnitude, and 
 apparent magnitude, are things of a dififerent 
 nature,^ though the name of magnitude is 
 given to both. The first has three dimen- 
 sions, the last only two ; the first is mea- 
 sured by a line, the last by an angle. 
 
 From what has been said, itj8„e.Yident 
 that the real magnitude oT a body must 
 continue unchanged, while the body is 
 unchanged. This we grant. "But is it 
 likewise evident, that the apparent mag- 
 * — 
 
 * The doctrine of Reid— that real magnitude or 
 extension is the object of touch, and of touch alone— 
 is altogether untenable. For, in the/rif place, mag. 
 nitude appears greater or less in proportion to the 
 different siae of the tactile organ in different subjects j 
 thus, an apple is larger to the hand of a child than to 
 the hand of an adult. Touch, therefore, can, at best, 
 afford a knowledge of the relation of magnitudes, in 
 proportion to the organ of this or that individual. 
 Kut, in the second place, even in the same individual, 
 the same object appears greater or less, according as 
 it is touched by one part of the body or by another. 
 On this subject, see Weber's " Annotations de 
 Pulsu, Resorptione, Auditu et Tactu j" Jxipfic. 
 IK**.— H 
 
cuAP. xiy] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 
 
 305 
 
 '•Slffll 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay II 
 
 pitldi nuut (continue the same while the 
 
 that eye rv nmn w i m . . kpowB,„«HjtMllg w 
 02§ifeeiB*tic8 mi mmly demos^jofSfJkML 
 
 Qording as the point jromwliich it is^g^fill. 
 ii more or less distant ; and that its appa> 
 leiit length "or breadth will be nearly in a 
 
 iMipnwil pfoprtion to the distance of the 
 ipeetator. This is as certam as thegrinci- 
 plMi of geometry.* ^^F 
 
 W e Mansi Mkeww attend ^B&- -that. 
 
 ^iffliimfiiwLMJlht, hntqftoiic^, 
 
 ■a t lift |giniJy;.ii»|Mi™wfle- .laiuagfiiit-wtt' 
 
 Tjl BMjpliililUff^ Ju . ill i M t jL . JiHalL»>IIJ»'«'IMIf ilM ' 
 
 We learn by experience to judge of the 
 tliitanoe of a body from the eye within cer- 
 tain liiuita i andy from its distance and ap- 
 paMit magnitude taken together, we learn 
 to judge of its real magnitude. [21 1 ] 
 
 And this kind of judgment, by being 
 fepcated every hour and almost every 
 mutiite of our lives, becomes, when we are 
 grown up, 10 ready and so habitual, that it 
 1 very much resembles the original perceptions 
 lof our semes, and may not improperly be 
 Jealled «<i#iii wA pg tcgnlioii. . 
 
 Whether wt' isal il jiidgm<>i>^ w »equired 
 
 perception is a verbal difference. But it is 
 
 evident that, by means of it^ we often die- 
 
 oororJiyLlttl^^ 
 
 i.ljaii..jii(iuiiliiflBl imttMiiitei IMf 
 
 lin.« , X |ieaK ■■ J LjpBiitt*aJIMi*ilMCiiJLJMiM H 
 
 S*n m ,. t | o u gh it 15 certain that the 
 
 'lp».JtJillljrf^^ body j§ not 
 
 trigiuMy ii , iiiinti aC ili*^^'';"t[- -^^ ^^^^ 
 
 manner, we learn by experience how a 
 body of such a real magnitude and at such 
 
 a distanee appears to the eye. But neither 
 its veal magnitude, nor its distiyice from 
 the eye, are properly objects of sight, any 
 more than the form of a drum or the size 
 of a bell, are properly objects of hearing- 
 Tf theiie ftCffiga be Minaidared. it will ap- 
 
 peir tlMil.. Iff Hnmff>*H argini int- h ill l Mp 
 
 force tosi||||iojSMi.s»ftd«tion^^ 
 leads toft cQntrary fiocclusipij^ljie HCg-U- 
 ment is tliis : the table we sto 8e€sqa3 to di- 
 rainlsh as we remove farther from it;.ll|il 
 i»i., its a pp are nt magnitude l.s diuuni.-iliaij 
 iMlt tlbi mil.lAU&JBUfiiQIP i><^ alteration — to 
 wit, in Its, real magnitujeij^therefore,. Am 
 
 If 
 
 1 • The wlMito coalWon and difflctiltf In tbto «•'- 
 
 tvff^ •Fine* fwwi 'Wil'il«tenniii.iiig what ii the Iriif «ww 
 lnviMMlJMfOtlillMi. Jhii H no* ""T «)••»••", JJ.ff' 
 but mmmf the my orilghl In innnediate reU»ioii to 
 the orgao. We tlwilBfa •«• • dif'^ent ol>,)ecl «i 
 mtfi iBOttiiieBt, lif wlilch « .'»i«treni complement 
 ?«|ilfWiwltiitolll*ey«- rtiethinKHroin which 
 naMlviMteiaienot, in truth, perceivertat 
 
 It Mi toemiCtflVf Hmmi as object* ';! perce|)iio:. is 
 - erfiine0«f,«iiiipro«iucilrooferfor.— H. 
 
 not the real table we see. J adjajt both th< 
 premises in this svUogismj^bui I dfiny the 
 conclusion. The syllogism has what the I 
 logicians call two middle terms: apparent! 
 magnitude is the middle term in the first 
 premise; real magnitude in the second. 
 Therefore, according to the rules of logic, 
 the conclusion is not justly drawn from the 
 premises ; but, laying aside the rules of 
 logic, let us examine it by the light of com- 
 mon sense. 
 
 Let us suppose, for a moment^ that it is 
 the rejJjable ^rt- '^y Mll fit n^* **^''* **^^ 
 table seem to diminish as jve rf mOYfi farthfif 
 from it ? It is demonstrable that it_muat* 
 Howthen can thisapparent diminution b£A» 
 argument thsit it isnot tlicrciUt^ibk'.^ [212] 
 wtien that wiiich mu st ha ppen to the re al 
 tahj g, as we remove lafther fro jn it^_doe8 
 ^^i^ ^ly hi^ p pen to the table we se e^ it is ab- 
 aurd to conclade from this, that it to not the 
 it>al_fa j;^^e we see. * It is evident, therefore, 
 that this ingenious author has imposed upon 
 himself by confounding real magnitude with 
 apparent magnitude, and that his argument 
 is a mere sophism. 
 
 I observed that Mr Hume's argument 
 not only has no strength to support his con- 
 clusion, but that it leads to the coptrary con- 
 elusion— to wjl, that it is the ieaLtable_wj 
 see ;•" for this plain reasoUj thatjlie. table 
 we see b»» precisely that apparent magnj- 
 tude which it is demonstrable the real tatup 
 must have when placed ^t thai distance. 
 
 This argument is made much stronger by 
 considering that the real table may be placed 
 successively at a thousand different dis- 
 tances, and, in every distance, in a thousand 
 di^rent positions; and it can be deter- 
 mined demonstratively, by the rules of 
 geometry and perspective, what must be its 
 apparent magnitude and apparent figure, in 
 each of those distances and positions. Let 
 the table be pbced successively in as many 
 of those different distances and different po- 
 sitions as you will, or in them all ; open 
 your eyes and you shall see a table pre- 
 cisely of that apparent magnitude, and that 
 apparent figure, which the real table naust 
 have in that distance and in that position. 
 Is not this a strong argument that it is thel 
 real table you see ?• , I 
 
 IgjUjprd, the appearance,_fil.a>visiblo 
 objSislnSiiitely diversified, according to 
 its distance and position. The visible ap- 
 pearances are innumerable, when we con- 
 fine ourselves to one object, and they are 
 multiplied according to the variety of ob- 
 jects- Those appearances have been mat- 
 ter of speculation to ingenious mop, at least 
 since the time of Euclid. They have ac- 
 counted for all this variety, on thes&ppp- 
 sition that the objects we see are external, 
 
 • %K 
 
 H. 
 
 [21 i. il«J 
 
 le in- 
 
 suppc 
 
 and not in the mind itself. [213] The rules 
 thgjr have demonstrated about the various 
 proje c tions of t he sphere, about the appear- 
 ances of the planets in their progressions, 
 stations, and retrogradations, and all the 
 es of perspective, are b uilt on the suppo - 
 s ition that the objects of si < [ht are external. 
 They can each Q£tE em be tried in thousands 
 of instances. Tintnii^ijMl i and professions, 
 innumerable trials are8a4|^.jnade ; nor 
 were they ever found to fail i 
 stance. Shall we say that a false 
 tion, invented by the rude vulgar, has been 
 80 lucky in solvuig an infinite number of 
 phsenomena of nature ? This, surely, would 
 be"a*great«Ju,£rodigy than philosophy ever 
 exhibited : add CS' lhT9j^4j|a^^^the con- 
 trary hypothesis — to wit, tn!^MilH|jects of 
 sight are internal — no account can be given 
 of any one of those appearances, nor any 
 physical cause assigned why a visible object 
 should, in any one case, have one apparent 
 figure and magnitude rather than another. 
 
 Thus, I have considered every argument 
 I have found advanced to prove the exist- 
 ence of ideas, or images of external things, 
 in the mind ; and, if no better arguments can 
 be found, I cannot help thinking that the 
 whole history of philosophy has never fur- 
 nished an instance of an opinion so unani- 
 inously entertained by philosophers upon so 
 
 •flight grounds. 
 
 A ih.r.i re flection I would m ake_upon 
 this subject is, that ghilosopherSvJlftt^satEr 
 Btaudioglhfiir.uuaoiniity as to the existence 
 of ideas,* hardly agree in any one thin^ 
 else concerning them. If ideas be not a 
 mere "fiction, they must be, of all objects of 
 human knowledge, the things we have best 
 access to know, and to be acquainted with ; 
 yet there is nothing about which men differ 
 so much. 
 
 { Some have held them to be self-existent, 
 
 1 others to be in the Divine mind, others in 
 our own minds, and others in the brain or 
 
 \§en!iormm, I considered the hypothesis of 
 images in the brain, in the fourth chapter 
 of this essay. As to images in the mind, if 
 anything more is meant by the image of an 
 object in the mind than the thought of that 
 object, I know not what it means. [214] 
 The dis tinct, co nception of an object may, 
 in a meta phorical or an alogical sense^be 
 called an imai e oj it in the m ind. But this 
 image is only the conce^ion of (he object,^ 
 u and not the object conceived. It Is fin act 
 ^of the rnix!4» AOcl nollfhe object of tjiatji^^ 
 Some philosophers will have our ideas, or 
 a part of them, to be innate ; others will 
 have them all to be adventitious : some de- 
 rive them from the senses alone ; others 
 from sensation and reflection : some think 
 
 \) 
 
 • Thi< unanimltjr did. not exist.— It. 
 t See Notes B and C — H. 
 
 [S13-8UJ 
 
 they are fabricated by the mind itself; 
 others that they are produced by externa 
 objects ; others that they are the immediate 
 operation of the Deity; others say, that 
 impressions are the causes of ideas, and 
 that the causes of impressions are unknown : 
 some think that we have ideas only of ma- 
 terial objects, but none of minds, of their 
 operations, or of the relations of things ; 
 others will have the immediate object of 
 every thought to be 'an idea: some think 
 we have abstract ideas, and that by this 
 ^hiii^^we are distinguished from the brutes ; 
 other^l^^l^i an abstract idea to be an 
 absurdity^sHilibat there can be no such 
 thing : with some they ar«4^inime^Uate ob- 
 jects of thought, with othersthexml^WiCts. 
 
 A fourth reflection is, that idea^^^^n^ 
 make any of the operations of the mind to 
 be better understood, although it was pro- 
 bably with that view that they have been 
 first invented, and aftoiaKajdsso^generally 
 received. 
 
 We are at a loss to know how we 
 ceive distaut objects; how we remember 
 things past ; how we imagine things that 
 have no existence. Ideas in the mind seem 
 to account for all these operations : they are 
 all by the means of ideas reduced to one 
 operation — to a kind of feeling, or imme- 
 diate perception of things present and in 
 contact with the percipient ; and feeling is 
 an operation so familiar that we think it 
 needs no explication, but may serve to ex- 
 plain other operations. [215] 
 
 But t his fe eling , or immediat e percep- 
 tion, is 2t& diflicult to be_ comprehended as 
 the'mmgs wJifiE-we-pre^^ to explain By 
 it. ' "^TwoJhinga- inay_be in cp ptact without 
 anyi^ feeling— iii— perception J there_ must 
 therefore be in the_pereipient a j»ower to 
 feefor to perceive^. How. tkia power is pro- 
 duce(i," ana how.it pperat^^ isL quite beyaid 
 th e reach of our knowledge. As Uttle can 
 weTcnow whether this power must be limited 
 to things present, and in contact with us. 
 Nor can any man pretendjo prove^.thgt^hs 
 Being w ho j;a.\^e ua^thfi- po»et JiOLperceiva 
 thingerpresent, may not give jjgjthQ^fiQwer 
 I6*^erceive things diat are ^ distant,*.-tQ - Je^ 
 m'emberjhing§ ^ast, and tp_£gijfifiLxfi Ulittga 
 tliat^never existed. 
 
 Some philosophers have endeavoured to 
 make all our senses to be only different 
 modifications of touch ;t a theory which 
 serves only to confound things that are dif- 
 ferent, and to perplex and darken things 
 that are clear. The theory of ideas resembles 
 this, by reducing all the operations of the 
 
 * An immediate ixrcpption of thtngi diitant, iia 
 contradictioi) in terms.— H. 
 
 t It an imtnediate perception he supposed, it can 
 only be rationally supposed of objects as in fo"**'< 
 with the organs of sense. But, in this ca*e, all the 
 senses would, as Democritus held, be, in a certain 
 sort, only modification* of louch.— H. 
 
CHAP. XIV.] REFLECTIONS ON THE THEORY OF IDEAS. 
 
 305 
 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [EflBAY II 
 
 pttude muat continue the same while the 
 
 fidiLm MPcliiip!j|£j|SLj!L^^ 
 
 %l..„^fiJ:i: -majilift. liggiLanj fth ing of 
 
 "iralli^iiliticf. em mtBy deiiMiiiit«te,„ %t 
 I!i« same indivanal object, remaining in 
 Ih'e sa mft...ti.kce»..aii<I. iuiclian^B£lt.iiRWt n&ceir. 
 
 BJirilv varj, 'm its apE%!e?iJ™?^'-^^-d%-*fc 
 
 cording as _the ^uii from which it iS' MCn,-. 
 
 is more or leas distant ; and tliat its appa- 
 rent length or breadth will be nearly in a 
 reciprocal proportion to the distance of the 
 •oectator. This is as certain aa thfiprinci- 
 ples of geometry.* ^^^ 
 
 We must likewise attend jiPmiS:— that, 
 tjwpjiijift real magnitude „„Qf a body .is npt 
 
 orip nally ap object of sightj but of touch, 
 
 'yet we leam by,, wpuriiapwi iiljllika, ji w,^' 
 
 * ~**WiiHi"t«lllillliilH '••WpWw''iii^P'HHHiB|||P»ii* liilillHHBCifllPlfiiiH* JlHijiP**"'"'"" "WfjjpiBBHiii*' 
 
 We :iiiMWii, by empwiMco to jnd|e of the 
 distance of a body from the eje within cer- 
 taiii limits ; and, from its distence and ap- 
 'pannt nuwnttude taken together, we learn 
 
 tojudgeof its real niffignitiide. [211] 
 
 And this kind of judgment, by being 
 repeated every hour and almost every 
 minute of our Mve% become% when we are 
 gmwn up,, m ready ,aiid m liabitual, that it 
 very much resembles tbeoriginal perceptions 
 of our senses, and may not improperly be 
 'caUed ar£«ir^j!i£IKj!||oii. 
 
 Whether we caE it indgmeni or acquired 
 perception isavflffbal'iliirannee^ But it is 
 evident tl»t, by^^ means of it,, we often di»- 
 
 covet Ijy, OEfi. iifiiiii."":iliip Iwhich arefprp- 
 
 i«rlxani jia.tiiiiilla.,ihft , ,ilt|i^efita oljinpther., 
 
 l3iii,i .'Can 8ny» withouUmpfgiaJito Ll»r 
 
 • d rum , I hear a., great b€H»j|fcJ,,liBlK-# 
 
 small .iwliJjlSIBIgli it .i-'^ certain iiat„,..,th© 
 
 figi},re„ *?■?;, filK oiJlfi ,Jio"'''<i»n« tilBpi nol. 
 
 «lifiiiiill|...*ft jiliiiBt.„.,-of . heariiiff. " i«« 
 
 manwir, we learn by experience how a 
 
 body of such a real magnitude and at such 
 
 a distance appears to the e) e. But neither 
 
 its real magnitude, nor its diHtiuioe from 
 
 the eye, are properly objects of sight, any 
 
 more than the form of a drum or the sixe 
 
 of a bell, are properly objects of hearing. 
 
 If the se ..tli i i i g g hii"iMip*V^***>dt '* TlM' ^P" 
 mmr tlimt If '■» lliiiwi>% aiiifmmiiiit ' li:*<li fin 
 
 force to Bi^piMirtJiti eonditiflttar'imyii <hi>t ii.. 
 leads to a contrary conclusion. The argu- 
 ment is this : the table we see seems to di- 
 
 min,!S|} .ftije remove farther froni iLLthat 
 
 IS,'"" its fPfassjULffiaunitude „ k diminished.! 
 
 but %\m real lllilfi. iufl'erp no alteration— to 
 iStj in its real magnitude ; therefore, it is 
 
 / 
 
 I • lTie»lii*i«iiftiita«id<MI«iifto» 
 
 'iff aTtMi ftam iKtt' 'det«nn.lfiliif vlwt .!• tlie ttm i#ed 
 in vi»ualJ»efce|iil«ii. Thit k not anf «l Want Uung, 
 IMII mJf tue ray* o^ligtit in immediate tt\mK>\x to 
 1. We Hierdom »ee a rfi/fwnie (A^mt ar 
 
 wtnitilt. iBf which a different com|.lement 
 i^'nyt Ii tdtoeia; to the eye Tue « hi nitt rrom w hich 
 Sm rata are letofllrt, mm not, to initii. percwvcd at 
 
 all. s Md to^comiilire limn aa ii*eti •ol 'pw«i»tio:> It 
 I'liwttee •rroneam, and prmtucilfe of trior.— H. 
 
 not the real tablf » 8^. I JL dfpit both th e 
 premises in this sytlogsm^bui,! (IRny the 
 conclusion. The syllogism has what the! 
 logicians call two middle terms: apparent I 
 magnitude is the middle term in the first 
 premise; real magnitude in the second. 
 Therefore, according to the rules of logic, 
 the conclusion is not justly drawn from the 
 premises ; but, Uying aside the rules of 
 logic, let U8 examine it by the light of com- 
 mon sense. _ , 
 Let us suppose, for a moment, that it la 
 the real tahie we. see : INIust mt t this rpial 
 table ieem to diihinish as NVQ^xsmoyfiiaxUlfir 
 from it ? it is demonstrable tliat it jn]ia(> 
 How then can this apparent diminution bfijip 
 argument that it is not tlie rcaltaJile.? [2121 
 Wlyju^that v\:liich must h:ip[u_ a to t he real 
 tAt^lg, as we remo ve farther from i t, doe s 
 actually happen toihe t^IeMve see, it isj^lr 
 surd tQ^couciude from^thisv-that it is not the 
 real table we see.'* It is evident, therefore, 
 that this ingenious author has imposed upon 
 himself by confounding real magnitude with 
 apparent magnitude, and that his argument 
 is a mere sophism. 
 
 I observed that Mr Hume's argument 
 not only has no strength to support his con- 
 clusion, but that it leada^o the contrary con- 
 clusion— to wit, that it IS the real table_we 
 see •* for this plain reason, that the table 
 we see lias precisely tliat apparent magw- 
 tude which it is demonstrable the real table 
 must have when placed at that distance. 
 
 This argument is made much stronger by 
 considering that the real table may be placed 
 successively at a thousand different dis- 
 tances, and, in every distance, in a thousand 
 diflferent positions; and it can be deter- 
 mined demonstratively, by the rules of 
 geometry and perspective, what must be its 
 apparent magnitude and apparent figure, in 
 each of those distances and positions. Let^ 
 the table be placed successively in as many 
 of those different distances and different po- 
 sitions as you will, or in them all ; open 
 your eyes and you shall see a table pre- 
 cisely of that apparent magnitude, and that 
 apparent figure, which the real table must 
 have in that distance and in that position. 
 Is not this a strong argument that it is thel 
 real table you see ?* . , ^ 
 
 In_a.ivord, the appearance,_fil ajyisiblo 
 object is infinitely diversified, according to 
 its distance and position. The visible ap- 
 pearances are innumerable, when we con- 
 fine ourselves to one object, and they are 
 multiplieii according to the variety of ob- 
 jects. Those apfiearanoea have been mat- 
 ter of speculation to ingenious men, at least 
 since the time of Euclid. They have ac- 
 counted for all this variety, on the si^ppp- 
 sition that the objects we see are external, 
 
 • 9m 
 
 %l 
 
 i'.M 
 
 !l2| 
 
 
 and not in the mind itself. [213] The rules 
 theyhaLve^ demons trated about the various 
 proje ctions of thespliere, about the appear- 
 ances of the planets in their progressions, 
 stations, and retrogradations, and all the 
 Miles of perspective, are built on the suppo- 
 sitio n that the objects of si f^ht are external. 
 They can each Q£th em be tried in thousands 
 of instances. IntlllNit^rts and professions, 
 innumerable trials areaailf^aade ; nor 
 were they ever found to fail ii^t>M*gJe in- 
 stance. Shall we say that a false suppt 
 tion, invented by the rude vulgar, has been 
 so lucky in solving an infinite number of 
 phsenomena of nature ? This, surely, would 
 belTfereat^rL jrodigy than philosophy ever 
 exhibited : ad3T?rrhT»j4iii^^Jonthe con- 
 trary hypothesis — to wit, tn^MHlHliJects of 
 sight are internal — no account can be given 
 of any one of those appearances, nor any 
 physical cause assigned why a visible object 
 should, in any one case, have one apparent 
 figure and magnitude rather than another. 
 I Thus, I have considered every argument 
 j I have found advanced to prove the exist- 
 'ence of ideas, or images of external things, 
 in the mind ; and, if no better arguments can 
 be found, I cannot help thinking that the 
 whole history of philosophy has never fur- 
 nished an instance of an opinion so unani- 
 linously entertained by philosophers upon so 
 slight grounds. 
 
 A thtd reflection I would make upon 
 this subject is^that pliiroso^herSi jaPtv^Ithr 
 staudingjth.eir.unapinuty as to the existence 
 of ideas,* hardly agree in any one thjng 
 else concerning them. If ideas be not a 
 mere fiction, they must be, of all objects of 
 human knowledge, the things we have best 
 access to know, and to be acquainted with ; 
 yet there is nothing about which men differ 
 HO much. 
 
 j Some have held them to be self-existent, 
 I others to be in the Divine mind, others in 
 j our own minds, and others in the brain or 
 \tten.Korium, I considered the hypothesis of 
 images in the brain, in the fourth chapter 
 of this essay. As to images in the mind, if 
 anything more is meant by the image of an 
 object in the mind than the thought of that 
 object, I know not what it means. [214] 
 The dis tinct conception of an object may, 
 in a metaphorical or* analogical sense, be 
 called an ynajejA it m^ the mind. IJut this 
 image is pnly the conception of tlie object, 
 u and not the object conceived. It is an act 
 '*"of the mind, apd not tlie object of tliat act J- 
 Some philosophers will have our ideas, or 
 a part of them, to be innate ; others will 
 have them all to be adventitious : some de- 
 rive them from the senses alone ; others 
 from sensation and reflection : some think 
 
 • Thh unanimity did. nr>tcxist.~fl. 
 t 8«e NotetBandC— H. 
 
 [213-215] 
 
 they are fabricated by the mind itself; 
 others that they are produced by externa 
 objects ; others that they are the immediate 
 operation of the Deity; others say, that 
 impressions are the causes of ideas, and 
 that the causes of impressions are unknown : 
 some think that we have ideas only of ma- 
 terial objects, but none of minds, of their 
 operations, or of the relations of things ; 
 others will have the immediate object of 
 every thought to be 'an idea: some think 
 we have abstract ideas, and that by this 
 JVC a re distinguished from the brutes ; 
 othersn^^l^i an abstract idea to be an 
 absurdity TinHMaat there can be no such 
 thing : with some they ar©i4ie imm«^ate ob- 
 jects of thought, with othersthetml^Wlcts, 
 
 A fourth reflection is, that idesi^l^'B^t!^ 
 make any of the operations of the mind to 
 be better understood, although it was pro- 
 bably with that view that they have been 
 first invented, and "f^^w^f^^ so gen erally 
 received. ~'"^' 
 
 We are at a loss to know how we pC 
 ceive distant objects; how we remember 
 things past ; how we imagine things that 
 have no existence. Ideas in the mind seem 
 to account for all these operations : they are 
 all by the means of ideas reduced to one 
 operation — to a kind of feeling, or imme- 
 diate perception of things present and in 
 contact with the percipient ; and feeling is 
 an operation so familiar that we think it 
 needs no explication, but may serve to ex- 
 plain other operations. [215] 
 
 But this_fefiling,. or mmiediate percep- 
 tion, is as difficult to be comprehended as 
 the things which we pretend to explain by 
 it. Tvvojhingfl may heijijamtagLwUhQut 
 any_ feeling jOT ..perception ; there must 
 therefore be in the percipient a power to 
 feel or to perceive. How this power is pro- 
 diiced, and how it operates, ia quiteJjeyond 
 tlieTeaeh of pur^knowledge. As little can 
 we know whether this power must be limited 
 to things present, and in contact with us. 
 Nor can any man pretend to prove Jh§t|he 
 Being who gave, ua^tlie powcr-,t o» pfln vi i vQ 
 things present, may not give M§ Jhg^Efiiwer 
 to' perceive things that are distant,* -ta.je«> 
 member thin^^ PasL. JWid,J^S2a^^ 
 tliat^ne ver existed. 
 
 Some philosophers have endeavoured to 
 make all our senses to be only different 
 modifications of touch ;f a theory which 
 serves only to confound things that are dif- 
 ferent, and to perplex and darken things 
 that are clear. The theory of ideas resembles 
 this, by reducing all the operations of the 
 
 * fin immediate Vorce}i\'ion o( thingt diatant, iaa 
 contradiction in terms.— H. 
 
 t It an immediate perception l)e supposed, it can 
 only be ratidnally supposed of objects as in co"^"-* 
 with the organs of seni*. But, in this case, all the 
 senses would, as Democritus held, be, in a certain 
 sort, only modification* of touch. —H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [iSSSAir IT. 
 
 ) 
 
 iiiiiiaB.ii]idenlitii#M: to 4li«j»w»ptioii of 
 Mous in. mvt mm wmaia,. Tms power of 
 pet«eiTing ideas is as inexpliMMe as uny of 
 tibe powers explained by it t and tbo oon- 
 tinit J of tlie object contributes nothing at 
 iSio wmkB it better understood; because 
 tlien iSppears no oMUMetion between con- 
 tiguity and perception, but what is grounded 
 on prejudices dnwn from some raaagined 
 iiiniiliidft between mind .and body, and 
 imn tbe supposition tbat, in perception, 
 the object acts upon the mind, or the mind 
 upon the object. We have seen how this 
 theory has led pbilosophers to confound 
 those opentaons of 'mindi which, escperience 
 teaches .al men to be diffemit, and teaches 
 them to distmguish in common language ; 
 and that it lias led them to invent a lan- 
 ipage ineonaiatait with the principles upon 
 which all hMglMie is grounded. 
 
 The Imt reieution I shall make upon this 
 theory, is — that the natural and necensary 
 eonseqnences of it fumiab a just prejudice 
 apinsl it to every man who pays a due re- 
 l^mi to th« emmnon sense of manMnd. [216] 
 
 Not to mention that it led the Pytha- 
 p>refiiis and Plato to hnagine that we see 
 .only tiM shadO'Ws of external things,, and 
 not the things themselves,* and that it g&ve 
 rise to the Peripatetic doctrine of sensible 
 tpeokff, one of the greatest absurdities of 
 thai- aiwienl'iiyslim,. .let ns only consider the 
 IMiS' it has piodneed since it was new- 
 modelled by DeS' CWtes. That great re- 
 former in pniloeophy saw the absurdity of 
 'the doetrina 'iiC'.icMii coming from external 
 objeiito, and miited. It effeetually, after it 
 had been, .received by philosophisrs foi*thou- 
 sands of years < but he still retained ideas 
 in the brain and in the mind.-t* Upon this 
 irandaitwii all our modem systems of the 
 powers of' 'tiie mind are bnit. And the tot- 
 tering state of those fabries, though built 
 bjrfsilfal hands, may give a strong suspicion 
 of the uaMfuiidiiess of the foimdation. 
 
 It wwttli tbeoiy of Ideas that led Des 
 €Me%. and Hioee^ that followed him, to think 
 it neoeaBaiy to prove, by philosophical argu- 
 ments, the existence: of 'material objects. 
 And. who ^does .not see that philosophy must 
 make a 'vefy 'ridiniloQS figure 'in the eyes, of 
 ■ensihle men, while it Is employed in muster- 
 ing up metaphysical arguments, to prove 
 <lllit.tlMie..is a sun and a moon, an earth and 
 m. 'HA f Tet we find these truly great men, 
 .Des 'Cartes,. ^Malebranche, Amauld, and 
 hodm, seriously employing themselves m 
 this argument.^ 
 
 inrdy their principles led them to think 
 
 • ice ^IWTe, p.. fi68' eoL 'b, note «».II 
 
 t See Note N.— H. 
 
 I If Reid do noC «lkw tliftt we are Immediately 
 ■ttpiUlve or fsoiwIiiiM of the mm-tpo, his own doc. 
 true of perorpCioii tfllPhn not ttma that of other 
 ^llocopherB in tlit ntccuity for this proof.— M. 
 
 that all men, from the beginning of the 
 world, believed the existence of these thmgs 
 upon insufficient grounds, and to think that 
 they would be able to place upon a more 
 rational foundation this universal belief of 
 mankind. But the misfortune is, that all 
 the laboured arguments they have advanced, 
 to prove the existence of those things we 
 see and feel, are mere sophisms i Not one 
 of them will bear examination. 
 
 I might mention several paradoxes, which | 
 Mr Locke, though by no means fond of para- ' 
 doxes, was led into by this theory of ideas. 
 [217] Such as, that the secondary qualities 
 of body arc no qualities of body at all, but 
 sensations of the mind : That the primary 
 qualities of body are resemblances of our 
 sensations : That we have no notion of dur- 
 ation, but from the succession of ideas in 
 our minds : That personal identity consists 
 in consciousness ; so that the same indivi- 1 
 dual thinking being may make two or three ' 
 diflferent persons, and several different think- . 
 ing beings make one person ; That judg- 
 ment is nothing but a perception oi the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas. 
 Most of these paradoxes I shall have oc- 
 casion to examine. 
 
 However, all these consequences of the 
 doctrine of ideas were tolerable, compared 
 with those which came afterwards to be dis- 
 covered by Berkeley and Hume : — That 
 there is no material world : No abstract 
 ideas or notions : That the mind is only a 
 train of related impressions and ideas, with- 
 out any subject on which they may be im- 
 pressed: That there is neither space nor 
 time, body nor mind, but impressions and 
 ideas only : And, to sum up all, That there 
 is no probability, even in demonstration it- 
 self, nor any one proposition more probable 
 than its contrary. 
 
 These are the noble fruits which have 
 grown upon this theory of ideas, since It 
 began to be cultivated by skilful hands. It 
 is no wonder that sensible men should be 
 disgusted at philosophy, when such wild 
 and shocking paradoxes pass under its name. 
 However, as these paradoxes have, with 
 great acuteness and ingenuity, been deduced 
 by just reasoning from the theory of ideas, 
 they must at last bring this advantage, that 
 positions so shocking to the common sense 
 of mankind, and so contrary to the decisions 
 of all our intellectual powers, will open men*s 
 eyes, and break the force of the prejudice 
 which hath held them entangled in that 
 theory. [218] 
 
 ACCOUNT OP THS JSTSTSM OP LSmNITZ. 
 
 Thbrb Is yet another system concerning 
 perception, of which I shall give some ac- 
 
 [216-218] 
 
 CHAP. XV.] ACCOUNT OF THE SYSTEM OF LEIBNITZ. 
 
 307 
 
 I 
 
 ' 
 
 'fe 
 
 f) 
 
 A 
 
 i( 
 
 count, because of the fame of its author. It 
 is the invention of the famous German phi- 
 losopher Leibnitz, who, while he lived, held 
 the first rank among the Germans in all 
 parts of phi!?«^nhy, as well as in mathe- 
 matics, in j'risprudence, in the knowledge 
 of antiquities, and in every branch both of 
 science and of literature. He was highly 
 respected by emperors, and by many kings 
 and princes, who bestowed upon him singu- 
 lar marks of their esteem. He was a par- 
 ticular favourite cf our Queen Caroline, 
 consort of George II., with whom he con- 
 timied his correspondence by letters, after 
 she came to the crown of Britain, till his 
 death. 
 
 The famous controversy between him and 
 the British mathematicians, whether he or 
 Sir Isaac Newton was the inventor of that 
 noble improvement in mathematics, called 
 by Newton, the method of fluaions, and by 
 Leibnitz the differential method^ engaged 
 the attention of the mathematicians in 
 Europe for several years. He had likewise 
 a controversy with the learned and judicious 
 Dr Samuel Clarke, about several points of 
 the Newtonian philosophy which he dis- 
 approved. The papers which gave occasion 
 iu this controversy, with all the replies and 
 rejoinders, had the honour to be transmitted 
 from the one party to the other, through 
 the hands of Queen Caroline, and were 
 afterwards published. 
 
 His authority, in all matters of philoso- 
 phy, is still so great in most parts of Ger- 
 many, that they are considered as bold 
 spirits, and a kind of heretics, who dissent 
 from him in anything. [219] Carolus* 
 Wolfius, the most voluminous writer in 
 philosophy of this age, is considered as the 
 great interpreter and advocate of the Leib- 
 nitzian system, and reveres as an oracle 
 whatever has dropped from the pen of 
 Leibnitz. This author proposed two great 
 works upon the mind. The first, which I 
 have seen, he published with the title of 
 " Psychologia Empirica, sen Experiments 
 alis.*'t The other was to have the title of 
 ** Psychologia Rationalis ;" and to it he 
 refers for hb explication of the theory of 
 Leibnitz with regard to the mind. But 
 whether it was published I have not learn- 
 ed.$ 
 
 I must, therefore, take the short account 
 I am to give of this system from the writ- 
 ings of Leibnitz himself, without the light 
 which his interpreter Wolfius may have 
 thrown upon it. i 
 
 Leibnitz conceived the whole universe. 
 
 ♦ His name was ChrUtian.^Vl. 
 
 4 This tiile is incorrect. It is " Psychologia Em- 
 pirica methodo scientjfica |>ertractata," &c. The 
 WOfk appeared in 1732.— H. 
 
 I It wasp- blighed-in 1734. Such careless ignorance 
 of the most distinguished works on. the subject of an 
 author's speculations, is peculiarly British.— H. 
 
 [219,220] 
 
 bodies as well as minds, to be made up 
 of monads^that is, simple substances, each 
 of which is, by the Creator, in the begui- 
 ning of its existence, endowed with certain 
 active and perceptive powers. A monad, 
 therefore, is an active substance, simple, 
 without parts or figure, which has within 
 itself the power to produce all the changes 
 it undergoes from the beginning of its ex- 
 istence to eternity. The changes which 
 the monad undergoes, of what kind soever, 
 though they may seem to us the effect of 
 causes operating from without, yet they 
 are only the gradual and successive evolu- 
 tions of its own internal powers, which 
 would have produced all the same changes 
 and motions, although there had been no 
 other being in the universe. 
 
 Every human soul is a monad joined to 
 an organized body, which organized body 
 consists of an infinite number of monads, 
 each having some degree of active and of 
 perceptive power in itself. But the whole 
 machine of the body has a relation to that 
 monad which we call the soul, which is, as 
 it were, the centre of the whole. [220] 
 
 As the universe is completely filled with 
 monads, without any chasm or void, and 
 thereby every body acts upon every other 
 body, according to its vicinity or distance, 
 and is mutually reacted upon by every other 
 body, it follows, says Leibnitz, that every 
 monad is a kind of living mirror, which re- 
 flects the whole universe, according to its 
 point of view, and represents the whole 
 more or less distuictly. 
 
 I cannot undertake to reconcile this part 
 of the system with what was before men- 
 tioned — to wit, that every change in a 
 monad is the evolution of its own original 
 powers, and would have happened though 
 no other substance had been created. But, 
 to proceed. 
 
 There are different orders of monads, 
 some higher and others lower. The higher 
 orders he calls dominant ; such is the hu- 
 man soul. The monads that compose the 
 organized bodies of men, animals, and plants, 
 are of a lower order, and subservient to the 
 dominant monads. But every monad, of 
 whatever order, is a complete substance in 
 itself — indivisible, having no parts ; inde- 
 structible, because, having no parts, it can- 
 not perish by any kind of decomposition ; 
 it can only perish by annihilation, and we 
 have no reason to believe that God will ever 
 annihilate any of the beings which he lias 
 made. 
 
 The monads of a lower order may, by a 
 regular evolution of their powers, rise to a 
 higher order. They may successively be 
 joined to organized bodies, of various forms 
 and different degrees of perception ; but 
 they never die, nor cease to be in some de- 
 gree active and percipient. 
 
 k2 
 
r:^ 
 
 3oe 
 
 ON THE INTBIiLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [ess^v 
 
 II. 
 
 OBAP. XV.] ACCOUNT OF THE SYSTEM OF LEIBNITZ. 
 
 309 
 
 Tliii fUotoplier makes a dlBlinetioii be- 
 
 twMii pemption and what he calln apper~ 
 mpt'umm The first is cominon t<> all monads, 
 the last proper to the higher orders, among 
 
 whfeh ■»' hnnaa. mals. [22 1 ] 
 
 Bj appefcsption he understiuids that de- 
 gree of penwptioii which reflects, as it were, 
 Upon itself; by which we are conscious of 
 inr own existence, and conscious of our 
 perceptiona I hj which we can reflect upon 
 'the tpemtions^ of our own minds, and can 
 CiBiiMwhend abstract truths. The mind, in 
 many operations, he thinhs, particularly in 
 'iiloepi .Mid in many .aotionS' common to us 
 with the hnite% has not this appO'rception, 
 although it Is still filled with a multitude of 
 obscure and indistinct perceptions, of which 
 we are not conscious. 
 
 He conceives that our bodies and minds 
 are united in such a manner that neither 
 hm any physical influence upon the other. 
 Each peiforms all its operations by its own 
 internal springs and powers ; vet the oper- 
 ■tiona of one c-orrespood exactly with those 
 of tte other, by a pre-eiiahlished harmony ; 
 just as one clock may be so adjusted as to 
 keep time with another, although each has 
 its own moving power, and neither receives 
 any part of its motion from the other. 
 
 So Aat, according to this system, all our 
 perceptions of external objects would be the 
 iime, though external things had never 
 'Oiisted. $ our Mrception of them would con- 
 tinue :althou.gli, by the power of G^od, they 
 should this m'»ment be annihilated. We 
 do not perceive external things because they 
 exist, but because the soul was originallv so 
 constituted as to produce in itself all its 
 successive changes, and all iti successive 
 perceptions, independently of the external 
 oljeets. 
 
 Every pereep^n or apperoeption, every 
 'Opemtioni ia E'VOrd, of the soul, is a neces^ 
 ■■ry consequence of the state of it imme- 
 dintety preceding that operation ; and this 
 "State Is the neeesaaiy' eonnqnence of the 
 state preceding it $ and so bawwards, until 
 you come to its first formation and consti- 
 tution, which produces, successively and 
 hf ' necessary consequence, all its sueces- 
 alve atliteS'' to^ the end of Its existence; 
 f'tni soiiial, in 'this respect, the soul, and 
 every monad, may be compared to a watch 
 wound up^ viiVh, having the spring of its 
 motion in itseK. by the gradual evolution of 
 its own apring/priducee all the sueceesive 
 motions we oi^erve in it. 
 
 In Ibis account of Leibnitz's system con- 
 eemipg nMmadfl and the pia*€etablithed 
 iannoiiy, I iiave kept, as nearliras f could, 
 "'III ''ill' own. eKprenomi, in his " New System 
 of the Mature and Communication of Sub- 
 stauees, and of tlie Unkm of Soul and 
 '.Bodyi" and a 'the ^teveral ttlustmtions of 
 lim mm systen. which, he afltrwards pub- 
 
 lished ; and in his " Principles of Nature 
 and Grace founded in Reason.'* I shall 
 now make a few remarks upon this system. 
 
 1. To pass over the irresistible necessity 
 of all human actions, which makes a part uf 
 thb system, that will be considered in an- 
 other place, 1 observe, /r«/, that the dis- 
 tinction made between perception and ap- 
 perception is obscure and unphilosophical. 
 As far as we can discover, every operation 
 of our mind is attended with consciousness, 
 and particularly that which we call the per* 
 ception of external objects ; and to speak of 
 a perception of which we are not conscious, 
 is to speak without any meaning. 
 
 As consciousness is the only power by 
 which we discern the operations of our own 
 minds, or can form any notion of them, an 
 operation of mind of which we are not con- 
 scious, is, we know nut what ; and to call 
 such an operation by the name of perception, 
 is an abuse of language. No man can pei-- 
 ceive an object without being conscious that 
 he perceives it. No man can think without 
 being conscious that he thinks. What men 
 are not conscious of, cannot therefore, with- 
 out impropriety, be called either perception 
 or thought of any kind. And, if we will 
 suppose operations of mind of which we are 
 not conscious, and give a name to such 
 creatures of our imagination, that name 
 must signify what we know nothing about* 
 [223] 
 
 2. To suppose bodies organized or un- 
 organized, to be made up of indivbible 
 monads which have no parts, is contrary to 
 all that we know of body. It is essential 
 to a body to have parts ; and every part of 
 a body i; a body, and has parts aisoV No 
 number of parts, without extension or figure, 
 not even an infinite number, if we may use 
 that expression, can, by being put together, 
 make a whole that has extension and figure, 
 which all bodii-s have. 
 
 3. It is contrary to all that we know uf 
 bodies, to ascribe to the monads, of which 
 they are supposed to be compounded, per- 
 ception and active force. If a philosopher 
 tliinks proper to say, that a clod of earth 
 both perceives and lias active force, let him 
 bring his proofs. But he ought not to 
 expect that men who have understanding 
 will 80 far give it up as to receive without 
 proof whatever his imagination may sug- 
 gest. 
 
 4. This system overturns all authority of 
 our senses, and leaves not the least ground 
 to believe the existence of the objects of 
 
 • The JanRuage in which Leibnitz expreatet hif 
 doctrine of latent modiBcations of mind, which, 
 though out of conscinusn^s, manifest their existeu'te 
 in their eO'ects, ift ohjectioimble; t e doctrine itself if 
 not only true but uf the very highest importance in 
 ptychology, although it lias never yet been apprtci. 
 atednr ev'en.undentuod by any writer on philosophy 
 111 thu lnlaotL— ii. 
 
 [221-223] 
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
 sense, or the existence of anything which 
 depends upon the authority of our senses ; 
 for our perception of objects, according to 
 this system, has no dependence upon any- 
 thing external, and would be the same as it 
 is, supposing external objects had never 
 existed, or tliat they were from this moment 
 annihilated. 
 
 It is renmrkable that Leibnitz*s system, 
 that of Malebranche, and the common sys- 
 tem of ideas or images of external objects 
 in the mind, do nil agree in overturning all 
 the authority of our senses ; and this one 
 thing, as long as men retain their senses, 
 will always make all these systems trul^' 
 ridiculous. 
 
 5. The last observation I shall make 
 upon this system, which, indeed, is equally 
 applicable to all the systems of Perception 
 1 have mentioned, is, that it is all hypo- 
 thesis, made up of conjectures and suppo- 
 sitions, without proof. The Peripatetics 
 supposed sensible species to be sent forth 
 by the objects of sense. The moderns sup- 
 pose ideas in the brain or in the mind. [224] 
 Malebranche supposed that we perceive 
 the ideas of the Divine mind. Leibnitz 
 supposed monads and a pre-established har- 
 niony ; and these monads being creatures 
 of his own making, he is at liberty to give 
 them what properties and powers his fancy 
 may suggest. In like manner, the Indian 
 philosopher supposed that the earth is sup- 
 ported by a huge elephant, and that the 
 elephant stands on the back of a huge tor- 
 toise.* 
 
 Such suppositions, while there is no proof 
 of them offered, are nothing but the fictions 
 of human fancy ; and we ought no more 
 to believe them, than we believe Itomer's 
 fictions of Apollo's silver bow, or Minerva's 
 shield, or Venus's ^rdle. Such fictions in 
 poetry are agreeable to the rules of art : 
 they are intended to please, not to convince. 
 But the philosophers would h».ve us to 
 believe their fictions, though tf le j' jcount 
 they give of the phenomena of nat ire has 
 conmionly no more probability ^nan the 
 account that Homer gives of the plague in 
 the Grecian camp, from Apollo taking his 
 station on a neighbouring mountain, and 
 from his silver bow letting fly his swift 
 arrows into the camp. 
 
 Men then only begin to have a true taste 
 In philosophy, when they have learned to 
 hold hypotheses in just contempt ; and to 
 consider them as the reveries of speculative 
 men, which will never have any similitude 
 to the works of God. 
 
 « It it a dioputed point wh< ther I^ibniti were 
 •erioua in hiii nionadology and pre eitablished bar- 
 mony.— H. 
 
 [224-226J 
 
 4 
 
 The Supreme Being has given us some 
 intelligence of his works, by what our senses 
 inform us of external things, and by what 
 our consciousness and reflection inform us 
 concerning the operations of our own minds. 
 Whatever can be inferred from these com- 
 mon informations, by just and sound reason- 
 ing, is true and legitimate philosophy : but 
 wlr it we add to this from conjecture is all 
 s/ urious and illegitimate. [225] 
 
 After this long account of the theories 
 idvanced by philosophers, to account for 
 our perception of external objects, I hope 
 it will appear, that neither Aristotle's theory 
 of sensible species, nor Malebranche's of 
 our seeing things in God, nor the common 
 theory of our perceiving ideas in our own 
 minds, nor Leibnitz's theory of monads 
 and a pre-established harmony, give any 
 satisfying account of this power of the mind, 
 or make it more intelligible than it is 
 without their aid. They are conjectures, 
 and, if they were true, would solve no diffi- 
 culty, but raise many new ones. It is, 
 therefore, more agreeable to good sense 
 and to sound philosophy, to rest satisfied 
 with what our consciousness and attentive 
 reflection discover to u& of the nature of 
 perception, than, by inventing hypotheses, 
 to attempt to explain things which are 
 above the reach of human understanding. 
 I believe no man is able to explain how we 
 perceive external objects, any more than 
 how we are conscious of those that are 
 internal. Perception, consciousness, me- 
 mory, and imagination, are all original and 
 simple powers of the mind, and parts of its 
 constitution. For this reason, though I 
 have endeavoured to shew that the theories 
 of philosophers on this subject are ill 
 gromided and insufficient, I do not attempt 
 to substitute any other theory in their 
 place. 
 
 Every man feels that perception gives 
 him an invincible belief of the existence of 
 that which he perceives; and that this 
 belief is not the effect of reasoning, but 
 the immediate consequence of perception.* 
 When philosophers have wearied them- 
 selves and their readers with their specula- 
 tions upon this subject, they can neither 
 strengthen this belief, nor weaken it ; nor 
 can they shew how it is produced. It puts 
 the philosopher and the peasant upon a 
 level; and neither of them can give any 
 other reason for believing his senses, than 
 that he finds it impossible for him to do 
 otherwise. [226] 
 
 • In an immediate percevtxon ofextrmal thinn, 
 the belief of their existence would not beaconsf. 
 quence of the perception, but be involved in the per. 
 ception itself.— H, 
 
~JC 
 
 310 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS, 
 
 [essay n. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 or SXNSATlOlf. 
 
 \ 
 
 Havwc iniahed what I intend, with 
 feffod to that act of mind which we mil 
 the perception of wi external object, I 
 proceed to consider anotheri whkh, by onr 
 constitution, is conjoined with perception, 
 and not with pawsiption only, but with 
 many other acts of our minds ; and that is 
 ■•MWttei. To ppcTent repetition, I must 
 refer the reader to the explication of this 
 word ffftm in Essay I., ohap.^ !• 
 
 Almost all our perceptiant have corre- 
 •pciiiding 'smailiikiis whlish cfnistantly ao-' 
 company them, and, on that account, are 
 very apt to be confounded with them. 
 neither ousht wo to expect that the sens- 
 Bfifn, audits cowesponiliig perception, 
 dMnld be distinguished in common lan- 
 guage, because' the purposes of common 
 life do not require it Language is made 
 to serve the pmrposes of ordinary conversa- 
 tion ; and we have no reason to expect that 
 It should make distinctions that are not of 
 coBmon use. Hence it happens, that a 
 ipality perceived, and the sensation cor- 
 tusponding to that peMsepHikD, oHen go under 
 the same name. 
 
 This makes the names of most of oar 
 :MnisatifiiiB ambiguoua, ani this ambiguity 
 balh. 'vwy tniMlt. perplexed philosophers. It 
 will bo necesMMry to give some instances, to 
 illustrate the distinction between our sons- 
 atioDS and the objects of perception. 
 
 When I 
 imsatien 
 
 smell" a rope, t here is in this 
 
 Mk wmsatlon'lind perception. 
 
 The agreeaHe odour I feel, considered/bj 
 
 itselfj yiHwt relation to any external ob- 
 jeci, is merely a sensation. [227 1 } t ^^^^^ 
 the mind i n a certain way ; and this affection 
 
 or liifijiiiind ma^be conc^SC without a 
 tloueht of the ro se, or' iiiyo lEer oBJecl 
 mcfi ^tiom can be nothmg else than it 
 
 _... Mt to |j^~"f|5" ^gyy-'e^'^n^ consists in 
 
 Being felt ; and, when it ia not fe lt, it is not. 
 There "is no difference be,tj|fiBl3he sensa- 
 tion jkgd the fef l in g of it--»fltS2aJ!lfi and 
 
 lie same thing. It is for this reason that 
 "we before observed that, in sensation, there 
 
 is no. ,f bi«e*_iiillili* f'®™ ^^^^ .■I|ji.*l»e 
 
 mind by which it is felt — and this holds 
 true with regard to all sensations. 
 
 Ijet us next attend to the perception 
 which we have in smelling a rose. P*wep- 
 i!5lJli!jd^^ external object ; imTfFe 
 object ofmy perception, m this case^ is tliat 
 ijuality in the rose which I discern by the 
 sense of smell. Obeervine that the agree- 
 ible sensation is raised when the rose Is 
 
 n«ifc.lllKl cea»«8 ^^«n ^' »» removed, 1 ain 
 led, by my nature, to conclude some quality 
 to be in the rose, whicli is the cause of this 
 
 sensation. Tliis quality in the rose is ^e 
 object perceived ; and that aci of my mind 
 by which 1 have the convictiqn|andJjfiliBf 
 
 of this quality*Ji_Jttliat in this^asaJjaU 
 
 perception.? 
 
 But it is here to be observed, that the 
 sensation I feel, and the quality in the rose 
 which I perceive, are both called by the 
 same name. The smell of a rose is the 
 name given to both : so that this name hath 
 two meanings; and the disttsguishing its 
 different meanings removes all perplexity, 
 and enables us to give clear and distinct 
 answers to questions about which philoso- 
 phers have held much dispute, f 
 
 Thus, if it is asked, whether the smell 
 be in the rose, or in the mind that feels it, 
 the answer is obvious : That there are two 
 different things signified by the smell of a 
 rose ; one of which is in the mind, and can 
 be in nothing but in a sentient being; the 
 other is truly and properly in the rose. The 
 sensation which I feel is in my mind. The 
 mind is the sentient being ; and, as the rose 
 is insentient, there can be no sensation, nor 
 anything resembling sensation in it. [228] 
 But this sensation in my mind is occasioned 
 by a certain quality in the rose, which is 
 called by the same name with the sensation, 
 not on account of any similitude, but be- 
 cause of then: constant concomitancy. 
 
 All the names we have for smells, tastes, 
 sounds, and for the various degrees of heat 
 and cold, have a like ambiguity ; and what 
 has been said of the smell of a rose may be 
 applied to them. They signify both a sens- 
 ation, and a quality perceived by means of 
 that sensation. The first is the sign, the 
 last the thing signified. As both are con- 
 joined fcy nature, and as the purposes of 
 common life do not require them to be dis- 
 joined m our thoughts, they are both ex- 
 pressed by the same name i and this am- 
 biguity is to be found in all hmguages, be- 
 cause the reason of it extends to all. 
 
 The same ambiguity is found in th© 
 names of such diseases as are indicated by 
 a particular painful sensation : such as the 
 toothache, th© headache. The toothache 
 
 * This paragraph ap|)eantobe an explicit disa- 
 vowal of the doctrine of an intuitive or immediate 
 perceptiun. If, from a certain sensilile feeling, or 
 sensation, (which 's it«elf cognitive of no object.) I am 
 only determined by my nature to covdude that there 
 la iome ex'ernal quality which is the cause of this 
 ■enmtion, and if this quality, thus only known as an 
 inference trom its efffect, be i he adject perceived ; then 
 is perception not an act iirmediately cognitive of 
 any existing object, and the object perceived is. In 
 fact, except as an imaginary something ^ unknown, 
 -H. 
 
 f 1 n reference to this and the following paragraphs. 
 I may olMerve that the distinction of subjective and 
 objfctive qunliiici' here vaguely attempted, had been 
 already precisely accomplished by Aristotle, in his 
 discrimination of w»OfiuKai wMrr.rte fqtfalitalespati' 
 hiU'S,) and «■«&» (paitiones). In regard to the tar, 
 tcsian distinction, which is equally precise, but of 
 which likewise Reid i« unaware, sec above, p. Wh 
 col b, note * — H 
 
 I [227, 228] 
 
 I 
 
 Chap, xvi.] 
 
 OF SENSATION. 
 
 311 
 
 I 11 
 
 signifies a painful sensation, which can only 
 be in a sentient being ; but it signifies also 
 a disorder in the body, which has no simili- 
 tude to a sensation, but is naturally con- 
 nected with it. 
 
 Pressing my hand with force against the 
 table, I feel pain, and I feel the table to be 
 hard. The pain is a sensation of the mind, 
 and there is nothing that resembles it in 
 the table. The haziness is in the table, 
 nor is there anything resembling it in the 
 mind. Feeling: is applied to both ; but in 
 a different sense ; being a word commonto 
 the act of sensation, and to that of perceiv- 
 I / IH € ing by the sense of touch. 
 
 F ^ ■ ^ I touch the table gently with my hand, 
 and I feel it to be smooth, hard, and cold. 
 These are qualities of the table perceived by 
 touch ; but I perceive them by means of a 
 sensation which indicates them. This sens- 
 ation not being painful, I commonly give no 
 attention to it. [229] It carries my thought 
 immediately to the thing signified by it, and 
 is itself forgot, as if it had never been. But, 
 by repeating it, and turning my attention 
 to it, and abstracting my thought from the 
 thing signified by it, I find it to be merely 
 a sensation, and that it has no similitude to 
 the hardness, smoothness, or coldness of 
 the table, which are signified by it. 
 
 It is indeed difficult, at first, to disjoin 
 things in our attention which have always 
 been conjoined, and to make that an object 
 of reflection which never was so before ; 
 but some pains and practice will overcome 
 this difficulty in those who iave got the 
 habit of reflecting on the operations of their 
 own minds. 
 
 Although the present subject leads us 
 , ■ only to consider the sensations which we 
 
 y-l \ have by means of our external senses, yet 
 
 it will serve to illustrate what has been said, 
 and, I apprehend, is of importance in itself, 
 to observe, that many operations of mind, 
 to which we give one name, and which we 
 always consider as one thing, are complex 
 in their nature, and made up of several 
 more simple ingredients; and of these ingre- 
 dients sensation very often makes one. Of 
 this we shall give some instances. 
 
 The appetite of hunger includes an nn- 
 1.1 I easy sensation, and a desire of food. Sens- 
 ^ ^Aration and desire are different acts of mind. 
 The last, from its nature, must have an 
 object ; the first has no object. These two 
 ingredients may always be separated in 
 thought — perhaps they sometimes are, in 
 reality ; but hunger includes both. 
 
 Benevolence towards our fellow-creatures 
 includes an agreeable feeling ; but it includes 
 also a desire of the happiness of others. 
 The ancients commonly called it desu*e. 
 Many moderns chuse rather to call it a feel- 
 uig. Both are right : and they only err who 
 exclude either of the ingredients. [230] 
 r22f)-23n 
 
 h»\ 
 
 Whether these two ingredients are neces- 
 sarily connected, is, perhaps, difficult for us 
 to determine, there being many necessary 
 connections which we do not perceive to be 
 necessary ; but we can disjoin them in 
 thought. They are different acts of the 
 mind. 
 
 An uneasy feeling, and a desire, are, in 
 like manner, the ingredients of malevolent 
 affections ; such as malice, envy, revenge. 
 The passion of fear includes an uneasy 
 sensation or feeling, and an opinion of 
 danger ; and hope is made up of the con- 
 trary ingredients. When we hear of a 
 heroic action, the sentiment which it raises 
 in our mind, is made up of various ingre- 
 dients. There is in it an agreeable feeling, 
 a benevolent affection to the person, and a 
 judgment or opinion of his merit. 
 
 If we thus analyse the various ope ration s 
 of our ininds, we shall finH that "many of 
 them which we cdrisider as perfectly simple, 
 becaus e we 'have been accustomed to call 
 tlfiem by one name, are compounded of more 
 simple ingredients ; and that sensation,^ or 
 feeling, which is only'a more refined kuid 
 o^ sensation, makes one ipgredient, no£ 
 only in the perception of external objects, 
 but inmost openitioiis of the niind. 
 
 A small degree of reflection may satisfy 
 us that the number and variety of our sens- 
 ations and feelings is prodigious; for, to 
 omit all those which accompany our appe- 
 tites, passions, and affections, our moral 
 sentiments and sentiments of taste, even 
 our external senses, furnish a great variety 
 of sensations, differing in kind, and almost 
 in every kind an endless variety of degrees. 
 Every variety we discern, with regard to 
 taste, smell, sound, colour, heat, and cold, 
 and in the tangible qualities of bodies, is 
 indicated by a sensation corresponding to 
 it. 
 
 The most general and the most import- 
 ant division of our sensations and feelings, 
 is into the agreeable, the disagreeable, and 
 the indifferent. Everything we call plea- 
 sure, happiness, or enjoyment, on the one 
 hand; and, on the other, everything we 
 call misery, pain, or uneasiness, is sensa- 
 tion or feeling ; for no man can for the pre- 
 sent be more happy or more miserable than 
 he feels himself to be. [231] He cannot 
 be deceived with regard to the enjoyment 
 or suffering of the present moment. 
 
 But 1 apprehend that, besides the sens- 
 ations that are either agreeable or disagree- 
 able, th«?re is still a greater number that 
 are indifferent.' To these we give so little 
 attention, that they have no name, and are 
 immediately forgot, as if tney had never 
 been ; and it requires attention to the ope- 
 
 ^■ 
 
 • lliis U a point in dispute among philo.^ophort. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay II. 
 
 CHAP. XVII.] OF THE OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 313 
 
 ntbns of our miucb to be oonYinced of their 
 
 omi^etenee. 
 
 For tMi end wo may obaorvo, tlmt, to & 
 gooi e^r, oiwry iniiiim voiee is iiiiiiigttisli- 
 illite from all others. Some voices are plea- 
 ■aiity some disagreeable ; but the far greater 
 purl «Mi neither be said to b© one nor the 
 '<itil«r. 'The same thing may be said of 
 oilier soimds, and no lew^ of tastes^ smells, 
 / and eolours ; and, if we consider that our 
 aeues are in continual exercise while we are 
 a«iil% that some sensation attends every 
 oMeet^ they present tO' us, and that familiar 
 objects seldom raise any emotion, pleasant 
 or painful, we shall see reason, besides the 
 amcihle and disagfoeabley to admit a third 
 mm of sensations that may he called in- 
 mnerent. 
 
 The sensations that are indifferent, are 
 far from being UMsleia. They serve as 
 fligna to 'distiiigiiish. lUngS' that^ differ ; and 
 thO' 'Wbrmaiion 'we have concerning things 
 external, comes by their means. Thus, if 
 a man had no ear to receive pleasure from 
 the harmony or melody of sounds, he would 
 aiill find the sense of hearing of great 
 utiity. Though sounds give him neithei 
 pfeaaure nor pain of themselves, they would 
 '■Ive :iiim much useful 'mformation ; and the 
 llw niair be said of 'the aenaations we have 
 by all the other senses.^ ['232] 
 
 As to the sensations and feelings that are 
 agreeable or disagreeable, they dUTer much 
 ;nol only in decree, but in Icind. and in dig- 
 nity. ifionM' lefeng tO' the anhnal prt of 
 our nature^ and. are' common tO' ua with the 
 hmtes ; others belong to the rational and 
 mofal part The first are more properly 
 ttillfldaffiMlMiw; the huei, feMnff$» Tbe 
 Fmeh word imHwmni h eomnmi tO' both.* 
 
 The intention of nature in them is for the 
 most part obvious, and well deserving our 
 notice. It has been beautifully fllustrated 
 by a very elegant French writer,* in his 
 " Theww ttm Sm^liments Af/remBk*.** 
 
 The Author of Nature, in the distribution 
 of .ngreeahle rad painful feelings, hath 
 'Wisely ^and 'henevoleDtly conanlted the good 
 «if''the hnnaa apeeiea,and 'hath even shewn 
 na, by the same means, what tenor of c<m- 
 duct we ought to hold. For, /«!, The 
 painful sensatima 'Of the animal, land are 
 adnonitionS'"te' avoid 'whai 'would hurt us ; 
 and the agreeable sensations of this kind 
 invite na to those actions tliat are necessary 
 to -the pnaarvation of the individual, or of 
 'tia^ ..kind. Sm/nOI^ By tho 'Mine means. 
 nateie invites us to moderate bodily exer- 
 cise, and admonlahei us to avoid idleness 
 and inactivity on the one hand, and exces- 
 aive labour and fatigue on tlie other. 
 
 Pkrach philoaoiitiera. aince Held, lia*« 
 
 ■ltriii|ii«<l ClW' ditttnctkni of «nifiiiicMl'aiid muitMnu 
 
 t Levefi|iic de F^iUy.— H. 
 
 Thirdty^ The moderate exercise of all our 
 rational powers gives pleasure. Fonrfh/;/^ 
 Every species of beauty is beheld with 
 pleasure, and every species of deformity 
 with disgust ; and we shall find all that we 
 call beautiful, to be something estimable or 
 useful in itself, or a sign of somethiug that 
 is estimable or useful. Ffihfy, The bene- 
 volent affections are all accompanied with 
 an agreeable feeling, the malevolent with 
 the contrary. And, Mtxi/iii/y The highest, 
 the noblest, and most durable pleasure is 
 that of doing well, and acting the part tlial 
 becomes us ; and the most bitter and pain- 
 ful sentiment, the anguish and remorse of 
 a guilty conscience. These observations, 
 with regard to the economy of nature in 
 the distribution of our painful and agree- 
 able sensations and feelings, are illustrated 
 by the author last mentioned, so elegantly 
 and judiciously, that I sliall not attempt to 
 say anything upon them after him. [233] 
 
 I shall conclude this chapter by observ- 
 injg that, as the confounding our sensations 
 with that perception of external objects 
 which is constantly conjoined with them, 
 has been the occasion of most of the errors 
 and false theories of philosophers with re- 
 gard to the senses; so the distinguishing 
 these operations seems to nie to be the key 
 that leads to a right understanding of both. 
 
 Sensation, taken by itself, implies neither f^ 
 the conception nor belief of any external i 
 object. It supposes a sentient being, and! 
 a certain manner in which that being is 
 affected ; but it supposes no more. Per- 
 ception implies an immediate conviction 
 and belief of something external— some* 
 thing diiferent both from the mind that 
 perceives, and from the act of perceptionj^^ 
 Things so different in their nature ougrit 
 to be distinguished; but, by our constit u- 
 tion, iliev are fti^'Ayp united. Every^if- f 
 fereut percept i<nfi5 conjoined with a sensa- 
 tibn that WjffllpBILtP^il* The one is the * 1 
 ugn, the "other the thing signified. They ' 
 coalesce in our imagination. They are sig- 
 nified by one name, and are considered as 
 one simple operation. The purposes of life 
 do not require them to be distinguished. 
 
 It is the philosopher alone who has occa- 
 sion to distinguish them, when he would 
 analyse the o])eration compounded of them. 
 But he has no suspicion that there is any 
 composition in it ; and to discover this re- 
 quires a degree of reflection which has been 
 too little practised even by philosophers. 
 
 In the old philosophy, sensation and per- 
 ception were perfectly confounded. The 
 sensible species coming from the object, and 
 impressed upon the mind, was the whole; 
 and you might call it sensajtion or percep- 
 tion as you pleased * 
 
 • Tbii ii not correct ; f..r. In the diitiiiction of i lie 
 
 [S^32, ^33] 
 
 
 m 
 
 Des Cartes and Locke, attending more 
 to the operations of their own minds, say, 
 that the sensations by which we have notice 
 of secondary qualities have no resemblance 
 to anything that pertains to body ; but they 
 did not see that this might, with equal justice, 
 be applied to the primary qualities. [234] 
 Mr Locke maintains, that the sensations we 
 have from primary qualities are resem- 
 blances of those qualities. This shews how 
 grossly the most ingenious men may err 
 with regard to the operations of their minds. 
 It must, indeed, be acknowledged, that it is 
 much easier to have a distinct notion of the 
 sensations that belong to secondary than 
 of those that belong to the primary quali- 
 ties.* The reason of this will appear in 
 the next chapter. 
 
 But, had Mr Locke attended with suffi. 
 cient accuracy to the sensationsf which he 
 was every day and every hour receiving 
 from primary qualities, he would have seen 
 that they can as little resemble any quality 
 of an inanimated being as pain can resemble 
 a cube or a circle. 
 
 What had escaped this ingenious philo- 
 sopher, was clearly discerned by Bishop 
 Berkeley. He had a just notion of sensa- 
 tions, and saw that it was impossible that 
 anything in an insentient being could re- 
 semble them ; a thing so evident in itself, 
 that it seems wonderful that it should have 
 been so long unknown. 
 
 But let us attend to the consequence of 
 this discovery. Philosophers, as well as the 
 vulgar, had been accustomed to comprehend 
 both sensation and perception under one 
 name, and to consider them as one uncom- 
 pounded operation. Philosophers, even 
 more than the vulgar, gave the name of 
 sensation to the whole operation of the 
 senses ; and all the notions we have of ma- 
 terial things were called ideas of sensation. 
 This led Bishop Berkeley to take one in- 
 gredient of a complex operation for the 
 whole ; and, having clearly discovered the 
 nature of sensation, taking it for granted 
 that all that the senses present to the mind 
 is sensation, which can have no resemblance 
 to anything material, he concluded that 
 there is no material world- [235] 
 
 If the senses furnished us with no mate- 
 rials of thought but sensations, his conclu- 
 sion must be just ; for no sensation can give 
 us the conception of material things, far less 
 
 ipeciet imprena and species expre^m, the distinc- 
 tion of sensation and perception could be perceived ; 
 but, in point of fact, many even ot the Aristotelians, 
 who admitted species at all, allowed them only in o.ie 
 f,r two of the senses. See Noies D * and M.— H. 
 
 • 7 he reader will observe that Reid says, *• dis- 
 tinct notion of the sentntions that lelong to the se. 
 iMindary qualitips," and not distinct notion ot the 
 secondary qualities themselve.'*.— H. 
 
 t Here again the reader wdl observe th^t the term 
 IS senscUionSt and nut twtionSt oi the primary quaii. 
 tiet.-H. 
 
 [2.34-2361 
 
 any argument to prove their existence. But, 
 if it is true that by our senses we have not 
 only a variety of sensations, but likewise a 
 conception and an immediate natural con- 
 viction of external objects, he reasons from 
 a false supposition, and his arguments fall 
 to the ground.* 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 OF THK OBJECTS OF FERCKPTIOX ; AND, FIRST, 
 OF PRIMARY ANU SKCUNOARY QUALITIES. 
 
 The objects of perception are the various 
 qualities of bodies. Intending to treat of 
 these only in general, and chiefly with a view 
 to explain the notions which our senses 
 give us of them, I begin with the distinction 
 between primary and secondary qualities. 
 These were distinguished very early. The 
 Peripatetic system confounded them, and 
 left no difference. The distinction was again 
 revived by Des Cartes and Locke, and a 
 second time abolished by Berkeley and 
 Hume. If the real foundation of this dis- 
 tinction can be pointed out, it will enable us 
 to accoi'.nt for the various revolutions in the 
 sentiments of philosophers concerning it 
 
 Every one knows that extension, divisi- 
 bility, figure, motion, solidity, hardness, 
 softness, and fluidity, were by Mr Locke 
 called prhnaiy qualitirs of body ; and that 
 soimd, colour, taste, smell, and heat or cold, 
 were called secondary qnalities. Is there a 
 just foundation for this distinction ? Is 
 there anything common to the primary 
 which belongs not to the secondary ? And 
 what is it ? 
 
 I answer, That there appears to me to.hfi 
 «ij:g^a"n4o^'«"' f«^r the dLstinction f audit 
 is this — that, our sense s give us a direct and 
 a distinct notion of the .pripiat^ qualities, 
 and infor m us what th ey are in t hemselves. + 
 But oi_ tjig seQg^darj^ qiiatities, our senses 
 give usonly ji j§)a.tiye iind .obscjire notion. 
 [2567 'Tli?J '."fPXn^ "^ only, that they are 
 qual ities that affect us in a certain manner 
 -—that is, produce in us a certain sensation^ 
 but as to what they are in themsebrf^iiiif 
 senses leave us in the dai:!^:!: 
 
 ♦ On this whole distinction, see Note D. ^ . — H 
 t By the expression, •• what then are in themselves,'* 
 In reference to the primary quHlities, and of *' rdiu 
 titH notion," in rt-fereiice to the secondary, Reid 
 cannot mean that the rorm«T are known to us o^o. 
 lukli/ and in themselves — that is, out of relation to our 
 cognitive f'acultirs ; for he elsewhere admits that all 
 our knowledge is relative. Farther, il •• onr senses 
 give us a direct ar»d distinct notion of the primary 
 qualities, and it\form \ s what they are in themselves, 
 these qualiiies, as known, uiusi resemble, or t>ei(ii-ii. 
 tical with, these qualities as cxistint;. — H. 
 
 X The distinctions of perception and sensation, and 
 of primary and secondary qualities, may be reduieil 
 to one higher princ pie. KnowU-dge isparily ^)/y;tW- 
 t'lr, partly subjective ,• both these elements are CRsen- 
 tial to every cognition, but in every coKniiinn they 
 arc always in tlie inverse ratio of each other. Now 
 
314 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay 
 
 CHAP, xvii.] OF THE OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 315 
 
 Every man capuble of Tcflection may 
 
 -jney Mtiilir iimiisif that he has m perfectly 
 eluMT MiiiliBtiiict notion of extenrfon, diviai- 
 Wity, igpfe, and motion. The aoHdity of 
 A hMy raeuBS no more but that it excludes 
 other bodies from occupying the same place 
 at the same time Baidiicsa, softness, and 
 iiidily are different degimss of cohesion in 
 IIm parts of a body. It is fnid wlien it has 
 BO sensible cohesion ; soft, when the cohe- 
 aion w weak ; and hard, when it is strong. 
 Of tlie eanse of this cohesion we are ignor* 
 snt» but the thing itself we understand per- 
 fectly, 'being immediately informed of it by 
 the sense of touch. It is evident, therefore, 
 ^ that of the primary quaities we have a clear 
 and distinct notion; we know what they 
 ^g% iliough we 'nay be ignorant of their 
 
 X 
 
 I observed, farther, that the notion we 
 bive of prinniy qualities is direct, and not 
 relative only. A rektive notion of a thing, 
 is, strictly speaking, no notion of the thing 
 at all, hut only of some rektion which it 
 ;bear8 to something else. 
 
 Thus, gravity aometimes signifies the tend- 
 ency of bodies towards the earth ; some- 
 times it signifies the cause of that tendency. 
 When it means the first, I have a direct 
 and distinct notion of giamty ; I see it, and 
 feel it, and know perfectly what it is ; hut 
 tbia tendency must have a cause. We give 
 the same name to the cause ; and that cause 
 ■ been an object of thought and of specii- 
 ' , Now, what notion have we of this 
 
 when we think and reason about it ? 
 
 It is evident we think of it as an unknown 
 cause, of a known effect. This is a relative 
 notion ; and it must be obscure, because it 
 
 fives us. no conception of what the thing is, 
 nt of what relation it hears to something 
 else. Every relation which a thing un- 
 known bears to something that is known, 
 nay give a relative notion of it ; and there 
 are many objects of thought and of dis- 
 course of which our faculties can give no 
 better than a rehitive notion. |237] 
 
 Having piemised these thin^ ioexpkin 
 what is meant by a rektive notion, it is evi- 
 dent that our notion of primary qualities is 
 net of this kind ; we know what they are, 
 and not barely what rektion they bimr to 
 something else. 
 
 It is otnerwise with secondary qualities. 
 If you ask me, what is that quality or mo- 
 dification in a rose which I call its smell, I 
 .■a aA a loea. to anawer ■directly. Upon re- 
 'ieetlon, I 'find, tliat I bave^ a distinct notion 
 .of the seoiailien which it produces in my 
 mind. But there can be nothing like to 
 this sensation in the rose, because it is in- 
 
 in ptnmtim sirf iheprmmrp (iiialitict, the objective 
 
 ■l«--p«mi'nrt|M)iMisni'i«..«l>ifttM llie tiit^ieciive dc- 
 
 ^^f^ 1 
 
 mml pftpoitdfTitfi In fcitiatioii «nil the secondary 
 qualitiPt. See Notet II and D ♦ .— H. 
 
 sentient. The quality in the rose is some j 
 thing which occasions the sensation in me j 
 hut what that something is, I know not 
 My senses give me no information upon 
 thk point. The only notion, therefore, my 
 senses give is this— that smell in the rose isl 
 an unknown quality or modification, whichl 
 is the cause or occasion of a sensation whicht 
 I know well. The rektion which this un- \ 
 known quality bears to the sensation with 
 which nature hath connected it, is all I learn 
 from the sense of smelling; but this is 
 evidently a rektive notion. The same rea- 
 soning will apply to every secondary quality. 
 Thus, I think it appears that there is a 
 real foundation for the distinction of pri- 
 mary from secondary qualities; and that 
 they are distinguished by this— t hat of the 
 prunary w e have by our senses a"3ire ct. a^d ^^^ 
 distinct notion ; but of tFe secondary on^y ^^^ 
 a relativeTiotJoiij which must, l.ecaiise itjs ^ 
 only relative, he ol)s'curc ; th«y aro^g- / 
 ceived only as the mikn<nv n t-auscs or occa- 
 sions of certain sensations with which jye 
 a r ewell acquainted . 
 
 fhe account 1 Lave given of this distinc- 
 tion is founded upon no hypothesis. [238] 
 Whether our notions of primary qualities 
 are direct and distinct, those of the se- 
 condary relative and obscure, is a matter 
 of fact, of which every man may have cer- 
 tain kmiwledge by attentive reflection upon 
 them. To this reflection I api>eal, as the 
 proper test of what has been advanced, and 
 proceed to make some reflections on this 
 subject ^ 
 
 !• The prim ary qu alities a re neither sens- 
 fttions^ nor aifthey rf««"^hlances of sens- 
 ations. Tliis appears to me self-evident. 
 I liave a clear and distinct notion of each of 
 the primary qualities. I have a clear and 
 distinct notion of sensation. I can com- 
 pare the one with the other ; and, when I 
 do so, I am not able to discern a resembling 
 feature. Sensation is the act or the feeling 
 (I dispute not which) of a sentient being. 
 Figure, divisibility, solidity, are neither 
 acts nor feelings. Sensation supposes a 
 sentient being as its subject ; for a sensa- 
 tion that is not felt by some sentient being, 
 m an absurdity. Figure and divisibility 
 supposes a subj'cct that is figured and divi- 
 sible, but not a subject that is sentient ^ 
 2. '^siaxe-no reason to Jhiuk that^aoy^ 
 ol|h.C secondary' qijaj^tiea resemble any se;is- 
 ^§00. The absurdity of this notion has^ 
 been clearly shewn by Des Cartes, Locke, 
 and many modern philosophers. It was a 
 tenet of the ancient philosophy, and is still 
 by many imputed to the vulgar, but only as 
 a vulgar error. It is too evident to need 
 proof, that the vibrations of a sounding 
 body do not resemble the sensation of sound, 
 nor the efiluvk of an odorous body the sens- 
 ation of smell. 
 
 ( 237, 2381 
 
 h 
 
 \ 
 
 ^ 3. The distinctness of our notions of pri- 
 
 "'^'^niary qualities prevents all questions and 
 disputes about their nature. There are no 
 different opinions about the nature of ex- 
 tension, figure, or motion, or the nature of 
 any primary quality. Their nature is man- 
 ifest to our senses, and cannot be unknown 
 to any man, or mistaken by him, though 
 their causes may admit of dispute. [239] 
 The primary qualities are the object of 
 the mathematical sciences; and the dis- 
 tinctness of our notions of them enables 
 us to reason demonstratively about them to 
 a great extent. Their various modifications 
 are precisely defined in the imagination, and 
 thereby capable of being compared, and their 
 relations determined with precision and cer- 
 tainty. 
 
 It is not so with secondary qualities. 
 
 '^ Their nature not being manifest to the sense, 
 may be a subject of dispute. Our feeling 
 
 ^ informs us that the fire is hot ; but it does 
 not inform us what that heat of the fire is. 
 But does it not appear a contradiction, to 
 say we know that the fire is hot, but we 
 know not what that heat is ? I answer, 
 there is the same ai)pea ranee of contradic- 
 tion ui many things that must be granted. 
 We know that wine has an inebriating qua- 
 lity ; but we know not what that quality is. 
 It is true, indeed, that, if we had not some 
 notion of what is meant by the heat of fire, 
 and by an inebriating quality, we could 
 afiirm nothing of either with understand- 
 ing. We have a notion of both ; but it -is 
 only a rektive notion. We know that they 
 are the causes of certain known effects. 
 ^^ 4. The nature of secondary qualities is a 
 proper subject of philosophical disquisition ; 
 and in this philosophy has made some pro- 
 gress. It has been discovered, that the 
 sensation of smell is occasioned by the 
 efiiuvia of bodies; that of sound by their 
 vibration. The disposition of bodies to re- 
 flect a particular kind of light, occasions the 
 sensation of colour. Very curious dis- 
 coveries have been made of the nature of 
 heat, and an ample field of discovery in 
 these sulijects remains. 
 
 5. Wg^Tn.gy rpp why the sensations be- 
 ImigtUg fn spf'»n<^nry qimlitifts arfi an object 
 
 ^ of ou r at^fintioinii ^Y<^^ iyw^Rt^ whiph belong 
 
 tojjigjuauiaaLa£om>t , , , 
 
 The fii^t are not only sipns of t he ob- 
 ject p^rceived^ but they bear a capital part 
 in_th£jiotipa we foTpj jof _it. [240] We 
 ^' conceive it only as that which occasions such 
 aEensation, and therefore cannot reflect 
 upon it without thinking of the sensation 
 which it occasions : we have no other mark 
 whereby to distinguish it. The thought of 
 a secondary quality, therefore, always car- 
 ries us back to the sensation which it pro- 
 duces. We give the same name to both, 
 and are apt to confound them together. 
 r«39-2in 
 
 But, ha>'ing a clear and distinct conception 
 of primary qualities, we have no need, when 
 we think of them, to recall their sensntionp;' *" 
 When a primary quality is perceived, the ' 
 sensation immediately leads our thought to 
 the quality signified by it, and is itself for-] 
 got. We have no occasion afterwards to 
 reflect upon it ; and so we come to be aai-^ 
 little acquainted with it as if we had never 
 felt it This is the case with the sensations 
 of all primary qualities, when they are not 
 so painful or pleasant as to draw our atten- 
 tion. 
 
 When a man moves his hand rudely 
 against a pointed hard body, he feels paui, 
 and may easily be persuaded that this pain 
 is a sensation, and that there is nothing 
 resembling it in the hard body ; at the j-anie 
 time, he perceives the body to be hard and 
 pointed, and he knows that these qualities 
 belong to the body only. In this case, it is 
 easy to distinguish what he feels from what 
 he perceives. 
 
 Let him again touch the pointed body 
 gently, so as to give him no pain ; and now 
 you can hardly persuade him that he feels 
 anything but the figure and hardness of the 
 body : so difficult it is to attend to the sens- 
 ations belonging to primary qualities, when 
 they are neither pleasant nor painful. They 
 carry the thought to the external object, 
 and immedktely disappear and are forgot. 
 Nature intended them only as signs ; and 
 when they have served that purpose they 
 vanish. 
 
 We are now to consider the opinions 
 both of the vulgar and of philosophers upon 
 this subject. [241] As to the former, it 
 is not to be expected that they should make 
 distinctions which have no connection with 
 the common affairs of life; they do not, 
 therefore, distinguish the primary from the 
 secondary qualities, but speak of both as 
 being equally qualities of the external ob- 
 ject Of the primary qualities they have a 
 distinct notion, as they are immediately and 
 distinctly, perceived by the senses ; of the 
 secondary, their notions, as I apprehend, 
 are confused and indistinct, rather than 
 erroneous. A secondary quality is the 
 unknown cause or occasion of a well-known 
 effect; and the same name is common to 
 the cause and the effect. Now, to dis- 
 tinguish clearly the different ingredients of a 
 complex notion, and, at the same time, the 
 different meanings of an ambiguous word, 
 is the work of a philosopher ; and is not 
 to be expected of the vulgar, when their 
 occasions'do not require it. 
 
 I grant, therefore, that the notion which 
 the vulgar have of secondary qualities, is 
 indistinct and inaccurate. But there seems 
 to be a contradiction between the vulgar 
 and the philosopher upon this subject, and 
 each charges the other with a gross ah- 
 
r' 
 
 siir 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTDAL POWER?. 
 
 I ISHAT II t 
 
 oiiAP. jcirii.] OF THE OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 317 
 
 midilj. 'rii«\viik«f wiy, ttiAt fiw fa hot, I 
 aaaiiMiw cold, ind nigar sweet; aod that 
 to deny tMs ia a froBa absardity, and oon- 
 
 liMieta tlio testiminy of our wrnxmrn. The 
 lihiliiMpher imys, that heat, and eold, and 
 niMtiiiifls, are nothing but senaations in 
 
 x- our minds ; and it ia absurd to conceive 
 thattheae aenaations are in the fire, or in 
 tho mow, or ui the sugar. 
 
 I heliere thfa contradiction, between the 
 
 ^ Yulgar and tlie philosopher, ia more apparent 
 than real ; and that it is owing to au abuse 
 of language on the part of the philosopher, 
 and toinSaiiniil notions on the part of the 
 ▼nlgpw. Hbm philosopher says, there ia no 
 heat in the ire, meaning that the fire has 
 not the aenaation of heat. His meaning is 
 
 -^iat; and the vulgar will wmm with him, 
 aa soon as they underala&C hfa meaning: 
 But his language u improper ; for there is 
 mally a quality in the fire, of which the 
 
 roper lanM fa hiat ; and the name of heat 
 glfen to this quality, both by philosophers 
 and by the vulgar, much more frequently tlian 
 to the sensation of heal [242] Thisspetch 
 of the pliiliNfi|ih«r|, tliifafore, fa mmnt by 
 Mm. hi one mmm% it fa 'tilmi hy the vulgar 
 In another sensa In the tense in which 
 they take it, it fa indeed absurd, and so 
 they hold it to be. In the sense in which 
 he means it, it fa true ; and the vulgar, as 
 aoon as they are made to understand that 
 ■ense, will aohnowledge it to be true. They 
 know, as well as the philoaopher, that the 
 fire does not feel heat : and tliw fa all that 
 Iw means by aajing there fa no heat in the 
 
 In the opinions of phEoaophera about 
 
 nrimarv and wwiiiiiiarf flmalf#^i there have 
 heen, a» waa before observed, several revo- 
 litionaf They were dfatinguiahed, long be- 
 fore the daya of Ariatotle, by the sect called 
 Atomists : among whom Democritus made 
 a capllal figure. In those times, the name 
 of fwiltlf was applied onljr to those we call 
 lecondaiy qualities; the primary, being con- 
 sidered aa essential to matter, were not 
 called qaalifiM.$ That the atoms, which 
 th«y held to'' be the fi^rst prinoiplea of thines, 
 'iMrv exteiidod, aolid, figured, and movable, 
 there was no doubt ; but the question was, 
 whether they had sumII, taste, and colour ? 
 or, as. it was eoainoiifar expressed, whether 
 th«y had qnalttiea ? The Atomiata main- 
 tained, ihliit they had not ; that the quali- 
 tiea were not in bodies, hut were something 
 rianltuf from the operation of bodies upon 
 oor aeiiaea.f 
 
 • All tliii ambtfultf «m undentood mA ariicu. 
 
 tftdf eitiiW ti'lf 9mMm mm iihew. Jm abim-, 
 imtctsi pp fill«»#3r, aiMl lire U.-H. 
 
 flee %1'te O^-'—E.. 
 
 t The Atoiunili derived the ffrnma^m atlrfliutcf 
 fflljllliiiw ItwB Itefiwmeaai/w -H 
 
 I Hiill DwaMtlliit »aiiw»«« I otrtain reri w ob- 
 Jiaitt CiiMi fir tiM m'4 ^ct re diforencti of our 
 
 It would seem tliat, when men began to 
 apeculate upon thfa subject, the primary 
 qualities appeared so clear and manifest 
 tiiat they could entertain no doubt of their 
 exfatenoe wherever matter existed ; but the 
 secondary so obscure that they were at a 
 loaa where to place them. They used this 
 comparison : as fire, which is neither in the 
 flint nor in the steel, is produced by their 
 collision, so those qualities, though not in 
 bodies, are produced by their impufae upon 
 our senses. [243] 
 
 Thfa doctriiie was opposed by Anstotle.* 
 He believed taste and colour to be substan- 
 tial forms of bodies, and that their species, 
 as well as those of figure and motion, are 
 received by the senses. i" 
 
 In believing that what we conunonly 
 call Uut€ and cdour^ fa something really 
 inherent in body, and does not depend upon 
 its being tasted and seen, he followed nature^ 
 But, in believing that our sensations of 
 taste and colour are the forms or species of 
 those qualities received by the senses, he 
 followed hfa own theory, which was an ab- 
 surd fiction.f Des Cartes not only shewed 
 the absurdity of sensible species received by 
 the senses, but gave a more just and more 
 intelligible account of secondary qualities 
 than had been given before. Mr Locke 
 followed hhn, and bestowed much pains 
 upon this subject. He was the first, I 
 think, that gave them the name of secondary 
 qualities,^ which has been very generally 
 adopted. He dbtingui»hed the sensation 
 from the quality in the body, which is the 
 cause or occasion of that sensation, and 
 shewed that there neither is nor can beany 
 similitude between them.§ 
 
 By this account, the senses are acquitted 
 of putting any fallacy upon us ; the sensation 
 is real, and no fallacy ; the quality in the 
 body, which fa the cause or occasion of thfa 
 sensation, is likewise real, though the nature 
 of it fa not manifest to our senses. If we 
 impose upon ourselves, by confounding the 
 censation with the quality that occasions 
 it, thfa fa owing to rash judgment or weak 
 understanding, but not to any false testi- 
 mony of our senses. 
 Thfa account of secondary qualities I take 
 
 Ml Mtiont Thus, In the diflbrent forms, proitloin, 
 and rdstions of atom*", be lought the ground «.f 
 dlfTcrent-c of tastrs, coloura, heat and cold, &c. aet 
 'Iheophrastus De Sentu, % 65 — Ari«totie J)€ Anima, 
 ill 2.— Ga!efi De J?/em<r«<j<— Simpllciua in Phj/i, 
 AmculLlibny$,(. \\\*,h.— \\. 
 
 ♦ ArUiotIr admittett that the doctrine in question 
 vat true, ot colour, taste, &c , as x«t' i>ityumitt Imt 
 not true of them as ««m ivt«jMr. »ee he Anima 
 lii.8.— H. 
 I f This U 1 of really Ai istotle** doctnn.*.— H. 
 
 t Loclte only ga%e a new meaning to old tenm. 
 The Jirrt an«l tccond or the pritnarf/ »nd secondary 
 qualitie* of Aristotle, denoted a distinction timiUir 
 to, but not kdrnlical with, that in question— H. 
 
 I He di<tinguitlied nothing which had not bean 
 more preci>elv discriminated by Aristotle and tht 
 ('artc»ians.— H. 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 [a«, ««] 
 
 Ui be very just; and if Mr Locke had 
 stopped here, he would have left the matter 
 ^ very clear. But he thought it necessary to 
 introduce the theory of ideas, to explain the 
 distinction between primary and secondary 
 v^qualities, and by that means, as I think, 
 perplexed and darkened it. 
 
 C When philosophers speak about ideas, we 
 
 y ««re often at a loss to know what they mean 
 by them, and may be apt to suspect that 
 they are mere fictions, that have no exist- 
 ence. [244] They have told us, that, by the 
 ideas which we have immediately from our 
 senses, they mean our sensations.* These, 
 indeed, are real things, and not fictions. 
 We may, by accurate attention to them, 
 know perfectly their nature ; and, if philo- 
 sophers would keep by this meaning of the 
 word idea, when applied to the objects of 
 sense, they would at least be more intelli- 
 gible. Let us hear how Mr Locke explains 
 the nature of those ideas, when applied to 
 primary and secondary qualities, Book 2, 
 chap 8, § 7, tenth edition. ** To discover 
 the nature of our ideas the better, and to 
 discourse of them intelligibly, it will be con- 
 venient to distinguish them, as they are 
 ideas, or perceptions in our minds, and as 
 they are modifications of matter in the bodies 
 that cause such perceptions in us, that so 
 we may not think (as perhaps usually is 
 done) that they are exactly the images and 
 resemblances of something inherent in the 
 subject ; most of those of sensation being, 
 in the mind, no more the likeness of some- 
 thing exfating without us, than the names 
 that stand for them are the likeness of our 
 ideas, which yet, upon hearing, they are apt 
 to excite in us." . 
 
 This way of distingufahing a thing,/;*', 
 aa what it is ; and, secondly, as what it is 
 not, fa, I apprehend, a very extraordinary 
 way of discovering its nature.-f And if ideas 
 are ideas or perceptions in our minds, and, 
 at the same time, the modifications of mat- 
 ter in the bodies that cause such percep- 
 tions in us, it will be no easy matter to 
 discourse of them intelligibly. 
 
 The discovery of the nature of ideas is 
 carried on in the next section, in a manner 
 no leas extraordinary. *' Whatsoever the 
 mind perceives in itself, or is the immediate 
 object of perception, thought, or under- 
 standing, that I call idea ; and the power 
 to produce any idea in our mind, I call 
 quality of the subject wherein that power 
 aa. Thus, a snowball having the power to 
 produce in us the ideas of white, cold, and 
 round — the powers to produce those ideas 
 
 • The Cartesians, particularly Malebranche, dis. 
 tinguishrd the Idea and the Feeling (sentiment, sctisa- 
 tio./ Of the primarif qualities in their doctrine we 
 have Ideas ; of the secondary, only Feelings.— H. 
 
 t 'I'his and Mime of the following strictures on 
 Locke arv^ruther hyi>etcritical.— H. 
 
 X' 
 
 [244-246J 
 
 in us, as they are in the snowball, I call 
 qualities ; and, as they are sensations, or 
 perceptions in our understandings, I call 
 them idecui ; which ideas, if I speak of 
 them sometimes as in the things themselves, 
 I would be understood to mean those quali- 
 ties in the objects which produce them in 
 us." [245] 
 
 These are the dfatinctions which Mr 
 Locke thought convenient, in order to dis- 
 cover the nature of our ideas of the quali- 
 ties of matter the better, and to discourse 
 of them intelligibly. I believe it will be 
 difficult to find two other paragraphs in the 
 essay so unintelligible. Whether this is to be 
 imputed to the intractable nature of ideas, 
 or to an oscitancy of the author, with which 
 he fa very rarely chargeable, I leave the 
 reader to judge. There are, indeed, seve- 
 ral other passages in the same chapter, in 
 which a like obscurity appears ; but I do 
 not chuse to dwell upon them. The cou- 
 clusion drawn by him from the whole is, 
 that primary and secondary qualities are 
 distinguished by this, that the ideas of the 
 former are resemblances or copies of them, 
 but the ideas of the other are not resem- 
 blances of them. Upon this doctrine, I beg 
 leave to make two observations. 
 
 First, Taking it for granted that, by the 
 ideas of primary and secondary qualities, 
 he means the sensations* they excite in us, 
 I observe that it appears strange, that a 
 sensation should be the idea of a quality hi 
 body, to which it is acknowledged to bear 
 no resemblance- If the sensation of sound 
 be the idea of that vibration of the sound- 
 ing body which occasions it, a surfeit may, 
 for the same reason, be the idea of a feast. 
 
 A second observation is, that, when Mr 
 Locke affirms, that the ideas of primary 
 qualities — that is, the sensations* they raise 
 in us — are resemblances of those qualities, 
 he seems neither to have given due atten- 
 tion to those sensations, nor to the nature 
 of sensation in general. [246] 
 
 Let a man press his hand against a hard 
 body, and let him attend to the sensatioii 
 he feels, excluding from his thought every 
 thing external, even the body that is the 
 cause of his feeling. Thfa abstraction, in- 
 deed, is difficult, and seems to have been 
 little, if at all practised. But it fa not im- 
 possible, and it is evidently the only way to 
 understand the nature of the sensation. A 
 due attention to this sensation will satisfy 
 
 • Here, as formerly, ^vide supra, notes at pp 208, 
 290, &c.,) Reid will insist on giving a more limited 
 meaning to the term Sensation than Locke did, and 
 on criticising him by that imposed meaning 'Ihe 
 Sensation of Locke was equivalent to the Sensation 
 and Perception of Keid. It is to t>e observed that 
 I^cke did not, like the Cartesians, distinguish the 
 Iiiea (corresponding to Reid's Perce()tion) from the 
 Feeling (sentiment, sens tio) corresponding to Reid's 
 Stensalion.— H. 
 
3J^ 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL PO^FERS. 
 
 [essay II 
 
 CHAP, xviii] OF OTHER OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 3J9 
 
 ( 
 
 /^ 
 
 'Um 'thai it u no more lilttr- tiftrdnest in % 
 liody tlum the eeiiaattou of sound m like 
 vibratioii in the soimding body. 
 
 I knmr of no ideu but my eoneeptioiis ; 
 and iny idea, of hardness, in m body, is the 
 TOnoeplion of such a eohesloii. iif its parts 
 as requires .great force to displace them. I 
 have both the conception and beHef of this 
 
 fiiaity in the 'bod^v, at the :saine time that 
 lave the te'Dsation of pain,, by pressing 
 my hand agaiiut it The sensation and 
 perception are closely conjoined by my 
 comtittition ; but I am sure they have no 
 similitude ; I .know no rewMn. why the one 
 should be called the idea of the other, which 
 does not lead us to call every natural effect 
 the idea of its ^cause. 
 
 Neither did Mr Loehegive due attention 
 to the natnre of senaatioii in general, when 
 he affirmed, that the ideas ofprimary qua> 
 Ities^that is, the sensations* excited 
 by them* are resembkinces of those quail- 
 iies. 
 
 That there can he nothing like sensation 
 in an insentient being, or like thought in 
 an unthinking being, is eelf-evident, and 
 has been shewn, to the conviction of all 
 men that think, by Bishop Berkeley ; yet 
 this was unknown to Mr Locke. It is an 
 humbling consideration, that, in subjects of 
 this kind, self-evident truths may be hid 
 flmn tlie eyes of the most ingenious men. 
 Bui we have, withal, this consolation, that, 
 when, once discovered, they shine by their 
 own light : and that light can no more be 
 put out. [2471 
 
 Upon the whole, Mr Locke, in making 
 secondary qualities to be powers in bodies 
 to excite certain sensations in us, has given 
 a just and distinct analysis <if what our 
 .senses discover eeneeming them ; but, in 
 applying the theory of ideas to them and 
 to the primary qualities, he has been led to 
 say thuigs that darken the subject, and that 
 will not bear eiamination. *f 
 
 Bishop Berkeley having adopted, the sen- 
 tlownts common to philosophers^ ooncem- 
 ing the ideas we have by our senses — ^to wit, 
 that they areall sensations — saw more clearly 
 the neecssaiy eonseqnence of this doctrine; 
 whieh i% that 'fhers' is no material world— 
 no qualltiea primmrj or secondary — and, 
 consequently, no foundation for any dis- 
 tinction between, them.!. He exposed the 
 absurdity 'Of a resemhlance between our 
 
 • No ; notSerawtions in Reid't meaning ; but ¥m. 
 
 i9i!|)f|i--41ieliiiiiitifalecliiM!ts we are co'iucioui of in 
 the'fiogttitloiia •f.'HnMb— H. 
 
 1 The CartMiaai di«l not apply the term idem to 
 our «ena«tiQa« of llie aeoondary qualities.-. H. 
 
 I fieaimre* p. lii. note *. I'he mere dittinction 
 orpfffiMrf aulaMoiidary qualities, of perception nnd 
 ■MiMtioni if of no Impoitanoe againit Idealism, if the 
 niiiMiry qualltict at iimmediately perce^fed. (i c aa 
 kiiowu to conaciouaneat,) be only concept iont, no. 
 Um*St or modircationa of mind itielt. See following 
 Nmc— .R 
 
 sensations and any quality, primary or 
 secondary, of a substance that is supposed 
 to be insentient. Indeed, if it is granted 
 that the senses have no other office but to 
 furnish us with sensations, it will be found 
 impossible to make any distinction between 
 primary and secondary qualities, or even to 
 maintain the existence of a material world. 
 
 From the account I have given of the 
 various revolutions in the opinions of philo- 
 sophers about primary and secondary qua- 
 lities, I think it appears that all the dark- 
 ness and intricacy that thinking men have 
 found in this subject, and the errors they 
 have fallen into, have been owing to the 
 difficulty of distinguishing clearly sensa- 
 tion from perception — what we feel from 
 what we perceive. _ 
 
 The external senses have a double proT 
 vince — to make us feel, and to make us 
 perceive. They furnish us with a variety 
 of sensations, some pleasant, others painful^ 
 and others indifferent ; at the same time, 
 the^ give us a conception and an invincibb 
 behef of the existence of external objects. 
 This conception of external objects is tl 
 work of nature. The belief of their exist- 
 ence, which our senses give, is the work of 
 nature; so likewise is the sensation that 
 accompanies it. T hia_ conception and, be- 
 lief which nature produpea by n^eft nsofd 
 senses, we cail perception.' [248]^ 
 feeling whieh goes along with the percyp - 
 ^LonyVfe call sensntton. THe perception and jk 
 its correspondi:)^ seiis:itl bn are produced a t 
 tTTo sa I M e time. In our ex perience we nev yr 
 find them disjoined. Hence, we are led to 
 consider them as one thing, to give them 
 one name, and to confound their different 
 attributes. It becomes very difficult to 
 separate them in thouglit, to attend to each 
 by itself, and to attribute nothing to it 
 which belongs to the other. 
 
 To do this, requires a degree of attention 
 to what passes in our own minds, and a 
 talent of distinguishing things that differ, 
 which is not to be expected in the vulgar, 
 and is even rarely found in philosophers ; 
 BO that the progress made in a just analysis 
 of the operations of our senses has been 
 very slow. The hypothesis of ideas, so 
 generally adopted, hath, as I apprehend, 
 greatly retarded this progress, and we might 
 hope for a quicker advance, if phUosophers 
 could so iar humble themselves as to be- 
 lieve that, in every branch of the philosophy 
 of nature, the productions of human fancy 
 and conjecture will be found to be dross ; 
 and that the only pure metal that will en- 
 dure the test, is what is discovered by 
 patient ol^servation and chaste inductioiu 
 
 * U the coneqpHtm, like the bditA tie aubjecttve 
 in perception, we have no reftige.fhim Idealism in 
 Ihiadictrine. See above, thenoteaai ifk 13^130, 
 183. «&, and Note C — H. 
 
 [247, 248] 
 
 / 
 
 V 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 OF OTHER OBJECTS OP PKECBPTION. 
 
 Besides primary and secondary qualities 
 of bodies, there are many other immediate 
 objects of perception. Without pretending 
 to a complete enumeration, I think they 
 mostly fall under one or other of the follow- 
 ing, classes. Isf, Certain states or condi- 
 tions of our own bodies. 2d, Mechanical 
 powers or forces. 3</, Chemical powers. 
 4/A, Medical powers of virtues. 5th, Vege- 
 table and animal powers. [249] 
 
 That we p erceive certai n disorders in our 
 own bodiesbymeans of uneasy sensations, 
 wHich nature natlTconjoined with theuij^wril 
 not be d isputed. Of this land areloofliaclie, 
 headache, gout, and every distemper and 
 hurt which we feel. The notions which 
 our sense gives of these, have a strong 
 analogy to our notions of secondary qualities. 
 Both are similarly compounded, and may 
 be sunilarly resolved, and they give light to 
 each other. 
 
 In the toothach e, for instance, there_ is, 
 J^f,. a painful feehng ; and, seco7idly, a 
 conception and belief of some disorder in 
 the tooth, which is believed to be the cause 
 pf-the uneasy feeling,* The first of these 
 is a sensation, the second is perception ; 
 for it includes a conception a,nd. belief of an 
 external object. But these two things, 
 though of different natures, are so con- 
 stantly conjoined in our experience and in 
 our imagination, that we consider them as 
 one. We give the same name to both ; for 
 the toothache is the proper name of the 
 pain we feel ; and it is the proper name of 
 the disorder in the tooth which causes that 
 pain. If it should be made a question 
 whether the toothache be in the mind that 
 ^els it, or in the tooth that is affected, 
 much might be said on both sides, while it 
 is not observed that the word has two mean- 
 ings.*!- But a little reflection satisfies us, 
 I that the pain is in the mind, and the dis- . 
 I order in the tooth. If some philosopher 
 should pretend to have made the discovery 
 that the toothache, the gout, the headache, 
 are only sensations in the mind, and that 
 it is a vulgar error to conceive that they 
 are distempers of the body, he might defend 
 his system in the same manner as those 
 who affirm that there is no sound, nor 
 colour, nor taste in bodies, defend that para- 
 dox. But both these systems, like most 
 
 * There it no such perception, jrroperly so called. 
 The cognition is merely an inference from the 
 feeling; and its«objcct, at least, only some hypothe. 
 tical reprf scntation of a really ii/rwtutn quid. Here 
 the subjective element preponderatea so greatly as 
 almo&t to extinguish the objective — ". 
 
 f Thin is not correct. See rfbove, p. 2 5, col. b 
 note'*', and Note D.— H. 
 
 [249, 250] 
 
 paradoxes, will be found to be only an abus? 
 of words. 
 
 We say that we feci the t oothaehe, nnt 
 t hat we perceive it. On the other b_anHj_w.> 
 say that we perceive the polonr rif_n hni]y^ 
 not thatjvfi.feeJLiJLJUajQLaJQy.ieaspn^ 
 fojL.Ulis difference of phraseology ? [260] 
 In answer to this question, I apprehend 
 that, both when we feel the t oothache and 
 
 when we se eacojjouredjjodyj tHerejs^en^a- 
 tion a nd perceptio n conjoined. But, in the 
 itbbthaclie, tlie sensation being very painful, 
 engrosses "the attention ; and therefore we 
 speak of it as If it were"'felt only, and not 
 perceived : whereas, in seehig a coloured 
 body, the sensation is indifferent, and draws 
 no attention. The quality in the body, 
 which we call its colour, is the only object 
 of attention ; and therefore we speak of it 
 as if it were perceived and not felt. Though 
 all philosophers agree that, in seeing colour 
 there is sensation, it is not easy to persuade 
 tlie vulgar that, in seeing a coloured body, 
 when the light is not too strong nor the 
 eye inflamed, they have any sensation or 
 feeling at all. 
 
 There are some sensations, which, thought 
 they are very often felt, are never attended 
 to, nor reflected upon. We have no con- 
 ception of them ; and, therefore, in language 
 there is neither any name for them, nor 
 any form of speech that supposes their 
 existence. Such are the sensations of colour, 
 and of all primary qualities ; and, therefore, 
 those quaUties are said to be perceived, but 
 not to be felt. Taste and smell, and heat 
 and cold, have sensations that are often 
 agreeable or disagreeable, in such a degree 
 as to draw our attention; and they arc 
 sometimes said to be felt, and sometimes to 
 be perceived. When disorders of the body 
 occasion very acute pain, the uneasy sensa- 
 ation engrosses the attention, and they are 
 said to be felt, not to be perceived.* _J 
 
 There is another question relating to 
 phraseology, which this subject suggests. 
 A man says, he feels pain in such a parti- 
 cukr part of his body ; in his toe for ui- 
 str. nee. Now, reason assures us that pain 
 being a sensation, can only be in the sen- 
 tient being, as its subject — that is, in the 
 mind. And, though philosophers have dis- 
 puted much about the place of the mind ; 
 yet none of them ever placed it in the toe.-|- 
 
 • As already repeatedly observed, the objective 
 element (perception) and the subjective element 
 (feeling, sensation) are always in the inveri>c mtio 
 of each other. This is a law of which Keid and the 
 philosophers were not aware. — H. 
 
 t Not m the ioc exclusively. But, both in ancient 
 and modern times, the opinion has been held that 
 the mind has as much a local presence in the toe as m 
 the head. 'J he doctrine, indeed, Jonggenerally main- 
 tained was, that, in relation to the body, tfie soulis all 
 in the whole, and all in every jyart. On the question of 
 the seat of the soul, which has been marvellously 
 perplexed, I cannot enter. I shall only say, in gene- 
 ral, that the first condition of tlie possibility of ac 
 
320 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I BhSAi E*. 
 
 What iluiU we mj then iii this mm f Do 
 
 helieve m 'tMiif whieh mat tmmm determines 
 to be imiNnsiEle ? |2M1 I answer, Jfr«l, 
 Tlmt, whemiiiiaii says he has pain in his toe, 
 i» ii jierfeelly mnilefstood, both by himself 
 ami mm vbO' Itear him. This is all that 
 he iffilMida. He really feels what he and 
 all men caU m fiain in the toe ; and there is 
 no deeeptloii in the matter. Whether, 
 therefom, there be any impropriety in the 
 phrase or net, is of no eonseqnence in com- 
 mon life. It answers all the ends of speech, 
 both to the speaker and the hearers. 
 
 In all knguagea then are phrases which 
 liave a distinct meaning | while, at tlie 
 •ame time, there may be lomething in the 
 •tmeture of them that disagrees with the 
 analogy of pamnar or with the principles 
 of pbtUMioflqr. And the reason is, beeauae 
 kiiifiiaga^ is not made either by gramma- 
 ;ig|alla or philoeophen. Thna,, we speak of 
 iseitng pain, as if pain was something dis- 
 tlnol from Hm foiipg of it We spmk of 
 pain eoniing ^awl going, and removing from 
 one plaee to another. Sneh phniik» are 
 meant by those who use them in a sense 
 
 pUhMopher pnts them into' Us alembic 
 leinees them to their firat piiiwiples, draws 
 out off them a sense that was never meant, 
 and BO imagines that ho has discovered an 
 
 •r»rofth?Tnlg»f. 
 
 I observe, mmn^g. That, when we eon- 
 aider the sensation of pain by itself, with- 
 out any resiiect to its cause, we cannot say 
 with propriety, that the toe is either the 
 phoe or tlie mljeet of it. But it ought to 
 le lemembcicd, that, when we speak of pain 
 in the toe, the sensation is combined in our 
 thought, with the cause of it, which really is 
 III im toe. The cause and the effect are 
 combined in one complex notion, and the 
 same name serves for both. It is the busi- 
 mess of the philosopher to analyse this com- 
 |ilex notion, and to ijive different names to 
 its dSlferent ingredients. He gives the 
 name aipain to tlie sensation only, and the 
 name of duorder to the unknown cause of 
 it» Then it is evident that the disorder 
 only ;is in. the toe, and that it would be an 
 ernir to think, that' 'tho pain is in it. * But 
 wie ought not to ascribe this error to the 
 vulgar, who never made the distinction, and 
 who, nuder the .name of pain, comprehend 
 both the :8enBation. and its caoset.'f* [2fi!il 
 
 inluilif e. or leal iwrceiitioii of external 
 
 lilngMi wliiell 'OUr QMiteioiMnen assures that we pos. 
 
 MM, H tlW' tal " ~ 
 
 connection of the cognitive 
 
 Willi etery pari of the corfioreal orgauum.— 
 
 ^ Oiiif if the toe be coitaUeieil as a mere material 
 maaa, ail*! ifisit nrom an aiiiinaliiii principle— H. 
 
 f 'flMI Ilia fila It where it i> felt is. however, the 
 'dMilmr of CHniiMMi ainia. We only frel in as much 
 
 41 ws .nafe'.s wif ami a pmu % we mhj mm pain m 
 'tiM tot la at ■Mil ai '«• have •u^-b a aanilwr, and in 
 
 Cases sometimes happen, which giva 
 occasion even to the vulgar to distinguish 
 the painful sensation from the disorder 
 which is the cause of it. A man who has had 
 his leg cut off, many years after feels pain 
 in a toe of that leg. The toe has now no 
 existence ; and he perceives easily, that the 
 toe can neither be the place nor the subject 
 of the pain which he feels ; yet it is the 
 same feeling he used to have from a hurt 
 in the %ae ; and, if he did not know that his 
 leg was cut off, it would give him the same 
 immediate conviction of some hurt or dis- 
 order in the toe.* 
 
 The same ph^nipjiiifiJliQn m ay lead the 
 pliilo8<»pher, in all cases^^to disUnguislL aeufi- 
 atioH from_perceptipn. .We say^ that the 
 man had AjdeculXiil fefiUag»ji^:hsniLe-£eU. a 
 pain. in. bis toe after the |eg waa cutoff; 
 and we have a true nieaning in Ba^iug iio. 
 But, if we will speak accurately, our seusa- 
 tions cannot be deceitful ; they must be 
 what we feel them to be, and can be no- 
 
 thin|^el#e. Where, then, Hi's the deceit. ?. I 
 
 answe r , it l ies not in the sensation, which 
 is real, hot in the seeming pcrceptlun he 
 had of a disorder m his toe. Tliis percep- 
 tion, which Nature had conjoined with the 
 sensation, was, in tills instance, fallacious. 
 
 The same reasoning may be applied to 
 every phenomenon that can, with propriety, 
 be called a deception of sense. As when 
 one who has the jaundice sees a body 
 yellow, which is really white ;-f or when a 
 man sees an object double, because his 
 eyes are not both directed to it : in these,) j 
 and other like cases, the sensations we have] 
 are real, and the deception is only in tlieU 
 perception which nature lias annexed ton 
 them. i 
 
 Nature has connected i>ujr _percept ion oX 
 external objects with certai n sensations , 
 ir the .sensation is^produced, the corre- 
 sponding perception follows even when there 4^ 
 is no object, and in tliat case is apt to 
 deceive us* [253] In lik e manner^ nature 
 has connec ted our sensations with cert_ain 
 inipr§9siQiia.that.are made upon the nerves 
 and brai n ; and , when the impxeggiqnja 
 made, from whatever cause, .tiis_C2n£- 
 spondiug ^-^nistfrn tr"' l^-^eplinn iminf 
 thatelj: follow. Thus, in the man who feels | 
 pain in his toe after the leg is cut off, the 
 nerve that went to the toe, (lart of which was 
 cut off with the leg, had tlie same impres- 
 sion made upon the remaining part, which, 
 in the natural state of his body, was causeil 
 
 at much as the mind, or sentient priitctple. |iervadea 
 it Wejiutas much feel in the toe as we think in 
 in the head. If (but only if) the latter t>e a vitium 
 mbreptionitt as Kant thinlis, so is the former.— H. 
 
 « I'hU illustration is Ocs Cartes'. If correct, it 
 onl]r shews that the connection of mind with organ, 
 iration extend* finn the centre to the circumference 
 of the nervous ajatem, and is not limited to any 
 pan.— H. 
 
 t Th« man dora not s^ the while bodp at alL— H. 
 
 [251-253] 
 
 CHAP. XVIII.] Q¥ OTHER OBJECTS OF PERCEPTION. 
 
 331 
 
 f by a hurt in the toe : and immediately this 
 
 'i impression is followed by the sensation and 
 
 perception which nature connected with it. " 
 
 Inlik© manner, i f the same impress ions 
 which are madeat present upon my optic 
 nerves l>y _the^bjegts "b elore ip .e, could foe"' 
 made in the dark, I apjjifilie nd that I 
 should have "tlie same sensations and see 
 the same objects which I now see. Theim- 
 pressionsaiia sensations would in SAjch a case 
 b^realj^aud the perception only fallacious.* 
 
 Let us next consider the notions which 
 our senses give us of those attributes of 
 bodies called powers. This is the more 
 necessary, because power seems to imply 
 some activity ; yet we consider body as a 
 dead inactive thing, which does not act, but 
 may be acted upon. 
 
 Of the mechanical powers ascribed to 
 bodies, that which is called their vis insita 
 or inertia^ may first be considered. By 
 this is meant, no more than that bodies 
 never change their state of themselves, 
 either from rest to motion, or from motion 
 to rest, or from one degree of velocity or 
 one direction to another. In order to 
 produce any such change, there must be 
 some force impressed upon them ; and the 
 change produced is precisely proportioned 
 to the force impressed, and in the direction 
 of that force. 
 
 That all bodies have this property, is a 
 matter of fact, which we learn from daily 
 observation, as well as from the most accu- 
 rate experiments.. [254] Now, it seems 
 plain, that this does not imply any activity 
 in body, but rather the contrary. A power 
 in body to change its state, would much 
 rather imjily activity than its continuing in 
 the same state : so that, althoui^h this 
 property of bodies is called their vis insita^ 
 or t>i« inrrlice, it implies no proper activity. 
 
 If we consider, next, the power of gravity, 
 it is a fact that all the bodies of our pla- 
 netary system gravitate towards each other. 
 Tliis has been fully proved by the great 
 Newton. But this gravitation is not con- 
 ceived by that philosopher to be a power 
 inherent in bodies, which they exert of 
 themselves, but a force impressed upon 
 them, to which they must necessarily yield. 
 Whether this force be impressed by some 
 subtile eether, or whether it be impressed by 
 the power of the Supreme Being, or of some 
 subordinate spiritual being, we do not know; 
 but all sound natural philosophy, particu- 
 larly that of Newton, supposes it to be an 
 impressed force, and not inherent in bodies. + 
 
 So that, when bodies gravitate, they do 
 
 ■^1 — ~~~~~ ' — ' — 
 
 • This is a doctrine which cannot be reconciled 
 with that of an intuitive or objective perception. 
 AH here is subjective — H. 
 
 f That all activity supposes an imnuitcrial or spu 
 ritual Agent, is an ancient doctrine. It is, however, 
 only an hyiMthesis.— M. 
 
 [ 254-2.5 G] 
 
 not properly act, but are acted upon : they 
 only yield to an impression that is made 
 upon them. It is common in language to 
 express, by active verbs, many changes in- 
 things wherein they are merely passive : 
 and this way of speaking is used chiefly 
 when the cause of the change is not obvious 
 to sense. Thus we say that a ship sails, 
 when every man of common sense knows 
 that she has no inherent power of motion, 
 and is only driven by wind and tide. In 
 hke manner, when we say that the planets 
 gravitate towards the sun, we mean no more 
 but that, by some unknown power, they are 
 drawn or impelled in that direction. 
 
 What has been said of the power of gra- 
 vitation may be applied to other mechanical 
 powers, such as cohesion, magnetism, elec- 
 twcity ; and no less to chemical and medical 
 powers. By all these, certain effects are 
 produced, upon the application of one body 
 to another. [255] Our senses discover the 
 effect ; but the power is latent. We know 
 there must be a cause of the effect, and we 
 form a relative notion of it from its effect ; and 
 very often the same name is used to signify 
 the unknown cause, and the known effect. 
 
 We ascribe to vegetables the powers of 
 drawing nourishment, growing and multi- 
 plying their kind. Here likewise the effect 
 is manifest, but the cause is latent to sense. 
 These powers, therefore, as well as all the 
 other powers we ascribe to bodies, are un- 
 known causes of certain known effects. It 
 is the business of philosophy to investigate 
 the nature of those powers as far as we are 
 able ; but our senses leave us in the dark. 
 
 We may observe a great similarity in the 
 notions which our senses give us of second- 
 ary qiuilities, of the disorders we feel in our 
 own bodies, and of the various powers of 
 bodies which we have enumerated. They 
 are all obscure and relative notions, being 
 a conception of some unknown cause of a 
 known effect. Their names are, for the 
 most part, common to the effect and to 
 its cause ; and they are a proper subject 
 of philosophical disquisition. They might, 
 therefore, I think, not improperly be called 
 occult qualities. 
 
 This name, indeed, is fallen into disgrace 
 since the time of Des Cartes. It is said to 
 have been used by the Peripatetics to cloak 
 their ignorance, and to stop all inquiry into 
 the nature of those qualities called occvlt. 
 Be it so. Let those answer for this abuse 
 of the word who were guilty of it. To call a 
 thing occult, if we attend to the meaning 
 of the word, is rather modestly to confess 
 ignorance, than to cloak it. It is to point 
 it out as a proper subject for the investiga- 
 tion of philosophers, whose proper business 
 it is to better the condition of humanity, by 
 discovering what was before hid from human 
 knowledge. [2501 
 
riM' Tllli'' IM'T'PI I M*r*TITAI PflWIi'llQ 
 
 [essay lU 
 
 CHAP. XIX. I 
 
 OF MATTER AND OF SPACE. 
 
 323 
 
 W«i© I tliarolbfi to make a divigion of 
 Ili« f laEtitt of bodiea as llioy af pear to our 
 lenaei) I would divide them first into tliose 
 tliat are manifest and those that are oemiL 
 !Rw manifest qualities are those which Mr 
 liodko ealb primary ; such aa Extension, 
 FifQre, Divisihilitj, Motion, Hardness, 
 Softness, Fluidity. The nature of these is 
 manifest even to sense j and the business of 
 the philosopher with regard to them, is not 
 to find out their nature, whkh is well known, 
 lutt 10 dinooirer the effects produced b j their 
 varloua combinations ; and, with refi^ird. to 
 those of them which are not essential to 
 matter, to discover their causes as far as 
 .iM IS abie* 
 
 The second class consists <if occult quali- 
 lies, which may be subdivided into various 
 kinds I as, Jfr«i, the secondary qualities ; 
 'mmnd^, the diioites we feel in our own 
 iwdiesi and, ikmiljf^ all the qualities which 
 we call powers of bcNlie% whether mechani- 
 cal, chemical, medical, auunalyor vegetable; 
 or if there be any other powers not compre* 
 bended under these .heads. Of all these the 
 existence is manifest 'to sense, but the nature 
 is occult ; and here the philosopher has an 
 ample field. 
 
 What is neeenaiy for the conduct of our 
 an^unallife) the 'bountiful Author of Nature 
 |iath made manifest to all men. But tliere 
 are many other choice secrets of Nature, 
 the discovery of which enlarges the power 
 and exalte the state of man. These are left 
 to be diseovMred. by the proper use of our 
 lational powers. They are hid, not that 
 tl^ey may be always concealed from human 
 knowledp, but 'that 'we may be excited to 
 ■eansh for them- This is the proper busi- 
 ness of a philosopher, and it is the glory of 
 a man, and the best reward of his labour, 
 to discover what Nature has thus con- 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 OP MATTBa AND OF SrACX. 
 
 Thx oblecta of 
 
 ties must 
 
 yyt ^ a illP'lf**^"'''' "^^" Wg'^flfi^- t ne names of 
 
 maUi^immmMim^^ W'/,' to the 
 
 suhjjmjM. sc|}sible qualities ; '^"l Hnimy "** 
 aakea wlu|t tUi *Mi'^ is. 
 
 I perceive in a buliarihaU, figure, colour, 
 and motion ; but the bait iTnM figure, nor 
 JhJI colgufj nor motion, nor all these taken 
 
 and colour, and motion. Tliis is a dictate 
 
 of naturek and the belief of all mankind. 
 to. the nature of this somethimr. I am 
 
 . give little aecount of it, b ut 
 
 tt it has t he qnalitieft which our se n ses 
 
 But how do we know that they are qua- 
 lities, and cannot exist without a subject ? 
 I confess I cannot explain how we know 
 that they cannot exist without a subject^ 
 any more than I can explain how we know 
 that they exist We have the information 
 of nature for their existence ; and I think 
 we have the information of nature that they 
 are qualities. 
 
 The belief that figure, motion, and colour 
 m quaUties, and require a subject, must 
 either be a judgment of nature, or it must 
 be discovered by reason, or it must be a 
 prejudice that has no just foundation. There 
 are philosophers who maintain that it is a 
 mere prejudice ; that a body is nothing but 
 a collection of what we call sensible quali- 
 ties ; and that they neither have nor need 
 any subject. This is the opinion of Bishop 
 Berkeley and Mr Hume; and they were 
 led to it by finding that they had not in 
 their minds any idea of substance. [268] 
 It could neither be an idea of sensation nor 
 of reflection. 
 
 But _to nie nothing B<?eras more absurd 
 thusJliat Jheifi^Ufiufl .bfi^xtenfiinn witfeoot 
 an vthing^ extended, or motjon without^any- 
 Ihui^ moved J, jet T~cannot give reasons for 
 my opinion, because it seema to me^seff- 
 
 nature. 
 
 And that it is the belief of all mankind, 
 appears in the structure of all languages ; 
 in which we find adjective nouns used to 
 express sensible qualities. It is well known 
 that every adjective in language must belong 
 to some substantive expressed or under- 
 stood—that is, every qiudity must belong 
 to some subject 
 
 Sensible qualities make so great apart of 
 the furniture of our minds, their kinds are 
 so many, and their number so great, that, 
 if prejudice, and not nature, teach us to 
 ascribe them all to a subject, it must have 
 a great work to perform, which cannot be 
 accomplished in a short time, nor carried 
 on to the same pitch in every individual. 
 We should find not individuals only, but 
 nations and ages, differing from each other 
 In the progress which thb prejudice had 
 made in their sentiments ; but we find no 
 such difference among men. What one man 
 accounts a quality, all men do, and ever did. 
 
 It seems, therefore, to be a judgment oV 
 nature, that the things immediately per- 
 ceived are qualities, which must belong to 
 a subject ; aud all the information that our 
 senses give us about this subject, is, that| 
 it is that to which such quaUties belong. 
 From this it is evident, that our notion of I 
 body or matter, as distinguished from its 
 qualities, is a relative notion;* and I am' 
 
 • Thst it«-our notion af ahiolute body U reUx^tm* 
 Thii it Incorrecilj eiprewwi Wc can know, we can 
 
 [257, S58] 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 afraid it must always be obscure until men 
 have other faculties. [259] 
 
 The philosopher, in this, seems to have 
 no advantage above the vulgar; for, as 
 they perceive colour, and figure, and motion 
 by their senses as well he does, and both 
 are equally certain that there is a subject 
 of those qualities, so the notions which 
 both have of this subject are equally ob- 
 scure. When the pliilosopher calls it a 
 gubstratunif and 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, and solid, and movable. 
 
 The relation which sensible qualities bear 
 to their subject — that is, to body — is not, 
 however, so dark but that it is easily dis- 
 tinguished from all other relations. Every 
 man can distinguish it from the relation 
 of an effect to its cause ; of a mean to its 
 end ; or of a &ign to the thing signified by 
 It. 
 
 I think it requires some ripeness of un- 
 derstatiding to distinguish the qualities of a 
 body from the body. Perhaps this dis- 
 tinction is not made by brutes, nor by in- 
 fants ; and if any one thinks that this dis- 
 tinction is not made by our senses, but by 
 some other power of the mind, I will not 
 dispute this point, provided it be granted 
 that men, when their faculties are ripe, 
 have a natural conviction that sensible qua- 
 lities cannot exist by themselves without 
 some subject to which they belong. 
 
 I think, indeed, that some of the determ- 
 inations we form concerning matter can- 
 not be deduced solely from the testimony 
 of sense, but must be referred to some other 
 source. 
 
 There seems to be nothing more evident 
 than that all bodies must consist of parts ; 
 and that every part of a body is a body, and 
 a distinct being, which may exist without the 
 other parts ; and yet I apprehend this con- 
 clusion is not deduced solely from the testi- 
 mony of sense: for, besides that it is a 
 necessary truth, and, therefore, no object 
 of sense,* there is a limit beyond which we 
 
 conceive, only whnt is relative. Our knowledge of 
 qualities or jihanomena is necessarily relative ; for 
 theve exist only as tliey exist in relation to ourfacuU 
 Uet. 1'he knowledge, or even the conception, of a 
 •utifitance in itself, and apart from any qualities in 
 relation (o, and tht-relore copnisai^le or conceivable 
 by, our minds, involves a contradiction. Of such we 
 can form only a nepative notion ; that is, we can 
 merely conceive it as inconceivable. But to call this ne- 
 gative notion a relative notion, is wrong ; I", because 
 all our (positive) notions are relative , and '£**, because 
 this is Itselfa negative notion — /. e., no notion at all — 
 kiniply because ihere is no niaiion. The same im. 
 proper application of the term relative was also made 
 oyReid when speaking ot the secondary qualities. — H. 
 * It is croilitable to Keid that he perceived that 
 the quality of necessitjf is the criterion which distin- 
 eul^hes native liom advaditioits notions cr judg. 
 men's. He aid not, however, always make the proper 
 Uic of it. Leibniiz has the honour r.f first explicitly 
 enouncing this criterion, and Kant of first fuU} ap< 
 
 [259-261] 
 
 cannot perceive any division of a body. 
 The parts become too snuill to be perceived 
 by our senses ; but we cannot believe that 
 it becomes then incapable of being farther 
 divided, or that such division would make 
 it not to be a body. [260] 
 
 We carry on the division and subdivision] 
 in our thought far beyond the reach of our- 
 senses, and we can find no end to it : nay, 
 I think we plainly discern that there canj 
 be no limit beyond which the division can-i 
 not be carried. j 
 
 For, if there be any limit to this division,} 
 one of two things must necessarily happen :| 
 either we have come by division to a body 
 which is extended, but has no parts, and H 
 absolutely indivisible ; or this body is divi^ 
 sible, but, as soon as it is divided, it become^ 
 no body. Both these positions seem to nio 
 absurd, and one or the other is the neces^ 
 sary consequence of supposing a limit to thd 
 divisibility of matter. I 
 
 On the other hand, if it is admitted that 
 the divisibility of matter has no limit, it 
 will follow that no body can be called one 
 individual substance. You may as well 
 call it two, or twenty, or two hundred. For, 
 when it is divided into parts, every part is 
 a being or substance distinct from all the 
 other parts, and was so even before the di- 
 vision. Any one part may continue to 
 exist, though all the other parts were an- 
 nihilated. 
 
 There is, indeed, a principle long re- 
 ceived as an axiom in metaphysics, which 
 I cannot reconcile to the divisibility of mat- 
 ter ; it is, that every being is one, omtie ens 
 est unnm. By which, I suppose, is meant, 
 that everything that exists must either be 
 one indivisible being, or composed of a de- 
 terminate number of indivisible beings- 
 Thus, an arrty may be divided into regi- 
 ments, a regiment into companies, and a 
 company into men. But here the division 
 has its limit ; for you cannot divide a man 
 without destroying him, because he is an 
 individual; and everything, according to 
 this axiom, must be an individual, or made 
 up of individuals. [26 1 ] 
 
 That this axiom will hold with regard to 
 an army, and with regard to many other 
 things, must be granted ; but I require the 
 evidence of its being applicable to all beings 
 whatsoever. 
 
 Leibnitz, conceiving that all beings must 
 liave this metaphysical unity, was by this 
 led to maintain that matter, and, indeed, 
 the whole uni/erse, is made up of monads — 
 that is, simple and indivisible substances. 
 
 Perhaps, the same apprehension might 
 lead Boscovich into his hypothesis, which 
 seems much more ingenious — to wit, that 
 
 plying it to the phenomena In none has Kanttieen 
 more successful than in ihia under consideratiou.— 
 11. 
 
 Y 2 
 
%4 
 
 UN Iiil!i INl KLLELl UiiL rUWliiRS. 
 
 rBSSAy !!• 
 
 CHAP. XIX.3 
 
 OF MATTER AND OF Sl'ACE. 
 
 325 
 
 instter is «soiii|MMed of a definite number of 
 mitli«iii»tiail points, endowed with certain 
 
 powers of mttsaetion .and mpnlsion. 
 
 ,,|]|*l!| jf.'liili!! R iii 2Sm i ! !iiii i ii Tff''nP"^ m iii uifljui i SS i^ .IP 
 
 .linuL seoms to no 'inora'tenalile than either 
 &lMM«JMMB«ii nw^ T lay much 
 ■tlMS upon the metaphysical axiom, con- 
 sidering ilsorigin. Metaphysicians thought 
 proper to male the attributes common to 
 all heini^ the eubject of a science. It 
 must be a matter of some difficulty to find 
 out such atteiinites; and, aller racking 
 their invention, they have specified three— 
 to wlt| Unity, Verity, and Goodness ; and 
 these, I suppose, have been invented to 
 milie a number, rather than from any clear 
 -•fidsnoe of their' being universal. 
 
 'There are other determinations concern- 
 iBf matter, which, I think, are not solely 
 inMled upon the testimony of sense : such 
 ■a, that it is impossible that two bodies 
 s^yuld occupy the tame place at the same 
 lime I or twt the same body should be in 
 iilnent places at the same thne; or that 
 a body can be moved from one place to 
 
 mediate phMses, either in a stiaight course, 
 or by some circuit. These appear to be 
 neeessary truths, and therefore cannot be 
 onnehliions of our senses ; for our senses 
 'testify only what is, and not wlut must ne- 
 ,«e8sarily 'be^* [MS] 
 
 We are next to consider onr notion of 
 
 _ not .perceived bv an y of o ur senses 
 
 ijriOptter is removed, yet, when we 
 iBij of the primary ^[uahties, space 
 
 i>resents itself as a necessary concomitJ»nt ;f 
 *** jhy^ '^^ neither be extens ion nor mo- 
 
 t ify ^L■g^^yfffcpl W^ JCMP jto rJBion, nor cohesion 
 
 "• ^ * ' ' " yi f > — «i ig iiii, , < , - ■ — 
 
 There are omytwo of onr senses by which 
 the notion of space enters into the mind — 
 
 to wit), tcmeh and sight. If we suppose a 
 nun, to have neither of these senses, I do 
 aot see how he could ever have any concep- 
 tion of speeil: Supposing him to have 
 both, untd he sees or feels other objects, 
 he 'Oaa .have no notion of spaee. It has 
 neither eolour nor ignre to make it an 
 object of sight : it has no tangible quality 
 to make it an object of touch. But other 
 objects of sight and touch cany the notion 
 of ipaee along with them ; and not the 
 .notion only, but the belief of it ; for a body 
 could not exiat. i f 'there' was. mmmmMmoir 
 filn it. It could not moviirtherft.Jiaa 
 m^^ space. _ Its situation, its distance^.. and 
 
 space. 
 
 "" .Bnt^ tiffigii t lifl..iMitiim rf UMii msm 
 
 ^^~i _^„,^^ , 1^— ^^j— .^^^^^^ 
 
 «,8ce'lMtnotfe~H. 
 
 t 'Mm' thav0, p, 12*, mtt f .— H. 
 
 4 rUe iupm, p. HJ3, col. b, notct ♦, f ; and p. 
 
 not to CTiter. at firsts mto the wiii^d, until i^ 
 i8intrQ3lttCfia.hyifeiroi»t.Qbj.ectijQf_8en|^ 
 
 yet, being once introdiired, it rpmairiH in 
 our conception and belief, though the objects 
 which introduced it be removed. We see 
 no absurdity in supposing a body to be an- 
 nihilated ; but the space that contained it 
 remains; and, to suppose that annihilated, 
 seems to be absurd. It is so much allied 
 to nothing or emptiness, that it seems in- 
 capable of annihilation or of creation.* 
 
 Space not only retains a firm hold of our 
 belief, even when we suppose all the objects 
 that introduced it to be annihilated, but it 
 swells to immensity. We can set no limits 
 to it, either of extent or of duration. Hence 
 we call it immense, eternal, immovable, 
 and indestructible. But it is only an im* 
 mense, eternal, immovable, and indestruc- 
 tible void or emptiness. Perhaps we may 
 apply to it what the Peripatetics said of 
 their first matter, that, whatever it is, it is 
 potentially only, not actually. [263] 
 
 When we consider parts of space that 
 have measure and figure, there is nothing 
 we understand better, nothing about which 
 we can reason so clearly, and to so great 
 extent. Extension and figure are circum- 
 scribed parts of space, and are the object of 
 geometry, a science in which human reason 
 has the most ample field, and can go deeper, 
 and with more certainty, than in any other. 
 But, when we attempt to comprehend the 
 whole of space, and to trace it to its origin, 
 we lose ourselves in the search. The pro- 
 found speculations of ingenious men upon 
 this subject differ so widely as may lead 
 us to suspect that the line of human under- 
 standing IS too short to reach the bottom 
 of it 
 
 Bishop Berkeley, I think, was the first 
 who observed that the extension, figure, and 
 space, of which we speak in common lan- 
 guage, and of which geometry treats, are 
 originally perceived by the sense of touch 
 only ; but that there is a notion of exten- 
 sion, figure, and space, which may be got 
 by sight, without any aid from touch. To 
 distinguish these, he calls the first tangible 
 extension, tangible figure, and tangible 
 space. The last he calls visible. 
 
 As I think this distinction very import- 
 ant in the philosophy of our senses, I shall 
 adopt the names used by the inventor to 
 express it ; remembering what has been 
 already observed — that space, whether tan- 
 gible or visible, is not so properly an object 
 of sense, as a necessary concomitant of the 
 objects both of sight and touch.f 
 
 • Hit doctrine of ipace it an example of Rcid*! 
 imperfect application of the criterion of necettitjr. 
 SMp. 123, note f. It leemingly required but little ta 
 riee to Kant's view of ihc conception of space, as an 
 m priori or native form of thought— H. 
 
 t See above, p. iSei, notef.— H. 
 
 [«6«, 26S] 
 
 \ 
 
 The reader may likewise be pleased to 
 attend to this, that, when I use the names of 
 tangible and visible space, I do not mean to 
 adopt Bishop Berkeley's opinion, so far as 
 to think that they are really different things, 
 and altogether unlike. I take them to be 
 different conceptions of the same thing; 
 the one very partial, and the other more 
 complete ; but both distinct and just, as far 
 as they reach. [264] 
 
 Thus, when I see a spire at a very great 
 distance, it seems like the point of a bodkin ; 
 there appears no vane at the top, no angles. 
 But, when I view the same object at a small 
 distance, I see a huge pyramid of several 
 angles, with a vane on the top. Neither 
 of these appearances is fallacious. Each of 
 them is what it ought to be, and what it 
 must be, from such an object seen at such 
 different distances. These different appear- 
 ances of the same object may serve to illus- 
 trate the different conceptions of space, 
 according as they are drawn from the in- 
 formation of sight alone, or as they are 
 drawn from the additional information of 
 touch. 
 .#i^Our sight alone^ unaided by touchj_gives 
 a very partial notion of space, but_yet_a, 
 dustinct one. When it is consid^redaccocdr 
 mg to this partial notion, I call it visible 
 space. The sense of touch gives a JBlUfih 
 more complete notion of space; and,. when 
 it is considered according to this. notion^ .1 
 call it tangible space. Perhaps there may 
 he intelligent beings of a higher order, whose 
 conceptions of space are much more com- 
 plete than those we have from both senses. 
 Another sense added to those of sight and 
 touch, might, for what I know, give us con- 
 ceptions of space as different from those we 
 can now attain as tangible space is from 
 visible, and might resolve many knotty 
 points concerning it, which, from the imper- 
 fection of our faculties, we cannot, by any 
 labour, untie. 
 
 Berkeley acknowledges that there is an 
 exact correspondence between the visible 
 figure and magnitude of objects, and the 
 tangible; and that every modification of 
 the one has a modification of the other cor- 
 responding. He acknowledges, likewise, 
 that Nature has established such a con- 
 nection between the visible figure and mag- 
 nitude of an object, and the tangible, that 
 we learn by experience to know the tan- 
 gible figure and magnitude from the visible. 
 And, having been accustomed to do so from 
 infancy, we get the habit of doing it with 
 such facility and quickness that we think 
 we see the tangible figure, magnitude, and 
 distance of bodies, when, in reality, we only 
 collect those tangible qualities from the 
 corresponding visible qualities, which are 
 nat ural sip is of them. [265] 
 
 T'he correspondence and connection which 
 [864-266] 
 
 Berkeley shews to be between the visible 
 figure and magnitude of objects, and their 
 tahgible figure and magnitude, is in some 
 respects very similar to that which we have 
 observed between our sensations and the 
 primary qualities with which they are con- 
 nected. No sooner is the sensation felt, 
 than immediately we have the conception 
 and belief of the corresponding quality. 
 We give no attention to the sensation ; it 
 has not a name ; and it is difficult to per- 
 suade us that there was any such thing. 
 
 In like manner, no sooner is the visible 
 figure and magnitude of an object seen, than 
 immediately we have the conception and 
 belief of the corresponding tangible figure 
 and magnitude. We give no attention to 
 the visible figure and magnitude. It is 
 immediately forgot, as if it had never been 
 perceived ; and it has 110 name in common 
 language ; and, indeed, until Berkeley 
 pointed it out as a subject of speculation, 
 and gave it a name, it had none among 
 philosophers, excepting in one instance, 
 relating to the heavenly bodies, which are 
 beyond the reach of touch. With regard 
 to them, what Berkeley calls visible magni- 
 tude was, by astronomers, caMed apparent 
 magnitude. 
 
 There is surely an apparent magnitude, 
 and an apparent figure of terrestrial objects, 
 as well as of celestial ; and this is what 
 Berkeley calls their visible figure and mag- 
 nitude. But this was never made an object 
 of thought among philosophers, until that 
 author gave it a name, and observed the 
 correspondence and connection between it 
 and tangible magnitude and figure, and how 
 the mind gets the habit of passing so in- 
 stantaneously from the visible figure as a 
 sign to the tangible figure as the thing 
 signified by it, that the first is perfectly 
 forgot as If it had never been perceived. 
 [266] 
 
 Visible figure, extension, and space, may 
 be made a subject of mathematical specula- 
 tion as well as the tangible. In the visible, 
 we find two dimensions only ; in the tan- 
 gible, three. In the one, magnitude is mea- 
 sured by angles ; in the other, by lines. 
 Every part of visible space bears some pro- 
 portion to the whole; but tangible space 
 being immense, any part of it bears no pro- 
 portion to the whole. 
 
 Such differences in their properties led 
 Bishop Berkeley to think that visible and 
 tangible magnitude and figure are things 
 totally different and dissimilar, and cannot 
 both belong to the same object. 
 
 And upon this dissimilitude is grounded 
 one of the strongest arguments by which his 
 system is supported. For it may be said,* 
 if there be external objects which have a 
 real extension and figure, it must be either 
 tangible extension and figure, or visible, or 
 
Sfaro 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 EE9SAV II. 
 
 CBAP. XX.] 
 
 OF TltE EVIDENCE OF SENSE, &c. 
 
 327 
 
 I ill' 
 
 botli.* Tlie k«t Mpeani absurd ; Bor wa<4 
 it e¥er maintaiuM bj any mini, that tlie 
 ,iaiiie obJMt lias two MBi» of extension and 
 ignn totally di8sini.ilar. Thei e is then only 
 ma of tbo two rmlly in the object ; and the 
 iitli«r must be ideal. But no reason can be 
 aaaigned why the perceptions of one sense 
 shonM be real, while those of another are 
 only Meal ; and he who is persuaded that 
 the objects of sirht are ideas only, has 
 •iinal reason to beUev© so of the objects of 
 touch. 
 
 Thia argument, however, loses all its 
 ime^ if it be true, as was formerly hinted, 
 that visible figure and extension are only a 
 'prtial. eoneqition, and the tangibk figure 
 lani •«liii«ioB, a more' complete conception 
 III Hial f gure and extension which is really 
 in the object f [267] 
 
 It has been proved very fully by Bishop 
 .Butliiiiiy,. 'tlial sight alone, without any aid 
 imii the iiifomiationfl of touch, gives us no 
 faioqition, nor even conception of the dis- 
 tance of any object from the eye. But he 
 ma ;|iiit.awiiiatiiiit this very principle over- 
 tiffiii, "tha afgoinant for his system, taken 
 hmm til* dSerence between visible and 
 tangibk extension and figure. For, sup- 
 
 eing external, objects to oxist, and to have 
 t tangible ext«iistoii:iind figure which we 
 fvroeive, it foUows iimoilitrably, from the 
 pranciple now mentioned^,- that their visible 
 Axtension and figure must be just wliat we 
 see it to be. 
 
 The rules of perspective, and of the pro> 
 joetion of the sphere, which is a branch of 
 iwiqiective, are demonstrable. They sup- 
 
 Cse the existence of external oljlects, which 
 ve a tangible extension and figure ; and, 
 upon that supposition, they demonstrate 
 what mustbe the visibleextension and figure 
 of such objects, when plMed lE such a posi- 
 tion and at such a distance. 
 
 Hence, it is evident that the visible figure 
 and extension of objects is so far from being 
 incompatible with the tangible, that the first 
 is a necessary consequence from the last in 
 beinfrs that see as we do. The correspond- 
 ence iMtwMa them is not arbitrary, like that 
 between words and the tiling they signify, as 
 Berkeley thought ; but it results necessarily 
 from the natum off tha two senses ; and this 
 iQOrteqpoBdiiniso being always found in ex- 
 penenee to be eimtly wliat the rules of per- 
 ■peetive shew that it ought to be if the senses 
 give true information, is an argument of tho 
 truth of both. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 • Or ndmtr. And thii omltlsil iifpotitlMi »• th« 
 IllM, For ndtlwr sight nor timcli gtwe m/uU and 
 4mMMiiiil^immtmn in r,?gard to the real extension 
 ■ai imfft ef Qlicctfc See abote p, m» notes *i 
 Aa mmlBk 'Oolk h» note *.— H. 
 
 t Ir langibte flgtire andextMuiiMi bt only •* a more 
 coiinlate conception," Itc;, It caanoC be a coflnliioii 
 of real flgure and extension.— H. 
 
 OF THE BViniNCB OF SBNSX, AND oP BBLIBf 
 IN GENBRAL. 
 
 Thb intention of nature in the powers 
 which we call the external senses, is evident. 
 They are intended to give us that informa- 
 tion of external objects which the Supreme 
 Being saw to be proper for us in our pre- 
 sent state ; and they give to all raantind 
 the information necessary for life, without 
 reasoning, without any art or investigation 
 on our part. [268] 
 
 The most uninstructed peasant has aa | 
 distinct a conception and as firm a belief/ 
 of the immediate objects of his senses, as 
 the greatest philosopher ; and with this he 
 rests 8atisfi€Ki, giving himself no concern 
 how he came by this conception and belief. 
 But the philosopher is impatient to know 
 how his conception of external objects, and 
 his belief of their existence, is produced. 
 This, I am afraid, is hid in impenetrable 
 diirkness. But where there is no know- 
 ledge, there is the more room for conjecture, 
 and of this, philosophers have always been 
 very liberal. 
 
 The dark cave and shadows of Plato,* the 
 species of Aristotle,t the films of Epicurus, 
 and the ideas and impressions of modern 
 philosophers,^ are the productions of human 
 fancy, successively invented to satisfy the 
 eager desire of knowing how we perceive 
 external objects ; but they are all deficient 
 in the two essential characters of a true and 
 philosophical account of the pl«Bnomeuon i 
 for we neither have any evideace of their 
 existence, nor, if they did exist, can it bo 
 shewn how they would produce perception. 
 It was before observed, that there are 
 two ingredients in thia operation of percep- 
 tion : Ji'Stj the conception or notion of tho 
 object ; and, secondly, the belief of its pre- 
 sent existence. Both are imaccoun table. 
 
 That we can assign no adequate cause of 
 our first conceptions of things, I think, is 
 now acknowledged by the most enlightened 
 philosophera We know that such is our 
 constitution, that in cert.w circumstances 
 we have certain conceptions; but how they 
 are produced we know no more than how 
 we ourselves were produced. [269] 
 
 When we^have ^ot the concept jen of ex« 
 ternal oQecta b^' pur^nse8j_jwe^can ana- 
 lyse them in our thougHt into tKelr sim- 
 ple^ ingredients ; and we can compound 
 those ingredients into various new torina, 
 which the senses nev er presented. Buil t m 
 
 • See p. 262, coL b, note *.«— H. 
 
 f See Note M.—H. . „ . . ^ 
 
 ± By id€a$, a» repcatetUy noticc(>, Reid under 
 
 stiinds always certain reprereiitative eiUilies dmtinci 
 
 rkom the knowing mind. 
 
 [«6T 2ti9l 
 
 Wond^e pewfiTiifimmanJraaginaUon to 
 (mm any CQUceptioiV whose. simpIeTiogre- 
 dients have not been, furnished by nature in a 
 manner unaccountable to our understanding. 
 We have an immediate, conception of the 
 operations of our-oam miuds^ jpin^^d with a 
 a belief of thejx existence ; and ^is..w^ oaH^ 
 consciousness.* But this is only giving a 
 name To fhis" source of our knowledge. It 
 is not a discovery of its cause. In like man- 
 ner, we have,.by our .external, segsesj^^a 
 concept ion of external objects, joi led with a 
 belief of their existence; and this we call 
 perception. But this is only giving a name 
 to anotlier source of our knowledge, without 
 discovering its cause. 
 
 We know that, when certain impressions 
 are made upon our organs, nerves, and 
 I brain, certain corresponding sensations are 
 ! felt, and certain objects are both conceived 
 I and believed to exist. But in this train 
 ' of operations nature works in the dark. 
 ' fWe can neither discover the cause of any 
 ne of them, nor any necessary connection 
 one with another ; and, whether they 
 connected by any necessary tie, or only 
 njoined in our constitution by the will of 
 eaven, we know not.-|- 
 TJlit anv kind of impression upon a body 
 should be the cfficienl cause of sensation, ap- 
 pears very absurd. . Nor can we perceive 
 any necQaaary connection between sensation 
 and the conception uid belief of an external 
 object. For an^thipg we can discover, we 
 might have I won so framed as to have all 
 the sensation-i we na-fr have by our senses, 
 without any impressions upon our organs, 
 j and without lany conception of any external 
 I object. For anything we know, we might 
 have been sC made -as to perceive external 
 objects, without any impressions on bodily 
 organs, and without any of those sensa- 
 tions which invariably accompany percep- 
 tion in our present frame. [270] 
 
 If our conception of external objects be 
 unaccountable, the conviction and belief of 
 their existence, which we get by our senses, 
 is no less so.:^* 
 
 * Here c(m*ciouM7iett is made to consist in concep- 
 tion. But, as ^eid could hardly mean that ten- 
 scioisness conceives (i.e., represents) the operations 
 about which it 'is conversant, and is not intuitively 
 v/ cognisant ot them, ii would seem that he occa>ionally 
 employs conception lor knowletlge. This is of im- 
 portance in expiaiiiitig favourably Reid'suse of the 
 word Concepiioi> in relation to Perception. But then, 
 how vague and vacillating is his language!— 'H. 
 
 t See p. 257, col. b, note ♦.— H. 
 
 $ If an imrnf^diate knowlfdRC of external things— 
 that is, a consctiouaness of the qualities of the non. 
 «S(70— be adinitterd, the I clief of their existence foUows 
 of course. On this Kupposition, therefore, such a 
 iK'lii'f would nM be unaccountable; for it would be 
 accounted for by the tact of the knowledge in which 
 It would i)ece»»|iirily be contained. Our iK'lief, in this 
 case, of the existence of external rbjccfs, would not 
 be more inexplicable than our bcliel that '2 + '^ = 1. 
 In both CA^t It, would be sutTicient to say, tee believe 
 tte4:au*e tr, knf>\W: for lelief h only unafcountable 
 when it is not,' the consequent or concomitant of 
 [270 Qtl] 
 
 Belief, aFsent, conviction, are words 
 which I do Lot think admit of logical defin- 
 ition, because the operation of mind sig- 
 nified by them is perfectly simple, and of 
 its own kind. Nor do they need to be de- 
 fined, because they are common words, and 
 well understood. 
 
 Belief must have an object. ZoiLhe 
 thatjbelieyes must T)elieve something ; and 
 that which he believes, is called the object 
 of his behef. Of this object of his belief, 
 he must have some conception, clear or ob- 
 scure ; for^ although there may_be_the most 
 clear and^ distinct . conception of an jobjejpt 
 without auy. .belief of its existence, there 
 can be no belief without conception. * 
 
 Belief is always expressed in language by 
 a proposition, wherein something is affirmed 
 or denied. This is the form of speech 
 which in all languages is appropriated to 
 that purpose, and without belief there could 
 be neither affirmation nor denial, norshoidd 
 we have any form of words to express 
 either. Belief admits of all degrees, from 
 the slightest suspicion to the fullest assur- 
 ance. These things are so evident to 
 every man that reflects, that it would be 
 abusing the reader's patience to dwell upon 
 them. 
 
 I proceed to observe that there are many 
 operations of mind in which, when we 
 analyse them as far as we are able, we find 
 bel ief to be an essential ingredient. A man 
 cannot be conscious of his own thoughts^ 
 without believing that he thijiks, H^can- 
 not perceive an. object of £ense, withoutjb©- 
 lleving that it exists. f He cannot distinctly 
 remember a past event, withoutrbelieving 
 that it did exist. Belief therefore is an 
 ingredient in consciousness, in perception, 
 and in remembrance. [271] 
 
 Not only in most of our intellectual oper- 
 ations, but in many of the active princi- 
 ples of the human mind, belief enters as an 
 ingredient. Joy and sorrow, hope and 
 fear, imply a belief of good or ill, either pre- 
 sent or in expectation. Esteem, gratitude, 
 pity, and resentment, imply a belief of cer- 
 tain quaUties in theur objects. In every 
 action that is done for an end, there must 
 be a belief of its tendency P- -iiat end. So 
 large a share has belief '^ our intellectual 
 
 knowledge. By this, Iiowever, I do not, of course, 
 mean to tay that knowledge is not in itself marvel- 
 lous and unaccountable. This statement of Keid 
 agdin favours the opinion that his doctrine of percep- 
 tion is not really immediate.— H. 
 
 * Is conception here equivalent to knowkdge or to 
 aioughl^— hi. 
 
 t Mr Stewart (Elem. I., ch.iii., p. 146, and Esgat/s, 
 II., ch. ii., p. 79, sq.) proposes a supplement to 'his 
 doctrine of Heid, in order to explain why we believe 
 in the existence of the qualities of external objecU 
 when they are not the objects of our perception. 
 This belief he holds to be the result of extfertence, m 
 combination with an original principle of our consti- 
 tution, wherebv we are ricki-mined to mieve m tne 
 jwnnoneiKe qf the laws qf uature^—H 
 
ON THE INTELLKCTUAL POWERS. [essav ii. 
 
 3S§ 
 
 botk* The lasl Mmmm abmiid ; nor w»h 
 it ef cr maiEtamed by luiy mia, ttat tlie 
 i atff«i object baa tw© Mnds of extenaion ami 
 iffiire totally JiaBHiiar. Theieiathenoiily 
 me of the two rmlly io the object ; and the 
 other must be ideal. But no reason can be 
 Hritpied why the perceptioiia of one sense 
 Amk be real, while thou® of another are 
 only Meal; and he who is persuaded that 
 ghe objects of sight are ideas only, has 
 •qual reason to believe so of the objects oi 
 
 tcracfa* II .. 
 
 This argmment, however, loses all its 
 iirce, if it be true, as was formerly bmtea, 
 iiat visible figure and extension are only a 
 prtial uoEception, and the Jff^"^^ 
 iMd oxteision a more complete coraenption 
 of that Pgure and extension which la really 
 
 in the object, f 1267] ti:„i,«^ 
 
 It has been proved very fully by Bishop 
 Bufkeley, that sight alone, without any aid 
 from the infofmatioM of touch, gives us no 
 MMoption, nor even conception of the dis- 
 timoe of any object from the eye. But he 
 mi not aware that this very principle over- 
 tmHl th® argument for his system, taken 
 tnm the diference between visible and 
 tamtible extension and figure* For, sup- 
 JSugexternalo^^ 
 llMt twigible «l«nl*J<iMd%J»7!^^^^^ 
 ■mceive' it follows iiimoiwtrably, from the 
 principle now mentioiie<% that their visible 
 eatension and figure must be just what we 
 aee it to be. , 
 
 The rales of perspective, and of the pro- 
 joction of the sphere, which is a branch ot 
 MMpnotlve, are demonstrab e. They sup- 
 ioaethe existence of extetma objects, which 
 faive a twigiblii extension and figure ; and, 
 Hum th«l anfporitlon, they demonstrate 
 wM 'miil be tie vialbleextension and hgure 
 of such objects, when placed in such a posi- 
 tion and at sucii » diatenoe. 
 
 Hence, it in efttiiit that the vii^le figure 
 sni estemion of objecte la so farirom being 
 iMKinpitlble with the tangible, that the first 
 Is ft iiocessary consequence from the last in 
 Imliifathatawiaawodow The corrwpona- 
 oue Mweeii them Is not ,arbiti«ry,^hke that 
 between word* and the thing they signify, as 
 Berkeley thought; but it results necessarily 
 from the nature of the two senses ; and this 
 eomapondeneo being njways found lu ex- 
 psiiiMe to be exactly what the rules olper- 
 ip^ that it ought to be if the mjet 
 
 ^ true information, is an argument of tHe 
 
 'tmth of both. 
 
 • Or mmer. And thiM mmuAjmmmmU tj* 
 
 •ltd ilijf*'***!!"^* *» •»»*® P* **^* "™** * 
 •t If «£ i«r«i.d;a^«i*» bt onlf « a moti 
 
 Sf^Slfpan mtd. extet»«k>n.— H, 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 OF THK XVIDKNCB OF SENSE, AND oF BELIEF 
 IN GENXBAL. 
 
 THEktention of nature in the powert 
 which we call the external senses, is evident. 
 They are intended to give us that informa- 
 tion of external objects which the Supreme 
 Being saw to be proper for us in our pre- 
 sent state; and they give te all mantmd 
 the information necessary for life, without 
 reasoning, without any art or mvestigation 
 on our part. [268] 
 
 The most uniustructed peasant has as 
 
 distinct a conception and as firm a behef ^ 
 
 of the immediate objecto of his senses, as 
 
 the greatest philosopher ; and with this he 
 
 rests satisfied, giving himself no concern 
 
 how he came by this conception and beliet. 
 
 But the philosopher is impatient to know 
 
 how his conception of external objects, and 
 
 his belief of their existence, is produced. 
 
 This, I am afraid, is hid in impenetrable 
 
 darkness. But where there is no know- 
 
 ledge, there is the more room for conjecture, 
 
 and of this, philosophers have always been 
 
 very liberal. * t>i„*„ • ♦!,« 
 
 The dark cave and shadows of Plate, tne 
 species of Ari8totle,t the films of Epicurus, 
 and the ideas and impressions ol modem 
 philosophers,: are the productions of human 
 fancy, successively invented to satisfy the 
 eager desire of knowing how we Perceive 
 external objects ; but they are all dehcient 
 in the two essential characters of a true ana 
 phUosophical account of the pbcDnomenon i 
 for we neither have any evidence of thenr 
 existence, nor, if they did exist, can it be 
 shewn how they would produce perception. 
 It was before observed, that there are 
 iwo ingredients in this operation of percep- 
 tion : Pit, the conception «>*,P«/^J" ,f ™ ' 
 object ; and, secondft/, the behef of its pre- 
 sent existence. Both are unaccountable. 
 
 That we can assign no adequate cause ox 
 our first conceptions of things, I tl""*'' ^ 
 now acknowledged by the most enlightened 
 philosophers. We know that such is our 
 JonsUtution, that in certain circumstances 
 we have certam conceptions; but nowuiey 
 are produced we know no more ^an how 
 we ourselves were produced. IZUyj 
 
 When we have got the conception of ex. 
 ^Sa-^biect^ by oiir_sense8^ .we can ana. 
 
 l^iTthini in our thought into tbeir sim- 
 nfe ingredients; and we can compound 
 tl^se ingredients into various new forms, 
 which the sens es ne>:eorcse nteJ,_Buiit is 
 
 * See ». 862, wl. h, note *.— H. 
 
 rtandi »lwaf» certaiii reiwr»e»Utwi- entiiki di«lii.ci 
 from the li.iowinin.l..d. ^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 111 
 
 OF TirE EVIDENCE OF SFJsSE, &c. 
 
 beyond the power of human imagination to 
 fonn any cgnQeptiont whosa ^simple ingrfir 
 dlents have not been furnished bynatiireina 
 xnanner unaccountable to our understanding. 
 We have^an immediate conception of the 
 o^rations of our-own miutis, joined with a 
 a oelief of their existence ; and tjiiis we caiU 
 con^ijiousness.* But this is only giving a 
 name ToTfhS' source of our knowledge. It 
 is not a discovery of its cause. In like man- 
 ner, we have, by pur_ external senses^ a 
 concept ion of external objects, joined with a 
 belief of their existence ; and this we call 
 percegtipn. But this is only giving a nanTe 
 to another source of our knowledge, without 
 discovering its cause. 
 
 I We know that, when certain impressions 
 
 are made upon our organs, nerves, and 
 
 brain, certain corresponding sensations are 
 
 I felt, and certain objects are both conceived 
 
 ' and believed to exist. But in this train 
 
 of operations nature works in the dark. 
 
 'We can neither discover the cause of any 
 
 one of them, nor any necessary connection 
 
 |of one with another ; and, whether they 
 
 \ lire connected by any necessary tie, or only 
 
 i |Coajoiued in our constitution by the will of 
 
 i|heaven, we know not.-)- 
 
 That any kind of impression upon a body 
 should bQj£e eiEucifin£ cause of £^i)£aCion^ ap- 
 pears very tbauxd. Nor can we perceive 
 any necessary coiinoction between sensation 
 and the conception and belief of an external 
 object. For anytliirg we can discover, we 
 might have been so framed as to have all 
 the sensation i we now have by our senses, 
 without any impressions upon our organs, 
 I and without lany conception of any external 
 I object For,' anything we know, we might 
 have been s^i made as to perceive external 
 objects, witUciut any impressions on bodily 
 organs, andl without any of those sensa- 
 tions which ^^n variably accompany percep- 
 tion in our prjesent frame. [270] 
 
 If our conception of external objects be 
 nnaccountabh^, the conviction and belief of 
 theb existence, which we get by our senses, 
 is no less so.}: 
 
 327 
 
 ♦ Here contcipwtness U made to consist in concep- 
 tion. But, as Keid could hardly mean that con. 
 iCioii«nes8Concei;ves (i.e., represents) the operations 
 about which it 'is conversant, and is not intuitively 
 
 v/ cognisant of them, it would seem that he occasionally 
 employs concoprion lor knowletige. This is of im- 
 portance In expt'aimng favourably Reid's use of the 
 word Conccptiot>/ in relation to Perception. But then, 
 how vague and vacillating is his language!— H. 
 t See p. 5?57, col. b, note *. — H. 
 
 ♦ It an immediate kiiowlfdRC of external things— 
 that is, a comtcilousness of the qualities of the non- 
 ego — be adinitte|d, the Iclief of their existence follows 
 of coumc. Or* this supposition, therefore, such a 
 helicf would not be unaccountable; for it would be 
 accounted for l^y the fact of the knowledge in which 
 It would necessiarily be contained. Our belief, in this 
 case, of the exVsteticc of external cbjects, would not 
 t>e more incxpilicable than our iMJliel that 2 + '2 = 4. 
 Ill both cj«»< fc itv would be sutticient to say, tee believe 
 hecavte vr kno^w.- for l-eliff is only unaccountable 
 When it ia not/ the consequent or concomitant of 
 
 Belief, absent, conviction, are words 
 which I do ' ot think admit of logical defin- 
 ition, becaubtj the operation of mind sig- 
 nified by them is perfectly sunple, and of 
 its own kind. Nor do they need to be de* 
 fined, because they are conmion words, and 
 well understood. 
 
 Beliefmust have an object. For he 
 thatJbeUfives inustl>®I^^y^ s*)inething ; and 
 that which he believes, is called the object 
 of his belief. Of this object of his belief, 
 he must have some conception, clear or ob- 
 scure ; forjalthough there mayjjejhe^ost 
 clear anddlstinct conception of an .object 
 without any belief of its existence, th e r e 
 can be no -belief without_conception.* 
 
 Behef is always expressed in language by 
 a proposition, wherein something is affirmed 
 or denied. This is the form of speech 
 which in all languages is appropriated to 
 that purpose, and without belief there could 
 be neither affirmation nor denial, nor should 
 we have any form of words to express 
 either. Behef admits of all degrees, from 
 the slightest suspicion to the fullest assur- 
 ance. These things are so evident to 
 every man that reflects, that it would be 
 abusing the reader's patience to dwell upon 
 them. 
 
 I proceed to observe that there are many 
 operations of mind in which, when we 
 analyse them as far as we are able, we find 
 belief to be an essential ingredient. A jnau 
 cannot be conscious of hisown thoughts^ 
 without believing that he thinks. He c an - 
 not perceive an object of sense^ without Jbe- 
 Eevingthatit exists, f He cannot distinctly 
 reraeraber a past event, without. beheving 
 that it did exist. Belief therefore is an 
 ingredient in consciousness, in perception, 
 and in remembrance. [271] 
 
 Not only in most of our hitellectual oper- 
 ations, but in many of the active princi- 
 ples of the human mind, belief enters as an 
 ingredient. Joy and sorrow, hope and 
 fear, imply a beUef ofgoodor ill, either pre- 
 sent or in expectation. Esteem, gratitude, 
 pity, and resentment, imply a belief of cer- 
 tain qualities in their objects. In every 
 action that is done for an end, there must 
 be a belief of its tendency to that end. So 
 large a share has beUef in our intellectual 
 
 knowledge. By this, however, 1 do not, of course, 
 mean to tay that knowledge is not in itself marvel- 
 lous and unaccountable. This statement ot Keid 
 again favours the opinion that his doctrine ot percep- 
 tion is not really immediate.— H. 
 
 * Is conception here equivalent to knowledge or to 
 Oiouohtr—H. 
 
 + 'Mr Stewart (Elem. 1., ch.iii., p. Ufi, and hssapg, 
 IL, ch. ii., p. 79, sq.) proposes a supplement to this 
 doctrine of Heid, in order to explain why we believe 
 in the existence of the qualities of external objecU 
 when they are not the objects of our perception. 
 This beliet he holds to be the result of experience, in 
 combination with an original principle ot our constu 
 toiion, wherebv we are ficicrmined to believe m me 
 jHimanence qf'ihe laws of nature.— H 
 
ON THE INTBLLBCTUAL POWBRS. 
 
 [bway n* 
 
 opnliiiiii, in our mAm prinelpks, and In 
 mr aetions ttiemMlTM, that, as ikith in 
 Ihiiga divine h mpriMated at Mie main 
 a|Kring in the life of a Christian, so belief in 
 geneial is tlw: inaia.S|irinf in.tlie life of aman. 
 Thai 'inn iMim h^mm viiat there ia no 
 jnst nonnd to believe, and thereby are led 
 into liittffiil errors, is too evident to be 
 denied. And, on the other hand, that there 
 iml gffOiindB of belief can as Ettle be 
 by any man who is not a perfect 
 •Mpde. ^ 
 
 yff " i|p , .ri... tflUr iiillW lirll * xj fi^WKffiS ..T^iiii TIii'"'™™* 
 
 'fV9r is ajriiid.., olJMitf To believe wlth,- 
 out evidenee Is » weakness whwb every 
 ■Ml is concerned to avoid, and which every 
 to avoid. Nor is it in a man*8 
 
 1 
 
 ;ftiMrto 'believe anythlqg logger than he 
 
 t han,,..dflf i |i bed. Those who never reflected 
 ipiWiiiiie, feel its infliieBMiM.govem:- 
 iif'tiielr'belieC It is the 'IniBiiMiB' of the 
 lo^bian to explain Its nature, and to dis- 
 tilgiilah its various kinds and degrees ; but 
 nan of understanding can judge of it, 
 ■ninonly judges right, when the evi- 
 ls lUrly laid before him, and his 
 mind is ikee Ikom prejudice. A man who 
 knows melhing of m theory of vision may 
 have a good ep; and a man who never 
 ■peenbited about evidence m the abstract 
 IMV liave a good judgment [ 272] 
 
 The common occasions of life lead us to 
 iistuignkh evidenee Into diflmnt kinds, to 
 which we idve .nanes that are well under- 
 ■toed.;. 'SOW as: 'the. evidence of sense^ the 
 iifidtause of memory, the evidence of con- 
 ■eiiliisness, the evidence of testimony, the 
 •tidanee of ajcionsi the evidenee of reason^ 
 la§, Al men of oonnon nnderstandin? 
 ^gne that eaeh of these kinds of evidenee 
 aflnd just ground of belief, and they 
 my gpnarally in the circumstances 
 ■trengtnen or weaken them. 
 
 Philosuphers hsve' eniewmned,. by ana- 
 fasiog the different sorts of evidenee, to 
 JU out some common nature wherein thev 
 all agree^ and thereby to :rednoe them aU 
 le mm, TUs 'was^ 'the aim. of the school- 
 man. m thaur inlneate iiapiites. about the 
 etHetion of trnth. Bes Cartes placed this 
 MlMiiion of trutn m dear amfl. oiitiiMit pet*' 
 eeptioui and hud it down as a luafni, that 
 
 JBiP' aiiiil>i A'lJi' — M— It. mmmMm j|J||||M|||.i|mIiim|||i 'iM{fi|j8 jtJ 'Uli^ M Wl Jlilih' 1 'BT Vk^MPtfaAl Wh' 
 
 to be Ime, Is tme; but ft Is ^cult to 
 knew what he understands by dear and 
 diiHiiel 'pereeption m this maxun. Mr 
 
 Iioeke' pifwed. it in. a. perception of 'the agree- 
 nanl or dlsMsanient of our ideas, 'which 
 pencption is unnediate in mtnitive know- 
 led^ and by the intervention of other ideas 
 
 I mmtm 'that,. :aliieiig|i I ham an I 
 i*iink. • distinct notion of the diffefent 
 
 kinds of evidence above-mentioned, and| 
 perhaps, of some others, which it is unne- 
 cessary here to enumerate, yet I am not 
 able to find any common nature to which 
 they may all be reduced. They seem to 
 me to agree only in this, that tliey are all 
 fitted by Nature to produce belief in the 
 human mind, some of them in the h-gh^t 
 degree, which we call certainty, others in 
 various degrees according to circumstances. 
 
 I shall take it for granted that the evi- 
 dence of sense, when the proper circum- 
 stances concur, is good evidence, and a just 
 ground of belief. My intention in this 
 place is only to compare it with the other 
 kinds that have been mentioned, that we 
 may judge whether it be reducible to any of 
 them, or of a nature peculiar to itself. [273] 
 
 Fir$t^ It seems to be quite different from 
 the evidence of reasoning. All good evi- ■ 
 deuce is commonly called reasonable evi- ' 
 dence, and very justly, because it ought to 
 govern our beU^ as reasonable creatures. 
 And, according to this meanmg, I think the 
 evidence of sense no less reasonable than 
 that of demonstration.* If Nature give 
 us information of things that concern us, 
 by other means than by reasoning, reason 
 itself will direct us to receive that inform- 
 ation with thankfulness, and', to make the « 
 best use of it. 
 
 But, when we speak of the evidence of I 
 reasoning as a particukr kind of evidence, | 
 it means the evidence of pro})ositions that 
 are inferred by reasoning, from propositions 
 already known and believed. Thus, the 
 evidence of the fifth propoJBition of the 
 firat book of Euclid's Elements consists in 
 this, That it is shewn to be tlhe necessary 
 consequence of the axioms, and of the pre- 
 ceding propositions. In all readboniiig, there 
 must be one or more premises! and a con- 
 clusion drawn from them, ^nd the pre- 
 mises are called the reason Why we must 
 believe the conclusion which |we see to fol- 
 low from them. 
 
 That the evidence of sense i is of a diifer- 
 ent kind, needs little proof. 'No man seeks 
 a reason for believing what he* sees or feels 5 
 and, if he did, it would be difficult to find 
 one. But, though he can gi ve no reason 
 for believing his senses, his belief remains 
 as firm as if it were ground^ on demon- 
 stration. I ' 
 
 Many eminent phUosophers, thinking it 
 unreasouable to believe when 'they could not 
 shew a reason, have laboured^ to furnish us 
 with reasons for believing our senses ; but 
 their reasons are very insupcient, and 
 will not bear examination. ther philoso- 
 
 
 OBAP. XX.] 
 
 OF THE EVIDENCE OF SENSE, &c. 
 
 329 
 
 fdiers have shewn very clearly the fallacy 
 of these reasons, and have, as they imagine, 
 discovered invincible reasons against this be* 
 lief ; but they have never been able either 
 to shake it in themselves, or to convince 
 f^ers. [274] The statesman continues to 
 plod, the soldier to fight, and the merchant 
 to export and import, without being in the 
 least moved by the demonstrations that 
 have been offered of the non-existence of 
 those things about which they are so seri- 
 ously employed. And a man may as soon, 
 by reasoning, pull the moon out of her orbit, 
 as destroy the belief of the objects of sense. 
 
 Shall we say, then, that the evidence 
 of sense is the same with that of axioms, 
 or self-evident truths ? I answer. Firsts 
 That, all modern philosophers seem to agree 
 tluit the existence of the objects of sense 
 is not self-evident, because some of them 
 have endeavoured to prove it by subtle rea- 
 soning, others to refute it. Neither of 
 these can consider it as self-evident. 
 
 Secotidlyy I would observe that the word 
 axiom is taken by philosophers in such a 
 sense as that the existence of the objects 
 of sense cannot, with propriety, be called 
 an axiom. They give the name of axiom 
 only to self-evident truths, that are neces- 
 sary, and are not limited to time and place, 
 but must be true at all times and in all 
 places. The truths attested by our senses 
 are not of this kind ; they are contingent, 
 1 and limited to time and place. 
 
 Thus, that one is the half of two, is an 
 axiom. It is equally true at all times and 
 in all places. We perceive, by attending 
 to the proposition itself, that it cannot but 
 be true ; and, therefore, it is called an eter- 
 nal, necessary, and immutj^ble truth. That 
 there is at present a chair 0^ 1 my right hand, 
 and another on my left, is a truth attested 
 by my senses ; but it is noi; necessary, nor 
 eternal, nor immutable. It may not be 
 true next minute ; and, therefore, to call it 
 sn axiom would, I apprehend, be to deviate 
 from the common use of the word. [275] " 
 
 Thirdly, If the word axiom be put to 
 signify every truth which is known imn le- 
 diately, without being deduced from any 
 antecedent truth, then the existence of the 
 objects of sense may be called an axiom ; 
 for my senses give me as immediate con- 
 viction of what they testify, as my under- 
 standing gives of what ia commonly called 
 an axiom. 
 
 There is, no doubt, an analogy between 
 the evidence of sense and the evidence of 
 testimony. Hence, we find, in all lan- 
 guages, the analogical expressions of the 
 testimony of sense, of giving credit to our 
 senses, and the like. But there is a real 
 difference between the two, as well as a 
 similitude. In beUeving upon testimony, 
 we rely upon the authority of a person who 
 [«74-S76] 
 
 testifies ; but we have no such authority for 
 believing our senses. 
 
 Shall we say, then, that this belief is the 
 inspiration of the Almighty ? I think this 
 may be said in a good sense ; for I take it 
 to be the immediate effect of our constitu- 
 tion, which is the work of the Almighty. 
 But, if inspiration be understood to imply 
 a persuasion of its coming from Grod, our 
 belief of the objects of sense is not inspira- 
 tion ; for a man would believe his senses 
 though he had no notion of a Deity. He 
 who is persuaded that he is the workman- 
 ship of God, and that it is a part of his 
 constitution to believe his senses, may 
 think that a good reason to confirm his 
 belief. But he had the belief before he could 
 give this or any other reason for it. 
 
 If we compare the evidence of sense with 
 that of memory, we find a great resem- 
 blance, but still some difference. I remem- 
 ber distinctly to have dined yesterday with 
 such a company. What is thehicaning of 
 this ?. It IS, that I have a distinct con- 
 ception and firm behef of this past event ; 
 not by reasoning, npt by testimony, but 
 immediately from my constitution. And I 
 give the name of memory to that part of 
 my constitution by which I have this kind 
 of conviction of past events. [276] ^ 
 
 I see a chair o n my rig ht hand. What 
 is the, meaning df this ? It is, that Xhave, 
 by my constitution, a distinct conception 
 and firm belief of the present existence of 
 the chair in such a place and iu such a 
 position ; and I give the name of seeing to 
 that part of my constitution by which I 
 have this immediate conviction. The two 
 operations agree in the immediate convic- 
 tion which they give. They agree in this 
 also, that the things beheved are not 
 necessary, but contingent, and limited to 
 time and place. But they differ in two*" 
 respects : — First, That memory has some- 
 thing for its object that did exist in time 
 past ; but the object of sight, and of all the 
 senses, must be something which exists at 
 present ; — and. Secondly, That I see by my 
 eyes, and only when they are directed to 
 the object, and when it is illuminated. But 
 my memory is not limited by any bodily^ 
 organ that I know, nor by light and dark-i 
 ness, though it has its limitations of another 
 kmd.* 
 
 These differences are obvious to all men, 
 and very reasonably lead them to consider 
 seeing and remembering as operations spe- 
 cificaUy different. But the nature of the 
 evidence they give, has a great resemblance. 
 
 ^ ^ , ^^ ■'• 
 
 * There is a more important dlflTcrence than thc«e 
 omitted. In memory, we cannot possibly be con- 
 scious or immediately cognisant of any object beyond 
 the modifications of the ego itself. In perception, (if 
 an immediate perception be allowed,) we must be 
 conscious, or immediately cognisaut, of »omcph»no. 
 menon of the non.ego.'-U. 
 
ON TBS llfriSJLLICTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I ebBay n« 
 
 Jl ..Hhi' 'dMnranM ■wri li. ft MkM Hmm MiinM 
 
 'Hwra^ is lietiraeii liw «fiiiiiiM of 'itiiae and. 
 fiial «f DonseioiiiDiii, wlicli I leaT© the 
 itMor to trace. 
 
 im to tlio opinion tliat vrideiiiie conaiBts 
 la 9k iMKeptiom of tlie agieement or dis> 
 ■greanMnt of ideas, we may liave occasion 
 to ooDfiider it more particularly in another 
 flaoa Here I only observe^ that, when 
 taken in Hie moat iiTOiimlale eenae, it may 
 lie i^idled with, f lofnlety to the evidence of 
 leaaoning, and to the evidence of eome 
 axioms. But I cannot aee how, in any 
 ■enae^ it can bO' applied to the evidanee oif 
 eonteionaness, to the evidence of miUOfy, 
 or to that of the aeoMS. 
 
 When .1 compare the different Icinda of 
 aviiliiioo above-mentioned, I confess, after 
 all|.. ''tiiat.tlw evidence of reaaouing, and tliat 
 of' aono necessary' and selfi^vident troths, 
 aeeina to be the least mysterious and the 
 most perfectly comprehended; and there- 
 .ibre I do not 'tiiink..M itian||0''tlist philoso- 
 nlmni^ ilioiild hav^ endestonred to 'reduce all. 
 nnda of evidence to tieie. [277 ) 
 
 When I see a proposition to be self-evi- 
 dent and neoMaaiy, and that the subject is 
 plainly 'included m the predicate^, theie seems 
 to be nothmg more Hiat I can deaire in order 
 to nnderstand why I believe it. And when 
 I see a consequence that necessarily follows 
 firom. one: or more aetf-eTident fropodtions, I. 
 wantnoliing' more with regard to my belief 
 of ^tliai'eonseq'iience. The light of truth so 
 ilia my mind in these cases, that I can 
 iMttlier conceive :nor desire anythinir more 
 aannflng. 
 
 On tbC' other hand, when. I remember d.is-' 
 tinctly a past event, or see an object before 
 my eyes, this commands my belief no less 
 turn .an. aidonL.. .But 'when, aa a philosopher, 
 I niect 'i|pi tbfa belief, and vrant to trace it 
 •to its origin, I am not able to resolve it into 
 necessary and self-evident axioms, or con- 
 dusions that are necessarily consequent 
 upon them. I seem to want that evidence 
 which I can best comprehend, and which 
 gives perfect satisfaction to an inquisitive 
 mind; yet it is ridiculous to doubt; and I 
 find it is not in. my power. An attempt to 
 throw off this belief is like an attempt to fly, 
 equally ridiculous and impracticable. 
 
 To a philosopher, who has been accus- 
 tomed to think tet tlie treasure of his know- 
 Mge ia tlie acquisition of that reasoning 
 Mwer of which he boasts, it is no doubt 
 numiliating to find that his reason can ky no 
 elaim. to the greater part of it. 
 
 By his reason, be can discover certain 
 abstract and necessary relations of things ; 
 bnt hia linowledge of what really exists, or 
 did exist, comes bv another channel, which 
 is open to those who cannot .rcaaon. .He is 
 led to it in 'the dark, and knows not how he 
 by it, (27»1 
 
 It 18 no wonder that the pride of philo- 
 sophjr should lead some to invent vain 
 theories in order to account for this know- 
 ledge ; and others, who see this to be im* 
 prMtioable, to spurn at a knowledge they 
 cannot account for, and vainly attempt to 
 throw it off as a reproach to their under- 
 standing. But the wise and the humble 
 will reeeive it as the gift of Heaven, and 
 endeavour to make the best use of it. 
 
 vHAxT£R A^l« 
 
 OF Tax IHPnOVXJiXNT OP TBI 8BN8S8. 
 
 Our senses may be considered in two 
 views : fittt^ As they afford us agreeable 
 sensations, or subject us to such as are dis- 
 agreeable ; and, Beemdiy, As they give us 
 mformation of things that concern us. 
 
 In the fird view, they neither require nor 
 admit of improvement. Both the painful 
 and the agreeable sensations of our external 
 senses are given by nature for certain ends ; 
 and they are given in that degree which ia 
 the most proper for their end. By dimin- 
 ishing or increasing them, we should not 
 mend, but mar the work of Nature. 
 
 Bodily pains are mdications of some dis- 
 order or hurt of the body, and admonitions 
 to use the best means in our power to pre- 
 vent or remove their causes. As far as this 
 can be done by temperance, exercise, regi- 
 men, or the skill of the physician, every man 
 hath sufficient inducement to do it. 
 
 When pain cannot be prevented or re- 
 moved, it is greatly alleviated by patience 
 and fortitude of mind. While the mind is 
 superior to pain, the man is not unhappy, 
 though he may be exercised. It leaves no 
 sting behind it, but rather matter of triumph 
 and agreeable reflection, when borne pro- 
 perly, and in a good cause. [279] The 
 Canadians have taught us that even savages 
 may acquire a superiority to the most ex- 
 cruciating pains ; and, in every region of 
 the earth, instances will be found, where a 
 sense of duty, of honour, or even of worldly 
 interest, have triumphed over it- 
 It is evident that nature intended for man, 
 in his present state, a life of labour and 
 toil, wherein he may be occasionally exposed 
 to pain and danger ; and the happiest man 
 is not he wlio has felt least of titose evils, 
 but he whose mind is fitted to bear them by 
 real magnanimity. 
 
 Our active and perceptive powers are 
 improved and perfected by use and exercise. 
 This is the constitution of nature. But, 
 with regard to the agreeable and disagree- 
 able sensations we have by our senses, the 
 very contrary is an established constitution 
 of nature — the frequent repetition of them 
 wejtkens their force. Sensations at first very 
 
 [277-27»"] 
 
 CHAP. XXI.] OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SENSES. 
 
 331 
 
 disagreeable, by use become tolerable, and 
 at latit perfectly indifferent. And those that 
 are at first very agreeable, by frequent re- 
 petition become insipid, and at last, per- 
 haps, give disgust. Nature has set limits 
 to the pleasures of sense, which we cannot 
 pass ; and all studied gratifications of them, 
 as it is mean and unworthy of a man, so it 
 is foolish and fruitless. 
 
 The man who, in eating and drinking, 
 and in other gratifications of sense, obeys 
 the calls of Nature, without affecting deli- 
 cacies and refinements, has all the enjoy- 
 ment that the senses can afford. If one 
 could, by a soft and luxurious life, acquire 
 a more delicate sensibility to pleasure, it 
 must be at the expense of a like sensibility 
 to pain, from whid^ he can never promis^ 
 exemption, and at the expense of cherishing 
 many diseases which produce pain. 
 
 The improvement of our external senses, 
 aa they are the means of giving us informa- 
 tion, is a subject more worthy of our atten- 
 tion ; for, although they are not the noblest 
 and most exalted powers of our nature, yet 
 they are not the least useful. [280] All 
 that we know, or can know, of the material 
 world, must be grounded upon their inform- 
 ation ; and the philosopher, as well as the 
 day-labourer, must be indebted to them for 
 the largest part of his knowledge. 
 
 Some of our perceptions by the senses 
 may be called original, because they require 
 no previous experience or learning ; but 
 the far greatest part is acquired, and the 
 fruit of experience. 
 
 Three of our senses — to wit, smell, taste, 
 and hearing — originally give us only certain 
 sensations, and a conviction that these sensa- 
 tions are occasioned by some external object. 
 We give a name to that quality of the ob- 
 ject 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 ln_t he rose, bx which it J8_fitted. to 
 pfoducfthis sensatiquj we call the smell of 
 the rose. Here it is evident that the sensa- 
 Ifon is original. The perception that the 
 rose has that quality which we call its 
 smell, is. acquired. In like manner, we 
 learn all those qualities in bodies which we 
 call their smell, their taste, their sound. 
 These are all secondary qualities, and we 
 give the same name to them which we give 
 to the sensations they produce; not from 
 any similitude between the sensation and 
 the quality of the same name, but because 
 the quality is signified to us by the sensation 
 as its sign, and because our senses give us 
 no other knowledge of the quality but that 
 it is fit to produce such a seiLsation. 
 
 By the other two senses, we have much 
 more ample information. By sight, we 
 r280-282] -'■■ "*- 
 
 learn to distinguish objects by their colour, 
 in the same manner as by their sound, 
 taste, and smell. By this sense, we perceive 
 visible objects to have extension in two 
 dimensions, to have visible figure and 
 magnitude, and a certain angular distance 
 from one another. These, I conceive, are 
 the original perceptions, of sight. * [28 1 ] 
 
 By touch, we not only perceive the tem- 
 perature ot bodies as^~t6"^ieat an^ cold^ J^ 
 which are secondary qualitiesj^ but we per- 
 ceive originally their three dimensions, t hei r 
 tangible figure and niaguitude, thmrHuear 
 distance from one another, their hardness, 
 softness, or fluidity. These qualities _we 
 originally perceive by touch onlyj butj^by 
 experience, we learn to perceive aH o r m ost - 
 of them by sight. 
 
 We learn to perceive, by one sense, what 
 originally could liaye been j)erceived only 
 Ic^ another, by finding a connection between 
 ine objects of the dmerent senses.^ Hence 
 the original perceptions, or the sensations 
 of one sense become signs of whatever has 
 always been found connected with them; 
 and from the sign, the mind passes imme- 
 diately to the conception and belief of the 
 thing signified. And, although the connec- 
 tion in the mind between the sign and the 
 thing signified by it, be the effect of custom, 
 this custom becomes a second nature, and 
 it is difficult to distinguish it from the ori- 
 ginal power of perception. 
 
 Thus, if a sphere of one uniform colour 
 be set before me, I perceive evidently by my 
 eye its spherical figure and its three dimen- 
 sions. All the world will acknowledge 
 that, by sight only, without touching it, I 
 may be certain that it is a sphere ; yet it 
 is no less certain that, by the original power 
 of sight, I could not perceive it to be a 
 sphere, and to have three dimensions. The ( 
 eye originally could only perceive two di- 1 
 mensitins, and a gradual variation of colour I 
 on the diflereut sides of the object. j 
 
 It is exj)eiience that teaches me that the \ 
 variation of colour is an efl'ect of spherical 
 convexity, and of the distribution of I ght | 
 and shade. But so rapid is the progress of 
 the thought, from the effect to the cause, 
 that we attend only to the last, and can 
 hardly be persuaded that we do not imme- 
 diately see the three dimensions of the 
 sphere. [282] 
 
 Nay, it may be observed, that, in this 
 case, the acquired perception in a manner 
 efl'aces the original one ; for the sphere is 
 seen to be of one uniform colour, though 
 originally there would have appeared a 
 gradual variation of colour. But that ap- 
 
 * Sceaboire, p. 123, col. b, note f, and p. IS5, col. «, 
 
 note *. . . , . u 
 
 i Whether heat, cold, *c., be objects of touch 
 of a different sense, U is not here the I'lare lo inquli 
 
ON THE INTILLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay II. 
 
 'HHint fMintiiMi. 'W9 ham to intariint ma 
 lli«.iilli9l^^iir;iiKiiriiiidtliti4e faUiogupon a 
 ■|tliM« tff mm vnlfonii isoloiir. 
 
 A ipher© may bo painted upon a plane, 
 ■0 exactly, as to be tiiken for a real sphere 
 wiMn tbo tje is at a proper distance and 
 in ibe proper point of view. We say in 
 ibis ease, tbat the eye is deceived, that the 
 •ppeamnce is fallacious. But thereis no 
 
 i^iiM^fiii the ori pn«j,...;iwrceptioii, ¥nt.onfy 
 
 in iiat wfitaili' acq^SJjj^ioni, The 
 
 variation of colour; exKiBaSTto the eye by 
 
 ! He' painter's art, is the same which, nature^ 
 
 exhibits by the different degrees of light 
 
 I Mling upon the convin •wImi of a sphere. 
 
 In perception, whether original or ac- 
 fuivedi there k something which may be 
 «alM iw sign, and something which is 
 i%niied to us, or brought to our knowledge 
 by Miaft' pgn. 
 
 In Ofiginal peroeption, the signs are the 
 
 various sensations which are produced by 
 
 r tlw impressions made upon our organs. The 
 
 ^' Htdag/i .iigniiod, .are^ 'tbo objeets^ perceived 
 
 .in oonsequeuM of those sensations, by the 
 
 nriginal constitution of our nature* 
 
 Thus, when I grasp an ivory ball in my 
 Innd, I have a certain sensation of touch. 
 Although this sensation be in the mind and 
 liave no similitude to anything material, 
 jrel, by the laws of my constitution, it is 
 immediately followed by the conception 
 ■ad belief, that there is in my hand a hard 
 ■HiNitfi body of a spherical figure, and about 
 an toA and a< half in diameter. This belief 
 is grounded neither upon reasoning, nor 
 upon experience ; it is the immediate effect 
 m my constitution, and this 1 call origmal 
 ptneption.* [283] 
 
 In acquired perception, the sign may be 
 either a seMliion, or something originally 
 <^ perceived. The thing signiied, is something 
 which, by experience, has been found con- 
 nected with that sign. 
 
 Thus, when the ivory ball is placed be- 
 fore my eye, I perceive by sight what I 
 before perceived by touch, tliat the ball is 
 amootli, spherical, of such a diameter, and 
 il tQeh a diatanee from the eye ; and to 
 tiiii is added the perception of its colour. 
 Ai ilMie things I perceive by sight, dis- 
 tlnetly and with certainty. Yet it is cer- 
 tain from principles of philosophy, that, if I 
 luid not been accustomed to compare the 
 intemtions of sight with those of touch, 
 I should not have peroelved these things 
 bgr 'iight^ I should, have peroeived a oircu- 
 hup iijeely liaving to eolmir giadually more 
 iiint towards the shaded side. But I should 
 ■Hi bavo perceived it to have three dimen- 
 rions, to be spherical, to be of such a linear 
 Dagnitudeii aiiiatsueh a distance from the 
 qFtk Th«t thaae last mentioned are not 
 
 « 9mititm*, |>w til, d^lK— H. 
 
 original perceptions of eight, but acquired!! 
 by experience, is suflficiently evident fromlf 
 the principles of optics, and from the art oft 
 painters, in painting objects of three dimen-i 
 sions, upon a plane which has only two. 
 And it has been put beyond all doubt, b; 
 observations recorded of several persons, 
 who having, by cataracts in their eyes, 
 been deprived of sight from their infancy, 
 have been couched and made to see, after 
 they came to years of understanding. • 
 
 Those who have had their eyesight from 
 infancv, acquire such perceptions so early 
 that they cannot recollect the time when 
 they had them not, and therefore make no 
 distinction between them and their original 
 perceptions ; nor can they be easily per- 
 suaded that there is any just foundation 
 for such a distinction. [284] In all lan- 
 guages men speak with equal assurance of 
 their seeing objects to be spherical or cubi- 
 cal, as of their feeling them to be so ; nor 
 do they ever dream that these perceptions 
 of sight were not as early and original as 
 the perceptions they have of the same ob- 
 jects by touch. 
 
 This power which we acquire of perceiv- 
 ing things by our senses, which originally 
 we should not liave perceived, is not the 
 effect of any reasoning on our part : it is 
 the result of our constitution, and of the 
 situations in which we happen to be placed. 
 
 We are so made that, when two things 
 are found to be conjoined in certain circum- 
 stances, we are prone to believe that they 
 are connected by nature, and will always bo 
 found together in like circumstances. The 
 belief which we are led into in such cases is 
 not the effect of reasoning, nor does it arise 
 from intuitive evidence in the thing believed ; 
 it is, as I apprehend, the inmiediate effect of 
 our constitution. Accordingly, it is strongest 
 in infancy, before our reasoning power 
 appears— before we are capable of draw- 
 ing a conclusion from premises. A child 
 who has once burnt his finger in a candle, 
 from that single instance connects the pain 
 of burning with putting his finger in the 
 candle, and believes that these two things 
 must go together. It is obvious that this 
 part of our constitution is of very great use 
 before we come to the use of reason, and 
 guards' us from a thousand mischiefs, which, 
 without it, we would rush into ; it may 
 sometimes lead us into error, but the good 
 effects of it far overbalance the ill. 
 
 It is, no doubt, the perfection of a rational 
 being to have no belief but what is grounded 
 on intuitive evidence, or on just reasoning : 
 but man, I apprehend, is not such a being ; 
 nor is it the intention of nature that he 
 should be such a being, m every period of 
 his existence. We come into the world 
 
 * 8tf above* p. 138. note f, and p. 182, note *.— H. 
 
 [283, 284] 
 
 mAw. 1X1.] OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SENSES. 
 
 333 
 
 without the exercise of reason ; we are 
 merely animal before we are rational crea- 
 tures ; and it is neeessary for our preserva- 
 tion, that we should believe many things be- 
 fore we can reason. How then is our belief 
 to be regulated before we have reason to 
 regulate it ? [285] Has nature left it to be 
 regulated by chance ? By no means. It is 
 regulated by certain principles, which are 
 parts of our constitution; whether they 
 ought to be called animal principles, or in- 
 stinctive principles, or what name we give 
 to them, is of small moment ; but they are 
 certainly different from the faculty of rea- 
 son : they do the office of reason while it is 
 in its infancy, and must, as it were, be car- 
 ried in a nurse's arms, and they are leading- 
 strings to it in its gradual progress. 
 
 From what has been said, I think it ap- 
 pears that our original powers of perceiving 
 objects by our senses receive great improve- 
 ment by use and habit ; and without this 
 improvement, would be altogether insuf- 
 ficient for the purposes of life. The daily 
 occurrences of life not only add to our stock 
 of knowledge, but give additional percep- 
 tive powers to our senses ; and time gives 
 us the use of our eyes and ears, as well as 
 of our hands and legs. 
 
 This is the greatest and most important 
 improvement of our external senses. It is 
 to be found in all men come to years of un- 
 derstanding, but it is various in different 
 persons according to their different occupa- 
 tions, and the different circumstances in 
 which they are placed. Every artist re- 
 quires an eye as well as a hand in his own 
 profession ; his eye becomes skilled in per- 
 ceiving, no less than his hand in executing, 
 what belongs to his employment. 
 
 Besides this improvement of our senses, 
 which nature produces without our inten- 
 tion, there are various ways in which they 
 may be improved, or their defects re- 
 medied by art. As, Jirsf, by a due care of 
 the organs of sense, that they be in a sound 
 and natural state. This belongs to the de- 
 partment of the medical faculty. 
 
 Secondly, By accurate attention to the 
 objects of sense. The effects of such atten- 
 tion in improving our senses, appear in every 
 art. The artist, by giving more attention 
 to certain objects than others do, by that 
 means perceives many things in those ob- 
 jects which others do not. [286] Those 
 who happen to be deprived of one sense, 
 frequently supply that defect in a great de- 
 gree, by giving more accurate attention to 
 the objects of the senses they have. The 
 blind have often been known to acquire un- 
 common acuteness in distinguishing things 
 by feeling and hearing ; and the deaf are 
 uncommonly quick in reading me&'s thoughts 
 in their countenance. 
 
 A third way in which our senses admit of 
 
 [285-2871 
 
 improvement, is, by addHional organs, or in- 
 struments contrived by art. By the inven- 
 tion of optical glasses, and the gradual im- 
 provement of them, the natural power of 
 vision is wonderfully improved, and a vast 
 addition made to the stock of knowledge 
 which we acquire by the eye. By speaking- 
 trumpets and ear-trumpets some improve- 
 ment has been made in the sense of hearing. 
 Whether by similar inventions the other 
 senses may be improved, seems uncertain. 
 
 A fourth method by which the informa- 
 tion got by our senses may be improved, is, 
 by discovering the connection which nature 
 hath established between the sensible quaU- 
 ties of objects, and their more latent qualities. 
 
 By the sensible qualities of bodies, I un- 
 derstand those that are perceived immedi- 
 ately by the senses, such as their colour, 
 figure, feeling, sound, taste, smell* The 
 various modifications and various combin> 
 ations of these, are innumerable ; so that 
 there are hardly two individual bodies in 
 Nature that may not be distinguished by 
 their sensible qualities. 
 
 The latent qualities are such as are not 
 immediately discovered by our senses ; but 
 discovered sometimes by accident, some- 
 times by experiment or observation. The 
 most important part of our knowledge of 
 bodies is the knowledge of the latent qua- 
 lities of the several species, by which they 
 are adapted to certain purposes, either for 
 food, or medicine, or agriculture, or for the 
 materials or utensils of some art or manu- 
 facture. [287] 
 
 I am taught that certain species of bodies 
 have certain latent qualities ; but how shall 
 I know that this individual is of such a 
 species ? This must be known by the sen- 
 sible qualities which characterise the species. 
 I must know that this is bread, and that 
 wine, before I eat the one or drmk the 
 other. I must know that this is rhubarb, 
 and that opium, before I use the one or the 
 other for medicine. 
 
 It is one branch of human knowledge to 
 know the names of the various species of 
 natural and artificial bodies, and to know 
 the sensible qualities by which they are 
 ascertained to be of such a species, and by 
 which they are distinguished from one an- 
 other. It is another branch of knowledge 
 to know the latent qualities of the several 
 species, and the uses to which they are 
 subservient. 
 
 The man who possesses both these 
 branches is informed, by his senses, of in- 
 numerable things of real moment which are 
 hid from those who possess only one, or 
 neither. This is an improvement in the 
 information got by our senses, which must 
 keep pace with the improvements made in 
 natural history, in natural philosophy, and 
 in the arts. 
 
'334 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essat II. 
 
 •UAV. jucii] OF THE FALLACY OF THE SENSES. 
 
 335 
 
 It winlii be m imfmwmamt stil biglitr 
 if we w«i» alile to dufcoTer any oonneetion 
 between the wnsible qtialities of bodies and 
 
 tWr .latent fialitiei, witboiit knowing the 
 ■peeies, w^. wlai mmj have been discovered 
 'With ie|Safd/tO''il 
 
 Some philosopheiB, of the firat rate, have 
 made attempts towards thb noble improve- 
 nent,, not without 'ptomising hopes of suc- 
 'Oeia. Thii% the 'Celebtiited LinuaBus lias 
 attempted to point out certain sensible qua- 
 lities by which a pknt may very probably 
 be conclnded to be poisonous without know- 
 ing its name or species. He has given se- 
 -veral other instances, wherein certain medi- 
 eal and economical virtues of plants are 
 indicated by their external appeara!iees. 
 ill" IsaaO' Newton hath attempted to shew 
 thaty from the colours of bodies, we may 
 form a probable conjecture of the size of 
 theur constituent parts, by which the rays 
 nf light are reflected. [ 288] 
 
 No man can pretend to set limits to the 
 discoveries that may be made by human 
 genius and industry, of such connections 
 between the latent and the sensible quali- 
 ties of bodies. A wide field here opens to 
 mm view, whose boundaries no man can 
 aseertain, of improvements that may here- 
 after be made m the mformation conveyed 
 'to US bj our senses. 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 OF THB FALLACY OP THS .SSNSIfl. 
 
 Complaints of the fiilhusy of the senses 
 have been very common in ancient and in 
 
 modem times, especially aming the philo- 
 sophers. And, if we should tahe for granted 
 all that they have said on this subject, the 
 natnral conclusion from it might seem to 
 he, that the senses are given to us by some 
 malignant demon on purpose to delude us, 
 lailier than that they are formed by the 
 wise and beneficent Author of Nature, to 
 give ns true information of things necessary 
 to onr f nMPervatinn and happiness. 
 
 The whole wet of atomists among the 
 aneients, led by Democritus, and aHarwards 
 by Bpiairus, maintained that all the quali- 
 tiea of bodies^ wihiuli the modenM «au. se- 
 'iBomiaffy f nalitiea— to wit^ Ba«i^'tast%8ound, 
 mOamt 'heat^ :aiid, mM^^mV' men ill.ufiion8 of 
 ■ease, and have no real existence.* Plato 
 Maintained that we can attain no real know- 
 ledge of material tilings ; and that eternal 
 and immutable idoas are the only objects of 
 real knowledge. The academics and scep- 
 ti» anxiouslv sought for arguments to 
 pPtve the fallaaonsnesB of our senses, in 
 trder to snpport their favourite doctrine, 
 
 ■ ' WWP— p.- ■■ ■III. ■■ — 11 ■■ mm ■— — ■ ■ INI I I ■ ■■■■ 
 
 * Not. •mmttlr'iCatcd. ' SeC'-atiovQ, n. m«t note |. 
 
 Tlie BlitaiiiiMii lienM tie lUlaey orStiMc.— H. 
 
 that even in things that seem most evident, 
 we ought to withhold assent [289J 
 
 Among the Peripatetics we find frequent 
 complaints that the senses often deceive us, 
 and that their testimony is to be suspected^ 
 when it is nut confirmed by reason, by which 
 the errors of sense may be corrected. This 
 complaint they supported by many com- 
 monplace instances : such as, the crooked 
 appearance of an oar in water; objects being 
 magnified, and their distance mistaken, in 
 a fog ; the sun and moon appearing about 
 a foot or two in diameter, while they are 
 really thousands of miles ; a square tower 
 being taken at a distance to be round. These, 
 and many similar appearances, they thought 
 to bo sufficiently accounted for from the 
 fallacy of the senses : and thus the falbcy 
 of the senses was used as a decent cover to 
 conceal their ignorance of the real causes of 
 such pluenomena, and served the same pur- 
 pose as their occult qualities and substantial 
 fomis. • 
 
 Des Cartes and his followers joined in 
 the same complaint. Antony le Grand, a 
 philosopher of that sect, in the first chapter 
 of his Logic, expresses the sentiments of 
 the sect as follows : " Since all our senses are 
 fallacious, and we are frequently deceived 
 by them, common reason advises that we 
 should not put too much trust'in them, nay, 
 that we should suspect falsehood in every- 
 thing they represent ; for it is imprudence 
 and temerity to trust to those who have but 
 oncedeceived us; and, if they err at any time, 
 they may be believed always to err. They 
 are given by nature for this purpose only 
 to warn us of what is useful and what is 
 hurtful to us. The order of Nature is per- 
 verted when we put them to any other 
 use, and apply them for the knowledge of 
 truth;** 
 
 When we consider that the active part 
 of mankind, in all ages from the beginning 
 of the world, have rested their most import- 
 ant concerns upon the testimony of sense, 
 it will be very difficult to reconcile theif 
 conduct with the speculative opinion so 
 generally entertained of the fallaciousness 
 of the senses. [290] And it seems to be 
 a very unfavourable account of the work- 
 manship of the Supreme Being, to think 
 that he has given us ono faculty to deceive 
 us — to wit, our senses ; and another faculty 
 —to wit, our reason — to detect the fallacy. 
 
 It deserves, therefore, to be considered, 
 whether the fallaciousness of our senses be 
 not a common error, which men have been 
 led into, from a desire to conceal their igno- 
 rance, or to apologize for their mistakes. 
 
 There are two powers which we^o we tol 
 
 * A Tcry inaccurate representation of the Peripa. 
 tetlc doctnoe touching this matter. In fact, the Ari. 
 •toCelian doctrine, and that of Reid himaeir, ar« 
 -'- « the lame—H. 
 
 [S8B-290] 
 
 A 
 
 I our external senses- sensation, and the per- 
 
 I ception of external objects, 
 
 It^ is im possible t hat there can be any 
 .fallacy in sen ^ion ; for we "arecoiiscjousof 
 aH our sensations^ and t hey ca n neitlie r be 
 any otbeFln their na ture^ nor greater^ or 
 jfess in their decree than \ve feeljdiem. ^t 
 is impossible that a man should beTn pain, 
 when he does not feel pain ; and when he 
 feels pain, it is impossible that his pain 
 should not be real, and in its degree what 
 it is felt to be ; and the same thing may be 
 said of every sensation whatsoever. An 
 agreeable or an uneasy sensation may be 
 forgot when it is past, but when it is pre- 
 sent, it can be nothing but what we feel. 
 
 If^Jhereforg^ there be any fallacy in our 
 sense s, it must b e in tlie p erception of ex- 
 ternaX>l|ject8j ^^iSEEJiftI6haU umt con-, 
 sider. 
 
 And here I grant that we can conceive 
 powers of perceiving external objects more 
 perfect than ours, which, possibly, beings of a 
 I higher order may enjoy. We can perceive 
 external objects only by means of bodily or- 
 gans ; and these are liable to various dis- 
 orders, which sometunes affect our powers 
 ofperception. The nerves and brain, which 
 . are interior organs of perception, are like- 
 ( wise liable to disorders, as every part of the 
 |l human frame is. [291] 
 
 Thein}agination,the memory, the judging 
 and reasoning powers, are all liable to be 
 hurt, or even destroyed, by disorders of the 
 iiody, as well as our powers of pereepti'-n ; 
 bur we do not on this account call tht-m 
 fallacious. 
 
 Our senses, our memory, and our reason, 
 ore all limited and imperfect — this is the 
 lot of humanity : but they are such as the 
 Author of our being saw to be best fitted 
 for us in our present state. Superior natures 
 may have intellectual powers which we have 
 not, or such as we have, in a more perfect 
 degree, and less liable to accidental disor- 
 ders ; but we have no reason to think that 
 God has given fallacious powers to any of 
 nis creatures: this would be to think dis- 
 honourably of our Maker, and would lay a 
 foundation for universal scepticism. 
 
 The appearances commonly imputed to 
 the fallacy of the senses are many and of 
 different kinds; but I think they may be 
 reduced to the four following classes. 
 
 Firsts M any things called deceptions of 
 the senses are-ouly coiicliiaToni'i^inydfaw n 
 from thejtestimony of the senses. In these 
 (iases ffie testimony of the senses is true, 
 but we rashly draw a conclusion from it, 
 which does not necessarily follow. We are 
 disposed to impute our errors rather to false 
 information than to inconclusive reasoning, 
 and to b'lame our senses for the wrong cou> 
 elusions we draw from their testimony. 
 
 Thus, when a man has taken a counter- 
 [291-^293] 
 
 feit guinea for a true one, he says his senses 
 deceived him ; but he lays the blame where 
 it ought not to be laid : for we may ask him. 
 Did your senses give a false testimony of 
 the colour, or of the figure, or of the im- 
 pression ? No. But this is all that they 
 testified, and this they testified truly ; From 
 these premises you concluded that it was a 
 true guinea, but this conclusion does not 
 follow ; you erred, therefore, not by relying 
 upon the testimony of sense, but by judging 
 rashly from its testimony. [292] Not only 
 are your senses innocent of this error, but 
 it is only by their information that it can be 
 discovered. If you consult them properly, 
 they will inform you that what you took for 
 a guinea is base metal, or is deficient in 
 weight, and this can only be known by the 
 testimony of sense. 
 
 I remember to have met with a man who 
 thought the argument used by Protestants 
 against the Popish doctrine of transubstan- 
 tiation, from the testimony of our senses, 
 inconclusive; because, said he, instances 
 may be given where several of our senses may 
 deceive us-: How do we know then that 
 there may not be cases wherein they all 
 deceive us, and no sense is left to detect the 
 fallacy ? I begged of him to know an in- 
 stance wherein several of our senses deceive 
 us. I take, said he, a piece of soft turf; T 
 cut it into the shape of an apple ; with the 
 essence of apples, I give it the smell of an 
 apple ; and with paint, I can give it the skin 
 and colour of an apple. Here then is a body, 
 which, if you judge by your eye, by your 
 touch, or by your smell, is an apple. 
 
 To this 1 would answer, that no one of 
 our senses deceives us in this case. My 
 sight and touch testify that it has the shape 
 ar.d colour of an apple : this is trie. The 
 sense of smelling testifies that it has the 
 smell of an apple : this is hkewise true, and 
 is no deception. Where then lies the de- 
 ception ? It is evident it lies in this— that 
 because this body has some qualities belong- 
 ing tr»an apple I conclude that it is an apple. 
 This is a fallacy, not of the senses, but of 
 inconclusive 'reasoning. 
 
 Many false judgments that are accounted 
 deceptions of sense, arise from our mistaking 
 relative motion for real or absolute motion. 
 These can.be no deceptions of sense, because 
 by our senses we perceive only the relative 
 motions of bodies ; and it is by reasoning 
 that we infer the real from the relative which 
 we perceive. A little reflection may satisfy 
 us of this. [293] 
 
 It was before observed, that we perceive 
 extension to be one sensible quality of 
 bodies, and thence are necessarily led to 
 conceive space, though space be of itself 
 no object of sense. When a body is re- 
 moved out of its place, the space which it 
 filled remains empty till it is filled by some 
 
 I 
 

 sm 
 
 ON THK INTELLECTOAL POWEHa 
 
 [li&AV !!• 
 
 CHAP. XXII.] OF THE FALLACY OF THE SENSES. 
 
 337 
 
 oiMrlio^i anil would remaiii if il shoiiM 
 BevorbelMsiL Before any body existed, the 
 iipMO: vUdi. 'Iioiiif wmr oennpy was. empty 
 ia|iM% flS|alii» of' leeeiTiiig' bodies ; for no 
 'body oaii" exist where there is no space' to 
 watain it There is space therefore where- 
 mrm bodies exist, or can exist. / 
 
 Hence it is evident that space can have 
 no limits. It is no less evident that it is 
 iinnovable. Bodies placed In it are mor- 
 alife, but the place where they were cannot 
 be moved ; and we can as easily conceive a 
 iMog to be moved from itself, as one pari 
 4if 'spice bfooght nearer to or removed 
 .teHiBr ifom another. 
 
 The space, therefore, which is unlimiled 
 and immovaJble, is called by philooophers 
 nAiolbltf ifiwtf. Absolute or real motion k 
 a eliange of place in absolute space. 
 
 Our senses do not testify the absolute 
 motion or absolute rest of any body. When 
 «!• body removes from another, this may 
 be diaemed by the senses ; but whether 
 any body keeps the same part of absolute 
 ■pace, we do not perceive by our senses. 
 'When one body iieems to remove from an- 
 other, we can infer with certainty that there 
 is absolute motion, but whether in the one 
 or the other, or partly in both, is not dis- 
 cerned by' sense. 
 
 Of all the prejudices which philosopby 
 'OontradielBi I 'believe there is none so general 
 as thai the earth keeps its place unmoved. 
 This opinion seems to be universal, tiU it 
 ia oouMted by instruction or by philoso- 
 pUeal apeiulation. Those who have any 
 tincture of education are not now in danger 
 of being held by it, but they find at first a 
 idnctance to believe that there are anti- 
 podes ; thai the earth is spherical, and turns 
 round its axis every day, and round the sun 
 overy year : they can recollect the time 
 when reason atniggled with prejudice upon 
 'Ibesa pointii. and prevailed at length, bat 
 not' witbont .some effort [ 294 ] 
 
 The cause of a prejudice so very general 
 is not unworthy of investigation. But that 
 M .not' onr prennt busineia. It is sufficient 
 to observe^, 'that' ft oannol j i it l y be fill^ a 
 'Ulaev of' sense 2 beeanse onr ■•*iww. lealifv 
 only the change of situation of one body in 
 relation to other bodies, and not its chaniie 
 of sitiiation In absointe space. It islidy 
 the nhlive motion 'Of 'bodies that we per- 
 •■ive, and that we perceive truly. It is 
 iba province of reason and philosophy, from 
 the relative motions which we peMoifi%. to 
 oolkel tb* real. and. ahaolote motions whieh 
 ;pffodnee' them. 
 
 All motion must be estimated from some 
 ffinl or place which is supposed to be at 
 'rest We perceive not the points of abso- 
 lniespaio% from which real and absolute 
 be reckoned ; And there are 
 that lead mankind in the 
 
 state of ignorance, to make the earth tho 
 fixed place from which they may estimate 
 the various motions they perceive. The 
 custom of doing this from infancy, and of 
 using constantly a language which supposea 
 the earth to be at rest, may perhaps be the 
 cause of the general prejudice in favour of 
 this opinion. 
 
 Thus it appears thai, if we distinguish 
 accurately between what our senses really 
 and naturally testify, and the conclusions 
 which we draw from their testimony by 
 reasoning, we shall find many of the errors^ 
 called falhicies of the senses, to be no fisl^ 
 key of the senses, but rash judgments, 
 which are not to be imputed to our senses. 
 
 A>C(m///y,Another^as8 0^ errors imputed 
 to the fanac5^^ the senses, are those which 
 we are liable to in our acc[iiired perceptions. 
 Acquired perception is not properly the 
 testimony of those senses .^yhidi. God Juih 
 given US,^ but.a c nnflns ion dfftwn from whM 
 the senses tcatify. [295] In our past ex* 
 perience, we have found certain things con- 
 joined with what our senses testify. We 
 are led by our constitution to expect this 
 conjunction in time to come ; and when 
 we have often found it in our experience to 
 happen, we acquire a firm belief that the 
 things which we have found thus conjoined, 
 are connected in nature, and that one is a 
 sign of the other. The appearance of the 
 sign immediately produces the belief of its 
 usual attendant, and we think we perceive 
 the one as weU as the other. 
 
 That such conclusions are formed even 
 in infancy, no man can doubt : nor is it less 
 certain that they are confounded with the 
 natural and immediate perceptions of sense, 
 and in all languages are called by the same 
 name. We are therefore authorized by 
 knguage to call them perception, and must 
 often do so, or speak unintelligibly. But 
 philosophy teaches us, in this, as in many 
 other instances, to distinguish things which 
 the vulgar confound. I have therefore 
 given the name of acquired perception to 
 such conclusions, to distinguish them from 
 what k naturally, originally, and imme- 
 dktely testified by our senses. Whether^ 
 thk acquired perception k to be resolved 
 into some process of reasoning, of which 
 we have lost the remembrance, as some 
 philosophers think, or whether it results 
 from some part of our constitution distinct 
 from reason, as I rather believe, does not 
 concern the present subject If the first 
 of these opinions be true, the errors of ac- 
 quired perception will fall under the first 
 class before mentioned. If not, it makea 
 a dktinct class by itself. But whether ihaj 
 one or the other be true, it must be 
 observed thai the errors of acquired per- 
 ception are not properly fallacies of our 
 senses. 
 
 Thus, when a globe k set before me, I 
 perceive by my eyes that it has three di- 
 mensions and a spherical figure. To say 
 that this is not perception, would be to 
 reject the authority of custom in the use of 
 words, which no wise man will do : but 
 that it k not the testimony of my sense of 
 seeing, every philosopher knows. I see 
 only a circular form, having the light and 
 colour dktributed in a certain way over it. 
 [296] But, being accustomed to observe 
 thk dktribution of light and colour only in 
 a spherical body, I immediately, from what 
 I see, believe the object to be spherical, and 
 say that I see or perceive it to be spherical. 
 When a painter, by an exact imitation of 
 that dktribution of light and colour which 
 I have been accustomed to see only in a 
 real sphere, deceives me, so as to make me 
 take that to be a real sphere which k only a 
 painted one, the testimony of my eye is true 
 ^the colour and vkible figure of the object 
 k truly what I see it to be : the error lies 
 in the conclusion drawn from what I see — 
 to wit, that the object has three dimensions 
 and a spherical figure. The conclusion k 
 false in thk case; but, whatever be the 
 origin of thk conclusion, it is not properly 
 the testimony of sense. 
 
 To thk class we must refer the judg- 
 ments we are apt to form of the dktance 
 and magnitude of the heavenly bodies, and 
 of terrestrial objects seen on high. The 
 mktakes we make of the magnitude and 
 distance of objects seen through optical 
 glasses, or through an atmosphere uncom- 
 monly clear or uncommonly foggy, belong 
 likewise to this class. 
 
 The errors we are led into in acquired 
 perception are very rarely hurtful to us in 
 the conduct of life ; they are gradually cor- 
 rected by a more enlarged experience, and 
 a more perfect knowledge of the laws of 
 Nature : and the general laws of our con- 
 stitution, by which we are sometimes led 
 Into them, are of the greatest utility. 
 
 We come into the world ignorant of 
 everything, and by our ignorance exposed 
 to many dangers and to many mistakes. The 
 regular train of causes and effects, which 
 divine wkdom has established, and which 
 directs every step of our conduct in advanced 
 life, k unknown, until it is gradually dis- 
 covered by experience. [297] 
 
 We must learn much from experience 
 before we can reason, and therefore must be 
 Uable to many errors- Indeed, I apprehend, 
 that, in the first {)art of life, reason would do 
 Its much more hurt than good Were we 
 seusible of our condition in that period, and 
 capable of reflecting upon it, we snould be 
 like a man in the dark, surrounded with 
 dangers, where every step he takes may be 
 into a pit. Reason would direct him to sit 
 down, and wait till he could see about him. 
 
 In like manner, if we suppose an infant 
 endowed with reason, it would direct him 
 to do nothing, till he knew what could be 
 done with safety^ Thk he can only know 
 by experiment, and experiments are danger- 
 ous. Reason directs, that experiments that 
 are full of danger should not be made with- 
 out a very urgent cause. It would there- 
 fore make the infant unhappy, and hinder 
 his improvement by experience. 
 
 Nature has followed another plan. The 
 child, unapprehensive of danger, k led by 
 instinct to exert all his active powers, to 
 try everything without the cautious admo- 
 nitions of reason, and to believe everything 
 that k told him. Sometimes he sufiers by 
 hk rashness what reason would have pre- 
 vented ! but hk suffering proves a salutary 
 dkcipline, and makes him for the future 
 avoid the cause of it. Sometimes he k 
 imposed upon by his credulity ; but it k of 
 infinite benefit to him upon the whole. Hk 
 activity and credulity are more useful qua- 
 lities and better instructors than reason 
 would be ; they teach him more in a day 
 than reason would do in a year ; they furmsh 
 a stock of materiak for reason to work upon ; 
 they make him easy and happy in a period 
 of hk exktence when reason could only 
 serve to suggest a thousand tormenting 
 anxieties and fears : and he acts agreeably 
 to the constitution and intention of nature 
 even when he does and believes what reason 
 would not justify. So that the wisdom and 
 goodness of the Author of nature k no less 
 conspicuous in withholding the exercise of 
 our reason in this period, than in bestowing 
 it when we are ripe for it. [298] 
 
 A third- olaea ^ errors, ascribed to the 
 faflacy of the senses, proQfifida-irfinLignar 
 ranee of the laws of nature. 
 
 The laws of nature (T mean not moral 
 but physical laws) are learned, either from 
 our own experience, or the experience of 
 others, who have had occasion to observe 
 the course of nature. 
 
 Ignorance of those laws, or inattention 
 to them, is apt to occasion false judgments 
 with regard to the objects of sense, especial- 
 ly those of hearing and of sight; which 
 false judgments are often, without good 
 reason, called fallacies of sense. 
 
 Sounds affect the ear differently, accord- 
 ing as the sounding body is before or behind 
 us, on the right hand or on the left, nearer 
 at a great distance. We learn, by the 
 manner in which the sound affects the ear, 
 on what hand we are to look for the sound- 
 ing body ; and in most cases we judge right 
 But we are sometimes deceived by echoes, 
 or by whkpering galleries, or speaking 
 trumpets, which return the sound, or alter 
 its direction, or convey it to a dktance with- 
 out diminution. 
 
 The deception k still greater, because 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I^RSiAV II. 
 
 nwR imaiiiiimoi], whicli is eaid to be pro- 
 imoed. by OastrUoquists^tlisft ie, persons 
 wbo bftvo acquired the art of modifying 
 their roioe, so that it shall affect the ear of the 
 teuten, as if it came from another person, 
 or Irom the elonds, or from under the earth- 
 
 I never had tlie fortune to be acquainted 
 vith any of these artbts, and therefore can- 
 not lay to what degree of perfection the art 
 ■uii' Mve bt:eii 'Carried. 
 
 I apfwehend it to^ he only such, an im- 
 fMrfect imitation as may deceive those who 
 are inattentive^ or under a panic For, if 
 it could be caiiied to perfentifiii, a. Cbstrilo- 
 tniit would be as dangemui a maa in so- 
 •iety as was the abiphMd Gyges,* who, by 
 turning a ring upon hia finger, could make 
 himself invisible, and, by that meaii% from 
 being the king's abepherd, became King of 
 Lydii. |2«ll 
 
 If the Oastriloquists have all been too 
 good men to use their talent to the detri- 
 neiit of olhen, it might at least be expected 
 that aoine of them should apply it to their 
 own advantage. If it could be brought to 
 fUiy considerable degree of perfection, it 
 Hems to be as proper an engine for drmw- 
 ing' money by the exhibition of it, aa leger^ 
 dnnaia. or rope-iandng. But I have never 
 heard of any exhibition of this kind, and 
 therefore am apt to think that it is too 
 coarse^ an. imitation to bear exhibition, even 
 to the vulgar. 
 
 . Some are said to have the art of imitat- 
 ing the voice of another so exactly that in 
 the dark they might be taken for the jierson 
 vhoM' voice they imitate. I am apt to 
 think that IMa art also, in the rebitions 
 made of it, is magnified beyond the truth, as 
 wonderful rehitions are apt to be, and that 
 .an attentive' <eai; would be able to distinguish 
 'tlie copy firom the oripnal. 
 
 It is indeed a wonderful instance of the 
 ac0niaey as well as of the truth of our senses, 
 in thinga that are of real use in life, that we 
 are able to distingnish all our acquaintance 
 Igr their countoEumce, by their voice, and 
 by their handwriting, when, at the same 
 tune, we are often unable to say by what 
 minute difference the distinction is made ; 
 and that we are so ve.ry ranly deceived in 
 matters of this Jcind, when we give proper 
 attention to the informations of sense. 
 
 However, :if any case^ should happen, in 
 which 'ionndi' 'praduMd by different causes 
 are not distinguishable by the ear, this may 
 prove that our senses are imperfect, but not 
 that Hhaj are fallacio^us. The ^ear may not 
 be nble to draw the just conelueion, but it 
 ia only our ignorance of the laws of sound 
 that leads ua to a wrong conclufiion. [300] 
 
 Deceptions of sight, arising from igno- 
 
 4* Bm C^tim»_IkMdi$, Ihe .■ttcf 'Md b| Hero. 
 n* 
 
 ranee of the kws of nature, are more numer- 
 ous and more remarkable than those of 
 hearing. 
 
 The rays of light, which are the means 
 of seeing, pass in right lines from the object 
 to the eye, when they meet with no obstruc- 
 tion ; and we are by nature led to conceive 
 the visible object to be in the direction of 
 the rays that come to the eye. But the 
 rays may be reflected, refracted, or inflected 
 in their passage from the object to the eye, 
 according to certain fixed laws of nature, 
 by which means their direction may be 
 changed, and consequently the apparent 
 place, figure, or magnitude of the object 
 
 Thus, a child seeing himself in a rairroi; 
 thinks he sees another child behind the 
 mirror, that imitates all his motions. But 
 even a child soon gets the better of this de- 
 ception, and knows that he sees him&elf only. 
 
 All the deceptions made by telescopes, 
 microscopes, camera obscuras, magic Ian- 
 thorns, are of the same kind, though not so 
 familiar to the vulgar. The ignorant may 
 be deceived by them ; but to those who are 
 acquainted with the principles of optics, 
 they give just and true information ; and the 
 laws of nature by which they are produced, 
 are of infinite benefit to mankind. 
 
 Ther e remains another class of errors, 
 commonly called deceptions of sense, and 
 the only one, as I apprehend, to which that 
 name can be given with propriety : J mean 
 such as j)roceed from some disorder or jlIB- 
 ternatural state, either of the external organ 
 orjftf the nerves and brain, whicharer ij^ 
 ternal PlgUJi*? *'f perception. 
 
 In a deliriuin vr m madness, perception, 
 memory, imagination, and our reasoning 
 powers, are strangely disordered and con- 
 founded. There are likewise disordera which 
 affect some of our senses, while others are 
 sound. Thus, a man may feel pain in his 
 toes after the leg is cut off. He may feel a 
 little ball double by crossing his fingers. [301 1 
 He may see an object double, by not direct- 
 both eyes properly to it. By pressing the 
 ball of his eye, he may see colours that ar« 
 not real. By the jaundice in his eyes, he 
 may mistake colours. These are more 
 properly deceptions of sense than any of the 
 classes before mentioned. 
 
 We must acknowledge it to be the lot of 
 human nature, that all the human faculties 
 are liable, by accidental causes, to be hurt 
 and unfitted for their natural functions, 
 either wholly or in part : but as this imper- 
 fection is common to them all, it gives no 
 just ground for accounting any of them 
 fallacious. 
 
 Upon the whole, it seems to have been a 
 common error of philosophers to account 
 the senses fallacious. And to this error 
 they have added another — that one use of 
 reaaon is to detect the ialkciea of senses 
 
 [299-301] 
 
 CHAP. XXII.] OF THE FALLACY OF THE SENSES. 
 
 339 
 
 It appears, I think, from what has been 
 said, that there is no more reason to account 
 our senses fallacious, than our reason, our 
 memory, or any other faculty of judging 
 which nature hath given us. They are all 
 limited and imperfect ; but wisely suited to 
 the present condition of man. We are 
 liable to error and wrong judgment in the 
 use of them all ; but as little in the inform- 
 ations of sense as in the deductions of 
 reasoning. And the errors we fall into with 
 regard to objects of sense are not corrected 
 by reason, but by more accurate attention 
 to the informations we may receive by our 
 senses themselves. 
 
 Perhaps the pride of philosophers may 
 have given occasion to this error. Reason 
 is the faculty wherein they assume a supe- 
 riority to the unlearned. The informations 
 of sense are common to the philosopher and 
 to the most illiterate : they put all men 
 upon a level ; and therefore are apt to be 
 undervalued. We must, however, be be- 
 holden to the informations of sense for the 
 greatest and most interesting part of our 
 
 knowledge. [302 J The wisdom of nature 
 has made the most useful things most com- 
 mon, and they ought not to be despised on 
 that account. Nature likewise forces our 
 belief in those informations, and all the 
 attempts of philosophy to weaken it are 
 fruitless and vain. 
 
 I add only one observation to what has 
 been said upon this subject. It is, that there 
 seems to be a contradiction between what 
 philosophers teach concerning ideas, and 
 their doctrine of the fallaciouBness of the 
 senses. We are taught that the office of 
 the senses is only to give us the ideas of 
 external objects. If this be so, there can 
 be no fallacy in the senses. Ideas can 
 neither be true nor false. If the senses 
 testify nothing, they cannot give false testi- 
 mony. If they are not judging faculties, no 
 judgment can be imputed to them, whether 
 false or true. There is, therefore, a contra- 
 diction between the common doctrine con- 
 cerning ideas and that of the fallaciousness 
 of the senses. Both may be false, as I believe 
 they are, but both cannot be true. [303] 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 OF MEMORY. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THINGS OBVIOUS ANn CERTAIN WITH RXGARn 
 TO MEMORY. 
 
 In the gradual progress of man, from 
 infancy to maturity, there is a certain order 
 in which his faculties are unfolded, and this 
 seems to be the best order we can follow in 
 treating of them. 
 
 The external senses appear first ; me- 
 mory soon follows — which we are now to 
 consider. 
 
 It is bv memory that we have an immc- 
 dia.te knowledge of ^thin^, jaaL* The 
 senses qrive us infor mation nf UiiugSJQluy^^s 
 Ihey ex fp^ in ^l^e present nionient j and this 
 information, ifit _ were not jpreserved'^b^ 
 memory, would vanish instantly, and leavfe 
 Ug,^ ignorant as if it had never been. 
 
 Memory^ must have an object.^ Every 
 man who remembers must rememb'er some- 
 
 • An immediate knowledge oft past thing is a con- 
 tradiction. For we can only know a thing immc. 
 diately, if wc know it in itielf, or as existing ; but 
 what is past cannot be known in itself* for it iis non. 
 existent.— H. 
 
 thing, and that which he remembers is 
 called the object of his remembrance. In 
 this, memory agrees with perception, but 
 differs from sensation, which has no object 
 but the feeling itself.* [304] 
 
 Every man can disting uish thejhingjre- 
 niem tiered irom the .remembrgtncje _oX . it. 
 We may remember anything which we have 
 geen,~6r' heard, or known, or done^or suf- 
 fered ; but the remembrance of it is a par- 
 ticular act of the mind which now existe, 
 and of which we are conscious. To con- 
 fotind these two is an absurdity, which a 
 thinking man could not be led into, but by 
 some false hypothesis which hinders liim 
 from reflecting upon the thing which he 
 would explain by it. 
 
 In memory we do not- find such , a train 
 of ppgjiiiflps SfiBfl.'^^^t^'^ byifiyx. constitution 
 as in perception. When we perceive an 
 object by our senses, there is, first, some 
 impression made by the object upon the 
 organ of sense, either immediately, or by 
 means of some medium. By this, an im- 
 
 [302-304] 
 
 * But have we only such a mediate knowledge of 
 the real object in perception, as we have of the rejU 
 object in memory ? On Reid's error, touching the 
 object of memory, see, in general, Note B.— 41. 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 ON THE INTBLLECTUAL POWERa 
 
 [saiAT tu* 
 
 €BAP. II.] 
 
 MEMORY AN ORIGINAL FACULTY. 
 
 341 
 
 liiiifaioii m nude upon the nerves ftnd brmin, 
 
 m. «iniei|iieiiee of which we feel some aenaa- 
 'Umi ; Md 'tfasi aenMlMtn. is Mtonded by Hbai 
 «iiiM|iliin Mill beliflff of' <ho eiternal objeet 
 vliieli we call perception. These opera- 
 tions SM 10 connected in oor constitution, 
 that it is difficult to disjoin them in our con- 
 •^tioiis, and to attend to each without con- 
 ibOndiilf it with the othera But, in the 
 f^ratioiw of memory* we ate free from this 
 ambarrasaiiMiil i they are easUy distin- 
 .nlalMid flNMi al^otlitr 'a«tB of the mind, and 
 li0 'iiaaeS' whiefc. dttwto fhem are free from 
 all ambiguity. 
 -j^ lAo OTOMljf Bemory, nff' 'thing remem- 
 . >f - «- bewC Imust He someinmg tnai is pasF; as 
 ^**^ ,. iy'-^^i^,-»-the obi edb of perce ption and of conseioua- 
 ^JfL,j«.»'" '^* • neas niliriisopetliiiiir wlilch Is present 
 ^ .^ What BOW' % eaimot bo in oi»}eci of 
 
 I neither can that which is past 
 be an object of perception or of 
 
 Memory is always accompanied with the 
 belief of that which we remember, as per- 
 
 seption is aceompanied with the belief of 
 tMt which we perceive, and consciousness 
 with the belief of that whereof we are con- 
 scious. Perhaps in infiincy, or in a disorder 
 of mind, things remembered may be con- 
 founded with tiiOi« whicb are merely ima- 
 .gined ; but 'in 'Batnm years, and in a sound 
 state of mind, every man feek that he must 
 believe what he distinctly remembers, 
 though be ean give no other reason of his 
 belidi but that lie remembers the thing dis- 
 tiiietly ; whereas, when he merely imagines 
 a thing ever so distinctly, he has no belief 
 of it upon that aeeonnt. [309] 
 
 ThiS' belief, which 'We 'have hmu distkct 
 mummj, we accmnt real knowledge, no 
 less certain than if it was grounded on de- 
 flMMMtration ; no man in his wits caUs it in 
 flietiion, or will hear anjf argument against 
 !!• The testimony of witnesses in causes . 
 of Bib and death depends upon it, and all 
 the knowledge of mankind of past events is 
 buit on this foundatioii. 
 
 There are cases m which, a man's me- 
 mory is less dbtinct and detarmmate, and 
 where he is ready to allow that it may have 
 fiuled bun ; but this does not in the least 
 weaken its credit, when it is perfectly dis- 
 tinct. 
 
 Memory implies a conception and belief 
 
 of pwt duration ; for it is impossible that a 
 iWin. ■hiwld remember a thing distinctly, 
 '«ritlioiit 'bflievkg'some interval of duration, 
 nmre or less, to have passed between the 
 time it happened, and the presentmoment i 
 
 and J think i^ pa tinpn«iiKI«> tA_»l.o«^W 
 
 wfl cffy^d acquire a notion of dur ation if we 
 jl**' Ift, ™*^ftry Tiii n| g T^ embered' 
 
 ImoHiip I remember the transit of Venus 
 over the sun in the year 1769. I. must 
 therefore have perceived it at the time it 
 happened, otherwise I could not now re* 
 member it Our first acquaintance with 
 any object of thought cannot be by remem- 
 brance. Mem ory can only_produce a cpn- 
 tinimnce or renfi.>5fal_ora former acquaint- 
 
 The remembrance of a past event is ne- 
 cessarily accompanied with the conviction 
 of our own existence at the time the event 
 happened. I cannot remember a thing 
 that happened a year ago, without a con- 
 viction as strong as memory can give, that 
 I, the same identical person who now re- 
 member that event, did then exist. [306] 
 
 What I have hitherto said concerning 
 memory, I consider as principles which ap- 
 pear obvious and certain to every man who 
 will take the pains to reflect upon the oper- 
 ations of his own mind. They are facts of 
 which every man must judge by what ho 
 feels ; and they admit of no other proof 
 but an appeal to every man*s own reflec- 
 tion. I shall therefore take them for 
 granted in what follows, and shall, first, 
 draw some conclusions from them, and 
 then examine the theories of philoso- 
 phers concerning memory, and concerning 
 duration, and our personal identity, of 
 which we acquire the knowledge by me- 
 moiy. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 UXMORY AN OniOINAL FACULTY. 
 
 First, I think it appears, that niemory 
 is an original f aculty^ given us by the 
 Author pf our beings of >*JhiAk:?^e^aa.gixB 
 no accountj but tbatJ^^i^eao made. 
 
 Th e, knowledf;e w hich I hav'e_ofjth ings 
 pastj, by my memory, seems to me as unac^ 
 countaDle J as an_immedjai e knowledge 
 would be of things 'to com^* and I can 
 
 BulMW beh'iw. p. SSf.— H. 
 
 la De 01 tnmgs 
 
 give ~no~reason~ wnyT iirould~Fiav-e the one 
 and not the otHer, out that such Is tlie wUl 
 of my Maker. 1 find in my mind a (ilstinctf 
 conception, and a firm belief of a series of- 
 past events; but how this is produced l| 
 know not. I call it memory^ but this ia] 
 ordjr ^vingjk'iaragjto:it--it. is jifiJLAa_afir 
 S^^Biof JSjWPa 1 believe most firmly,| 
 what 1' distmctly remember ; but I can 
 
 * An immediate knowledge of things to comet *• 
 •QUally a contradiction as an immediate knowledge of 
 (hiMs past. See the first note of last page. But if, 
 a* tfeid himself allows, memory depend upon ccr. 
 tain enduring affections of the brain, determined by 
 past cognition, it seems a strange assertion, on this 
 as on other accounts, that the possibility of a know, 
 ledge of the future is not more inconceivable than 
 of a knowled** of the past Maupertuis, however, 
 haa advanced a similar doctrine ; and some, also, of 
 the Jdvocatct of animal maffnetlsRi.— H. 
 
 [305, 3061 
 
 give no reason of this belief. It is the in- 
 spiration of the Ahnighty that gives me 
 this understanding.* [307] 
 
 When I believe the truth of a mathema- 
 tical axiom, or of a mathematical proposi- 
 tion, 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 pre- 
 dicate 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 
 id face this morning, there appears no ne- 
 ssity in the truth of this 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 con- 
 fess I do not see any necessary connection 
 between the one and the other. If any man 
 can shew 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 un- 
 accountable, and we can say no more but 
 that it is the result of our constitution. 
 I Perhaps it may be said, that the ex- 
 perience we have had of the fidelity of me- 
 anory is a good reason for relying upon its 
 /testimony. I deny not that this may be a 
 I reason to those who have had this expe- 
 rience, and who reflect upon it. But 1 be- 
 lieve there are few who ever thought of this 
 reason, or who found any need of it. It 
 must be some very rare occasion that leads 
 a man to have recourse to it ; and in those 
 who have done so, the testimony of memory 
 was believed before the experience of its 
 fidelity, and that belief could not be caused 
 by the experience which came after it. 
 
 We know some abstract truths, by com- 
 paring the terms of the proposition which 
 expresses them, and perceiving some ne- 
 cessary relation or agreement between them. 
 It is thus I know that two and three make 
 five ; that the diameters of a circle are all 
 equal. [308] Mr Locke having discovered 
 this source of knowledge, too rashly con- 
 cluded that all human knowledge might be 
 derived from it ; and in this he has been 
 followed very generally— by Mr Hume in 
 particular. 
 I" But I apprehend that our knowledge of 
 the existence of things contingent can never 
 be traced to this source. I know that such 
 a thing exists, or did exist. This know- 
 ledge cannot be derived from the perception 
 •fa necessary agreement between existence 
 
 [307-3093 
 
 and the thing that exists, because there is 
 no such necessary agreement ; and there- 
 fore no such agreement can be perceived 
 either immediately or by a chain of reason- 
 ing. The thing does not exist necessarily, 
 but by the will and power of him that made 
 it ; and there is no contradiction follows from 
 supposing it not to exist. 
 
 Whence I thmk it follows, that our know- 
 ledge of the existence of our own thoughts, 
 of the existence of all the material objects 
 about us, and of all past contingencies, 
 must be derived, not from a perception of 
 necessary relations or agreements, but from 
 some other source. • 
 
 Our Maker has provided other means for 
 giving us the knowledge of these thuigs— 
 meanfe which perfectly answer their eud, 
 and produce the effect intended by them. 
 But in what manner they do this, is, I fear, 
 beyond our skill to explain. We know our 
 own thoughts, and the operations of our 
 minds, by a power which we call conscious- 
 ness : but this is only giving a name to this 
 part of our frame. It does not explain its 
 fabric, nor how it produces in us an irre- 
 sistible conviction of its informations. We 
 perceive material objects and their sensible 
 qualities by our senses ; but how they give 
 us this information, and how they produce 
 our belief in it, we know not. We know 
 many past events by memory ; but how it 
 gives this information, I believe, is inex- 
 plicable. 
 
 It is well known what subtile disputes 
 were held through all the scholastic ages, 
 and are still carried on about the prescience 
 of the Deity. [309] Aristotle had taught/ 
 that there can be no certam foreknowledge 
 of things contingent ; and in this he has 
 been very generally followed, upon n o othe r, 
 grounds, aj3 I ap prehend, hnt tifat we. can-j 
 not conceive how such things should be 
 forekf^p wn, _anH thgr^fflrjg^cfiji J,©- 
 
 impossible. Hence has arisen an opposi-( 
 tion and supposed inconsistency between 
 divine prescience and human liberty. Some 
 have given up the first in favour of the last, 
 and others have given up the last in order 
 to support the first. 
 
 It is remarkable^ that thes e disput ants 
 have never apprehendeQhat there is any 
 difficulty in recoupiling witli fibert^line* 
 knowledge of what is past, but onlxof what 
 is future. It Is prescience only, an d no t 
 M?51*QLry,Jib%t_js suppose^l to be lios'tilejo 
 liberty, and hardly recoricneable Jto it. " 
 
 Vet I believe the difficulty is perlecUjf 
 equal in the one case and in the otTTen' I 
 admit, that we cannot account for prescTence 
 of the actions of a free acent. "R ut T main l 
 tarn that we can as little account for mp- 
 mory . q( the, pafit jactiona .o f a froe a^enj . 
 I f any man thinks he can p ro ve' ttiat tne 
 actions of a free agent cannot b^ foff Irnnwrn, 
 
342 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [iSaSAY 111. 
 
 id tlsjiaiiiijyiifflifiEts^^ j^^^^^^^ 
 
 ibwflJb HWliB Ifa t % he \mt actiopj of a fre e 
 
 it.^i!2|jttjsmsmbfiisi* |! » ^J°?» 
 jrhtsliffl pit flifi vtrjiiMly inilt. ^* " 
 
 no teM tf wt Ih'fc* *^** ^w fatnTw willcfiT- 
 
 eoiiBtitiiifflUllLlfcie J^S^T^JLlTS>pL^^' 
 qii ngtMia»| jit h as ^ojLsaeMJtlSngWf 
 
 fatiwliiiiM^ IMHtnlfMi llit.Jioi« m 
 
 'iiE.,, TIie"Iu!are will bib. , lilt JM IlLia-iMtlt. 
 
 'iMmefitc&,jiilh..botli. 
 
 The only reiiBoii whj men have appre- 
 hended no great disparitj in casea ao per- 
 I fMtlj liH I take to be thfe, That the faculty 
 Hi meinoiy in onraelvee convinces ua from 
 fMit, thai it la not unpoasible that an in- 
 M%^l being, even a finite being, should 
 Imve certain tomwledge o^ F*** actions of 
 free agents, willMmt tUMsang them from any- 
 <bkg negfiiaariljL. Wtiiirtfld WJJIn tlffli- 
 |81®1 "^Bnt having no prescience m our- 
 telves' correspondtof t# our mimiory of what 
 is past, we find great dificiilty in admitting 
 a to be pooiable even in the Supreme 
 
 I Being* 
 
 A faculty which we possess in some de- 
 giee, we eaailf admit that the Supreme 
 Being may pmaeis In a more perfect degree ; 
 bat a fccralty which has nothing corre- 
 sponding to it in our constitution, we will 
 liafdly allow to be possible. We are so 
 aonstilnted as to have an intnttive know- 
 10% of many things past 5 but we have no 
 Intuitive knowledge of the future- f We 
 nifhl perhaps have been so constituted as 
 to & ve an. imlmtive faw wledg» of the future ; 
 bsl not of lb© past 1 nor would this consti- 
 tafton have been more unaccountable than 
 the present, tbmiipi it might be much more 
 iDConvenieni Had this been our consti- 
 tution, we should have found no difficulty 
 in admitting that fh« IMtj may know all 
 things future, but very much in admitting 
 Ms knowledge of things that are past. 
 
 Our original laculties are all unaccount- 
 able. Of thiwi wmamrr is one. He only 
 who maitotlieiii, ennipwlwidsfiiBy how they 
 ■le made, and how they produce in us not 
 only a conception, but a firm belief and 
 aMomnce of things which it eoneema us to 
 know. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 OP OUBATION. 
 
 • Thi* is • raartdlous docttiiie. The dUBcultir In 
 
 Ihe two caM» it not tlie ianie. The patt. •» pan. 
 wiMihcff it liai teat Ibeadion of a lk«e agent or not. 
 to mm mmmtm t moA, liMMigti we may be unable to 
 UDdentwd lMiwlt«aB be remenbered, theiuppoil- 
 tiiNlior*ltamifa*faM!e involve* no coniradictmii. 
 fin Os eonlnurf , the lliture action of a free agent ii 
 m ifpillll not • neceMiff mmt. init an event 
 ftannot he mow certainly fweteeii, excepi u u now 
 certainly to be ; and to fay that what it certainly to be 
 la not mtemtoHlM to be^ asemi a contradiction.— H. 
 
 t iriiy Mitj<w»lie«n«int immediaU, fuch a know- 
 l«ilg«»iiii|K)inl>le.|ailllHreaM| far we pan know 
 nti'tlifff tbe -jMMt iii*'tlieJlil«f»lm 'lliiiMil»«. but 
 Mly In Um frwwil— t»»«t K mediately.- H. 
 
 From the principles hud down in the 
 first chapter of this Essay, I think itappeare 
 that our notion of duration, as well as our 
 belief of it, is got by the faculty of memory. • 
 It is essential to everything remembered 
 that it be something which is past ; and wo 
 cannot conceive a thing to be past, without 
 conceiving some duration, more or less, be- 
 tween it and the present. [311] As soon 
 therefore as we remember anything, we 
 must have both a notion and a 'belief of 
 duration. It is necessarily suggested by 
 every operation ©four memory ; and to that 
 faculty it ought to "be ascribed. This is, 
 therefore, a proper place to consider what 
 is known concerning it 
 
 Duration, Extension, and Number, are 
 the measures of all things subject to men- 
 suration. When we apply them to finite 
 things which are measured by them, they 
 seem of all things to be the most distinctly 
 conceived, and most within the reach of 
 human understanding. 
 
 Extension having three dimensions, has 
 an endless variety of modifications, capable 
 of bemg accurately defined ; and their 
 various relations furnish the human mind 
 with its most ample field of demonstrative 
 reasoning. Duration having only one di- 
 mension, has fewer modifications ; but these 
 are clearly understood — and their relations 
 admit of measure, proportion, and demon- 
 strative reasoning. 
 
 Number is called discrete quantity, be- 
 cause it is compounded of units, which are 
 all equal and similar, and it can only be 
 divided into units. This is true, in some 
 sense, even of fractions of unity, to which 
 we now commonly give the name of num- 
 ber. For, in every fractional number, the 
 unit is supposed to be subdivided into a 
 certain number of equal parts, which are 
 the onita of that denomination, and the 
 fractions of that denomination are only di- 
 visible into units of the same denomination. 
 Duration and extension are not discrete, 
 but continued quantity. They consist of 
 parts perfectly similar, but divisible without 
 
 end. 
 
 In order to aid our conception of the mag- 
 nitude and proportions of the various inter- 
 vals of duration, we find it necessary to give 
 a name to some known portion of it, such 
 as an hour, a day, a year. These we con- 
 sider as units, and, by the number of them 
 contained in a larger interval, we form a 
 distinct conception of its magnitude. [312] 
 A simikr expedie nt we find necessary to give 
 
 ♦ Reidihiwapparentlvhaakea TliM an empirical 
 01 gencrmlised notion.— H. _ _ 
 
 £310-312] 
 
 CHAP. HI.] 
 
 OF DURATION. 
 
 343 
 
 us a distinct conception of the magnitudes 
 and proportions of things extended. Thus, 
 number is found necessary, as a common 
 measure of extension and duration. But 
 this perhaps is owing to the weakness of our 
 understanding. It has even been disco- 
 vered, by the sagacity of mathematicians, 
 that this expedient does not in all cases 
 answer its intention. For there are pro- 
 portions of continued quantity, which can- 
 not be perfectly expressed by numbers; 
 such as that between the diagonal and side 
 of a square, and many others. 
 
 The parts of duration have to other parts 
 of it the relations of prior and posterior, 
 and to the present they have the relations 
 of past and future. The notion of past is 
 immediately suggested by memory, as has 
 been before observed. And when we have 
 got the notions of present and past, and of 
 prior and posterior, we can from these 
 frame a notion of the future; for the future 
 is that which is posterior to the present. 
 Nearness and distance are rektions equally 
 applicable to time and to place. Distance in 
 time, and distance m place, are things ^o 
 (Merent in their nature and so like in their 
 relation, that it is difficult to determine 
 whether the name of distance is applied to 
 both in the same, or an anological sense. 
 ' The extension of bodies wliich we per- 
 ceive by our senses, leads us necessarily to 
 the conception and belief of a space which 
 remains immoveable when the body is re- 
 1 moved. And the duration of events which 
 we remember leads us necessarily to the 
 I conception and belief of a duration which 
 I would have gone on uniformly though the 
 I ©vent had never happened. • 
 - WithoulJPMeJthere can be nothingihat 
 IS extend ed., And. witljout .J.ime„ there 
 ^D bejiQthing that hath du ratio n. This I 
 thmk undeniable ; and yet we find that ex- 
 tension and duration are not more clear and 
 intelligible than space and time are dark and 
 difficult objects of contemplation. [313] 
 
 As there must be space wherever any- 
 thing extended does or can exist, and time 
 
 » If FpacefinA Time be necexsary ^eneralizatwru 
 from experience, this is contrary to Reid's own doc- 
 trine, that experience can give us no necessary know. 
 ledge. If, again, they t)e necessary and oriynml 
 notions, the account of their origin here given, is iii. 
 correct It-should have t)een said that experience is 
 notthewMr« of their existence, but only the occa- 
 non of their manifest aiion. On this subject, see, 
 wttar^mium. Cousin on Locke. > ' his * Coure 
 de Philosophie," (t. ii., Legons 17 and. 18.) inis 
 admirable work has been welHransla-ed into t!-ng- 
 lish, by an American, philosopher, Mi Henry ; but 
 the cloQueiice and precision of the author can onlv 
 be properly appreciated by those who study the work 
 In the original language. The reader may. however, 
 consult likewise Stewart's •• Philosophical li^sa>s. 
 (I-isay ii.,-chap. V.) .and Hoyer Collards ' l-rag. 
 ineufs," (IX. and x.) These authors, from their mo'e 
 limited acquaintance with the speculations of the uer. 
 man phUosophers, are, however, less on a level witli 
 the problem.— H. 
 
 [^313, 314"! 
 
 when there is or can be anythmg that has 
 duration, we can set no bounds to either, 
 even in our imagination. They defy all 
 limitation. The one swells in our concep- 
 tion to immensity, the other to eternity. 
 
 An eternity past is an object which we 
 cannot comprehend; but a beginning of 
 time, unless we take it in a figurative sense, 
 is a contradiction. By a common figure of 
 speech, we give the name of time to those 
 motions and revolutions by which we mea- 
 sure it, such as days and years. We can 
 conceive a beginning of these sensible mea- 
 sures of time, and say that there was a tune 
 when they were not, a time undistinguished 
 by any motion or change ; but to say that 
 there was a time before all time, is a con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 All limited duration is comprehended m 
 time, and all limited extension in space. 
 The.-e, in their capacious womb, contain all 
 finite existences, but are contained by none. 
 Created things have their particular place 
 in space, and their particular place in time ; 
 but time is everywhere, and spaceat all times. 
 They embrace each the other, and have that 
 mysterious union whrch the schoolmen con- 
 ceived between soul and body. The whole 
 of each is in every part of the other. 
 
 We are at a loss to what category or class 
 of things we ought to refer them. They 
 are not beings, but rather the receptacles 
 of every created being, without which it 
 could not have had the possibility of exist- 
 ence. Philosophers have endeavoured to 
 reduce all the objects of human thought to 
 these three classes, of substances, modes, 
 and relations. To which of them shall we 
 refer tune, space, and number, the most 
 common objects of thought ? 1314] 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton thought that the Deity, 
 by existing everywhere and at all times, 
 constitutes time and space, immensity and 
 eternity. This probably suggested to his 
 great friend, Dr Clarke, what he calls the 
 argument a priori for the existence of an 
 immense and eternal Being. Space and 
 time, he thought, are only abstract or par^ 
 tial conceptions of an unmensity and eter- 
 nity which forces itself upon our behef. 
 And as immensity and eternity are not 
 substances, they must be the attributes of a 
 Being who is necessarily immense and 
 eternal. These are the speculations of men 
 of superior genius. But whether they be 
 as solid as they are sublime, or whether 
 they be the wanderings of imagination m a 
 region beyond the limits of human under- 
 standing, I am unable to determine. 
 
 The schoolmen made eternity to be a 
 tiuiiC .v/a>*5— that is, a moment of time that 
 stands stUl. This was to put a spoke into 
 the wheel of time, and might give satisfac- 
 tion to tliuse who are to be satisfied by 
 words without meaning. But I can aa 
 
mi 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [ 
 
 lU 
 
 mtSI^ hfiknm m flifd»' to 1» » m^ivo •■ 
 tiiiM to stauid stili 
 
 'fliiili. fmrniaxm tmi riddles^ if I may so 
 Mkii. tiiMiii mon are mvoinnuufilj led. into 
 wImii Hioj raaeon. .about time and space, 
 •ud ■HilllfA to comprehend their nature. 
 They are pnliably things of which the hu- 
 man fiMuhies give an imperfect and inade- 
 quato eoneepiion. Hence diffieoltieB arise 
 whidi we in vain attempt to overoome, and 
 doubts which we are unable to resolve. 
 Perhaps some faculty which we possess not, 
 h neeoMMy to remove the datliness which 
 liantp over them, and malm wt so apt to 
 hewilder ourselves when W9 leoaon. about 
 tiben* [31^] 
 
 OP inKHTITV* 
 
 ^...jliiiBB CffPilflBtWHi WBIlilli **v**^' Man nas of 
 ^h t{kfvW^, M f"* *"""^ M hifl mi^mnry 
 nijcliei^.iieeda wl aid.jif-JihiltfOPhv to 
 
 yi , j5 IUBbbphm**' 
 
 wy. 
 
 __je philosopher, however, may very 
 properly consider this conviction as a phie- 
 ^nDinMon of' human nature' worthy ^ his 
 '■llentiini. If he can aiH^vmp Um ^wmy, an 
 addition is made to his :Btoelc of Imowiedge. 
 If not, it must be held as a part of our ori- 
 .ginai: WMtiintioni or an.effeQlof thatcon- 
 ^afiiiilion 'piodiMd in. a manner unknown 
 to us. 
 
 We may observe, first of all, that this con- 
 vietiott is indispensably necessary to all ex- 
 cicMe of laaaon*' The operations of reason, 
 whether Is action or In specuktion, are 
 made up of successive parts. The antece- 
 dent are the foundation of the consequent, 
 and, without the conviction that the ante- 
 cedent have been seen or done by me, I 
 could have no reason to proceed to the oon- 
 BOfuent, in any speculation, or in any 
 active project'' wwitever. 
 I There can he no memory of what is past 
 without the conviction that we existed at 
 the time remembered. There may be good 
 arguments to convince me that I existed 
 beiare 'thO' earliest thing I can. remember ; 
 hot to suppose' that my memory reaches a 
 moment farther back than mj belief and 
 conviction of my existence, is a contradic- 
 tion. 
 
 The moment a man loses this conviction, 
 as if he had drunk the water of Lethe, past 
 things are done away; and, in bis own 
 hdlef, he then begins to exist. [316] 
 Whatever was thought, or said, or done, 
 er Mieied hefon that period, ma/ belong 
 to aome other person; hut he. can never 
 impnto it to hnnself, or take any subse- 
 
 quent step that supposes it to he his do- 
 ing; 
 
 From this it is evident that we most 
 have the conviction of our own continued 
 existence and identity, as soon as we are 
 capable of thinking or doing anything, on 
 account of what we have thought, or done^ 
 or suffered before ; that is, as soon as we 
 are reasonable creatures. 
 
 That we may form as distinct a notion as 
 we are able of this phenomenon of the human 
 mind, it is proper to consider what is meant 
 by identity in general, what by our own 
 personal identity, and how we are led into 
 that invincible belief and conviction which 
 every man has of his own personal identity, 
 aa lur as his memory reaches. 
 
 Identity in £eneral, I take to be a rela* 
 tion^bfit gfifin a thiiig which is known to 
 e3WtuAL.one time, and a thing which is 
 known t o have existed at another time." 
 tr you ailT whether they are one and the 
 same, or two different things, every man of 
 common sense understands the meaning of 
 your question perfectly. Whence we may 
 infer with certainty, that every man of 
 common sense has a clear and distinct no- 
 tion of identity. 
 
 Ifjga n»k adpfinitiflE of identity, I con- 
 fesaJLcan-^ixe jume ; it is too simple a no* 
 tion to. admit 4if logical definition,. I can 
 say it ^is a relation ; but I cannot find word^ 
 to fiXpresd th*,' specific difference between 
 this and other relations, though I ani in no 
 dang!^ of confounding it with any other. 
 I can say that diversity is a contrary rela- 
 tion, and that similitude and dissimilitude 
 are another couple of contrary rektions, 
 which every man easily distingmshes in hia 
 
 fairr " ^ ^^y ana ^,^,. 
 
 I see evidently that identity supposes 
 an uninterrupted continuance of existence. 
 That which hath ceased to exist, cannot be 
 the same with that which afterwards begins 
 to exist ; for this would be to suppose a 
 being to exist after it ceased to exist, and 
 to have had existence before it was produced, 
 which are manifest contradictions. Con- 
 tinued uninterrupted existe iice is there^oyf 
 necessarily implied in identity. 
 
 Hence we may infer t hat identity canno t, 
 in its proper seuse^ be »pp]i**«^ ♦" ""»• paJP^j 
 our plaasures, our tboug htSj or any oj^SEft- 
 tion_pf om minds. The pain felt this day 
 IS not the same individual pain which I felt 
 yesterday, though they may be simihur in 
 kudd and degree, and have the same cause. 
 The same may be said of every feeUng and 
 of every operation of mind : they are all 
 
 • Identity li a relation between our cognition! of 
 ■ thing, and not between^^things themaelves. II 
 would, therefore, have been t)etter in this sentence to 
 have said, *' a relation (between a thing at knoum to 
 exist at one time, and a thing cu known to exist at 
 another time."— H. 
 
 [315-317] 
 
 CHAP. IV.] 
 
 OF IDENTITY. 
 
 345 
 
 i-^ 
 
 ■^-«.i 
 
 i ■uceessive in their nature, like time itself, 
 no two moments of which can be the same 
 moment. 
 
 It is otherwise with the parts of absolute 
 space. They always are, and were, and 
 will be the same. So far, I think, we pro- 
 ceed upon clear ground in fixing the notion 
 of identity in general. 
 
 It iSy perhaps, more difficult to ascertain 
 with pre ojp'An tliA mpar.ing of Fersonaljty; 
 but it is not necessary in the present sub- 
 ject : it is sufficient for our purpose to 
 observe, that all niankind plac e their per- 
 sonality i^ fiPFioftii'ng tiifft Aflmimt h^ (JTvided, 
 orcOTgist nf parffl., A 4»arLii£,a-person.7is 
 a ma aifeatabsurdity. 
 
 When a man loses his estate, his health, 
 his strength, he is still the same person, 
 and has lost nothing of his personality. If 
 he has a leg or an arm cut off, he is the 
 same person he was before. The amputated 
 member is no part of his person, otherwise 
 it would have a right to a part of his 
 estate, and be liable for a part of his en- 
 gagements ; it would be entitled to a share of 
 his merit and demerit — which is manifestly 
 \ absurd. A person is something indivisible, 
 I and is what Leibnitz calls a monad, [318] 
 
 My pers on al identity, therefore, implies 
 the continued gjLL'^tencJ? "f ^hat. indiviHiblft 
 thing whichJ call myRplf.., Whatftvpr th^w 
 self may be, it_ia-8.QHi£thJiQg_which thinks, 
 and delibgcates^ a,nd resolves, an d acts, and 
 
 suffers. ._Xam not tKniigKf| JgTffjlFihT ar^jnnj 
 
 X am not feeling ; J am goniething that 
 thinks^^oJiUita».ajid,suffers._ My t houghts , 
 and actions, and feplings, , change,^ very 
 piQinent— .tbeY-Jiaye. no_gontin ued, but a 
 successive existencej but that s ^lf t}t T^ ».n 
 which theyT)eIon g. is permanent, and has the 
 aame relation to all the succeeding thoughts, 
 actions, and feelings, which I call mine."* 
 Such are the notions that 1 have of my 
 
 personal identity. But perhaps it may be 
 said, this may all be fancy without reality. 
 
 (How do you know? — what evidence have 
 
 I you, that there is such a permanent self 
 
 which has a claim to all the thoughts, 
 
 actions, and feelings, which you call yours ? 
 
 To this I answer, that the propfiJLfiyl- 
 
 I dence I have of a ll this ia rempmhrftnyf. I 
 (remember that, twenty years ago, I conversed 
 with such a person ; I remember several 
 things that passed in that conversation; 
 my memory testifies not only that this was 
 done, but that it was done by me who now 
 remember it. If it was done by me, I must 
 have existed at that time, and continued to 
 exist from that time to the present : if the 
 identical person whom I call myself, had 
 net a part m that conversation, my memory 
 is fallacious— it gives a distinct and positive 
 testimony of what is not true. Every man 
 in his senses believes what he distinctly 
 remembers, and everything he remembers 
 rs I 8-320] 
 
 convinces him that he existed at the time! 
 remembered. I 
 
 Although memory gives the most irre- 
 sistible evidence of my being the identical 
 person that did such a thing, at such a time, 
 I may have other good evidence of things 
 which befel me, and which I do not remem- 
 ber : I know who bare me and suckled me, 
 but I do not remember these events. [319] 
 
 It may here be observed, (though the 
 observation would have been unnecessary if 
 some great philosophers had not contra- 
 dicted it,) that it is not my remembering 
 any action of mine that makes me to be 
 the person who did it. This remembrance 
 makes me to know assuredly that I did it ; 
 but I might have done it though I did not 
 remember it. That relation to me, which 
 is expressed by saying that I did it, would 
 be the same though I had not the least re- 
 membrance of it. To say that my remem- 
 bering that I did such a thing, or, as some 
 choose to express it, my being conscious 
 that I did it, makes me to have done it, 
 appears to me as great an absurdity as it 
 would be to say, that my belief that the 
 world was created made it to be created. 
 
 When we pass judgment on the identity 
 of other p ersons besides ourselves, we pro- 
 
 ceed upon other grounds, and detcmiine 
 from a variety of circumstances, which 
 sometimes produce the firmest assurance, 
 and sometimes leave room for doubt. The 
 identity of persons has often furnished mat- 
 ter of serious litigation before tribunals of 
 justice. But no man of a sound mind ever 
 doubted of his own identity, as far as he 
 distinctly remembered. 
 
 The iden tity of a p erson is a .p erfect 
 ide ntity ; wjhe reyer it is jfial^Jit admitaoLna 
 deg5ees_i and it is impossible that a person 
 should be in part the same, and in part 
 different ; because a person is a mnnadj and 
 is not divisible into parts. The evidence of 
 identity in other persons besides ourselves 
 does indeed admit of all degrees, from what 
 we account certainty to the least degree of 
 probability. But still it is true that the 
 same person is perfectly the same, and can- 
 not be so in part, or in some degree only. 
 
 For this cause, I have first considered 
 personal identity, as that which is perfect 
 in its kind, and the natural measure of that 
 which is imperfect. [320] 
 
 We probably at first derive our notion of 
 identity from that natural conviction which 
 every man has from the dawn of reason of 
 his own identity and continued existence. 
 The operations of our minds are all succes- 
 sive, and have no continued existence. But ' 
 the thinking being has a continued exist- 
 ence ; and we have an invincible belief that 
 it remains the same when all its thoughts 
 and operations change. 
 
 Our judgments of the identity of objects 
 
 g-- f^ ■!>»■■. -n^mtr-Mt 
 
34*1 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTOAL POWElia [BSiAT iii. 
 
 of emm aeem to be fonnisd mueli upon the 
 aame groiinds as our judgnwnts of the 
 iltelity of otlier pcTsons bcdiles ourselves. 
 
 Wlierevef w« observe great similarity, 
 we are apt to presume identit j, if no reason 
 •ppeara to tbo contrary. Two objects ever 
 m like, wlien they are pewseived at the same 
 time, cannot be the aame ; but, if they are 
 presented to our senses at different times, 
 ira «n «pl to tMnk them the sMue, merely 
 tnm Hielr siinihirity. 
 
 Whither this be a natural prejudice, or 
 tttm whatever cause it proceeds, it cer- 
 iiinly ■ppean in children from .infanc^rs 
 mnif when 'W9 grow up, it is^ ^nirmed in 
 moflt initaneiiiy experience ; for we rarely 
 ind two individuals of the same species that 
 are not disHnguiahable by obvious differ- 
 
 mon language are made consbtent with 
 identity, differ from those that are thought 
 to destroy it, not in kind, but in number 
 and degree. It has no fixed nature wheii 
 applied to bodies ; and questions about the 
 identity of a body are very often questions 
 about worda But identity, when applied 
 to persons, has no ambiguity, and admits 
 not of degrees, or of more and less- It is 
 the foundation of all rights and obligations, 
 and of all accountableness ; and the notion 
 of it is fixed and precise. [322] 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 L0GKB*8 ACCOUNT OF THB ORIGIN OP OUR 
 mSAS, AND PARTICULARLY OP TH* IDEA 
 OP nURATXON. 
 
 A man challenges a thief whom he finds 
 in nomession of his horse or his watch, only 
 on similarity. When the watchmaker 
 eweais thai he sold this w»lch tosuoh a 
 
 'Mfiai, hii 't«iliiiiony is grounded, m ■Imi- 
 trity. The teallmony of witnesses to the 
 identity of » person is commonly grounded 
 on no other evidence. 
 
 Thim I I .np peara i 
 
 haireo? our own identity, m teJidUM m 
 
 remember, is totally <j| s^ differ^tMljlfirom 
 the evidence we have of the identity of other 
 persons, or of objects of sense. The first 
 18 grounded on „iip mqiy, and lives un- 
 doubted certainty. The hist is grounded on 
 Hmikrity, and on other circamatances, 
 
 "which in many:, ^>^EmM^Jf:^^^'^ '»»■ 
 'iileive ''iio""'room for doubt. (3211 
 
 I'*""!! liiiy likewise be observed, that the 
 identity of objeeta of sense is never perfect. 
 AU bodies, as they consist of mnumerable 
 psrCs that may be disjoined fieni them by 
 a great variety of causes, are mbject to 
 wntmual ehaa»a of their suleiaiice, in- 
 anasing, diminiihing, changing insensibly. 
 When such alterations are gradual, because 
 toguage could not afford a different name 
 fbr every dilfcreiit ahite of such a change- 
 able being, it letaina tlie same name, and 
 is coniiid«re# as the same thing. Thus 
 we say of an old regiment that it did such a 
 ihiqg a century age> though there now is not 
 •:|lllli alive Wwi then belonged to iL We say 
 a twe ia the same in the seed-bed and m the 
 forest A shipofwar, which has successively 
 aiiBiiged her anchors, her tackle, her sails, 
 Imt liia»t%herplanks, and her timbers, while 
 ■le'leepitiieaanM'iMwnejistbesame. 
 ^ The identilf , therefore, which we ascribe 
 to bodies, whether natural or artificial, is 
 net perfect identity ; it is rather some- 
 thing which, for the conveniency of speech, 
 «e call identity. It admits of a great 
 change of the subject, providing the change 
 be «adual, sometines even of a toui 
 Ubange. And the changes which in com- 
 
 It was a very laudable attempt of Mr 
 Locke " to inquire into the ori{;inal of those 
 ideas, notions, or whatever you please to 
 call them, which a man observes, and ia 
 conscious to hhnself he has in his mind, 
 and the ways whereby the understanding 
 comes to be furnished with them.'* Nu 
 f Tn i n was better qualified for this investi- 
 gation ; and I believe no man ever en- 
 gaged in it with a more sipcere love of 
 truth. 
 
 His success, though great, would, I ap- 
 prehend, have been greater, if he had not 
 too early formed a system or hypothesis 
 upon this subject, without all the caution 
 and patient induction, which is necessary 
 in drawing general conclusions from facts. 
 The sum of his doctrine I take to be 
 thia— " That all our ideas or notions may 
 be reduced to two classes, the simple and 
 the complex : That the simple are purely 
 the work of Nature, the understanding 
 being merely passive in receiving them : 
 That they are all suggested by two powera 
 of the mind — to wit, SeHsatlon and Rejleo 
 Hon ;• and that they are the materials of 
 all our knowledge. That the other class of 
 complex ideas are formed by the under- 
 standing itself, which, being once stored 
 with simple ideas of sensation and reflec- 
 tion, has the power to repeat, to compare, 
 and to combme them, even to an almost 
 uifinite variety, and so can make at pleasure 
 new complex ideas : but that is not in the 
 power of the most exalted wit, or enlarged 
 
 * That Locke dW not (ai etwi Mr Stewart «up. 
 powt) introduce Reflection, either name or thing, 
 into the philosophy of mind, tee Note 1. Nor 
 was he even the first explicitly to enunciate SeiMi 
 and Reflection m the two source* of our ki.owledge; 
 for I can shew that this had been done in a far nior« 
 philosophical manner by some of the schoohiien : 
 Iteflcciion with them not being merely, as with 
 Lorkp, a source ofadventitiotis, einpiricalt or a pot- 
 teriori knowlcdKe, but the mean by which we di*. 
 dose also the native, mtre, or a priort cognitions 
 which t be intellect iHelf conlaliM.— H. 
 
 [321. 3221 
 
 CHAP. V.J LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF THE IDEA OF DURATION. 347 
 
 1(1 
 
 understanding, by any quickness or variety 
 of thought, to invent or frame one new 
 simple idea in the mind, not taken in by 
 the two ways before-mentioned. [323] That, 
 as our power over the material world reaches 
 only to the compounding, dividing, and 
 putting together, in various forms, the 
 matter which God has made, but reaches 
 not to the production or annihilation of a 
 single atom ; so we may compound, com- 
 pare, and abstract the original and simple 
 ideas which Nature has given us ; but are 
 nnable to fashion in our understanding any 
 simple idea, not received in by our senses 
 from external objects, or by reflection from 
 the operations of our own mind about them." 
 This account of the origin of all our ideas 
 is adopted by Bishop Berkeley and Mr 
 Hume; but some very ingenious philoso- 
 phers, who have a high esteem of Lockers 
 Essay, are dissatisfied with it. 
 
 Dr Hutcheson of Glasgow, in his ** In- 
 quiry into the Ideas of Beauty and Virtue," 
 Has endeavoured to shew that these are 
 original and simple ideas, furnished by 
 original powers, which he calls the sense of 
 beauty and the moral sense. 
 
 Dr Price, in his " Review of the Principal 
 Questions and Difficulties in Morals," has 
 observed, very justly, that, if we take the 
 words scnsaiion and reflection., as Mr Locke 
 has defined them in the beginning of his 
 excellent Essay, it will be impossible to 
 derive some of the most important of our 
 ideas from them ; and that, by the under- 
 standing — that, is by our judging and reason- 
 ing power — we are furnished with many 
 simple and original notions. 
 
 Mr Locke says that, by reflection, he 
 would be understood to mean " the notice 
 which the mind takes of its own operations, 
 and the manner of them.'* This, I think, we 
 commonly call consciousness; from which, 
 indeed, we derive all the notions we have 
 of the operations of our own minds ; and he 
 often speaks of the operations of our own 
 minds, as the only objects of reflection. 
 
 When reflection is taken in this confined 
 sense, to say that all our ideas are ideas 
 either of sensation or reflection, is to say 
 that everything we can conceive is either 
 some object of sense or some operation of 
 our own minds, which is far from being 
 true. [324] 
 
 But the word reflection is commonly used 
 in a much more extensive sense ; it is ap- 
 plied to many operations of the mind, with 
 more propriety than to that of conscious- 
 ness. We reflect, when we remember, or 
 call to mind what is past, and survey it 
 with attention. We reflect, when we define, 
 when we distinguish, when we judge, when 
 we reason, whether about things material 
 or iuteliectual. 
 
 When reflection is taken in thia sense, 
 [323-325] 
 
 which is more common, and therefore more 
 proper* than the sense which Mr Locke 
 has put upon it, it may be justly said to be 
 the only source of all our distinct and ac- 
 curate notions of things. For, although our 
 first notions of material things are got by 
 the external senses, and our first notions of 
 the operations of our own minds by con- 
 sciousness, these first notions are neither 
 simple nor clear. Our senses and our con- 
 sciousness are continually shifting from one 
 object to another ; their operations are tran- 
 sient and momentary, and leave no distinct 
 notion of their objects, until they are re- 
 called by memory, examined with attention, 
 and compared with other things. 
 
 This reflection is not one power of the 
 mind ; it comprehends many ; such as re- 
 collection, attention, distinguishing, com- 
 paring, judging. By these powers our minds 
 are furnished not only with many simple 
 and original notions, but with all our notions, 
 which are accurate and well defined, and 
 which alone are the proper materials of 
 reasoning. Many of these are neither no- 
 tions of the objects of sense, nor of the 
 operations of our own minds, .and therefore 
 neither ideas of sensation, nor of reflection, 
 in the sense that Mr Locke gives to reflec- 
 tion. But, if any one chooses to call them 
 ideas of reflection, taking the word in the 
 more common and proper sense, I have no 
 objection. [325] 
 
 Mr Locke seems to me to have used the 
 word reflection sometimes in that limited 
 sense which he has given to it in the defi- 
 nition before mentioned, and sometimes to 
 have fallen unawares into the common sense 
 of the word ; and by this ambiguity his ac- 
 count of the origin of our ideas is darkened 
 and perplexed. 
 
 Having premised these things in general 
 of Mr Locke's theory of the origin of our 
 ideas or notions, I proceed to some observ- 
 ations on his account of the idea of dura- 
 tion. 
 
 " Reflection," he says, " upon the train of 
 ideas, which appear one after another in our 
 minds, is that which furnishes us with the 
 idea of succession ; and the distance between 
 any two parts of that succession, is that we 
 call duration." 
 
 If it be meant that the idea of succession 
 is prior to that of duration, either in time 
 or in the order of nature, this, I think, is 
 impossible, because succession, as Dr Price 
 justly observes, presupposes duration, and 
 can in no sense be prior to it ; and there- 
 
 * This is not correct ; and the employment of 
 Reflecti n in another meaning than that of irtrfo^n 
 W0i( imri—the reflex knowledge or consciousiitas 
 which the mind has of its own aftections— is wholly a 
 •econdarvand less proper signiHcation. i>ce >< te i. 
 I may again notice, that Reict vacillates in the inean- 
 ing he gives to the term Ejection. Ctniparc above, 
 p. 232, note *, and below, under p. 516.— H. 
 
MB 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWBHa 
 
 [£I»AY III 
 
 §am It 'WMild. bo: mora proper to derlvo tho 
 IdiM if MiooflMioii from that of duratioiL 
 
 finl how do we got the idea of succession ? 
 II i% aafB li0^ by refleeting npon'the train 
 if 'iilMs wyish a^pew mm mm .another in 
 oiii'"nindB> 
 
 Reflecting upon the train of ideas can be 
 nothiDgbnlrememberiugit, and giving atten- 
 tion to what our memory teatiies ooneem- 
 ing it; for, if we did not lenember it, we 
 muM. 'mai have a thought 'aboni it So' that 
 it ia evident that this reflection includes 
 tamembraiioe, witbiml which there could be 
 IM lefl'MtifMi. on wliai is past, and conse- 
 f uenlly no Mea^ of' aueeeasion. [326] 
 
 It may here be obiierved, that, if we speak 
 ■tffietly and philosophically, no kind of sue 
 eeasioli. 'Oaai. bean objeoteitber of the senses. 
 •r'lif'fliiiiMiMsiiess; beoame the operations 
 'Of kA^aM' Mninfld to the present point of 
 time, and there can be no succession in a 
 point of time ; and on that account the mo- 
 linn of a body, which isasnceessiTe change 
 •f plaoe, could not be obserred by the senses 
 aim without the aid of memory. 
 
 As this observation seems' to contradict 
 tlM eonunmi aenM^anl ^eommon language of 
 iMakiiid». vlMn/thqr tMtm that they see a 
 hoif BWfe, and held motion to be an.object 
 of the senses, it is proper to take notice, that 
 this eontradietion between the philosopher 
 and the vulgar is apparent only, and not 
 leaL It arises from this, that philosophers 
 and the vulgar differ in the meaning they 
 pml upon what ia called the preimi time, 
 ■Mi are thenby led to make a different Umit 
 'between ae^nae' and acnoty. 
 
 Philosophers fivo 'tiO' 'name of the prg- 
 mm to that mdlvisible point of time, which 
 divides the future from the past t but the 
 tttkar find it more convenienlin the affalia 
 el' Me, to give the .name ef |tPM»fit to a por- 
 liin.oftiimi, wbldi. eitendk more or less, 
 aeeovding to cireumstanoes, into the past or 
 the futurob Hence we say, the present 
 hour, the present year, the present century, 
 thnugh one point only of these perioda can 
 be present in the philosophical sense. 
 
 It has been observed by grammarians, 
 tliat the fiesent tonse in verbs is not con- 
 fined to an indivinible point of time, but is 
 M tm flilended as to have a beglniiing, a 
 middle, and an end; and that, in the most 
 eopious and aceunto hmguages, these dif- 
 'imil parts of the present are distinguished 
 by 'diUnenl forms of the verb. 
 
 As the pupoees of conversation make It 
 convenient to extond what is called the pre- 
 B«>nt, the .lane ;ieaion 'leads men to extend. 
 the pfovimse of sense, and to carry its limit 
 aa '§m baek as they carry the present. Thus 
 a man may say, I saw such a person just 
 now : it would be ridiculous to find fiwlt 
 with thiS' way of speaMnb because it is^ 
 antberiaed by custom, and baa a distinct 
 
 CHAP, v.] LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF THE IDEA OF DURATION. 345 
 
 meaning. [327] But, if we speak philoso- 
 phically, the senses do not testify what we 
 saw, but only what we see ; what I saw 
 hist moment I consider as the testimony of 
 eense^ though it is now only the testimony 
 of memory. 
 
 There is no necessity in common life of 
 dividing accurately the provinces of sense 
 and of memory ; and, therefore ,we assign to 
 sense, not an indivisible point of time, but 
 that small portion of time which we call the 
 present, which haa a beginning, a middk, 
 and an end. 
 
 Hence, it is easy to see that, though, in / 
 common language, we speak with perfect I 
 propriety and truth, when we say that we 
 see a body move, and that motion is an ob- 
 ject of sense, yet when, as philosophers, we 
 distinguish accurately the province of sense 
 from that of memory, we can no more see 
 what is past, though but a moment ago, 
 than we can remember what is present ; so 
 that, speaking philosophically, it is only by 
 the aid of memory that we discern motion, 
 or any succession whatsoever. We see the 
 present phice of the body ; we remember 
 the successive advance it made to that 
 place : the first can then only give us m 
 conception of motion when joined to the hist. 
 
 Having considered the account given by 
 Mr Locke, of the idea of succession, we 
 shall next consider how, from the idea of 
 succession, he derives the idea of duration. 
 
 " The distance,*' he says, " between any 
 parts of that succession, or between. the 
 appearance of any two ideas in our mindai 
 is that we call duration.** 
 
 To conceive this the more distinctly, let 
 us call the distance between an idea and 
 that which immediately succeeds it, one ele- 
 ment of dumtion ; the distance between an 
 idea, and the second that succeeds it, two 
 elements, and so on : if ten such elements 
 make duration, then one must make dura- 
 tion, otherwise duration must be made up of 
 parts that have no duration, which is im« 
 possible. [328] 
 
 For, suppose a succession of as many 
 ideas as you please, if none of these ideas 
 have duration, nor any interval of duration 
 be between one and another, then it is 
 perfectly evident there can be no interval 
 of duration between the first and the last, 
 how great soever their number be. I con- 
 clude, therefore, that there must be dura- 
 tion in every smgle interval or element of 
 which the whole duration is made upb 
 Nothing uideed, is more certain, than that 
 every elementary part of duration must 
 have duration, as every elementary part of 
 extension must Iiave extension. 
 
 Now, it must be observed that, in these 
 elements of duration, or single intervals of 
 successive ideas, there is no succession of 
 ideas; yet we must conceive them to have 
 
 [326-328] 
 
 duration; whence we may conclude with 
 certainty, that there is a conception of du- 
 ration, where there is no succession of ideas 
 in the mind. 
 
 We may measure duration by the suc- 
 cession of thoughts in the mind, as we mea- 
 sure length by inches or feet ; but the notion 
 or idea of duration must be antecedent to 
 the mensuration of it, as the notion of 
 length is antecedent to its being measured. 
 
 Mr Locke draws some conclusions from 
 his account of the idea of duration, which 
 may serve as a touchstone to discover how 
 far it is genuine. One is, that, if it were 
 possible for a waking man to keep only one 
 idea in his mind without variation, or the 
 auccession of others, he would have no per- 
 ception of duration at all ; and the moment 
 he began to have this idea, would seem to 
 have no distance from tiie moment he 
 ceased to have it. 
 
 Now, that one idea should seem to have 
 DO duration, and that a multiplication of that 
 no duration should seem to have duration, 
 appears to me as impossible as that the 
 multiplication of nothing should produce 
 aomething. [329] 
 
 Another conclusion which the author 
 draws from this theory is, that the same 
 period of duration appears long to us when 
 the succession of ideas in our mind is quick, 
 and short when the succession is slow. 
 
 There can be no doubt but the same 
 length of duration appears in some circum> 
 stances much longer than in othera ; the 
 tune appears lonfc when a man is impatient 
 under any pain or distress, or when he is 
 eager in the expectation of some happiness. 
 On the other hand, when he is pleased and 
 happy in agreeable conversation, or delighted 
 with a variety of agreeable objects that 
 strike his senses or his imagination, time 
 flies away, and appears short. 
 
 According to Mr Locke's theory, in the 
 first of these cases, the succession of ideas 
 ia very quick, and in the last very slow. I 
 am rather inclined to think that the very 
 contrary is the truth. When a man is racked 
 with pain, or with expectation, he can 
 hardly think of anything but hb distress ; 
 imd the more his mind is occupied by that 
 isole object, the longer the time appears. 
 On the other hand, when he is entertained 
 with cheerful music, with lively conversa- 
 tion, and brisk sallies of wit, there seems 
 to be the quickest succession of ideas, but 
 the time appears shortest. 
 
 I have heard a military officer, a man of 
 candour and observation, say, that the time 
 be was engaged in hot action alwaya ap- 
 peared to him much shorter than it really 
 was. Yet I think it cannot be supposed 
 that the succession of ideas was then slower 
 than usual.* 
 
 * In travelling, tlM tiine<tccing very short. wbilc 
 [329,330] 
 
 If the idea of duration were got merely 
 by the succession of ideas in our minds, 
 that succession must, to ourselves, appear 
 equally quick at all times, because the only 
 measure of duration is the number of suc- 
 ceeding ideas ; but I believe every man 
 capable of reflection will be sensible, that 
 at one time his thoughts come slowly and 
 heavily, and at another time have a much 
 quicker and livelier motion. [330] 
 
 I know of no ideas or notions that have 
 a better claim to be accounted simple and 
 original than those of Space and Time. It 
 is essential both to space and time to be 
 made up of parts ; but every part is similar 
 to the whole, and of the same nature. Dif- 
 ferent parts of space, as it has three dimen- 
 sions, may differ both in figure and in mag- 
 nitude ; but time having only one dimen- 
 sion, its parts can differ only in magnitude ; 
 and, as it is one of the simplest objects of 
 thought, the conception of it must be purely 
 the effect of our constitution, and given us 
 by some original power of the mind. 
 
 The sense of seeing, by iteelf, gives us 
 the conception and belief of only two dimen- 
 sions of extension, but the sense of touch 
 discovers three ; and reason, from the con- 
 templation of finite extended things, leads 
 us necessarily to the belief of an immensity 
 that contains them.* In like manner, me- 
 mory gives us the conception and belief of 
 finite intervals of duration. From the con- 
 templation of these, reason leads us neces- 
 sarily to the belief of an eternity, which 
 comprehends all things that have a begin- 
 ning and end.* Our conceptions, both of 
 space and time, are probably partial and 
 inadequate,"!* and, therefore, we are apt to 
 lose ourselves, and to be embarrassed in 
 our reasonings about them. 
 
 Our understanding is no less puzzled 
 when we consider the minutest parts of 
 time and space than when we consider the 
 whole. We are forced to acknowledge 
 that in their nature they are divisible with- 
 out end or limit ; but there are limits be* 
 yond which our faculties can divide neither 
 the one nor the other. 
 
 It may be determined by experiment, 
 what is the least angle under which an 
 object may be discerned by the eye, and 
 what is the least interval of duration that 
 may be discerned by the ear. I believe 
 these may be different in different persons : 
 But surely there is a limit which no 
 man can exceed: and what our faculties 
 can no longer divide is still divisible in it- 
 
 I^^^^^^^M^UMPiimi I - ■ ■■■ ~ 
 
 passing; verjr long in retrospect. The cause is ob 
 Tiou«.— H. 
 
 * See above, p. 343, note *.— H. 
 
 t They are not probably but neccMtarily partial 
 and inadequate. For we are unable positively tn 
 conceive lime or Space, either as infinite, (i. e., 
 without limits^) or m» not infinite (t. «.. aft limited.) 
 — H. 
 
35(i 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [■WAY III. 
 
 CHAP. VI.] LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF OUR PERSONAL IDENTITY. 351 
 
 ■dfi Md, by bangs of Buperiar perfection, 
 wmr be dmded into thonsandB of parts. 
 
 I bare reason to believe, tbat a good eye 
 in th© prime of life may see an object under 
 an sni^ not exceeding balf a minute of a 
 degree, and I believe tbere are some human 
 qr<M' »tiU mow perfect. But even this de- 
 ,gree 'Of 'perfeetun 'wU appear great, if we 
 consider how small a part of the retina of 
 the eye it must be which subtends an angle 
 nf half a .ninntei. 
 
 Bupposinf ' the distance' 'between the centre 
 nf flie 'Cye and the .retina to be six or seven 
 tenths of an inch, the subtense of an angle 
 nff half a mmute to that mdius, or the 
 Iwtadth of the image of on object seen under 
 that angto, wii not be above iiw ten thou- 
 sandth pari of an mch. This shews such 
 a wonderful degree of accuracy in the re- 
 fading power 'Of a good eye, that a pencil 
 of says coming from one point of the object 
 :ahaU meet m. one point of the rethia, so as 
 not to deviate from that point the ten 
 'thiwiandth part of .an inch. It shewsi 
 iifcewiie^. that^ auch a motion of ^an object as 
 'mains its 'image on the retina to move the 
 ten thousandth part of.an inch, is discern- 
 ible by the mind. 
 
 In order to judge to what degree of ac- 
 cnracy we can measure short mtervals of 
 time, it may be observed that one who has 
 given attention to the motion of a Second 
 pendnlnm, will be able to beat seconds for 
 • minute with a very small error. When 
 he continues this exercise long, as for five 
 or ten minutes, he is apt to err, more even 
 than in proportion to the time— for thia 
 ftMon, as I apprehend, that it is di£Bcultto 
 attend long tO' the momenta as they pass, 
 'witimnl WMidering ^aHer some other obj^ect 
 of thought 
 
 I have found, by some experiments, that 
 n nan may beat seconds for one minute^ 
 without erring above one second in the 
 whole sixty ; and I donbt not but by long 
 pnictice he might do it staU more accuralil|^' 
 From, this I think it foUowa^ that 'the aix- 
 tietii 'part of .asekind of time m 'discernible 
 bv 'the human mind. [.332] 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 " OP Mm LOCK.B% ACCX11FNT OP OV'R PERSONAL 
 
 IDXHTirV. 
 
 In a long chapter upon Identity and 
 Diversity, Mr Locke has made many in- 
 gmioos and just observations, and some 
 'which I think. 'Cannot be defended. I shall 
 only take notiee of the aeeonnt he gives of 
 onr own Permnai JdmMijf. His doctrine 
 Upon this subject has been censured by 
 IIUiop Butler, in a short easay subjoined to 
 
 his " Analogy," with whose sentiments I 
 perfectly agr^. 
 
 Identity, as was observed. Chap. IV. 3f 
 this Essay, supposes the continued existence 
 of the being of which it is affirmed, and 
 therefore can be applied only to things which 
 have a continued existence. Wliile any 
 being continues to exist, it is the same being : 
 but two beings which have a different be- 
 ginning or a different ending of their exist- 
 ence, cannot possibly be the same. To thia 
 I think Mr Locke agrees. 
 
 He observes, very justly, that to know 
 what is meant by the same person, we must 
 consider wliat the word ££££011 stands for ; 
 and he defines a person to be an intelligent 
 being, endowed with reason and with con- 
 sciousness, which kst he thinks inseparable 
 from thought. 
 
 From this definition of a person, it must 
 necessarily follow, that, whUe the intelligent 
 being continues to exist and to be intelli- 
 gent, it must be the samejjeiiOD. To exy 
 that the intelligent being is the person, and 
 yet that the person ceases to exist, while 
 the intelligent being continues, or that th«, 
 person continues while the intelligent beinj 
 ceases to exist, is to my apprehension a 
 manifest contradiction. [333J 
 
 One would think that the definition of a 
 person should perfectly ascertain the nature 
 of personal identity, or wherein it consists, 
 though it might still be a question how we 
 come to know and be assured of our per- 
 sonal identity. 
 
 Mr Locke tells us, however, " that per- 
 sonal identity — that is, the sameness of a 
 rational being— consists in consciousnes§ 
 alone, and, as far as this consciousness can 
 be extended backwards to any past action 
 or thought, so far reaches the identity of, 
 that person. So that, whatever hath ther 
 consciousness of present and past actions, 
 is the same person to whom they belong."* 
 
 * See Etse^iBook iL c^. 27, K 9.) The paasafe 
 elvcn as a quotat:on in the .text, is thi stim of 
 Ijocke 8 doctrine, but not exactly in his words. I^ng 
 befbre Butler, to whom the merit is usually ascribed, 
 L- cke's doctrine of Personal Identity had been 
 •ttaikea and refuted. This was done even by hit 
 Mlliett critic, John Serfteant, whose words, at he 
 ifjin author wholly unknown to all historian.^ of phi. 
 loiophy, and his works of the rarest, I shall quote. 
 He thus argues : — •• 1 he former «ii^tinrtil•n forc'aid, 
 he I Locke) proceeds to make personal idevtitfi in man 
 to consist in the consciousness that we are the samt 
 thinking thinfi in different times and^places. He 
 proves it, because consciousness in insepar}«ble firoiti 
 thinkuig, and, as it seems to him, essential to it. 
 Ferh^ips he may have hail second thouphts, since he 
 wrii his 19ih Chaptier, where, ^ 4, he thouKhl it 
 I>robable that Thinking is but the action, and not the 
 eneiice of thesouL His reason here is — ' Kecause 
 'lit impossible for any to perceive, without tK'rceiving 
 that be does perceive,* which I have shewn above to 
 be so far from impossible, that ihe contrary is such. 
 MJt, to »i>eak to the point ; Consciousness of any 
 ■ctiun or other accident we Jiave now, or have had, 
 is nothinc but our knowledge that it belonged tn us ; 
 and, since we tx>th *.<gree that we have no .innate 
 knowledgef, it follows, that all,lioth actual and habi. 
 tiial kuowlcdfea, wbicti wc have, aie acquired orac< 
 
 [331 S3S] 
 
 lud 
 
 I 
 
 
 Thia (doctrine hath some strange conse- 
 [pncea^ whicITtHe author was aware of . 
 Bnel^ fHf t}ifl,t, if the Bf^^e consciousness can 
 hft trs^^wfigrrpd from one intelligent t^eingfn 
 ftaothfiJiJKhifilL Jie tllioks we cann ot shew 
 igf ^ impqssibl e, then two or twenty intel- 
 IjglBJQi beuoga may he. ihe SA^Tlc person. And 
 
 if thft intelligent hPing ma ^ In^e tEe Con- 
 
 sciousnegs_of t he actions done by him^ whiclli 
 surely is uofis ible. then he is not t he person 
 tha t did th ose acti^is ; so that one intelli- 
 gent being may "he two or twenty different 
 persons, if he shall so often lose the con- 
 sciousness of his former* actions. 
 
 There is an other consequence of this 
 ^iQctrme. which follows no less necessarily, 
 though Mr Locke probably 3id not spe i\. 
 It isj that a man may be, and at the same 
 time not be, the person that did a particular 
 IkCtion. 
 
 Suppose a brave officer to have been 
 flogged when a boy at school, for robbing 
 an orchard, to have taken a standard from 
 the enemy in his first campaign, and to have 
 been made a general in advanced life : Sup- 
 pose also, which must be admitted to be 
 I possible, that, when he took the standard, 
 
 cidental to the subject or knower. WhertfortsOie 
 imin, or that thing, which: is to be the knower, must 
 have had individuality or personality, from other 
 principles, antecedently to this knoickdge, called 
 consciousness : and, consequently, he will retain his 
 identity, or continue the same man, or (which is 
 tquivaient) the same person, as long as he has those 
 individuating principles. What »ho<e principles are 
 which coiistrtute this man^ or this knowing -indiri- 
 duum, I have «hewn above, H 6, 7. It being then 
 moat evident, that a man must be the same, ere he can 
 know or be conscious that he is the same, all his 
 laborious descants and extravagant consequences 
 which are built upon this supposition, that conscious. 
 ness individuates the person, can need no farther 
 reflitation." 
 
 The same objection waa also made by Leibnitz in 
 hi» strictures on Locke's Essay. Inter alia, he says.— 
 ** Pour ce qui est du soi il sera bon de le tlistinguer 
 de Fapporence du soi et de la consciosite Le soi fait 
 tidenUti reelle ot physique, et lapparrnce du soi, 
 ■ccompagn^e de laverite, y joint I'identitepersonelle. 
 Ainsi ne voulant point dire, que I'identite personelie 
 nes'cterd [)a» plus loin que le souvenir, jedirois encore 
 moins que le soi ou I'identite physique en depend. 
 L'identite reele et per^onelleseprouve le plus certain, 
 ment qu'il 6e.peut en matierc de fait, par la reflexion 
 
 Presenteet immediate; elleseprouvotiutfisamentpour 
 ordinaire par notrc souvenir d'lntervalle ou par le 
 temeignage conspirant des autres. Mais si Dieu 
 Changeoit extraordinairment I'identite reele, la per. 
 ■onelle demeuroit, pourvu que I'homme conservdt 
 les apparences d'identiie, tant les internes, (cVst<% 
 dire ile la cor science,) que lesexternes, commecclles 
 qui consistent dans ce qui paroit aux autres. Ainsi 
 la conscience n'e^t pas le seul moyen*ile constituer 
 I'identite p<'r«onellc, et le rapfwrt d'autrui ou meme 
 d'autresmarqOesy pen vent supplier. IVIais il y a dela 
 difficulty, s'il se tmuve contradiction entrecesdivei. 
 •es apparei ces. La conscience t-o pent taire comme 
 dans I'oubli ; maissi elle disoit bicn clairment des 
 choses, qui lus^cnt contrairesaux autres apparences, 
 on seroit einbarass^ dans la decision et corome sus. 
 
 PendQ quelquct fois enire deux nossibilite!*, ccllede 
 Irreur du noire fiouvemr rt cello de quelque decep- 
 tion dans les apparence& extcrnef." 
 
 For the liest criticism of Locke's doctrine of Perso- 
 nal Identity, I may, however, refer the reader to M. 
 Cousin's •« Cours de Philosophic," X. ii., Le^on xviii., 
 
 p. luo-ioa-H. 
 [334, 335] 
 
 he was conscious of his having been flogged 
 at school, and that when'made a general he 
 was conscious of his taking the standard, 
 but had absolutely lost the consciousness of 
 his flogging. [334] 
 
 These things being supposed, it follows, ( 
 from Mr Lockers doctrine, that he who was I 
 flogged at school is the same person who j 
 took the standard, and that he who to* >k the ; 
 standard is the same person who was made j 
 a general. Whence it follows, if there be] 
 any truth in logic, that the general is the 
 same person with him who was flogged 
 at school. But the generaPs consciousness 
 does not reach so far back as his flogging — 
 therefore, according to Mr Locke's doctrine, 
 he is not the person who was flogged. 
 Therefore, the general is, and at the same 
 time is not the same person with him who 
 was flogged at school.* 
 
 Leaving the consequences of this doctrine 
 to those who have leisure to trace them, we 
 may observe, with regard to the doctrine 
 itself— 
 
 First, That Mr Locke attributes to con- \ 
 sciousness the conviction we have of our 
 past actions, as if a man may now be con- 
 scious of what he did twenty years ago. 
 It is impossible to understand the meaning 
 of this, unless by consciousness be meant j 
 memory, theonly faculty by which wehavean I 
 immediate knowledge of our past actions. i" ' 
 Sometimes, in popular discourse, a man 
 says he is conscious that he did such a 
 thing, meaning that he distinctly remembers 
 that he did it. Itjsjinnecessary, in com- 
 mon discourse, to ^x accuratel y the limit s 
 between conscious ness an d memory. This 
 was formerly shewn"to be the case with re- 
 gard to sense and memory i and, therefore, 
 distinct remembrance is sometimes called 
 sense, sometimes consciousness, without 
 any inconvenience. 
 
 But this ou^htjto be avoided in philosp- 
 pliyj otherwise we confound the diflerent 
 powers of the mind, and ascribe to one what 
 really belongs to another. If a man can be 
 conscious of what he did twenty ygars. or 
 twenty minutes agOj there is no use for 
 memory, nor ought we to all o.wJiiat. there 
 is any such faculty. [335] The faculties of 
 consciousness and me mory are chiefly dis- 
 tingui shed by this^ that the first is an im- 
 mediate knowledge oftliepresfint^ the second 
 
 When, therefore, Mr Locke's notion of [ 
 
 * Compare Buffier's " Traitddcs premieres VMiez," 
 (Remarques sur Locke, § 5(5,; who makesta similar 
 criticism.— H. 
 
 .t Locke, it. will be remembered, does not, like . 
 Reid, view courciousness as a co-ordinate faculty with ^ 
 memory ; but under consciousntss he properly com- 
 prehends the various laculties as so •many special 
 modifications. — H. 
 
 f. As already frequently stated, an immedtati 
 knowledge of the jmst isicontradictory. 'i his ob- 
 servation I cannot a^ain repeat. See Note B.— H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I^BSSAY III. 
 
 oaAP. VII. ] 
 
 THEORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. 
 
 353 
 
 fifioiial idsntity is properly expreiMd, It is 
 'lisl. 'ptiMiMl .Utatity <3o.ii8isl8 in distinel 
 vmmmbimami inr, even in tlis popular' 
 iBoise, to :ssy iliBl I am oodmsioiis of a past 
 action, moans nulliiiig tlse than, tliat I dis- 
 tinetly remomber that I did it 
 
 MtmmUf . It may be obaervod, that, hi 
 IhSooeSnne, not only is conacio n aneas con- 
 founded with memory, but, vMeh is stil 
 more strange, p eiaBMiJidep tit y is confounded 
 witli &m ey iiiiii^ if^Mi' iff jy? of ""^ 
 persona l 'idientlty . 
 
 ' ""' It S"'wmywae that my remembrance 
 that I « lid su cn a tmn^ is the evidepce'^ 
 
 2l3JiI^ 
 
 t am' the identTd arperson w^^ 
 
 gj Ana fill; TaM apt to lIunt^'Mr liOc"ke 
 meant But, to say that my remem brance 
 that I didroSBTrffllOOSE^ti^'^WuS. 
 
 nose. 
 
 cesme 
 
 t 
 
 ension, an aDsuraity too^ross to 
 Sfne5"By any m^*wno attends U> 
 
 JJ5t tfi'inr"'"i§ fif it j for it is to attribute to 
 memory or'emisiitoiiBness, a strange 'nagi- 
 eal power of producing its object thourh 
 that object must have existed before the 
 mmmmf or consciousness whkh produced it 
 
 Oonsooiianess is the testimony of one 
 faewlty I memory is the testimony of another 
 iMulty. And, to say that the testimony is 
 ilMi canst of the thing testified, this surely 
 is 'alMini, if anytliing be, and could not 
 have been said by Mr jLocle, if he had not 
 confounded the testimony with the thing 
 testified. 
 
 When a hum ttait was stolen is found 
 .ani. claimed hy 'th«' owner, the only evidence 
 he can 'have, or 'that a judge or witoesees 
 'Can have that 'this is the very 'idcntieal. horse 
 'viiiciwaB^.hli' property, is auniiliMl*. [aSi] 
 Bui wmiM it not be ridiculous iram this to 
 Infer that the identity of a hone consists in 
 similitude only ? The only evidence I have 
 thai I am the identical person who did such 
 .aiCliMii' :ii|, that I rememhar' distinctly I did 
 ihim.| or, m Mr Loche exfiieaaes it, I am. 
 eoHMNiS I did them. To infer from thie, 
 that personal identity consists in conscious- 
 Bcsa, Is an argument which, if it had any 
 fifee^ would prove the identity of a stolen 
 hoist' to coranat solely in shnlMtnde. 
 
 f*Mp^j Is ii not strange that the same^ 
 nees or identity of a person should consist 
 in a thmg which is c<intiiiially changing, 
 and is not any two m.inutes the samC' ? 
 
 Our consciousness, our memory, and 
 '•voiy 'Oposation of the mind, are stiU flow- 
 'ilf , lihe the water' of a river, or like time 
 IMC 'Tht eonsebusness I have this 
 mmnenl can no^ more be 'the same conscious- 
 ness I had kst moment, than this moment 
 can he the kst moment Identity, can only 
 be.ilBnMw|,ffif thjii^ which have a TOntinued 
 fiinlftniii. Cfmr^"""*^"! 'i"^ **'^**'7 km** 
 M tho ug ht, , ii 'tfaiaiffit and mnmitnt l ijih i and 
 
 foftL^JIflliDiial identity jCfiTifiifltgd JB flflP* 
 sciousnesSaM would certainly follow thaino 
 mm isthfiiainfi -person any two .ropmcntp 
 of hisUfo ; and, as the right and justice of 
 reward and punishment is founded on per- 
 sonal identity, no roan could be responsible 
 for his actions. 
 
 But, though I take this to he the una- 
 voidable consequence of Mr Locke's doo» 
 trine concemmg personal identity, and 
 though some persons may have liked the 
 doctrine the better on this account, I am 
 far from imputing anything of this land to 
 Mr Locke. He was too good a man not to 
 have rejected with abhorrence a doctrine 
 which he believed to draw tliis consequence 
 after it [337] 
 
 Fourthly ^ There are many expressions 
 used by Mr Locke, in speaking of personal 
 identity, which, to me, are altogether unin* 
 teUigible, unless we suppose that he con- 
 founded that sameness or identitv which we 
 ascribe to an individual, with the identity 
 which, in common discourse, is often ascribed 
 to many individuals of the same species. 
 
 When we say that pain and plea8uro,\ 
 consciousness and memory, are the same in 
 alt men, this sameness can only mean simi- 
 larity, or sameness of kind ; but, that the 
 pain of one man can be the same individual 
 pain with tliat of another man, is no less 
 impossible than that one man should be 
 another man ; the pain felt by me yester- 
 day can no more be the pain I feel to-day, 
 than yesterday can be this day; and the 
 same thing may be said of every passion 
 and of every opemtion of the mind. The 
 same kind or species of operation may be 
 in different men, or in the same man at 
 different times ; but it is impossible that the 
 same individual operation should be in dif- 
 ferent men, or in the same man at different 
 
 When Mr Locke, therefore, speaks of " the 
 same consciousness being continued through 
 a succession of different substances ;** when 
 he speaks of " repeating the idea of a past 
 action, with the same consciousness we had 
 of it at the first," and of " the same con- 
 sciousness extending to actions past and to 
 come** — these expressions are to me unin- 
 telligible, unless he means not the same in- 
 dividual consciousness, but a consciousnesa 
 that is similar, or of the same kind. 
 
 If o ur p ersonal identity consists in con - 
 S^ip.U8ne8s,~as thfs consciousness cannjJLbe 
 tHe same individuairy aiiy'Two'^'inoments, 
 but only of the same kind, it would follow 
 that we are 'not for any two momentai the 
 same individual persons, but the sameJuP^ 
 pi persons. 
 
 As our consciousness sometimes ceases i 
 to eiist, as in sound sleep, our personal I 
 identity must cease with it Mr Locke 
 allows, that the same thbg cannot have 
 
 [SSfi, SS7] 
 
 n 
 
 two beginnings of existence ; so that our 
 identity would be irrecoverably gone every 
 time we cease to think, if it was but for a 
 a moment* [338] 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THBORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. 
 
 The common theory of ideas — ^that is, 
 of images in the brain or in the mind, of 
 all the objects of thought— has been very 
 generally applied to account for the facul- 
 ties of memory and imagination, as well as 
 that of perception by the senses. 
 
 The sentiments of the Peripatetics are 
 expressed by Alexander Aphrodisiensis, 
 one of the earliest Greek commentators on 
 Aristotle, in these words, as they are trans- 
 lated by Mr Harris in his ** Hermes ;" — 
 ** Now, what Phancy or Imagination is, we 
 may explain as follows :— We may conceive 
 tobeformed within us, from the operations of 
 our senses about sensible objects, some Im- 
 pression, as it were, or Picture, in our origi- 
 nal 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, 
 
 * It is here proper to insert Reid's remarks on 
 Pergonal Identity, as published by Lord Kames, in 
 his *' Essays on the Principles of Morality and Natural 
 Religion," (third edition, p. 204.) These, perhaps, 
 BQight have more appropriately found their place in 
 the Correspondence of our Author. 
 
 •' To return to our subject," says his Lordship, 
 •• Mr Locke, writing on personal identity, has fallen 
 short ofhis usual accuracy. Heinadvertei.tly jumbles 
 together the identity that is nature's work, with 
 our knowledfio ol it. Nay, he expres'-es himself some, 
 times as if identity had no other foundation than 
 that knowledKe. I am favoured by Dr Reid with the 
 following thoughts on personal identity :— 
 
 •*♦ All men agiee that ptrsonality is indivisibis ; a 
 
 Ktrtofapeison is an absurdity. A man who loses 
 is estate, his health, an arm, or a leg, contmues stisl 
 tobethesameperton. My personal identity, therefore, 
 is the continued existence of that indivisible thing 
 which I call myself. I am not thought ; 1 am not 
 action : I itm nut feeling; but I think, and act, and 
 feel. Thoughts, actions, feeliuKS, change every 
 moment ; but *<•(/; to which ihey belong, is perm:in. 
 ent. If it be asked how 1 know that it is permanent, 
 the answer is, that I know it from memory. Every, 
 thing I remember to have seen, or heard, or done, or 
 auffcr&i, convinces me that I existed ai the time 
 rememhered. But, though it is from memory that I 
 have the knowledge of my pergonal identity, yet |ier. 
 sonal identity must exist in nature, in«tepiiident of 
 memory ; otherwise, I should only be ihe same per- 
 son as f.«r as my memory Kcrve< roc , and what would 
 b«co:i e of my existence during the intervals wherein 
 mj memory has failed me ? My rememberanoe of any 
 el my aciioiis does not make me to be the iietson who 
 did the action, but only makes me know that I was 
 theiterson who did it. And yet it w:«s Mr Locke's 
 opinion, that my remembrance nf an action is what 
 ra»kes mi' to be the person who did it ; a pregnant 
 iiista' celhat even men of the tiieatest genius may 
 sometimes all into an at>surdity. Is it not an <jbvious 
 corollary, from Mr Locke's opinion, fliat he never 
 was lM)rn ? tie could not remember his birth ; and, 
 therefore, was not the person born at such a place 
 and at such a time."*— H. 
 
 f 338, 339:j 
 
 and which, by being thus preserved, be* 
 comes the cause of our having Memory. 
 Now, such a sort of relict, and, as it were, 
 impression, they call Phancy or Imagina- 
 tion."* 
 
 Another passage from Alcinous Of the 
 Doctrines vf Plato, chap. 4, shews the agree- 
 ment of the ancient Platouists and Peripa- 
 tetics in this theory : — " 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."* [339] 
 
 Upon this principle, Aristotle imputes the 
 shortness of memory in children to this 
 cause — that their brain is too moist and soft 
 to retain impressions made upon it : and 
 the defect of memory in old men he imputes, 
 on the contrary, to the hardness and rigidity 
 of the brain, which hinders its receiving 
 any durable impression. -j- 
 
 This ancient theory of the cause of 
 memory is defective in two respects : First^ 
 If the cause assigned did really exist, it by 
 no means accounts for the phenomenon ; 
 and, secondly^ There is no evidence, nor 
 even probability, that that cause exists. _^ 
 
 It is probable that in perception some 
 impression is made upon the brain as well 
 as upon the organ and nerves, because all 
 the nerves terminate in the brain, and be- 
 cause disorders and hurts of the brain are 
 found to aflFect our powers of perception 
 when the external organ and nerve are 
 found ; but we are totally ignorant of tho 
 nature of this impression upon the brain ; 
 it can have no resemblance to the object 
 perceived, nor does it in any degree ac- 
 count for that sensation and perception 
 which are consequent upon it. These things 
 have been argued in the second Essay, andT 
 shall now be taken for granted, to prevent 
 repetition. 
 
 If the impression upon the brain be insuf- 
 ficienj^toaccountlor^ the perception of lib- 
 jects that are present, it can as little account 
 fortlie memory of those that arejjast. 
 
 SoJhat^if.itwer«_certain that the iin- 
 pressipns vdoAq on the brain in perception 
 remain as long a^ there is any memory of 
 the olyect, all tb^t could be inferred fi^m 
 this, is,, th^t, by the laws of Nature, tlijere 
 IS a connection establi&bed between that im- 
 pression, and the rememberance of that 
 object. But how thempression contributiM 
 
 * The inference founded on these passages, it alto- 
 gether erroneous. See Note K.—H. 
 
 t In this whole statement Reid is wrong. In the 
 Urti place, Aristotle did not inipute the defect of 
 'memory in children and old persons to any const tu- 
 tion of the Brain ; for, in his doctrine, the Ifeart* 
 and not Ihe Brain, is the primary stnsonuro m which 
 the impression is made. In the second j)lace, the 
 term t»nprc*«ow (Ti>r«f), is used by Aristotle in an 
 analogical, not in a Uteral signification bee Note &. 
 — H. 
 
 "i A 
 
<\ 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWBRa 
 
 [ehsav Hi. 
 
 cB*p. VII.] THEORIES CONCERNINC MEMORY. 
 
 355 
 
 fQnMiiiltnnce^ we should he q,iii|$ 
 
 1 1 It lieing imposable U) disttKK 
 
 thought of any kind should be^Mai: 
 
 HUj^part of the body. [340] 
 '0 wiKj that thia impression is memo 
 identbodfite: 
 
 nnc 
 
 mflrajfgiOOi. fee ownd oJjn fiimiK'. it 
 to be abewn^howJLliisdBfia-lhis. 
 
 lerwue memory re mwPB la niiae- 
 Slelfl before. '"' 
 
 should undertake to ae- 
 il fbf the force of gunpowder in the 
 discharge of a musket, and then tell us 
 navely that the cause of this phenomenon 
 m He drawing of the trigger, we ahould not 
 be much wiser bv this i^ount. As little 
 :■!• we inetvwlea :iii tie 'Caine' of memory, 
 1^ being told thai it is caused by a certain 
 'iapwsiiiiii. on the brain. For, snpposin^ 
 llMrt' iiwe d en on the brai n were as neces * 
 saryto meinoiy ailie^rawutgjeC^ 
 
 IS to the diwrharge.. nf tha migket, we are 
 
 ftiU as ignorant iiswe weve how memoryl^ 
 pmill^ ; so that, if the cause of memory, 
 ■ii%ned by this theory, did really exist, it 
 ieeS' 'HoI in any ^btg/em account for memory. 
 
 Another' Mwt 'in this theory is, that 
 there is no evidence nor probability that 
 the cause assigned does exist ; that is, that 
 1 the impression made upon the brain in per- 
 l«eption remains alter the object isremoTcd. 
 
 That impression, whatever be its nature, 
 
 object upon the organ of sense, and upon 
 the nervcw Philosophers suppose^ without 
 il^ evidenofc that, when the object is re- 
 injred, and fhe impression upon the orgim 
 ■wl nerve ceases, the impression upon the 
 'iniii coatannes, and is permanent ; that' is, 
 liat. wimi th«' eanse is removed, the effect. 
 eentniieB. 'The brain surely does, not ap- 
 feiv sore fitted to fetsin an imp resiion 
 'than, the orp m and nerve. 
 
 , i»ii|ZHiiP? t^a* tje impression upon 
 the brain, contmues after its cause is re- 
 
 ^SSveSTto eifects on^ht to^„ continue jrhlle 
 
 Tl^^tinues; that i«, the 8en»ti<».j||# 
 
 impressuni upon the brain, which is su|>- 
 
 nosed to. be their .canse. But here _aioun 
 liie phM oiopii er inafces a second supp^Ubn, 
 With as Ime eviiencej tmt of ^ eon trary 
 
 naturo--3B'" wiOhali whOe the ewise re- 
 
 ■"" "Sir " "''"■''»i|i| ■ ' _ .... ..«»«« ja'"giiiiiiiii I i ". ■ ■" 
 
 i^lEeiect ceases. 13411 
 
 should be gmnted alao^ a third 
 
 Jl'iiiiyi' 
 
 uced sensation and perception, 
 rfj ysfwy^Mfc^rwards produce raemorj' — an opeu^ 
 
 0^^ JB"""^ ^■BESr . V SsHe>'*"*"*''""' * ■ ■■■■■ ■wBIHBr 
 
 tie n Mid pe rception. 
 
 ' ugh it be permanent, 
 
 not produce its effect at all times i it 
 
 iuiiilBim iii'liieription' which is some- 
 
 times covered with rubbish, and on other 
 occasions made legible ; for the memory of 
 things is often interrupted for a long time, 
 and circumstances bring to our recollection 
 what had been long forgot. After all, many 
 things are remembered which were never 
 perceived by the senses, being no objects of 
 sense, and therefore which could make no 
 impression upon the brain by means of the 
 
 Thus, when philosophers have piled one 
 supposition upon another, as the giants piled 
 the mountains in order to scale the heavens, 
 all is to no purpose — memory remains unac- 
 countable ; and we know as little how we 
 remember things past, as how we are con- 
 scious of the present. 
 
 But here it is proper to observe, that, 
 although impressions upon the brain give 
 no aid in accounting for memory, yet it is 
 very probable that, in the human frame, 
 memory b dependent on some proper state 
 or temperament of the brain. • ' 
 
 Although the furniture of our memory 
 bears no resemblance to any temperament 
 of brain whatsoever, as indeed it is impos- 
 sible it should, yet nature may have sub- 
 jected us to this law, that a certain consti- 
 tution or state of the brain is necessary to 
 memory. That this is really the case, 
 many well-known facts lead us to con- 
 clude. (3421 
 
 It is possible that, by accurate observa- 
 tion, the proper means may be discovered 
 of preserving that temperament of the brain 
 which is favourable to memory, and of 
 remedying the disorders of that tempera- 
 ment. This would be a very noble im- 
 pfOTcment of the medical art. But, if it 
 should ever be attained, it would give no 
 aid to understand how one state of the brain 
 assists memory, and another hurts it. 
 
 I know certainly^ that the i mpressio n 
 pada npoi ) tny hanH hy thft prinlTof a pin 
 o ccasions *\CMtg pair Tinf <>ftn ^jxy philo- 
 s opher sh e w h ow tb?a CftU ^e prod uces the 
 effect ? The n atuj'e_of _the impress ion is 
 heifi isrt?ctly_lfcnawn ; but it, givpa nn hdji 
 *f} B]j*^«'n tftn*^ ^"^ *-^^* impression a ffeeta 
 
 thejniXld^ <M>d, if we knew a& dj.stinrtly tES 
 state of the brain which causes memory^ 
 we slioijJd stiil be as ignorant as before huM: 
 that §tatc. contrihutes to piemory. We 
 might have been so constituted, for anything 
 that I know, that the prick of a pin in the 
 hsnd, instead of causini; pain, should cause 
 remembrance ; nor would that constitution 
 be more unacoonntable than the present. 
 The body and mind operate on each other, i 
 
 * Nothing oBoie was mMnt bf the philosopher la 
 qudtion, than that memory it, as Reid himself md. 
 mits, dependent on a certain state of the brain, and 
 on some unknown effect determined in it, to w'lich 
 tbry gave the metaphorical name— nn/>r;Mion, tnwc, 
 tpptt Ac.— H. 
 
 [340-3121 
 
 according to fixed Aws of nature ; and it is 
 l» the business of a philosopher to discover 
 9 i those laws by observation and experiment : 
 but, when he has discovered them, he must 
 rest in them as facts whose cause is in- 
 scrutable to the human understanding. 
 
 Mr Locke, and those who have followed 
 him, speak with more reserve than the 
 ancients,* and only incidentally, of impres- 
 sions on the brain as the cause of memory, 
 and impute it rather to our retaining in our 
 minds the ideas got either by sensation or 
 reflection. 
 
 This, Mr Locke says, may be done two 
 ways—" First, By keeping the idea for some 
 time actually in view, which is called con- 
 templation ; Secondly, By the power to re- 
 vive again in our mmds those ideas which, 
 after imprinting, have disappeared, or have 
 been, as it were, kid out of sight ; and this 
 is memory, which is, as it were, the store- 
 house of our ideas.'* [343] 
 ^ To exphiin this more distmctly, he imme- 
 diately adds the following observation : 
 
 " But our ideas being notliing but actual 
 perceptions in the mind, which cease to be 
 anything when there is no perception of 
 them, this 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 perceptions which it 
 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 abiUty in the mind, when it will, to 
 revive them again, and, as it were, paint 
 them anew upon itself, though some with 
 more, some with less difficulty, some more 
 lively, and others more obscurely.** 
 
 In this account of memory, the repeated 
 use of the phrase, as it were, leads one to 
 judge that it b partly figurative ; we must 
 therefore endeavour to distinguish the fijru- 
 rative part from the philosophical. The 
 first, being addressed to the imagination, 
 exhibits a picture of memory, which, to 
 have its effect, must be viewed at a proper 
 distance and from a particular point of 
 view. The second, being addressed to the 
 understanding, ought to bear a near inspec- 
 tion and a critical examination. 
 
 The analogy between memory and a re- 
 pository, and between remembering and 
 retaining, is obvious, and is to be found in 
 all languages, it being very natural to ex- 
 press the operations of the mind by images 
 taken from things material. But, m phi- 
 losophy we ought to draw aside the veil of 
 imagery, and to view them naked. 
 
 When, therefore, memory is said to be a 
 repository or storehouse of ideas, where they 
 
 I* This it hardlj oorrcd. 
 [343-345] 
 
 bee Note w Li> H. 
 
 are laid up when not perceived, and again 
 brought forth as there is occasion, I take 
 this to be popular and rhetorical. [344] 
 For the author tells us, that when they are 
 not perceived, they are nothing, and no- 
 where, and therefore can neither be laid up 
 in a repository, nor drawn out of it. 
 
 But we are told, " That this laying up of 
 our ideas in the repository of the memory 
 signifies no more than this, that the mind 
 has a power to revive perceptions, which it I 
 once had, with this additional perception! 
 annexed to them, that it has had them( 
 before.'* This, I think, must be understood < 
 literally and philosophically. 
 
 But itjeems to me as difficult to revivr 
 thmgs thatTiave ceased to be' anything, as. 
 to lay them up in a repository, or to bring, 
 them out of it. When a thing is once 
 annihilated, the same thing cannot be again 
 produced, though another thing similar to 
 It may. Mr Locke, in another place, 
 acknowledges that the same thing cannot 
 have two beginnings of existence ; and that 
 things that have different beginnings are 
 not the same, but diverse. From this it 
 follows, that an ability to revive our ideas 
 or percep lions, after they have ceased to be, 
 can signify no more but an ability to create 
 new ideas or perceptions similar to those we 
 had before. 
 
 They are said '* to be revived, with this 
 additional perception, that we have had them 
 before.** This surely would be a fallacious 
 perception, since they could not have two 
 beginnings of existence : nor could we be- 
 lieve them to have two beginnings of exbt- 
 ence. We can only, belifive that we had 
 formerly ideas or perceptions very like to 
 thein, though not identically the same. But 
 whether we perceive them to be the same, 
 or only like to those we had before, this 
 pfircftptinn» ope. would think, aupposesTa 
 remembrance of JtboSfi .We had before, other- 
 Wjs e the sittdttltgde or identity cou ld noibe 
 perceived . ~~" 
 
 Another phrase is used to explain this 
 reviving of our perceptions — " The mind, 
 as it were, paints them anew upon itself.*' 
 [345] There may be something figurative 
 in this ; but, making due allowance for that, 
 it must imply that the 'mind, which paints 
 the things that have ceased to exist, must 
 have the memory of what they were, since 
 every painter must have a copy either before 
 his eye, or in his imagination and memory. 
 
 These remarks upon Mr Locke's account 
 of memory are intended to shew that his 
 system of ideas gives no light to this faculty, 
 but rather tends to darken it ; as httle does 
 it make us understand how we remember, 
 and by that means liave the certain know- 
 ledge of things past. 
 
 Every man knows what memory is, and 
 has a distinct notion of it. But when Mr 
 
 2a 2 
 
OW THE INTELLECTUAL POWERa [iokav hi. 
 
 OUAP. VII* 
 
 THEORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. 
 
 367 
 
 « '' 
 
 ..iliiMkt '■ptin-iir m 'iwwvr to levive in the 
 mini tlmw Ideas wMeli, after impriuting, 
 have diaappowed, or have been, as it were, 
 laid OBl of «ght, one would hardly know 
 this to he memory, if he had not told us. 
 ThciV' an. o^lher things which it seems to 
 resemble al least as mueh. I see^ before: 
 me the f ieture of a friend. I shut my eyes, 
 or turn them another way, and the picture 
 disappears, or is, as it we^^, kid out of sight. 
 I have a power to turn my eyes again to- 
 wards the picture, and hnmedlitely the per- 
 ception is revived. But is this memory ? 
 Ko surely ; yet it answers the definition as 
 well, as memory itself can dxh * 
 
 We may olwsnre, that the word percep- 
 tion is naed by Mr Locke in too indefiaite 
 a way, as well as 'the word idea. 
 
 Perceptiniii n tiie ehapter upon that suh- 
 jeet, is mM U be the first faculty of the 
 '■iiM exereiBed about our ideas. Here we 
 aie told that- ideas are nothing but percep- 
 tinpa. Yet, I apprehend, it would sound 
 oidlv to say, that perceftion is the first 
 iUMJty of the mind exercised about percep- 
 timi i and still more strangely to say, that 
 Ideaa are the first faculty of the mind ex- 
 •nfaed aboit mw ideas.. But why should 
 ..BUl idetS' te a faculty as well as perception, 
 if 'biitli. are the same ?f ' [346] 
 
 Memory is said to be a power to revive 
 our perceptions. Will it not follow from 
 iliil, that everything that can be remem- 
 "beied is a peNeption? if ^is^ be so, it will 
 be difficult to ind anytMog in nature but 
 pereeptiott&l 
 
 Ow .idea% we am' told,, are nothing but 
 ,aettial 'perceptions i but, in maov pkces of 
 the Essay, ideas are said to be the objects 
 of pereeptlon, and that the mind, in all its 
 tlmiiglits and reasonings, has no other im- 
 oeiediate object which it does or can con- 
 lenplate but its own ideas. Does it not 
 appear from«this, either that Mr Locke neld 
 the opeiations of the mind to be the same 
 thimji 'With tha. oMeeta id those operations,! 
 m 'that' .lie. used tie word idea sometimes m 
 ■I* laiiM and sometimes in another, with- 
 out any intimation, and probably without 
 aay appieiuiision of its ambiguity ? It is 
 an article of Mr Ilnme% phikeopby, tliat 
 '"there is no disttnctioii 'between 'the opera- 
 tions of the mind and their objects.! But 
 I see no reason to impute this opinion to 
 Mr*Locke. I rather think that, not wtth- 
 
 • Tin mam of flw wfcedinr itrkiiarM on Locked 
 acoinntiir' iiMMiif» "'eactMes miglil eoniiicCeiiily be 
 
 ' I nil erttlciiai onlf .•Iwwa tht 'pf oprlety of the 
 dlit'illCliiMl of fNTOipliia MoM y i imp t* Locke and 
 oiiMr#lillo«i|iwn me tiM wmA mmptim, I'*, tot 
 mcMt or fiunilly of peraeivitif i #, for that which I0 
 pffceiVHli-tlM Mlea ill tlidf doctiiiiti and df, lor 
 ■•itliif-« liotll. Indifferently.— H. _ 
 .1 §m album p.. 8^. b. note * ; p. )i80» a nott *.— U. 
 1 flw ienn otyect being then, iiwd lor iIm immt- 
 "mm iiWMl-vlt., that of whkh wt are oonKioui. 
 
 standing his great judgment and candour, 
 his understanding was entangled by the 
 ambiguity of the word idea, and that most 
 of the imperfections of his Essay are owing 
 to that cause. 
 
 Mr Hume saw farther into the conae-l 
 quences of the common system concerning 
 ideas than any author had done before him. 
 He saw the absurdity of making every object 
 of thought double, and splitting it into .a 
 remote object, whicli has a separate and 
 permanent existence, and an immediate 
 object, called an idea or impression, which 
 Is an image of the former, and has no ex- 
 istence, but when we are conscious of it. 
 According to this system, we have no in- 
 tercourse with the external world, but by 
 means of the internal world of ideas, which 
 represents the other to the mind. 
 
 He saw it was necessary to reject ono 
 of these worlds as a fiction, and the question 
 was. Which should be rejected ? — whether 
 all mankind, learned and unlearned, had 
 feigned the existence of the external world 
 without good reason ; or whether philoso- 
 phers had feigned the internal world of ideas, 
 In order to account for the intercourse of 
 the mind with the external ? [347] Mr 
 Hume adopted the hrst of these opinions, 
 and employed his reason and eloquence in 
 support of it 
 
 Bishop Berkeley had gone so far in the 
 same track as to reject the material world 
 as fictitbus ; but it was left to Mr Hume 
 to complete the system. J 
 
 According to his system, therefore, im- 
 pressions and ideas iu his own mind are 
 the only things a man can know or can 
 conceive. Nor are these ideas representa- 
 tives, as they were in the old system. 
 There is nothing else in nature, or, at least, 
 within the read^ of our faculties, to be re- 
 presented. What the vulgar call the per- 
 ception of an external object, is nothing but 
 a strong impression upon the mind. What 
 we call the remembrance of a past event, 
 is nothing but a present impression or ide% 
 weaker than the former. And what we call 
 imagination, is still a present idea, but 
 weaker than that of memory. 
 
 That I may not do him injustice, these 
 are his words in his " Treatise of Human 
 Nature," [voL I. J page 193. 
 
 *' We find by experience that, when any 
 impresbion has been present with the mind, 
 It agi^ makes its appearance there as an 
 idea ; and this It may do after two different 
 ways, either when in its new appearance it 
 retains a considerable degree of its first 
 vivacity and is somewhat intermediate be- 
 twixt an impression and an.idea, or when it 
 entirely loses that vivacity, and is a perfect 
 idea. The faculty by which we repeat our 
 impressions iu the first manner, is called 
 the memory, and the other the imagination.*' 
 
 [346, 347] 
 
 Upon this account of memory and imagi- 
 nation, I shall make some remarks. [348] 
 
 First, I wish to know what we are here 
 to understand by experience ? It is said, 
 we find all thb by experience ; and I con- 
 ceive nothing can be meant by this expe- 
 rience but memory — not that memory 
 which our author defines, but memory in 
 the common acceptation of the word. Ac- 
 cording to vulgar apprehension, memory is 
 an immediate knowledge of something past. 
 Our author does not admit that there is 
 any such knowledge in the human mind. 
 He maintains that memory is nothing but 
 a present idea or impression. But, in de- 
 fining what he takes memory to be, he takes 
 for granted that kind of memory which he 
 rejects. For, can we find by experience, 
 that an impression, after its first appearance 
 to the mind, makes a second and a third, with 
 different degrees of strength and vivacity, 
 if we have not so distinct a remembrance of 
 Its first appearance as enables us to know 
 it upon its second and third, notwithstand- 
 ing that, in the interval, it has undergone 
 a very considerable change ?• 
 
 All experience supposes memory; and 
 .there can be no such thing as experience, 
 without trusting to our own memory, or 
 that of others. So that it appears, from 
 Mr Hume*8 account of this matter, that he 
 found himself to have that kind of memory 
 which he acknowledges and defines, by ex- 
 ercising that kind which he rejects. 
 
 Secondlu, What is it we find by expe- 
 rience or memory ? It is, ** That, when an 
 impression has been present with the mind, 
 it again makes its appearance there as an 
 idea, and that after two different ways." 
 
 If experience informs us of this, it cer- 
 tainly deceives us ; for the thing is impos- 
 sible, and the author shews it to be so. 
 Impressions and ideas are fieeting, perish- 
 able things, which have no existence but 
 when we are conscious of them. If an im- 
 pression could make a second and a third 
 ai>i>earance to the mind, it must have a 
 continued existence during the interval of 
 these appearances, which Mr Hume ac- 
 knowledges to be a gross absurdity. [349] 
 It seems, then, that we find, by experience, 
 la thing which is impossible. We are im- 
 posed upon by our experience, and made to 
 believe contradictions. 
 
 Perhaps it may be said, that these dif- 
 .ferent appearances of the impression are not 
 to be understood literally, but figuratively; 
 that the impression is pei-sonified, and made 
 to appear at different times and iu different 
 .habits, when no more is meant but that an 
 impression appears at one time ; afterwards 
 a thing of a middle nature, between an im- 
 pression and an idea, which we caU memory ; 
 
 (■348-350] 
 
 ♦ See Note B— H. 
 
 and, last of all, a perfect idea, which we call 
 imagination : that this figurative meaning 
 agrees best with the last sentence of the 
 period, where we are told that memory and 
 imagination are faculties, whereby we repeat 
 our impresions in a more or less lively 
 manner. To repeat an impression is a figur- 
 ative way of speaking, which signifies making 
 a new impression similar to the former. 
 
 If, to avoid the absurdity implied in the 
 literal meaning, we understand the philo- 
 sopher in this figurative one, then his defini- 
 tions of memory and imagination, when 
 stripped of the figurative dress, will amount i 
 to this. That memory is the faculty of 
 making a weak impression, and imagination | 
 the faculty of making an impression still 
 weaker, after a corresponding strong one. 
 These definitions of memory and imagina- 
 tion labour under two defects : Firsfj That 
 they convey no notion of the thing defined ;! 
 and, Secondly, That they may be applied to 
 things of a quite different nature from thosei 
 that are defined. 1 
 
 When we are said to have a faculty of 
 making a weak impression after a corre- 
 sponding strong one, it would not be easy 
 to conjecture that this faculty is memory. 
 Suppose a man strikes his head smartly 
 against the wall, this is an impression; 
 now, he has a faculty by which he can 
 repeat this impression with less force, so 
 as not to hurt him : this, by Mr Hume*s 
 account, must be memory. [350] He 
 has a faculty by which he can just touch 
 the wall with his head, so that the impres- 
 sion entirely loses its vivacity. This surely 
 must be imagination ; at least, it comes as 
 near to the definition given of it by Mr 
 Hume as anything I can conceive. 
 
 Thirdly, We may observe, that, when we 
 are told that we have a faculty of repeating 
 our impressions in a more or less lively 
 manner, this implies that we are the effi- 
 cient causes of our ideas of memory and 
 imagination ; but this contradicts what the 
 author says a little before, where he proves, 
 by what he calls a convincing argument, 
 that impressions are the cause of their cor- 
 responding ideas. The argument that proves 
 this had need, indeed, to be very con- 
 vincing ; whether we make the idea to be 
 a second appearance of the impression, or a 
 new impression similar to the former. 
 
 If the first be true, then the impression 
 is the cause of itself. If the second then 
 the impression, after it is gone and has no 
 existence, produces the idea. Such are the 
 mysteries of Mr Hume's philosophy. 
 
 It may be observed, that the common 
 system, that ideas are the only immediate 
 objects of thought, leads to scepticism with 
 regard to memory, as well as with regard to 
 the objects of sense, whether those ideas 
 are placed In the mind or in the brain. 
 
 > 
 
\1 
 
 358 
 
 ON THE IMTILLECTUAL POWlEa 
 
 [eSSAT III. 
 
 CHAP. VII.] THEORIES CONCEKNING MEMORY. 
 
 
 I IiImm are ^eftid to be tMiigt intonml. «iid 
 ' pmwnty whMi Imve no extetenoe' Imt difiog 
 mm inoiiHiit tlwy are in tlie mind. The 
 iil§0flls of wmm mm thingp exteriMl, wMdi 
 Mm m eontiniwd. eaiislenee. Wlien il is 
 inaiiilained tlial nU thai we immediately 
 fmntKvm is only ideas or phantasms, how 
 'iaii/11% fawn Ihe existence of thoee pbaa- 
 'tiiiMi eowliiie 'iiO' esistence of an.. #Ktetml 
 iwrM oorreeponding to them ? 
 
 This diffieolt question seeme not to hare 
 tfMUMd to the Peripatetics.* Des Cartes 
 ■■ar iie dinanltyi and endeaToured to find 
 iMt aigunenii If which, liom the existence 
 ol our fthantaimii' or idess, we might infer 
 lhe«xistenceofextenialob|eets.[3&l] The 
 ! f i iiTOii oonrae was followed hy Malebranche, 
 MmoMf and Locke; but Berkeley and 
 Haine easily refuted all their arguments, 
 «nd demonstrated that there is no strength 
 
 iliinL 
 
 The same dilieally wMi regpud to mem- 
 ory naturally arises firom the system of 
 ideas t and the only reason why it was not 
 observed by philosophers, is, because they 
 tim hm aHentioa. to the 'memory than to 
 the soDsesi te| sinoe ideas are things pre- 
 sent, how can we, from our having a certam 
 iilea presently in our mind, conclude that an 
 ■tMil ;ically Munened ten or twenty years 
 
 :|ipii.eorfe4*paig't«>i*?^ , 
 
 — th^ mam need o f tHiP^'ii^ ^ 
 
 ■■•ftw ilial llie id g» of memory are picture 
 tfiKiiipriiirreany did happen/as tHaVtlie 
 aeiB'''orBeiiyareiMCtur^ of exfemal objects 
 whici'now3K5n"both cases, it will be 
 
 "teromffiTn. III. flnit a"y o>giiinp^t that, has 
 
 real weieht. ' So that this hypothesis IomIs 
 ni to aSsoluto iceptieismi with regard to 
 those tUngt wWoh we most distinctly re- 
 member, 10 less than with regard to the 
 •zieRial objecta of sense 
 
 It does, not appear to have oeeiifffed. eiiiflr 
 to lioeke or to Berkeley, that their system 
 frf 'tlis same' tendency to oTortum the tes- 
 timony of' memory as the testimony of the 
 
 Mr Hume saw fiarther than both, and 
 fonnd this eonaequence of the system of 
 riliia petfeetly corresponding to w aim of 
 iHtiblliMng' universal scepticism. His sys- 
 
 ':iiflm is liofeiire more eomiitanl than 
 
 theirs, and tiieoonolusions agree better with 
 the premises. 
 
 But, if we should grant to Mr Hume linal 
 our ideas of memory afford no iust ground 
 to brieve tliepaBtoaistenoeof tUnp which 
 WO' 'remember, it may still 'be asked,. Howit 
 
 ■•> This 11 not correct. 8«e atiove, p^ 8Aft, not* f. 
 Ill lilflt Bato I may add. that no ortkodox OUhaHe 
 'mM' h$ am I4talitU It vat only th« rtoctrina of 
 imiafubstantlation that pretentad Malebratiche ftrom 
 pffseoccupylag thetheoij ol Bartwtef and Collier 
 wliieh w« la foe* HU otra. with the transcendent 
 rMlitf of a ■aini^ world left out, a« a Prolattant 
 %mt '9mmt. Th\Mt it li curioiia* hai never twcn 
 otMcrved. Sm Hole 'P.— H. 
 
 comes to pass that perception and memory 
 are accompanied with belief, while hare ima- 
 gination is not ? Though this belief can- 
 not be justified upon his system, it ought to 
 be accounted for as a phaenomenon of hu- 
 man nature. [352] 
 
 This he has done, by giving us a new 
 theory of belief in general ; a theory which 
 suits very well with that of ideas, and seems 
 to be a natural consequence of it, and which, 
 at the same tiuMu reconciles all the belief 
 thai we find in human nature to perfect 
 scepticism. 
 
 What, then, is this belief? It must 
 either be an idea, or some modification of 
 an idea ; we conceive many things which we 
 do not believe. The idea of an object is 
 the same whether we believe it to exist, or 
 barely conceive it. The belief adds no new 
 idea to the conception ; it is, therefore, no- 
 thing but a modification of the idea of the 
 thing believed, or a different manner of 
 conceiving it. Hear himself :— 
 
 " All the perceptions of the mind are of 
 
 two kinds, impressions and ideas, which 
 
 differ from each other only in their different 
 
 degrees of force and vivacity. Our ideas 
 
 aro copied from our impressions, and repre» 
 
 sent them in all their parts. When you 
 
 would vary the idea of a particular object, 
 
 you can only increase or diminish its force 
 
 and vivacity. If you make any other change 
 
 upon it, it represents a different object or 
 
 impression. The case is the same as in 
 
 colours. A particular shade of any colour 
 
 may acquire a new degree of liveliness or 
 
 brightness, without any other variation ; 
 
 but, when you produce any other variation, 
 
 it is no longer the same shade or colour. So 
 
 that, as belief does nothing but vary the 
 
 manner in which we conceive any object, it 
 
 can only bestow on our ideas an additional 
 
 force and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, 
 
 or belief, may be most accurately defined a 
 
 lively idea, related to or associated with a 
 
 present impression.** 
 
 This theory of belief is very fruitful of 
 consequences, which Mr Hume traces with 
 his usual aeutoness, and brings into the 
 service of his system. [ 353] A great part 
 of his systom, indeed, is built upon it ; and 
 it is of itself sufficient to prove what he 
 calls his hypothesis, " that belief is more 
 properly an act of the sensitive than of 
 the (Miptative part of our natures." 
 
 It is very difficult to examine this ao- 
 count of belief with the same gravity with 
 which it is proposed. It puts one in 
 mind dT the ingenious account given by 
 Martmus Scriblerus of the power of syllo- 
 gism, by making the major the male, and 
 the minor the female, which, being couplea 
 by the middle temiy generate the conclusion. 
 There is surely no science in which men ol 
 great parts and ingenuity have fallen into 
 
 r3^1-353l 
 
 such gross absurdities as in treating of the 
 powers of the mind. I cannot help think- 
 ing that never anything more absurd was 
 gravely maintained by any philosopher, 
 than this account of tiie nature of belief, 
 and of the distinction of perception, memory, 
 and imagination. 
 
 The belief of a proposition is an opera- 
 tion of mind of which every man is con- 
 scious, and what it is he understands per- 
 fectly, though, on account of its simplicity, 
 he cannot give a logical definition of it. If 
 he compares it with strength or vivacity of 
 his ideas, or with any modification of ideas, 
 they are so far from appearing to be one 
 and the same, that they have not the least 
 similitude. 
 
 That a strong belief and a weak belief 
 differ only in degree, I can easily compre- 
 hend ; but that belief and no beUef should 
 differ only in degree, no man can believe 
 who understands what he speaks. For this 
 is, in reality, to say that something and 
 nothing differ only in degree ; or, that 
 nothing is a degree of something. 
 
 Every proposition that may be the ob- 
 ject of belief, has a contrary proposition 
 that may be the object of a contrary belief. 
 The ideas of both, according to Mr Hume, I 
 are the same, and differ only in degrees of 
 vivacity — that is, contraries differ only in 
 degree ; and so pleasure may be a degree 
 of pain, and hatred a degree of love. [354] 
 But it is to no purpose to trace the absurd- 
 ities that follow from this doctrine, for none 
 ci them can be more absurd than the doc- 
 trine itself. 
 
 Every man knows perfectly what it is to 
 see an object with his eyes, what it is to 
 remember a past event, and what it is to 
 conceive a thing which has no existence. 
 That these are quite different opeititions of 
 his mind, he b as certain as that sound 
 differs from colour, and both from taste ; 
 and I can as easily believe that sound, and 
 colour, and taste differ only in degree, as 
 that seeing, and remembering, and imagin- 
 ing, differ only in degree, 
 
 Mr Hume, in the third volume of his 
 ** Treatise of Human Nature," is sensible 
 that his theory of belief is liable to strong 
 objections, and seems, in some measure, to 
 retract it ; but in what measure, it is not 
 easy to say. He seems still to think that 
 beUef is only a modification of the idea ; 
 but that vivacity is not a proper term to 
 express that modification. Instead of it, 
 he uses some analogical phrases, to explain 
 that modification, such as " apprehending 
 the idea more strongly, or taking faster 
 hold of it." 
 
 There is nothing more meritorious m a 
 philosopher than to retract an error upon 
 conviction ; but, in this instance, I hum- 
 bly apprehend Mr Hume claims that merit 
 l354-3o6l 
 
 upon too slight a ground. For I cannot 
 perceive that the apprehending an idea 
 more strongly, or taking lw»ter hold of it, 
 expresses any other modification of the idea 
 than what was before expressed by its 
 strength and vivacity, or even that it ex- 
 presses the same modification more pro- 
 perly. Whatever modification of the idea 
 he makes belief to be, whether its vivacity, 
 or some other without a name, to make 
 perception, memory, and imagination te be 
 the different degrees of that modification, 
 is chargeable with the absurdities we have 
 mentioned. 
 
 Before we leave this subject of memory, 
 it is proper to take notice of a distinction 
 which Aristotle makes between memory 
 and reminiscence, because the distinction 
 has a real foundation in nature, though in 
 our language, I think, we do not distinguish 
 them by different names. [355] 
 
 Memory is 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 pre- 
 sents itself to our remembrance spontane- 
 ously, and without labour, as often as there 
 is occasion. A second degree is, when the 
 thing is forgot for a longer or shorter time, 
 even when there is occasion to remember 
 it ; yet, at last, some incident brings it to 
 mind without any search. A third degree 
 is, when we cast about and search for what 
 we would remember, and so at last find it 
 out. It is this last, I think, which Ari- 
 stotle calls reminiscence, as distinguished 
 from memory. 
 
 Reminiscence, therefore, includes a will 
 to recollect something past, and a search for 
 it. But here a difficulty occurs. It may 
 be said, that what we will to remember wo 
 must conceive, as there can be no will with- 
 out a conception of the thing willed. A I 
 will to remember a thing, therefore, seems , 
 to imply that we remember it already, and 
 have no occasion to search for it. But this f 
 difficulty is easily removed. When we will i 
 to remember a thing, we must remember! 
 something relating to it, which gives us al 
 relative conception of it ; but we may, at 1 
 the same time, have no conception what the 
 thing is, but only what relation it bears to 
 something else. Thus, I remember that a 1 
 friend charged me with a commission to be 
 executed at such a place ; but I have forgot 
 what the commission was. By applying 
 my thought to what I remember concerning 
 it, that it was given by such a person, upon 
 such an occasion, in consequence of such a 
 conversation, I am led, in a train of thought, 
 to the very thing I had forgot, and recol- 
 lect distinctly what the conimission was, 
 [356] 
 Aristotle says, that brutes have not re- 
 
 ' 
 
L^" 
 
 ON THE INTILLICTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I' Ites art mid lo be tliingi intemil ami. 
 piasoii, whieli Iwre no existence but daring 
 the nunnent they are in tbe mind. The 
 olieela of ienae are things external, which 
 
 lia.#e a eontinned. existenee. When it is 
 maintained thai all that we immediately 
 pnaive is only ideas or phantasms, how 
 man we, from the existence of those phan* 
 laflni% eondnde the existence of an external 
 mmM 'Oorresponding to them f 
 
 Tills difficult question seems not to have 
 neenned to the Peripatetics.* Dee Chrtes 
 taw the diileiilty, and endeavoured to find 
 out arguments by which, from the existence 
 uf our f^iantasms or ideasi we might infer 
 the«ii8tenceof external objects. [351] The 
 same course was followed by Malebranche, 
 Jtoauld, and Iioeie} but Berkeley and 
 Baffle easily refuted all their arguments, 
 ■nd dimonstiiled that there is no strength 
 m 'them. 
 
 The same dUbilty with regard to mem- 
 «ry naturally arises from the system of 
 ideas ; and the only reason why it was not 
 obserred by pUteopherB, is, because they 
 give less attention to the memory than to 
 iSbm senses ; for, since ideas are things pre- 
 sent, how eaa w% from our having m certain 
 idea praaanily in our mind, conclude that an 
 event really happened ten or twenty years 
 
 T here Is the ^same need of frgamenta to 
 'P iOTe^ ! thai. the ideas of memory are pictures 
 ,^.j^_^, iealTy (fid happen, as that the 
 ideas oI^Qse'arie pictures of exiernarobjecfl 
 
 which now eyiit. In both casesjit will be 
 ImposaBjg'.tfcJ'M i ' an y- a rgu meDt that has 
 real....w. fikht . io thai this hypothesis leads 
 us to aBaute scepticism, with regard to 
 those tUnga which we most distmotly re- 
 'Member, nn^ less than with regard to the 
 external obf eets of sense. 
 
 It does not appear to have oecnrred either 
 IH' Iioeie or lo .Berieley, that 'theur system 
 baa tlw aaiiie lejdtncy to oTcrtum the tes- 
 timony of memory as the testimony of the 
 
 Mr Hume saw Ikrther than both, and 
 ffiimd thla eonaif mnce of the system, of 
 ideas iiaffM% eorrespondtng to his aim of 
 
 - <s ia b l iibing ' 'miveraal scepticism. His sys- 
 '■taiB IS' lisieinre more consistent tlian 
 •'IbaifBi and the conclusions agree better with 
 Ib^ * premises. 
 
 But, if we shiMld giantte Mr Hume that 
 our IdeaS' of memory afford, 'oo hut ground 
 tu bsiefe the past existence of things which 
 — remeiliber, it may still be asked, How i t 
 
 * Thla Is Mt correct. 8t« 9tm9p p. »5, note f. 
 Ilo titst aols 1. may add. thai mo or&odAx QUkolia 
 muM bt an Jdealitt It waa only th« docirina or 
 tnuMiulittaiitUUion that prevcntad Malebranche ft-om 
 iNNMioeupfliif tbethmry of Bettelcf and Collier, 
 vaioh waa in Ihol. ^hla own. wlta the tranaecndeot 
 reaUty of s malifM w«rM. Ml out, aa a ProCettant 
 iiprf Jlmtvrv.. tMbt it to <curloiii* haa never been 
 -* — »dL 8a« Mule 'f j«-ll. 
 
 [essay hi. 
 
 to pass that perception and memory 
 are accompanied with belief, while bare ima- 
 gination is not ? Though this belief can- 
 not be justified upon his system, it ought to 
 be accounted for as a phaenomenon of hu- 
 nuui nature. [352] 
 
 This he has done, by giving us a new 
 theory of belief in general ; a theory which 
 suits very well with that of ideas, and seems 
 to be a natural consequence of it, and which, 
 at the same time, reconciles all the belief 
 that we find in human nature to perfect 
 scepticism. 
 
 What, then, ia this belief? It must 
 either be an idea, or some modification of 
 an idea ; we conceive many things which we 
 do not believe. The idea of an object is 
 the same whether we believe it to exist, or 
 barely conceive it The belief adds no new 
 idea to the conception ; it is, therefore, no- 
 thing but a modification of the idea of the 
 thing believed, or a different manner of 
 conceiving it. Hear himself :— 
 
 " All the perceptions of the mind are of 
 two kinds, impressions and ideas, which 
 differ from each other only in their different 
 degrees of force and vivacity. Our ideas 
 are copied from our impressions, and repre- 
 sent them in all their parts. When you 
 would vary the idea of a particular object, 
 you can only increase or diminish ito force 
 and vivacity. I f you make any other change 
 upon it, it represento a different object or 
 unpression. The case is tlie same as m 
 colours. A particular shade of any colour 
 may acquire a new degree of liveliness or 
 brightness, without any other rariation ; 
 but, when you produce any other variation, 
 it is no longer the same shade or colour. So 
 that, as belief does nothing but vary the 
 manner in which we conceive any object, it 
 can only bestow on our ideas an additional 
 Ibroe and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, 
 or belief, may be most accurately defined a 
 lively idea^ reUted to or associated with a 
 present impression.** 
 
 This theory of belief is very fruitful of 
 consequences, which Mr Hume traces with 
 his usual acutenees, and brings into the 
 service of his system. [353] A great part 
 of his 8\'8tem, indeed, is built upon it ; and 
 it is of itself sufficient to prove what he 
 calls hia hypothesis, " that belief is more 
 properly an act of the sensitive than of 
 the cogitative part of our natures.** 
 
 It is very difficult to examine this ao- 
 count of belief with the same gravity with 
 which it is proposed. It puts one in 
 mind of the ingenious account given by 
 Martinus Scriblerus of the power of syllo- 
 gism, by making the major the male, and 
 the minor the female, which, being coupleo 
 bjr the middle imrm^ generate the conclusion. 
 There is snrdy no science in which men of 
 great parts and ingenuity have fallen into 
 
 r351-3a3l 
 
 CHAP. ¥!!•] THEORIES CONCERNING MEMORY. 
 
 359 
 
 such gross absurdities as in treating of the 
 powers of the mind. I cannot help think- 
 mg that never anything more absurd was 
 gravely maintained by any philosopher, 
 than this account of tiie nature of belief, 
 and of the distinction of perception, memory, 
 and imagination. 
 
 [ The belief of a proposition is an opera- 
 tion of mind of which every man is con- 
 scious, and what it is he understands per- 
 fectly, though, on account of its simplicity, 
 I he cannot give a logical definition of it. If 
 he compares it with strength or vivacity of 
 his ideas, or with any modification of ideas, 
 they are so far from appearing to be one 
 and the same, that they have not the least 
 similitude. 
 
 That a strong belief and a weak belief 
 differ only in degree, I can easily compre- 
 hend ; but that belief and no belief should 
 differ only in degree, no man can believe 
 who understands what he speaks. For this 
 is, in reality, to say that something and 
 nothing differ only in degree ; or, that 
 nothing is a degree of something. 
 
 Every proposition that may be the ob- 
 ject of belief, has a contrary proposition 
 that may be the object of a contrary beliefl 
 The ideas of both, according to Mr Hume, 
 are tiie same, and differ only in degrees of 
 vivacity — that is, contraries differ only in 
 degree ; and so pleasure may be a degree 
 of pain, and hatred a degree of love. [354] 
 But it is to no purpose to trace the absurd- 
 ities that follow from this doctrine, for none 
 of them can be more absurd than the doc- 
 trine itself. 
 
 Every man knows perfectly what it is to 
 see an object with his eyes, what it is to 
 remember a past event, and what it is to 
 conceive a thing which has no existence. 
 That these are quite different operations of 
 his mind, he is as certain as that sound 
 differs from colour, and both from taste ; 
 and I can as easily believe that sound, and 
 colour, and taste differ only in degree, as 
 that seeing, and remembering, and imagin- 
 ing, differ only in degree. 
 
 Mr Hume, in the third volume of his 
 ** Treatise of Human Nature,** is sensible 
 that his theory of belief is liable to strong 
 objections, and seems, in some measure, to 
 retract it ; but in what measure, it is not 
 easy to say. He seems still to think that 
 belief is only a modification of the idea ; 
 but that vivacity is not a proper term to 
 express that modification. Instead of it, 
 he uses some analogical phrases, to explain 
 that modification, such as " apprehending 
 the idea more strongly, or taking faster 
 hold of it.** 
 
 There is nothing more meritorious in a 
 philosopher than to retract an error upon 
 conviction ; but, in this instance, I hum- 
 bly apprehend Mr Hume claims that merit 
 [354-3561 
 
 upon too Blight a ground. For I cannot 
 perceive that the apprehending an idea 
 more strongly, or taking faster hold of it, 
 expresses any other modification of the idea 
 than what was before expressed by its 
 strength and vivacity, or even that it ex- 
 presses the same modification more pro- 
 perly. Whatever modification of the idea 
 he makes belief to be, whether its vivacity, 
 or some other without a name, to make 
 perception, memory, and imagination to be 
 the different degrees of that modification, 
 is chargeable with the absurdities we have 
 mentioned. 
 
 Before we leave this subject of memory, 
 it is proper to take notice of a distinction 
 uhich Aristotle makes between memory 
 and reminiscence, because the distinction 
 has a real foundation in nature, though in 
 our language, I think, we do not distinguish 
 them by different names. [355] 
 
 Memory is 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 pre- 
 sents itself to our remembrance spontane- 
 ously, and without labour, as often as there 
 is occasion. A second degree is, when the 
 thing is forgot for a longer or shorter time, 
 even when there is occasion to remember 
 it ; yet, at last, some incident brings it to 
 mind without any search. A third degree 
 is, when we cast about and search for what 
 we would remember, and so at last find it 
 out. It is this last, I think, which Ari- 
 stotle calls reminiscence, as distinguished] 
 from memory. 
 
 Reminiscence, therefore, includes a will 
 to recollect something past, and a search for 
 it. But here a difficulty occurs. It may 1 
 be said, that what we will to remember we 
 must conceive, as there can be no will with- i 
 out a conceptioii of the thing willed. A 
 will to remember a thing, therefore, seems \ 
 to imply that we remember it already, and • 
 have no occasion to search for it. But this I 
 difficulty is easily removed. When we wiU I 
 to remember a thing, we must remember 
 something relating to it, which gives us a| 
 relative conception of it ; but we may, at j 
 the same time, have no conception what the 
 thing is, but only what relation it bears to 
 something else. Thus, I remember that a I 
 friend charged me with a commission to be 
 executed at such a place ; but I have forgot 
 what the commission was. By applying 
 my thought to what I remember concerning 
 it, that it was given by such a person, upon 
 such an occasion, in consequence of such a 
 conversation, I am led, in a train of thought, 
 to the very thing I had forgot, and recol- 
 lect distinctly what the commission was. 
 [356] 
 Aristotle says, that brutes have not re- 
 
960 
 
 OM THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [B88AT If 
 
 \' 
 
 niililieiiat I* aiii tl» I tliink ii probable ; 
 but, my 1m, Hi^ Imiw memory. It cannot, 
 indeod, b© doubted but they have •omething 
 very lilie to it, and, in eonw iartaiimMji in a 
 very neat degree. A dog Imoini his master 
 ■iter Irong absence. A horse will trace back 
 « rMd he has once gone, as accurately as a 
 nail I and this is the more strange, that the 
 tnin of thought which he had in going must 
 be reversed in his return. It is very like 
 to some prodigimis memories we read of, 
 when a penon, upon hearing an hundred 
 miiiis or uneonnected words pronounced, 
 taa b^. at the lasty and ge baiskwuda' to 
 
 the first, without losing or misplacing one. 
 Brutes certainly may learn much from ex- 
 perience, which seems to imply memory. 
 
 Yet, I see no reason to think that brutes 
 measure time as men do, by days, months, 
 or years; or that they have any distinct 
 knowledge of the interval between things 
 which they remember, or of their distance 
 from the present moment If we could not 
 record transactions according to their dates, 
 hunoan memory would be something very 
 different from what it is, and, perhaps, re- 
 semble more the memory of brutes. [»67] 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 OF CONCEPTION. 
 
 
 m coMcirrioN, or kimplb AppiatmiNaiON'iN 
 
 GBNBAAIm 
 
 CofMfrfelfi^, imoffimng.,ft^^pr§h«mlinff, «ii- 
 i§nimndmff, havinp a MlMfi of a thinp, are 
 common words, used to express that opera* 
 taon of the understanding which the logi- 
 cians call mmpie apprehension. The hamnp 
 oil idm nf a iking, is, in common language, 
 used in the same sense, chiefly, I think, 
 since Mr Locke*s tinie.$ 
 
 .Logic ians .deine Simple Apprehension to 
 • be ""ife bar e .conception of ' a'TOigM fBTOti' 
 any judgment or beliet about it. If tins 
 werelniaBIft^ 
 
 it might be a just objection to it, that con- 
 ception an d apprehension ate only syn ony- 
 
 inous w5r3s. |^;1and_ ;tiiatjij e 'iiay as we ll 
 
 ■■definecimception by .ai "" " 
 i bg,. 
 
 ■"'IFllIlill^ppi'"™" 
 
 * Tlilt It aimitlMi ulilcii mmy be dl:flferenlly an. 
 ■wcffcd, acc^nnliiig it we attdliiite • 'diicrcnt nicsnlng 
 to ilietcfmteiiipliifc<l.-~Ii. 
 
 Jt iwM^fiminff tboulil not be conlinuiidcd with Cotu 
 91910, &c ; ihoiigh iomeiil)Iliiio|ilieft. tsGa<Mn(ti. 
 hsfc not atteitilMi to IIm ctiitiMitimi. The words 
 ■CmtmUmh AmeqaC* JMiim, tteuMI. to limitirfi to the 
 thmightof wlial cannot lie leprticnMl In the imagin. 
 atioD. at,. Ilie tlioiiglit .itiiggetied hy a general term. 
 'Tlie EifilMiitalaaiacall. tlil* ifinMfciai' in coitirast'to 
 MliiMit knowMKe. I'hlt U tli« tenw In which 
 «iMM»9ll«Miiifl cmcipim have been ufu^lly and cor. 
 liCtly cniiloycd. Mr Siewart, on the other hand, 
 aiUlraillf llniit fonccfition to the reproduction, in 
 Imagination, of an object of *eȤe ai actually per. 
 ceived. See Bentnit, vol. I., ch. iii. I cannot 
 enter on agdMnal critlcitm of Keid's nomenclature, 
 th«mgti I unjr tty tnvelhinf more of this in the 
 mmimL :|c« hthMr » under p|K 37 1 , iBt?.— H. 
 
 f M Mg CMMilry should he added. I.oclie only 
 'iBtroduecfl into JSnplJM philosophy thefemi idea in 
 itt Cafteaiaii universality. Prior to him. the word 
 wat onty titeilwith u> in its Platonic ligiutication. 
 .AfltMH' PctCaitet. David Buchanan, a Sc-oicb philo. 
 iHiliffk wlMi MMloiliiieil In Fnace. iMd. however, cm. 
 ;|i%ai .Mm la ■» cqiial latliuilfb :8ec Note (j.- H. 
 
 femembered that the most simplftiipeatifinff 
 of* Q| e n^ind ca nnot be logidiUj defined. To 
 have_a_di8tinct notion of theni,_we_mu8t 
 attend to them as we feel tBeih m our own 
 nunds. He^that would have a distinct 
 n otion of a scarlet colour, will ncyer attain 
 Ii tela defmit ion ; he must set it before his 
 Jto.itji compare it with the colours 
 that .come pen rest la il^^and-fibservfi. the 
 8j)c<nfic jdifrerence,_yjiich he will jyajailii 
 
 atteniijUajkfiiifi.* [338] 
 
 Every man is conscious that he can con- 
 ceive a thousand things, of which he beUeve^ 
 nothing at all — as a horse with wings, a 
 mountain of gold ; but, a lthough concep- 
 tio n may be wi thout a ny degr^ of be lief, 
 gYfinJhe sm allesriSefieT caoBoLto-JSOlMut' 
 conception . He that believes must have 
 some conception of what be believes. 
 
 Without attempting a definition of this 
 operation of the mind, I shall endeavour to 
 explain some of its properties ; consider the 
 theories about it ; and take notice of some 
 mistakes of philosophers concerning it. 
 
 1, It may be observed that conception 
 e nters aa an in gredient in every operation 
 of the mind* Our senses cannot give us the 
 belief of any object, without giving some 
 conception of it at the same time. No man 
 can either remember or reason about things I 
 of which he hath no conception. When \ 
 we will to exert any of our active powers, 
 there must be some conception of what we 
 will to do. There can be no desire nor 
 aversion, love nor hatred, without some con- 
 ception of the object. We cannot feel pain 
 without conceiving it, though we can con- 
 ceive it without feeling it. These things 
 are self-evident. ^ ^ 
 
 In every operation of the mind, there- 
 
 * We do not define the specific difference, but ve 
 define by lt.«fl. 
 
 •JUAP. I.] OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION IN GENERAL. 
 
 361 
 
 [857, unl 
 
 lit '' mJ 
 
 lore, in everything we call thought, there 
 must be conception. When we analyse the 
 various operations either of the understand- 
 ing or of the will, we shall always find this 
 at the bottom, like the capitt mortuum of 
 the chemists, or the materia prima of the 
 Peripatetics ; bu t, th ough there is no op era- 
 tion of mind without^onceptjon, yet i tjnay 
 bejfoun d iiated^ detached from all others^ 
 and thernris called simple appfehens ifiliLflr 
 IBeT»are conception of a tEmg. 
 
 As all the operaiT6ns~oroiir mind are ex- 
 pressed by language, every one knows that 
 it is one thing to understand what is said, 
 to conceive or apprehend its meaning, 
 whether it be a word, a sentence, or a dis- 
 C course ; it is another thing to judge of it, 
 to assent or dissent, to be persuaded or 
 moved. The first is simple apprehension, 
 and may be without the last ; but the last 
 cannot be without the first. ^ [359] 
 
 2. In bare conception there canjjeither 
 be truTK"'n or falsehpod, because jt neither 
 affirms nor denies. Every judgmeni7 and 
 every proposition by which judgment is 
 expressed, must be true or false ; and the 
 qualities of true and false, in their proper 
 sense, can belong to nothing but to judg- 
 ments, or to propositions which express 
 judgment. In the bare conception of a 
 thing there is no judgment, opinion, or be- 
 lief included, and therefore it cannot be 
 either true or false. 
 
 But it m%y be said. Is there anything 
 more certain than that men may have true 
 or false conceptions, true or false appre- 
 hensions, of things ? I answer, that such 
 ways of speaking are indeed so common, 
 and 80 well authorized by custom, the arbiter 
 of language, that it would be presumption 
 to censure them. It is hardly possible to 
 avoid using them. But we ought to be 
 upon our guard that we be not misled by 
 them, to confound things which, though 
 often expressed by the same words, are 
 really different. We must therefore re- 
 member what was before observed, Essay I. 
 chap. I— that all the words by which we 
 signify the bare conception of a thing, are 
 likewise used to signify our opinions, when 
 we wish to express them with modesty and 
 diffidence. And we shall always find, that, 
 when we speak of true or false conceptions, 
 we mean true or false opinions. An opinion, 
 though ever so wavering, or ever so mo- 
 destly expressed, must be either true or 
 false; but a bare conception, which ex- 
 presses no opinion or judgment, can be 
 neither. 
 
 ^ff we analyse those speeches in which 
 men attribute truth or falsehood to our 
 conceptions of things, we shall find in every 
 ease, that there is some opinion or judgment 
 implied in what they call conception. [360] 
 A child conceives the moon to be flat, and a 
 [859-361] 
 
 foot or two broad — that is, this is his opinion : 
 and, when we say it is a false notion or a 
 false conception, we mean that it is a false 
 opinion. He conceives the city of London 
 to be like his country village — that is, he 
 believes it to be so, till he is better instructed. 
 He conceives a lion to have horns ; that is, 
 he believes that the animal which men call 
 a lion, has horns. Such opinions language 
 authorizes us to call conceptions ; and they 
 may be true or false. But bare conception, 
 or what the logicians call simple apprehen- 
 sion, implies no opinion, however slight, 
 and therefore can neither be true nor false. 
 
 What Mr Locke says of ideas (by which 
 word he very often means nothing but con- 
 ceptions) is very just, when the word idea 
 is so understood. Book II., chap, xxxii., § 1, 
 " Though truth and falsehood belong in 
 propriety of speech only to propositions, yet 
 ideas are often termed true or false (as 
 what words are there that are not used with 
 great latitude, and with some deviation 
 from their strict and proper signification ?) 
 though I think that when ideas themselves 
 are termed true or false, there is still some 
 secret or tacit proposition, which is the 
 foundation of that denomination : as we shall 
 see, if we examine the particular occasions 
 wherein they come to be called true or false; 
 in all which we shall find some kind of 
 affirmation or negation, which is the reason 
 of that denomination ; for our ideas, being 
 nothing but bare appearances, or perceptions 
 in our minds, cannot properly and simply 
 in themselves be said to be true or false, no 
 more than a simple name of anything can 
 be said to be true or false." 
 
 It may be here observed, by the way, that, 
 in this passage, as in many others, Mr 
 Locke uses the word perception, as well as 
 the word idea, to signify what I call con- 
 ception, or simple apprehension. And in 
 his chapter upon perception, Book II., chap, 
 ix., he uses it in the same sense. Percep- 
 tion, he says, " as it is the first faculty of 
 the mind, exercised about our ideas, so it 
 is the first and simplest idea we have from 
 reflection, and is by some called thinking 
 in general. [361] It seems to be that 
 which puts the distinction betwixt the ani- 
 mal kingdom and the inferior parts of nat- re. 
 It is the first operation of all our faculties, 
 and the inlet of all knowledge into our 
 minds." 
 
 Mr Locke has followed the example given 
 by Des Cartes, Gassendi, and other Carte- 
 sians,* in giving the name of perception to 
 the bare conception of things : and he has 
 been followed in this by Bishop Berkeley, 
 
 * OassendiWas not a Cartesian, but an Anti'tar 
 tesian. though he adopted dcveral points in his phi- 
 losonhy f'om Dei (artes— for example, the employ- 
 ment of the terra Idea not in its Platonic limitation. 
 — H. 
 
.>' 
 
 , many lato . 
 
 wImii ■li^' tftit «f idfitfc Tmy hM.v9 pwi- 
 hi^ hmn liii into iib^inifrapmly, by the 
 •omnMiii doctrine eoncarmng ideas, vhieli 
 teaches na, that conception, perception by 
 the aenaea, and memory, are only different 
 v^ya of fiifeelTing Meaa in onr own minda. • 
 If that iieory be well fonnded, it will in- 
 deed he vety difficult to find anv specilic 
 'dlHiiMtiiiia between conoeptionsand pensep- 
 tiMbf Bui tiew ia reason to diatnist any 
 'iMoaoplliiiil. 'Ilieory when it leads men to 
 oiimpt bnpige, and to oonfotmd. under 
 one name, operations of the mind which 
 ^Mimmon sense and common laognage teach 
 
 lliem. to di st in gu i s h. 
 I pml 'Hiit «li«fe are some states of the 
 
 miiil, whefein a man may confound his 
 
 ^omgj^imm 'with. what he peroeives or re- 
 
 ;iiMBilMi%Md mlslalu^'tbfi mefor the other; 
 
 m k iM 'delirinm ol' • §mm, in some cases 
 
 of lunacy and of madness, in dreaming, and 
 
 Miiaiis in some moniint«ry transports of 
 
 ieTotion, or of other atimif emotions, which 
 
 doud hia intalleeliial ikcaltiaB, and, M a 
 
 time, carry a nan out of himaelf, as we 
 
 Sven in m mim and., tmnd state of 'mind, 
 'iiw^ UMiiMiij of a thing' may ha^ so very weak 
 'Hull wm 'ini| 'be in doubt wlwliiiff we only 
 dreamed or nnagmed it 
 
 It may be doubted whether children, 
 when their imaginatioD first begins to work, 
 can distinguish what they barely conceive 
 from what they remember. [362] I have 
 been told, by a man 'of knowledge and ob- 
 servation, that one of his eons, when he 
 began to speak, very often told lies with 
 great assurance, witliimt any intention, as 
 te as appeared, or any consciousness of 
 gpil From which the father conduded, 
 that it is natiml to some children to lie. 
 I am father indhied to think that the chUd 
 had no intention to deceive, but mistook the 
 rovings of his own lkney*for things which 
 he mncmbciedt This, however, I tale 
 to be wmtf mmammmOf ^aller children can 
 communicate their .aentiiiients by language, 
 though perhaps not so in a more early 
 period. 
 
 Granting al this, if any man will affirm 
 that they whese intelleetoal Iheulties are 
 sound, and sober, and ripe^ cannot with 
 ^aerfaii%'iistiiqgniih. what, they pereeive or 
 'renember, from what' they barely 'Conceive, 
 when those opcrsticns have any de|pe of 
 strength and distinctness, he may enjoy his 
 
 f 'f « turn MsMrlf ddtnct PcfccfiCloit, • Cmeep^ 
 mm (liM|lli«li«i) aeconniaritijiith a belief in the 
 '•SiMet ori^«l|c<Jt } KiMl Mr Dtrwart reduces the 
 ■Mdic diftfeiice, •! beat only ■ coocomitant, to an 
 areidental dicinntUnce, In holding th«t our Im- 
 agHmitioiuate th«MeJvcf conjoined wth a temiio. 
 Si IwHtrin their oliltef iw re«I»t|.-M. 
 
 f Bat conifMC atwve, p* Ml. c#l a— II. 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kkbay it. 
 
 opbion { I know not how to reaion with 
 Mm. Why should philosophers confound 
 those operations in treating of ideas, when 
 they would be ashamed to do it on other 
 occasions? To distinguish the various 
 powers of our minds, a certain degree of 
 understanding is necessary. And if some, 
 through a defect of understanding, natural 
 or accidental, or from unripeness of under- 
 standing, may be apt to confound different 
 powers, will it follow that others cannot 
 dearly distinguish them ? ^ ^ 
 
 To return from this digression— mto which 
 the abuse of the word perception, by philo- 
 sophers, has led me—it appears evident that 
 the bare conception of an object, which 
 includes no opinion or judgment, can neither 
 be true nor folse. Those qualities, in their 
 proper sense, are altogether inapplicable to 
 this operation of the mind. 
 
 3. Of all the analogies between the opera-l 
 tions of body and those of the mind, therol 
 is none so strong and so obvious to all man-l 
 kind as that which there is between paint- 1 
 ing, or oUier plastic arts, and the power of \ 
 conceiving objects ia the mind. Hence, in I 
 all languaeea, the words by which this power 
 of the mand and its various modifications 
 ara expressed, are analogical, and borrowed 
 from those arts. [363] We cons ider th is 
 power of ih fl. Blind a» ft plafitJB power, by 
 which we form to f^,ni|^YeB \mtk^(» of the 
 objects ojTthouglit. 
 
 In vain should^we attempt to avoid this 
 analogical language, for we have no other 
 language upon the subject ; yet it is danger- 
 ous, and apt to mislead. All analogical and 
 figurative words have a double meaning ; 
 and, if we are not very much upon our 
 guard, we slide insensiblj^ from the bor- 
 rowed and figurative meaning into the pri- 
 mitive. We are prone to carry the parallel 
 between the things compared farther than it 
 will hold, and thus very naturally to fall 
 into error. 
 
 To avoid this as far as possible in the pro- 
 sent subject, it is proper to attend to the 
 dissimilitude between conceiving a thing in 
 the mind, and painting it to the eye, as well 
 as to their similitude. The similitude strikes 
 and gives pleasure. The dissimilitude wo 
 ara less disposed to observe ; but the philo- 
 sopher ought to attend to it, and to carry it 
 always in mind, in his reasonings on this 
 subject, as a monitor, to warn him against 
 the errors into which the analogical lan- 
 guage is apt to draw him. 
 
 When a man paints, there is some workl 
 done, which remains when his hand is taken l 
 off, and continues to exist though he should 
 think no more of it Every stroke of his 
 pencil produceo an effect, and this effect ia 
 different from his action in making it ; for 
 it remains and continues to exist when the 
 J action ceases. The action of painting is 
 
 I •t6S, 633^ 
 
 CBAr. 1.1 OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION IN GENERAL. 
 
 363 
 
 fone thing; the picture produced is another 
 , thing. The firat ia the cause, the second is 
 the effect. 
 
 Let us next consider what is done when 
 he only conceives this picture. He must 
 have conceived it before he painted it ; for 
 this is a maxim universally admitted, that 
 every work of art must first be conceived in 
 the mind of the operator. What is this 
 conc eptio n ? Itisanact of themind,^akind_ 
 " STlhou ght. Thls^ahpotTSe denied. T364] 
 But does it produce any effect Jbesides the 
 actlts elf ? Surely common sense answers 
 t!his q uestion~in {He~negative ; lor eveiy 
 tne b lows that it is one thing~to conceive^ 
 anot her thing to .brings forth into effect. It 
 IS one thing to project, another to execute. 
 A man may think for a long time what he 
 is to do, and after all do nothing. Con- 
 ceiving, as well as projecting or resolving, 
 are what the schoolmen called immnnent actp 
 of the mind, which produce npthing^beyond 
 themsel ves. But painting is a transitive 
 aci, which produces an effect distinct from 
 the operation, and this effect is the picture. 
 J^t thJH, thftrefnrgj be idwaya remembered, 
 that^WhaliS-fiomniQlily called the image of 
 1^ thing ill the miud, is.uo mor^.tli^^he 
 
 That this is the common sense of men 
 who are untutored by philosophy, appears 
 from their language. If one ignorant of the 
 language should ask. What is meant by 
 conceiving a thing ? we should very natur- 
 ally answer, that it is having an image of 
 it in the mind*-and perhaps we could not 
 explain the word better. This shews that 
 conception, and the image of a thing in the 
 mind, are synonymous expressions. The 
 image in the mind, theref ore, i« pfft tEp 
 o) ^ect o f pf>Tyn<*p»mTi^ x\9x is it any effec t 
 produced by pnnppptinn Afi a. PAiye. l\ ^p 
 c j i y ice p tion itself. That verynaodeojfthink- 
 ing_si:hlch we call conceptioji, iihXiUUl^^ 
 name called an image in the mind.* 
 
 Nothing more readily gives tKe concep- 
 tion of a thing than the seeing an image of 
 it Hence, by a figure common in language, 
 conception is called an image of the thing 
 conceived. But to she w that it i s n ot a 
 1^1 but ft metaphorical' image . It j^ rallfi(? 
 yi image in the mind. W^ knpw nothmg 
 
 ^huf i^ Yrnparly in ib«» ttiit^^J \y|^^. thftllgbt i 
 
 and, when p-nythipg else is said to be in the 
 ny^pdr tbA. ATprPaainn must b<^ figiipitiv^. 
 
 |H ff^'gni^y j^"^ '^'"^^^ ^^ ♦hnn^bf; [365] 
 
 I know that philosophers very unani- 
 mously maintain, that in conception there 
 
 * We ought, bowrver, to distinguish Imaginaticn 
 and Image, Conception and ConcejA. Imagination 
 and Conception ought to be employed in speaking of 
 the mental modiiication, one' and indivisible, con. 
 ■idered as an act ; Ima^ and Concept, in speaking 
 of it, ODotidercd as a product or immediate object.— 
 
 i;S«4-366j 
 
 is a real image in the mind, which is the 
 immediate object of conception, and distinct 
 from the act of conceiving it. I beg the 
 reader*s indulgence to defer what may be 
 said for or against this philosophical opinion 
 to the next chapter ; intending in this only 
 to explain what appears to me to belong to 
 thb operation of mind, without considering 
 the theories about it. I think it appears, 
 from what has been said, that the common 
 language of those who have not imbibed any 
 philosophical opinion upon this subject, 
 authorizes us to understand the conception 
 of a thinpy and an image of it in the minrf, 
 not as two different things, but as two dif- 
 ferent expressions, to signify one and the 
 same thing ; and I wish to use common 
 words in their common acceptation. 
 
 4. Taking along with us what is said in 
 the last article, to guard us against the se- 
 duction of the analogical language used on 
 this subject, we may observe a very strong 
 analogy, not only between conceiving and 
 painting in general, but between the dif- 
 ferent kinds of our conceptions, and the 
 different works of the painter. He either 
 makes fancy pictures, or he copies from the 
 painting of others, or he paints from the 
 life; that is, from real objects of art or 
 nature which he has seen. I think our 
 conceptions admit of a division very similar. 
 
 First, There are conceptions which may 
 be call^ fancy pictures. They are com- 
 monly called creatures of fancy, or of im- 
 agination. They are not the copies of any 
 original that exists, but are originals them- 
 selves. Such was the conception which 
 Swift formed of the island of Laputa, and 
 of the country of the Lilliputians ; Cer- 
 vantes of Don Quixote and his Squire; 
 Harrington of the Government of Oceana ; 
 and Sir Thomas More of that of Utopia. 
 We can give names to such creatures of 
 imagination, conceive them distinctly, and 
 reason consequentially concerning them, 
 though they never had an existence. They 
 were conceived by their creators, and may 
 be conceived by others, but they never 
 existed. We do not ascribe the qualities 
 of true or false to them, because they are 
 not accompanied with any belief, nor do they 
 imply any affirmation or negation. [366] 
 
 Setting aside those creatures of imagina- 
 tion, there are other conceptions, which 
 may be called copies, because they have an 
 original or archetype to which they refer, 
 and with which they are believed to agree ; 
 and we call them true or false conceptions, 
 according as they agree or disagree with 
 the standard to which they are referred. 
 These are of two kinds, which have different 
 standards or originals. 
 
 The first kind is analogous to pictures 
 taken from the life. We have conceptions 
 of individual things that really exist, such 
 
\ 
 
 \1 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 l^ESSAV JT. 
 
 €HAP. I.] OF SIMPLE APPREHEI^SION IN GENERAL. 
 
 365 
 
 ti Hie eity of LoimIm, or tlie government 
 •f Yeniea Here the things conceived are 
 the originals ; and our conceptions are called 
 true when they agree with the thing con- 
 
 eeived. Thn% my conception of the city of 
 London is true, when I conceive it to be 
 what it nally is. 
 
 Individoal th.ingi' which feally exist, 
 bemg the creal^nies 'Of 'God, C^og^ some 
 of them may receive their outward form 
 Ifom man.) he only who made them knows 
 tlMir whole istnre ; we know them but in 
 'furl, and therefore our conceptions of them 
 must in all cases be impetfeet and inade- 
 quate ; yet they may be true and just, as 
 iw as ihey mmL. 
 
 . The temmi^ Mad k analogous to the copies 
 which the painter makes from pictures done 
 before. Such I think ate the conceptions 
 we have of what the ancients called Auver- 
 m|s ; that is, of thin^ which belong or may 
 belong to many individuals. These are 
 kinds and species of things ; such as man 
 or elephant, which are species of substances; 
 wisdom or courage, which are species of 
 fuatities; e^iuality or similitude, which are 
 '■peeies oiP relations.* It may be asked — 
 From what original are these conceptions 
 formed? And when are they said to be 
 true or false' ? [367] 
 
 It appears to me, that the original from 
 which they are copied— that is, the thing 
 conceived — is the conception or meaning 
 which other men, who understand the 
 language, affix to the same words* 
 
 'Thlmga- are parce lled into kinds and sorts, 
 not by :natiife^, but by m en. Themdi,niSl 
 
 things we...,iEe.fliaiPlMiiMi..Klth,. iire.so..,.|]|||nj, 
 
 W tQ .give »,„irojiat.iama.,„lft «ei:y indi- , 
 
 vidual would be impossible. We could 
 
 - • ■ ■ , • 1 ■ im Ill I * h - V^ - ■ ' . g aw »«,.-., 
 
 never attam tljf ttiowledge^ihem ihat la 
 
 naeeisary. :iior' conver <c ati^jsigoBLAtvuit 
 
 *«5i,i5Hlilt.8<>»1»nfi . tJbem .^according to 
 
 tler'aiifeient a ttrib.ut£s .' ' Th'ose that agree 
 
 in certain aitnbntes are thrown into one 
 
 pucel, and have a general name given 
 
 th«n, whieh behmge equally to every indi- 
 vidual, in 'that, parcel. T his common name 
 therefore signify those attributes 
 o bserved fy be 
 
 Tnas_,__snch ^neral words^mity.siiswQf 
 their int ention, all that is necessary is, that 
 those who use th< in should affix Qie .saoie 
 meanirig'oFibtion— that is, the same cQn- 
 cepticm to them. Tlie common meaning ts 
 t£e standard by which such conceptions are 
 iimied, and they are said to be true or 
 
 • 'Of 'dl 'Midi wt'Ctn. lMve'iio.aiiMiwle Inuigiiiailon. 
 A 'UnlvenMl* when r py c ww teil In iM^nation, i» no 
 linpr ailiqiMiti*, no longer a unlvmaL We cannot 
 '■nve^ail mkfft nf Horae, Imtoii'ly of aone indiviiiua] 
 
 eif'fiat' .«•€!««' We may, liowev«r, hav0 « notion or 
 
 I <ir it. Sfe bfloir, 'p. IHi.— M. 
 
 false according as they agree or 
 with it. Thus, my conception of felony is ^ 
 true and just, when it agrees with the 
 meaning of that word in the laws relating 
 to it, and in authors who understand the 
 law. The meaning of the word is the 
 thing conceived ; and that meaning is the 
 conception affixed to it by those who beet 
 understand the language. 
 
 An individual is expressed in langiiagt 
 either by a proper name, or by a general 
 word joined to such circumstances as dis- 
 tinguish that individual from all others ; if 
 it m unknown, it may, when an object of 
 sense, and within reac^h, be pointed out to 
 the senses ; when beyond the reach of the 
 senses, it may be ascertained by a descrip- 
 tion, which, though very imperfect, may be 
 true, and sufficient to distinguish it from 
 every other individual. Hence it is, that, 
 in speaking of individuals, we are very little 
 in danger of mistaking the object, or tak- 
 ing one individual for another. [368] 
 
 Yet, as was before observed, our concep- 
 tion of them is always inadequate and lame. 
 They are the creatures of God, and there 
 are many things belonguig to them which 
 we know not, and which cannot be deduced 
 by reasoning from what we know. They 
 have a real essence, or c<mstitution of[ 
 nature, from which all their qualities flow ; | 
 but this essence our faculties do not com- 
 prehend. They are therefore incapable of! 
 definition ; for a definition ought to com- 
 prehend the whole nature or essence of the 
 thing defined. 
 
 Thus, Westminster Bridge is an indi* 
 vidual object; though I had never seen 
 or heard of it before, if I am only made 
 to conceive that it is a bridge from West- 
 minster over the Thames, this concep- 
 tion, however imperfect, is true, and is 
 sufficient to make me distinguish it, when 
 it is mentioned, from every other object 
 that exists. The architect may have an 
 adequate conception of its structure, which 
 is the work of man ; but of the materials, 
 which are the work of God, no man lias an 
 adequate conception ; and, therefore, though 
 the object may be described, it cannot be 
 defined. 
 
 Umversals are alwa^m expressed by gene- 
 ral words ; and all the words of language, 
 excepting proper names, are general words ; 
 they are the signs of general concep- 
 tions, or of some circumstance relating 
 to them. These general conceptions are 
 formed for the purpose of language and 
 reasoning ; and the object from which they 
 are taken, and to which they are intended 
 to agree, is the conception which other men 
 join to the same words ; they may, there- 
 fore, be adequate, and perfectly agree with 
 the thing conodve4 This implies no more 
 than that men who speak the same Unguage 
 
 [367, 368] 
 
 may perfectly agree in the meaning of 
 many general words. 
 
 Thus mathematicians have conceived 
 what they call a plane triangle. They 
 have defined it accurately ; and, when I 
 conceive it to be a plane surface, bounded 
 by three right lines, 1 have both a true and 
 an adequate conception of it. [369] There 
 is nothing belonging to a plane triangle 
 which is not comprehended in this conception 
 of it, or deducible from it by just reasoning. 
 This definition expresses the whole essence 
 of the thing defined, as every just definition 
 ought to do ; but this essence is only what 
 Mr Locke very properly calls a nominal 
 essence ; it is a general conception formed 
 by the mind, and joined to a general word 
 as its sign. 
 
 If all the general words of a language had 
 ft precise meaning, and were perfectly un- 
 derstood, as mathematical terras are, all 
 verbal disputes would be at an end, and 
 men would never seem to differ in opinion, 
 but when they differ in reality ; but this is 
 far from being the case. The meaning of 
 most general words is not learned, like that 
 of mathematical terms, by an accurate 
 definition, but by the experience we happen 
 to have, by hearing them used in conversa- 
 tion. From such experience, we collect 
 their meaning by a kind of induction ; and, 
 as this induction is, for the most part, lame 
 and hnperfect, it happens that difterent per- 
 sons join different conceptious to the same 
 general word; and, though we intend to 
 give them the meaning which use, the 
 arbiter of language, has put upon them, 
 this is difficult to find, and apt to be mis- 
 taken, even by the candid and attentive. 
 Hence, in innumerable disputes, men do not 
 really differ in their judgments, but in the 
 way of expressing them. 
 ! [ Our conceptions, therefore, appear to be 
 ' lof ikree kinds. They are either the coiicep- 
 kions of individual things, the creatures of 
 God ; or they are conceptions of the mean- 
 ing of general words ; or they are the crea- 
 tures of our own imagination : and these 
 different kinds have different properties, 
 11 which we have endeavoured to describe. 
 5. fWfionce ptionof things may bo stro ng 
 and l ively^^fliuitmajLh&iaiat an^ JftBgJ^^^" 
 HTcfceeSi. These are qualities which pro- 
 ir^belbng to our conceptions, though we 
 
 kve no names for them but such as are 
 
 analogical. Every man is conscious of such 
 m difference in his conceptions, and finds his 
 lively conceptions most agreeable, when the 
 object is not of such a nature as to give 
 pain. L370] 
 
 Those who have lively conceptions, com- 
 monly express them in a lively manner — 
 that is, in such a manner as to raise lively 
 conceptions and emotions in others- Such 
 persons are the most ngreeable companions 
 [369-371] 
 
 in conversation, and the most acceptable in 
 their writings. 
 
 The liveliness of our conceptions proceeds 
 from different causes- Some objects, from 
 their own nature, or from accidental asso- 
 ciations, are ap« to raise strong emotions in 
 the mind. Joy and hope, ambition, zeal, 
 and resGiitment, tend to enliven our con- 
 ceptions; disappointment, disgrace, grief, 
 and envy, tend rather to flatten them. Men 
 of keen passions are commonly lively and 
 agreeable in conversation ; and dispassion- 
 ate men often make dull companions. There 
 is in some men a natural strengtluand vigour 
 of mind whieh gives strength to their con- 
 ceptions on all subjects, and in all the occa- 
 sional variations of temper. 
 
 It seems easier to form a lively concep- 
 tion of objects that are familiar, than of 
 those that are not; our conceptions of visible 
 objects are commonly the most lively, when 
 other circumstances are equal. Hence, 
 poets not only delight in the description of 
 visible objects, but find means, by meta- 
 phor, analogy, and allusion, to clothe every 
 object they describe with visible qualities. 
 The lively conception of these makes the 
 object appear, as it were, before our eyes. 
 Lord Kames, in his Elements of Criticism, 
 has shewn of what importance it is in 
 works of taste, to give to objects described, 
 what he calls ideal presence.* To produce 
 this in the mind, is, indeed, the capital aim 
 of poetical and rhetorical description. It 
 carries the man, as it were, out of himself, 
 and makes him a spectator of the scene 
 described. This ideal presence seems to me, 
 to be nothing else but a Hvely conception of 
 the appearance which the object would make 
 if really present to the eye. [37 1 ] 
 
 Abstract and general conceptions are 
 never lively, though they may be distinct ; 
 and, therefore, however necessary in philo- 
 sophy, seldom enter into poetical descrip- 
 tion without being particularised or clothed 
 in some visible dress. -f- 
 
 It may be observed, however, that our 
 conceptions of visible objects become more 
 lively by giving them motion, and more 
 still by giving them life and intellectual 
 qualities. Hence, in poetry, the whole crea- 
 tion is animated, and endowed with sense 
 and reflection. 
 
 Imagination, when it is distinguished 
 from conception, seems to me to signify 
 one species of conception— to wit, the con- 
 
 * The *£ir«eyimf 'TsTtrCwwiey *»vTeto-itt»_ '04"f» 
 E;8*A»srw/«, P^tUmes» of the ancient Khetoricians.— 
 
 u 
 
 t They thus cease to be aught absfract and general, 
 and become merely individual representations. In 
 precise language, they are no longer ,6r.uxra, oui 
 0»,T»,ruArl ; no longer Bf/zH/f*'. but Anschauunpen ; 
 no longer rwliom or concepts, but iirnu^es. •i'® Vw 
 •• parUcularued" ought to have beoii tndividuaittea 
 
ONVHE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [bssat it. 
 
 nf' ^iUMb nMftln,* Thus, in » 
 tnatlieiiwtiail propositon, I imAgiiie the 
 iguro, and I conceiv^t^e demonstration ; 
 it would not, I tliink, be^iunproper to say, 
 
 I mamkm both; but it^mld not be so 
 fDOfMr to say, I imagine tho^iemonstration. 
 
 & Oar eonceptiuns of things may be clear, 
 Jbtiadi and. atoady; or they may be ob- 
 ^lenro, mdiatiiMt|, and wavering. The live- 
 lliiets of our «0Deeptiona gives pleasure, 
 but it is their distinctness and steadiness 
 that enables us to jndge right, and to 
 •smss our sentimentS' with perspicuity. 
 
 If wm inquire into the cause, why, among 
 |wismi ^leaking or writing on the same 
 subject, we ind m one so much darkness, 
 in another so much psnpifliiity, I believe 
 the chief cause will be found to be, that 
 one had a distinct and steady concep- 
 tion of what he said and wrote, and the 
 other had not. Men generally find means 
 to express distinctly what th^ have con- 
 ceived distinctly. Ho^rac* #lserve^ that 
 proper words spontaneously fDHow disthict 
 Conmptions— *' Verbague provisam rem rum 
 liMiila «ffutifiliir.** But it is impossible 
 ^imt • 'mil should distinctly express what 
 1M' liaa: not 'disthietly conceived. [S72] 
 
 We are commonly taught that perspicuity 
 depends upon a proper choice of words, a 
 f roper straaluie nf santsmMSi and a proper 
 binder in the whole eomposillM. ijl ttiis 
 is my true ; but it supposes distinelnsss in 
 cmr ccM!M9«plion% without which there can 
 he neither propriety in our words, nor la 
 tlM' stmeture of our sentences, nor in onr 
 lifiliftdn 
 
 Ifay, 1 apiishniid that indistinct con- 
 eeptiona of thinp are^ Ibr the most part, 
 the causoi not only of obscurity in writing 
 'and speaking, but of eiror .in jndguig. 
 
 Must not they who emeeivie things in the 
 same manner form the same judgment of 
 tlioir agreements and disagreements ? Is 
 it possible for two ftiMiis to differ with 
 re^tfd to the cowiliiMi of a syllogism who 
 have the auie eoncsMlon of the premises ? 
 
 Some persons ind it difficult to enter 
 into a mathtnialleal'' dsmoiiitnitlfiM. I be- 
 lieve we shai always Had the reason to be, 
 thaA they do not distinctly apprehend it 
 A man eannot be convinced by what he 
 does not understand. On the other hand, 
 I think a man caniN4' understand a de- 
 ■wiiilnitbn without seeing the force of it. 
 I speak of such demonstrations as those 
 <lf fticlid, where every step is set down, and 
 nothing left to be supplied by the reader. 
 
 ♦Jtli to be wtfetted that ReU did not more fully 
 
 '■fVSll)|ieilM'diilliMliiM of liBMfinfttlofi Biid Conccp- 
 ttoii. on wiMl ie Iwe and ritewhere Inadrauatdy 
 loiHkei. IniafiwiliMi it not, though in conrirmitf 
 leHic «tynoli|V «r the tana, to be United to the 
 mprewntailiai if vWtile obfecli. Sse below, under 
 PkiBiL NeillieroiigMt tbe tern AMMiint lobe 
 in ilMS exteneive leme otimil$nlmtd>^U, 
 
 Sometimes one who has got through ths 
 first four books of £ucUd*s " Elements,** 
 and sees the force of the demonstrations, 
 finds difficulty in the fifth. What is the 
 reason of this ? You may find, by a little 
 conversation with him, that he has not a 
 clear and steady conception of ratios, and 
 of the terms relating to them. When the 
 terms used in the fifth book have become 
 familiar, and readily excite in his mind a 
 clear and steady conception of their mean- 
 ing, you may venture to affirm that he will 
 be able to understand the demonstrations 
 of that book, and to see the force of them. 
 [3731 
 
 If this be reaUy the case, as it seems to 
 be, it leads us to think that men are very 
 much upon a level with regard to mere 
 judgment, when we take that liEtcuity apart 
 from the apprehension or conception of the 
 things about which we jndge; so that a 
 sound judgment seems to be the inseparable 
 companion of a clear and steady apprehen- 
 sion. And we ought not to consider these 
 two as talents, of which the one may fail to 
 the lot of one man, and the other to the lot 
 of anotiier, but as talents which always go 
 together. 
 
 It may, however, be observed, that some 
 of our conceptions maybe more subservient 
 to reasonmg than others which are equally 
 clear and distinct. It was before observed, 
 that some of our conceptions are of indi- 
 vidual things, others of things general and 
 abstract It may happen tlmt a man who 
 has very clear conceptions of things in- 
 dividually, is not so happy in those of 
 things general and abstract. And this I 
 take to be the reason why we find men 
 who luve good judgment in matters of 
 common life, and perhaps good talents for 
 poetical or rhetoriod composition, who find 
 It very difficult to enter into abstract reas- 
 omng. 
 
 That I may not appear singular in put- 
 ting men so much upon a level in pomt of 
 mere judgment, I b^ leave to support this 
 opinion by the authority of two very think 
 ing men, Des Cartes and Cicero. The 
 former, in his dissertation on Method, ex- 
 presses himself to this purpose : — " Nothmg 
 18 so equally distributed among men as 
 judgment* Wherefore, it seems reasonable 
 to believe, that the power of distinguishing 
 what is true from what is false, (whic^ we 
 properly call judgment or right reason,) is 
 by nature equal in all men ; and therefore 
 that the diversity of our opinions does not 
 arise from one person being endowed with 
 a greater power of reason than another, but 
 only from this, that we do not lead our 
 
 m «« Judgment," bma mem. In the euthentle 
 Latin trendatioo. I eannot, at the xaometit, lay 
 lianda on ro j copy of the French orifinal i but, if I 
 ■aooUect aright, it U there U b<m tent.~'H. 
 
 r372,S7Sl 
 
 CBAP. I.] OF SIMPLE APPREHENSION IN GENERAL. 307 
 
 thought in the same track, nor attend to 
 the same things.*' 
 
 Cicero, in his third book"* De Oratore," 
 makes this observation — " It is wonderful 
 when the learned and unlearned differ so 
 much in art, how little they differ in judg- 
 ment. For art being derived from Nature, 
 is good for nothing, unless it move and 
 delight Nature.'' [374] 
 
 From what has been said in this article, 
 it follows, that it is so far in our power to 
 write and speak perspicuously, and to reason 
 justly, as it is in our power to form clear 
 and distinct conceptions of the subject on 
 which we speak or reason. And, though 
 Nature hath put a wide difference between 
 one man and another in this respect, yet 
 that it is in a very considerable degree in 
 our power to have clear and distiuct appre- 
 hensions of things about which we think 
 and reason, eannot be doubted. 
 
 7. It has been observed by many authors., 
 that, wTiftti w fl hfl.r«>ly c o pceive any obje ct^ 
 tjieingrgdipiitH nf fhnt o^T^^ppfi.tji^jrmgf 
 
 eitHfitJt&^thinga with whiih wft wprp; hpfnrfi 
 acqua »itfid by Rft"io oth^ r orig ina l pow^ r pf 
 the nmidrnr thp.y must be parts or-attri- 
 ' bqtes of suph thlogs. Thus, a man cannot 
 conceive colours if he never saw, nor sounds 
 if he never heard. If a man had not a con- 
 science, he could not conceive what is meant 
 by moral obligation, or by right and wrong 
 in conduct 
 
 Fancy may combine things that never 
 were combined in reality. It may enlarge 
 or diminish, multiply or divide, compound 
 and fashion the objects which nature pre- 
 sents ; but it cannot, by the utmost effort 
 of that creative power which we ascribe to 
 it, bring any one simple ingredient into its 
 productions which Nature has not framed 
 and brought to our knowledge by some 
 other faculty. 
 
 This Mr Locke has expressed as beauti- 
 ftdly as justly. The dominion of man, in 
 this little world of his own understanding, 
 is much the same as in the great world of 
 visible things ; wherein his power, however 
 managed by art and skill, reaches no farther 
 than to compound and divide the materials 
 that are made to his hand, but can do no- 
 thing towards making the least particle of 
 matter, or destroying one atom that is 
 already in being. [375] The same inability 
 will every one find in himself, to fashion in his 
 understanding any simple idea not received 
 by the powers which God has given him. 
 
 I think all philosophers agree in this senti- 
 ment Mr Hume, indeed, after acknow- 
 ledging the truth of the principle in general, 
 mentions what he thinks a single exception 
 to it — That a man, who had seen all the 
 shades of a particular colour except one, 
 might frame in his mind a conception of 
 that shade which he never saw. I think 
 (;374-376] 
 
 this is not an exception ; because a parti* 
 cular shade of a colour differs not specifically, 
 but only in degree, from other shades of the 
 same colour. 
 
 It is proper to observe, that our most 
 simple conceptions are not those which 
 nature immediately presents to us. When 
 we come to years of understanding, we have 
 the power of analysing the objects of nature, 
 of distinguishing their several attributes 
 and relations, of conceiving them one by 
 one, and of giving a name to each, whose 
 meaning extends only to that single attri- 
 bute or relation : and thus our most simple 
 conceptions are not those of any object in 
 nature, but of some single attribute or rela- 
 tion of such objects. 
 
 Thus, nature presents to our senses i 
 bodies that are extended in three dimensions, 
 and solid. By analysing the notion we have 
 of body from our senses, we form to our- 
 selves the conceptions of extension, solidity, 
 space, a point, a line, a surface — all which 
 are more simple conceptions than that of a 
 body. But they are the elements, as it 
 were, of which our conception of a body is 
 made up, and into which it may be analysed, i 
 This power of analysing objects we propose 
 to consider particularly in another place. 
 It is only mentioned here, that what is said 
 in this article may not be understood so as 
 to be inconsistent with it. [376] 
 
 8. Though our conceptions must be con- 
 fined to the ingredients mentioned in the 
 last article, we are unconfined with regard 
 to the arrangement of those ingredients. 
 Here we may pick and choose, and form 
 an endless variety of combinations and com- 
 positions, which we call creatures of the 
 imagination. These may be clearly con- 
 ceived, though they never existed : and, 
 indeed, everything that is made, must have 
 been conceived before it was made. Every 
 work of human art, and every plan of con- 
 duct, whether in public or in private life, 
 must have been conceived before it was 
 brought to execution. And we cannot avoid 
 thinking, that the Almighty, before he 
 created the universe by his power, had a 
 distinct conception of the whole and of every 
 part, and saw it to be good, and agreeable 
 to his intention. 
 
 It is the business of man, as a rational 
 creature, to employ this unlimited power of 
 conception, for planning his conduct and 
 enlarging his knowledge. It seems to be 
 peculiar to beings endowed with reason to 
 act by a preconceived plan. Brute animals 
 seem either to want this power, or to have 
 it in a very low degree. They are moved 
 by instinct, habit, appetite, or natural affec- 
 tion, according as these principles are stirred 
 by the present occasion. But I see no 
 reason to think that they can propose w 
 themselves a connected plan of life, or form 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERa [«iSAT iv. 
 
 ^iMMnil: nii* rf «»diiet Indeed, we wm 
 'S^iBHiy «f 'iit Imiitn tipemm, to whom 
 GMliM^ilfWi^'fti«:. power, make little me 
 of it They art wifchoufc a plan, as the pas- 
 dm or appetite which in strongest at the 
 
 'time' leaclB' them. . 
 
 t. The last property I shaU mentioii or 
 
 tiiit,iu»lfy, to that wMgh, «?a^:!ly^ 
 
 Smfl Ml 1 la. Il lit jt jg jot .. employed 
 
 _-tx«:--rc=rTI3±ir;:i;a "K^ve exister 
 
 truth more evident to the common sense and 
 to the experience of mankind. But, if the 
 authority of philosophy, ancient and modem, 
 opposes it, as I think it does, I wish not 
 to treat that authority so fastidiously as not 
 to attend patiently to what may be said m 
 support of it. [3781 
 
 w!il3i""Ka vi ^...''fijci steiice. 
 
 ieeilin& 
 
 
 ;!fnml'''FP1i 
 
 <)f a centaur, 
 
 can con ceive 
 
 ^or iloea this 
 
 as easily aitg'5 
 
 a^man whom I iimii ■ mmrnt, 
 
 ..Hiiiiet: conception indlne my judgment in 
 lie least to thehelirfthat a winged horse 
 or » 'ittitanr ever existed. [«>77l 
 
 It ia not BO with the other operations of 
 onr minAi. They are employed ft^«J*^J 
 : exiateneea, and carry with them the bepei 
 i.of their owects. When I feel 'pam, i am 
 compelled to believe that the pam that I 
 feel has a teal existence. When I perceive 
 any external object, my belief of the r«i 
 mkenee of the object is irresistible. When 
 I distinctly remember any event, though 
 that event may not now exist, I can have 
 no doubt but it did exist That conscious- 
 ness which we have of the operations of 
 mm own minds, implies a belief of the real 
 anttence of those operations. 
 
 Thns we sec, that the powers of scnsa- 
 tion, of perception, of memory, and of con- 
 fldonsness, are all employed solely about 
 objects that do exist, or have existed. But 
 ©onoeption is often employed about objects 
 tlwt neither d% nor did, nor will exi>t. 1 his 
 la the veiy nature of this faculty, that its 
 oMeeLthongh distinctly conceived, may 
 liave no existence. Such an object we call 
 a ereature of imagination ; but this creature 
 Mver was created. 
 
 Tiiat wemay not impose upon ourselves 
 
 in this matter, we must distinguish between 
 
 that act or operation of the mind, which we 
 
 call conceiving m ohject, and the object 
 
 which we conceive^ When we conceive 
 
 anything, there is a real act or operation of 
 
 the mind. Of this wo are conscious, and 
 
 can have no douM of its existence. But 
 
 every mohaemmrt have an object; for he 
 
 that eonoeivea rnnat. eoneeiv© something. 
 
 SwppBe he conceives a centaur, he may 
 
 have a distinct conception of this object, 
 
 Hbmdi no oentanr ever existed 
 
 I am altali that, to those who are unac- 
 ouainted wWi the doctrine of philosophers 
 upon thi® subject, 1 shall appear in a very 
 ridiculous light, for insiating upon a iwiiit 
 ■o very evident as that men may barely 
 toneelve things that never existed. They 
 wil lirdly believe that any man in his wits 
 ever doubted of it. Indeed, I know no 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THBOaiES CONCBRNINO COKCEPTION. 
 
 The theory of ideas has been applied to 
 the conception of objects, as well as to per- 
 ception and memory. Perhaps it will bo 
 irksome to the reader, as it is to the writer, 
 to retorn to that subject, after so much has 
 been said upon it ; but its application to the 
 conception of objects, which could not pro- 
 perly have been introduced before, gives a 
 more comprehensive view of it, and o! the 
 prejudices which have led philosophers so 
 unanimously into it* 
 
 There are two prejudices which seem to 
 me to have given rise to the theory of ideas 
 in all the various forms in which it has ap- 
 peared in the course of above two thousand 
 years; and, though they have no support 
 from the natural dictates of our faculties, 
 or from attentive reflection upon their oper- 
 ations, they are prejudices which those who 
 speculate upon this subject are very apt to 
 be led into by analogy. ,. , 
 
 The first is— That, in all the operations of 
 the understanding, there must be some im- 
 mediate intercourse between the mmd and 
 its object, so that the one may act upon the 
 other. The seomd, That, in all the opera- 
 tions of understanding, there must be an 
 object of thought, which really exists wiiile 
 we think of it ; or, as some phUosophers 
 have expressed it, that which is not cannot 
 
 be intelligible. , , . ^i. 
 
 Had philosophers perceived that these are 
 prejudices grounded only upon analogical 
 reasoning, we had never heard o^jdeas •« 
 the philosophical sense of that word. [57 J J 
 
 The first of these principles has led philo- 
 sophers to think that, as the external 
 objects of sense are too remote to act upon 
 the mind immediately, there must be some 
 image or shadow of them that is present to 
 the mind, and is the immediate object of 
 perception. That there is such an imme- 
 diate object of perception, distinct from 
 the external object, has been very unani- 
 mously held by pliilosophers, though they 
 have differed much about the name, the 
 
 ♦ The reader will bear in wind what hM **•» 
 already 8a.d of the limited meaning attached by 
 Reid W. the term Idea, vii.. some.h.n|: m. or present 
 to the mirnl. but not a mere modification of the 
 minJlanri hi. error in Buppo.ing .ha. all ph.lo^hen 
 . .._• <- »._...^K<..ia bee rioie» Dt ^f '^ 
 
 • ,|M' litliiw.li. 3IMI..»Mil No«» B-— "• 
 
 •dmittrd thU crurte hypothtau. 
 :«. N, O, P, AC— H. 
 
 [377-37»l 
 
 CHAP. 11.] THEORIES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 
 
 309 
 
 nature, and the origin of those unmediate 
 objects. 
 
 We have considered what has been said in 
 the support of this principle, Essay II. chap. 
 14, to which the reader is referred, to 
 prevent repetition. 
 
 I shall only add to what is there said. 
 That there appears no shadow of reason 
 why the mind must have an object imme- 
 diately present to it in its intellectual oper- 
 ations, any more than in its affections and 
 passions. Philosophers have not said that 
 ideas are the immediate objects of love or 
 resentment, of esteem or disapprobation. 
 It is, I think, acknowledged, that persons 
 and not ideas, are the immediate objects of 
 those affections ; persons, who are as far 
 from being immediately present to the mind 
 as other external objects, and, sometimes, 
 persons who have now no existence, in this 
 world at least, and who can neither act 
 upon the mind, nor be acted upon by it. 
 
 The second principle, which I conceive 
 to be likewise a prejudice of philosophers, 
 grounded upon analogy, is now to be 
 considered. 
 
 It contradicts directly what was laid down 
 in the last article of the preceding chapter 
 —to wit, that we may have a distinct con- 
 ception of things which never existed. This 
 is undoubtedly the common belief of those 
 who have not been instructed in philosophy ; 
 and they will think it as ridiculous to defend 
 it by reasoning, as to oppose it. [380] 
 
 The philosopher says. Though there 
 may be a remote object which does not ex- 
 ist, there must be an immediate object 
 which really exists ; for that which is not, 
 cannot be an object of thought. The idea 
 must be perceived by the mind, and, if it 
 does not exist there, there can be no per- 
 ception of it, no operation of the mind 
 about it.* 
 
 This principle deserves the more to be 
 examined, because the other before men- 
 tioned depends upon it ; for, although the 
 last mav be true, even if the first was false, 
 yet, if the last be not true, neither can the 
 first. If we can conceive objects which 
 have no existence, it follows that there may 
 be objects of thought which neither act upon 
 the mind, nor are acted upon by it ; because 
 that which has no existence can neither act 
 nor be acted upon* 
 
 It is by these principles that philosophers 
 have been led to think that, in every act of 
 memory and of conception, as well as of 
 perception, there are two objects— the 
 one, the immediate object, the idea, the 
 species, the form ; the other, the mediate 
 or external object The vulgar know oulj 
 
 * In relation to thia and wha' followa, see above, 
 n. 292. b, note t j p. « A «• "o^^' t i »"^ ""*« "• 
 
 [380,3t»n 
 
 of one object, which, in perception, is some- 
 thing external that exists; in memory, 
 something that did exist ; and, in concep- 
 tion, may be something that never existed.* 
 But the immediate object of the philo- 
 sophers, the idea, is said to exist, and to be 
 perceived in all these operations. 
 
 These principles have not only led philo- 
 sophers to split objects into two, where 
 others can find but one, but likewise have 
 led them to reduce the three operations now 
 mentioned to one, making memory and con- 
 ception, as well as perception, to be the per- 
 ception of ideas. But nothing appears more 
 evident to the vulgar, than that what is 
 only remembered, or only conceived, is not 
 perceived ; and, to speak of the perceptions 
 of memory, appears to them as absurd as 
 to speak of the hearing of sight. [381 ] 
 
 In a word, these two principles carry us 
 into the whole philosophical theory of ideas, 
 and furnish every argument that ever was 
 used for their existence. If they are true, 
 that system must be admitted with all its 
 consequences. If they are only prejudices, 
 grounded upon analogical reasoning, the 
 whole system must fall to the ground with 
 
 them. 
 
 It is, therefore, of importance to trace 
 those principles, as far as we are able, to 
 their origin, and to see, if possible, whether 
 they have any just foundation in reason, or 
 whether they are rash conclusions, drawn 
 from a supposed analogy between matter 
 
 and mmd. ., , . ^i. 
 
 The unlearned, who are guided by the 
 dictates of nature, and express what they 
 are conscious of concerning the operations 
 of their own mind, believe that the object 
 which they distinctly perceive certainly 
 exists ; that the object which they distinctly 
 remember certainly did exist, but now may 
 not ; but as to things that are barely con- 
 ceived, they know that they can conceive a 
 thousand things that never existed, and that 
 the bare conception of a thing does not so 
 much as afford a presumption of its exist- 
 ence. They give themselves no trouble to 
 know how these operations are performed, or 
 to account for them from general principles. 
 But philosophers, who wish to discover 
 the causes of things, and to account for 
 these operations of mind, observing that in 
 other operations there must be not only an 
 agent, but something to act upon, have 
 been led by analogy to conclude that it 
 must be so in the operations of the mind.^ 
 
 The relation between the mind and its 
 conceptions bears a very strong and obvious 
 analogy to the relation between a man and 
 his work. Every scheme he forma, every 
 discovery he makes by his reasoning powers, 
 is very properly called the work of his mind. 
 These works of the mi nd are som etimes 
 
 I 
 
 * See refereiitui in i^rtcetling note.— H. 
 
m 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay it. 
 
 
 gnulkmi important wmfak aai 'dmw Hio 
 sllMitiiii|aiidadiBif«tlMi:"(iriiiMii* '[882] 
 
 It is me province of the philosopher to 
 mntMm bow such works of the mind mo 
 produced, and of what materials the^' are 
 eonposed. He ealla the materials ideas. 
 TiMva mist ftMNfam he idiauy which the 
 mind can arrange and form .into a regular 
 ■tffuetttre. Everything 'that is produced, 
 must hO' piodueed of .iomfllhing ; and from 
 nothings nothing 'Can. he produced. 
 
 Some such reasoning as this seems to me 
 to have given the first rise to the philoso- 
 Bliieal notions of ideaa Those notions were 
 'innMii. into a .^plem by the Pythagoreans, 
 two thousand, yean ago; and this system 
 was adopted by Plato, and emhellished with 
 ill. 'the powers of a .inO' ^and lofty imagina- 
 'tbn.. I iliall» in 'Oompliaiiie with custom, 
 '■all it the 'Plalonie syrtem of ideas, though 
 in realty it was the invention of the Py tha- 
 
 ployed the wits of men' in. the inimoy of 
 the Grecian philosophy was — What was the 
 origin of the world r—from what principlea 
 and causes did it pnNoed ? To this ques- 
 
 'taon very different answers^ were given in 
 'the diHwent schools. Most' of them appear 
 to UB very ridiculous. The Pythagoreans, 
 however, judged, very rationally, from the 
 order and beant/ of the unifeise, that it 
 must 'be the woilmanthip of an. eternal, in- 
 liil%tnty and. good being : and therefore 
 they concluded the Deity to be one first 
 .|irtn.ciple or cause of the ouvanoh. 
 
 But they conceived thero' must be more. 
 The universe must be made of something. 
 Every workman must have materials to 
 work upon. That the world should be made 
 out of nothing :seemed. to 'them, ^absurd, be- 
 'CansB' everything 'tiiai' is made must be .made 
 of something. 
 
 Nullan mn e niUloglfiildlvinlliit luifUsm.-'Lvci. 
 l>e iiibilo tilliil* in niiiliiiii iii! pcww reverti.^PR«& 
 
 This maxim never was bro'ught into doubt : 
 even in Cicero's time it continued to be 
 held by all philosophers. [3831 What 
 
 naimal: pMloBonher (saya that author in his 
 ieeond hook m .Divination) ever asserted 
 that anything could take its rise from 
 Botliing, or be reduced to nothing ? Be- 
 
 viiott* they concluded it must' be so with 
 l|e IMty. This'WM' loasoning from analogy. 
 From this it followed, that an eternal 
 iino>Mits<t matter was another first prin.- 
 dple of the universe. But this matter they 
 believed had no 'form, nor quality. .It was 
 
 '• IdMi' in. tilt 'Flatonlc. .rniil Mum In 'the nuidtra 
 .dIpiliostliiDa Md, •• I liave slnaily ihewn» little 
 er 'no aulogy 'tO' eaeb otber. hm aimve, p. vn, a, 
 nolti ■»' I i pk 225, 'b, note ♦ j p. mt, h note *.— H. 
 
 the same with the materia prima or first 
 matter of Aristotle, who borrowed this part 
 of his philosophy from his predecessors. 
 
 To us it seems more rational to tliink 
 that the Deity created matter with its qua- 
 lities, than that the matter of the universe 
 should be eternal and self-existent. But 
 so strong was the prejudice of the ancient 
 philosophers against what we call creation, 
 that they rather chose to have recourse to 
 this eternal and unintelligible matter, that 
 the Deity might have materials to work 
 upon. 
 
 The same analogy which led them to 
 think that there must be an eternal matter of 
 which the world was made, led them also 
 to conclude that there must be an eternal 
 pattern or model according to which it was 
 made. Works of design and art must be 
 dbtinctly conceived before they are made. 
 The Deity, as an intelligent Being, about 
 to execute a work of perfect beauty and 
 regularity, must have had a distinct con- 
 ception of his work before it was made. 
 This appears very rationaL 
 
 But this conception, being the work of 
 the Divine intellect, something must have 
 existed as its object. This could only be 
 ideas, which are the proper and immediate 
 object of intellect [384] 
 
 From this investigation of the principles 
 or causes of the universe, those philoso- 
 phers concluded them to be three in number 
 —to wit, an eternal matter as the material 
 cause, eternal ideas as the model or exem- 
 phiry cause, and an eternal intelligent mind 
 as the efilcient cause. 
 
 A% to tlic nature of those eternal ideas, 
 the philosophers of that sect ascribed to 
 them the most magnificent attributes. 
 They were immutable and uncreated ;• the 
 object of the Divine intellect before the 
 world was made; and the only object of 
 intellect and of science to all intelligent 
 beings. As far as intellect is superior to 
 sense, so lar are ideas superior to all the 
 objects of sense. The objects of sense 
 being in a constant flux, cannot properly 
 be said to exist. Ideas are the things 
 which have a real and permanent exist- 
 ence. They are as various as the species of 
 things, there being one idea of every spe- 
 cies, but n<me of individuals. The idea is 
 the essence of the species, and existed be- 
 fore any of the species was made. It is 
 entire in every individual of the species, 
 without being either divided or multiplied. 
 
 In our present state, we have but an 
 imperfect conception of tho eternal ideas ; 
 but it is the hignest felicity and perfection 
 of men to be able to contemplate them. 
 
 * Whether, in the Platonic svstem. Ideas are, or 
 are not, independent <if the Deity, I have already 
 stated, IS, and always has been, a irxata 4|U<r*tiA<— 
 
 [382-384] 
 
 CHAP. ii.J THEORIES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 
 
 371 
 
 While we are in this prison of the body, 
 sense, as a dead weight, bears us down 
 from the contemplation of the intellectual 
 objects ; and it is only by a due purifica- 
 tion of the soul, and abstraction from sense, 
 that the intellectual eye is opened, and that 
 we are enabled to mount upon the wings of 
 intellect to the celestial world ot ideas. 
 
 Such was the most ancient system con- 
 cerning ideas, of which we have any account. 
 And, however different from the modern, 
 it appears to be built upon the prejudices 
 we have mentioned — to wit, that in every 
 operation there must be something to work 
 upon ; and that even in conception there 
 must be an object which really exists. 
 [385] 
 
 For, if those ancient philosophers had 
 thought it possible that the Deity could 
 operate without materials in the formation 
 of the world, and that he could conceive 
 the plan of it without a model, they could 
 have seen no reason to make matter and 
 ideas eternal and necessarily existent prin- 
 ciples, as well as the Deity Iiimself. 
 
 Whether they believed that the ideas 
 were not only eternal, but eternally, and 
 without a cause, arranged in that beautiful 
 and perfect order which they ascribe to this 
 intelligible world of ideas, I cannot say ; 
 but this seems to be a necessary conse- 
 quence of the system : for, if the Deity 
 could not conceive the plan of the world 
 which he made, without a model which 
 really existed, that model could not be his 
 work, nor contrived by his wisdom ; for, if 
 he made it, he must have conceived it 
 before it was made ; it must therefore have 
 existed in all its beauty and order inde- 
 pendent of the Deity; and this I think 
 they acknowledged, by making the model 
 and the matter of this world, first princi- 
 ples, no less than the Deity. 
 
 If the Pktonic system be thus understood, 
 (and I do not see how it can hang together 
 otherwise,) it leads to two consequences 
 that are unfavourable to it. 
 
 First, Nothing is left to the Maker of 
 this world but the skill to work after a 
 model. The model had all the perfection 
 and beauty that appears in the copy, and 
 the Deity had only to copy after a pattern 
 that existed independent of him. Indeed, 
 the copy, if we believe tliose philosophers, 
 falls very far short of the original ; but this 
 they seem to have ascribed to the refracto- 
 riness of matter of which it was made. 
 
 Secondly, If the world of ideas, without 
 being the work of a perfectly wise and good 
 intelligent being, could have so much beauty 
 and perfection, how can we infer from the 
 beauty and order of this world, which is 
 but an imperfect copy of the other, that it 
 must have been made by a perfectly wise 
 and good bemg ? [:J«6l The force of this 
 [.S85-.387 ) 
 
 reasoning, from the beauty and order of the 
 universe, to its being the work of a wise 
 being, which ap[)ears invincible to every 
 candid mind, and appeared so to those 
 ancient philosophers, is entirely destroyed 
 by the supposition of the existence of a 
 world of ideas, of greater perfection and 
 beauty, which never was made. Or, if the 
 reasoning be good, it will apply to the world 
 of ideas, which must, of consequence, have 
 been made by a wise and good intelligent 
 being, and must have been conceived before 
 it was made. 
 
 It may farther be observed, that all that 
 is mysterious and unintelligible in the Pla- 
 tonic ideas, arises from attributing existence 
 to them. Take away this one attribute, all 
 the rest, however pompously expressed, 
 are easily admitted and understood. 
 
 What is a Platonic idea ? It is the 
 essence of a species. It is the exemplar, the 
 model, according to which all the individuals 
 of that species are made. It is entire in 
 every uidividual of the species, without be- 
 ing multiplied or divided. It was an object 
 of the divine intellect from eternity, and is an 
 object of contemplation and of science to 
 every intelligent being. It is eternal, im- 
 mutable, and uncreated ; and, to crown all, 
 it not only exists, but has a more real and 
 permanent existence than anything that 
 ever God made. 
 
 Take this description altogether, and it 
 would require an CEdipus to unriddle it. 
 But take away the last part of it, and no- 
 thing is more easy. It is easy to find five 
 hundred things which answer to every 
 article in the description except the last. 
 
 Take, for an instance, the nature of a 
 circle, as it is defined by Euclid— an object 
 which every intelligent being may conceive 
 distinctly, though no circle had ever existed ; 
 it is the exemplar, the model, according to 
 which all the individual figures of that 
 species that ever existed were made ; for 
 they are all made according to the nature of a 
 circle. [387] It is entire in every individual 
 of the species, without being multiplied or 
 divided. For every circle is an entire 
 circle ; and all circles, in as far as they are 
 circles, have one and the same nature. It 
 was an object of the divine intellect from 
 all eternity, and may be an object of con- 
 templation and of science to every intelli- 
 gent beuig. It is the essence of a species, 
 and, like all other essences, it is eternal, 
 ininmtable, and uncreated. This means 
 no more but that a circle always was a 
 circle, and can never be anything but a 
 circle. It is the necessity of the thing, 
 and not any act of creating power, that 
 makes a circle to be a circle. 
 
 The nature of eyery species, whether of 
 substance, of quality, or of relation, and in 
 general everything which the ancients called 
 
 3 B 3 
 
OH TEE INTELLECTUAL POWERa 
 
 [essay If. 
 
 ill nniTeiMil, antwero to the iteeriptioii of 
 • .nitoiiie lAm, if in that description you 
 'imm out the attribute of existemie. 
 
 If we helieTe that no siweies of things 
 eould be ooneeived by the jymighty with- 
 out a model that really existed, we must go 
 back to the Platonic system, however mys- 
 terioia. But, if it be true that the Deity 
 could have a distinct conception of things 
 which did not exist, and that other intelligent 
 liiii^ magf eonceive objects wliich do not 
 •xist, the syatem has no better foundation 
 than thia prejudice, that the operations of 
 ntind must he lihe those of the body. 
 
 Aristotle rejected the ideas of hb master 
 Plato as visionary; but he retained the 
 
 dwlicei that .gave .rise to them, and there- 
 subsliitatM miMtliiiif in. their place, 
 hut uii'dcr a 'iiUhieiit .namoi* ^aad of a dif- 
 ferent origiii. 
 
 Be calted the objects of intellect, intelli- 
 gible species; those of tlie memory and 
 fioagination, phantasms ; and those of the 
 •enws, sensible species. This change of the 
 name* was indeed very smaU ; for the Greek 
 word of Aristotle [iT^] which we tnuishite 
 tpecuM or /na, is so near to the Oieek 
 word ideu^ both in its sound and significa- 
 tion, that, flrani their etymology, it would 
 not be easy to give them different meanings. 
 [388] Bolli anderivedfrom the Greek word 
 which slgniies ia tm, and both may signify a 
 vision or appearance to the eye. Cicero, who 
 nnderstood Greek well, often translates the 
 Greek word idea by the Latin word visio. 
 But both wo^rds being used as terms of art — 
 one in the 'Khitonie: sy8leni,the other in the 
 Peripatetic—the Latin writers generally 
 borrowed the Greek word idea to express the 
 Pktonic notion, <and transk^ted. Aristotle's 
 word, by the went 9peci§» wfmrwm ,* and in 
 this they have been followed in the modem 
 languages.* 
 
 Those forms or Hpecus were called intelli- 
 gtble, to dtstinguisli them from sensible 
 species, which Aristotle held to he the unme- 
 mate objects of sense. 
 
 He thought that the sensible species come 
 from the external object, and defined a #«»<« 
 to be that which has the capacity to receive 
 the form of sensible things without the mat- 
 ter ; as wax receives the form of a seal with- 
 out any of the matter of it In like manner, 
 he thopghl 'thai' the intellect receives the 
 'fbtnis of tMngs intelligible; and he callsit" 
 the place of forms. _^__^^ 
 
 • Keid leemi noi aware that Plato, and Ariitotle 
 In relatioD to Plato, eiiiplityed the terms iT^cc and 
 Sim .»kmm m convertible. 1 ii fact, the latter uauallj' 
 
 eonilMitbe filial theory of the tbniii>r by the name 
 •ff''ltiit<*«k p.. f4 uin yw^FiW. Tiiiriffutrm y«f ir*. 
 M. CmmIii, in a teamed aiid ingenioui paper of his 
 "■MmmmmatMnmnenU" has endeavoured to nbew 
 that I'latodid ii3«fply the two terms indifferently; 
 ■Ad the- same lias been attempte<t by Kichter. But 
 
 ■Witlf , MO iletiffili'iMtfl imiS' till l»e e»tabiUjkhed,.— M. 
 
 I take it to have been the opinion of Aris- 
 totle, that the intelligible forms in the hu- 
 man intellect are derived from the sensible 
 by abstraction, and other operations of the 
 mind itself. As to the intelligible forms in 
 the divine intollfNTt, they must have had 
 another origin ; hut I do not remember that 
 he gives any opinion about them. He cer- 
 tainly maintained, however, that there is no 
 intellection without intelligible species;* 
 no memory or imagination without phan- 
 tasms ; no perception without sensible 
 species. Treating of memory, he proposes 
 a difficulty, and endeavours to resolve it — 
 how a phantasm, that is a present object in 
 the mind, should represent a thing that is 
 past. [389] 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears that the Per- 
 ipatetic system of species and phantasms, 
 as well as the Platonic system of ideas, is 
 grounded upon this principle, that in every 
 kind of thought there must be some object 
 that really exists ; in every operation of the 
 mind, something to work upon. Whether 
 this immediate object be called an idea with 
 Plato,*!* o' * phantasm or species with Aris- 
 totle — whether it be eternal and uncreated, 
 or produced by the impressions of external 
 objects — is of no consequence in the pre- 
 sent argument. In both systems, it was 
 thought impossible that the Deity could 
 make the world without matter to work 
 upon ; in both, it was thought impossible 
 that an intelligent Bemg could conceive 
 anything that did not exist, but by means 
 of a model that really existed. 
 
 The philosophers of the Alexandrian 
 school, commonly called the latter Plato- 
 nbts, conceived the eternal ideas of things 
 to be in the Divine intellect, and thereby 
 avoided the absurdity of making them a 
 principle distinct from and independent of 
 the Deity ; but still they held them to exbt 
 really in the Divine mind as the objects of 
 conception, and as the patterns and arche- 
 types of things that are made. 
 
 Modern philosophers, still persuaded that 
 of every thought there must be an imme- 
 diate object that really exists, have not 
 deemed it necessary to distinguish by dif- 
 ferent names the immediate objects of in- 
 tellect, of imagination, and of the senses, 
 but have given the common name of idta 
 to them all. 
 
 Whether these ideas be in the sensorium, 
 or in the mind, or partly in the one and 
 partly in the other; whether they exist 
 when they are not perceived, or only when 
 
 * There iSie^cn lets reason to attribute sucli a 
 theory to Aristotle in relation to the intellect than 
 In relation to sense and imagination. See even his 
 olde>t commentator, the Aphrodi^ian, JJi^i'Wuriss , 
 f. |:<y, a. In fact, the grearer numlier of ttiose Peri, 
 pateticit who adniitted 8|iorii8 in thb rrude furm (or 
 the latter, rcjertetl-them for the former.— >H. 
 
 \ See aiiove. p. J«3?, b, note ».— M. 
 
 [■388, 3S97 
 
 CHAP. If.] THEORIES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 
 
 373 
 
 they are perceived ; whether they are tlie 
 workmanship of the Deity or of the mind 
 itself, or of external natural causes — with 
 regard to these points, different authors 
 seem to have different opinions, and the 
 same author sometimes to waver or be 
 diffident ; but as to their existence, there 
 seems to be great unanimity.* [390] 
 
 So much is this opinion fixed in the 
 minds of philosophers, that I doubt not but 
 it will appear to most a very strange para- 
 dox, or rather a contradiction, that men 
 should think without ideas. 
 
 That it has the appearance of a contra- 
 diction, I confess. But this appearance 
 arises from the ambiguity of the word idea- 
 Iftheideaof a thingmeans only the thought 
 of it, or the operation of the mind in think- 
 ing about it, which is the most common 
 meaning of the word, to think without ideas, 
 is to think without thought, which is un- 
 doubtedly a contradiction. 
 
 But an idea, according to the definition 
 given of it by philosophers, is not thought, 
 but an object of thought, which really exists 
 and is perceived. Now, whether is it a 
 contradiction to say, that a man may think 
 of an object that does not exist ? 
 
 I acknowledge that a man cannot per- 
 ceive an object that does not exist j nor can 
 he remember an object that did not exist ; 
 but there appears to me no contradiction in 
 his conceiving an object that neither does 
 nor ever did exist. 
 
 Let us take an example. I conceive a 
 centaur. This conception is an operation 
 of the mind, of which I am conscious, and 
 to which I can attend. The sole object of it 
 is a centaur, an animal which, I believe, 
 never existed. I can see no contradiction 
 in this.-f* 
 
 The philosopher says, I cannot conceive 
 
 centaur without having an idea of it in 
 my mind. I am at a loss to understand 
 what he means. He surely does not mean 
 that I cannot conceive it without conceiving 
 it. This would make me no wiser. What 
 then is this idea P Is it an animal, half 
 horse and half man ? No. Then I am 
 certain it is not the thing I conceive. Per- 
 haps ho will say, that the idea is an image 
 of the animal, and is the immediate object 
 of my conception, and that the animal is 
 the mediate or remote object.:}: [391 ] 
 
 To this I answer — Firsl, I am certain 
 there are not two objects of this conception, 
 but one only ; and that one is as immediate 
 an object of my conception as any can be. 
 
 Secondly y This one object which I con- 
 eeive, is not the image of an animal — it is 
 
 * This, as already once and again stated, is not 
 eorrect,— H. 
 
 t See above, p. 29-i, b, note f, and Note B — H. 
 
 t On this, and the subseqnent reasoning in the 
 liresent cha|>ter, see Note B.— H. 
 
 i 390-392] 
 
 an animal. I know what it is to conceive 
 an image of an animal, and what it is to 
 conceive an animal ; and I can distinguish 
 the one of these from the other without 
 any danger of mistake. The thing I con- 
 ceive is a body of a certain figure and 
 colour, having life and spontaneous motion. 
 The philosopher says, that the idea is an 
 image of the animal ; but that it has neither 
 body, nor colour, nor life, nor spontaneous 
 motion. This I am not able to comprehend. 
 
 Thirdly, I wish to know how this idea 
 comes to be an object of my thought, when 
 I cannot even conceive what it means; 
 and, if I did conceive it, this would be no 
 evidence of its existence, any more than 
 my conception of a centaur is of its exist- 
 ence. Philosophers sometimes say that wo 
 perceive ideas, sometimes that we are con- 
 scious of them. I can have no doubt of 
 the existence of anything which I either 
 perceive or of which I am conscious ;• but 
 I cannot find that I either perceive ideas 
 or am conscious of them. 
 
 Perception and consciousness are very 
 different operations, and it is strange that 
 philosophers have never determined by 
 which of them ideas are discerued.-f This 
 is as if a man should j>ositively affirm that 
 he perceived an object ; but whether by his 
 eyes, or his ears, or his touch, he could not 
 say. 
 
 But may not a man who conceives a 
 centaur say, that he has a distinct image of 
 it in his mind ? I think he may. And if he 
 means by this way of speaking what the 
 vulgar mean, who never heard of the phi- 
 losophical theory of ideas, I find no fault 
 with it. [392] By a distinct image in the 
 mind, the vulgar mean a distinct concep- 
 tion; and it is natural to call it so, on 
 account of the analogy between an image of 
 a thing and the conception of it. On ac- 
 count of this analogy, obvious to all man- 
 kind, this operation is called imagination, 
 and an image in the mind is only a peri- 
 phrasis for imagination. But to infer from 
 this that there is really an image in the 
 mind, distinct from the operation of con- 
 ceiving the object, is to be misled by an 
 analogical expression ; as if, from the 
 phrases of deliberating and balancing things 
 in the mind, we should infer that there is 
 really a balance existing in the mind for 
 weighing motives and arguments. 
 
 The analogical words and phrases used 
 in all languages to express conception, do, 
 no doubt, facilitate their being taken in a 
 literal sense. But, if we only attend care- 
 
 * This is not the case, unless it be admitted that 
 we are conscious of what weperceive— in oiher words. 
 immediately cognitive of the »iO/i-<yy.—H. 
 
 t But the philosophers did not, like Rrltl, make 
 Consciousness one 8i»ecial faculty, and Peict-ption 
 another ; nor did they and Ueid.mean by I'crtcption 
 the same thing.— H. 
 
374 
 
 %J^ I ill!* iPi I BtttlsmK^ IVAmj mtxJvw EtikO, 
 
 [mSAY IV. 
 
 fully to wlisl we am oonwioiis of in this 
 operation, we shall find no more reason to 
 ^Mak. tiiat images do really exist in otir 
 
 Mtipiiiff j ttian tint' balanoes and other me- 
 'flbmiisi]. engines, do. 
 
 We know of nothing that is in the mind 
 hut by oonacionsness, and we are conscious 
 ni nothing hnl lario'ns modeS' of 'tMnkmg i 
 'iUffiii aS' nnde'ratandinji, 'willing, affection, 
 fnadbn, doing, snibnng. If phUoiophers 
 dioose to give the name of an idea to any 
 mode of' 'thinking of which we are conscious, 
 I hm*' m» oMeotioB to the name, but tliat 
 'M inHwlaiM «. 'f0K%n. wwd Into our kn- 
 .gaai^ witbont necessttj, and a word 'that is 
 Tory ambiguous, and apt to mislead. But, 
 if tLy give that name to imiiips hi the 
 mindi which are not thongbi, but only 
 nUeets of thought, I can see no reason to 
 Ihuik that there are such things in nature. 
 If they be, their' existence and their nature 
 mil Ce more evident than anything else, 
 bseanee we know' nothing but by their 
 neans. I may add, that, if they be, we 
 eaii know nethi^beiddes them. For, from' 
 the existence of images, we can never, by 
 any jnst reasoning, mfer the existence of 
 anyliing else, unless perhaps the existence 
 of an intelligent Author of them. In this, 
 Bishop Berkelev' reasoned right [303] 
 
 In every woiik. of design, ^le work most 
 be conceived helbre it is exeented— that is, 
 before it exists. If a model, consisting of 
 MsMit 'RBiist exist in the mind, as the ob* 
 jet* <lf IkiS' 'Oono^tton, that m^odel is a work 
 •f design 'no less than the other, of which 
 it Is the model ; and therefore, as a work of 
 dedign, it must have been conceived before 
 it existed. In every work of design^ there- 
 fore, the conception must go before the 
 exisleiMse. This argument we applied be- 
 fore to the Platonic system of eternal and 
 immatable ideas, and it may be appied with 
 efiial force to all the systeL of ^dsaa. 
 
 If now it should be asked, What Is the 
 idea of a cirde ? I answer. It is the con- 
 ception of a circle. What is the immediate 
 ebjeet of this conception ? The inunediate 
 ;aiM'the only object of it k a ehrcle. But 
 wieie is this circle ? It h nowhere. If 
 'It was .an individual, and had a real ex* 
 isil«M% it mnsi .have a^ '|ilaee ; ImL being an 
 'Universal, 'It liaSi no cdMonM,, ana therefore 
 :IM' |dae& Is it not in the mind of him that 
 conomves it f 'The conception of it is in 
 the mmd, bemg an act of the mmd ; and m 
 eeumoii. bngnaip, » thing being In the 
 'minfL. Is m figiiAitive' expression, signify- 
 ing that the thing is conceived or remem- 
 
 It may be^ asked, Whether this coneep- 
 timi .is an Image or resemblance of a cirde ? 
 I ':aiisinir, I lave already aeeonnted for Its 
 beli^, in. » ignrative sense, called the image 
 
 of a circle 'in the mind.. If the (|ttestlon is 
 
 meant in the literal sense, we must observe, 
 that the word c&nmpUon has two meanings. 
 Properly it signifies that operation of the 
 mind wfiich we have been endeavouring to 
 explain ; but sometimes it is put for the 
 object of conception, or thing conceived. 
 
 Now, if the question be understood in the 
 last of these senses, the object of this con- 
 ception is not an image or resemblance of 
 a circle ; for it is a circle, and nothing can 
 be an image of itself. [394] 
 
 If the question be - Whether the opera- \ 
 tion of mind in conceiving a circle be an f 
 image or resemblance of a circle ? I think 
 it is not ; and that no two things can be 
 more perfectly unlike, than a species of 
 thought and a species of figure. Nor is It 
 more strange that conception should have 
 no resemblance to the object conceived, | 
 than that desire should have no resem- 
 bknce to the object desired, or resentment 
 to the object of resentment. 
 
 I can likewise conceive an individual 
 object that really exists, such as St Paul*a 
 Church in London. I have an idea of it ; 
 that is, I conceive it. The immediate 
 object of this conception is four hundred 
 miles distant ; and I have no reason to think 
 that it acts upon nie, or that I act upon it ; 
 but I can think of it notwithstanding. I 
 can think of the first year or the last year 
 of the Julian period. 
 
 If, alter all, it should le thought that 
 images in the mind serve to account for this 
 faculty of conceiving things moat distant in 
 time and place, and even things which do 
 not exist, which otherwise would be alto- 
 gether inconceivable; to this I answer, 
 that accounts of things, grounded upon 
 conjecture, have been the bane of true 
 pliiio8oi>hy in all age& Experience may 
 satisfy m that it is an hundred times more 
 probable that they are false than that they 
 are true. 
 
 This account of the faculty of conception, 
 by Images in the mind or in the brain, 
 will deserve the regard of those who have 
 a true taste in philosophy, when it is proved 
 by solid arguments— Ftrjir/, That there are 
 images in the. mind, or in the brain, of the 
 things we conceive* Seeondlyy That there 
 is a faculty in the mind of perceiving such 
 images. Thirdly^ That the perception of 
 such images produces the conception of 
 things most distant, and even of things tliat 
 have no existence. And, fourihlyy That 
 the perception of individual images in the 
 mind, or In the brain, gives us the coneep- 
 tion of universals, which are the attribut^ 
 of manv mdividuals. [395] Until this is 
 done, the theory of images existing in the 
 mind or in the brain, ought to be placed in 
 the same category with the sensidio species, 
 materia prima of Aristotle, and the vortices 
 of Des Cartes. 
 
 [B9S-39S'] 
 
 cuAP. III.] MISTAKES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 
 
 375 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MISTAKES CONCBHNING CONCBPTION. 
 
 1. Writbrs on logic, after the example 
 of Aristotle, divide the operations of the 
 understanding into three : Simple Appre- 
 hension, (which is another word for Con- 
 ception,) Judgment, and Reasoning. They 
 teach us, that reasoning is expressed by a 
 syllogism, judgment by a proposition, and 
 simple apprehension by a term only — that 
 is, by one or more words which do not 
 nuike a full proi)osition, but only the sub- 
 ject or predicate of a proposition. If, by 
 this they mean, as I think they do, that a 
 proposition, or even a syllogism, may not 
 be simply apprehended,* I believe this is a 
 mistake. 
 
 In all judgment and in all reasoning, 
 conception is included. We can neither 
 judge of a proposition, nor reason about it, 
 unless we conceive or apprehend it. We 
 may distinctly conceive a proposition, with- 
 out judging of it at all. We may have no 
 evidence on one side or the other ; we may 
 have no concern whether it be true or false. 
 In these cases we commonly form no judg- 
 ment about it, though we perfectly under- 
 stand its meaning, t 
 
 A man may discourse, or plead, or write, 
 for other ends than to find the truth. His 
 learning, and wit, and invention may be 
 employed, while his judgment is not at all, 
 or very little. When it is not truth, but 
 some other end he pursues, judgment would 
 be an impediment, unless for discovering 
 the means of attaining his end ; and, there- 
 fore, it is laid aside, or employed solely for 
 that purpose. [396] 
 
 The business of an orator is said to be, 
 to find out what is fit to persuade. This a 
 man may do with nmch ingenuity, who 
 never took the trouble to examine whether 
 it ought to persuade or not. Let it not be 
 thought, therefore, that a man judges of 
 the truth of every proposition he utters, or 
 hears uttered. In our commerce with the 
 world, judgment is not the talent that bears 
 the greatest price ; and, therefore, those who 
 are not sincere lovers of truth, lay up this 
 talent where it rusts and corrupts, while 
 they carry others to market, for which 
 there is greater demand. 
 
 2. The division commonly made by logi- 
 
 * Does Reid .here mean, by apprehending gimplt/, 
 ipprehcDding in one simple and indivisible act?;— H. 
 
 t lljere is no conception possible without a judg- 
 ment affirming its (ideal) existence. There is no 
 consciousness, in fact, possible without judgment. 
 See above, p. 243, a, note *. It is to be observed, 
 that Reid uses conception in the course of this chap- 
 ter as convertible with undei'standing or comprehen. 
 sion ; and. therefore, as we shall see, in a vaguer or 
 mTe extensive meaning than the philosophers whose 
 opinion hecoiitroveits.— H. 
 
 [396, 3P7] 
 
 cians, of simple apprehension, into Sensation, 
 Imagination, and Pure Intellection, seems 
 to me very improper in several respects. 
 
 Firsty Under the word sensation, they 
 include not only what is properly so called, 
 but the perception of external objects by 
 the senses. These are very dififerent opera- 
 tions of the mind ; and, although they are 
 commonly conjoined by nature, ought to be 
 carefully distinguished by philosophers. 
 
 Secondly, Neither sensation nor the percep- 
 tion of external objects, is simple apprehen- 
 sion. Both include j udgment and belief, which 
 are excluded from simple apprehension.* 
 
 Thirdly, They distinguish imagination 
 from pure intellection by this, that, in 
 imagination, the image is in the brain ;■!• in 
 pure intellection, it is in the intellect. This 
 is to ground a distinction upon an hypo- 
 thesis. We have no evidence that there 
 are images either in the brain or in the in- 
 tellect. [397] 
 
 1 take imagination, in its most proper 
 sense, to signify a lively conception of 
 objects of sight. J This b a talent of im- 
 portance to poets and orators, and deserves 
 a proper name, on account of its connection 
 with those arts. According to this strict 
 meaning of the word, imagination is dis- 
 tinguished from conception as a part from 
 the whole. We conceive the objects of the 
 other senses, but it is not so proper to say 
 that we imagine them. We conceive judg- 
 ment, reasoning, propositions, and argu- 
 ments ; but it is rather improper to say 
 that we imagine these things. 
 
 This distinction between imagination and 
 conception, may be illustrated by an ex- 
 ample, which Des Cartes uses to illus- 
 trate the distinction between imagination 
 and pure intellection. We can imagine a| 
 triangle or a square so clearly as to 
 distinguish them from every other figure. 
 But we cannot imagine a figure of a thou- 
 sand equal sides and angles so clearly. The 
 best eye, by looking at it, could not distin- 
 guish it from every figure of more or fewer 
 sides. And that conception of its appear- 
 ance to the eye, which we properly call im- 
 agination, cannot be more distinct than the 
 appearance itself; yet we can conceive a 
 figure of a thousand sides, and even can 
 demonstrate the properties which distinguish 
 it from all figures of more or fewer sides. .' 
 It is not by the eye, but by a superior fa- 
 culty, that we form the notion of a great 
 
 * See the last note.— H.' 
 
 t But not the image, of which the mind is con- 
 scious. Bj image or idea in the brain, species im- 
 pressa, ^c, was meant only the unknown corporeal 
 antecedent of- the known mental consequent, 'the 
 image or idea in the mind, the specie* ejcprcssa.SfC 
 Reid here refers pri 11 ei pally to the Cartesian doctrine. 
 — H 
 
 t See alKive, p. 3(»6, a, note * ; and. below, unde- 
 p. 48.'.- H. 
 
876 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [fitSSAV 
 
 IV, 
 
 iwinlwr, sneii an a thomaiid. And a distinct 
 
 ticitifin of this number of sidM not being to 
 
 it is dimietly- eoneeived, ^and «aally distin- 
 guished from everj other number. * 
 
 X Simple apprehension is commonly re- 
 presented as the first o|wimtion of the 
 understanding; and judgineiil| as being a 
 fSdmposiliou or cunliiiiiatioQ of ample appre- 
 hensions. 
 
 This mistake baa probably arisen from the 
 laMng aonaation, and the perception of 
 obfeels by the senses, to be nothing but 
 iirople apprehension. They are, very pro- 
 bably, the first operations of tbe mind ; but 
 'tiiey are :nol simple 'apprchemiion&t [398] 
 
 It is genemiy' allowed, that we cannot 
 conceive soonds^ if we have never heard, 
 nor colours if we have never seen ; and the 
 e thing may be said of the objects of 
 ''' the other senses. lu .IlkO' manner, we must 
 have judged or reaaoiwd before we have 
 the eonoeptlon or sunple apprehension of 
 judii^ent and of reasoning. 
 
 Simple a^pieheiiaioiii tliereforei Ihoogh 
 It bO' the flimpleiii h not the irat' operatton 
 of the understanding ; and, instead of say- 
 ing thai thO' more complex operations of 
 the mind ate formed by compounding sim- 
 plo .apprehenaioiia, we ought rather to say, 
 thai simple' apprehen^ons are got by ana^ 
 Ijsing more complex operation& 
 
 A similar mistake, which is carried. 
 tiiHWwIi the whole of Mr Lockers Essay, 
 ■ny' be 'here mentioned. It is, that our 
 aimipl'eal ideas or conceptions are got im- 
 mXtely by the senseiC or by conscious- 
 iieis, and the complex afterwards formed 
 by 'Com^powiding tbem. I apprehend it is 
 ' iS i r othenviis* 
 
 Matnvi : pi i ei its. no object, to the senses, 
 cir to eonseiiiiniess, that is not 'Complex. 
 Thus, by our senses we pensive bodies of 
 various kindS'; but ev«y 'bii%*w a com- 
 plex olijee|.| tl has length, breadth, and 
 thidmesss it has igure, and colour, and 
 ▼artous other sensible qualities, which are 
 yoaded. lo|ptheff' .in. the aamS' labjeet ; and 
 I wpnlwiid 'tbtiti brute animals, who have 
 theisame saMMa^ 'that we have, cannot sepa- 
 rate tbe differenl aaalitieB belonging to the 
 same «b|eet| ana have only a complex 
 and eonlkised notion of the whole. Such 
 would be our notions of the objects of 
 if we had not superior powers of 
 
 tibe complex oMect, abstract every parti- 
 
 distinct: floneeptioii of it. 
 SO' that it is not by the .senses imme- 
 
 * See aboftt p. 3fl8, a,, note '*^-- H, 
 f llMf at* mot t^ttjOt it/^pirtlmutms^ In one 
 '^Ifisl !•• lis 'fillecit am mt^ liMpipMilt. But thia 
 'WSiaol tlM'iMMiInf in wli'M flit exfiiMPion wai tiie«i 
 l^f the .Lnytciant.— >n. 
 
 diately, but rather by the powers of aiia- 
 lysing and abstraction, that we get the motft 
 simple and the most distinct notions even 
 of the objects of sense. Tliis will be more 
 fully explained in another place. [390] 
 
 4. There remains another mistitke con- 
 cerning conception, which deserves to be 
 noticed. It is — That our conception of 
 things is a test of their possibility, so that, 
 what we can distinctly conceive, we may 
 conclude to be possible ; and of what is im- 
 possible, we can have no conception. 
 
 This opinion has been held by philoso- 
 phers for more than an hundred years, 
 without contradiction or dissent, as far as I 
 know ; and, if it be an error, it may be of 
 some use to inquire into its origin, and the 
 causes that it has been so genenilly re- 
 ceived as a maxim whose truth could not 
 be brought into doubt. 
 
 One of the fruitless questions agitated 
 among the scholastic philosophers in the 
 dark ages* was — What is the criterion of 
 truth ? as if men could have any other way 
 to distinguish truth from error, but by the 
 right use of that power of judging which 
 God has given them. 
 
 Des Cartes endeavoured to put an end to 
 this controversy, by making it a fundamen- 
 tal principle in his system, that whatever 
 we clearly and distinctly perceive, is true.-t- 
 
 To understand this principle of Des 
 Cartes, it must be observed, that he gave 
 the name of perception to every power of 
 the human understanding ; and in explain- 
 ing this very maxim, he tells us that sense^ 
 imagination, and pure intellection, are only 
 different modes of perceiving, and, so the 
 maxim was understood by all his followers. $ 
 
 The learned Dr Cudworth seems also to 
 have adopted this principle :— *' Tbe cri- 
 terion of true knowledge, says he, is only 
 to be looked for in our knowledge and con- 
 ceptions themselves : for tiie entity of all 
 theoretical truth is nothing else but clear 
 intelligibility, and whatever is clearly con- 
 ceived is an entity and a truth ; but that 
 which is false, divine power itself cannot 
 make It to be dearlv and distinctly under- 
 stood. [400] A falsehood can never be 
 cleariy conceived or apprehended to be 
 true/* — " Eternal and Immutable Mora- 
 hty," p. 172, &c 
 
 Thw Cartesian maxun seems to me to 
 have led the way to that now under con- 
 sideration, which seems to have been adopted 
 as the proper correction of the former. 
 When the authority of Des Cartes declined, 
 men began to seeithat we may clearly and 
 distinctly conceive what is not true^ but 
 
 * Thif wu more a quoation with the Greek phUo- 
 •optiers than witn the schotilmen.— H. 
 
 1 llial la, in Dm C^rtai'tipitflcaiion of the won), 
 difwreiit modM of litinii coniciOMi. See abo* e.«- i L 
 
 [.^»8-400] 
 
 o«A.N II..] MISTAKES CONCERNING CONCEPTION. 
 
 377 
 
 (bought, that our conception, though not in 
 all cases a test of truth, might be a test of 
 possibility.* 
 
 This indeed seems to be a necessary con- 
 sequence of the received doctrine of ideas ; 
 it being evident that there can be no dis- 
 tinct image, either in the mind or anywhere 
 else, of that which is impossible. -f Tiie 
 a^nbiguity of the word conceive, which we 
 observed. Essay I. chap. I, and the com- 
 mon phraseology of saying we cannot con- 
 ceive such a thing, when we would signify 
 that we think it impossible, might likewise 
 contribute to the reception of this doctrine. 
 
 But, whatever was the origin of this 
 opinion, it seems to prevail universally, 
 and to be received as a maxim. 
 
 " The bare having an idea of the propo- 
 sition proves the thing not to be impossible ; 
 for of an impossible proposition there can 
 be no idea.'* — Dr Samukl Clarkk. 
 
 "Of that which neither does nor can 
 exist we can have no idea." — Lord Bolinu- 
 
 BRORB. 
 
 " The measure of impossibility to us is 
 inconceivableness, that of which we can 
 have no idea, but that reflecting upon it, it 
 appears to be nothing, we pronounce to be 
 impossible." — Abkrnkthy. [401] 
 
 " In every idea is implied 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 can- 
 not exist.'* — Dr Price. 
 
 ** Impossible est cujus nullam notionem 
 formare possumus ; possibile e contra, cui 
 aliqua respondet notio." — Wolpii Ontolo- 
 
 " It is an established maxim in metaphy- 
 sics, that whatever the mind conceives, in- 
 elndes the idea of possible existence, or, in 
 other words, that nothing we imagine is 
 absolutely impossible." — D. Hum£. 
 
 It were easv to muster up many other 
 respectable authorities for this maxim, and 
 I have never found one that called it in 
 question. 
 
 If the maxim be true in the extent which 
 
 * That it» of logical poisibility— the absence of con. 
 tradiction.— H. 
 
 t This it rather a strained inrerence.<— H. 
 
 i 1'hese are not exactly Woirs expressions. See 
 •• OrUolooia," ^ \ I W. I03 i " Philosophia RcUionalit," 
 \\ hti, b'A, I'tie same doctrine is held by Tschiriu 
 hausen and others. In so far, however, as it is said 
 that inconceivability is the criterion of impossibility, 
 it to-manilestly erroneous. OC many contradictorief>, 
 ««• are able to conceive neither; but. by the law of 
 tltought, called that of Excluded Middle, one of two 
 rontradictories must be admitted— must be true. 
 For example, we can neither conceive, on the one 
 hand, an ultimate minimum of Kpaceoroftime; nor 
 can we, on the other, conceive their infinite diviMhi. 
 llty. In like manner, wecanno. conceive the absiv 
 kite commencement of time, or the utmost limit of 
 Ifiace, and are yet rqually unable to conceive them 
 without any commenccinent or limit. The absurdity 
 that would re«ult from the assertion, tliat all that is 
 tnoonceivable is impossible, is thus obvious ; and so 
 far Reid's criticism ia JuM, tliough not new.— H. 
 
 [401, i02] 
 
 the famous Wolfius has given it in the pas- 
 sage above quoted, we shall have a short 
 road to the determination of every question 
 about the possibility or impossibility of 
 things. We need only look into our own 
 breast, and that, like the Urim and 
 Thummim, will give an infallible answer. 
 If we can conceive the thing, it is possible ; 
 if not, it is impossible. And, surely, every 
 man may know whether he can conceive 
 what b affirmed or not. 
 
 Other philosophers have been satisfied 
 with one half of the maxim of Wolfius. 
 They say, that whatever we can conceive is 
 possible ; but they do not say that whatever 
 we cannot conceive is impossible. 
 
 I cannot help thinkint; even this to be a 
 mistake, which philosophers have been un- 
 warily led into, from the causes before men- 
 tioned. My reasons are these : — [402] 
 
 1. Whatever is said to be possible or im- 
 possible, is expressed by a proposition. 
 Now, what is it to conceive a proposition ? 
 I think it is no more than to understand 
 distinctly its meaning.* I know no more 
 
 * In this sense of the word Conception, I make 
 bold to say that there is no philosopher who ever 
 held an opinion different from that of our author. 
 I'he whole dispute arises from Reid giving a wider 
 signification to this term than that which it lias 
 generally received. In his view, it has two mean- 
 ings i in that of tiie philosophers whom he attacks, 
 It has only one. To illustrate this, tiike the prop'>M. 
 tion— a circle is square. Here we easily undergUmd 
 the meaning of the affirmation, because what is neces. 
 sary to an act of judgment is merely that the subject 
 and predicate should he brought into a unity o/rela- 
 tion. A judgment is therefore possible, even where 
 the two terms are contradictory. But the philosophers 
 never expressed, by the term conception, this under, 
 standing of the purport of a proposition. What they 
 meant by conception was not the uniti/ of relation, 
 but the unity of representation ,- and this unity of 
 representation they made the rriterion of logical pos. 
 sibility. Jo take the example already given : they 
 did not say a circle may possibly be square, because 
 we can understand the meaning of the proposition, 
 a circle is square ; but, on the contrary, they said It 
 is impossible that a circle can be (square, and the pro. 
 position affirming this is necessarily false, because we 
 cannot, in consciousness, bring to a unity qfrepre- 
 sentation the repugnant notions, circle and square— 
 tnat is, conceive tlie notion of square circle. Keid'a 
 mistake in this matter is so palpable that it is not 
 more surprising that he should have committed It, 
 than that so many should not only have followed him 
 in the opinion, but even have lauded it as the refuta^ 
 tion of an important error. To shew how com. 
 pletely Reid mistook the philosophers, it will be suf. 
 licient to quote a passage from Wolfs vernacular 
 Logic, which 1 take from the English translation, 
 (one, by the by, of the few tolerable versions we have 
 of German philosophical works,) published in 1770: — 
 
 " It is carefully to be observed, that we have not 
 always the notion of the thing present to us, or in 
 view, when we i^peak or think of it ; but are satisfied 
 when we imagine w- sufficiently understand what we 
 speak, if we think we recollect that we have had, at 
 another time, the notion which is to be joined tothis 
 or the other word;' and thus we represent to our. 
 selves, as at a distance ouly, or obscurely, the tbnig 
 denoted by the term. 
 
 •• Hence, it usually hapiiens that, when we combine 
 words together, to each of which, apart, a meaning 
 or notion answers, we imagine we understan.l what 
 we .utter, though that which is denoted by such com. 
 bined words be impotsitiie, and coiisequently can 
 have no meaning. For that which is impossible is 
 
978 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [sSgAT IV. 
 
 OHAF. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 379 
 
 Huitfluilw meant 1>y simple apprehension 
 
 m mtMmmMMf wkmn applied to a proposi- 
 Utm- The ax{oi% 'therefore, amounts tO' 
 tib X — Every propoiilion, of which you un- 
 derstand th« meaning distinctly, is possihle. 
 
 I am ftivmiied that I undeMtaad as dis- 
 'tincHir 'lie 'meaning of thispni|Miaition, Ani/ 
 itm fWf of u Iri#fij9^ are l<if«lft«r equal 
 to the third, m of this— jl»f ttm mdes 0/ a 
 triangle are t^ether greater ihanjhe third ; 
 y«l 'tiie iial of theao is impossihle. 
 
 Pmtlii^:' it will 'he said, that, though you 
 understand the meaning of the impossible 
 wniiosition, yon cannot suppose or conceive 
 it te' hB true* 
 
 Here we ^aie to eiamine the meaning of 
 'Hie phraaea ni m^^mdrng and eemmimnff a 
 pffopoaitioii to be true. I can certainly sup- 
 pose it to be true^ because I can draw con- 
 
 fOmf m wei as the proposition itself. 
 
 I^ by conceiving it to be true, he meant 
 giving some degree of assent to it, how- 
 ever small, this, I confess, I cannot do. 
 But will it beaaid that every proposition to 
 which I 'Can givo' any degree of assent, is 
 possible ? This contradicts experience, and, 
 tlierefore, the maxim cannot be true in 
 this sense. 
 
 Sometimes, when we say that we mnnol 
 mmeeim u thing to be true^ we mean by that 
 expression, th&i we judge it to be imptmiMe, 
 In this sense I cannot, indeed, conceive 
 it to be true, that two sides of a triangle 
 are equal to the tiiirdr I judge it to be 
 impossibla If, then, we understand, in 
 this sense, that maxim, that nothing we can 
 cnnoeive is impossible, the meaning will 
 isi thai nothiiit is impossible which we 
 |ll%e to be possible. But does it not often 
 happen, that what one man judges to be 
 fiislhle, .another :nian judges to 1^ impos- 
 siblO' F The :iiiamim, therefore, is not true 
 in. this ':aeii8e. [4II3| 
 
 I am not able to find any other meaning 
 of eoneeivinff a proposititin, or of conceiving 
 U to be true, besides these I have men- 
 tioned. I know nothing that can be meant 
 b, Uviag the id« «f% p^poeition. tat 
 
 nothing at all, and ofnMMng thete can be no Ufa. 
 For initsnise,. we have a. notion, of .gold, as also of 
 iron. But It la taniMiitllile tliat. Im. can at the same 
 time I'egnM, coii»4N|iMntlf, ndthercan we have any 
 notion of Iron-iold { and jet we nndetitand what 
 |wn|ilcinean whtii'llMT nrntion iron-KOld 
 
 «« In I he initance alle«ed, it certainly strikes every 
 one, at irat, that the expression iroitgolil i« an emptv 
 MitMl s iitit yet there are a thotisandinftances in which 
 ItiiMf BOt so easily strike. Fof ejtampJe, when I 
 ■ayaiidilneal two.lineii l|pi.ie. a flxure conuined 
 niMlM two right lines, I tm equally well understood 
 M when I say, a rigJit-lined triangle, a figure c n- 
 lained uniier tkree right lines, .^ndit should seem 
 wi^hiid a distinct notion of both figures HowcTcr, 
 as we alww In Oeometry that two right lines can 
 iievec cmMa mace, it U also imimtisible to form a 
 nndmof anctllineal two-lincd %ure; and conse. 
 i|iicntlf lii:«l .ex|>.reislim is an emiit'f sound."— I*. 5!i. 
 — H» 
 
 either the muderstanding its me-ming^ or 
 the judging of its truth. I can understand 
 a proposition that is false or impossible, as 
 well as one that is true or possible ; and I 
 find that men have contradictory judgments 
 about what is possible or impossible, as well 
 as about other things. In what sense then 
 can it be said, that the having au idea of a 
 proposition gives certain evidence that it is 
 possible ? 
 
 If it be said, that the idea of a proposition 
 is an image of it m the mind, I think indeed 
 there cannot be a distinct image, either in 
 the mind or elsewhere, of tliat which is 
 impossible ; but what is meant by the image 
 of a proposition I am not able to compre- 
 hend, and I shall be glad to be infonned. 
 
 2. Every proposition that is necessarily 
 true stands opposed to a contradictory pro- 
 position that is impossible ; and he that 
 conceives one conceives both. Thus a man 
 who believes that two and three necessarily 
 make five, must believe it to be impossible 
 that two and three should not make five. 
 Me conceives both propositions when he 
 believes one. Every proposition carries its 
 contradictory in its bosom, and both are 
 conceived at the same time. " It is con- 
 fessed," says Mr Hume, " that, in all cases 
 where we dissent from any person, we con- 
 ceive both sides of the question; but we 
 can believe only one." From this, it cer- 
 tainly follows, that, when we dissent from 
 any person about a necessary proposition, 
 we conceive one that is imposible ; yet I 
 know no philosopher who has made so 
 much use of the maxim, that whatever we 
 conceive is possible, as Mr Hume. A great 
 part of his peculiar tenets is built upon it ; 
 and, if it is true, they must be true. But 
 he did not perceive that, in the passage 
 now quoted, the truth of which is evident, 
 he contradicts it himself. [404] 
 
 3. Mathematicians have, in many cases, 
 proved some things to be possible, and 
 others to be impossible, ivhich, without 
 demonstration, would not have been be- 
 lieved. Yet I have never found that any 
 mathematician has attempted to prove a 
 thing to be possible, because it can be con- 
 ceived ; or impossible, because it cannot be 
 conceived.* Why is not this maxim applied 
 to determine whether it is possible to square 
 the circle ? a pohat about which very emi- 
 nent mathematicians have differed. 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 <if a square bears to its diagonal ;f yet, 
 
 * AU gcomctrv is, in fart, founded on our intui. 
 tions of space— that is, in common language, on our 
 conceptions of space and its rt>lati< ns.— IH. 
 
 f Weareabie to conceive nothing infinite; and we 
 mat ii«|i|NMe, but wo cannot comdir, repretmt, or 
 jntiiffrffif, tbe iiOBsibtlity in queation.— H. 
 
 [403, 404] 
 
 li 
 
 however conceivable this may be, it may be 
 demonstrated to be impossible. 
 
 4. Mathematicians often require us 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 
 oome to a consequence that is manifestly 
 absurd ; and from thence conclude that the 
 thing which I conceived is impossible. 
 
 Having said so much to shew that our 
 power of conceiving a proposition is no 
 criterion of its possibility or impossibility, I 
 shall add a few observations on the extent 
 of our knowledge of this kind. 
 
 1. There are many propositions which, 
 by the faculties God has given us, we judge 
 to be necessary, as well as true. All 
 mathematical propositions are of this kind, 
 and many others. The contradictories of 
 such propositions must be impossible. Our 
 knowledge, therefore, of what is impossible, 
 must, at least, be as extensive as our know- 
 ledge of necessary truth. 
 
 2. By our senses, by memory, by testi- 
 mony, and by other means, we know many 
 things to be true which do not appear to be 
 necessary. But whatever is true is pos- 
 sible. Our knowledge, therefore, of what is 
 possible must, at least, extend as far as our 
 knowledge of truth. [406] 
 
 3. If a man pretends to determine the 
 possibility or impossibility of things beyond 
 these limits, let him bring proof. I do not 
 say that no such proof can be brought. It 
 has been brought in many cases, particu- 
 larly in mathematics. But I say that his 
 heing able to conceive a thing, is no proof 
 that it is possible. -f- Mathematics afford 
 many instances of impossibilities in the 
 nature of things, which no man would have 
 believed if they had not been strictly de- 
 monstrated. Perhaps, if we were able to 
 reason demonstratively in other subjects, to 
 as great extent as in mathematics, we might 
 find many things to be impossible, which 
 we conclude without hesitation, to be pos- 
 sible. 
 
 It is possible, yon say, that GJod might 
 have made an universe of sensible and ra- 
 tional creatures, into which neither natural 
 nor moral evil should ever enter. It may 
 be so, for what I know. But how do you 
 know that it is possible ? That you can 
 conceive it, I grant ; but thb is no proof. 
 
 * Euclid does not require us to conceive or imagine 
 any such impossibility. The proposition to which 
 Reid must refer, is the second of the third Book of 
 the Elementii.— H. 
 
 t Not, certainly, that it is reaUj/ imtible, but that 
 It is prctilemaUcaUy jtossible—i, e., involves no con- 
 tradiction — violates no law if thought This latter 
 is that possibility alone in question.— H. 
 
 [405, ioe] 
 
 I cannot admit, as an argument, or even as 
 a [>ressing difficulty, what is grounded on 
 the supposition that such a thing is possible, 
 when there is no good evidence that it is 
 possible, and, for anything we know, it may, 
 in the nature of things, be impossible. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OP THK TEAIN OF THOUGHT IN THB MIND. 
 
 Every man is conscious of a succession 
 of thoughts which pass in his mind while he 
 is awake, even when they are not excited 
 by external objects. [406] 
 
 The mind, on this account, may be com- 
 pared to liquor in the state of fermentation. 
 When it is not in this state, being once at 
 rest, it remains at rest, until it is moved by 
 some external impulse. But, in the state 
 of fermentation, it has some cause of motion 
 in itself, which, even when there is no im- 
 pulse from without, suffers it not to be at 
 rest a moment, but produces a constant 
 motion and ebullition, while it continues to 
 ferment. 
 
 There is surely no similitude between 
 motion and thought ; but there is an analogy, 
 so obvious to all men, that the same words 
 are often applied to both ; and many modi- 
 fications of thought have no name but such 
 as is borrowed from the modifications of 
 motion. Many thoughts are excited by the 
 senses. The causes or occasions of these 
 may be considered as external. But, when 
 such external causes do not operate upon 
 us, we contiime to think from some internal 
 cause. From the constitution of the mind 
 itself there is a constant ebullition of thought, 
 a constant intestine motion ; not only of 
 thoughts barely speculative, but of seuti- 
 ments,passions, and affections, which attend 
 them. 
 
 This continued succession of thought has, 
 by modern philosophers, been called the 
 imagination. " I think it was formerly called 
 the fancy ^ or the phantasy. \ If the old 
 name be laid aside, it were to be wished 
 that it had got a name less ambiguous than 
 that of imagination, a name which had two 
 or three meanings besides. 
 
 It is often called the trmn of ideas. This 
 may lead one to think that it is a train of 
 bare conceptions ; but this would surely be 
 a mistake. It is made up of many other 
 operations of mind, as well as of concep- 
 tions, or ideas. 
 
 * By some only, and that improperly. — H. 
 
 t The l>atin Jmapinntin, with its modifications in 
 the vulgar languages, was employed both in ancient 
 and modern times to express what the Greelis <ieno- 
 minatcd ^acvretriet. Phantast/t of which Phansi/ or 
 Fancy is a corruption, and now employed in a mote 
 limited sense, was a common name for Imagination 
 with the old English writers.— H. 
 
w§ 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS 
 
 [^KlJSAV III. 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 
 
 381 
 
 Memory, j'udpMiit,. fttaoiiing. passions, 
 affedions,. ani piili iiiil i i n a word, every 
 opaistioii of *lie mm^, excepiiug those of 
 iniBe«»is exerted occasionally in this train 
 of thought, and has its share as an in^re- 
 iient : so that we must take the word idea 
 in a very exteniive sense, if we make the 
 train of our thoughts to 'he only a train. <if' 
 
 idea& [407] 
 
 To pass from the name, and consider the 
 
 thing, we m^y ohscTve, that the' trains of 
 thought in the mini are of two kitidb : they 
 are either such as flow spontaneously, like 
 water from a fountain, without any exer- 
 tion of a governing principle to arrange 
 them ; or tley are regwhited. Md direet.ed 
 by an active effort 'Of the Binii. with iome 
 view and intention. 
 
 Before we consider these in their order, 
 it ia proper to premise that these two kinds, 
 however distinct in their nature, are for 
 the most part mixed, in perstms awake and 
 come to years of understanding. 
 
 On the one hand, we are rarely so vacant 
 of all project and design, as to let our 
 thoughts take their own oourae, without 
 the least check or direction. Or if, at any 
 fine, we should be in this state, some object 
 vii present itself, which is too interesting 
 net to 'OngagO tlw' attention and rouse tlie 
 •iOtive or eontemplative powero that were 
 
 On the other hsMl| when a 'man is giving 
 the 'most intense' aii|iliaitimi.teany specula- 
 tion, or to any sehieme ^of 'e«in:diiet, when he 
 wills to exclude every thought that is fo- 
 nign to his present purpose, such thou|^ts 
 vii 'Often impertinently intrude upon him, 
 hi spite of his endeavours to the contrary, 
 and occupy, by a kind of violence^ some 
 jpart of the time destined to another pur- 
 pose. One man may have the command 
 of his thoughts more than another man, 
 and Hie same man more at one time than 
 at another. But, I apprehend, in the best 
 trained mind, the thoughts will sometimes 
 lie :Mstive, MiaetinieS' wprioiiiaS' and self- 
 wlied, when 'Wii' wish, to 'haT# them most 
 under ^eommand. [4081 
 
 It has been observed very justly, that 
 we must not ascribe to the mind the power 
 of calling up any thought at pleasure, be- 
 eanse sneh a call or volition supposes that 
 thought to be already in the mind; for, 
 otherwise, how should it be the object of 
 ▼oition ? Am this must be granted on the 
 mm Ihand, so it is no less certain, on the 
 flditr, 'iiat a man has a considerable power 
 in rMpihitingand disposing his own thoughtSi 
 Of this every man is eenseious, and I can 
 Ml more doubt of it than I can doubt whedier 
 I 'think .at. .aii 
 
 We seem to treat the thou^ts that pre- 
 sent themaelves to the fimcy m erowds, as 
 agreftt. man treats tliose that attend his 
 
 in 
 
 levee. They are all ambitious of his at- 
 tention s he goes round the circle, bestow- 
 ing a bow upon one, a smile upon another ; 
 aaks a short question of a third ; while a 
 fourth is honoured with a particular con- 
 ference ; and the greater part have no jwir- 
 ticular mark of attention, but go as they 
 eame. it is true, he can give no mark ci 
 his attention to those who were not there, 
 but he has a sufficient number for makuig 
 a choice and distinction. 
 
 In like manner, a number of thoughts 
 present themselves to the fancy spontane- 
 onsly ; but, if we pay no attention to them, 
 nor hold any conference with them, they 
 pass with the crowd, and are immediately 
 forgot, as if they had never appeared. But 
 those to which we think proper to pay at- 
 tention, may be stopped, examined, and 
 arranged, for any particular purpose we 
 liave in view. 
 
 It may likewise be observed, that a train 
 of thought, which was at first composed by 
 appUcation and judgment, when it haJs 
 been often repeated, and becomes familiar, 
 will present itself spontaneously. Thus, 
 when a man has composed an air in music^ 
 so as to please his own ear, after he has 
 played or sung it often, the notes will 
 arrange themselves in just order, and it 
 requires no effort to regukte their succes- 
 sion. [4091 
 
 Thus we see that the fancy is made np 
 of trains of thinking — some of which are 
 spontaneous, others studied and regulated, 
 and the greater part are mixed of both 
 kinds, and take their denomination from that 
 which is most prevalent ; and that a train 
 of thought which at first was studied and 
 composed, may, by habit, present itself 
 spontaneously. Having premised these 
 things, let us retunj to those trains of 
 thought which are spontaneous, which must 
 be first in the order of nature. 
 
 When the work of the day is over, and a 
 man lies down to relax his body and mind, 
 he cannot oeaee from thinking, though he 
 desires it. Something occurs to his fancy ; 
 that is followed by another thing ; and so his 
 thoughts are carried on from one object to 
 another, until sleep closes the scene. 
 
 In this operation* of the mind, it is not 
 faculty only that is employed; there are 
 many that join together in its production. 
 Sometimes the transactions of the day are 
 brought upon the stage, and acted over 
 again, as it were, upon this theatre of the 
 imagination. In this case, memory surely 
 acts the most considerable part, since the 
 scenes exhibitedare not fictions, butrealities, 
 which we remember ; yet, in this case, the 
 
 
 • The woni prt>em might be here prefersbla 
 t^ftmtkm wtMild denote that the mind if aeiive in 
 ■Modsting the train of thought— H. 
 
 [407-409] 
 
 memory does not act alone, other powers are 
 employed, and attend upon their proper 
 objects. The transactions remembered will 
 be more or less interesting ; and we cannot 
 then review our own conduct, nor that of 
 others, without passing some judgment upon 
 it This we approve, that we disapprove. 
 This elevates, that humbles and depresses 
 us. Persons that are not absolutely indif- 
 ferent to us, can hardly appear, even to the 
 Imagination, without some friendly or un- 
 friendly emotion. We judge and reason 
 about things as well as persons in such 
 reveries. We remember what a man said 
 and did ; from this we pass to his designs 
 and to his general character, and frame 
 some hypothesis to make the whole con- 
 sistent. Such trains of thought we may 
 call historical. [410] 
 
 There are others which we may call ro- 
 mantic, in which the plot is formed by the 
 creative power of fancy, without any regar*i 
 to what did or will happen. In these also, 
 the powers of judgment, taste, moral senti- 
 ment, as well as the pp.ssions and affections, 
 come in and take a share in the execu- 
 tion. 
 
 In these scenes, the man himself com- 
 monly acts a very distinguished part, and 
 seldom does anything which he cannot ap- 
 prove. Here the miser will be generous, 
 the coward brave, and the knave honest. 
 Mr Addison, in the *' Spectator," calls this 
 play of the fancy, castle-building. 
 
 The young politician, who has turned his 
 thoughts to the affairs of government, be- 
 comes, in his imagination, a minister of 
 state. He examines every spring and wheel 
 of the machine of government with the 
 nicest eye and the most exact judgment. 
 He finds a proper remedy for every disorder 
 of the commonwealth, quickens trade and 
 manufactures by salutary laws, encourages 
 arts and sciences, and makes the nation 
 happy at home and respected abroad. He 
 feels the reward of his good administration, 
 in that self-approbation which attends it, 
 and is happy in acquiring, by his wise and 
 patriotic conduct, the blessings of the present 
 age, and the praises of those that are to 
 come. 
 
 It is probable that, upon the stage of 
 imagination, more great exploits have been 
 performed in every age than have been 
 upon the stage of life from the beginning of 
 the world. An innate desire of self-appro- 
 bation is undoubtedly a part of the human 
 constitution. It is a powerful spur to 
 worthy conduct, and is intended as such by 
 the Author of our being. A man cannot 
 be easy or happy, unless this desire be in 
 some measure gratified. While he con- 
 ceives himself worthless and base, he can 
 relish no enjoyment. The humiliating, 
 mortifying sentiment must be removed, and 
 [410-412] 
 
 this natural desire of self-approbation will 
 either produce a noble effort to acquire real 
 worth, which is its proper direction, or it 
 will lead into some of those arts of self- 
 deceit, which create a false opinion of 
 worth. [411] 
 
 A castle-bmlder, in the fictitious scenes 
 of his fancy, will figure, not according to his 
 real character, but according to the highest 
 opinion he has been able to form of himself, 
 and perhaps far beyond that opinion. For, 
 in those imaginary conflicts, the passions 
 easily yield to reason, and a man exerts the 
 noblest efforts of virtue and magnanimityj 
 with the same ease as, in his dreams, he 
 flies through the air or plunges to the hot* 
 tom of the ocean. 
 
 The romantic scenes of fancy are most 
 commonly the occupation of young minds, 
 not yet so deeply engaged in life as to have 
 their thoughts taken up by its real cares 
 and business. 
 
 Those active powers of the mind, which 
 are most luxuriant by constitution, or have 
 been most cherished by education, im- 
 patient to exert themselves, hurry the 
 thought into scenes that give them play ; 
 and the boy commences in imngination, 
 according to the bent of his mind, a general 
 or a statesman, a poet or an orator. 
 
 When the fair ones become castle-build- 
 ers, they use different materials ; and, while 
 the young soldier is carried into the field of 
 Mars, where he pierces the thickest squad- 
 rons of the enemy, despising death in all 
 its forms, the gay and lovely n^mph, whose 
 heart has never felt the tender passion, is 
 transported into a brilliant assembly, where 
 she draws the attention of every eye, and 
 makes an impression on the noblest heart. 
 But no sooner has Cupid's arrow founrl 
 its way into her own heart, than the whole 
 scenery of her imagination is changed. 
 Balls and assemblies have now no charms. 
 Woods and groves, the flowery bank and 
 the crystal fountain, are the scenes she 
 frequents in imagination. She becomes an 
 Arcadian shepherdess, feeding her flock 
 beside that of her Strephon, and wants no 
 more to complete her happiness. [412] 
 
 In a few years the love-sick maid is 
 transformed into the solicitous mother. Her 
 smiling offspring play around her. She 
 views them with a parent's eye. Her ima- 
 gination immediately raises them to man- 
 hood, and brings them forth upon the s+nge 
 of life. One son makes a figure in the 
 army, another shines at the bar; her 
 daughters are happily disposed of in mar- 
 riage, and bring new alliances to the family. 
 Her children's children rise up before her, 
 and venerate her grey hairs. 
 
 Thus the spontaneous sallies of fancy aie 
 as various as the cares and fears, the de- 
 sires and hopes, of man. 
 
SiS' 
 
 ON THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay iv. 
 
 atamM miint Iwaitiirtf votuin, tlnor, ta, f oiuplii|. 
 lKlia,diacuriiut 
 
 Thme §31 up tlie eceoM of fancy, an well 
 •■ th€i page of the satirwt Whateirer 
 
 fiiiiieaaeB tlie .faMirt' maliefl oceasioiial ex- 
 cimions into AeintiglDiition, and acts such 
 :|iMDefi upon tliat 'theatre as are agreealito 
 to the prevailing paaaion. The man of 
 'tisffie, who has committed a rich cargo^ to 
 tke inwiiatant ocean, follows it in his 
 thimglit, and, according as his hopes or his 
 lean prevaili he is haimted with storms, 
 mad focls, and shipwreck i or he makes a 
 liafpy Md a lucrative irmti§if and, befoie 
 his y ewwl i Imf lost' sight m fand, he has dif *' 
 posed 'of the pnil which. Ae is to hrlng at 
 her return. 
 
 The poet is carried into the Elysian fields, 
 where he oouTeises with the ghosts ^of 
 fi'umer and Orpheus' Thephilosupierinakes 
 a tour through the planetary systom, or 
 goes down to the centre of the earth, and 
 •laniiMi. Urn minus .stnta. In the deTout 
 man likewise, the great' ohjeds that possess 
 his heart often play in his imagination: 
 sometimes he is transported to the regions 
 of the blesied, from whence he looks down 
 with pity upon the folly and the pageantry 
 of hmnam life; or he prostrates himself 
 heforc' tiie throne of the Most High with 
 doTOut Teneration; or he eonirerses with 
 cekslial spirits ahout the natwal and moral 
 Miigiiciiii. of Qodi which he now sees only 
 hy a 'irirat light, hut ho^pes heretHer to view 
 with a steadier and hrighter ray. [413] 
 
 In persona come to maturity, there is, 
 fiien in theae spontaneous sallies of fancy, 
 some arrangonent of thought ; and I con- 
 ceive that it will he readily allowed, that' in 
 those who have the greatest stock of know- 
 'ledg^i md the hest natural. jMurts,, 'Sven the 
 
 rtanoons movements, of iuSiCy will he 
 most regular and connected. They 
 have an order, connection, and unity, by 
 vhich they are no less distinguished from 
 the dreams of one asleep, or the ravings of 
 uiie delirious on the one hand, than from 
 the finished productions of art on the other. 
 
 How is this regular arrangement brought 
 ahout f It has all the marks of judgment 
 md .reason, yet it seems to go before Judg- 
 ment, and to spring forth spontaneously. 
 
 Sliall we believe with Leibnitz, that the 
 'inind was originally furm^ed. like a watoh 
 wound ip.;, «d that all itS' thoughts, pur- 
 'MHMS,, 'pMBwns,. and actions, are effected 
 by the gradual evolution of the original 
 spring of the machine, and succeed each 
 other in order, m necessarily as the motions 
 and pulsations of a watch ? 
 
 If a child of three or four years were put 
 to account for the phienomena of a watch, 
 he would conceive that there is a little man 
 within the watch, or some otiier little au..lmali, 
 'that 'beats C0B.tln;iMij, and produces, the 
 
 motion. Whether the hypothesis of this 
 young philosopher, in turning the wateh- 
 spring into a man, or that of the German 
 philosopher, in turning a man into a wateh- 
 spring, be the most rational, seems hard to 
 detonuine.* 
 
 To account for the regularity of our first 
 thoughts, from motions of animal spirits, 
 vibrations of nerves, attractions of ideas, or 
 from any other unthinking cause, whether 
 mechanical or contingent, seems equally 
 irrationaL [414] 
 
 If we he not able to distinguish the 
 strongest marks of thought and design from 
 the effects of mechanism or contingency, the 
 consequence will be very melancholy ; foi 
 it must necessarily follow, that we have no 
 evidence of thought in any of our fellow 
 men — nay, that we have no evidence of 
 thought or design in the structure and go- 
 vernment of the universe. If a good period 
 or sentence was ever produced without 
 having had any judgment previously em- 
 ployed about it, why not an Iliad or ^ueid ? 
 They differ only in less and more ; and we 
 should do injustice to the philosopher of 
 Laputa, in laughing at his project of making 
 poems by the turning of a wheel, if a con- 
 currence of unthinking causes may produce 
 a rational train of thought. 
 
 It is, therefore, in itself highly probable 
 to say no more, that whatsoever is regular 
 and rational in a train of thought, which 
 presents itself spontaneously to a man^s 
 fancy, without auy'study, is a copy of what 
 had been before composed by his own ra- 
 tional powers, or those of some other person. 
 
 We certainly judge so in similar cases. 
 Thus, m a book I find a train of thinking, 
 which has the marks of knowledge and 
 Judgment I ask how it was produced ? It 
 18 printed in a book. This does not satisfy 
 me, because the book has no knowledge nor 
 reason. I am told that a printer printed 
 it, and a compositor set the types. Neither 
 does this satisfy me. These causes, per- 
 haps, knew very little of the subject. There 
 must be a prior cause of the composition. 
 It was printed from a manuscript. Trua 
 But the manuscript is as ignorant as the 
 printed book- The manuscript was written 
 or dictated by a man of knowledge and 
 judgment. This, and this only, will satisfy 
 a man of common understanding ; and it 
 appears to him extremely ridiculous to be- 
 lieve that such a train of thinking could 
 originally be produced by any cause that 
 neither reasons nor thinks. [415] 
 
 Whether such a train of thinking be 
 printed in a book, or printed, so to speak, 
 m his mind, and issue spontaneously from 
 his fancy, it must have been composed with 
 
 * The theory of our mental a»jirx»iationiO'*{!tiniicli 
 to the iihlloiophcri or ilic LeibiiiMiau achool.->H. 
 
 [4I3-4U1 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 
 
 383 
 
 Judgment by himself, or by some other 
 mtiunal being. 
 
 This, I think, will be confirmed by tracing 
 the progress of the human fancy as far 
 back as we are able. 
 
 We have not the means of knowing how 
 tlie fancy is employed in infants. Their 
 time is divided between the employment of 
 their senses and sound sleep : so that there 
 is little time left for imagination, and the 
 materials it has to work upon are probably 
 very scanty. A few days after they are 
 born, sometimes a few hours, we see them 
 smile in their sleep. But what they smile 
 at is not easy to guess ; for they do not 
 smile at anything they see, when awake, 
 for some months after they are born. It 
 is likewise common to see them move their 
 lips in sleep, as if they were sucking. 
 
 These things seem to discover some 
 working of the unagiuation; but there is 
 no reason to think that there is any regular 
 train of thought in the mind of infants. 
 
 By a regular train of thought, I mean 
 that which has a beginning, a middle, and 
 an end, an arrangement of its parts, ac- 
 cording to some rule, or with some inten- 
 tion. Thus, the conception of a design, 
 and of the means of executing it ; the con- 
 ception of a whole, and the number and 
 order of the parts. These are instances of 
 the most smiple trains of thought tluit can 
 be called regular. 
 
 Man has undoubtedly a power (whether 
 we call it taste or judgment is not of any 
 consequence in the present argument) 
 whereby he distinguishes between a com- 
 position and a heap of materials ; between 
 a house, for instance, and a heap of stones ; 
 between a sentence and a heap of words ; 
 between a picture and a heap of colours. 
 [416J It does not appear to me that chil- 
 dren have any regular trains of thought 
 until this power begins to operate. Those 
 who are born such idiots as never to shew 
 any signs of this power, shew as little any 
 signs of regularity of thought. It seems, 
 therefore, that this power is connected with 
 all regular trains of thought, aud may be 
 the cause of them. 
 
 Such trains of thought discover them- 
 selves in children about two years of age. 
 They can then give attention to the opera- 
 tions of older children in making their 
 little houses, and ships, and other such 
 things, in imitation of the works of men. 
 They are then capable of understanding a 
 little of language, which shews both a 
 regular train of thinking, and some degree 
 of abstraction. I think we may perceive a 
 distinction between the faculties of children 
 of two or three years of age, and those of 
 the most sagacious brutes. They can then 
 perceive design and regularity in the works 
 of others, especially of older children ; their I 
 
 file, 417] 
 
 little minds are fired with the discovery; 
 they are eager to imitate it, and never at 
 rest till they can exliibit something of the 
 same kind. 
 
 When a child first learns by imitation 
 to do something that requires design, how 
 does he exult ! Pythagoras was not more 
 happy in the discovery of his famous theo- 
 rem. He seems then first to reflect upon 
 himself, and to swell with self-esteem. His 
 eyes sparkle. He is impatient to shew his 
 performance to all about him, and thinks 
 himself entitled to their applause. He is 
 applauded by all, and feels the same emo- 
 tion from this applause, as a Roman Con- 
 sul did from a triumph. He has now a 
 consciousness of some worth in hunself. He 
 assumes a superiority over those who are 
 not so wise, and pays respect to those who 
 are wiser than himself. He attempts 
 something else, and is every day reaping 
 new laurels. 
 
 As children grow up, they are delighted 
 with tales, with childish games, with designs 
 and stratagems. Everything of this kind 
 stores the fancy with a new regular train of 
 thought, which becomes familiar by repeti- 
 tion, so that one part draws the whole after 
 it in the imagination. [417] 
 
 The imagination of a child, like the hand 
 of a painter, is long employed in copying 
 the works of others, before it attempts any 
 hivention of its own. 
 
 The power of invention is not yet brought 
 forth ; but it is coming forward, aud, like 
 the bud of a tree, is ready to burst its 
 integuments, when some accident aids its 
 eruption. 
 
 There is no power of the understanding 
 that gives so much pleasure to the owner, 
 as tliat of invention, whether it be employed 
 in mechanics, in science, in the conduct of 
 life, in poetry, in wit, or in the fine arts. 
 One who is conscious of it, acquires thereby 
 a worth and importance in his own eye 
 which he had not before. He looks upon 
 himself as one who formerly lived upon the 
 bounty and gratuity of others, but who has 
 now acquired some property of his own. 
 When this power begins to be felt in the 
 young mind, it has the grace of novelty 
 added to its other charms, and, like the 
 youngest child of the family, is caressed 
 beyond all the rest. 
 
 We may be sure, ;herefore, that, as soon 
 as children are conscious of this power, 
 they will exercise it in such wa} s as are 
 suited to their age, and to the objects they 
 are employed about. This gives rise to 
 innumerable new associations, and regular 
 trains of thought, which make the deeper 
 impression upon the mind, as they are its 
 exclusive property. 
 
 I am aware that the power of invention 
 is distributed among men more unequally 
 
Aft J 
 
 384 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [BasAY iv. 
 
 MAP. IV 1 OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 3^5 
 
 I 
 
 iliaii ftbnost amj oilier. When it is able to 
 
 frodtiee wajthing tlmt is intefeitiiig to man- 
 ind we call it genius; a talent which is the 
 lot <if very few. But there is, perhaps, a 
 tower Uni or lower degree of indention rhat 
 is iii0f« eominon. However this may be, it 
 nmal beiiowed that the power of invention 
 im those who have it, will produce many 
 new regular traina of thought ; and these 
 being expteaaed in works of art, in writing, 
 nr ill dinooiirs^ will be copied by others. 
 
 Thus, I conceive the minds of children, 
 m mmn m they have iudgment to distin- 
 guish what isn^fnlir, orderly, and connected, 
 from a mere medley of thought, are fur- 
 Biahed with regular tvaina of thinking by 
 these means. 
 
 First and chiefly, by copying what they 
 ■ee in the works and in the discourse of 
 others. Man ia the most imitative of all 
 animals ; he not only imitates with inten- 
 ion, and purposely, what he thinks has any 
 
 roe or beauty, but even without intention, 
 ia led, by a kind of instinct, which it is 
 difficult to resist, into the modes of speaking, 
 thinking, and acting, which he has been ac- 
 customed to see in his early years. The 
 nwre children see of what is regular and 
 beautiful in what is presented to them, the 
 more they are led to observe and to imitate 
 
 This is the chief part of their stock, and 
 descends to them by a kind of tradition 
 from those who came before them ; and we 
 shall find that the fancy of most men is 
 fmmished from those they have conversed 
 with, as well as their religion, language, 
 and mannera 
 
 Seenmiig^ By the additions or innovations 
 that are properly their own, these will be 
 greater or his, in proportion to their study 
 and inventicyn. ; but in the' hulk of mankind 
 are not very considerable. 
 
 Every profession and every rank in life, 
 hm m manner of thinking, .and turn of fancy 
 iiat is proper to it ; by which it is character- 
 lied in comedies and works of humour. 
 The bulk of men of the same nation, of the 
 lane rank, and of the same occupation, are 
 east as, it were, in the same mould. This 
 iwmld itself changes gradually, but slowly, 
 by new inventions, by intercourse with 
 ilcangers, or by other accidents.* [4 1 i] 
 
 The condition of man requires a longer 
 Infancy and youth than that of other ani- 
 mals; for this reason, among others, tlmt 
 almost every station in civil society requires 
 a multitude of regular trains of thought, to 
 
 •« * Non ad latinneni acd aiiiaiiitiidlnciBCoiBpo. 
 
 niiDur," sap Hcneeai and 8cliillef~ 
 
 •• Man-it liajP' an, imllati'te creature. 
 
 And lit' wbt fc Hit mmmai lead* the flnck. 
 '*f||««'iiMiM.lie no end of quotatmi* to the larae 
 
 be not only acquired, but to be made so 
 familiar by frequent repetition, aa to pre- 
 sent themselves spontaneously when there 
 is occasion for them. 
 
 The imagination even of men of good 
 parts never serves them readily but in 
 things wherein it "has been much exercised. 
 A minister of state holds a conference with 
 a foreign ambassador with no greater emo- 
 tion than a professor in a college prelects to 
 his audience. The imagination of each 
 presents to hun what the occasion requires 
 to be said, and how. Let them change 
 phices, and both would find themselves at a 
 loss. , . 
 
 The habits which the human mind is 
 capable of acquiring by exercise are won- 
 derful in many instances; in none m»re 
 wonderful than in that versatility of imagin- 
 ation which a well-bred man acquires by 
 being much exercised in the various scenes 
 of life. In the morning he visits a friend 
 in affliction. Here his imagination brings 
 forth from its store every topic of consola- 
 tion ; everything that is agreeable to the 
 laws of friendship and sympathy, and no- 
 thing that is not so. From thence he drives 
 to the minister's levee, where imagination 
 readily sugj^ests wliat is proper to be said 
 or replied to every man, and in what man- 
 ner, according to the degree of acquaint- 
 ance or familiarity, of rank or dependence, 
 of opposition or concurrence of interests, of 
 conhdence or distrust, that is between tliem. 
 Nor does all this employment hinder him 
 from carrying on some design with much 
 artifice, and endeavouring to penetrate into 
 the views of others through the closest dis- 
 guises. From the levee he goes to the 
 Houso of CJommons, and speaks upon the 
 affairs of the nation ; from thence to a ball 
 or assembly, and entertains the ladies. His 
 imagination puts on the friend, the courtier, 
 the patriot, the fine gentleman, with more 
 ease than we put off oue suit and put on 
 another. [420] 
 
 This is the effect of training and exer- 
 cise. For a man of equal parts and know- 
 ledge, but unaccustomed to those scenes of 
 public life, is quite disconcerted when fir«t 
 brought into them. His thoughts are put 
 to flight, and he cannot rally them. 
 
 There are feats of imagination to be 
 learned by application and practice, as won- 
 derful as the feats of balancers and rope- 
 dancers, and <»ften as useless. J 
 When a man can make a hundred verses ' 
 standing on one foot, or play three or four 
 games at chess at the same time wi*liout 
 seeing the board, it is probable he hath 
 spent his life in acquiring such a feat. How- 
 ever, such unusual phenomena shew what 
 habits of imagination may be acquired. 
 
 When such habits are acquired and per- 
 fected, they are exercised without any bbo- 
 
 [418-420] 
 
 rioiis effort ; like the habit of playing upon 
 an instrument of music. There are innu- 
 merable motions of the fingers upon the 
 stops or keys, which must be directed in 
 one particular train or succession. There 
 is only one arrangement of those motions 
 that is ri^ht, while there are ten thousand 
 that are wrong, and would spoil the music. 
 The musician tl links not in the least of the 
 arrangement of those motions ; he has a dis- 
 tinct idea of the tuno, and wills to play if. 
 The motions of the finpjers arrange them- 
 selves so as to answer his intention. 
 
 In like manner, when a man speaks upon a 
 subject with which he is acquainted, there is 
 a certain arrangement ot his thoughts and 
 words necessary to make his discourse sen- 
 sible, pertinent, and grammatical. In every 
 sentence there are more rules of grammar, 
 logic, and rhetoric that may be transgressed, 
 than there are words and letters. He 
 speaks without thinking of any of those 
 rules, and yet observes them all, as if they 
 were all in his eye. [421 ] 
 
 This is a habit so similar to that of a 
 player on an instrument, that I think both 
 must be got in the same way — that is, by 
 much practice, and the power of liiibit. 
 
 When a man speaks well and methodi- 
 cally upon a subject without study and with 
 perfect ease, I believe we may take it for 
 granted that his thoughts run in a beaten 
 track. There ia a mould in his mind — 
 which has been formed by much practice, or 
 by stutly— for this very subject, or for some 
 other so similar and analogous that his 
 discourse falls into this mould with ease, 
 and takes its form from it. 
 
 Hitherto we have considered the opera- 
 tions of fancy that are either sptintaneous, 
 or, at least, require no laborious effort to 
 guide and direct them, and have endeav- 
 oured to account for that degree of regu- 
 larity and arrangement which is found even 
 in them. The natural powers of judgment 
 and invention, the pleasure that always 
 attends the exercise of those powers, the 
 means we have of improving them by imi- 
 tation of others, and the effect of practice 
 and habits, seem to me sufficiently to 
 account for this phnenonienon, without sup- 
 posing any unaccountable attractions of ideas 
 by which they arrange themselves. 
 
 But we are able to direct our thoughts in 
 a certain course, so as to perform a destiued 
 task. 
 
 Kvery work of art has its model framed 
 in the imagination. Here the " Iliad" of 
 Homer, the " Republic" of Plato, the 
 " Principia" of Newton, were fabricated. 
 Sliall we believe that, those works took the 
 form in which they now appear of them- 
 selves ? — that the sentiments, tlie manners, 
 and the passions arramred themselves at 
 imcu in the mind of Homer, bo as to form 
 [421- 1*^3] 
 
 the " Iliad ?" Was there no more effort 
 in the composition than there is in telling a 
 well-known tale, or singing a favourite 
 song ? This cannot be believed. [422] 
 
 Granting that some happy thought first 
 suggested the design of singing the wrath of 
 Achilles, yet, surely, it was a matter of 
 judgment and cht>ice where tlie narration 
 should begin and where it should eud. 
 
 Granting that the fertility of the poet's 
 imagination suggested a variety of rich ma- 
 terials, was not judgment necessary to select 
 what was proper, to reject what was im- 
 proper, to arrange the materials into a just 
 composition, and to adajtt them to each 
 other, and to the design of the whole ? 
 
 No man can believe that Homer's ideas, 
 merely by certain sympathies and antipa- 
 thies, by certain attractions and repulsions 
 inheient in their natures, arranged them- 
 selves according to the most |)erfect rules of 
 epic poetry; and Newton's, according to 
 the rules of mathematical composition. 
 
 I should sooner believe that tl.e poet, 
 after he invoked his muse, did nothing at 
 all but listen to the song of the goddess. 
 Poets, indeed, and other artists, must make 
 their works appear natural ; but nature is 
 the perfection of art, and there can be no 
 just imitation of nature without art. When 
 the building b finished, the rubbish, the 
 scaffolds, the tools and engines are carried 
 out of sight ; but we know it could not have 
 been reared without them. 
 
 The train of thinking, therefore, is capable 
 of being guided and directed, much in the 
 same maimer as the horse we ride. The 
 horse has his strength. Ills agility, and his 
 mettle in himself; he has been taught cer- 
 tain movements, and many useful habits, 
 that make him more subservient to our 
 purposes and obedient to our will ; but to 
 accomplish a journey, he laust be directed 
 by the rider. 
 
 In like manner, fancy has its original 
 powers, which are very different in different 
 persons ; it has likewise more regular mo- 
 tions, to which it has been trained by along 
 course of discipline and exercise, and by 
 which it m&yf extempore, and without much 
 effort, produce tlungs that have a consid- 
 erable degree of beauty, regularity, and 
 design. [423] 
 
 But the most perfect works of design are 
 never extemporary. Our first thoughts are 
 reviewed ; we place them at a proper dia 
 tance; examhie eveiy part, and take^ a 
 complex view of the whole. By our criti- 
 cal faculties, we perceive this part to bo 
 redundant, that deficient ; lure is a want 
 of nerves, there a want of delicacy ; this is 
 obscure, that too diffuse. Things are mar- 
 shalled anew, according to a second and 
 more deliberate judgment ; what was defi- 
 cient, is supplied ; whut «as dislocated, I« 
 
 2 V 
 
886 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [EiSAV IV. 
 
 pit in Joiiit f redandancee m» lopped off| 
 and till wliole polished. 
 
 Though poets, of all artists, make the 
 iiglwst elaim to inspiration ; yet, if we be- 
 iitf* HowM»v a competent judge, no pro- 
 
 dlnelioB in that art can have merit which 
 lias not cost such labour as this in the 
 birth. 
 
 " V« O! 
 
 FMii|tiliiit taiiiiilit e»nfieii tfprehendiie quod noD 
 
 IHulta dieii m nittlta itim 'OOCiMit, atipa 
 PirfMciiiii (telts: 'MMi flmifatlt ai 'iinguaan'* 
 
 The conclusion I would draw from all 
 that has been said upon this subject is, 
 
 Thai everything that is regtikr m that 
 train of thought which wO' call fancy or 
 imagination, from the little designs and 
 wteries of oliildren to the grandest pro- 
 iuetions of human genius, was originally 
 the offspring of judgment or taste, applied 
 with some effort greater or less. What 
 mm person composed with art and judg- 
 ment, Is Imitated by another with great 
 ease; What a man himself at first com- 
 Dosed with pains, becomes by habit so 
 familiar as to offer itself spontaneously to 
 his fancy afterwards. But nothing that is 
 refmlar was ever at first conceived without 
 <iei%n, attention,, and caire. [424 ] 
 
 I shall now make a few refieetious upon a 
 theory whkh 'has been applied to account 
 ftrar t& sneeeasive tmin of thought in the 
 mind. It was hinted by Mr Hobbes, but 
 has drawn more attention since it was dis* 
 tinetly exfWned bY Mr Mnme. 
 
 That' author* thinks that the train 'of ' 
 thought in the mind is owing to a kind of 
 attn^don which ideas have for other ideas 
 'that' hear' certain relations to them. He 
 thinkS' the eomplex ideas— which are the 
 common, subjects of our thoughts and rea- 
 aonug— are owing to the same cause. The 
 relations which produce this attraction of 
 'ideas, ht' thinks, are these three only— to 
 wit, samatlm, contiguity in time or place, 
 Mid similitude. He assc'rts that these are 
 the only general principles that unite ideaa 
 <A'nd. having, in another 'place, occasion 'to 
 take: notice^ of 'Contrarletj as a principle of 
 eoniieetlon among 'ideas, in order to recon- 
 cile this to his system, he tells us gravely, 
 that' contrariety may perhaps be considered 
 as a 'mixture of causation and resemblance. 
 'That ideas which have any of these three 
 idaiions do mutually attract each other, so 
 that one of them being presented to the 
 Hneari the: other is. drawn alopg 'with it— 
 'this ne seeaS' to think an. oiWnal property 
 of the mind, or rather of tie idea% and 
 'therefore inexplicable. *t* 
 
 * He ihoold liavt' Mid ftii mtlwrt for Hume to 
 
 'f ate ■ttmmk. p mit lib mne f . The hiitory' of 'tlit 
 
 'inetntw* 'Of .jyiariatloii bu never jet been at sU 
 
 Fir$t^ I observe, with regard to this 
 theory, thai, although it is true that the 
 thought of any object is apt to lead us to 
 the tliought of its cause or effect, of things 
 contiguous to it in time or phice, or of 
 things resembling it, yet this enumeration 
 of the relations of things which are apt to 
 lead us from one object to another, is very 
 inaccurate. 
 
 The enumeration is too krge upon his 
 own prmciples ; but it is by far too scanty m 
 reality. Causation, according to his philo- 
 sophy, implies nothing more than aoon* 
 stant conjunction observed between tho 
 cause and the effect, and, therefore, conti- 
 guity must include causation, and his three 
 principles of attraction are reduced to two. 
 
 14251 
 
 But when we take all the three, the enu- 
 meration is, in reality, very incomplete. 
 Every rektion of things has a tendency, 
 more or less, to lead the thought, in a 
 thinking mind, from one to the other ; and 
 not only every relation, but every kind of 
 contrariety and opposition. What Mr 
 Hume says^that contrariety may perhaps 
 be considered as a niixture " of causation 
 and resemblance" — I can as little compro- 
 hend as if he Iiad said that figure may per- 
 haps be considered as a mixture of colour 
 and sound. 
 
 Our thoughts pass easily from the end 
 to the means ; from any truth to the evi- 
 dence on which it is founded, the conse- 
 quences that may be drawn from it, or the 
 use that may be made of it. From a part 
 we are easily led to think of the whole, from 
 a subject to its qualities, or from things 
 related to the relation. Such transitions in 
 thinking must have been made thousands 
 of times by every man who thinks and 
 reasons, and thereby become, as it were, 
 beaten tracks for the imagination. 
 
 Not only the relations of objects to each 
 other influence our train of thinking, but 
 the relation they bear to the present tem- 
 per and disposition of the mind ; their re- 
 lation to the habits we have acquured, 
 whether moral or intellectual ; to the com- 
 pany we have kept, and to the business in 
 which we have been chiefly employed. The 
 same event will suggest very different re- 
 flections to different persons', and to the 
 same pei-sou at different times, according 
 as he is in good or bad humour, as he is 
 lively or dulirTgry or pleased, m'ekncholy 
 or cheerfuL 
 
 Lord Kamee, in his » Elements of Cdtl. 
 cism,*' and Dr Gerard, in his " Essay on 
 Genius," have given a much fuller and 
 juster enumeration of the causes that in* 
 fluenoe our train of thinking, and I have 
 
 able •peculationi on ibis matter are wholly unknown. 
 Ol theie I can, at pretcnt* mj notbini.— U. See 
 Kot«i D • •, D • • •. [424, 4S6] 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT IN THE MIND. 
 
 387 
 
 nothing to add to what they have said on 
 this subject. 
 
 Secotidlt/, Let us consider how far this 
 attraction of ideas must be resolved into 
 original quahttes of human nature. [426] 
 
 I believe the original principles of the 
 mind, of which we can give no account but 
 that such is our constitution, are more in 
 number than is commonly thought. But 
 we ought not to multiply them without 
 necessity. 
 
 That trains of thinking, which, by fre- 
 quent repetition, have become familiar, 
 should spontaneously offer themselves to 
 our fancy, seems to require no other origi- 
 nal quality but the power of habit.* 
 
 In all rational thinking, and in all rational 
 discourse, whether serious or facetious, the 
 thought must have some relation to what 
 went before. Every man, therefore, from 
 the dawn of reason, must have been accus- 
 tomed to a train of related objects. These 
 please the understanding, and, by custom, 
 become like beaten tracks which invite the 
 traveller. 
 
 As far as it is in our power to give a 
 direction to our thoughts, which it is un- 
 doubtedly in a great degree, they will be 
 directed by the active principles common 
 to men — by our appetites, our passions^ our 
 affections, our reason, and conscience. And 
 that the trains of thinking in our minds aro 
 chiefly governed by these, according as one 
 or another prevails at the time^ every man 
 will find in his experience. 
 
 If the mind is at any time vacant from 
 every passion and desire, thero are still 
 some object-s that are more acceptable to 
 us than others. The facetious man is 
 pleased with surprising similitudes or con- 
 trasts ; the philosopher with the relations 
 of things that are subservient to reasoning ; 
 the merchant with what tends to profit; 
 and the politician with what may mend the 
 state. 
 
 A good writer of comedy or romance can 
 feign a train of thinking for any of the per- 
 sons of his fable, which appears very natu- 
 ral, and is approved by the best judges. 
 Now, what is it that entitles such a fiction 
 to approbation ? Is it that the author has 
 given a nice attention to the relations of 
 causation, contiguity, and similitude in the 
 ideas? [427] This surely is the least 
 part of its merit. But the chief part con- 
 sists in this, that it corresponds perfectly 
 with the general character, the rank, the 
 habits, the present situation and passions of 
 the person. If this be a just way of judging 
 in criticism, it follows necessarily, that the 
 circumstances last mentioned have the chief 
 influence in suggesting our trains of thought. 
 
 • We can as well explain Hdbit by Auociatioii, 
 at AHodatlon bjr Habit.—il. 
 
 r*«6-438] 
 
 It cannot be denied, that the state of the 
 body has an influence upon our imagination, 
 according as a man is sober or drunk, as 
 he is fatigued or refreshed. Crudities and 
 indigestion are said to give uneasy dreams, 
 and have probably a Uke effect upon the 
 waking thoughts. Opium gives to soma 
 persons pleasing dreams and pleasing im- 
 aginations when awake, and to others such 
 as are horrible and distressing. 
 
 These influences of the body upon the 
 mind can only be known by experience, and 
 I believe we can give no account of them. 
 
 Nor can we, perhaps, give any reason wh^ 
 we must think without ceasing while we are 
 awake. I believe we are likewise origi- 
 nally disposed, in imagination, to pass from 
 any one object of thought to others that are 
 contiguous to it in time or place. This, I 
 think, may be observed in brutes and in 
 idiots, as well as in children, before any 
 habit can be acquired that might account 
 for it. The sight of an object is apt to 
 suggest to the imagination what has been 
 seen or felt in conjunction with it, even 
 when the memory of that conjunction is 
 gone. 
 
 Such conjunctions of things influence not 
 only the imagination, but the belief and the 
 passions, especially in children and in 
 brutes ; and perhaps all tliat we call memory 
 in brutes is something of this kind. 
 
 They expect events in the same order and 
 succession in which they happened before ; 
 and by this expectation, their actions and 
 passions, as well as their thoughts, are re- 
 gulated. [428] A horse takes fright at 
 the place where some object frighted him 
 before. We are apt to conclude from this 
 that he remembers the former accident. 
 But perhaps there is only an association 
 formed in his mind between the place and 
 the passion of fear, without any distinct 
 remembrance. 
 
 Mr Locke has given us a very good 
 chapter upon the association of ideas ; and 
 by the examples he has given to illustrate 
 this doctrine, I think it appears that very 
 strong associations may be formed at once— 
 not of ideas to ideas only, but of ideas to 
 passions and emotions ; and that strong as- 
 sociations are never formed at once, but 
 when accompanied by some strong pasdou 
 or emotion. I believe this must be resolved 
 into the constitution of our nature. 
 
 Mr Hume*s opinion — that the complex 
 ideas, which are the common objects of 
 discourse and reasoning, are formed bythoso 
 original attractions of ideas to which ha 
 ascribes the train of thoughts in the mind — 
 will come under consideration in another 
 place. 
 
 To put an end to our remarks upon this 
 theory of Mr Hume, I think he has real 
 merit in bringing this curious subject under 
 
 9c8 
 
388: 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWElia 
 
 [essay IV, 
 
 tin fiew of pliilosopliew, and carrying il a 
 mMxk lengtk But I em nothing iu tlik 
 'flwjiy flial should hinder- w to oonclode, 
 that ever^rthing in the trauis of our thought, 
 which hears the niarlcB of jiidgnMnt and 
 nsawn, has heen the product of Judgnwnt 
 and reason previously exercised,, either by 
 the person himself, at that or some former 
 time, or by some other person. The at- 
 traction of ideas will be the same in a man]s 
 .second thoughts upon any subject as in his 
 'inl Of, 1 .some clianig© 'In 'his circum- 
 ■fances, or in the objects about him, sliould 
 male any change in tlie attractions of his 
 iifeas, it is an equal chance whether the 
 iccond bet better thaii the first, or whether 
 they be worse. But it is certain that 
 erory man of judgment and taste will, U|Jon 
 a review, correct that train of thopglit which 
 fiiat pn!8«i,tod itself If the attractions of 
 ideas are the sole causes of the regular 
 arrangement of thought iu the fancy, there 
 is no use for judgment or taste in any com- 
 fosition, nor indeed any room for their 
 'iipemtion. [42iJ 
 
 'Thews are other refl.ection8, of a more 
 practical nature and of higher unportance, 
 to which this suhtcflt leads. 
 
 I believe it will be allowed by ereiy man, 
 that our happiness or misery in hfe, that 
 our improvement in any art or science which 
 we profess, and that our improvement in 
 fcal virtue and goodness, depend in a very 
 great degree on the train of tliinking that 
 occupies the niiud both in our vacant and 
 in our more t tfrioua hours. As far, there- 
 fore, as the direction ot* our tlioujghts b in 
 our power, (and that it is »o^ in a great 
 ineasnre, cannot be doubted) it is of the last 
 importance to give them that ilirection which 
 is most subservient to those valuable pur- 
 noses. 
 
 What employment can h§ Mve worthy 
 of a man, whose imagination is occupiiMl 
 only about things low and base, andgrovek 
 in a narrow ield of mean, unanimatiiig, and 
 ttninteresting objects, insensible to those 
 iner and. 'more delicate sentiments, 'and 
 bind to those more eularged and nobler 
 ¥iew8 which elevnte ilie soul, and make it 
 conscious of its dtgnitj. 
 
 How different mm him whose imagina- 
 tion, like an eagle iu her flight, takes a wide 
 prosfiect,. .and observes whatever it presents, 
 that, is :nowor beautiful, grand or important i 
 whose rapid wing varies the scene evefv 
 moment, carrying him sometimes through 
 the fairy n-gtona of wit and fiincy, som©- 
 
 times through the more regular and sober 
 walks of science and philosophy I 
 
 The various objects which he surveys, 
 accordiug to their different degrees of beauty 
 and dignity, raise in him the lively and 
 agreeable emotions of taste. Illustrious 
 human characters, as they pass in review, 
 clothed with their moral qualities, touch his 
 heart still more deeply. They not only 
 awaken the sense of beauty, but excite the 
 sentiment of approbation, and kindle the 
 glow of virtue. 
 
 While he views what is truly great and 
 glorious in human conduct, his soul catches 
 the divine flame, and burns with desire to 
 emulate what it admires. [430] 
 
 The human unagination is an ample 
 theatre, upon which everything in human 
 Ufc, good or bad, great or mean, b^udable 
 or bMe, is acted. 
 
 In children, and iu some frivolous minds, 
 it is a mere toy-shop. And in some, who 
 exercise their memory without their judg- 
 ment, its furniture is made up of old scraps 
 of knowledge, that are thread-bare and 
 worn out. 
 
 In aome, this theatre is often occupied by 
 ghastly superstition, with all her train of 
 (iorffOfiSf and Hydras^ and Chin.airas dire. 
 Sometimes it is haunted with all the infernal 
 demons, and made the forgo of plots, and 
 rapine, and murder. Here everything tliat 
 is black and detestable is flrst cuntrtved, and 
 a thousand wicked designs conceived that 
 are never executed. Here, too, the furies 
 act their part, taking a severe though secret 
 Vengeance upon the self-condemned criminal. 
 
 How happy is that mind in which the light 
 of real knowledge dispels the phantoms of 
 superstition ; in which the belief and rever- 
 ence of a iterfect all-governing mind casta 
 out all fear but the fear of acting wrong ; 
 in which serenity and cheerfulness, inuo- 
 ccnce, humanity, and candour, guard the un- 
 agination agaiuHt the entrance of every un- 
 hallowed inirudcr, and invite moreamiable 
 and- worthier guests to dwell ! 
 
 There shall the Muses, the Graces, and 
 the Virtues fix their abode ; for everything 
 that is great and ivorthy in human conduct 
 must have been conceived iu the imagina- 
 tion before it was brought into act. And 
 many great and good designs have been 
 formed there, which, for want of power and 
 opportunity, have proved abortive. 
 
 The man wliose imagination is occupied 
 by these guests, must be wise ; he must be 
 good ; and he umst be Imppy. [431 ] 
 
 [429-431] 
 
 CRAP. 1.^ 
 
 OF GENERAL WORDS. 
 
 ac9 
 
 ESSAY V. 
 
 OF AliSTRACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 OP UBNERAL WORDS 
 
 Tub words we use in language are either 
 general words or proper names. Proper 
 names are intended to signify one individual 
 only. Such are the names of men, king- 
 doms, provinces, cities, rivers, and of every 
 other creature of God, or work of man, 
 which we choose to distinguish from all 
 others of the kind, by a name appropriated 
 to it. All the other words of language are 
 general words, not appropriated to signify 
 any one individual thing, but equally related 
 to many. 
 
 Under general words, therefore, I com- 
 prehend not only those which logicians call 
 general terms— that is, such general words 
 as may make the subject or the predicate 
 of a proposition, but likewise their auxiliaries 
 or accessories, as the learned Mr Harris 
 calls them ; such as prepositions, conjunc> 
 tioiis, article:^, which are^all general words, 
 though they cannot properly be called gene- 
 ral terms> 
 
 In every language, rude or polished, 
 general words make the greatest part, and 
 proper names the least. Granmiariana 
 have reduced all words to eight or nine 
 classes, which are called parts of speech. 
 Of these thsre is only one — to wit, that of 
 nouns — wherein proper names are found. 
 [432] All pronounSf verbs, participles^ ad- 
 v?rbsyartictes J prepositions J conjunctims, and 
 interJ!ction<ty are general words. Of notinsy 
 all adjectives are general words, and the 
 greater part of subsian lives. Every sub- 
 stantive that has a plural number, is a gene- 
 ral word ; for no proper name can have a 
 plural number, because it signiiies only one 
 Individual. In all the fifteen books of 
 Euclid*s Elements, there is not one word 
 that is not general ; and the same may be 
 said of many large volumes. 
 
 At the same time, it must be acknowledged, 
 that all the objects we perceive are Individ- 
 uals. 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 we may venture to 
 say, that every creature which God has made, 
 in the heavens above, or in the earth bc- 
 [432, 433] 
 
 noath, or in the waters under the earth, is 
 an individual.* 
 
 How comes it to pass, then, that, iu all 
 languages, general words make the greatest 
 part of the language, and proper names but 
 a very small and inconsiderable part of it. 
 
 This seemingly strange phceiioraenon may, 
 I think, be easily accounted for by the fol- 
 lowing observations : — 
 
 Firs^^ Though there be a few individuals 
 that are obvious to the notice of all men, 
 and, therefore, have proper names in all 
 languages — such as the sun and moon, the 
 earth and sea — yet the greatest part of the 
 tilings to which we think fit to give proper 
 names, are .local ; known perhaps to a vil- 
 lage or to a neighbourhood, but unknown to 
 the greater part of those who speak the 
 same language, and to all the rest of man- 
 kind. The names of such things being con- 
 fined to a corner, and having no names 
 answering to tliem in other languages, are 
 not accounted a part of the language, any 
 more than the customs of a particular ham- 
 let are accounted part of the law of the 
 nation. [433] 
 
 For this reason, there are but few proper 
 names that belong to a language. It is 
 next to be consitlered why there must bo 
 many general words in every language. 
 
 Secondly, It may be observed, that ewery 
 individual object that falls within our view 
 has various attributes ; and it is by them 
 that it becomes useful or hurtful to us. 
 We know not the essence of any individual 
 object ; all the knowledge we can attain of 
 it, is the knowledge of its attributes — its 
 ([uantity, its various qualities, its various 
 relations to other things, its place, its 
 situation, and motions. It is by such attri« 
 botes of things only that we can communi- 
 cate our knowledge of them to others. By 
 their attributes, our hopes o.' fears for them 
 are regulated ; and it is only hy attention 
 to their attributes that we can make them 
 subservient to our ends ; and therefore wo 
 give names to such attrihutes. 
 
 Now, all attributes must, from their 
 nature, be expressed by general words, and 
 are so expressed in all languages. In the 
 ancient philosophy, attributes in general 
 were called by two names which express 
 
 ♦ Tliis Roethius Iia« well expressed ;— " 0mm: quod 
 est, eo quod est, smjularc t;*^"— li. 
 
3SK) 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [emay V 
 
 Umam Atf migiit htiUmg equally to many 
 individiitlfe, and are not confined to one 
 TImy' wme alao called predieableM^ because 
 wliatAftff it predicated, that is, affirmed or 
 denied of one subject, may be of more, and 
 therefore is an univetial, and expressed by 
 a general word. A predicable therefore 
 ■igpiliies the same thing aa an attribute, with 
 ilia difference only, that the irst i» Latin, 
 'tlM bit Eifiiah.* The attributes we find 
 either hi the creatures of Ckid or in the 
 woriO' of men, are eonmion to many mdi- 
 dnals. We either find it to be so, or pre- 
 jNime it may be so, and give them the same 
 name in every subject to which they belong. 
 There afe not only attributes belonging 
 III individual subjeda, but there are likewise 
 ittributes of attEihnte% which may be called 
 itBondary attribolea. Most attributes are 
 Mpible of different degrees and different 
 nmdifieations, which must be expressed by 
 general words* [434] 
 
 Thus it is an attribute of many bodies to 
 oe moved ; but motion may be in an endless 
 variety of directions. It may be quick or 
 ■low, rectiiinatl or cnrvilineal ; it may be 
 «faibK Of DMselerated, or retarded. 
 
 Mm m atlfiHiites, therefore, whether pri- 
 Bwiy or secondary, are expressed by general 
 words, it ioUows that, in ever^ proposition 
 'W egymaa in language, what' la^ affirmed or 
 deniedkthe subject of the pmpoaitbn must 
 he etpressed by general words : and that 
 the subject of the piUiMNitim may often be 
 a geneial wofd, will, appear' :lwMn. the next 
 nfcatftaliiin. 
 
 TMrd^f Theaame faculties by which we 
 distinguish the different attributes belong- 
 ing to the same subject, and give names 
 to them, enable us likewise to observe, 
 that many subjecta agree in certam attri- 
 iMtw while th«y differ in othera. By this 
 ' t H fi^iMi ve are enabled to reduce individuals 
 which are infinite, to a limited number of 
 ehwBe% whiflii are called kinds and sorts ; 
 fuid, .in 'the 'leholiatifl: ]aii8liii%.|iii«ra and 
 
 Obierving many mdividnals to agree m 
 eertain attributes, we refer them all to one 
 ite% and, gjlve a name to the class. This 
 name comprehends in ita signification not 
 one attribute only, but aU the attributee 
 whieh dlitinguiBh that claia; and by affirm- 
 iuf'thii:' wmtm ef any individual, we affirm 
 it to h$m all the attributes which charac- 
 terise the class i thus men, dogs, horses, 
 '•la^|iaiit%. are so numy different ckssea of 
 ^ipipillll. In like manner we marshal other 
 
 and inanimate, into 
 
 ♦ Tlitf w • bolli Latin, or both English. The only 
 I to, that the one is of tfchmcal, the other 
 
 anpllcatlMi,. awl. tliat 'ibtltoraMr exoxetam 
 
 II wiiai the Mir «iii«' •• Miuai— H . 
 
 Nor is it only subatanoea that we thna 
 form mto classes. We do the same with 
 regard to qualities, relations, actions, affec* 
 tions, passions, and all other thin^ 
 
 When a class is very large, it is divided 
 mto subordinate classes in the same man- 
 ner. [435] The higher class is called a 
 genus or kind : the lower a species or sort 
 of the higher. Soraetiines a species b still 
 subdivided into subordinate species; and 
 this subdivision is carried on as far as ia 
 found convenient for the purpose of language, 
 or for the improvement of knowledge. 
 
 In this distribution of things into genera 
 and Mpeciet, it is evident that the name of 
 the species comprehends more attributes 
 than the name of the genus. The species 
 comprehends all that ia in the genus, and 
 those attributes likewise which distinguish 
 that species from others belonging to the 
 same genus ; and the more subdivisions we 
 make, the names of the lower become still 
 the more comprehensive in their significa- 
 tion, but the less extensive in their appli- 
 cation to individuals. 
 
 Hence it is an axiom in logic—that the 
 more evtefhsive any general term is, it is the 
 less comprehensive ; and, on the contrary, 
 the mort comprehrnsive, the less extensive. 
 Thus, in the following series of subordinate 
 general terms — Animal — Man — French- 
 man Parisian, every subsequent term com* 
 
 prebends in its signification all that is in 
 the preceding, and something more; and 
 every antecedent term extends to more 
 individuals than the subsequent. 
 
 Such divisions and subdivisions of things 
 into genera and apecies with general names, 
 are not confined to the learned and polished 
 languages ; they are found in those of the 
 rudest tribes of mankind. From which we 
 learn, that the invention and the use of 
 general words, both to signify the attributes 
 of things, and to signify the genera and 
 species of things, is not a subtile invention 
 of philosophers, but an operation which all 
 men perform by the light of common sense, 
 rhilosophers may speculate about this ope- 
 ration, and reduce it to canons and aphor- 
 isms ; but men of common understanding, 
 without knowing anything of the philosophy 
 of it, can put it in practice, in like manner 
 as they can see objects, and make good use 
 of their eyes, although they know nothmg 
 of the structure of the eye, or of the theory 
 of vision. [436] 
 
 Every genus, and every species of things, 
 may be either the subject or the predicate 
 of a proposition— nay, of innumerable pro- 
 positions; for every attribute common to 
 the genus or species may be affirmed of it ; 
 and the genus may be affirmed of every 
 species, and both ^aus and species of every 
 individual to which it extends. 
 Thus, of man it may be affirmed, that he 
 
 [4Si-4S«] 
 
 OUAP. II.] 
 
 OF GENERAL CONCEPTIONS. 
 
 mi 
 
 la an animal made up of body and mind ; 
 that he is of few days, and full of trouble ; 
 that he is capable of various improvements 
 in arts, in knowledge, and in virtue. In a 
 word, everything common to the species 
 may be affirmed of man ; and of all such 
 propositions, which are innumerable, man 
 is the subject. 
 
 Again, of every nation and tribe, and of 
 every individual of the human race that is, 
 or was, or shall be, it may be affirmed that 
 they are men. In all such propositions, 
 which are innumerable, man is the predi- 
 cate of the proposition. 
 
 We observed above an extension and a 
 comprehension in general terms ; and that, 
 in any subdivision of things, the name of 
 the lowest species is most comprehensive, 
 and that of the highest genus most exten- 
 sive. I would now observe, that, by means 
 of such general terms, there is also an ex- 
 tension and comprehension of propositions, 
 which is one of the noblest powers of lan- 
 guage, and fits it for expressing, with great 
 ease and expedition, the highest attainments 
 in knowledge, of which the human under- 
 standing is capable. 
 
 When the predicate is a genus or a species j 
 the proposition is more or less comprehen- 
 sive, according as the predicate is. Thus, 
 when I say that this seal is gold, by this 
 single proposition I affirm of it all the pro- 
 perties which that metal is known to have. 
 When I say of any man that he is a 
 mathematician, this appellation compre- 
 hends all the attributes that belong to 
 him as an animal, as a man, and as one 
 who has studied mathematics. When I 
 say that the orbit of the planet Mercury 
 ia an ellipsis, I thereby affirm of that 
 orbit all the properties which ApoUonius 
 and other geometricians have discovered, 
 or may discover, of that species of figure. 
 
 [437] 
 
 Again, when the subject of a proposition 
 is a genus or a speeies, the proposition is 
 more or less extensive, according as the 
 subject b. Thus, when I am taught that 
 the three angles of a plane triangle are 
 . equal to two right angles, this properly ex- 
 tends to every species of plane triangle, and 
 to every individual plane triangle that did, 
 or does, or can exist. 
 
 It is by means of such extensive and 
 comprehensive propositions, that human 
 knowledge is condensed, as it were, into a 
 size adapted to the capacity of the human 
 mind, with great addition to its beauty, 
 and without any diminution of its distinct- 
 ness and perspicuity. 
 
 General propositions in science may be 
 compared to the seed of a plant, which, 
 according to some philosophers, has not 
 only the whole future plant inclosed within 
 it, but the seeds of that plant, and the plants 
 [437-439] 
 
 that shall spring from them through all 
 future generations. 
 
 But the similitude falls short in this re- 
 spect, that time and accidents, not in our 
 power, must concur to disclose the contents 
 of the seed, and bring them into our view ; 
 whereas the contents of a general proposi- 
 tion may be brought forth, ripened, and 
 exposed to view at our pleasure, and in an 
 instant. 
 
 Thus the wisdom of ages, and the most 
 sublime theorems of science, may be laid 
 up, like an Iliad in a nut-shell, and trans- 
 mitted to future generations. And this 
 noble purpose of language can only be ac- 
 complished by means of general words 
 annexed to the divisions and subdivisions of 
 things. [438] 
 
 What has been said in this chapter, I 
 think, is sufficient to shew that there can be 
 no language, not so much as a single pro- 
 position, without general words ; that they 
 must make the greatest part of every lan- 
 guage ; and that it is by them only that 
 language is fitted to express, with wonder- 
 ful ease and expedition, all the treasures 
 of human wisdom and knowledge- 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 OP GENERAL CONCEPTIONS. 
 
 As general words are so necessary in 
 language, it is natural to conclude that there 
 must be general conceptions, of which they 
 are the signs. 
 
 Words are empty sounds when they do 
 not signify the thoughts of the speaker ; 
 and it is only from their signification that 
 they are denominated gen( id. Every word 
 that is spoken, considered merely as a sound, 
 is an individual sound. And it can only be 
 called a general word, because that which it 
 signifies is general. Now, that which it 
 signifies, is conceived by the mind both of 
 the speaker and hearer, if the word have a 
 distinct meaning, and be distinctly under- 
 stood. It is, therefore, impossible that 
 words can have a general signification, un- 
 less there be conceptions in the mind of 
 the speaker and of the hearer, of things 
 that are general. 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. 
 
 We are, therefore, here to consider 
 whether we have such general conceptions, 
 and how they are formed. [439] 
 
 To begin with the conceptions expressed 
 by general terms— that is, by such general 
 words as may be the subject or the predi- 
 
3i2 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay 
 
 cate of a proposition. Tlicy are either 
 attributes of ihinga, or tlioj are gemra or 
 sfemes of tliinga. 
 
 It it evident, wttli reispeet>(o all tlic indi- 
 vidualB we are acquainted with that we have 
 a more clear and distinct conception of their 
 attrilmtis Hian of the subject to which tliose 
 attributes belong. 
 
 Take, for iuatance, anj individual body 
 we have access to know— what concept ion do 
 we form of it ? Every man may know this 
 from bis coueiouiness*' He will find that 
 he coneeivea^ it as a thing that hw length, 
 breadth, and thickness, such a figure and 
 sneli a colour ; that it is hard, or soft, or 
 inid ; that^ it has such qualities, and is lit 
 for audi. ;|iiir|M»e8. If it is a TMetahle, he 
 may inow where' it grew, w'hat: is the fui m 
 of its leaves, and iower, and seed. If an 
 animal, what are its natural instincts, its 
 iiiaoner of life, and of rearing ita /ouii|. 
 Of 'tlwse' attributes, belonging tO' fthu indi- 
 vidnal and numberless others, he may 
 surely have a distinct conception ; and he 
 will ind words in knguage by which he can 
 deafly and distinctly express each of tlieni. 
 If we consider, in like manner, the con- 
 ception we fonn of any individual person of 
 our acquaintance, we shall find it to be made 
 up of various attributes, which we ascrilie to 
 bun ; such as, that lie is the son of such a 
 nan, the brotlier of such another ; that he 
 has sueh an employment or office ; has such 
 a fortune ; that he is tall or short, well or 
 ill made, comely or ill favoured, young or 
 old, married or unmarried ; to this we may 
 add his temper, his chnraetcr, his abilitiea, 
 and perhaps some anecdotes of hi*i liistory. 
 Such is the eonceptiou we form of indi- 
 vidual persons of our acquaintance. By 
 sueh attributes we descrite them to those 
 who know tliem not ; and by such attri- 
 butea historians give us a conception of the 
 personages of former times. M or is it pos- 
 sible to do it in any other way l44Ul 
 
 All the distinct* knowledge we Irnve or 
 can attain of any individual is the know- 
 ledge of its attributes; for we know not 
 the essence of any individual. This seems 
 to b« beyond the reach of the human faeul- 
 fieSa 
 
 Now, every attribute is what the aucients 
 called an universal. It in, or may be, com- 
 mon to various individnalM. There is no 
 sllribute belonging to any creature of God 
 which may not bcUmg to others ; and, ou 
 this .account, attributes, in all knguages, arc 
 eapresscd by general words. 
 
 It afipears, hkewi&c, from every man's 
 experience, that he may have as clear and 
 distinct a conception of sucli attributes as 
 we have nimied, and of innumerable others, 
 u he c;in hiive of any individual to which 
 tliev belong. 
 
 Jjidecd,. the attribut« of individuals is all 
 
 that we distinctly conceive about them. It 
 is true, we conceive a subject to which the 
 attributes belong ; but of this subject, when 
 its attributes are set aside, we have but an 
 obscure and relative* conception, whether it 
 be body or mind. 
 
 This was before observed with regard to 
 bodies, Essay II. chap. 19, [p. 322] to 
 which we refer ; and it is no less evident 
 with regard tt» minds. What is it we call a 
 niiud ? It is a thinking, intelligent, active 
 being. Granting that thinking, intelli- 
 ecnce, and activity, arc attributes of mind, 
 I want to know what the thing or being is 
 to which these attributes belong ? To this 
 question I can find no satisfying answer. 
 ITie attributes of mind, and particularly its 
 operations, we know clearly ; but of the 
 thing itself we have only an obscure no- 
 tion. [441] 
 
 Nature teaches us that thinking and 
 reasoning are attributes, which ciinnot exist 
 without a subject ; but of that subject 1 be- 
 lieve the best notion we can forai implies 
 Uttle more than that it is the subject of such 
 attributes. 
 
 Whether other created beings may have 
 the knowledge of the real essence of created 
 things, so as to be able to deduce their at- 
 tributes from their essence and constitution, 
 or whether this le the prerogative of him 
 who made them, we cannot tell ; but it is 
 a knowledge which seems to be quite be- 
 yond the reach of the human faculties. 
 
 We know the essence of a triangle, and 
 from that essence can deduce its properties. 
 It is an universal, and might have been 
 conceived by the human uund though no 
 individual triangle bad ever existed. It has 
 only what Mr Locke calls a nominal essence, 
 which is expressed in its definition. But 
 everything that exists has a real essence, 
 which is above our comprehension ; and, 
 therefore, we cannut deduce its properties 
 or attributes from its nature, as we do in 
 the triangle. We mutt take a contrary 
 road in the knowledge of God's works, and 
 satisfy ourselves with their attributes as 
 facts, and with the general conviction that 
 there is a subject to which those attributes 
 belong. 
 
 Enough, I think, has been said, to shew, 
 not only that wc may have clear and dis- 
 tinct conceptions of attributes, but that 
 they are the only tilings, with regard to 
 individuals, of which we have a clear and 
 distinct conception. 
 
 The other class of general terms are those 
 that signify the ffnrra and species into 
 which we divide and subdivide things. An''| 
 if we be able to form distinct conceptions t«f 
 attributes, il cannot surely be denied that 
 wt' v.jy have diKlinet conceptions of ir<'»^m 
 
 OilAP. II ] 
 
 OF GENERAL CONCEPTIONS. 
 
 393 
 
 1 
 
 if 
 
 [MO, 441] 
 
 and species ; because they are only collec- 
 tions of attributes which we conceive to 
 exist in a subject, and to which we give a 
 general name. [442] If the attributes 
 comprehended under that general name be 
 distinctly conceived, the thing meant by the 
 name must be distinctly conceived. And 
 the name may justly be attributed to every 
 individual which has those attributes. 
 
 Thus, I conceive distinctly what it is to 
 have wings, to be covered with feathers, to 
 lay eggs. Suppose then that we give the 
 name of bird to every animal that has these 
 three attributes. Here undoubtedly my 
 conception of a bird is as distinct as my 
 notion of the attributes which are common 
 to this species : and, if this be admitted to 
 be the definition of a bird, there is nothing 
 I conceive more distinctly. If I had never 
 seen a bird, and can but be made to under- 
 stand the defin tion, I can easily apply it to 
 every individual of the species, without 
 danger of mistake. 
 
 When things are divided and sul><Hvided 
 by men of science, and names given to the 
 genera and species^ those names are defined. 
 Thug, the genera and species of plants, and 
 of other natural bodies, are accurately de- 
 fined by the writers in the various branches 
 of natural history; so that, to all future 
 generations, the definition will convey a dis- 
 tinct notion of the genus or species defined. 
 
 There are, without doubt, many words 
 signifying geuera aud species of things, 
 which have a meaning somewhat vague and 
 indistinct ; so that those who sj»euk the 
 same language do not always use them in 
 the same sense. But, if we attend to tlie 
 cause of this indistinctness, we shall find 
 that it is not owing to their being general 
 terms, but to this, that there is no defini- 
 tion of them that has authority. Their 
 meaning, therefore, has not been learned 
 by a definition, but by a kind of induction, 
 by observing to what individuals they are 
 applied by those who understand the lan- 
 guage. We learn by habit to use them as 
 we see others do, even when we have not a 
 precise meaning annexed to them. A-man 
 may know that to certain individuals they 
 may be applied with propriety ; but whether 
 they can he applied to certain other indivi- 
 duals, he may be uucertai'i, either from 
 want of good authorities, or from having 
 contrary authorities, which leave him in 
 doubt. [443] 
 
 Thus, a man may know that, when he 
 applies the name of beast to a lion or a 
 tiger, and the name of bird to an eagle or 
 a turkey, he speaks properly. But whether 
 a hxi be a bird or a boast, he may be uncer- 
 tain. If there was any accurate definition 
 of a beast and of a bird, that was of suffi- 
 cie.it authority, he could be at no loss. 
 
 It is said to have been sometimea a mat- 
 [tts-itl] 
 
 ter of dispute, with regard to a monstrous 
 birth of a woman, whether it was a man or 
 not. Although this be, in reality, a ques- 
 tion about the meaning of a word, it may 
 be of importance, on account of the privi- 
 leges which Laws have annexed to the human 
 character. To make such laws perfectly 
 precise, the definition of a man would be 
 necessary, which I believe legislators have 
 seldom or never thought fit to give. It is, 
 indeed, very difficult to fix a definition of 
 so common a word ; and the cases wherein 
 it would be of any use so rarely occur, that 
 perhaps it may be better, when they do 
 occur, to leave them to the determination 
 of a judge or of a jury, than to give a defi- 
 nition, which might be attended with un- 
 foreseen consequences. 
 
 A genus or species, being a collection of 
 attributes conceived to exist in one subject, 
 a definition is the only way to prevent any 
 addilion or dimiuuti()n of its ingredients in 
 the conception of difl'erent persons; and 
 when there is no definition that can be 
 appealed to as a standard, the name will 
 liardly retain the most perfect precision in 
 its signification. 
 
 From what has been said, I conceive it 
 is evident that the words which signify 
 genera and species of things have often as 
 precise aud definite a signification as any 
 words whatsoever ; and that, when it is 
 otherwise, their want of precision is not 
 owing to their being general words, but to 
 other causes. [444] 
 
 Having shewn that we may have a per- 
 fectly clear and distinct conception of the 
 meaning of general terms, we may, I think, 
 take it for granted, that the same may be 
 said of other general words, such as prepo- 
 sitions, conjunctions, articles. My design 
 at present being only to shew that we have 
 general conceptions no less clear and dis- 
 tinct than those of individuals, it is sufficient 
 for this purpose, if this appears with regard 
 to the conceptions expressed by general 
 terms. To conceive the meaning of a 
 general word, and to conceive that which it 
 signifies, is the same thing. We conceive 
 distinctly the meaning of general terms, 
 therefore we conceive distinctly that which 
 they signify. But such terms do not sig- 
 nify any individual, but what is common to 
 many individuals; therefore, we have a 
 distinct conception of things common to 
 many individuals — that is, we have distinct 
 general conceptions. 
 
 We must here beware of the ambiguity 
 of the word conceptivUj which sometimes 
 signifies the act of the mind iu conceiving, 
 sometunes the thing conceived, which is the 
 object of that act.* If the word be taken 
 
 ♦'This latit ^boull} be callwl Connpf, which was a 
 term u* iise with thcoJd Knglifih j.hilusoi^her*.- iu 
 
 ^g^ggggj^giam 
 

 ON THE INTBLIilCTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [BSSAT ¥• 
 
 'ii Hwi'iiil' 'MBWi I a^amvlmlcie tint tviry 
 .Mt< nf Hm^ .niiiid It tok indiviteil Aot i the 
 vniftntily, <li«fel(ire^ fa nivt in the act of 
 the Dimd, but in the object or thing con- 
 edited The thing conceived Is «n attri- 
 bute comnon to maaj labjects, or it is m 
 genua w afiecics common *io many indivi- 
 inala. 
 
 Suppose I conceive a triangle^tbat is, a 
 plain ipre, terminated by three r%ht 
 lanes.. He that, nndentands this definition 
 distinctly, has a distinct conception of a 
 triangle. But a trianele is not an indivi- 
 dnal^ it is a species. Tiie act of my nnder^ 
 ittanding in. coneeiving it is an individual 
 net, ana has. a real ejdstence ; but the thing 
 eoneeived is general| and cannot exist with- 
 out other attributes, which are not included 
 in. 'the. 'deinitaon. [44S] 
 
 .Eveiy triangle' that really exists most 
 have a certain length, ^of :sid«8 .and mea8.ure 
 nf anMes ; it must have phM» and time. 
 .Bit the deinition of a triangle includes 
 neilier existence' .wir any of these attri- 
 butes ; and, therefore, they are not 'included, 
 in the conception of a triangle, which can- 
 not, he accurate If it comprehend more than 
 the deinition. 
 
 'Thus,. I 'thinh, .It^ appeam te^ be evident, 
 that we have general eenoentifitta 'that are 
 dear and distinct, both off attributes of 
 things, and of genera, .and .speciea of things. 
 
 nv (ixif'imi.L coNcif Tiovis romH.:iB' iy 
 
 ANAL'TSIMO OBI.Km 
 
 Wb are next to consider the operations 
 
 'of 'the nndecstanding, by which wo are 
 enahM. 'tn Ibnn general conceptions. 
 
 Tbeae'«pBcar to me to be three t^Fint, 
 The resolving or analysing a subject into 
 its linown attributes, and giving a name to 
 each attribute^ which name shall signify 
 that attribute,, and nothing more. 
 
 StfcoitK/lf, The observing one or more 
 sneh atliihates to be common to many sub- 
 jects*' The irst is by philosophers called 
 nMNwiflen; the second may be called 
 ifmMralidtiff s but both are commonly in- 
 chided. 'Under 'the name of etelrMfiom. 
 
 It is difilenlt to say which of them goes 
 iist, or whether they am not so closely 
 Mmccted that neither can claim the prece- 
 dence. For, on the one liand, to perceive an 
 agreement between two or more objects in 
 
 'tkllA tfMBLlllll! JJlitll^Plin ilil iiHll .it ttiCI V'tfUltlil'tf! TIAm 
 
 thhig men 'than, to eonpate' 'them together. 
 [4|6'] A 'Savage, upon seeuag snow .and 
 dialky would find no diffieuliy in perceiv- 
 ing thai they have the same colour. Yet, 
 
 'Ott thO' 'Other han.d, .it seemS' 'impoasible^ that 
 iW"'tliould observe this agiioneut without 
 
 ahstnetlon— that is, distmguishiog in his 
 conception the colour, wherein those two 
 objects agree, from the other qualities 
 wherein they disagree. 
 
 It seems, therefore, that we cannot 
 generalise without some degree of abstrac- 
 tion ; but I apprehend we may abstract 
 without generalising. For what hinders 
 me from attending to the whiteness of the 
 paper before me, without applying that 
 colour to any other object. The whiteness 
 of this individual object is an abstract con- 
 ception, but not a general one, while applied 
 to one individual only. These two opera- 
 tions, however, are subservient to each 
 other ; for the more attributes we observe 
 and distinguish in any one individual, the 
 more agreements we shall discover between 
 it and other individuals. 
 
 A third operation of the understanding, 
 by which we form abstract conceptions, is 
 the combining into ono whole a certain 
 number of those attributes of which we 
 have formed abstract notions, and giving a 
 name to that combination. It is thus we 
 form abstract notions of the genera and 
 species of things. These three operations 
 we shall consider in order. 
 
 With regard to abstraction, strictly so 
 called, I can perceive nothing in it that is 
 difficult either to be understood or practised. 
 What can be more easy than to distinguish 
 the different attributes which we know to 
 belong to a subject ? In a man, for in- 
 stance, to distinguish his size, his com* 
 plexion, his age, his fortune, his birth, his 
 profession, and twenty other things that 
 belong to him. To think and speak of 
 these things with understanding, is surely 
 within the reach of every man endow^ 
 with the human faculties. [447] 
 
 There may be distinctions that require 
 nice discernment, or an acquaintance with 
 the subject that is not common. Thus, a 
 critic in painting may discern the style of 
 Raphael or Titian, when another man 
 could not A lawyer may be acquainted 
 with many distinctions in crimes, and con- 
 tracts, and actions, which never occurred 
 to a man who has not studied law. One 
 man may excel another in the talent of dis- 
 tinguishing, as he may in memory or in 
 reasoning; but there is a certain degree of 
 this talent, without which a man would 
 have no title to be considered as a reason- 
 able creature. 
 
 It ought likewise to be observed, tliat 
 attributes may, with perfect ease, be dis- 
 tinguished and disjoined in our conception, 
 which cannot be actually separated in the 
 subject Thus, in a body, I can 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 
 
 [444-417] 
 
 OBAP.iii.] CONCEPTIONS FORMED BY ANALYSING OBJECTS. 385 
 
 from one another. There may be attri- 
 butes belonging to a subject, and inseparable 
 from it, of which we have no knowledge, 
 and consequently no conception ; but this 
 does not hinder our conceiving distinctly 
 those of its attributes which we know. 
 
 Thus, all the properties of a circle are 
 inseparable from the nature of a circle, 
 and may be demonstrated from its defini- 
 tion; yet a man may have a perfectly 
 distinct notion of a circle, who knows very 
 few of those properties of it which mathe- 
 maticians have demonstrated ; and a circle 
 probably has many properties which no 
 matliematician ever dreamed of. 
 
 It is therefore certain that attributes, 
 which in their nature are absolutely inse- 
 parable 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. 
 
 Having considered abstraction, strictly 
 so called, let us next consider the operation 
 of generalising, which is nothing but the 
 observing one or more attributes to be 
 common to many subjects. [448] 
 
 If any man can doubt whether there be 
 attributes that are really common to many 
 individuals, let him consider whether there 
 be not many men that are above six feet 
 high, and many below it ; whether there 
 be not many men that are rich, and many 
 more that are poor ; whether there be not 
 many that were born in Britain, and many 
 that were born in France. To multiply 
 instances of this kind, would be to affront the 
 reader's understanding. It is certain, there- 
 fore, that there are innumerable attributes 
 that are really common to many individuals ; 
 and if this be what the schoolmen called 
 universale a parte ret, we may affirm with 
 certainty that there are such universals. 
 
 There are some attributes expressed by 
 
 general words, of which this may seem more 
 oubtful. Such are the qualities which are 
 inherent in their several subjects. It may 
 be said that every subject hath its own 
 qualities, and that which is the quality of 
 one subject cannot be the quality of another 
 subject. Thus the whiteness of the sheet 
 of paper upon which I write, cannot be the 
 whiteness of another sheet, though both are 
 called white. The weight of one guinea is 
 not the weight of another guinea, though 
 both are said to have the same weight. 
 
 To this I answer, that the whiteness of 
 this sheet is one thing, whiteness is another ; 
 the conceptions signified by these two forms 
 of speech are as different as the expressions. 
 The first signifies an individual quality 
 really existing, and is not a general con- 
 ception, though it be an abstract one : the 
 second signifies a general conception, which 
 implies no existence, but may be predicated 
 of everything that is white, and in the 
 [418-450] 
 
 same sense. On this account, if one should 
 say that the whiteness of this sheet is the 
 whiteness of another sheet, every man per- 
 ceives this to be absurd ; but when he says 
 both sheets are white, this is true and per- 
 fectly understood. The conception of white* 
 ness implies no existence ; it would remain 
 the same though everything in the universe 
 that is white were annihilated. [449] 
 
 It appears, therefore, that the general 
 names of qualities, as well as of other at- 
 tributes, are applicable to many individuals 
 in the same sense, which cannot be if there 
 be not general conceptions signified by such 
 names. 
 
 If it should be asked, how early, or at 
 what period of life men begin to form general 
 conceptions ? I answer, As soon as a child 
 can say, with understanding, that he has 
 two brothers or two sisters — as soon as he 
 can use the plural number — he must have 
 general conceptions ; for no individual can 
 have a plural number. 
 
 As there are not two individuals in nature 
 that agree in everything, so there are very 
 few that do not agree in some things. We 
 take pleasure from very early years in ob- 
 serving such agreements. One great branch 
 of what we call wit, which, when innocent, 
 gives pleasure to every good-natured man, 
 consists in discovering unexpected agree- 
 ments in things. The author of Hudibras 
 could discern a property common to the 
 morning and a boiled lobster — that both 
 turn from black to red. Swift could see 
 something common to wit and an old cheese. 
 Such unexpected agreements may shew wit ; 
 but there are innumerable agreements of 
 things which cannot escape the notice of 
 the lowest understanding ; such as agree- 
 ments in colour, magnitude, figure, features, 
 time, place, age, and so forth. These agree- 
 ments are the foundation of so many com- 
 mon attributes, which are found in the 
 rudest languages. 
 
 The ancient philosophers called these 
 universals, or predicables, and endeavoured 
 to reduce them to five classes — to wit. 
 Genus, Species, Specific Difference, Pro- 
 perties, and Accidents. Perhaps there may 
 be more classes of universals or attributes — 
 for enumerations, so very general, are sel- 
 dom complete : but every attribute, common 
 to several individuals, may be expressed by 
 a general term, which is the sign of a 
 general conception. [450] 
 
 How prone men are to form general con- 
 ceptions we may see from the use of meta- 
 phor, and of the other figures of speech 
 grounded on similitude. Similitude is no- 
 thing else than an agreement of the objects 
 compared in one or more attributes , and 
 if there be no attribute common to both, 
 there can be no similitude. 
 
 The similitudes and analogies between 
 

 ON THi!; INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 CBSBAir Vm 
 
 th» fstiacn objects that nature presents to 
 'in, ,110 inlmite and iiwxluiusiible. They 
 not only please, when displayed by the poei 
 or" 'iflt^ m. 'imrk«. of taste, but they .are highly 
 Hfliil 'in tlie^ oriinaiy 'Oommunieation of our 
 fiwQgltta and leniimeDts by language. In 
 t1 e rude langu-iges of barbarous nations, 
 ■ImilitudM and muAogm supply the want of 
 pfuper wordS' to express men^s sentiments, 
 so mneh that in such languages there l» 
 liaidly a sentence without a metaphor ; and, 
 if we eiianiiue the most copious and polished 
 languages, we shall* find that a great pro- 
 |MUiion of the words and phrases which are 
 Moounted the most proper, may be said to 
 be the progeny of metaplior. 
 
 As foMigiiera, who settle in a nation as 
 their borne, come at last to Im ineoirpomted 
 tud. lose' the denomination of foreignerB, so 
 words and phrases, at first borrowed and 
 igurative, by long use become denixeus in 
 the laqguaget and lose tlie denominatiun of 
 igarsi off^ speeeb. When we spealc of the 
 •stent'Of teowMge, 'the stead i nem of virt iie, 
 the tenderness of affection, the perspicuity 
 of eipMssaon, no man conceives these to be 
 
 'per ■■ any 'Ui. the 'language : yet it appears 
 upon the very face of theiu, that they 
 niiiat have been metai>boriual in those who 
 md tliem .tiat. ; and that it is by use and 
 pveieripffon that they have loHt the deiio- 
 mimtion of figurative, and acquired a right 
 to be considered as proper words, '^his 
 observation will be found to extend to a 
 great ^part, perhaps the greatest part of the 
 miili. of tie 'most 'perfect 'knguages. 8ome- 
 tines. the name of an mdivtdual is given^to 
 a general conception, and thereby the in- 
 dividual in a manner generalised ; as when 
 lfa« Jew Shylock, in Shakespeare, says— 
 *' A Daniel come to judgment ; yea, a 
 Daniel •** In this speecli, " a Daniel" is 
 w«ttribiite, or an universal The character 
 'Of Daniel,, as a man of singukr wisdom, 
 is abstraeted from his person, and considered 
 as capable of being attributed to other per- 
 sons%. [451] 
 
 Upon the whole, these two operations of 
 abatiaeting and generalising appear com> 
 mott to all men tliat have understanding. 
 The practice of them is, and must be, fami- 
 liar to every 'man. that uses language ; but 
 it is one thing to practise them, and another 
 to eipWil how they are perfonned ; as it is 
 one tiling to see, another to explain how we 
 ace. Tw first is the province of all men, 
 and is the natural and easy ojieratiou of tlie 
 facnltiea which God bath given us. The 
 second is the province of plulosophers, and, 
 tlioii|h a matter of no great difficulty in it- 
 self, las been much perplexed by tlie ambi- 
 guity ol words, and still more by the 
 hypolbMes of phiofopbers. 
 
 Thus, when I consider a billiard hall, 
 
 its colour is one attribute, which I signify 
 hy calling it white ; its fi>^re is another 
 which is sknified by calling it spherical 
 the firm cohesion of its parts is signified by 
 calling it hard ; its recoiling, when it strikes 
 a hard body, is signified by its being called 
 elastic ; its origb, as being part of the tooth 
 of an elephant, is signified by calling it 
 ivory ; and its use by calling it a billiard ball. 
 
 Tlie words by which each of those attri- 
 butes is signified, have one distinct meaning, 
 and in this meaning are applicable to many 
 Individiuils. They signify not any indivi. 
 dual thing, but attributes common to many 
 individuals ; nor is it beyond the capacity 
 of a child to understand them perfectly, and 
 to apply them properly to every individual 
 in which they are found. 
 
 As it is by analysing a complex object 
 into its several attributes tbat we acquire 
 our simplest abstract cuncepliuns, it may be 
 proper to compare this analysis with that 
 which a chemist makes of a compounded 
 body into the ingredients which enter into 
 its composition ; for, altliough there be such 
 an analogy between these two operations, 
 that we give to both the name of analysis 
 or reflation, there i^ at the same time, so 
 great a dissimilitude in some respects, that 
 we may be led intt» error, by applying to one 
 what belongs to the other. [452] 
 
 It is obvious that tlie chemical analysis 
 i.s an operation of the baud upon matter, 
 by various material instruments. The an- 
 alysis we are now explaining, is purely an 
 operation of the understanding, wliicli re- 
 quires no material instrument, nor produces 
 any change upon any external thing; we 
 ■hall, therefore, call it the intellectual or 
 mental analysis. 
 
 In the chenucal analysis, the compound 
 body itself is the subject analysed. A sub- 
 ject so imperfectly known that it may be 
 compounded of various ingredients, when 
 to our sciiiies it appears perfectly simple i* 
 and even when we are able to analyse it 
 into the different ingredients of which it i8 
 composed, we know not how or why the 
 combination of those ingredients produces 
 such a body. 
 
 Thus, pure sea-salt is a body, to appear- 
 ance as simple as any in nature. Every the 
 least particle of it, discernible by our senses, 
 is perfectly similar to every other particle in 
 all its qualities. The nicest taste, the quick- 
 est eye, can discern no mark of its being 
 made up of different ingredients ; yet, by 
 the chemical art, it can be analysed into au 
 acid and an alkali, and can be again pro- 
 duced by the combination of those two in- 
 gredients. But bow this combination pro- 
 duces sea-salt, no man has been able to dis- 
 cover. The ingredients are both as unlike 
 
 * Sowi'tliiug *WM$ watiting in Iblf clawic.^ll. 
 
 [451 -^52) 
 
 . f 
 
 CHAP. Ill] CONCEPTIONS FORMED BY ANALYSING OBJECTS 397 
 
 the compound as any bodies we know. No 
 man could have guessed, before the thing 
 was known, that sea-salt is compounded of 
 those two ingredients ; no man could have 
 
 guessed that the union of those two iugre-«^ to the other, without evidence not only that 
 
 dients should produce such a compound as 
 sea-salt. Such, in many cases, are the 
 phscnomena of the chemical analysis of a 
 compound body. [453] 
 
 If we consider the intellectual analysis of 
 an object, it is evident that nothing of this 
 kind can happen ; because the thing ana- 
 lysed is not an external object imperfectly 
 known ; it is a conception of the mind it- 
 self. And, to suppose that there can be 
 anything in a conception that is not con- 
 ceived, is a contradiction. 
 
 The reason of observing this difference 
 between those two kinds of analysis is, that 
 some philosophers, in order to support their 
 systems, have maintained that a complex 
 idea may have the appearance of the most 
 perfect simplicity, and retain no similitude 
 of any of the simple ideas of which it is 
 compounded ; just as a white colour may 
 appear perfectly simple, and retain no 
 similitude to any of the seven primary 
 colours of which it is compounded ; or as a 
 chemical composition may appear (lerfectly 
 simple, and retain no similitude to any of 
 the ingredients. 
 
 From which those philosophers have drawn 
 this important conclusion, that a cluster of 
 the ideas of sense, properly combined, may 
 make the idea of a mind ; and that all the 
 ideas which Mr Locke calls ideas of re- 
 Hection, are only compositions of the ideas 
 which we have by our five senses. From 
 this the transition is easy, that, if a proper 
 composition of the ideas of matter may 
 make the idea of a mind, then a proper 
 composition of matter itself may malce a 
 mind, and that man is only a piece of 
 matter curiously formed. 
 
 In this curious system, the whole fabric 
 rests upon this foundation, that a complex 
 idea, which is made up of various simple 
 ideas, may appear to be perfectly simple, 
 and to have no marks of composition, be- 
 cause a compound body may appear to our 
 senses to be perfectly simple. 
 
 Upon this fundamental proposition of 
 this system I beg leave to moke two re- 
 marks. [454] 
 
 I. Supposing it to be true, it affirms only 
 what mat/ be. We are, indeed, in most 
 cases very imperfect judges of what may 
 be. But this we know, that, were we ever 
 80 certain that a thing may be, this is no 
 good reason for believing that it really is. 
 A may-be is a mere hypothesis, which may 
 furnish matter of investigation, but is not 
 entitled to the least degree of belief. The 
 transition from what may be to what really 
 Ik, b familiar and easy to tlio.^o who have a 
 f t5S- 455] 
 
 predilection for a hypothesis ; but to a man 
 who seeks truth without prejudice or pre- 
 possession, it is a very wide and difficult 
 step, and he will never pass from the one 
 
 the thing may be, but that it really is. 
 
 2. As far as I am able to judge, this, 
 which it is said may be, cannot be. That 
 a complex idea should be made up of simple 
 ideas ; so that to a ripe understanding re- 
 flecting upon that idea, there should be no 
 appearance of composition, nothing similar 
 to the simple ideas of which it is com- 
 pounded, seems to me to involve a contra- 
 diction. The idea is a conception of the 
 mind. If anything more than this is meant 
 by the idea, I know not what it is ; and I 
 wish both to know what it is, and to have 
 proof of its existence. Now, that there 
 should be anything in the conception of au 
 object which is not conceived, appears to 
 me as manifest a contradiction as that 
 there should be an existence which does 
 not exist, or that a thing should be con- 
 ceived and not conceived at the same time. 
 But, say these philosophers, a white 
 colour is produced by the composition of 
 the primary colours, and yet has no resem- 
 blance to any of them. I grant it. But 
 what can be inferred from this with regard 
 to the composition of ideas ? To bring this 
 argument home to the point, they must 
 say, that because a white colour is com- 
 pounded of the primary colours, therefore 
 the idea of a white colour is cora])ouuded of 
 the ideas of the primary colours. This 
 reasoning, if it was admitted, would lead 
 to innumerable absurdities. An opaque 
 fluid may be eomj)ounded of two or more 
 pellucid fluids. Hence, we might infer, 
 with equal force, that the idea of an opaque 
 fluid may be compounded of the idea of two 
 or more pellucid fluids. [455] 
 
 Nature's way of compounding bodies, 
 and our way of compounding ideas, are so 
 different in many respects, that we cannot 
 reason from the one to the other, unless it 
 can be found that ideas are combined by 
 fermentations and elective attractions, and 
 may be analysed in a furnace by the force 
 of fire and of mcnstruums. Until this dis- 
 covery be made, we must hold those to be 
 simple ideas, which, upon the most atten- 
 tive reflection, have no appearance of com- 
 position ; and those only to be the ingre- 
 dients of complex ideas, which, by attentive 
 reflection, can be perceived to be contauied 
 in them. 
 
 If the idea of mind and its operations, 
 may be compounded of the ideas of matter 
 and its qualities, why may not the idea of 
 matter be compounded of the ideas of 
 mind ? There is the same evidence for the 
 last may 'be as for the first. And why may 
 not the idea of sound be compounded of the 
 
OM THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [<B18AY I*. 
 
 OHAP. lY.] CONCEPTIONS FORMED BY COMBINATION. 399 
 
 of eolour ; or the idea of colouf of 
 
 tlMte off found ? Why may not tbe idea of 
 viadmii. IM' compoanded of ideas off IbUy ; 
 •t IIm idea of truth of ideas of absiirdity ? 
 But wo leave these mysterious may»&e9 to 
 timn thai have faith to receive them. 
 
 VIlA.|rlJ!*l% kw» 
 or GBNIEAI. CONCXPnONS POEMIB BY OOM- 
 
 .rafATioii. 
 
 As, by am intellectual analysis of objects, 
 
 o form general conceptions of single attri- 
 luites,. (wllehi of all ooBMitiona Int enter 
 into tlw imniaa 'inind, are m most simple,) 
 ■% % eoahining several of these into one 
 pireel, and giiring a name to that combina- 
 lim, wo form foneial conceptions that may 
 bo wmf eompkx,. and, at the same time, 
 fonr diilinct [4M] 
 
 Thn% one who, by analysing extended 
 objects, has got the simple notions of a 
 plnii a Mn%, atiaight or curve, an. angle, a 
 •nriiee, a solid, ^can easily eoneeive a plain 
 ■urfiice, terminated by four equal straight 
 lines, meeting in four points at right angles. 
 Tto Ibis species of figure he gives the name 
 of « oqnare. In like manner, he can. con- 
 oeivoa solid temiiiated. byaiz equal :8qnaies, 
 and give it the name of a cube. A square, 
 a cube, and every name of mathematical 
 l|liiie« is % .general term, expressing a com- 
 ;p«i ^eiioni eooeeption, made by a certain 
 oombmation of the simple elemeuts into 
 which we analyse extended bodies. 
 
 Bveiy mathematical figure is accurately 
 deined, by enumerating the simple ele- 
 OMnts of which it is formed, and the man- 
 ner off their combination. The definition 
 eotttaiua the whole easence of it And 
 •veiy property that belonp to it mav be 
 dednecd. bv demonstraMve reasoning A^im 
 its deinittoD. It is not a thing that 
 oiiits, for then it would be an mdividual | 
 tat it la a thing that is conceived without 
 ngui to eiistencob 
 
 A fSum, a manor, a parish, a county, a 
 kingdom, are complex general conceptions, 
 formed by vaiiins oombinaliiMs and modi- 
 fications of inhabiied tenitoiy, under cer- 
 tain forms of govenmenl. 
 
 Biiferenl combmations of military men 
 fban the notions of a company, a regiment. 
 
 Hie aeveiml crimes which are the objects 
 of criminal kw, such as theft, murder, 
 robbery, piracy, what are they but certain 
 combinations of human actions and inten- 
 tions, which are accurately defined in 
 oiininal kw, and which it is found con- 
 venient to oomppshend under one name, 
 and consider as one thing' f 
 
 When we observe that' 'nature, in her 
 
 anrnial, vegetable, and inanimate produc 
 tions, has formed many individuals that 
 agree in many of their qualities and attri- 
 butes, we are led by natural instinct to 
 expect their agreement in other qualities, 
 which we have not had occasion to perceive. 
 [457] Thus, a child who has once burnt 
 his finger, by putting it iu the flame of one 
 candle, expects the »amc event if he pats it 
 in the flame of another candle, or in any 
 fiame, and is thereby led to think that the 
 quality of burning belongs to all flamoi 
 This instinctive induction is not justified 
 by the rules of logic, and it sometimes leads 
 men into harmless mistakes, which expe- 
 rience may afterwards correct ; but it pre- 
 serves us from destruction in innumerable 
 dangers to which we are exposed. 
 
 The reason of taking notice of this prin- 
 ciple in human nature in this place is, that 
 the distribution of the productions of na- 
 ture into ffetiera and species becomes, on 
 account of this principle, more generally 
 useful. 
 
 The physician expects that the rhubarb 
 which has never yet been tried will have 
 Mke medical virtues with that which he has 
 prescribed on former occasions. Two par- 
 cels of rhubarb agree in certain sensible 
 qualities, from which agreement they are 
 both called by the same general name 
 rhuimrb. Therefore it k expected that 
 they win agree m their medical virtues. 
 And, as experience has discovered certain 
 virtues in one parcel, or in many parcels, 
 we presume, without experience, tliat the 
 same virtues belong to all parcek of rhubarb 
 that shall be used. 
 
 If a traveller meets a horse, an ox, or a 
 sheep, which he never saw before, he k 
 under no apprehension, believing these ani- 
 mak to be of a species that is tame and in- 
 offensive. But he dreads a lion or a tiger, 
 because they are of a fierce and ravenous 
 species. 
 
 We are capable of receiving innumerable 
 advantages, and are exposed to innumer- 
 able dangers, from the various productions 
 of nature, animal, vegetable, and inanimate. 
 The life of man, if an hundred times longer 
 than it is, would be insufficient to learn 
 from experience the useful and hurtful qua- 
 lities of every individual production of na- 
 ture taken singly. [458] 
 
 The Author of Nature hath made pro- 
 vision for our attaining that knowledge of 
 hk works which is necessary for our subsist- 
 ence ant' preservation, partly by the consti- 
 tution of the productions of nature, and partly 
 by the constitution of the human mind. 
 
 For, firstt In the productions of nature, 
 great numbers of individuak are made so 
 like to one another, both in their obvious 
 and in their more occult qualities, that we 
 are not only enabled, but invited, salt were. 
 
 [♦5fl-458/ 
 
 
 to reduce them into classes, and to give a 
 general name to a class ; a name which k 
 common to every individual of the class, 
 because it comprehends in its signification 
 those qualities or attributes only that are 
 common to all the individuals of that class. 
 Secondli/, The huraau mind is so framed, 
 that, from the agreement of individuals in 
 the more obvious qualities by which we 
 reduce them into one class, we are naturally 
 led to expect tliat they will be found to 
 agree in their more latent qualities— and in 
 this we are seldom disappointed. 
 
 We have, therefore, a strong and rational 
 inducement, both to distribute natural sub- 
 stances into classes, genera and species, 
 under general names, and to do this with all 
 the accuracy and distinctness we are able. 
 For the more accurate our divisions are 
 made, and the more distinctly the several 
 species are defined, the more securely we 
 may rely that the qualities we find in one or 
 in a few individuals will be found in all of 
 the same species. 
 
 Every species of natural substances which 
 has a name in language, k an attribute of 
 many individuals, and is itself a combination 
 of more simple attributes, which we observe 
 to be common to those individuak. [459] 
 We shall find a great part of the words 
 of every knguage— nay, I apprehend, the 
 far greater part — to signify combinations of 
 more simple general conceptions, which 
 men have found proper to be bound up, as 
 it were, in one parcel, by bemg designed by 
 one name. 
 
 Some general conceptions there are, which 
 may more properly be called compositions 
 or works than mere combinations. Thus, 
 one may conceive a machine which never 
 existed. He may conceive an air in music, 
 a poem, a plan of architecture, a plan of 
 povernment, a plan of conduct in public or 
 m private life, a sentence, a discourse, a 
 treatke. Such compositions are things 
 conceived in the mind of the author, not 
 individuals tliat really exist ; and the same 
 general conception which the author had, 
 may be communicated to others by language. 
 Thus, the " Oceana" of Harrington was 
 conceived in the mind of its author. The 
 materiak of which it k composed are things 
 conceived, not things that existed. His 
 senate, his popular assembly, his magis- 
 trates, hk elections, are all conceptions of 
 his mind, and the whole k one complex 
 conception. And the same may be said of 
 every work of the human understanding. 
 
 Very different from these are the works 
 of (Sod, which we behold. They are works 
 of creative power, not of understanding 
 only. They have a real exktence. Our 
 best conceptions of them are partial and 
 imperfect. But of the works of the -human 
 understanding our conception may be per- 
 [459-461] 
 
 feet and complete. They are nothing but 
 what the author conceived, and what he can 
 express by language, so as to convey hk 
 conception perfectly to men like himself. 
 
 Although such works are indeed complex 
 general conceptions, they do not so properly 
 belong to our present subject. They are 
 more the objects of judgment and of taste, 
 than of bare conception or simple appre- 
 hension. [460] 
 
 To return, therefore, to those complex 
 conceptions which are formed merely by 
 combining those that are more simple. 
 Nature has given us the power of combin- 
 ing such simple attributes, and such a num- 
 ber of then* as we find proper ; and of 
 giving one name to that combination, and 
 considering it as one object of thought. 
 
 The simple attributes of things, which 
 fall under our observation, are not so nume- 
 rous but that they may all have names in a 
 copious knguage. But to give names to 
 all the combinations that can be made of 
 two, three, or more of them, would be im- 
 possible. The most copious languages have 
 names but for a very small part. 
 
 It may likewise be observed, that the 
 combinations that have names are nearly, 
 though not perfectly, the same in the dif. 
 ferent languages of civilized nations that 
 have intercourse with one another. Hence 
 it is, that the Lexicographer, for the most 
 part, can give words in one knguage answer- 
 ing perfectly, or very nearly, to those of 
 another ; and what k written in a simple 
 style in one language, can be translated al- 
 most word for word into another. • 
 
 From these observations we may con- 
 clude that there are either certain common 
 principles of human nature, or certain com- 
 mon occurrences of human life, which dis- 
 pose men, out of an infinite number that 
 might be formed, to form certain combina- 
 tions rather than others. 
 
 Mr Hume, in order to account for this 
 phajnomenon, has recourse to what he calk 
 the assockting qualities of ideas ; to wit, 
 causation^ contiguity in time and place, and 
 similitude. He conceives— ." That one of 
 the most remarkable effects of those associa- 
 ting qualities, k the complex ideas which 
 are the common subjects of our thoughts. 
 That this also k the cause why languages 
 so nearly correspond to one another; Nature 
 in a manner pointing out to every one those 
 ideas which are most proper to be united 
 into a complex one." [461] 
 
 I agree with this ingenious author, that 
 Nature in a manner points out those simple 
 ideas which are most proper to be united 
 into a complex one : but Nature does this, 
 not solely or chiefly by the relations between 
 the simple ideas of contiguity, causation, 
 
 ♦ ThU is only strictly true of the word* relative to 
 object! of ienc&^U. 
 
4m 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay v. 
 
 natation, rnid «s9e:mbliMi.ce ; but rather by 
 
 tbe fitneas Oif the oombiiuilkiiui we make, to 
 aid otir O'wn coEceptiaia,: mad to convey 
 thein to others by laogiiage easUy and 
 .agreeably. 
 
 Tlie end and use of langiiag^, without 
 Rflird. to tlie associating 'qualities of ideas, 
 will lead men that I»ve comnioii under- 
 standing to form sucli complex notions as 
 are iiro|>er for expressing tlieir wimts, their 
 thoughts, and their desires : and in. every 
 1 mgui^' we sitall find tliesc to be die com- 
 lilex. notions tliat' liave names. 
 
 In the rudest state of society, men must 
 liaveoeawion to form the general notions of 
 man, woman, father, mother, son, daughter, 
 sister, brother, neighbour, friend, enemy, 
 and many others, to express the common 
 relations of one person to another. 
 
 If they am employed in hunting, they 
 m.u8i have general terms to express the 
 various impTements and Ofieratioiis of the 
 eham. Their houses and clothing, however 
 simple, will furnish another set of general 
 terin% to express the materials, the work- 
 roan.8ltip^ ani. 'ilie excelleucin and defects 
 of those fabrics. If they sail upon rivers 
 fir upon the sea. this will give occasion to a 
 great number of general terms, which other- 
 wise 'Would never have occurred to their 
 thoughts. 
 
 The same thing may be said of agricul- 
 ture, of pasturage, of every art they prac- 
 lisAj and of every branch of knowledge they 
 attwin. The necessity of general terms for 
 communicating our sentiments is obvious ; 
 and the invention of them, as far as we find 
 tliem necessary, .requises no other talent 
 Imt that' degree^ 'Of understanding which is 
 cwmmon to men. [462] 
 
 Tie notions of debtor and creditor, of 
 pioit and loss, of account, balance, stock 
 <in liand, and many otliers, are owing to 
 commerce. The notions of ktitude, longi- 
 tude, course, distance, run, .and those of 
 ships, and of their various parts, furniture, 
 and operations, ure owing to naviptlon. 
 The anatom'ist must have names for the 
 various simibir and dissimilar parts of the 
 tinman body, and words to exprcBs their 
 'teire, position, stnaeture, and n.ae. The 
 imysician ninst 'have nameS' for the various 
 dise;i»es of the body, their causes, symp- 
 loms, and means of cure. 
 
 Tlie like may be said of the gtammarian, 
 tbe logiciai.1, the critic, the ritetorieian, the 
 moralist, tlie naturalist, the mechanic, and 
 merj man that professes any art or science. 
 
 When any discovery is made in art or in 
 nature, whicb tequirea new combinations and 
 mm weirds to express it properly, the in • 
 vention of these is easy to those who have 
 a distinct notion of the thii^to'be expressed ; 
 and Meh words will leadil j 1m adopted, and 
 imeeive the public iMietion* 
 
 If, on the other hand, any man of emi- 
 nence, through vanity or want of judgment, 
 should invent new words, to express com- 
 binations that have neither beauty nor 
 utility, or which may as well be expressed 
 in the current bnguage, his authority may 
 give them currency for a time with servile 
 imitators or blind admirers; but the judi- 
 cious will laugh at them, and they will soon 
 lose their cnxlit. So true wsis the observa- 
 tion made by Pomponius Marcellus, an 
 ancient grammarian, to Tiberius Ca>sar : — 
 ** You, Casar, have i>ower to make a man 
 a denizen of Rome, but not to make a word 
 a denizen of the Roman language.*** 
 
 Among nations that are civilized, and 
 have intercourse with one another, the most 
 necessary and useful arts will be common ; 
 the important parts of human knowledge 
 will be common; their several kngnages 
 will be fitted to it, and consequently to one 
 another. [463] 
 
 New inventions of general use give an 
 easy birth to new complex notions and new 
 names, which spread as far as the inven- 
 tion does. How many new complex notions 
 have been formed, and names for them 
 invented in the languages of Europe, by the 
 modern inventions of printing, of gun- 
 powder, of the mariner's com|iass, of opti- 
 cal glasses? The simple ideas combined 
 in those complex notions, and the associat- 
 ing qualities of those ideas, are very an- 
 cient; but they never produced those com- 
 plex notions until there was use for them. 
 
 What is peculiar to a nation in its cus- 
 toms, manners, or laws, will give occasion 
 to complex notions and words ]>ccu!iar to 
 the language of that nation. Hence it is 
 easy to see why* an impeaclimeut, and an 
 attainder, in the English language, and 
 ostracittm in the Greek langunge, have not 
 names answering to them in other lan- 
 guages. 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that it is utility, 
 and not tlio associating qualities of the ideas, 
 that has led men to form only certain com- 
 bina^ons, and to give names to them in 
 language, while they neglect an in: nite 
 number that might be formed. 
 
 The common occurrences of life, in the 
 intercourse of men, and in their occupa- 
 tions, give occasion to many complex no- 
 tions. We see an individual occurrence, 
 which draws our alientiua more or less, 
 and may be a suljject of conversation. 
 Other occurrences, similar to this in many 
 respects, have been observed, or may be 
 exi»ected. It is convenient that we should 
 be able to speak of what is conmion to 
 them all, leaving out tlie unim[>ortant cir- 
 
 1 • m fn, C«Mir, civitsieni adtre pntet hominilnii, 
 verbtt non v^-^e*." Sue Skiitoniui Jk JUust-'Oram. 
 
 [462, 463] 
 
 cHAF.iv] CONCEPTIONS 1<0RMED BY COMBINATION. 401 
 
 cumstances of time, place, and persons. 
 This we can do with great ease, by giving 
 a name to what is common to all those 
 individual occurrences. Such a name is a 
 great aid to language, because it compre- 
 hends, in one word, a great number of 
 simple notions, which it would be very 
 tedious to express in detail. [464] 
 
 Thus, men have formed the complex 
 notions of eating, drinking, sleeping, walk- 
 ing, riding, running, buying, selling, plough- 
 ing, sowing, a dance, a feast, war, a battle, 
 victory, triumph ; and others, without 
 number. 
 
 Such things must frequently be the sub- 
 ject of conversation ; and, if we had not a 
 more compendious way of expressing them 
 than by a detail of all the simple notions 
 they comprehend, we should lose the benefit 
 of speech. 
 
 The different talents, dispositions, and 
 habits of men in society, being interesting 
 to those who have to do with them, will in 
 every language have general names — such 
 as wise, foolish, knowing, ignorant, plain, 
 cunning. In every operative art, the tools, 
 instruments, materials, the work produced, 
 and the various excellencies and defects of 
 these, must have general names. 
 
 The various relations of persons, and of 
 things which cannot escape the observation 
 of men in society, lead us to many complex 
 general notions; such as father, brother, 
 friend, enemy, master, servant, property, 
 theft, rebellion. 
 
 The terms of art in the sciences make 
 another class of general names of complex 
 notions ; as in mathematics, axiom, defini- 
 tion, problem, theorem, demonstration. 
 
 I do not attempt a complete enumeration 
 even of the classes of complex general con- 
 ceptions. Those I have named as a speci- 
 men, I think, are mostly comprehended 
 under what Mr Locke calls mixed modes 
 and relations; which, he justly observes, 
 have names given them in language, in 
 preference to innumerable others that might 
 be formed ; for this reason only, that they 
 are useful for the purpose of communicat- 
 ing our thoughts by language. [465] 
 
 In all the languages of mankind, not only 
 the writings and discourses of the learned, 
 but the conversation of the vulgar, is almost 
 entirely made up of general words, which 
 are the signs of general conceptions, either 
 simple or complex. And in every language, 
 we find the terms signifying complex no- 
 tions to be such, and only such, as the use 
 of language requires. 
 
 There remains a very large class of com- 
 plex general terms, on which I shall make 
 some observations ; I mean those by which 
 we name the species, genera, and tribes of 
 natural substances. 
 
 It is utility, indeed, that leads ue to give 
 [^4^4-466] 
 
 general names to the various species of na- 
 tural substances; but, in combining the 
 attributes which are included under the 
 specific name, we are more aided and di- 
 rected by nature than in forming other com- 
 binations of mixed modes and relations. In 
 the last, the ingredients are brought to- 
 gether in the occurrences of life, or in the 
 actions or thoughts of men. But, in the 
 first, the ingredients are united by nature in 
 many individual substances which God has 
 made. We form a general notion of those 
 attributes wherein many individuals agree. 
 We give a specific name to this combina- 
 tion, which name is common to all sub- 
 stances having those attributes, which 
 either do or may exist. The specific name 
 comprehends neither more nor fewer attri- 
 butes than we find proper to put into its 
 definition. It comprehends not time, nor 
 place, nor even existence, although there 
 can be no individual without these. 
 
 This work of the understanding is abso- 
 lutely necessary for speaking intelligibly of 
 the productions of nature, and for reaping 
 the benefits we receive, and avoiding the 
 dangers we are exposed to from them. The 
 individuals are so many, that to give a 
 proper name to each would be beyond the 
 power of language. If a good or bad qua- 
 lity was observed in an individual, of how 
 small use would this be, if there was not a 
 species in which the same quality might be 
 expected! [4GC] 
 
 Without some general knowledge of the 
 qualities of natural substances, human life 
 could not be preserved. And there can be 
 no general knowledge of this kind without 
 reducing them to species under specific 
 names. For this reason, among the rudest 
 nations, we find names for fire, water, earth, 
 air, mountains, fountains, rivers; for the 
 kinds of vegetables they use ; of animals 
 they hunt or tame, or that are found useful 
 or hurtful. 
 
 Each of those names signifies in general 
 a substance having a certain combination of 
 attributes. The name, therefore, must be 
 common to all substances in which those 
 attributes are found. 
 
 Such general names of substances being 
 found in all vulgar languages, before philo- 
 sophers began to make accurate divisions 
 and less obvious distinctions, it is not to be 
 expected that their meaning should be more 
 precise than is necessary for the common 
 purposes of life. 
 
 As the knowledge of nature advances, 
 more species of natural substances are 
 observed, and their useful qualities die- 
 covered. In order that this important part 
 of human knowledge may be comnmnicated, 
 and handed down to future generations, it 
 is not suflBcient that the species have names. 
 Such is the fluctuating state of languag**, 
 
SjnilhllllliilllllWW 
 
 <iiHi,P4Mr 
 
 ON THE INTBLLICTUAL POWEM. 
 
 I EB8AY ▼ 
 
 tluil m gmenl name wUl not^ al«a,3»;i«lilB 
 tbitaaiiie |»re«ia« signiliaitio% imlwi it luivo 
 
 « daimitun in. which meu Are dinpooed to^ 
 
 Tliero was mdoabtedlv ft BtrnM^ fuul off 
 Bfttural kaowledee ftoioiig Ihe Oreeki sod 
 RommiM in., the t|iiie.i 'Of f liny. There is & 
 gremt Anl iO' liii Malmil History ; but 
 miiflli of it is lost to ii»— for this reason 
 ■Bong" others^ that we know not what 
 ■peciei. of anhstanoe .he meaiia.. by aioh a. 
 
 known to exist 
 and that name 
 
 Nothing couM have prevented this loss 
 
 Itut an acenrate definition of the name, by 
 
 i|l|iaii' tl|e speeieS' might have been distin- 
 gpiiiti#l fion'^all 'Others as long as that name 
 and ila deinition remained. |467] 
 
 To prevent such loss in future times, 
 modern pliiloiophsia .have very laudably 
 attempted to give names and accurate defin- 
 itions of all the known species of sub- 
 stances wherewith the bountiful Creator 
 hath enriched our globe. 
 
 This is neeeiaaryi in order to form a 
 copious and 'ilntiiiel .language concerning 
 
 kninrlaflgp of them, and to convey it to 
 
 future generations. 
 
 vjE flVhililllililifll 'Jlil'lli^lt 1UBI 
 
 imight to nave a name; 
 o«fht to be defined by such attributes as 
 serve best to distinguish, the species from 
 all others* 
 
 Nature invites to this work, by hairing 
 Ibrmed th^ings sO' as to' make it both easy 
 and important 
 
 For, Jirsi, We perceive numbers of indi- 
 vidual substapoes BO like in their obvious 
 oualities, that the most unimproved tribes 
 of men mirider them as of one species, and 
 give them one common name. 
 
 Jlmmdffi The more hOent qualities of 
 substanoM ftre geneaaPy the same in all 
 t|i9, individuals of a apeoes ; so that what, 
 bfillbservation or experiment, is .found in 
 a lew individuals of n species, is presumed 
 apd commonly found to belong to the 
 whole. By thiS' we arO' enabled, from., par- 
 'tifukir' iiet% to draw genenl eoneluaiiMia. 
 This kind of induction is, indeed, the mas- 
 tor>key to the knowledge of Nature, without 
 whiph wo could form no general oondu- 
 siofis.in that branch of phiiosopliy. 
 
 ikUdi lAif(%, By the very constitution 
 •f "iiiiriiMitn% we an .led, without reason* 
 ing^ to. apcribe ., to the who|«. .spcies what 
 we have found to belong to 'tlin.ltndividuals. 
 .I|.i|:'t|iua we come to know 'that fire bums 
 andtifater drowns; that bodies gravitate 
 and bread noufiiheai [468] 
 
 The species of two ol the kingdoms of 
 Natufo— to wit,, the- animal and the vege- 
 tablo-raeem to be fixed bv Nature, by we 
 powes tliey bure of proanoing their like. 
 Andt te>.tlieML iiiiD.in .aU. agea .and., nations. 
 
 have acoounted the parent and the progeny 
 of thesamespeciea. The difiVsrenoes among 
 Naturalists, with regard to the species of 
 those two kingdoms, are very inconsider- 
 able, and may be occasioned by the changes 
 produced by eoil, climate, and culture, and 
 sometimes by monstrvus productions, which 
 are comparatively rare. 
 
 In the inanimate kingdom we have not 
 the same means of dividing things into 
 qpecies, and, therefore, the limits of species 
 seem to be more arbitrary. But, from the 
 progress already made, there is ground to 
 hope that, even in this kingdom, as the 
 knowledge of it advances, the various 
 species may be so well distinguished and 
 defined as to answer every viduable pur- 
 poses. 
 
 When the species are so numerous as to' 
 burden the memory, it is greatlv assisted 
 by distributing tliem into genera, the p§nera 
 into tribes, the tribes into orders, and the 
 orders into classes. 
 
 Such a regular distribution of natural 
 substances, by divisions and subdivisionSi 
 has got the name of a system. 
 
 It is not a system of truths, but a system 
 of general terms, with their definitions; 
 and it 'm not only a great help to memory, 
 hut facilitates very much the definition of 
 the terma For the definition of the genus 
 is common to all the species of that genus, 
 and so is understood in the definition of 
 each species, without the trouble of repeti* 
 tion. In like manner, the definition of a 
 tribe is underslood in the defiuition of every 
 genus, and every species of that tribe ; and 
 the same may be said of every superior 
 division. [4W] 
 
 The effect of such a systematical distri- 
 bution of tlie productions of Nature is seen 
 in our systems of zoology, botany, and min- 
 eralogy ; in which a species is commonly 
 defined accurately in a line or two, which, 
 without the systematical arrangement, could 
 hardly be defined in a page. 
 
 With regard to the utility of systems of 
 this kind, men have gone into contrary ex- 
 tremes ; some have treated them with con- 
 tempt, as a mere dictionary of words; 
 others, perhaps^ rest in such systems as all 
 that is worth knowing in the works of 
 NatuiCb 
 
 On the oneJhand, it is not the intention 
 of such systems to communicate all that is 
 known of the natural productions which 
 they describe. The properties most fit for 
 defining and distinguisliing the several 
 species, are not always those that are most 
 useful to be known. To discover and to 
 Gonmiunicate the uses of natural substances 
 in life and in the arts, is, no doubt, that 
 part of the business of a naturalist which is 
 the most important ; and the systematical 
 anrnngement of them it ahiifly to be vahied 
 
 CHAr.v.] OF NAMES GIVEN TO GENERAL NOTIONS. 
 
 for its subserviency to this end. This every 
 judicious naturalist will grant. 
 
 But, on the other hand, the labour is not 
 to be despised, by which the road to an use- 
 tul and miportant branch of knowledge is 
 made easy in all time to come; especiaUy 
 when this kbour requires both extensive 
 knowledge and great abilities. 
 
 The talent of arranging property and 
 
 definmg accurately, is so rare, and at the 
 
 same time so useful, that it may very justly 
 
 be considered as a proof of real genius, and 
 
 as entitled to a high degree of praise. There 
 
 IS an intrinsic beauty in arrangement, which 
 
 captivates the mind, and gives pleasure, 
 
 even abstracting from its utility ; as in most 
 
 other things, so in this particularly, Nature 
 
 hasjomed beauty with utility. The arrange- i 
 
 ment of an army in the day of battle is a ' 
 
 grand, spectacle. The same men crowded 
 
 m a fair, have no such effect. It is not 
 
 more strange, therefore, that some men 
 
 spend their days in studying systems of 
 
 iNature, than that other men employ their 
 
 lives in the study of languages. The most 
 
 important end of those systems, surely, is 
 
 to form a copious and an unambiguous kn- 
 
 guage concerning the productions of Nature, 
 
 by which every useful discovery concerning 
 
 them may be communicated to the present, 
 
 and transmitted to all future generations 
 
 without danger of mistake, [470] 
 
 General terms, especially such as are 
 complex in their signification, will never 
 keep one precise meaning, without accurate 
 definition ; and accurate definitions of such 
 terms can in no way be formed so easily and 
 advantageously as by reducing the things 
 they signify into a regular system. 
 
 Very eminent men in the medical profes- 
 sion, in order to remove all ambiguity in 
 the names of diseases, and to advance the 
 healing art, have, of late, attempted to re- 
 duce mto a systetiiatical order the diseases 
 of the human body, and to give distinct 
 names and accurate definitions of the seve- 
 ral species, penera, orders, and classes, into 
 which they distribute them ; and I appre- 
 hend that, in every art and science, where 
 the terms of the art have any ambiguity 
 that obstructs its progress, this method will 
 he found the easiest and most successful for 
 the remedy of that evil 
 
 It were even to be wished that the gene- 
 m terms which we find in common lan- 
 guage, as weU as those of the arts and 
 sciences, could be reduced to a systematical 
 arrangement, and defined so as that they 
 might be free from ambiguity; but, per- 
 haps, the obstacles to this are insurmount- 
 able. I know no man who has attempted it 
 but Bishop Wilkins in his Essay towards a 
 real oharaeter and a philosophical language. • 
 
 *_Ib tbit attenpt WUkim »m prctwded by our 
 [470-472] 
 
 4m 
 
 The attempt was grand, and worthy of a 
 man of genius. •^ 
 
 The formation of such systems, therefore, 
 of the various productions of Nature, inl 
 l^^ ^u^'""? despised, ought to be ranked 
 among the valuable improvements of modem 
 ages, and to be the more esteemed that its 
 utility reaches to the most distant future 
 times, and, Uke the invention of writms 
 serves to embalm a most important branch 
 of human knowledge, and to preserve it from 
 being corrupted or lost. [471] 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OBSERVATIONS CONCERNINGTHB NAMOTGIVeN 
 TO OUR GENERAL NOTIONS. 
 
 Having now explained, as well as I am* 
 able, those operations of the mind by which 
 we analyse the objects which nature pre- 
 sents to our observation, into their simple 
 attributes, giving a general name to each, and 
 by which we combine any number of such 
 attributes into one whole, and give a general 
 name to that combination, I shall offer some 
 observations relating to our general notions, 
 whether simple or complex. 
 
 I apprehend that the names given to 
 them by modern philosophers, have contri- 
 buted to darken our speculations about them, 
 and to render them difficult and abstruse. 
 
 We call them general notions, concep. 
 tions, ideas. The words notion and con- 
 ception, in their proper and most common 
 sense, signify the act or operation of the 
 mmd m conceiving an object. In a figura- 
 tive sense, they are sometimes put for the 
 object conceived. And I think they are 
 rarely, if ever, used in this figurative sense, 
 except when we speak of what we call 
 general notions or general conceptions. The" 
 word idea, as it is used in modern times, 
 has the same ambiguity. 
 
 Now, it is only in the last of these senses, 
 and not in the first, that we can be said to 
 have general notions or conceptions. The 
 generality is in the object conceived, and 
 not in the act of the mind by which it is 
 conceived. Every act of the mind is an in- 
 dividual act, which does or did exist. [472] 
 But we have power to conceive things which 
 neither do nor ever did exist. We have 
 power to conceive attributes without regard' 
 to their existence. The conception of such 
 an attribute is a real and individual act of 
 the mind; but the attribute conceived is 
 common to many mdividuals that do or may 
 exist. We are too apt to confound an ob- 
 ject of conception with the conception of 
 
 countryman Djjgarno: and firom Datgarno it it 
 highly probable that Wilkiiw borrowed tiie idea. 
 But even Da^arno waf oot the first who conceived 
 the project— H. 
 
 2 d2 
 
 ^.—i^.rfiji'r. 
 
JIM 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. Lw*^^ v- 
 
 tlifit objMi But the danger of doing this 
 must be much greater whea tlie object of 
 MBceptiim m ci3led, » •oomseftlmi. ^ 
 
 Th© Fefiprtettei gpiTO to such objects of 
 eoMqttion the names of nniveraals, snd of 
 predicables. Those names had no ambi- 
 giiitj, and I think were much mote lit to 
 fipesB what^ was meant by them than the 
 'aameS' «e 'ise. 
 
 It » for this reason that I have so often 
 used the word attribute, whicb has the same 
 meaning with predietble. And, for the same 
 feason, I liave thought it neeeasary repeat- 
 edly to warn the reader, that when, in com- 
 ptiance with custom, I speak of general 
 notions or general conceptions, I always 
 'nem things conceived, and not the act of 
 the mind in conceiving them. 
 
 The Pytliagoreans and Platonists gave 
 the name of ideas to sucli general objects of 
 ctnception, and to nothfig else. As we 
 iHirrowed the word idea from them, so that 
 it is now familiar in all the languages of 
 Europe, I think it would have been happy 
 " jl we .had. also borrowed their meaning, and 
 had used it only to signify what they meant 
 by it. I apprehend we want an unambigu- 
 om word to distugnish things barely con- 
 ceived. Ittwi things 'tliat exist. If the word 
 idea wis 'lied fbrthls purpose only, it would 
 be reslofed to its original meanmg, and 
 
 mnply that want. pu*„„i«ts 
 
 We may surely agree with tne Flatonists 
 in the meaning of the word idea, without 
 adopting their theory concem.ing ideas. We 
 need not believe, with them, that ideas are 
 eternal and self-existent, and that they 
 have a more teal eidstenc© than the thmgs 
 we see and led; [473'] 
 
 They ifife led to give existence to ideas, 
 Ikom the common prejudice that everything 
 vhieb is an object of conception must 
 'iMlly exist ; .and, having once given exist- 
 cmse to ideas, the rest of their mysterious 
 antem about ideas followed of course ; for 
 things merely conceived have neither be- 
 gJBffifig ' nor end, time nor place ; they are 
 subject to no cliange ; they are the patterns 
 and exemplars according to which the 
 Deity made everything that he made ; for 
 the worii. must be conceived by the artificer 
 before it is naade. 
 
 These are undeniable attributes of the 
 ideas of Plato ; and, if we add to them that 
 of real existence, we have the whole myste- 
 lioQS system of Platonic ideas, Ta ke away 
 the attriim.te of existence, and suppose 
 them not to be things that exkt, but 
 things that are barely conceived, and all 
 4ie ■ mystery is removed, i .all tliat .remains 
 Is level to the human nndemtandmg. 
 
 The word 9Meme came to be much used 
 among the schoolmen, and what the Pla- 
 'toniUs calM tho' ilea of a emuam, tli^y 
 In, essenee. The word itsffilte' la 
 
 said to have been made by Cicero ; but 
 even his authority could not give it cur- 
 rency, until long after his time. It came 
 at hist to be used, and the schoolmen feU 
 Into much the same opinions concerning 
 essences, as the Platonists held concerning 
 ideas. The essences of things were held to 
 be uncreated, eternal, and iinmutable. 
 
 Mr Locke distinguishes two kuids of 
 essence, the real and the nominal. By the 
 real essence, he means tlie constitution of 
 an individual, which makes it to be what it 
 is. This essence must begin and end with 
 the individual to which it belongs. It is 
 not, therefore, a Platonic idea. But what 
 Mr Locke calls the nominal essence, is the 
 constitution of a species, or that which 
 makes an individual to be of sucli a species ; 
 and this is nothing but that combination of 
 attributes which is signified by the name of 
 the species, and which we conceive without 
 regard to existence. [474] 
 
 The essence of a species, therefore, is 
 what the Platonists caUed the idea of the 
 
 speciea . .... 
 
 If the word idea be restricted to the 
 meaning which it bore among the Plato- 
 nists and Pythagoreans, nuiny things which 
 Mr Locke has said with regard to ideas 
 will be just and true, and others will not. 
 
 It will he true that most words (»«- 
 deed all general words) are the signs of 
 ideas ; but proper names are not : ihej 
 signify individual things, and not ideas. It 
 will be true not only that there are general 
 and abstract ideas, but that all ideas are 
 general and abstract. It will be so far 
 from the truth, that all our simple ideas 
 are got hnmediately, either from sensation 
 or from consciousness, that no simple 
 idea is got by either, without the co-opera- 
 tion of other powers. The objects of sense, 
 of memory, and of consciousness, are not 
 ideas but individuals; tliey must be anal- 
 ysed by the understanding into their simp e 
 ingredients, before we can have simple 
 ideas; and those simple ideas must be 
 again combined by the understanding, in 
 distinct parcels, with names annexed, in 
 order to give ub complex ideas. It will be 
 probable not only that brutes have no ab- 
 stract ideas, but that they have no ideas at all. 
 I shall only add that the learned author 
 of the origin and progress of language, and, 
 iJerhaps, his learned friend, Mr Hams, are 
 the only modern authors 1 have met with 
 who restrict the word idea to this meaning. 
 Their acquaintance with ancient philosophy 
 led them to this. What pity is it that a 
 word which, in ancient philosophy, had a 
 disiinct meaning, and which, if kept to 
 that meaning, would have been a real ac- 
 quisition to our language, should be used 
 by the moderns in so vague and ambiguous 
 a manner, that it is more apt to perplex 
 ' [473, 4T4] 
 
 riiAP. VI.] 
 
 OPINIONS ABOUT UNIVERSALS. 
 
 405 
 
 and darken our speculations, than to convey 
 useful knowledge ! 
 
 From all that has been said about ab- 
 stract and general conceptions, I think we 
 may draw the following conclusions con- 
 cerning them. [475] 
 
 Firsty That it is by abstraction that the 
 mind is furnished with all its most simple 
 and most distinct notions. The simplest 
 objects of sense appear both complex and 
 indistinct, until by abstraction they are 
 analysed into their more simple elements ; 
 and the same may be said of the objects of 
 memory and of consciousness. 
 
 Secondly^ Our most distinct complex 
 notions are those that are formed by com- 
 pounding the simple notions got by abstrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Thirdly, Without the powers of abstract- 
 ing and generalising, it would be impossible 
 to reduce things into any order and method, 
 by dividing them into genera and species. 
 
 Fourlhlt/j Without those powers there 
 could be no definition ; for definition can 
 only be applie<l to universals, and no indi- 
 vidual can be defined. 
 
 Ftfthlyy Without abstract and general 
 notions there can neither be reasoning nor 
 language. 
 
 Sii'thly, As brute animals shew no signs 
 of being able to distinguish the various 
 attributes of the same subject; of being 
 able to class things into genera and species ; 
 to define, to reason, or to communicate 
 their thoughts by artificial signs, as men 
 do — I must think, with Mr Locke, that they 
 have not the powers of abstracting and 
 generalising, and that, in this particular, 
 nature has made a specific difiereuce be- 
 tween them and the human species. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 OPINIONS OF PHILOSOPHERS ABOUT 
 UNIVfiR.SALS. 
 
 In the ancient philosophy, the doctrine of 
 universals — that is, of tilings which we ex- 
 press by general terms — makes a great figure. 
 The ideas of the Pythagoreans and Pla- 
 tonists, of which so much has been already 
 said, were universals. [476] All science is 
 employed about universals as its object. It 
 was thought that there can be no science, 
 unless its object be something real and 
 immutable ; and therefore those who paid 
 homage to truth and science, maintained 
 that ideas or universals have a real and 
 immutable existence. 
 
 The sceptics, on the contrary, (for there 
 were sceptical philosophers in those early 
 days,) maintained that all things are mu- 
 table and in a perpetual fluctuation ; and, 
 from this principle, hiferred that there is 
 [475-477] 
 
 no science, no truth ; that all is uncertain 
 opinion. 
 
 Plato, and his masters of the Pythagorean 
 school, yielded this with regard to objects 
 of sense, and acknowledged that there could 
 be no science or certain knowledge con- 
 cerning them. But they held that there 
 are objects of intellect of a superior order 
 and nature, which are permanent and im- 
 mutable. These are ideas, or universal 
 natures, of which the objects of sense are 
 only the images and shadows. 
 
 To these ideas they ascribed, as I have 
 already observed, the most magnificent 
 attributes. Of man, of a rose, of a circle, 
 and of every species of things, they believed 
 that there is one idea or form, which ex- 
 isted from eternity, before any individual of 
 the species was formed ; that this idea is 
 the exemplar or pattern, according to which 
 tlie Deity formed the individuals of the 
 species ; that every individual of the species 
 participates of this idea, which constitutes 
 its essence ; and that this idea is likewise 
 an object of the human intellect, when, by 
 due abstraction, we discern it to be one in 
 all the individuals of the species. 
 
 Thus the idea of every species, though 
 one and immutable, might be considered in 
 three different views or respects : Jirsty As 
 having an eternal existence before there 
 was any individual of the species ; secmidlyy 
 As existing in every individual of that spe- 
 cies, without division or multiplication, and 
 making the essence of the species; and, 
 thirdly. As an object of intellect and of science 
 in man. [477] 
 
 Such I take to be the doctrine of Plato, 
 as far as I am able to comprehend it. His 
 disciple Aristotle rejected the first of these 
 views of ideas as visionary, but differed 
 little from his master with regard to the 
 two last. He did not admit the existence 
 of universal natures antecedent to the ex- 
 istence of individuals : but he held that 
 every individual consists of matter and 
 form ; that the form (which I take to be 
 what Plato calls the idea) is common to all 
 the individuals of the species ; and that the 
 human intellect is fitted to receive the fonns 
 of things as objects of contemplation. Such 
 profound speculations about the nature of 
 universals, we find even in the first ages of 
 philosophy.* I wisli I could make them 
 more mtelli^ible to myself and to the reader. 
 
 The division of universals into five 
 classes — to wit, genus, species, specific 
 difference, properties, and accidents — ia 
 likewise very ancient, and I conceive was 
 borrowed by the Peripatetics from the 
 Pythagorean school. + 
 
 * DifTerent philosophers have maintained that 
 Aristotle was a Healist, a Conceptualist, and a No» 
 miiialist, in fhesfric est sens-e.— H. 
 
 f This proceeds oi the stipposifion that the stiii. 
 I osititious Pythagorean treatises are genuine.— H. 
 
ON TUB INTBLLECTUAi P0WEH8. 
 
 [E881Y V. 
 
 ' vpm Hkm^ m an introdiijstioii to 
 
 . JjMtotli'9 m^btgoiimk. But be hm omitted 
 ^Iht ;iBtffii»l«' nietapliyiikal .queatioiif tlut 
 
 'iron' afiMid. about their Batiw s wmk m, 
 ..viittlitr -gemm .and speciee^ <di> wmMy •xiat 
 'in. .oatnn, m wbeHiflr tbey mm only eon* 
 '"WIMlioM^ if ibe bman .iifaid. If 'tbey exist 
 In nalufe, whether tbejr an corporeal or 
 jnaoriMiMal l tad wbeth'er they are inbMMt 
 m 'tbt' MmiM of lenae, or dkjoined fan 
 'then. Theia f neatioBiy he tells us, for 
 iinvit3r% Bake, he omits, beoaiise they an 
 «ifff fcofoimd, and nquin accurate discns- 
 riiii. It is probable that these queetiona 
 mumimi the vita of the philoaephera tiU 
 ahoat 'the twelilli .oanliiiy. '{478] 
 
 ilhout that time, Boaeelinua or Ruece- 
 'inili. the master of the fkmoua Abelard, 
 .intndnced a new doetrine*-that there is 
 nothing uiirersal hut words or names. 
 For this, and other heresies, he was mueh 
 'paiteented However, bv his eloquence 
 '.and. lAiiitiM, ^«nd 'those of his disciple Abe- 
 lard^. 'tho 'doelihiB' spraad, and those who 
 . ftiiiMied if wen' 'Calwd Mominalists. * His 
 antagonists, who held that then are things 
 thatare really universal, were called Realists. 
 The sobolastic pbiloeophers, from the be- 
 glnnh^of the twelfth century, wen divided 
 mM' these two secta Some 'few took m 
 ■liddie road between the eontending parties- 
 /Unit 'nniiersai^ which the Rmlkts held 
 iO" hs in ' *l"i»«— . thainselves. Mominahsta in 
 mines' oily, 'iiey heU. to to"iMithar 'in. tlihigs 
 .nor in names only, hut in our conceptions. 
 On this account tbey wen called Concep- 
 Inalists i but, being exposed to the batteries 
 -of both, the opposite 'partfes, they made no 
 'gient ilgnn.*f^ 
 
 W.hen the seet 'Of Nominalists was like 
 to expire^ it reesirad new life and spirit 
 imm Occam, th« disciple of Seotus, in the 
 lomrteenth centny. Then the disputo about 
 unireraahi, a pmi€ fti, was nvived with 
 Hw greatest animosa^ in the scbools of 
 BiitMis. France, and. Ocimapy, .and 'Carried 
 
 'npM»iM% blows, .and Uoody affrays, until 
 the doctrines of Luther and the other Re» 
 
 ;|Minera turned tho attention of the learned 
 
 AHer the 'renral of' 'learning, Mr Hobbes 
 •iopted the opinion of the NominaliBts.t 
 
 "'||i:.|ifl«.adoetflptk 1 
 'llciaiaallMi uttA M' 
 
 • AlNtonl vat not » Nomioalift lilie RtMcHinuat 
 
 intcmiMilale between abcoiute 
 na, cof w tnopding to the 
 
 ekm Amp eSIM. COnoiDtuallraB. a iood of lighc 
 btfa tinMm "pen Abelanf ■ doctrine*, by M. 
 €oiirtii% latNMUCtliiii to Ilia recent publication of 
 
 -'Hie imaliltd wmki. of 'ibM UlaMttlous ili.iiilMr.» 
 
 to 
 JnI* 
 
 t IhS'Jllsr' NominaiilL of tlicadiool of 'Occam, 
 Mjijui ni^ii* fliinrfiihuliili' ui oiv ■timi of the tem. 
 
 I^HtiilMt If |iiitlf''Mli hf LiiinilS' to have been 
 
 ' ' IM mmi^mmmr, niy were reallj 
 
 *< Human Natun," chap 5, § 6— <<It is 
 plain, therefon,'*sayBhe, " that then is no- 
 thing universal but names.*' And in his 
 " Leviathan,** part I chap 4, ** There being 
 nothing universal hut names, proper names 
 bring to mind one thmg only ; univeraals 
 recall any one of many." 
 
 Mr Locke, according to the division he* 
 fore mentioned, I think, may he accounted 
 a Conoeptualist. He does not maintain 
 that there are things that are universal; 
 but that we have general or imiversal ideas 
 whkh we form by abstraction; and this 
 power of forming abstract and general ideas, 
 he conceives to be that which makes the 
 chief distinction in point of understanding, 
 between men and brutes. [479] 
 
 Mr Lookers doctrine about abstraction 
 has been combated by two very powerful 
 antagonists, Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume, 
 who have taken up the opinion of the Nom- 
 inalists. The former thinks, "That the 
 opinion that the mind hath a power of form- 
 ing abstract ideas or notions of things, has 
 hi^ a chief part in rendering speculation 
 intricato and perplexed, and has occasioned 
 innumerable errors and difficulties in almost 
 all parts of knowledge.** That " abstract 
 ideas are like a fine and subtile net, which 
 has miserably perplexed and entangled the 
 minds of men, with this peculiar cbcum- 
 Btance, that by how much the finer and 
 more curious was the wit of any man, by 
 so much the deeper was be like to be en- 
 snared, and faster held therein.** That, 
 "among all the false principles that have 
 obtained in the world, there is none hath a 
 more wide influence over the tlioughts of 
 speculative men, than this of abstract gene- 
 ral ideas.** 
 
 The good bishop, therefore, in twenty- 
 four pages of tlie introduction to his " Prin- 
 ciples of Human Knowledge," encounters 
 this principle with a zeal proportioned to 
 his apprehension of its malignant and ex- 
 tensive influence. 
 
 That the zeal of the sceptical philosopher 
 against abstract ideas was almost equal to 
 that of the bishop, appears from his words, 
 " Treatise of Human Nature,'* Book I. 
 part i. § 7 : — " A very material question 
 has been started concerning abstract or 
 general ideas — whether they be general or 
 particular, in the mind*8 conception of them. 
 A great philosopher** (he means Dr Berke- 
 ley) " hais disputed the received opinion in 
 this particular, and has asserted that all 
 general ideas are nothing but particular ones 
 annexed to a certain term, which gives them 
 a more extensive signification, and makes 
 them recall, upon occasion, other individuals 
 which an similar to them. As I look upon 
 this to be one of the greatest and most 
 valuable discoveries that have been made 
 of late yean in the republic of letters, I 
 
 [478.4791 
 
 tUAP, VI.] 
 
 shall hen endeavour to confirm it by some 
 arguments, which, I hope, will put it beyond 
 all doubt and controversy.** [480] 
 
 I shall make an end of this subject, with 
 some reflections on what has been said upon 
 it by these two eminent philosophers. 
 
 1. jFirf/, I apprehend that we cannot, 
 with propriety, be said to have abstract and 
 general ideas, either in the popular or in the 
 philosophical sense of that word. In the 
 popular sense, an idea is a thought; it is 
 the act of the mind in thinking, or in con- 
 ceiving any object. This act of the mind 
 is always an individual act, and, therefore, 
 there can be no general idea in this sense. 
 In the philosophical sense, an idea is an 
 image in the mind, or in the brain, which, 
 in Mr Locke's system, is the immediate ob- 
 ject of thought ; in tlie system of Berkeley 
 and Hume, the only object of thought. I 
 believe there are no ideas of this kind, and, 
 therefore, no abstract general ideas. In- 
 deed, if there were really such images in 
 the mind or in the brain, they could not 
 be general, because everything that really 
 exists is an individual. Uuiversals are 
 neither acts of the mind, nor images in the 
 mind. 
 
 As, therefore, there are no general ideas 
 in either of the senses in which the word 
 idea is used by the modems, Berkeley and 
 Hume have, in this question, an advantage 
 over Mr Locke; and their arguments against 
 him are good ad hnminem. They saw 
 farther than he did into the just conse- 
 quences of the hypothesis concerning ideas, 
 which was common to them and to him ; 
 and they reasoned justly from this hypo- 
 thesis when they concluded from it, that 
 there is neither a material world, nor any 
 such power in the human mind as that of 
 abstraction. [ 48 1 ] 
 
 A triangle, in general, or any other uni- 
 versal, might be palled an idea by a Flato- 
 nist; but, in the style of modern philo- 
 sophy, it is not an idea, nor do we ever 
 ascribe to ideas the properties of triangles. 
 It is never said of any idea, that it has 
 three sides and three angles. We do not 
 speak of equilateral, isosceles, or scalene 
 ideas, nor of right-angled, acute-angled, or 
 obtuse-angled ideas. And, if these attri- 
 butes do not belong to ideas, it follows, 
 necessarily, that a triangle is not an idea. 
 The same reasoning may be applied to 
 every other universal. 
 - Ideas are said to have a real existence in 
 the mind, at least while we think of them ; 
 hut universals have no real existence. 
 When we ascribe existence to them, it is 
 not an existence in time or pUce, but exist- 
 enoe in some individual subject ; and this 
 existence means no more but that they are 
 truly attributes of such a subject. Their 
 existence is nothing but predicability, or the 
 [4B0-4S2J 
 
 OPlNIOxNS ABOUy^UNIVEHSALS. 
 
 ||i#9 
 
 capacity of being attributed to a subject 
 The name of predicables, which was given 
 them in ancient philosophy, is that which 
 most properly expresses their nature. 
 
 2. I think it must be granted, in the 
 second place, that universals cannot be the 
 objects of imagination, when we take that 
 word in its strict and proper sense. ** I 
 find,** says Berkeley, " I have a faculty of 
 imagining or representing to myself the 
 ideas of those particular tilings I have per- 
 ceived, 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 imagine 
 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 
 or colour. Likewise, the idea of a 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 believe every man will find in himself 
 what this ingenious author found — that he 
 cannot imagine a man without colour, or 
 stature, or shape. [482] 
 
 Imagination, as we before observed, pro- 
 perly signifies a conception of the appear- 
 ance an object would make to the eye if 
 actually seen.* An universal is not an 
 object of any external sense, and therefore 
 cannot be imagined ; but it may be dis- 
 tinctly conceived. When Mr Pope says, 
 " The proper study of mankind is man,** I 
 conceive his meaning distinctly, though I 
 neither imagine a black or a white, a 
 crooked or a straight man. The distinction 
 between conception and imagination is real, 
 though it be too often overlooked, and the 
 words taken to be syuonimous. I can con- 
 ceive a thing that is impossible, -f- but I 
 cannot distinctly imagine a thing that is 
 impossible. I can conceive a proposition or 
 a demonstration, but I cannot imagine 
 either. I can conceive understanding and 
 will, virtue and vice, and other attributes of 
 mind, but I cannot imagine them. In like 
 manner, I can distinctly conceive uni- 
 versals, but I cannot imagine them. J 
 
 As to the manner how we conceive uni- 
 versals, I confess my ignorance. I know 
 not how I hear, or see, or remember, and 
 as little do 1 know how I conceive things 
 that have no existence. In all our original 
 
 * See above, p. 366, *, note. — H. 
 
 t See above, p. 377, b, note.— H. 
 
 t ImaRination and Conception are distinguished, 
 but the latter ought not to be u»ed in the vaKUe and 
 extensive tignification of Reid. The discrimination 
 in question is best made in the German language of 
 philotiophy, where the terms Begriffe (Conceptions) 
 are strongly conirasted with Anschauungen (Intui- 
 tions), Bilden (Images), &c. See above, p. 360, a, note 
 •f : |>. 365, b, note \. i'he reader may compare 
 Stewari's" Eements," I. p. 196— H. 
 
ON THl INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [MSAY V. 
 
 Hm lUirie Mid mmmt of openlion 
 ii, I appnli8mi,^yondoitrcomprelieii8ioii, 
 
 and F«nM|it is perfectly imderatood by Mm 
 so|y "whU' niide Hiein. 
 
 .But wm mill not to den j ft het of whieh 
 we tie oomeioiie, thougli we know not bow 
 it is brought about And I tMnk we may 
 to «enain that universali «re not conceived 
 hf ■mmmm nf images of tbcm in onr minds, 
 tlMfe ean be no image of an uni- 
 
 SL It aeema to me, tlmt on tbia question 
 Mr Loeke and hit two antagonists have 
 divided the truth between them. He saw 
 
 Viiy dearly, that the power of forming ab- 
 ■tiact and general conceptions is one of the 
 
 mual ^diitiiigiiishing powers of tiie human 
 Bind, and pntS' a speeiilo dilfeiewse between 
 man. .and the brate ereation. But he did 
 not see that this power is perfectly hrrecon- 
 eileable to bis doctrine concerning ideas. 
 [483] 
 
 His opponents saw this inconsistency $ 
 but, instead of rejecting the hypothesis of 
 ideas, ihey expkin away the power of ab- 
 .stiaolion, «d leave no speoiio. distinction 
 lietweeB the human understanding ^and that 
 #f bmtes. 
 
 4. Berkeley,* in bis reasoning against 
 ■iMlract general ideas, seems unwillingly 
 or unwaruy to grant all that is necessary 
 «, «pport rf»U«t and geo«». eoncep- 
 lions. 
 
 •* A man," ho aajs, " may consider a 
 llgiiio 'merely as triangukr, without attend- 
 im tO' the particular qualties of the angles, 
 or relaikms of the sides So far he may 
 abstract. But this wiU never prove that 
 he ean frame an abstract general inconsist- 
 ent idea of a triangle."' 
 
 If a man may consider a fignn merely 
 as trianfniar, he must have some concept 
 tion of this object of his consideration ; for 
 .no inan ean 'Oonsiiler a thing which he dues 
 not conceive. He has a eoneeption, there- 
 fore, of a triangular %ure, merely as such. 
 I know no more that is meant by an abstract 
 general 'floneeption of a triai^gloa 
 
 M« that' oonsiders a igure merely as tri- 
 angular, must nndevstaiM. what is meant by 
 the wodl triangular. If, to the conception 
 he joins to this word, he adds any particu> 
 lar f ualtty of angles or relation of sides, lie 
 misnndafstands it, and does not consider 
 tlie ignre merely as triangular. Whence, 
 I think, it is evident, that he who considers 
 a llgnie^ .OMioly m triangnlaraust have the 
 MMMftiMi. of a trianglai ahiiraeting from 
 .any quality 'Of angles, or fsh'tkm of .sides. 
 
 The Bishop, m like manner, grants, 
 ** That we may consider Peter so far forth 
 ai nan, or so hr forth as anunal, without 
 
 * On Reid'i cnticisin of Bcfketef. •«• SCswart, 
 (IliiKiii ]l< !>• Il0,ti^)*ll. 
 
 framing the forementioned abstract idea, in 
 as much as all that is perceived is not 
 considered.** It may here be observed, 
 that he who considers Peter so far forth as 
 man, or so far forth as animal, must con- 
 ceive the meaning of those abstract general 
 words man and animal, and he who con- 
 ceives the meaning of them has an abstract 
 general conception. [484] 
 
 From these concessions, one would be 
 apt to conclude that the Bishop thinks that 
 we can abstract, but that we cannot frame 
 abstract ideas ; and in this I should agree 
 with him. But I cannot reconcile his con- 
 cessions with the general principle he lays 
 down before. " To be plain,** says he, " 1 
 deny that I can abstract one from another, 
 or conceive separately those qualities which 
 it is impossible sliould exist so separated.** 
 This appears to me inconsistent with the 
 concessions above mentioned, and incou- 
 sistent with experience. 
 
 If we can consider a figure merely as 
 triangular, without attending to the parti- 
 cular quality of the angles or relation of the 
 sides, this, I think, is conceiving separately 
 things which cannot exist so separated: 
 for surely a triangle cannot exist without 
 a particular quality of angles and relation 
 of sides. And it is well known, from ex- 
 perience, that a man may have a distinct 
 conception of a triangle, without having 
 any conception or knowledge of many of 
 the properties without which a triangle 
 cannot exist 
 
 Let us next consider the Bishop^s notion 
 of generalising.* He does not absolutely 
 deny that there are general ideas, but only 
 that there are abstract general ideas. '* An 
 idea,*' he says, " which, considered in it- 
 self, is particular, becomes general, by be- 
 ing made to represent or stand for all other 
 particular ideas of the same sort. To make 
 this plain by an example : Suppose a geo- 
 metrician 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 is in itself a parti- 
 cular line, is, nevertheless, with regard to 
 its signification, general ; since, as it is 
 there used, it represents all particular lines 
 whatsoever ; so that 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 be- 
 ing made a sign, so the name line^ which, 
 taken absolutely, is particular, by being a 
 sign, is made general.** [485] 
 
 Here I observe, that when a particular 
 idea is made a sign to represent and stand 
 for all of a sort, this supposes a dbtinction 
 of things into sfjrts or species. To be of a 
 sort implies having those attributes which 
 
 « See !M«wart. {m*maU*t H p- IfiS.}— U. 
 
 [183-485] 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 OPINIONS ABOUT UNIVERSALS. 
 
 409 
 
 efaaracterise the sort, and are common to 
 all the individuals that belong to it There 
 oannot, therefore, be a sort without general 
 attributes, nor can there be any conception 
 of a sort without a conception of those 
 general attributes which distinguish it. The 
 conception of a sort, therefore, is an ab- 
 stract general conception. 
 
 The particular idea cannot surely be made 
 a sign of a thing of which we have no con- 
 ception. I do not say that you must have 
 an idea of the sort, but uurely yjii ought 
 to understand or conceive what it means, 
 when you make a particular idea a repre- 
 sentative of it ; otherwise your particular 
 idea represents, you know not what 
 
 When I demonstrate any general pro- 
 perty of a triangle, such as, that the three 
 angles are equal to two right angles, I must 
 understand or conceive distinctly what is 
 common to all triangles- I must distinguish 
 the common attributes of all triangles from 
 those wherein particular triangles may differ. 
 And, if I conceive distinctly wliat is common 
 to all triangles, without confounduig it with 
 what is not so, this is to form a general con- 
 ception of a triangle. And without this, it 
 is impossible to know that the demonstra- 
 tion extends to all triangles. 
 
 The Bishoptakes particular notice of this 
 argument, and makes this answer to it : — 
 •* Though the idea I have in view, whilst 
 I make the demonstration, be, for instance, 
 that of an isosceles rectangular triangle, 
 whose sides are of a determinate length, I 
 may nevertheless be certain that it extends 
 to all other rectilinear triangles, of what 
 sort or bigness soever; and that because 
 neither the right angle, nor the equality or 
 determinate length of the sides, are at all 
 concerned in the demonstration.** [486] 
 
 But, if he do not, in the idea he has in 
 view, clearly distinguish what is common 
 to all triangles from what is not, it would 
 be impossible to discern whether something 
 that is not common be concerned in the 
 demonstration or not In order, therefore, 
 to perceive that the demonstration extends 
 to all triangles, it* is necessary to have a 
 distinct conception of what is common to 
 all triangles, excluding from that concep- 
 tion all that is not common. And this is 
 all I understand by an abstract general 
 conception of a triangle. 
 
 Berkeley catches an advantage to his side 
 of the question, from what Mr Locke ex- 
 presses (too strongly indeed) of the difficulty 
 of framing abstract general ideas, and the 
 pains and skill necessary for that purpose. 
 From which the Bishop infers, that a thing 
 so difficult cannot be necessary for com- 
 munication by language, which is so easy 
 and familiar to all sorts of men. 
 
 There may be some abstract and general 
 oonoeptions 'that are diflBcult, or even be- 
 [486-488] 
 
 yond the reach of persons of weak mider- 
 standing ; but there are innumerable which 
 are not beyond the reach of children. It 
 is impossible to learn language without 
 acquiring general conceptions; for there 
 cannot be a single sentence without them. 
 I believe the forming these, and being able 
 to articulate the sounds of language, make 
 up the whole difficulty that children find in 
 learning language at first. 
 
 But this difficulty, we see, they are able 
 to overcome so early as not to remember 
 the pains it cost them. They have the 
 strongest inducement to exert all their 
 labour and skill, in order to understand 
 and to be understood ; and they no doubt 
 do so. [487] 
 
 The labour of forming abstract notions, is 
 the labour of learning to speak, and to 
 understand what is spoken. As the words 
 of every language, excepting a few proper 
 names, are general words, the minds of 
 children are furnished with general con- 
 ceptions, in proportion as they learn the 
 meaning of general words. I believe most 
 men have hardly any general notions but 
 those which are expressed by the general 
 words they hear and use in conversation. 
 The meaning of some of these is learned 
 by a definition, which at once conveys a 
 distinct and accurate general conception. 
 The meaning of other general words we 
 collect, by a kind of induction, from the 
 way in which we see them used on various 
 occasions by those who understand the 
 language. Of these our conception is often 
 less distinct, and in different persons is 
 perhaps not perfectly the same. 
 - " Is it not a hard thing,** says the Bishop, 
 "that a couple of children cannot prate to- 
 gether of their sugar-plumbs and rattles, 
 and the rest of their little trinkets, till they 
 have first tacked together numberless in- 
 consistencies, and so formed in their minds 
 abstract general ideas, and annexed them 
 to every C(mimon name they make use of?** 
 
 However hard a thing it may be, it is an 
 evident truth, that a couple of children, 
 even about their sugar- plumbs and their 
 rattles, cannot prate so as to understand 
 and be understood, until they have learned 
 to conceive the meaning of many general 
 words — and this, I think, is to have general 
 conceptions. 
 
 ' 6. Having considered the sentiments of 
 Bishop Berkeley on this subject, let us 
 next attend to those of Mr Hume, as they 
 are expressed Part I. § 7, " Treatise of 
 Human Nature.** He agrees perfectly 
 with the Bishop, « That all general ideas 
 are nothing but particular ones annexed to 
 a certain term, which gives them a more 
 extensive signification, and makes them 
 recall, upon occasion, other individuals which 
 are sunikr to them. [488] A particular 
 
iio 
 
 ON THl INTELLECTOAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay 
 
 V, 
 
 ■IB 'feMml, by Mng mnexed to 
 ft genenl Itiiiil tlmt Is, to ft torn, whidi, 
 fiom ft eMtnniiury oGDJunetion, has ft rolft- 
 itoii to many other pariicalar ideas, ftnd 
 readily recalls than in the imagination. 
 AhtHait ideas are theiefiiiBe to themselyes^ 
 ■|lwifMiil,lMiiiWwrtlngr'i»ayheooroegeneral 
 in UMir :n|pMwiitftti0ii« The image in the 
 niwl is only that of ft particnUr object, 
 iMMigh the application of it in our reason* 
 lug he the same as if it was nni venial." 
 
 Allliongh Mr Hume looks upon this to 
 be one of the greatest and most valuable 
 discoveries Ast has been made of kte years 
 in the repiiblie of letteiSi it ftppears to be 
 no other tbaii the opinion of the nominal- 
 ists, about whieh bo much dispute was 
 held from the beginning of the twellth 
 CMitiiiy down to the^ Bsfonnation, and 
 whioh was afterwa«ls supported by Mr 
 Hobbes. I shaU briefly consider the argu- 
 ments by which Mr Hume hopes to have 
 put it beyond all doubt and controversy. 
 
 •JF^mi,^ H# endeftvours to ^piove, by three 
 .ftipiMiiis, that it is utterlj limpoesible to 
 mmAm any quantity or quality, without 
 forming a precise notion of ita degrees; 
 
 This is ttideod ft great undertaking ; but, 
 if he eouM prove it, it la not sufficient for 
 his purpose— for two reasons. 
 
 Firfl, Because there are many attributes 
 of things, bealdeii quantity and quality ; and 
 it Is 'inonnbent upon him. to prove that it 
 Is impoBSlMe to eotieeivo' any attribute, 
 mthout forming a precise notion of its 
 'impe. Each of the ten 'categories of 
 Anstotle is a genus, and may be an attri- 
 bute. And, if he should prove of two of 
 them^to wit, quantity and quality— that 
 there can. be no general inception of them ; 
 there remain eight behind, of which this 
 must. bO' pioved. [489] 
 
 The otiier reason is, because, though it 
 were impossible to conceive any quantity 
 or quality, without forming a precise notion 
 of its dcfpe^ it does not follow that it is 
 'inipossibM 'to have a general, conception 
 .even of quantity .and. quality. The con- 
 aeption of a pound troy is the conception 
 of a quantity, and of the precise degree of 
 
 wnccffion "iiotwitlistftnding, because it may 
 ll« ttie attribute of many individual bodies, 
 and of many kinds of bodies. He ought, 
 ttwAire, to have proved that we cannot 
 
 'SMM^vo qttanti.ty or i|Qality, or any other 
 
 sttrlbiito, without joinmg it inseparably to 
 some individual subject 
 
 This remainS' to^ 'be proved, which. 'will be 
 'icMind 'DO easy matter. For Instaiiee^ .1. 
 Mnoelve what is meant by a Japanese as 
 AMiiiiy aa^ what is meant by an English- 
 man or a Frenchman. It is true, a Japan- 
 
 •sa is neither quantity nor quality, but it 
 
 iS' am'.allfihute common to every individual 
 
 of a populous nation. I never saw an in- 
 dividual of thai nation ; and, if I can trust 
 my oonadonsness, the general term does 
 not lead me to imagine one individual of 
 Ihe sort as a representative of all others. 
 
 Though Mr Hume, therefore, undertakes 
 much, yet, if he could prove all he under- 
 takes to prove, It would by no means be 
 sufficient to shew that we have no abstract 
 general conceptions. 
 
 Passing this, let us attend to his argu*. 
 ments for proving this extraordinary posi- 
 tion, that it is impossible to conceive any 
 quantity or quality, without forming a pre- 
 cise notion of its degree. 
 
 The first argument is, that it Is impossi- 
 ble to distinguish things that are not ac* 
 tually separable. " The precise length of 
 a line is not different or distmguishable 
 from the lina" [490] 
 
 I have before endeavoured to shew, that 
 things inseparable in their nature may be 
 distinguisbed in our conception. And we 
 need go no farther to be convinced of this, 
 than the instance here brought to prove 
 the contrary. The precise length of a line^ 
 he says, is not distinguishable fVom the 
 Ime. When I say, This is a line, I say and 
 mean one thing. When I say, It is a line 
 of three inches, 1 say and mean another 
 thing. H this be not to distinguish the 
 precise length of the line from the line, I 
 know not what it is to distinguish. 
 
 Second argument. — " Every object of 
 sense — that is, every impression^is an in- 
 dividual, having its determinate degrees of 
 quantity and quality. But whatever is 
 true of the impression is true of the idea, 
 as they differ in nothing but theur strength 
 and vivacity," 
 
 The conclusion in this argument is, in- 
 deed, justly drawn from the premises. If 
 it be true that ideas differ in nothing from 
 objects of sense, but in strength and viva- 
 city, as it must be granted that all the ob- 
 jects of sense are individuals, it will cer- 
 tainly follow that all ideas are individuals. 
 Granting, therefore, the justness of this 
 conclusion, I beg leave to draw two other 
 conclusions from the same premises, which 
 will follow no less necessarily. 
 
 First, If ideas differ from the objects of 
 sense only in strength and vivacity, it wUl 
 follow, that the idea of a lion is a lion of 
 less strength and vivacity. And hence may 
 arise a very important question, Whether 
 the idea of a lion may not tear in pieces, 
 and devour the ideas of sheep, oxen, and 
 horses, and even of men, women, and 
 children ? 
 
 Secondly, If ideas differ only in strength 
 and vivacity from the objects of sense, it 
 will follow that objects merely conceived, 
 are not ideas ; for such objecta differ from 
 the objects of sense in respects of a very 
 
 [489, 490] 
 
 OPINIONS ABOUT UNIVERSAL8. 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 jdiffiBrant nature from strength and vivacity. 
 [491] Every object of sense must have a 
 real existence, and time and place. But 
 things merely conceived may neither have 
 existence, nor time nor place ; and, there- 
 fore, though there should be no abstract 
 ideas, it does not follow that things abstract 
 snd general may not be conceived. 
 
 The third argument is this : — " It is a 
 principle generally received in philosophy, 
 that everything in nature is individual ; and 
 that it is utterly absurd to suppose a tri- 
 angle really existent which has no precise 
 proportion of sides and angles. If this, 
 therefore, be absurd in fact and reality, it 
 must be absurd in idea, since nothing of 
 which we can form a clear and distinct 
 idea is absurd or impossible.** 
 
 I acknowledge it to be impossible that a 
 triangle should really exist which has no 
 precise proportion of sides and angles ; and 
 impossible that any being should exist 
 which is not an individual being; for, I 
 think, a being and an individual being 
 mean the same thing : but that there can 
 be no attributes common to many indivi- 
 duals I do not acknowledge. Thus, to 
 many figures that really exist it may be 
 eommon that they are triangles ; and to 
 many bodies that exist it may be common 
 that they are fluid. Triangle and fluid are 
 not beings, they are attributes of beings. 
 
 As to the principle here assumed, that 
 nothing of which we can form a clear and 
 distinct idea is absurd or impossible, I refer 
 to what was said upon it, chap. 3, Essay 
 IV. It is evident tlmt, m every mathema- 
 tical demonstration, ad absurdum, of which 
 kind almost one-half of mathematics con- 
 sists, we are required to suppose, and, con- 
 eequently, to conceive, a thing that is im- 
 possible. From that supposition we reason, 
 until we come to a conclusion that is not 
 only impossible but absurd. From this we 
 infer that the proposition supposed at first 
 is impossible, and, therefore, that its con- 
 tradictory is true. [492] 
 
 As this is the nature of all demonstra- 
 tions, ad a'osurdum, it^is evident, (I do not 
 •ay that we can have*a clear and distinct 
 idea,) but that we can clearly and distinctly 
 conceive things impossible. 
 
 The rest of Mr Hume*s discourse upon 
 this subject is employed in explaining how 
 an individual idea, annexed to a general 
 term, may serve all the purposes in reason- 
 ing which have been ascribed to abstract 
 general ideas 
 
 ** When we have found a resemblance 
 among several objects that often occur to 
 us, we apply the same name to all of them, 
 whxUever differences we may observe in the 
 degrees of their quantity and quality, and 
 whatever other differences may appear 
 among them. After we have acquired a 
 [491-493] 
 
 411 
 
 custom of this kind, the hearing of thai 
 name revives the idea of one of these ob- 
 jects, and makes the imagination conceive 
 it, with all its ciroumstances and propor- 
 tions.** But, along with this idea, there is 
 a readiness to survey any other of the indi- 
 viduals to which the name belongs, and to 
 observe that no conclusion be formed con- 
 trary to any of them. If any such conclu- 
 sion is formed, those individual ideas which 
 contradict it immediately crowd in upon us, 
 and make us perceive the falsehood of the 
 proposition. If the mind suggests not al- 
 ways these ideas upon occasion, it proceeds 
 from some imperl'ection in its faculties ; 
 and such a one as is often the source of 
 false reasoning and sophistry. 
 
 This is, in substance, the way in which 
 he accounts for what he calls " the fore- 
 going paradox, that some ideas are parti- 
 cular in their nature, but general in their 
 representation.*' Upon this account I shall 
 make some remarks. [493] 
 
 1. He allows that we find a resemblance 
 among several objects, and such a resem- 
 blance as leads us to apply the same name 
 to all of them. This concession is suffi- 
 cient to shew that we have general concep- 
 tions. There can be no resemblance in 
 objects that have no common attribute; 
 and, if there be attributes belonging in com- 
 mon to several objects, and in man a fa- 
 culty to observ'e and conceive these, and to 
 give names to them, this is to have general 
 conceptions. 
 
 I believe, indeed, we may have an indis- 
 tinct perception of resemblance without 
 knowing wherein it lies. Thus, I may see 
 a resemblance between one face and an- 
 other, when I cannot distinctly say in what 
 feature they resemble ; but, by analysing 
 the two faces, and comparing feature with 
 feature, I may form a distinct notion of 
 that which is common to both. A painter, 
 being accustomed to an analysis of this kind, 
 would have formed a distinct notion of this 
 resemblance at first sight; to another man 
 it may require some attention. 
 
 There is, therefore, an indistinct notion 
 of resemblance when we compare the objects 
 only in gross : and this I believe brute ani- 
 mals may have. There is also a distinct 
 notion of resemblance when we analyse the 
 objects into their different attributes, and 
 perceive them to agree in some while they 
 differ m others. It is in this case only that 
 we give a name to the attributes wherem 
 they agree, which must be a common name, 
 because the thing signified by it is common. 
 Thus, when I compare cubes of different 
 matter, I perceive them to have this attn- 
 bute in common, that they are compre- 
 hended under six equal squares, and this 
 attribute only is signified by applying the 
 name of cube to them all. When I com- 
 
41 S 
 
 ON THl INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay v. 
 
 fHAP. 1.] 
 
 OF JUDGMENT IN GENERAL. 
 
 413 
 
 puTO' dmn 'insn with snow,, I perceive them 
 to%ree in ooloiiirf and when I spply the 
 .HMne of' while to lioth|. this name signifiea 
 neither snow nor clean linen, but 'the attri- 
 hate which is eonunon to both. 
 
 & The author says, that when we have' 
 found a rMflnUaneo .among aeveial. objects, 
 we apply the sanM' name to all of then*. 
 [494] 
 
 It must here he ohserred, that there are 
 two kinds of names which tlie author seems 
 to confound, though they are very different 
 in mature, and in the power they have in 
 taguage. There are proper names, and 
 there are common names or appellatives. 
 The first are the names of individuals The 
 ■ame proper name is never applied to 
 Mtenil individuals on account of their simi- 
 litude, because the very intention of a pro- 
 per name is to distinguish one individual 
 from ail others ; and hence it is a maxim 
 in grammar that proper names have no 
 plural number. A proper name signifies 
 nothing hut the individual whose name it 
 is ; and, when we apply it to the individual, 
 we neither aiinn nor deny anything con- 
 cerning him. 
 
 A common name or appellative is not the 
 name of any individual, but a general term, 
 %nifying wmething that is or may be 
 •niimon to several i:;dlviduals. Common 
 iwnes, therefore, signify common attri- 
 butes. Thus, when I apply the name of 
 •on or brother to several persons, this sig- 
 'H'ies and affirms that this attribute is 
 WBimon to all of them. 
 
 From this, it is evident that the apply- 
 ing the same name to several individuals 
 m account of their resemblance, can, in 
 consistence with grammar and common 
 sense^ mean nothing else than the express- 
 ing, by a general term, something that is 
 eommim to those individuals, and which, 
 therefore, may be truly affirmed of them all. 
 
 3. The anthor says, '" It is certain that 
 wo form the idea of individuals whenever 
 ■w© use any general term. The word raises 
 ■II an individual idea, and makes the iina* 
 filiation conceive it, with .all its partlcukr 
 fllMuiiMtaniees. md proportions.'* 
 
 This fact he takes a great deal of pains to 
 •floout for, from the efibet of custom. 
 [4iS| 
 
 But the faet' should he^ ascertained before 
 we take pains to account for it I can see 
 DO reason to believe the fact ; and I think 
 a farmer can talk of hisaheep and hiabbck 
 cattle, without conceivhig, in his imagina- 
 tion, one individual, witli all its chrcum- 
 etancea and proportions. If this be true, 
 the whole of hia theory of general ideas falls 
 
 to the ground. To me it appears, that 
 when a general term is well understood, it is 
 only by accident if it suggest some indi- 
 vidual of the kind i but this efiect is by no 
 means constant 
 
 I understand perfectly what mathemati- 
 cians call a line of the fifth order ; yet I 
 never conceived in my imagination any one 
 of the kind in all its circuinbtauces and pro- 
 portions. Sir Isaac Newton first formed a 
 distinct general conception of lines of the 
 third order ; and afterwards, by great labour 
 and deep penetration, found out and do 
 scribcd the particular species comprehended 
 under that general term. According to Mr 
 Burners theory, he must first have been 
 acquainted with the particulars, and then 
 have learned by custom to apply one 
 general name to all of them. 
 
 The author observes, " That the idea of 
 an equilateral triangle of an inch perpen- 
 dicular, may serve us in talking of a figure, 
 a rectilinear figure, a regular figure, a tri- 
 angle, and an equilateral triangle." 
 
 I answer, the man that uses these general 
 terms either understands their meaning, 
 or he does not. If he does not understand 
 their meaning, all his talk about them will 
 be found only without sense, and the par- 
 ticular idea mentioned cannot enable him 
 to speak of them with understanding. If 
 he understands the meaning of the general 
 terms, he will find no use for the particular 
 idea. 
 
 4. He tells us gravely, " That in a globe 
 of white marble the figure atid the colour 
 are undistinguislmble, and are in efiect the 
 same." [496] How foolish have mankind 
 been to give different names, in all ages 
 andrnall languages, to things undistinguish- 
 able, and in efiect the same ? Henceforth, 
 in all books of science and of entertainment, 
 we may substitute figure for colour, and 
 colour for figure. By this we shall make 
 numberless curious discoveries, withonl 
 danger of error. • [497 ] 
 
 * The \vhotecontroveniyot Nominalism and Con. 
 ccptualUm i& founded on the ambiguity ot the term* 
 employed. Theoi<|XMit^parcii8 are si'.bstantially at 
 one. Had our British phiiosopiiera been aware of 
 the Ix'ibnitziAn dittinction ot Intuitive and S}/inbolt. 
 ml knowlcdg ; and had we, like the (termant, 
 different tern^.8, like Begriff u> AAntctiatiunq, to rie 
 note different kinds of thought, there would hate 
 bet-n M Ittile dilfffcnce of opinion in regard to the 
 nature of general n tiont in this country aa in the 
 Empire. **iih m. Idea, Notion, Conceition, Ac. 
 are cunfounded, or applied by ditfVrent philotfophirt 
 in different ii nsea 1 must put the reader on hii 
 guard against Ur Thomia brown's sp culations un 
 this Bubji-cc. Mia own doctrine of universaU, in to 
 far as it is p«culiar, is self.c ntradictory ; and nothing 
 can b« more trroneous tfian hia statement of the <ioc 
 trine bcld bj otlian, t^icciaUy bj the NomiaaUats. 
 
 [494-497] 
 
 
 \ 
 
 'i 
 
 ESSAY VI. 
 
 OF JUDGMENT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OP JUDGMENT IN GENERAL. 
 
 Judging is an operation of the mind so 
 familiar to every man who hath understand- 
 ing, and its name is so common and so well 
 nnderstood, that it needs no definition. 
 
 As it is impossible by a definition to give 
 a notion of colour to a man who never saw 
 colours ; so it is impossible by any defini- 
 tion to give a distinct notion of judgment to 
 a man who has not often judged, and who 
 is not capable of reflecting attentively upon 
 this act of his mind. The best use of a de- 
 finition is to prompt him to that reflection ; 
 and without it the best definition will be apt 
 to mislead him. 
 
 The definition commonly given of judg- 
 ment, by the more ancient writers in logic, 
 was, that it is an act of the mind, whereby 
 onothinQ is affirmed ar denied (f another, 
 I believe this is as good a definition of it as 
 can be given. Why I prefer it to some 
 later definitions, will afterwards appear. 
 Without pretending to give any other, i 
 shall make two remarks upon it, and then 
 offer some general observations on this 
 subject. [498] 
 
 1. It is true that it is by affirmation or 
 denial that we express our judgments ; but 
 there may be judgment which is not ex- 
 pressed. It is a solitary act of the mind, 
 and the expression of it by affirmation or 
 denkl is not at all essential to it. It may 
 be tacit, and not expressed. Nay, it is 
 well known that men may judge contrary 
 to what they affirm or deny ; the definition 
 therefore must be understood of mental af- 
 firmation or denial, which indeed is only 
 another name for judgment. 
 
 2. Affirmation and denial is very often 
 the expression of testimony, which is a dif- 
 ferent act of the mind, and ought to be 
 distinguished from judgment. 
 
 A judge asks of a witness what he knows 
 of such a matter to which he was an eye 
 or ear-witness. He answers, by affirming 
 or denying something But his answer 
 does not express his judgment ; it is his 
 testimony. Again, I ask a man his opinion 
 in a matter of science or of criticism. His 
 answer is not testimony ; it is the expres- 
 sion of his judgment. 
 
 Testimony is a socha act, and it is esseu 
 
 [498, 499] 
 
 tial to it to be expressed by words or signs. 
 A tacit testimony is a contradiction : but 
 there is no contradiction in a tacit judgment ; 
 it is complete without being expressed. 
 
 In testimony a man pledges his veracity 
 for what he affirms ; so that a false testi- 
 mony is a lie ; but a wrong judgment is not 
 a lie ; it is only an error. 
 
 I believe, in all languages, testimony and 
 judgment are expressed by the same form 
 of speech. A proposition affirmative or 
 negative, with a verb in what is called the 
 indicative mood, expresses both. To dis- 
 tinguish them by the form of speech, it 
 would be necessary that verbs should have 
 two indicative moods, one for testimony, 
 and another to express judgment. [499] 
 I know not that this is found in any lan- 
 guage. And the reason is— not smely that 
 the vulgar cannot distinguish the two, for 
 every man knows the difference between a 
 lie and an error of judgment — but that, from 
 the matter and circumstances, we can easily 
 see whether a man intends to give his tes- 
 timony, or barely to express his judgment. 
 
 Although men must have judged in many 
 cases before tribunals of justice were 
 erected, yet it is very probable that there 
 were tribunals before men began to specu- 
 late about judgment, and that the word may 
 be borrowed from the practice of tribunals. 
 As a judge, after taking the proper evidence, 
 passes sentence in a cause, and that sent- 
 ence is called his judgment, so the mind, 
 with regard to whatever is true or false, 
 passes sentence, or determines according to 
 the evidence that appears. Some kinds of 
 evidence leave no room for doubt. Sent- 
 ence is passed immediately, without seek- 
 mg or hearing any contrary evidence, 
 because the thing is certahi and notorious. 
 In other cases, there is room for weighing 
 evidence on both sides, before sentence is 
 passed. The analogy between a tribunal 
 of justice, and this inward tribunal of the 
 mmd, is too obvious to escape the notice of 
 any man who ever appeared before a judge. 
 And it is probable that the word judgment, 
 as well as-many other words we use in speak- 
 uig of this operation of mind, are grounded 
 
 on this analogy. i, ♦ •* 
 
 Having premised these thmgs, that it 
 may be clearly understood what I mean by 
 judgment, I proceed to niake some general 
 observations concerning it. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 D 
 
 Y VI. 
 
 OUAF. I.] 
 
 OF JUDGMENT IN GENERAL. 
 
 415 
 
 • m 
 
 Flril, Jua^ent is u aet of tlie minii, 
 
 mm^ or tlie bare conwpCion of a thing.* 
 It would be unnecessary to observe this, if 
 sfMnai^IiliilMOIilitn Iml. iwt been led by their 
 tiieorieS' to ii ewitisij' <ipiiiifin* |'500] 
 
 Altbongh Aare^em be' no Judgment with- 
 out a conception of the things about which 
 we Judge, yet conception may be without any 
 judgiimil.'t* Judgment can be expressed 
 by a proposition only, and a proposition is 
 a complete sentence; but simple apprehen- 
 •iott may be expressed by a word or words, 
 vMdh :iMilifl^ ;iM eomplete sentence. When 
 :8iiiipk" apprehension is employed about a 
 proposition, every man kno'wa that it is one 
 thing to apprehend a proposition->that is, 
 to conceive what it means — but it is quite 
 another thing to judge it to be tme or false. 
 
 It is self-evident that every judgment 
 must be either true or falsej but sunple 
 apprehension, or conception, can neither be 
 tme nor false, as was shewn before. 
 
 One judgment may be contradictory to 
 aaoCher ; and it is impossible lor a man to 
 have two judgments at the same time, which 
 ho perceives to be contradictory. But con- 
 ifBMtory propositions .may be conceivedt 
 M Ae same time 'witiiout any difficulty. 
 That the sun is greater than the earth, and 
 that the sun is not greater than the earth, 
 mm coBtiadi'Otoiy propositions.. He that 
 apprehends" tbe^mMning of one, apprehends 
 the meaning of both. But it is npossible 
 for him to judge both to be tme at the same 
 time. He knows that, if the one is true, 
 the other must be fUse. For these reasons, 
 Iboldit to becermin that judgment and 
 •iHf le apprehension are acts of the mind 
 .speeiicaliy different 
 
 Skmrndliff There are notions or ideas that 
 lught to be referred to the faculty of judg- 
 nenl as their source ; because, if we had 
 not that faculty, they could not enter into 
 our minds; ai|d to those that have that 
 iMinlty, and are capable of lefleeting upon 
 its operations, they are obvious and familiar. 
 
 Among these we may reckon the notion 
 of Judgment itself ; the notions of a propos- 
 iti«»-*of its subject, predicate, and copula; 
 df' afiittuition and negation, of tme and 
 false ; of knowledge, belief, disbelief, opi- 
 nion, assent, evidence. From no source 
 'OooM. w% aoqiiin 'tUeso notions^ but from 
 refieeliif ttponourjudgnwnts.' Relations 
 of things make one great elass of our notions 
 nr ideas; and we cannot have the idea of 
 any "itlalioii without some exercise of J udg- 
 meiitj as^wiU appear .allorwards. [501 ] 
 - TMrdijf, In penona eomo to years of 
 
 • J^. S!5!!'l!'*''S!?''» '"•M" • liidfinent «fll.nntng 
 tlt^iMwiiveiitf ly^ti «xitl«w«Jmliiii«of.-H. 
 t See last note, and aboye. p^ li%a^ iMite ». anil p. 
 
 :|«MalWf% ^ fJ7, b, iwtfc-H 
 
 undentanding, judgment neoeasarily accom- 
 panies all sensation, perception by the 
 senses, consciousness, and memory, but not 
 conception.* 
 
 I restrict this to persons come to the years 
 of understanding, because it may be a ques- 
 tion, whether infants, in the first period of 
 life, have any judgment or belief at all.* 
 The same question may be put with regard 
 to brutes and some idiots. This question 
 is foreign to the present subject ; and I say 
 nothing here about it, but speak only of 
 persons who have the exercise of judg- 
 ment. 
 
 In them it is evident tliat a man who 
 feels pain, judges and believes that he is 
 really pained. The man who perceives an 
 object, believes that it exists, and is what 
 he distinctly perceives it to be ; nor is it in 
 his power to avoid such judgment. And 
 the like may be said of memory, and of 
 consciousness. Whether judgment ought 
 to be called a necessary concomitant of 
 these operations, or rather a part or in- 
 gredient of them, I do not dispute ; but it 
 is certain that all of them are accompanied 
 with a determination that something is 
 true or false, and a consequent belief. If 
 this determination be not judgment, it is 
 an operation that has got no name ; for it 
 is not simple apprehension, neither is it 
 reasoning; it is a mental affirmation or 
 negation ; it may be expressed by a propo- 
 sition affirmative or negative, and it is* 
 accompanied with the firmest belief. These 
 are the characteristics of judgment ; and I 
 must call it Judgment, till I can find another 
 name to it 
 
 The Judgments we form are either of 
 things necessary, or of things contingent 
 That three times three is nine, that the 
 whole is greater than a part, arc judg- 
 ments about things necessary. [502] Our 
 assent to such necessary propositions is not 
 grounded upon any operation of sense, of 
 memory, or of consciousness, nor does it= 
 require their concurrence ; it is unaccom- 
 panied by any other operation but that of^ 
 conoeption, which must accompany all judg- 
 ment ; we may therefore call this judgment 
 of things necessary pure judgment. Our 
 judgment of things contingent must always 
 {^t upon some other operation of the min^, 
 such as sense, or memory, or consciousness, 
 or credit in testimony, which is itself 
 grounded upon sense. 
 
 That I now write upon a table covered 
 with green cloth, is a contingent event, 
 which I judge to be most undoubtedly true. 
 My judgment is grounded upon my percep- 
 tion, and is a necessary concomitant or in- 
 gredient of my perception. That I dined 
 
 * In fo (kr aa tlicre ran be CoiMdou«neu. thera 
 
 [500- 50«] 
 
 with such a company yesterday, I judge to 
 be true, because I remember it ; and my 
 judgment necessarily goes along with this 
 remembrance, or makes a part of it. 
 
 There are many forms of speech in com- 
 mon language which shew that the senses, 
 memory and consciousness, are considered 
 as judging faculties. We say that a man 
 judges of colours by his eye, of sounds by 
 his ear. We speak of the evidence of sense, 
 the evidence of memory, the evidence of 
 consciousness. Evidence is the ground of 
 judgment ; and when we see evidence, it is 
 impossible not to judge. 
 
 When we speak of seeing or remember- 
 ing anytliing, we, indeed, hardly ever add 
 that we judge it to be true. But the rea- 
 son of this appears to be, that such an 
 addition would be mere superfluity of 
 speech, because every one knows that 
 what I see or remember, I must judge to 
 be true, and cannot do otherwise. 
 
 And, for the same reason, in speaking of 
 anything that is self-evident or strictly de- 
 monstrated, we do not say that we judge 
 it to be true. This woidd be superfluity 
 of speech, because every man knows th vt we 
 must judge that to be true which we hold 
 self-evident or demonstrated. [503] 
 
 When you say you saw such a thing, or 
 that you distinctly remember it, or when 
 you say of any proposition that it is self- 
 evident, or strictly demonstrated, it would 
 be ridiculous after thb to ask whether you 
 judge it to be tme ; nor would it be less 
 ridiculous in you to inform us that you do. 
 It would be a superfluity of speech of the 
 same kind as if, not content with saying 
 tliat you saw such an object, you should 
 add that you saw it with your eyes. 
 
 There is, therefore, good reason why, in 
 speaking or writing, judgment should not 
 be expressly mentioned, when all men know 
 it to be necessarily implied ; that is, when 
 there can be no doubt. In such cases, we 
 barely mention the evidence. But when 
 the evidence mentioned leaves room for 
 doubt, then, without any superfluity or tau- 
 tology, we say we judge the thing to be so, 
 because this is not implied in what was said 
 before. A woman with child never says, 
 that, going such a Journey, she carried her 
 child along with her. We know that, while 
 it is in her womb, she must carry it along 
 with her. There are some operations of 
 mind that may be said to carry judgment 
 in their womb, and can no more leave it 
 behind them than the pregnant woman can 
 leave her child. Therefore, in speaking of 
 such operations, it is not expressed. 
 
 Perhaps this manner of speaking may 
 have led philosophers into the opinion that, 
 in perception by the senses, in memory, 
 and in consciousness, there is no judgment 
 at alL Because it is not mentioned in 
 [50S-.504] 
 
 speaking of these faculties, they conclude 
 that it does not accompany them ; that they 
 are only different modes of simple appre- 
 hension, or of acquiring ideas ; and that it 
 is no part of their office to judge. [604] 
 
 I apprehend the same cause has led Mr 
 Locke into a notion of judgment which I 
 take to be peculiar to him. He thinks that 
 the mind has two faculties conversant about 
 truth and falsehood. First, knowledge; 
 and, secondlt/f judgment. In the first, the 
 perception of the agreement or disagree- 
 ment of the ideas is certain. In the second^ 
 it is not certain, but probable only. 
 
 According to this notion of judgment, it 
 is not by judgment that I perceive that two 
 and three make five ; it is by the faculty of 
 knowledge. I apprehend there can be no 
 kaowledge without judgment, though there 
 may be judgment without that certainty 
 which we commonly call knowledge. 
 
 Mr Locke, in another place of his Essay, 
 tells us, ** That the notice we have by our 
 senses of the existence of things without us, 
 though not altogether so certain as our in- 
 tuitive knowledge, or the deductions of our 
 reason about abstract ideas, yet is an as- 
 surance that deserves the name of know- 
 ledge." I think, by this account of it, and 
 by his definitions before given of knowledge 
 and judgment, it deserves as well the name 
 of judgment. 
 
 That I may avoid dbputes about the 
 meaning of words, I wish the reader to un-*'^ 
 derstand, that I give the name of judgment 
 to every determination of the mind con- 
 cerning what is true or what is false. Thisj^ 
 I think, is what logicians, from the days m 
 Aristotle, have called judgment. Whether 
 it be called one faculty, as I think it has 
 always been, or whether a philosopher 
 chooses to split it into two, seems not very 
 material. And, if it be granted that, by our 
 senses, our memory, and consciousness, we 
 not only have ideas or simple apprehen- 
 sions, but form determinations concerning 
 what is true and what is false — whether 
 these determinations ought to be called 
 knowledge qt judgment, is of small moment. 
 [5051 
 
 The judgments grounded upon the evi- 
 dence of sense, of memory, and of conscious- 
 ness, put all men upon a level. The phi- 
 losopher, with regard to these, has no pre- 
 rogative above the illiterate, or even above, 
 the savage. 
 
 Their reliance upon the testimony of 
 these faculties is as firm and as well 
 grounded as his. His superiority is in 
 judgments of another kind — in judgments 
 about things abstract and necessary. And 
 he is unwilling to give the name of Judg- 
 ment to that wherein the most ignorant 
 and unimproved of the species are his 
 equals. 
 
41tS 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [e^ay trt 
 
 Bat pliilii«i|iliM» ImTO never been able 
 to give any leiiiition of Judgment which 
 4om not apply to the liiitiwiilimtione of 
 oiif lenaei!, our memory, and conscious- 
 neas, nor any definition of simple appre- 
 iMnioa which can comprehend those deter- 
 
 iniuitione* 
 
 Our judgment! of thia kind are purely 
 the gift of Nature, nor do they admit of 
 Improvement by culture. The memory of 
 one ^ wv ^ 'may be more tenacious than that 
 of another i but both rely with equal assur- 
 ance upon what they distinctly remember. 
 One man'a sight may be more acute, or his 
 feeling Biofe deMuate^ thwi that of another ; 
 but both give efual credit to the distinct 
 tfliilimony of their sight and touch. 
 
 And, aa we have this behef by the con- 
 stitution of our nature, without any effort 
 of our own, so no effort of oum can over- 
 turn it. 
 
 The sceptic may perhaps persuade him- 
 self, in general, that he has no- ground to 
 believe his mamm^ or his memory : but, in 
 partienkr ca«is that are interesting, h.s 
 iiabelief vanishes, and he finds himself 
 under a necessity of believing both. [506 J 
 These Judgments may, in the strictest 
 sense, be ■called,Jiirf#'ne?i<» of nature. Na- 
 ture baa subjected us to them, whether wo 
 will or not They are neither gt)t, nor can 
 they b© lost by any use or abuse of our 
 famltiesi and it is evidently necessary for 
 our preservation that it should be so. Fur, 
 If belief in our senses and in our memory 
 were to b© learned by culture, the race of 
 men would perbh before they learned this 
 laisfin. It is neoeaeary to all men for their 
 iMing and preservation, md. therefore is 
 Bieonditionally given to aU men by the 
 Author of Nature. 
 
 I aolcnowledge that, if we were to rest 
 in those judgmenta *»f Nature of which we 
 now speak, 'without bmldipg others upon 
 them, they would not entitle us to the deno- 
 mination of reasonable beings. But yet 
 they ought not to be despised, for they are 
 tha foundation upon which the grand supor- 
 ■triMsture of human knowledge must be 
 raised. And, as in other superstructures 
 the foundation is commonly oveiloiiked, so 
 il baa been in tliia. The more sublime 
 .•lltinnents of the human mind have at- 
 tiMted the attention of philosophers, while 
 they have bestowed but a caraleia glance 
 upon the humble foundation on which the 
 mmlo fabne rests. 
 
 A fourth observation is, that some exer- 
 cise of judgment is necessary in the fonna- 
 tifin «f 9!H .abitiact »d general conceptions, 
 whethaf " more' «mple or more complex ; in 
 dividing, in defining, and, in general, in 
 Ibrming all clear and distinct conceptions 
 uftUiiiga, which are the only fit material 
 of'nasoning* 
 
 These operations are allied to each other, 
 and therefore 1 bring them under one ob. 
 servation. They are more allied to cur 
 rational nature than those mentioned in the 
 Inst observation, and therefore are consi- 
 dered by themselves. ^ 
 
 That I may not be mistaken, it may bo 
 observed that I do not say that abstract 
 notions, or other accurate notions of things, 
 after they have been formed, cannot be 
 barely conceived without any exercise of 
 judgment about them. I doubt not that 
 they may : but what I say is, that, in their 
 formation in the mind at first, there must 
 be some exercise of judgment. [607] 
 
 It is impossible to distinguish the different 
 attributes belonging to the same subject, 
 without judging that they are really different 
 and distinguishable, and that they liave that 
 rektion to the subject which logicians ex- 
 press, by saying that they may be predicated 
 of it We cannot generalise, without judg- 
 ing that the same attribute does or may be- 
 long to many individuals. It has been 
 shewn that our simplest general notions 
 are formed by these two operations of dis- 
 tinguishing and generalising ; judgment 
 therefore is exereised in forming the simplest 
 general notions. 
 
 In those that are more complex, and 
 which have been shewn to be formed by 
 combining the more simple, there is another 
 act of the judgment required; for such 
 combinations are not made at random, but 
 for an end 5 and judgment is employed in 
 fitting them to that end. We form complex 
 general notions for conveniency of arrang- 
 ing our tlioughts in discourse and reasoning ; 
 and, therefore, of an infinite number of com- 
 binations that might be formed, we choose 
 only those that are useful and necessary. 
 
 That judgment must be employed in 
 dividing as weU as m distinguishing, ap- 
 pears evident It is one thmg to divide a 
 subject properly, another to cut it in pieces. 
 Hoenon eat divuiere, sedfrangere renty said 
 Cicero, when he censured an improper 
 division of Epicurus. Reason has discovered 
 rules of division, which have been known 
 U) logicians more than two thousand years. 
 There are rules likewise of defiuition of 
 no less antiquity and authority. A man 
 may no doubt divide or define properly with- 
 out attending to the rules, or even without 
 knowing them. But this can only be when 
 he has Judgment to perceive that to be right 
 in a particular case, which the rule de- 
 termines to be right in all cases. 
 
 I add in general, that, without some de« 
 gree of judgment, we can form no accurate 
 and distinct notions of things ; so that one 
 province of judgment is, to aid us in form- 
 ing clear and distinct conceptions of thingSn 
 which are the only tit materiab for reason- 
 ing. [6081 
 ^ ^ ^ [506-508] 
 
 CHAP. 1.] 
 
 OF JUDGMENT JN GENERAL. 
 
 417 
 
 This will probably appear to be a paradox 
 to philosophers, who have always considered 
 the formation of ideas of every kind as be- 
 longing to simple apprehension ; and that 
 the sole province of judgment is to put them 
 together in affirmative or negative proposi- 
 tions; and therefore it requires some con- 
 firmation, 
 
 Firi>f, I think it necessarily follows, from 
 what has been already said in this observa- 
 tion. For if, without some degree of judg- 
 ment, a man can neither distinguish, nor 
 divide, nor define, nor form any general 
 notion, simple or complex, he surely, with- 
 out some degree of judgment, cannot have 
 in his mind the materials necessary to 
 reasoning. 
 
 There cannot bo any proposition in lan- 
 guage which does not involve some general 
 conception. The proposition, that J exist, 
 which Des Cartes thought the first of all 
 truths, and the foundation of all knowledge, 
 cannot be conceived without the conception 
 of existence, one of the most abstract general 
 conceptions A man cannot believe his own 
 existence, or the existence of anything he 
 sees or remembers, until he has so much 
 judgment as to distinguish things that really 
 exist from things which are only conceived. 
 He sees a man six feet high ; he conceives 
 a man sixty feet high : he judges the first 
 object to exist, because he sees it ; the 
 second he does not judge to exist, because 
 he only conceives it Now, I would ask. 
 Whether he can attribute existence to the 
 first object, and not to the second, without 
 knowing what existence means ? It is im- 
 possible. 
 
 How early the notion of existence enters 
 into the mind, I cannot determine; but it 
 must certainly be in the mind as soon as 
 we can affirm of anything, with understand- 
 ing, that it exists. [509] 
 
 In every other proposition, the predicate, 
 at least, must be a general notion — a pre- 
 dicable and an universal being one and the 
 same. Besides this, every proposition either 
 affirms or denies. And no man can have 
 a distinct conception of a proposition, who 
 does not understand distinctly the meaning 
 of affirming or denying. But these are very 
 general conceptions, and, as was before 
 observed, are derived from judgment, as 
 their source and origin. 
 
 ■ I am sensible that a strong objection may 
 be made to this reasoning, and that it may 
 seem to lead to an absurdity or a contra- 
 diction. It may be said, that every judg- 
 ment is a mental affirmation or negation. 
 If, therefore, some previous exercise of 
 judgment be necessary to understand what 
 IS meant by affirmation or negation, the 
 exercise of judgment must go before any 
 judgment which is absurd. 
 
 In like manner, every judgment may be 
 
 [509,510] 
 
 expressed by a proposition, and a proposi- 
 tion must be conceived before we can judge 
 of it. If, therefore, we cannot conceive the 
 meaning of a proposition without a previous 
 exercise of judgment, it follows that judg- 
 ment must be previous to the conception of 
 any proposition, and at the same time that 
 the conception of a proposition must be pre- 
 vious to all judgment, which is a contra- 
 diction. 
 
 The reader may please to observe, that 
 I have limited what I have said to distinct 
 conception, and some degree of judgment; 
 and it is by this means I hope to avoid this 
 labyrinth of absurdity and contradiction. 
 The faculties of conception and judgment 
 have an infancy and a maturity as man has. 
 What I have said is limited to their mature 
 state. I believe in their infant state they 
 are very weak and indistinct ; and that, by 
 imperceptible degrees, they grow to ma- 
 turity, each giving aid to the other, and 
 receiving aid from it. But which of them 
 first began this friendly intercourse, is be- 
 yond my ability to determine. It is like 
 the question concerning the bird and the 
 egg. [510] 
 
 In the present state of things, it is true 
 that every bird comes from an egg, and 
 every egg from a bird ; and each may bo 
 said to be previous to the other. But, if 
 we go back to the origin of things, thero 
 must have been some bird that did not 
 come from any egg, or some egg that did 
 not come from any bird. 
 
 In like manner, in the mature state of 
 man, distinct conception of a proposition 
 supposes some previous exercise of judg- 
 ment, and distinct judgment supposes dis- 
 tinct conception. Each may truly be said 
 to come from the other, as the bird from 
 the egg, and the egg from the bird. But, 
 if we trace back this succession to its origin 
 — that is, to the first proposition that was 
 ever conceived by the man, and the first 
 judgment he ever formed — I determine no- 
 thing about them, nor do I know in what 
 order, or how, they were produced, any 
 more than how the bones grow in the 
 womb of her that is with child* 
 
 The first exercise of these faculties of 
 conception and judgment is hid, like the 
 sources of the Nile, in an unknown region. 
 
 The necessity of some degree of judg- 
 ment to clear and distinct conceptions of 
 things, may, I think, be illustrated by thia 
 similitude. 
 
 An artist, suppose a carpenter, cannot 
 work in his art without tools, and these 
 tools must be made by art The exercise 
 of the art, therefore, is necessary to make 
 the tools, and the tools are necessary to the 
 exercise of the art. There is the same 
 appearance of contradiction, as in what I 
 have advanced concerning the necessity of 
 
 2 s 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [■MAY Y1. 
 
 Boine aegwst' «f jm^intiil, Im «icr to fofiii 
 dMT awl. <IWti0t wnMpliiiiii' of thmgs. 
 Ttaw ■« ii« tooto we nmst use in judgmg 
 and in reMonkg, mncl without Hwm must 
 BUike Tery bmiM|iiH| wo*; yo* *«■• ^^^l 
 eannot lie maife wtthoiit some exerdse of 
 judiniieiit [611] , ^ . _ 
 
 The ne«e«ii9 of tone degree of judg- 
 'Uienl in forming aeeftHito^ vbA 'diitliict no- 
 tiiipi of thiiip wiU lirther appear, If we 
 mmmm mm^HMj what notions we can 
 Una. viiiMl any aid of judgment, of the 
 Mum of eenae, of the operations of our 
 own mlndiior of the relations of things. 
 
 To hegia with the obiects of sense. It 
 ""li idnioirtodged, on all hands, that the nrst 
 mytioin we have of sensible objects are got 
 % the external senses only, and probably 
 iiibn jwlgment is brought forth ; but these 
 ifii notions are neither simple, nor are 
 fliey accurate and distinct : they are gross 
 and indistinct, and, like the ehaoB, a ruiu 
 %imml0qm mtki. Before we can haire 
 iny distinct notion of this mass, it must be 
 analysed ? the heterogeneous parts must he 
 iipapited in our conception, and the sunple 
 elements, which before lay Wd in the coin- 
 ■mi nwyii, mast fiwt be distlMuiriied, and 
 "ilea pat together into one whole. 
 ■ la this way it is that we form distmct 
 notions even of the objects of sense ; but 
 ""tliii: piooesa of analysis, and composition, by 
 '^iabii ■beeomoi m easy, .and is ■performed. 
 m readily, that we are apt to overlook it, 
 and to impute the distinct notion we have 
 iifBied of the object to the senses alone ; 
 and this we are the more prone to do 
 heeause, when once we have distinguished 
 the sensible mialitiea of tha objeet from 
 one another, the sense gives testunony to 
 •aoii of them. 
 
 You peweiva, for instance, an object 
 Mllte, ninnd, and a foot in diameter. I 
 grant that yon perceive all these attnbutes 
 af the object by sense ; but, if you had not 
 been able to distlngnlsh the colour from 
 the figure, aad both from the magnitude, 
 ▼onr senses would only have given you one 
 eoni^x and confused notion of all tnese 
 mingled together. , 
 
 A. man who is able to tav^with under- 
 ttanAag, or to determine in nis own mind, 
 that this object is white, must have distin- 
 
 f" uiahed whiteneia .from olher attnbntca. 
 f he 'has. aot ' made: this dtetlnetlon, to doee. 
 not undentand what he saya [612] 
 
 Suppose a cube of brass to be presented 
 at the same time to a child of a year old 
 and to a man* The reiphMfity of the figure 
 WEI attiael 'tba attention of both. Both 
 have the sensea of sight and of toucli in 
 equal p«ffa«lton ; and, therefore, if any- 
 thing be discovered in this object by the 
 n, which cannot be diwjovered by the 
 Id, It must be owing, not to the 
 
 but to some other faculty which tha child 
 haa not yet attained. 
 
 First, then, the man can easily distin- 
 guish the body from the surface which 
 terminates it; this the child cannot do. 
 S§condlif, The man can perceive that this 
 surface is made up of six pUnes of the same 
 figure and magnitude; the child cannot 
 d&cover thw. Thirdly, The man perceives 
 that each of these planes has four equal 
 sides and four equal angles; and tliat the 
 opposite sides of each plane and the oppo- 
 site planes are parallel. 
 
 It will surely be allowed, that a man of 
 ordinary judgment may observe all this in 
 a cube which he makes an object of con- 
 templation, and takes time to consider; 
 that he may give the name of a square to 
 a pkne terminated by four equal sides and 
 four equal angles; and the nxune of a cube 
 to a solid terminated by six equal squares : 
 all this is nothing else but analysing the 
 figure of the object presented to his senses 
 into its simplest elements, and again com- 
 pounding it of those elements. 
 
 By this analysis and composition two 
 effects are produced. Fir«/, From the one 
 complex object which his senses presented, 
 though one of the most simple the senses 
 can present, he educes many simple and 
 distinct notions of right lines, angles, plain 
 surface, solid, equality, parallelism ; notions 
 which the child has not yet faculties to 
 attain. Secmdly, When he considers the 
 cube as compounded of these elements, put 
 together in a certain order, he has then, 
 and not before, a distinct and scientific 
 notion of a cube. The child neither con- 
 ceives those elements, nor in what order 
 they must be put together in order to maka 
 a cube; and, therefore, has no accurate 
 notion of a cube which can make it a sub- 
 ject of reasoning. [613] 
 
 Whence I think we may conclude, that 
 the notion which we have from the sensea 
 alone, even of the simplest objects of sense, 
 is indistinct and incapable of bemg either 
 described or reasoned upon, until it is ana^ 
 lysed into its simple elements, and con- 
 ndered as compounded of those elements. 
 
 If we should apply this reasoning to more 
 complex objects of sense, the conclusion 
 would be still more evident. A dog may be 
 taught to turn a jack, but he can never be 
 taught to have a distinct notion of a jack. 
 He sees every part as well as a man ; but 
 the relation of the parts to one another 
 and to the whole, he has not judgment to 
 comprehend. 
 
 A distinct notion of an object, even of 
 sense, is never got in an instant ; but the 
 sense performs its ofiice in an instant. Time 
 is not required to see it better, but to analyse 
 it, to distinguish the different parts, and their 
 riehltion to one another and to the whole. 
 
 [511-^lSi 
 
 euAP. I.] 
 
 OF JUDGMENT IN GENERAL. 
 
 419 
 
 
 Hence it is that, when any vehement 
 passiun or emotion hinders the cool applica- 
 tion of judgment, we get no distinct notion 
 of an object, even though the sense be long 
 directed to it. A man who is put into a 
 panic, by thinking he sees a ghost, may 
 stare at it long without having any distinct 
 notion of it ; it is his understanding, and 
 not his sense, that is disturbed by his horror. 
 If he can lay that aside, judgment immedi- 
 ately enters upon its office, and examines 
 the length and breadth, the colour, and 
 figure, and distance of the object. Ol these, 
 while his panic lasted, he had no distinct 
 notion, though his eyes were open all the 
 time. 
 
 When the eye of sense is open, but that 
 of judgment shut by a panic, or any violent 
 emotion that engrosses the mind, we see 
 things confusedly, and probably much in the 
 same manner that brutes and perfect idiots 
 do, and infants before the use of judgment. 
 
 Ill ^^^^1 
 
 There are, therefore, notions of the objects 
 
 of sense which are gross and indistinct, and 
 there are others that are distinct and scienti- 
 fic. The former may be got from the senses 
 alone, but the latter cannot be obtained with- 
 out some degree of judgment. 
 
 The clear and accurate notions which 
 geometry presents to us of a point, a right 
 line, an an<^le, a square, a clrele, of ratios 
 direct and inverse, and others of that kind, 
 can find no admittance into a mind that has 
 not some degree of judgment. They are 
 not properly ideas of the senses, nor are 
 they got by compounding ideas of the 
 senses, but by analysing the ideas or no- 
 tions we get by the senses into their simplest 
 elements, and again combining these ele- 
 ments into various accurate and elegant 
 forms, which tho senses never did nor can 
 exhibit 
 
 Had Mr Hume attended duly to this, it 
 ought to have prevented a very bold attempt, 
 which he has prosecuted through fourteen 
 pages of his " Treatise of Human Nature,'* 
 to prove that geometry is founded upon ideas 
 that are not exact, and axioms that are not 
 precisely true. 
 
 A mathematician might be tempted to 
 think that the man who seriously under- 
 takes this has no great acquaintance with 
 geometry ; but I apprehend it is to be im- 
 puted to another cause, to a zeal for his own 
 system. We see that even men of genius 
 may be drawn into strange paradoxes, by 
 an attachment to a favourite idol of the 
 understanding, when it demands so costly a 
 sacrifice. 
 
 We Protestants think that the devotees 
 of the Roman Church pay no small tribute 
 to her authority when they renounce their 
 five senses in obedience to her decrees. Mr 
 Hume*s devotion to his system carries him 
 I Mi-Sis'] 
 
 even to trample upon mathematical demon- 
 stration. [515] 
 
 The fundamental articles of his system 
 are, that all the perceptions of the human 
 mind are either impressions or ideas, and 
 that ideas are only faint copies of impres- 
 sions. The idea of a right line, therefore, is 
 only a faint copy of some line that has been 
 seen, or felt by touch ; and the faint copy 
 cannot be more perfect than the originaL 
 Now of such right lines, it is evident that 
 the axioms of geometry are not precisely 
 true ; for two lines that are straight to our 
 sight or touch may include a space, or they 
 may meet in more points than one. If, 
 therefore, we cannot form any notion of a 
 straight line more accurate than that which 
 we have from the senses of sight and touch, 
 geometry has no solid foundation. If, on 
 the other hand, the geometrical axioms are 
 precisely true, the idea of a right line is not 
 copied from any impression of sight or touch, 
 but must have a different origin and a more 
 perfect standard. 
 
 As the geometrician, by reflecting only 
 upon the extension and figure of matter, 
 forms a set of notions more accurate and 
 scientific than any which the senses exhi- 
 bit, so the natural philosopher, reflecting 
 upon other attributes of matter, forms 
 another set, such as those of density, quan- 
 tity of matter, velocity, momentum, fluidity, 
 elasticity, centres of gravity, and of oscilla- 
 tion. These notions are accurate and 
 scientific ; but they cannot enter into a 
 mind that has not some degree of judg- 
 ment, nor can we make them intelligible to 
 children, until they have some ripeness of 
 understanding. 
 
 In navigation, the notions of latitude^ 
 longitude, course, leeway, cannot be made 
 intelligible to children ; and so it is with 
 regard to the terms of every science, and 
 of every art about which we can reason. 
 They have had their five senses as perfect 
 as men for years before they are capable 
 of distinguishing, comparing, and perceive 
 ing the relations of things, so as to be able 
 to form such notions. They acquire the 
 intellectual powers by a slow progress, and 
 by imperceptible degrees; and by means 
 of them, learn to form distinct and accurate 
 notions of things, which the senses could 
 never have imparted. [516] 
 
 Having said so much of the notions we 
 get from the senses alone of the objects of 
 sense, let us next consider what notions we 
 can have from consciousness alone of. the 
 operations of our minds. 
 
 Mr Locke very properly calla conscious- 
 ness an internal sense. It gives the like 
 immediate knowledgeof things in the mmd^- 
 that is, of our own thoughts and feelings— 
 as the senses give us of things externa]. 
 There is this difference, however, that an 
 
 Se 2 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [emay vi. 
 
 external object niiiy b© »l «»*> ""^ *^® 
 flense may b© ©mploved about it for some 
 tine. Brt Ibe objects of consclousnesa 
 are never at rest : tbo stream of thought 
 flows like a river, without stopping a mo- 
 .nait ; tb© whole train of thought paiaeiiii 
 ■oaoeasion under the eye of coMcioisneis, 
 which is always employed about the present. 
 But is it conseiousDesa tliat analyses com- 
 plex operations, distinguishes their different 
 ingredients, and combines them in distmct 
 naroela under ipne.ral. names ? This surely 
 h iwt the worfcof eoiiiisieiMiness, nor can it 
 Im Mfformed without reflection,* recoUect- 
 
 iMg and judging of what r^/^JS^trTSr 
 of, and distinctly remember. This rettec- 
 iien does not appear in children. Of all 
 liie powers of the mind, it seems to be of 
 iie latest growth, whereas consciousness is 
 coeval with the earliastf , 
 
 Consciousness, being a kind of mternal 
 .iense, can no more giv© ma distinct and 
 aeeurate notions of the operations of our 
 minds, than the external senses can give 
 of ©Eternal obj©cts. Reflection upon the 
 eperations of our minds is the same kind of 
 operation with that by which we form dis- 
 tinct notions of external objects. They 
 #flbr not in their nature, but in this only, 
 that one is employed about external, and 
 Hie other about internal objects; and ^th 
 may, with equal propriety, be called reflec- 
 
 tion. til 71 
 
 Mr Locke has restricted the word reflec- 
 
 • * See 'above, p. 2''*, ■« note *.— H. t^..fc 
 
 Mr Stewart make* u.e Wlownif "•**'!•'*""••'" 
 which he la tuwof ted by every conipeteiit autnoiiiy 
 to SiSitir' We two' Borihem ^^^^2^^ 
 loiMr wiiliilfawii thpoiielve* from the mir^^acb oi 
 Sang rhpla last iii their curriciilMiii of «'•. In 
 
 aHer tho-e nf Mental riiiloMi|*f. iWi «*»"'""y '•• 
 It if to be olj*crve.i, al together of • wndern Iniio- 
 "iictton For. when oiif*Scnttlfli «rttemti«i were 
 iSinSted. and tong •liar, thrpb laiO|ihf ^J^XJS^ 
 taught by the ProftsiOf of Phplc* "I "PP-whend. 
 aaji Mr Stewart, •• thar the study "f «•««»'"; *J?"'J 
 tem the laat branch «f the otucation of joutn , an 
 
 wiMl I haw© #feaif iwiiaitoi "''^,„"»»S *n..er 
 iMtiiiiieiMmt <»f twr faeuitiea. Alter the un.ier- 
 SSKjrwell .tored with ^l^'X-J^^J 'jf '«' *f 
 liaa been wmvcriant with particular •citntiiic piir- 
 
 Sla.lt will be enabled ^» J^P^^J^^ZZUfmi 
 own poivert with additional adt ai tage, and w«M ™" 
 DO haiaid to to.lulginf too far lij .uch »«{!"«'«• 
 Motblng can he inoie »bf«"i, on this »« well a» on 
 BMiif ether accountt, than the common pracuce 
 Wllkll la Wiowed In our W*«««*ti««t«n ^"^only.J 
 of betlnnlnff a course of phllotiiphical cducauon wun 
 Seitudy of Logic. If th.torder were comp etely re- 
 Tersed ; an.i if the .f uriy of Logic were oel;.ye<l 
 aHer the mind of -he student wa» well •»o'^ *'•' 
 
 p^cular facta In Phy.ici. in S*" IV'ti'i^* w"t^ 
 •ml tlvii Hiiiorf, hia afentlon «»igbl be »ed w itti 
 the mm important "dvantage. and without any djn 
 ter to hia iio*ec of ob^vauon, to an cxamuiation 
 Sjiia owritetiltiea. which, l*"**"*?? "»'*j::"|;,'';J .^ 
 m new and plrastng llekl of ipeculatlon, would cnaUe 
 
 lillii to farm an e^^^^^ f.^^'rZll^lZrorl^ 
 
 aimttlons he h» milde^ ©f the h*biU he »m lorm«l. 
 1 bf tbt to ti* iiipofiinenta of which hit mmd 
 
 is''Miiceptible.'*— ii. 
 
 tion to that whicli is employed about the 
 operation* of our minds, without any 
 authority, as I think, from «»^t«»n» *;« 
 arbiter of language. For, aurelv, l may 
 reflect upon what I have seen or h«ird, a» 
 well as upon what I have thought. lUe 
 word, in its proper and common meaning, 
 is equally applicable to objects of sense, 
 and to objects of consciousness. f . We lias 
 likewise confounded reflection with con- 
 sciousness, and seems uot to have been 
 aware tliat they are diff-erent powere, and 
 appear at very difi-erent periods of life ^ 
 
 If that eminent philosopher had been 
 aware of these mistakes about the meaiiujg 
 of the word reflection, he would, I think, 
 have seen that, as it is by reflectiou upon 
 th© operations of our own minds that wo 
 can form any distinct and accurate notions 
 of them, and not by couscitmsuess without 
 reflection, so it is by reflection upon the 
 objects of sense, and not by the senses 
 without reflection, that we can form dis- 
 tinct notions of them. Reflectiou upon any- 
 thing, whether external or internal, makes 
 it ail object of our intellectual powei-s, by 
 which we survey it on all sides, and form 
 such judgments about it as appear to bo 
 
 just and true. 
 
 I proposed, in the third place, to consi- 
 der our notions of the relations of things : 
 and here I think, that, without judg^ 
 ment, w© caiwot have any notion of rela- 
 
 There are two ways in which we get the 
 notion of relations. The first is, by com- 
 paring the rekted objects, when we have 
 before had the conception of both. By this 
 comparison, we perceive the rektion, either 
 immediately, or by a process of reasoning. 
 That my foot is longer than my finger, 1 
 perceive immediately ; and that three is 
 the half of six. Tliis immediate perception 
 is immediate and intuitive judgment. Ibat 
 the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle 
 are equal, 1 perceive by a process of reason- 
 ing, in which it wiU be acknowledged there 
 is judgment. , .. 
 
 Another way in which we get the notion 
 of relations (which seems not to have occur- 
 red to Mr Locke) is, when, by attention to 
 one of the rented objects, we perceive or 
 judge that it must, from its nature, have a 
 cerSiitt relation to something else, which 
 
 before, perliaps, we never t;»o»g^»* «* ? ^k 
 thus our attention to one of the related ob- 
 
 ♦ Spe note before laat, and note at p. 347, *^— «• 
 t Mr Stewait make* a curious '""ta'ement of the 
 mJaii .% altach.d by Reid to the word K^^Aechon^ 
 Supa^Mgi- a.,d ,.t»ier8 are^aken .nto accounl.-bee 
 
 ^l^ifwiomnm and ^«I^flection cannot be analysed 
 into d?ffSr.i iK)weru Keflccuon is only, in I/K-ke'a 
 n"e°rang of the word, (and tins is the "joje correct.) 
 CoJIcicusues., concentrated t)y an act of Wi I on the 
 .h« uomtna of mind-t. ... internal AUent.on ; ui 
 I'g. what ia it but Attention in general ?-H. 
 
 i>hcii< 
 Keul'i 
 
 CHAP. II.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 421 
 
 Jccts produces the notion of a correlate, and 
 of a certain relation between them. [518] 
 Thus, when I attend to colour, figure, 
 weight, I cannot help judging these to be 
 qualities which cannot exist without a sub- 
 ject ; that is, something which is coloured, 
 figured, heavy. If I had not perceived such 
 things to be qualities, I should never have 
 had any notion of their subject, or of their 
 relation to it. 
 
 By attending to the operations of think- 
 ing, memory, reasoning, we perceive or 
 judge that there must be something which 
 thinks, remembers, and reasons, which we 
 call the mind. When we attend to any 
 change that happens in Nature, judgment 
 informs us that there must be a cause of 
 this change, which had power to produce 
 it; and thus we get the notions of cause 
 and effect, and of the relation between 
 them. When we attend to body, we per- 
 ceive that it cannot exist without space; 
 hence we get the notion of space, (which is 
 neither an object of sense nor of conscious- 
 ness,) and of the relation which bodies 
 have to a certain portion of tmlimited space, 
 as their place. 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that all our no- 
 tions of relations may more properly be 
 ascribed to judgment as their source and 
 origin, than to any other power of the 
 mind. We must first perceive relations 
 by our judgment, before we can conceive 
 them without judging of them ; as we must 
 first perceive colours by sight, before we 
 can conceive them without seeing them. I 
 think Mr Locke, when he comes to speak 
 of the ideas of relations, does not say that 
 they are ideas of sensation or reflection, 
 but only that they terminate in, and are 
 concerned about, ideas of sensation or re- 
 flection. [510] 
 
 The notions of unity and number are so 
 abstract, that it is impossible they should 
 enter into the mind until it has some degree 
 of judgment We see with what difficulty, 
 and how slowly, children learn to use, with 
 understanding, the names even of small 
 numbers, and how they exult in this acqui- 
 sition when they have attained it. Every 
 number is conceived by the relation which 
 it bears to unity, or to known combinations 
 of units; and upon that account, as well 
 as on account of its abstract nature, all 
 distinct notions of it require some degree 
 of judgment 
 
 In its proper place, I shall have occasion 
 to shew that judgment is an ingredient in 
 all determinations of taste, in all moral 
 determinations, and in many of our pas- 
 sions and affections. So that this opera- 
 tion, after we come to have any exercise of 
 judgment, mixes with most of the operations 
 of our minds, and, in analysing them, cannot 
 be overlooked without confusion and error. 
 [518-520] 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF COMMON SENSK.* 
 
 TiiB word sense, in common language, 
 seems to have a different meaning from that 
 which it has in the writings of philosophers ; 
 and those different meanings are apt to be 
 confounded, and to occasion embarrassment 
 and error. 
 
 Not to go back to ancient philosophy upon 
 this point, modern philosophers consider 
 sense as a power that has nothuig to do with 
 judgment. Sense they consider as the power 
 by which we receive certain ideas or im- 
 pressions from objects ; and judgment as 
 the power by which we compare those 
 ideas, and perceive their necessary agree- 
 ments and disagreements. [520] 
 
 The external senses give us the idea of 
 colour, figure, sound, and other qualities of 
 body, primary or secondary. Mr Locke 
 gave the name of an internal sense to con- 
 sciousness, because by it we have the ideas 
 of thought, memory, reasoning, and other 
 operations of our own minds. Dr Hutche- 
 son of Glasgow, conceiving that we have 
 simple and original ideas which cannot be 
 imputed either to the external senses or to 
 consciousness, introduced other internal 
 senses ; such as the sense of harmony, the 
 sense of beauty, and the moral sense. 
 Ancient philosophers also spake of internal 
 senses, of which memory was accounted one. 
 But all these senses, whether external or 
 internal, have been represented by philo- 
 sophers as the means of furnishing our 
 minds with ideas, without including any 
 kind of judgment. Dr Hutcheson defines 
 a sense to be a determination of the mind 
 to receive any idea from the presence of an 
 object independent on our will. 
 
 " By this term (sense) philosophers, in 
 general, have denominated those faculties 
 in consequence of which we are liable to 
 feelings relative to ourselves only, and from 
 which they have not pretended to draw any 
 conclusions concerning the nature of things ; 
 whereas truth is not relative, but absolute 
 and real — (Dr Priestly's " Examination of 
 Dr Reid," &c., p. 123.) 
 
 On the contrary, in common language, 
 sense always implies judgment. A man of 
 sense is a man of judgment. Good sense 
 is good judgment. Nonsense is what is 
 evidently contrary to right judgment. Com- 
 mon sense is that degree of judgment which 
 is common to men with whom we can con- 
 verse and transact business. 
 
 Seeing and hearing, by philosophers, are 
 called senses, because we have ideas by 
 
 * On Common Seme, name and thing, tee Note A. 
 — H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [i«at in. 
 
 muLW* u. J 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 lkm-» 
 
 ^^Zr ^ «» Mgiiby mm. We Jiidee of 
 mUmm 'bj m tje ; of lotiiidi by thj mn 
 if tamty and Moimity by taste ; of ngbt 
 and wrong in «widncl, by out moral aenae 
 
 tr eiMMflittiee. [Wl] 
 
 iinie«inieB pWloiiophefis **"» 'Wpw^* 
 it ai tiM tole province of senee to furniili 
 na witii Ideas, fall unawares into tbe popn- 
 lar opinion that thjay are judging facultiea. 
 •nma Loike, Book IV. cbapj. 2 i— ** And of 
 fll fa (tlial the quality or accident of colour 
 ioth really exist, and hath a being without 
 me.) the greatest assurance I can poaaibly 
 liave, and to which my lumlties can attain, 
 is the tMtimony 'Of my ewis, which mm the 
 proper and aole fudges of this thing^" 
 
 This piipular meaning of the word Mwsi 
 is not^ peculiar to the English lA°SmE«- 
 He corresponding 'Woids in '©feet, Latm, 
 and,. I believ%in3'theEni^^ 
 have tha sane latitude. The Latm words 
 iffiifir*, gmttntia^ iema,* sensm^ from tno 
 last of which the English woid mme is 
 homiwiidi eipreas judgment or opinion, and 
 am appWI liidiiiii«nt& to objects of exter- 
 nal Mise^. of taste, of moials, and of the 
 iiiidenteiding. . 
 
 I caiiniil fwtond to assign the teaaon why 
 » wwd, whMliB no term of art, which m 
 §tfMmr in common conversation, should 
 liave so different a meaning in philosophical 
 '«itting!i I ahaM <»ly obserfe. that the 
 'phieMphlcal :nieaiilngcorrespoiidBp«pfectly 
 iiMi. 'the .aeeonni which Mr Locke and other 
 modem philosophers give of jwlpMnt For. 
 if ;iiM :Mle ptoTince of the aeiaes, «t*era»^ 
 'iiii.iiilfnial,.hs to fumiah, 'the mind with 
 iM: ideat^ aiioiit which, w }adge and reason, 
 il iMms to he a natural consoquenw, that 
 the aole province of jutaieni ahould be to 
 Mnpara 'thoao' :ideas» and to poictiva their 
 
 These two opinions seem to lie ao con- 
 leeted^ that one may have been the cause 
 of the other. I appithendi Iwwwver, that, 
 If both be tm% thefs Is no room Wt for at .y 
 
 Imowitdgc or judgment* «»^«' "* "l" .J^ 
 8xi8t«M0 of contingent things, or of tli«r 
 
 iwtingant rehttona. 
 
 To return to the popukr meaning of the 
 word siase. I believe it would be much 
 wm diiottlt to iud good authon who never 
 oae it m that meaning, than to ind aoch 
 
 as do. l622l , , 
 
 We may taka Mr Pope as good •ttthority 
 for the meanliiff of an English word. He 
 it often, and, in his " Epistle to tne 
 I ef Burlington," has made a httfe de- 
 It npon it*. 
 
 • Whst diMi itnm mwin f !• *» *?» errmtwiii, or 
 
 doct he vtliff Imtmm* mmom 
 bf Claii%.'-aiii. hiimrtwl hf 
 •• 41M1 ■fiiilunliirr*%-li. 
 
 •• Oft have jrou hinted to your t»roiher Petr» 
 A certain truth, which many but too dear: 
 Something there U more needful than expense. 
 And ionu'thing pretiou* ev*n to i8«le— 1« teaia 
 Ooodsen*e, wnch only i.ihe gift of heateii. 
 And. though no science, fairly worth tlieseveni 
 A light whidi In your«elf you must percei»e, 
 JORM and Le Notre li«»c It not to git e." 
 
 This inward light or sense is given by 
 heaven to different persons in different de- 
 grees. There is a certain degree of it which 
 is necessary to our bemg subjects of law and 
 government, capable of managing our own 
 affairs, and answerable for our conduct 
 towards others : this is called common 
 ■ense, because it is common to all men with 
 whom we can traii&act business, or call to 
 account for their conduct 
 
 The kws of all civilised nations distm- 
 guish those who have this gift of heaven, 
 from those who have it not. The last may 
 have rights which ought not to be viohited, 
 but, having no understaniling in themselves 
 to direct their actions, the laws appoint them 
 to be guided by the understanding of others. 
 It is easily discerned by its effects in men's 
 actions, m their speeches, and even in their 
 looks ; and when it is made a question 
 whether a man has this natural gift or not, 
 a judge or a jury, upon a short conversation 
 with him, can, fur the most part, determine 
 the question with great assurance. 
 
 The same degree of understanding which 
 makes a man capable of acting with com- 
 mon prudence in the conduct of life, makes 
 him capable of discovering what is true and 
 what is false in matters that are self-evident, 
 and which he distinctly apprehends. [523] 
 All knowledge, and all science, must be 
 bnllt upon principles that are self-evident { 
 and of such priuciplea every man who haa 
 common sense is a competent judge, when 
 he conceives them distinctly. Hence it is, 
 that disputes very often terminate in an 
 appeal to common sense. 
 
 While the parties agree in the first prin- 
 ciples on which their arguments are ground- 
 ed, there is room for reasoning ; but when 
 one denies what to the other appears too 
 evident to need or to admit of proof, rea- 
 soning seema to be at an end ; an appeal la 
 made to common sense, and each party is 
 left to enjoy his own opinbn. 
 
 There acwns to be no remedy for thia, 
 nor any way left to discuss such appeals, 
 unless the decisions of common sense can 
 be brought into a code in which all reason- 
 able men shall acquiesce. This, indeed, if 
 it be possible, would be very desirable, and 
 would supply a desideratum in logic ; and 
 why should it be thought impossible that 
 reasonable men should agree in things that 
 are self-evident ? 
 
 All that is mtended in thia chapter is to 
 explain the meanmg of common sense, that 
 it may not be treated, as it has been by 
 some, aa anew principle, or as a word with- 
 
 * (i 
 
 aut any meaning. I have endeavoured to 
 shew that sense, in its most common, and 
 therefore its most proper meaning, signifies 
 judgment, though philosophers often use it 
 m another meaning. From this it is natural 
 to think that common sense should mean 
 common judgment ; and so it really does. 
 
 What the precise limits are which divide 
 common judgment from what is beyond it 
 on the one hand, and from what falls short 
 of it on the other, may be difficult to de- 
 termine ; and men may agree in the mean- 
 ing of the word who have different opinions 
 about those limits, or who even never 
 thought of fixing them. This is as intel- 
 ligible as, that all Englishmen should mean 
 the same thing by the county of York, 
 though perhaps not a hundredth part of 
 them can point out its precise limits. [524] 
 
 Indeed, it seems to me, that common 
 sense is as unambiguous a word and as well 
 understood as the county of York. We 
 find it in innumerable places in good writers; 
 we hear it on innumerable occasions in con- 
 versation ; and, as far as I am able to judge, 
 always in the same meaning. And this is 
 probably the reason why it is so seldom 
 defined or explained. 
 
 Dr Johnson, in the authorities he gives, 
 to shew that the word sense signifies under- 
 standing, soundness of faculties, strength of 
 natural reason, quotes Dr Beutley for what 
 may be called a definition of common sense, 
 though probably not intended for that pur- 
 pose, but mentioned accidentally : " God 
 hath endowed mankind with power and 
 abilities, which we call natural light and 
 reason, and common sense.** 
 
 It is true that common sense is a popular 
 and not a scholastic word ; and by most of 
 those who have treated systematically of 
 the powers of the understanding, it is only 
 occasionally mentioned, as it is by other 
 writers. But I recollect two philosophical 
 writers, who are exceptions to this remark. 
 One is fiuffier, who treated largely of com- 
 mon sense, as a principle of knowledge, 
 above fifty years ago. The other is Sishop 
 Berkeley, who, I think, has laid as much 
 stress upon common sense, in opposition to 
 the doctrines of philosophers, as any philo- 
 sopher that has come after him. If the 
 reader chooses to look back to Essay II. 
 chap. 10, he will be satisfied of this, from 
 the quotations there made for another pur- 
 pose, which it is unnecessary here to repeat. 
 Men rarely ask what common sense is ; 
 because every man believes hiiBi )lf pos- 
 sessed of it, and would take it for an imput- 
 ation upon his understanding to be thought 
 anacquainted with it. Yet I remember 
 two very eminent authors who have put 
 this question ; and it is not improper to hear 
 their sentiments upon a subjects© frequently 
 mentioned, and so rarely canvassed. [525] 
 [524-5261 
 
 It is well known that Lord Shaftesbury 
 gave to one of his Treatises the title of 
 " Sensus Communis; an Essay on the 
 Freedom of Wit and Humour, in a Letter 
 to a Friend ;'* in which he puts his friend in 
 mind of a free conversation with some of 
 their friends on the subjects of morality 
 and religion. Amidst the different opinions 
 started and maintained with great Itfe and 
 ingenuity, one or other would, every now and 
 then, take the liberty to appeal to common 
 sense. Every one allowed the appeal ; no 
 one would offer to call the authority of the 
 court in question, till a gentleman whose 
 good understanding was never yet brought 
 in doubt, desired the company, very gravely, 
 that they would tell him what commuu 
 sense was. 
 
 " If," said he, ** by the word sense, we 
 were to understand opinion and judgment, 
 and by the word common, the generality or 
 any considerable part of mankind, it would 
 be hard to discover where the subject of 
 common sense could lie; for that which 
 was accordifig to the sense of one part of 
 mankind, was against the sense of another. 
 And if the majority were to determine com- 
 mon sense, it would change as often as 
 men changed. That in religion, common 
 sense was as hard to determine as cath.hc 
 or orthodox. What to one was absurdity, 
 to another was demonstration. 
 
 "In policy, if plain British or Dutch 
 sense were right, Turkish and French must 
 certainly be wrong. And as mere non- 
 sense as passive obedience seemed, we 
 found it to be the common sense of a great 
 party amongst ourselves, a greater party 
 in Europe, and perhaps the greatest part 
 of all the world besides. As for morals, 
 the difference was still wider ; for even the 
 philosophers could never agree in one and 
 the same system. And some even of our 
 most admired modem philosophers had 
 fairly told us that virtue and vice had no 
 other law or measure than mere fasliion and 
 vogue.** [526] 
 
 This is the substance of the gentleman*s 
 speech, which, I apprehend, explains the 
 meaning of the word perfectly, and contains 
 all that has been said or can be said against 
 the authority of common sense, and the 
 propriety of appeals to it. 
 
 As there is no mention of any answer 
 immediately made to this speech, we might 
 be apt to conclude that the noble author 
 adopted the sentiments of the intelligent 
 gentleman whose speech he recites. But 
 the contrary is manifest, from the title of 
 Sensus Communis given to his Essay, from 
 his frequent use of the word, and from the 
 whole tenor of the Essay. 
 
 The author appears to have a double in- 
 tention in that Essay, corresponding to the 
 double title prefixed to it. One intention 
 
'4S4' 
 
 ON THE INTBLLMCTDAL POWERS. 
 
 [E88A¥ ri. 
 
 '|l, to' jHliQr '^Im uie of 'wIt, humour, anii 
 liiioulei in diaiMiiiiig UMHi MmA the 
 prnvest mihjeete. *' I oui irery well sup- 
 mm,^ mm he, ** men may he frighted 
 imt of theur wits; hut I have no apprehen- 
 ■ion they shomM he laughed out of them. 
 I can hardly imiigine that, in a pleasant 
 way, they ahonld ever be talked out of their 
 love for society, or reasoned out of humanity 
 and common eenee.** 
 
 Tha other intention, ligiified hy the title 
 8emm CommwiiM^ is carried on hand in 
 hand with the first, and is to shew that 
 common sense is not so vague and uncertain 
 a thing as it is represented to he in the 
 '-■teptinl^ HMsech before recited. I will 
 liy,'* says ne, " what certain knowledge or 
 ■Mnfanoe' of things may he recovered in 
 that very way. ^o wit, of humour,) by 
 which all certainty, you thought, was lost, 
 ■adanendteisscepticism introduced.'* [627] 
 Ho gives soino eriticiians upon the word 
 gensus eammumiM in Juvenal, Horace, and 
 Seneca 5 and, after shewing, in a facetious 
 way throughout the treatise, tliat the fun- 
 damental principles of morals, of politics, of 
 ertticisn, aid of every branch of knowledge, 
 are the dictates of common sense, he sums 
 ap 'the wholO' in. theso words :— " That some 
 moral and philosophical truths there are 
 BO evident in themselves that it would he 
 easier to imagine half mankind run mad, 
 and joined precisely in the same species of 
 foUy, than to admit anything as truth 
 which should he advanced against such 
 natural knowledge, fundamental reason, 
 and common sense. ** And, on taking leave, 
 ie adds i-« And mow, mv friend, should 
 jmi find I had mofalisod in any tolerable 
 namwr, aooording to common sense, and 
 without canting, I should he satisfied with 
 my performance." 
 
 Another eminent writer who has put the 
 Hoestion what common sense is, Is Fenelon, 
 lie famous Archbishop of Cambray. 
 
 That ingenious and pious author, having 
 had m early frBpoMeision, in favour of the 
 'OviMiaii liiiliwophy, made an attempt to 
 •■talilish, on a sure foundation, the meta- 
 
 Shysical arguments which Des Cartes had 
 ivented to prove the heinf of the Deity. 
 For this purpose, he begillt with the Carte- 
 sian donhl. Ho pMceeds to find out the 
 truth of his own existence, and then to ex- 
 ■inhie wherein the ovidence and certain^ 
 of thifl. and ©thof wmk primary truths con- 
 iriflad. This, acoordlng to Cartesian prin- 
 llpks, ho places in the clearness aad dis- 
 tinctness of the ideas. On the contrary, 
 hA. BhMsea tho ahsuidity of the contrary pro- 
 PmMoiul ia thmF heing repugnant to Ms: 
 dear and diiihiotidfliui. 
 
 To illustrato this, he gives various ex- 
 biiI|iIm of qiosiions manifestly absurd and 
 ridieulons, which every roan of common 
 
 understanding would, at first sight, perceive 
 to be so ; and then goes on to this purpose. 
 
 " What is it that makes these questions 
 ridiculous? Wherein does this ridicule 
 precisely consist? It will, perhaps, be 
 replied, that it consists in this, that they 
 Khock common sense. But what is this 
 same common sense ? It is not the first 
 notions that all men have equally of tho 
 same things. [628] This common sense, 
 which is always and in all places the same ; 
 which prevents inquiry ; which makes in- 
 quiry in some cases ridiculous ; which, in- 
 stead of inquiring, makes a man laugh 
 whether he will or not ; which puts it out 
 of a man's power to doubt : this sense, 
 which only waits to be consulted— which 
 shews itself at the first glance, and imme- 
 diately discovers the evidence or the absurd- 
 ity of a question— is not this the same that 
 I call my ideas ? 
 
 ** Behold, then, those ideas or general 
 notions, which it is not in my power either 
 to contradict or exaniine, and by which I 
 examine and decide in every case, insomuch 
 that I laugh instead of answering, as often 
 as anything is proposed to me, which is evi- 
 dently contrary to wliat these immutable 
 ideas represent" 
 
 I shall only observe upon this passage. 
 
 that the interpretation it gives of Des 
 Cartos' criterion of truth, whether just or 
 not, is the most intelligible and the most 
 favourable I have met with. 
 
 I beg leave to mention One passage from 
 Cicero^ and to add two or three frona late 
 writers, which shew that this word is not 
 become obsolete, nor has changed its 
 meaning. 
 
 « De Oratore," lib. 3—" Omnes enun 
 tacito quodam sensu, sine ulla arte ant 
 ratione, in artibus ac rationibus, recta ao 
 prava dijudicjint. Idque cum faciant In 
 picturis, et in signis, et in aUis operibus, ad 
 quorum intelligentiam a natura minus hab- 
 eut instrumenti, tum multo ostendunt magis 
 in verborum, numeromm, vocumque judi- 
 cio ; quod ea sint in communibus infixa 
 sensibus ; neque earum rerum queroquam 
 funditus natura voluit expertem.*' 
 
 " Hume's " Essays and Treatises," vol. 
 I p. 6— "But a philosopher who proposes 
 only to represent the common sense of 
 mankind in more beautiful and more engag- 
 ing colours, if by accident he commits a 
 mustake, goes no farther, but, renewing his 
 appeal to common sense, and the natural 
 sentiments of the mind, returns into the 
 right path, and secures himself from any 
 dangerous illusion." [529] 
 
 Hume's " Enquiry concerning the Prm- 
 ciples of Morals," p. 2 — " Those who have 
 refused the reality of moral distinctions may 
 be ranked among the disingenuous dis- 
 putants. The only way of converting an 
 
 CRAP. II. J 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 425 
 
 antagonist of this kind is to leave him to 
 himself: for, finding that nobody keeps up 
 the controversy with him, it b probable he 
 will at last, of himself, from mere weariness, 
 come over to the side of common sense and 
 reason." 
 
 Priestley's " Institutes," Preliminary 
 Essay, vol. i. p. 27 — " Because common 
 sense is a sufficient guard against many 
 errors in religion, it seems to have been 
 taken for granted that that common sense 
 is a sufficient instructor also, whereas in 
 fact, without positive instruction, men would 
 naturally have been mere savages with 
 respect to religion ; as, without similar in- 
 struction, they would be savages with re- 
 spect to the arts of life and the sciences. 
 Common sense can only be compared to a 
 judge; but what can a judge do without 
 evidence and proper materials from which 
 to form a judgment ?** 
 
 Priestley's *' Examination of Dr Reid," 
 &c. page 127.—" But should we, out of 
 complaisance, admit that what has hitherto 
 been called judgment may be called sense, 
 it is making too free with the established 
 signification of words to call it common 
 seuse, which, in common acceptation, has 
 long been appropriated to a very different 
 thing — viz , to that capacity for judging of 
 common things that persons of middling 
 capacities are capable of." Page 129. — " 1 
 should, therefore, expect that, if a man was 
 so totally deprived of common sense as not 
 to be able to distinguish truth from false- 
 hood in one case, he would be equally in- 
 capable of distinguishing it in another." 
 
 [630] 
 
 From this cloud of testimonies, to which 
 hundreds might be added, I apprehend, 
 that whatever censure is thrown upon those 
 who have spoke of common sense as a prin- 
 ciple of knowledge, or who have appealed to 
 it in matters that are self-evident, will fall 
 light, when there are so many to share in 
 it. Indeed, the authority of this tribunal 
 is too sacred and venerable, and has pre- 
 scription too long in its favour to be now 
 wisely called in question. Those who are 
 disposed to do so, may remember the shrewd 
 saying of Mr Hobbea — " When reason is 
 against a man, a man will be against rea- 
 son.'* This is equally applicable to com- 
 mon sense. 
 
 From the account I nave given of the 
 meaning of this term, it is easy to judge 
 both of the proper use and of the abuse 
 of it. 
 
 It is absurd to conceive that there can be 
 any opposition between reason and com- 
 mon sense.* It is indeed the first-born of 
 Reason ; and, as they are commonly joined 
 
 • See abo»e. p. 1 00, b, note f ; and Mr Stewart*! 
 " eementa," II. p. 92.— H. 
 [530, 531] 
 
 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. Per- 
 haps it may be said, Why then should you 
 give it a particular name, since it is acknow- 
 ledged to be only a degree of reason ? It 
 would be a sufficient answer to this, Why 
 do you abolish a name which is to be found 
 in the language of all civilized nations, and 
 has acquired a right by prescription ? Such 
 an attempt is equally foolish and ineffectual. 
 Every wise man will be apt to think that 
 a name which is found in all languages as 
 far back as we can trace them, is not with- 
 out some use. [531] 
 
 But there is an obvious reason why this 
 degree of reason should have a name ap- 
 propriated to it ; and that is, that, in the 
 greatest part of mankind, no other degree of 
 reason is to be found. It is this degree 
 that entitles them to the denomination of 
 reasonable creatures. It is this degree of 
 reason, and this only, that makes a man 
 capable of managing his own affairs, and 
 answerable for his conduct towards others. 
 There is therefore the best reason why it 
 should have a name appropriated to it. 
 
 These two degrees of reason differ m 
 other respects, which would be sufficient to 
 entitle them to distinct names. 
 
 The first is purely the gift of Heaven. 
 And where Heaven has not given it, no 
 education can supply the want. The se- 
 cond is learned by practice and rules, when 
 the first is not wanting. A man who has 
 common sense may be taught to reason. 
 But, if he has not that gift, no teachmg will 
 make him able either to judge of first prm- 
 ciples or to reason from them. 
 
 I have only this farther to observe, that 
 the province of common sense is more ex- 
 tensive in refutation than in confirmation. 
 A conclusion drawn by a train of just rea- 
 soning from true principles cannot possibly 
 contradict any decision of common sense, 
 because truth will always be consistent 
 with itself. Neither can such a conclu- 
 sion receive any confirmation from com- 
 mon sense, because it is not within its juris- 
 diction. . . 
 But it is possible that, by setting out 
 from false principles, or by an error m 
 reasoning, a man may be led to a conclu- 
 sion that contradicts the decisions of com- 
 mon sense. In this case, the conclusion 
 is within the jurisdiction of common sense, 
 though the reasoning on which it wm 
 
426 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [eiSAY VI* 
 
 gMOiMM U BuCi and ft Dmn of Mniiiii 
 
 .MUM' Mij 'laiily veieot the oonclmioii. ivitli* 
 mil Iwiiui »lil« to 8h« w the error of the rea- 
 ■mipg that led to it. [53^] 
 
 ThMi. if • aalhematieiaii., by a pmeas 
 ef imrieate' denioiiflnition, in whicii loiiie 
 Mm atep waa naile, should be brought to 
 this oonclusion, that two quantities, which 
 ■■a both equal to a tbtffd, ^ait' not equal to 
 faeb.. other, a man of common sem^ with- 
 mt freteMiif to' be a judge of the demoii- 
 ■tiatioii, ia well entitled to reject the con- 
 and to pronounce it absurd. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 iiiMfiiatm or ftmjmomam ooKcniNiifo 
 iwmstmmn, 
 
 A iiiF»a»iiici about the meaning of a 
 'iMvrd ought not to oeeaaiMi. 'diapilea .among 
 'fMoeopheis t bul il^ it oHen vety proper to 
 tain :iolim «ff ^neii differences, m order to 
 'Mfitlll vethal diaputes. There are, in- 
 ileed, no words in language more liable to 
 ambiguity than thoee by which we express 
 the i^perationa of the mhid i and the most 
 eaniiil ^and judleions may sometunes be led 
 into different opinions about their precise 
 
 a«iin» 
 
 1 Mnled hefoiO' what' I take to le a peen- 
 in Mr Loeke with regard, to the 
 ling of the word judgmenl^ and men- 
 " what, I apprehend, may have led 
 iini into it But let ua hear himself, Essay, 
 'bofilt. i». ehap.' 14 j—" The iMulty which 
 CM. 'baa. gi'ven to' nan to supply the want 
 ef clear and oertain knowledge, where that 
 eannot be had, is judgment ; whereby the 
 niliid takes ita ideas to agree or disagree t 
 «r, which is the same, any proposition to 
 be tme or lalse, without perceiving a de- 
 VMiitiative evidence in the proofs. Thus 
 'Ibt mind baa. IwO' iMnlties conversant about 
 truth and fyselMod. Firxt^ Knowledge, 
 whereby it eertamly perceive^ and is un- 
 doubtedly satislied of, the agreement or 
 diaaicreement of any ideas. S§etmdlyf 
 Judgment, which ia the putting ideas to- 
 father, or separating them from one an- 
 il Ibt mind, when their certain agree- 
 il 'Or ditagpienient is not 'perceived, but 
 .'lube 80'-** [6331 
 
 ..Kwiwledge, I think| sometimea ;signKlea 
 .|iifai|S' known ; sometimes, that ael of the 
 muid by which we know them. And in like 
 manner opinion sometimea signiies things 
 'believed..! aometimea 'the act of the mind 
 i|r whiiih. we lielie»e them. But indgment 
 h tiM Iboilly which ia emercised In both 
 tbeae acta of the mind. In knowledge, we 
 judge without doubting ; in opinion, with 
 semi' sixtnre' of deitbt But I know no 
 antiwclty, besidea that of Mr Loeke, for 
 
 otlling knowledge a faOuHy, any more than 
 fbr calling opinion a faculty. 
 
 Neither do I think that knowledge ia 
 confined within the narrow limits which 
 Mr Locke assigns to it ; because the far 
 greatest part of what all men call human 
 knowledge, is in things which neither ad- 
 mit of intuitive nor of demonstrative prooEi 
 
 I have all along used the word judgment 
 in a more extended sense than Mr Locke 
 does in the passage above-mentioned. I 
 understand by it that operation of mind by 
 which we determine, concerning anything 
 that may be expressed by a proposition, 
 whether it be true or false. Every propo- 
 sition is either true or false ; so is every 
 Judgment. A proposition may be simply 
 conceived without judging of it. But when 
 there is not only a conception of the pro- 
 position, but a mental affirmation or nega- 
 tion, an assent or dissent of the understand- 
 ing, whether weak or strong, that is judg* 
 
 I think that, since the days of Aristotle, 
 logicians have taken the word in tliat sense, 
 and other writers, for the most part, 
 though there are other meanings, which 
 there is no danger of confonndmg with this. 
 [534] 
 
 We may take the authority of Dr Isaac 
 Watts, as a logician, as a man who under- 
 stood English, and who had a just esteem 
 of Mr Lockers Essay. Logic Introd. page 
 ft—" Judgment ia that operation of the 
 mind, wherein we join two or more ideas 
 together by one affirmation or negation; 
 that is, we either affirm or deny ihi* to ha 
 that. So: thU tree is Mffh ; that hnrse is noi 
 sw^ i ike mind of man is a thinking leingf 
 mere matter has no thought belongiuii to itj 
 God Li just; good men are often miserable in 
 this world ; a righteous governor will make 
 a difference betwixt the evil and the good f 
 which sentences are the effect of judgment, 
 and are called propositions.** And, Part XL 
 chap, it § 9 — " The evidence of sense is, 
 when we frame a proposition according to 
 the dictate of any of our senses. So we 
 judge that grass is gieen ; that a trumpet 
 yives a pleatani sound ; that fire hums wood i 
 water is nffi i and iron Aarrf," 
 
 In this meaning, judgment extends to 
 every kind of evidence, probable or certain 
 and to every degree of assent or dissent. 
 It extends to all knowledge as well as to all 
 opinion s with this difference only, that in 
 knowledge it is more firm and st^y, like 
 a house founded upon a rock. In opinion 
 it stands ufion a weaker foundation, and is 
 more liable to be shaken and overturned. 
 
 These differences about the meaning of 
 words are not mentioned as if truth was on 
 one side and error on the other, but as an 
 apology for deviating, in this instance^ from 
 the pEraMology of Mr Locke, which is, for 
 
 [532-584] 
 
 OHAP. III.] SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. 
 
 427 
 
 
 the most part, accurate and distinct ; and 
 because attention to the different meanings 
 that are put upon words by different authors, 
 ia the best way to prevent our mistaking 
 verbal differences for real differences of 
 opinion. 
 
 The common theory concerning ideas 
 naturally leads to a theory concerning 
 judgment, which may be a proper test of its 
 truth ; for, as they are necessarily con- 
 nected, they must stand or fall together. 
 Their c<mnection is thus expressed by Mr 
 Locke, Book IV. chap. 1 —" Since the 
 mind, in all its thoughts and reasonings, 
 hath no other immediate object but its own 
 ideas, which it alone does or can con- 
 template, it is evident that our knowledge is 
 only conversant about them. Knowledge 
 then seems to me to be nothing but the 
 perception of the connection uni agreement^ 
 or disagreement and repugnancy, of any of 
 our ideas. In this alone it consists.*^ [535] 
 
 There can only be one objection to the 
 justice of this inference ; and that is, that 
 the antecedent proposition from which it is 
 inferred seems to have some ambiguity; 
 for, in the first clause of that proposition, 
 the mind is said to have no other immediate 
 object but its own ideas; in the second, 
 that it has no other object at all ; that it 
 does or can contemplate ideas alone.* 
 
 If the word immcdiale in the first clause 
 be a mere expletive, and be not intended to 
 limit the generality of the proposition, then 
 the two clauses will be perfectly consistent, 
 the second being only a repetition or expli- 
 cation of the first ; and the inference that 
 our knowledge is only conversant about 
 Ideas will be perfectly just and logical. 
 
 But, if the word immediate in the first 
 clause be intended to limit the general pro- 
 position, and to imply that the mind has 
 other objects besides its own ideas, though 
 no other immediate objects, then it will not 
 be true that it does or can contemplate ideas 
 alone ; nor will the inference be justly 
 drawn that our knowledge is only conversant 
 •bout ideas. 
 
 Mr Locke must either have meant his 
 antecedent proposition, without any limita- 
 tion by the word immediate, or he must 
 have meant to limit it by that word, and to 
 signify tliat there are objects of the mind 
 which are not ideas. 
 
 The first of these suppositions appears to 
 roe most probable^ for several reasons. 
 [636] 
 
 First, Because, when he purposely de- 
 fines the word idea, in the introduction to 
 the Essay, he says it is whatsoever is the 
 
 * in reference to the polemic that fbllows, aee, fnr 
 a solution, what hat been aaid above in regard to the 
 ambiguity of the term object, and Note B. In regard 
 to the doctrine of Ideas, as held by the philosophers, 
 ise above, aod Nets C, Ac— H. 
 
 [535-537] 
 
 object of the understanding when a man 
 thinks, or whatever the mind can be em- 
 ployed about in thinking. Here there is no 
 room left for objects of the mind that are 
 not ideas. The same definition is often 
 repeated throughout the Essay. Some- 
 times, indeed, the word immediate is added, 
 as in the passage now under consideration ; 
 but there is no intimation made that it ought 
 to be understood when it is not expressed. 
 Now, if it had really been his opinion that 
 there are objects of thought which aro not 
 ideas, this definition, which is the ground- 
 work of the whole Essay, would have been 
 very improper, and apt to mislead his 
 reader. 
 
 Secondly, He has never attempted to 
 shew how there can be objects of thought 
 which are not immediate objects; and, 
 indeed, this seems impossible. For, what- 
 ever the object be, the man either thinks of 
 it, or he does not. There is no medium 
 between these. If he thinks of it, it is an 
 immediate object of thought while he thinks 
 of it. If he does not think of it, it is no 
 object of thought at all. Every object of 
 thought, therefore, is an immediate object 
 of thought, and the word immediate, johied 
 to objects of thought, seems to be a mere 
 expletive. 
 
 Thirdly, Though Malebranche and Bishop 
 Berkeley believed that we have no ideas of 
 minds, or of the operations of minds, and 
 that we may think and reason about them 
 without ideas, this was not the opinion of 
 Mr Locke. He thought that there are 
 ideas of minds, and of their operations, as 
 well as of the objects of sense ; that the 
 mind perceives nothing but its own ideas, 
 and that all words are the signs of ideas. 
 
 A fourth reason is, That to suppose that 
 he intended to limit the antecedent proposi- 
 tion by the word immediate, is to impute to 
 him a blunder in reasoning, which I do not 
 think Mr Locke could have committed; 
 for what can be a more glaring paralogism 
 than to infer that, since ideas are partly, 
 though not solely, the objects of thought, it 
 is evident that all our knowledge ia only 
 conversant about them. If, on the con- 
 trary, he meant that ideas are the only ob- 
 jects of thought, then the conclusion drawn 
 is perfectly just and obvious ; and he might 
 very well say, thaf, since it is ideas only that 
 the mind does or can cnnleui plate, it is evi' 
 dent that our knowledge ii only conversant 
 about them. [537] 
 
 As to the conclusion itself, I have only 
 to observe, that, though he extends it only to 
 what he calls knowledge, and not to what 
 he calls judgment, there is the same reason 
 for extending it to both. 
 
 It is true of judgment, as well as of 
 knowledge, that it can only be conversant 
 about objects of the mind, or about things 
 
'ise 
 
 ON THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 £kS8AY ▼!• 
 
 vUeh tliA mind csn contemplate Judg- 
 UMiit, as well as knowledge, supposes the 
 conceptioo of the object about which we 
 judge ; and to judge of objects that never 
 ira» nor can be objects of the mind, is evi- 
 imoMf iniNmible. 
 
 Tills, tliefefore, we may take for granted, 
 that. If knowledge be eonvenant about ideas 
 only, beeauw)' there is no ottier object of the 
 mind, il mist be mo less certain that judg- 
 nenl is conversant about ideas only, for 
 tJbe same reason. 
 
 Mr Locke adds, as the result of his rea- 
 Mining, " Knowledge, then, seems to me to 
 bo nothmg but the perception of the con- 
 nection and agreement, or disagreement 
 and repugnancy, of any of our ideas. In 
 this .alone it consists.** 
 
 This is a very important point, not only 
 nn its own account, but on account of its 
 necessary connection with his system con- 
 'Mtniiig ideas,, which, is such as that both 
 mist stand or fall together ; for, if ^there is 
 any part of human knowledge which does 
 not consist in the perception of the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of ideas, it must fol- 
 low that there are objects of thought and 
 of Mntemplation which are not ideas. 
 
 This point, therefore, deserves to be care- 
 fully •wwnined. With this view, let us 
 irsi .attend to its 'neaning, which, I think, 
 can hardly be mistaken, though it may 
 need some explication. 
 
 Every point of knowledgn, and every 
 Jwdgmtnt, ii expressed by a proposition, 
 whenitt sunAthing- is. ■ii:rmed or denied of 
 the subject of the proposition. 
 
 By perceiving the connection or agree- 
 ■ent of two ideas, I conceive, is meant per- 
 ■ceiving the truth of an ailmiative proposi- 
 tion, of which the subject and predicate are 
 idiii. In like manner, by perceiving the 
 disagreement and repugnancy of any tv*o 
 Ideas, I conceive is meant perceiving the 
 truth of a negative puposition, of which 
 both subject and predicate are ideas. This 
 I take to be the only meaning the words 
 can hear, and It is conifm>ed. by what Mr 
 Iiocke says in a passage already quoted in 
 this chapter, that ** the mind, taking its 
 ideas to agree or disagree, is the same as 
 taking any proposition to be true or false." 
 Therefore, if the deinltion of knowledge 
 given by Mr Locke be a just one, the sub- 
 ject, as well as the predicate of every pro- 
 imition, by which any point of knowledp 
 ■% #apwsssed, must be an Idea, and can be 
 .iwihtnf else ; and tbe same must hold of 
 ■■•very proposition by which judgmont Is 
 expressed, as has been shewn above, 
 
 .Having' ..ascertamed the meanmg of this 
 deinltion of human knowledg©, wo are 
 next to consider how far it is just. 
 
 Fj«l, I would observe that, if the word 
 
 idm be taken in the meaning which it had 
 at first among the Pythaiioreans and Pla- 
 tonists, and if by knowledge be meant only 
 abstract and general knowledge, (which I 
 believe Mr Locke had chiefly in his view,) 
 I think the proposition is true, that such 
 knowledge consists solely in perceiving the 
 truth of propositions whose subject and 
 predicate are ideas, [539] 
 
 By ideas here I mean things conceived 
 abstractly, without regard to theirexistence. 
 We corainonly call tliem abstract notions, 
 abstract conceptions, abstract ideas — the 
 Feripatetics called them universals ; and 
 the Pktonists, who knew no other ideas, 
 called them ideas without addition. 
 
 Such ideas are both subject and predicate 
 in every proposition which expresses ab- 
 stract knowledge. ^ ^ 
 
 The whole body of pure mathematics is 
 an abstract science ; and in every mathe- 
 matical proposition, both subject and pre- 
 dicate are ideas, in the sense above explained. 
 Thus, when I say the side of a square is not 
 commensurable to its diagonal— in this 
 proposition the side and the diagonal qf a 
 square are the subjects, (for, being a rela- 
 tive proposition, it must have two subjects.) 
 A square, its side, and its diagonal, are 
 ideas, or universals ; tliey are not indivi- 
 duals, but things predicable of many indi- 
 viduals. Existence is not included in their 
 definition, nor in the conception we form uf 
 them. The predicate of tlie proposition is 
 commemurablpt which must be an univer- 
 sal, as the predicate of every proposition is 
 so. In other branches of knowledge, many 
 abstract truths may be found, but, for the 
 most part, mixed with others that are not 
 
 abstract. 
 
 1 add, that I apprehend that what is strictly 
 called demonstrative evidence, is to be found 
 in abstract knowledge only. This was the 
 opinion of Aristotle, of Plato, and, I think, 
 of all the ancient philosophers ; and I be- 
 lieve in this they judged right It is true, 
 we often meet with demonstration m astro- 
 niony, in mechanics, and in other branches 
 of natural philosophy ; but, I believe, we 
 shall always find that such demonstrations 
 are grounded upon principles of supposi- 
 tions, which have neither intuitive nor 
 demonstrative evidence. [54()] 
 
 Thus, when we demonstrate that the 
 path of a projectile in mcuo is a parabola, 
 we suppose that it is acted upon with the 
 same mrce and in the same direction 
 through its whole path by gravity. This is 
 not intuitively known, nor is it demon- 
 strable ; and, in the demonstration, we rea- 
 son from the Uws of motion, which are 
 principles not capable of demonstration, 
 but grounded on a different kind of evidence. 
 
 Ideas, in the sense above explained, are 
 creatures of the mind ; they are fabricated 
 
 [438-4*03 
 
 CHAP, iiij SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. 
 
 by its rational powers; we know their 
 nature and their essence — ^for they are 
 nothing more than they are conceived to 
 be;— and, because they are perfectly known, 
 we can reason about them with the highest 
 degree of evidence. 
 
 And, as they are not things that exist, 
 but things conceived, they neither have 
 place nor time, nor are they liable to 
 change. 
 
 When we say that they are in the mind, 
 this can mean no more but that they are 
 conceived by the mind, or that they are 
 objects of thought. The act of conceiving 
 them is, no doubt, in the mind ; the things 
 conceived have no place, because they have 
 not existence. Thus, a circle, considered 
 abstractly, is said figuratively to be in the 
 mind of him that conceives it ; but in no 
 other sense than the city of London or the 
 kingdom of France is said to be in his 
 mind when he thinks of those objects. 
 
 Place and time belong to finite things that 
 exist, but not to things that are barely con- 
 ceived. They may be objects of concep- 
 tion to intelligent beings in every place and 
 at all times. Hence the Pythagoreans and 
 Platouists were led to think that they are 
 eternal and omnipresent. If they had ex- 
 istence,, they must be so ; for they have no 
 relation to any one place or time, which 
 they have not to every place and to every 
 time. 
 
 The natural prejudice of mankind, that 
 ■what we conceive must have existence, led 
 those ancient philoso]»hers to attribute ex- 
 istence to ideas ; and by this they were led 
 into all the extravagant and mysterious 
 parts of their system. When it is purged 
 of these, I apprehend it to be the only in- 
 telligible and rational system concerning 
 ideas. [541] 
 
 I agree with them, therefore, that ideas 
 are immutably the same in all times and 
 places ; for this means no more but that a 
 circle is always a circle, and a square always 
 a square. 
 
 I agree with them that ideas are the pat- 
 terns or exemplars by which everything 
 was made that had a beginning: for an 
 ■mtelligent artificer must conceive his work 
 before it is made ; he makes it according to 
 that conception ; and the thing conceived, 
 before it exists, can only be an idea. 
 
 I agree with them that every species of 
 things, considered abstractly, is an idea; 
 and that the idea of the species is in every 
 individual of the species, without division 
 or multiplication. This, indeed, is expressed 
 somewhat mysteriously, according to the 
 manner of the sect ; but it may easily be 
 explained. , , 
 
 Every idea is an attribute ; and it is a 
 common way of speaking to say, that the 
 attribute is in every subject of which it may 
 [541-543] 
 
 429 
 
 truly be aflSrmed. Thus, to be above fifly 
 years of age is an attribute or idea. This 
 attribute may be in, or aftinned of, fifty 
 different individuals, and be the same in 
 all, without division or multiplication. 
 
 I think that not only every species, bnt 
 every genus, higher or lower, and every 
 attribute considered abstractly, is an idea. 
 These are things conceived without regard to 
 existence ; they are universals, and, there- 
 fore, ideas, according to the ancient mean- 
 ing of that word. [542] 
 
 It is true that, after the Platonists en- 
 tered into disputes with the Peripatetics, in 
 order to defend the existence of eternal 
 ideas, they found it prudent to contract the 
 line of defence, and maintained only that 
 there is an idea of every species of natural 
 things, but not of the genera, nor of things 
 artificial. They were unwilUng to multiply 
 beings beyond what was necessary; but 
 in this, l" think, they departed from the 
 genuine principles of their system. 
 
 The definition of a species is nothing 
 but the definition of the genus, with the 
 addition of a specific difl'erence ; and the 
 division of things into species is the work 
 of the mind, as well as their division into 
 genera and classes. A species, a genus, an 
 order, a class, is only a combination of at- 
 tributes made by the mind, and called by 
 one name. There is, therefore, the same 
 reason for giving the name of idea to every 
 attribute, and to every species and genus, 
 whether higher or lower : these are only 
 more complex attributes, or combinations 
 of the more simple. And, though it might 
 be improper, without necessity, to multiply 
 beings which they believed to have a real 
 existence, yet, had they seen that ideas 
 are not things that exist, but things that 
 are conceived, they would have appre- 
 hended no danger nor expense from theif 
 number. 
 
 Simple attributes, species, and genera, 
 lower or higher, are all things conceived 
 without regard to existence ; they are uni- 
 versals ; they are expressed by general 
 words ; and have an equal title to be called 
 by the name of ideas. 
 
 I likewise agree with those ancient phi- 
 losophers that ideas are the object, and the 
 sole object, of science, strictly so called— 
 that is, of demonstrative reasoning. 
 
 And, as ideas are immutable, so their 
 agreements and disagreements, and all then: 
 relations and attributes, are immutable. 
 All mathematical truths are immutably 
 true. Like the ideas about which they are 
 conversant, they have no relation to time 
 or place, no dependence upon existence or 
 change. That the angles of a plane tri- 
 angle are equal to two right angles always 
 was, and always will be, true, though no 
 triangle had ever existed. [543] 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 am y Im said of all abBtmct 
 
 tiiite I ©« '*«*■ ^aaeoimt they have often 
 |i«eii called •tefwd troths ; and, for the 
 •ame reason, the Pythagorean* ascribed 
 eternily to the ideiB •bowl which they are 
 eonvemaiit. lliey may wry properiy be 
 oOled neeeseary tratha; because it is im- 
 peaaible they should not be trae at all times 
 and in all places. 
 
 Such k the nature of all tmtli thtt can 
 lie discovered, by perceiving the agreements 
 and disagreements of ideat, when we take 
 that word in its primitive sense. And that 
 Mr Locke, in his definition of knowledge, 
 had chieiy in liis view abatiaet tmth% we 
 may be led' to' think, iraiii. iio examples he 
 gives to illustrate it. 
 
 But there is another great ekss of truths, 
 «liidi ar« ml abstract and neoessary, and, 
 Amttfom. 'Cannot be perceived in the agree. 
 OMnls and disagreemwits of ideas. These 
 ■re ail the truths we know concerning the 
 leal exislenee of things — ^the truth of oar 
 mm ejtiatiMCe— #f the existence of other 
 tliteg%'inaBinstey'inimal, and rational, and 
 of their various attributes and relations. 
 
 Tlieee truth* may be esIM contingent 
 truths. I except only the existence and 
 ■ttribntts of the Supreme Being, which is 
 lit only necessary truth I know regarding 
 tJUstencCb 
 
 All other bdnp thai «Eist depend for 
 iielr extstenee, and all thai helooga to it, 
 ■pon the wil and power of ths' iisl canse^; 
 therefore, ne'ther their existaace, nor their 
 iialore, nor anything that befalla them, is 
 .OMessary, but eontingent. 
 ■ Bii% :aiaion|ii. the existence of the Deity 
 be neeessaty, I apprehend we can only de- 
 duce it from contingent truths. The only 
 latguments for the exislenee of a Deity 
 whiah I :ain:able to .compfthend, are ground- 
 '«i upmi'lhekwivrledge' of my own existence, 
 and the existence of other finito beings. 
 But 'tiicfle are 4MiBliqpiit' truths.. [544] 
 
 I believe, li«refere, that 'by perceiving 
 agrasilwitia 'and disagreemento of ideas, no 
 MHinganl' tinth whatsoever can be known, 
 nor the real existence of anytUs^, not even 
 
 tor «WB, auBlenoe, mm the 'txbtonce of a 
 
 'IMly, 'whldi is a nsniimity truth. Thus I 
 ikave endeavottiad to shew what knowledge 
 lilay, and what cannot be attai^ned, by per- 
 'esiviiiglhe' agrMnents and. diangreements 
 of ideas, when 'We toka 'fhift word in its 
 pnmtuve sense. ^ 
 
 We are, in the mM phMse^ to 'Consider, 
 
 ■«liiih«r'inawledga*»iiri«»hiP««»i^Jnff'>« 
 ■Mai or 'disagiwrnent of ideas, taking 
 I' .in any of" tha .senses in wfaidi.'tlia word 
 
 is used by Mr Locke and other modem 
 
 pi w ioiopneCT. 
 
 1. Very often the word idm is used so, 
 
 Ibat to have the idea of an jihtog is a |i«*. 
 
 liiMSif ' for conoeivinf it In this sense, aa 
 
 idea is not an object of thought, it is thou|fat 
 itself, It is the act of the mind by which 
 we conceive any object. And it is evident 
 that this could not be the meaning which 
 Mr Locko had in view in his definition of 
 knowledge. 
 
 2. A second meaning of the word idea ia 
 that which Mr Locke gives in the intro- 
 duction to his Essay, when he is making an 
 apology for the frequent use of it i — *' It be- 
 ing that term, I think, which serves best to 
 stand for whatsoever is the object of the 
 understanding when a man thinks, or what- 
 ever it is which a man can be employed 
 about in thinking." 
 
 By this definition, indeed, every thing thai 
 can be the objeet of thought is an idea. 
 The objecto of our thoughts may, I think, 
 be reduced to two cbwees. 
 
 The first class comprehends all those 
 objects which we not only can think of, but 
 which we believe to have a real existence : 
 such as the Creator of all things, and all 
 hit creatures that fall within our notica. 
 [545] I can think of the sun and moon, 
 the earth and sea, and of the various animal, 
 vegetable, and inanimate productions with 
 which It hath pleased the bountiful Creator 
 to enrich our globe. I can think of myself, 
 of my friends and acquamtance. I think 
 of the author of the Essay with high esteem. 
 These, and such as these, are objects of the 
 understanding which we believe to have real 
 existence. 
 
 A seamd class of objecto of the under- 
 standing which a man may be employed 
 about in thinking, are things which we either 
 believe never to have existed, or which we 
 think of without regard to their existence. 
 
 Thus, I can think of Don auixote, of 
 the Island of Laputa, of Oceana, and of 
 Utopia, which I believe never to have ex- 
 isted. Every attribute, every species, and 
 every genus of things, considered abstractly, 
 without any regard to their existence or 
 non-existence, may be an object of the 
 
 understanding. .... . ^. 
 
 To this second class of obfeeto of Iha 
 understanding, the name of idea does very 
 properly belong, according to the primiUvn 
 sense of the word, and 1 have already con- 
 sidered what knowledge does and wfaa* 
 does not oonsist in perceiving the agree- 
 ments and disagreements of such ideas. 
 
 But, if we take tlie word idea in so exp 
 tensive a sense as to comprehend, not only 
 the second, but also the first cluiss of objecto 
 of the understonding, it will undoubtedly 
 be true tliat all knowledge consists in per- 
 ceiving the agreements and disagreemento 
 of ideas i for it h impossible that there can 
 be any knowledge, any judgment, any 
 opinion, true or fahie, which is not employed 
 about the objecto of the understanding. 
 Bm whatooifvw !• •» o^lM of the undaiw 
 
 f 644, SM\ 
 
 oHAP.iii.] SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. 
 
 431 
 
 stonding is an idea, according to this second 
 meaning of the word. 
 
 Yet I am persuaded that Mr Locke, in 
 his definition of knowledge, did not mean 
 that the word idea should extend to all those 
 things which we commonly consider as ob- 
 jects of the understanding. [546] 
 
 Though Bishop Berkeley believed that 
 sun, moon, and stars, and all material things, 
 are ideas, and nothing but ideas, Mr Locke 
 nowhere professes this opinion. He be- 
 lieved that we have ideas of bodies, but not 
 that bodies are ideas. In like manner, he 
 believed that we have ideas of minds, but 
 not that minds are ideas. When he in- 
 quired BO carefully into the origin of all our 
 ideas, he did not surely mean to find the 
 origin of whatsoever may be the object of 
 the understanding, nor to resolve the origin 
 of everything that may be an object of 
 understanding into sensation and reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 3. Setting aside, therefore, the two mean- 
 ings of the word idea, before mentioned, as 
 meanings which Mr Locke could not have 
 in his view in the definition he gives of 
 knowledge, the only meaning that could be 
 intended in this place is that which I before 
 called the philosophical meaning of the 
 word idea, which hath a reference to the 
 theory commonly received about the manner 
 in which the mind perceives external objects, 
 and in which it remembers and conceives 
 objects that are not present to it. It is a very 
 ancient opinion, and has been very generally 
 received among philosophers, that we can- 
 not perceive or think of such objects im- 
 mediately, but by the medium of certain 
 images or representatives of them really 
 existing in the mind at the time. 
 
 To those images the ancients gave the 
 name of species and phantasms. Modern 
 philosophers have given them the name of 
 Ideas. " *Tis evident," says Mr Locke, 
 book iv., chap. 4, *' the mind knows not things 
 immediately, but only by the intervention 
 of the ideas it has of them." And in the 
 same paragraph he puts this question : 
 " How shall the mind, when it perceives 
 nothing but its own ideas, know that they 
 agree with things themselves ?" [547] 
 
 This theory I have already considered, 
 in treating of perception, of memory, and 
 of conception. The reader will there find 
 the reasons that lead me to think that it 
 has no solid foundation in reason, or in 
 attentive reflection upon those operations 
 of our minds ; that it contradicts the im- 
 mediate dictates of our natural faculties, 
 which are of higher authority than any 
 theory ; that it has taken its rise from the 
 same prejudices which led all the ancient 
 philosophers to think that the Deity could 
 not make this world without some eternal 
 matter to work upon, and which led the 
 [54«-5i8] 
 
 Pythagoreans and Platonists to think that 
 he could not conceive the plan of the world 
 he was to make without eternal ideas really 
 existing as patterns to work by ; and that 
 this theory, when its necessary consequences 
 are fairly pursued, leads to absolute scep- 
 ticism, though those consequences were not 
 seen by most of the philosophers who have 
 adopted it. 
 
 I have no intention to repeat what nas 
 before been said upon those points; but 
 only, toking ideas in this sense, to make 
 some observations upon the definition which 
 Mr Locke gives of knowledge. 
 
 First, If all knowledge consists in per- 
 ceiving the agreements and disagreemento 
 of ideas — that is, of representative images of 
 things existing in the mind — it obviously 
 follows that, if there be no such ideas, there 
 can be no knowledge. So that^ if there 
 should be found good reason for giving up 
 this philosophical hypothesis, all knowledge 
 must go along with it. 
 
 I hope, however, it is not so : and that, 
 though this hypothesis, like many others, 
 should totter and fall to the ground, know- 
 ledge will continue to stand firm upon a 
 more permanent basis. [548] 
 
 The cycles and epicycles of the ancient 
 astronomers were for a thousand years 
 thought absolutely necessary to explain 
 the motions of the heavenly bodies. Yet 
 now, when all men believe them to have 
 been mere fictions, astronomy has not fallen 
 with them, but stands upon a more rational 
 foundation than before. Ideas, or images 
 of things existing in the mind, have, for a 
 longer time, been thought necessary for 
 explaining the operations of the understand- 
 ing. If they should likewise at last be 
 found to be fictions, human knowledge and 
 judgment would suffer nothing by being 
 disengaged from an unwieldy hypothesis. 
 Mr Locke surely did not look upon the ex- 
 istence of ideas as a philosophical hypo- 
 thesis. He thought that we are conscious 
 of their existence, otherwise he would not 
 have made the existence of all our know- 
 ledge to depend upon the existence of ideas. 
 
 Secondly, Supposing this hypothesis to 
 be true, I agree with Mr Locke that it is 
 an evident and necessary consequence that 
 our knowledge can be conversant about 
 ideas only, and must consist in perceiving 
 their attributes and relations. For nothing 
 can be more evident than this, that all 
 knowledge, and all judgment and opinion, 
 must be about things which are or may be 
 immediate objects of our thought. What 
 cannot be the object of thought, or the 
 object of the mind in thinking, cannot be 
 the object of knowledge or of opinion. 
 
 Everything we can know of any object, 
 must be either some attribute of the objed, 
 or some relation it bears to some other 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 {bmay ti. 
 
 OBAP. ni.] SENTIMENTS CONCERNING JUDGMENT. 
 
 433 
 
 iili0at m oMmIi.' By 111*' agnoiiieii'ta and 
 SbgPMMito of objeeto, I apnlMiid Mr 
 Locke intended to exprase bolli their attri- 
 
 Imtes and their felatima.^ If idiia ..then be 
 the only objects of tbongbt, the eoneeqnenoe 
 ia neeeiwrj, that they must be the only 
 ii|iiels of knowledge, and all knowledge 
 '■mat consist in perceiving their agreonieiita' 
 .■ni. disaipenenta^ibat is, their attributes 
 .: pn^ 'f ri atiwi ft r 
 
 Tie lie I would 'imaie' of thia conse- 
 quence, is to shew that the hypothesis must 
 JM' false, from which it necessarily foUowa. 
 For if we .have any 'knowledge of things^ 
 ^Ihat are^ not Meas, it wiU follow no less 
 •videnkly, that ideas are nol tie only objects 
 of our thong hts. [&49] 
 ■• ..Mr Iioehe' haa^ pointeil out the extent and 
 liiiita of himan' knowledge, in his fourth 
 'book, with more ^aoouney and judgment 
 than any philosopher had done before ; but 
 he has not conined it to the agreements 
 and 'dlsacreenenta of .ideas. And I caoMt 
 help 'thtiikingthal a gmA 'part' of thai book 
 .is an evident refutation of the principles^ 
 .laid down in the beginning of it 
 
 Mr Locke did not believe that he himself 
 was an idea; that his friends and aoqualnt- 
 'aiwO' were ideaS'i that the Supreme Being, 
 to speak with nverence, Is an -idea ; or 
 that the sun and moon, the earth and the 
 ■e% and other wternal. objectoof sense, are 
 'ideas. 'He 'believed thai he: liad some cerw 
 lain knowledge of all those objects. Hin 
 knowledp, therefore, did not consist solely 
 in ;ptrceiving the agieemente and disagree- 
 men'to of his Meas ; for, surely, to perceive 
 the existence, the attributes, and relations 
 M things, which are not ideas, Is not to per- 
 <eeive the agieenents and disagriciiiMils of 
 Ideas. And, if iMngs which are^ not Ideas be 
 'Objects of knowledge, they must be obj^ects of 
 thought On the contrary, if ideas be the 
 oily objects of thought, there can be no 
 'Inowiedge,. either of our own existence, or 
 of the existence of external objec'ts,. or of 
 the existence of a Deity. 
 
 This consequence, as far as concerns the 
 •»teme of external, objecta' of sense^ was 
 afterwards dedueed. from the theory of ideas. 
 'by Bishop' 'Berkeley with the clearest evi- 
 dence; and that author chose rather to 
 adopt the consequence than to reject the 
 theory on which it waa grO'Unded. But, 
 with regard to' the existence of our own 
 Binds, of other minds, and of a Supreme 
 Mind, the Bishop, that he might avoid the 
 'OUnsequence, .rej'ccted a part of the theory, 
 ■nd 'maintained that wO' can think of minds, 
 of their attributet and relations, without 
 hiiimi,. ['AMI 
 
 .Mr Hume saw very clearly 'tlie conse- 
 qiMices 'Of this theory, and adopted tliem 
 in Hi lipiciihitive' moments; but candidly 
 ■dumwhiigw thai, In the common busi- 
 
 nesi of life, he found himself under a neces- 
 sity of believing with the vulgar. His 
 "Treatise of Human Nature" is the only 
 system to which the theory of ideas leads; 
 and, in my apprehension, is, in all its parts, 
 the necessary consequence of that theory. . 
 
 Mr Locke, however, did not see all the 
 eonsequenoes of that theory ; he adopted it 
 without doubt or examination, carried along 
 by the stream of philosophers that went 
 before him ; and his judgment and good 
 sense have led him to say many things, and 
 Ui believe nuuiy things, that cannot be re* 
 oonciled to it. 
 
 He not only believed his own exbtence, 
 the existence of external things, and the 
 existence of a Deity ; but he has shewn 
 verv justly how we come by the knowledge 
 of these existences. 
 
 It might here be expected that he should 
 have pointed out the agreements and dis- 
 agreements of ideas from which these exist- 
 ences are deduced ; but this is impossible, 
 and he has not even attempted it 
 
 Our own existence, he observes, we kiuno 
 itUuifiv Ift; but this intuition is not a percep- 
 tion of the agreement or disagreement of 
 ideas ; for the subject of the propositiou, / 
 ##ijt/, is not an idea, but a person. 
 
 The knowledge of exiemal objects of 
 sense, he observes, we can have only by sema- 
 Han, This Mnsalitm he afterwards expresses 
 more clearly by the testimony of our sensetf 
 which are me proper and aoiejudyee qfthis 
 ihiny; whose testimony i« ther/reatest assur. 
 ance we can poMbly havr, and to which 
 our facnllieH can attain. This is perfectly 
 agreeable to the common sense of mankind, 
 and is perfectly understood by those who 
 never heard of the theory of ideas. Our 
 senses testily immediately the existence, 
 and many of the attributes and relations of 
 external material beings ; and, by our con- 
 stitution, we rely with assurance upon their 
 testimony, without seeking a reason for 
 doing so. Thb assurance, Mr Locke ac- 
 knowledges, deserves the name of know- 
 ledge. But those external things are not 
 ideas, nor are their attributes and relations 
 the agreements and disagreements of ideas, 
 but the agreements and disagreements of 
 things which are not ideas. [651] 
 
 To reconcile this to the theory of ideas, 
 Mr Locke says, 7'hat it is the actual receiv- 
 ing qf ideas from without that ffivei u$ notice 
 of the existence of those external things. 
 
 This, if understood literally, would lead 
 us back to the doctrine of Aristotle, that 
 our ideas or species come from without 
 from the external objects, and are the image 
 or form of those objects. But Mr Locke, 
 I believe, meant no more by it, but that 
 our ideas of sense must have a cause, and 
 that we are not the cause of them onr- 
 selvee. 
 
 [549-451] 
 
 I 
 
 Bishop Berkeley acknowledges all this, 
 and shews very clearly that it does not 
 afford the least shadow of reason for the 
 belief of any material object— nay, that 
 there can be nothing external that has any 
 resemblance to our ideas but the ideas of 
 other minds. 
 
 It is evident, therefore, that the agree- 
 ments and disagreements of ideas can give 
 Hi no knowledge of the existence of any 
 material thing. If any knowledge can be 
 attained of things which are not ideas, that 
 knowledge is a perception of agreements 
 and disagreements ; not of ideas, but of 
 things that are not ideas. 
 
 As to the existence of a deity, though 
 Mr Locke was aware that Des Cartes, and 
 many after him, had attempted to prove it 
 merely from the agreements and disagree- 
 ments of ideas ; yet " he thought it an 
 ill way of establishing that truth, and si- 
 lencing Atheists, to lay the whole stress of so 
 imjiortant a point upon that sole founda- 
 tion." And, therefore, he proves this 
 point, with great strength and solidity, from 
 our own existence, and the existence of the 
 sensible parts of the universe. [552] By 
 memory, Mr Locke says, we have the 
 knowledge of the past existence of several 
 things. But all conception of past exbt- 
 ence, as well as of external existence, is 
 irreconcileable to the theory of ideas ; be- 
 cause it supposes that there may be imme- 
 diate objects of thought, which are not ideas 
 presently existing in the mind. 
 
 I conclude, therefore, that, if we have 
 any knowledge of our own existence, or of 
 the existence of what we see about us, or of 
 the existence of a Supreme Being, or if 
 we have any knowledge of things past by 
 memory, that knowledge cannot consist in 
 perceiving the agreements and disagree- 
 ments of ideas. 
 
 This conclusion, indeed, is evident of 
 itself* For, if knowledge consists solely in 
 the perception of the agreement or disagree- 
 ment of ideas, there can be no knowledge of 
 any proposition, which does not express 
 some agreement or dlsagreenient of ideas ; 
 consequently, there can be no knowledge of 
 any proposition, which expresses either the 
 existence, or the attributes or relations of 
 things, which are not ideas. If, therefore, 
 the theory of ideas be true, there can be no 
 knowledge of anything but of ideas. And, 
 on the other hand, if we have any know- 
 ledge of anything besides ideas, that theory 
 must be false. 
 
 There can be no knowledge, no judgment 
 or opinion about things which are not im- 
 mediate objects of thought This I take to 
 be self-evident. If, therefore, ideas be the 
 only immediate objects of thought, they 
 must be the only things in nature of which 
 we can have any knowledge, and about 
 
 which we can have any judgment or 
 opinion. 
 
 This necessary consequence of the com- 
 mon doctrine of ideas Mr Hume saw, and 
 has made evident in his " Treatise of 
 Human Nature ;" but the use he made of 
 it was not to overturn the theory with which 
 it is necessarily connected, but to overturn 
 all knowledge, and to leave no ground to 
 believe anything whatsoever. If Mr Locke 
 had seen this consequence, there is reason 
 to think that he would have made another 
 use of it [553] 
 
 That a man of Mr Locke's judgment and 
 penetration did not perceive a consequence 
 so evident, seems indeed very strange ; and 
 I know no other account that can be given of 
 it but this — that the ambiguity of the word 
 idea has misled him in this, as in several 
 other instances. Having at first defined 
 ideas to be whatsoever is the object of the 
 understanding when we think, he takes it 
 very often in that unlimited sense ; and so 
 everything that can be an object of thought 
 is an idea. At other times, he uses the 
 word to signify certain representative images 
 of things in the mind, which philosophers 
 have supposed to be immediate objects of 
 thought At other times, things conceived 
 abstractly, without regard to their exist- 
 ence, are called ideas. Philosophy is much 
 indebted to Mr Locke for his observations 
 on the abuse of words. It is pity be did 
 not apply these observations to the word 
 ideOj the ambiguity and abuse of which has 
 very much hurt his excellent Essay. 
 
 There are some other opinions of philo- 
 sophers concerning judgment, of which I 
 think it unnecessary to say much. 
 
 Mr Hume sometimes adopts Mr Locke's 
 opinion, that it is the perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas; 
 sometimes he maintains that judgment and 
 reasoning resolve themselves into concep- 
 tion, and are nothing but particular ways 
 of conceiving objects ; and he says, that an 
 opinion or belief may most accurately be 
 defined, a lively idea related to or associated 
 with a present impression. — Treatise of Hu- 
 man Nature, vol. I. page 172. 
 
 I have endeavoured before, in the first 
 chapter of this Essay, to shew that judgment 
 is an operation of mind specifically distinct 
 from the bare conception of an object. I have 
 also considered his notion of belief, in treating 
 of the theories concerning memory. [554] 
 
 Dr Hartley says—" That assent and dis- 
 sent must come under the notion of ideas, 
 being only those very complex internal 
 feelings which adhere by association to such 
 clusters of words as are called propositions 
 in general, or affirmations and negations in 
 particular." 
 
 This, if I understand its meaning, agrees 
 with the opinion of Mr Hume, above men- 
 
 2f 
 

 ON THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 t 
 
 ▼!• 
 
 ilmtd, tnd. Iimi tbtfefore beta Wbn mm* 
 
 Br Priittlj lias given ftWPllier definition 
 of Jidlpitnt:—" It h nothing more than 
 
 the pttwiition of the univeittl «lH«Bf»«iice, 
 or thtt Mifcct ooinoidttMO 'Of two' Ideas^; or 
 th« 'Hiiiil of thai omiMirreiMse or coinci- 
 iuncfc- This, I fiiiik, coincidea with Mr 
 iMke's ddlnitfan, and therefore has been 
 
 '<IlliM''an'iiitty fMuticnhirs whieli deserve 
 to teknoiim, and which might very property 
 he considered in this Essay on judgment ; 
 
 conotfoim the various kinds of propositions 
 
 %' wliitli. our judgments are expiesaedi 
 lUir 'anhjetts ^wad predicates ; their con- 
 VMtimis and oppositions : but as these are 
 to he found in every system of logic, frma 
 AliMotle dnwn to tlie present age, I think 
 i vnneeiittty to swell thia Essay with the 
 mpetitiim 'Ot what haa> been said so often. 
 Tm remarks' which 'have occurred to me 
 upon what is commonly said on these potttt% 
 « wdl as npon. the art of syllogism ; the 
 Utility 'lit Urn Mhont lotie^^ ^and. the improve- 
 ■WBto thalaay he made m it, may be found 
 
 in a "Short Aeconnt of Aristotle's Loric, 
 
 iiiii. Memaiks,** which Lord Kamea has 
 
 'hMMiBied 'With a phMse^ in his " Sketches of 
 
 'the liiatoiy of '.Man.*' [iW] 
 
 CHAPTER fV. 
 m wmm principlbs m obnbbal, 
 
 Onb of the most impoiliiit 'disHnclaons. of 
 mm |n%BenlB .ia, thai 'Bome of them are 
 intnttive, ethera^ grounded on argument. 
 
 B is not in our power to judge as we 
 wat The Judgment is carried along neoee- 
 'Sarily by the evidence, real or seeming, 
 w hioh a^peatB to us at the tine. But, in 
 nropositfons that are' submitted to our 
 .julgnent, there is this great differenee— 
 some are of such a nature that a man of 
 ripe understanding may apprehend them 
 datiBflily, and perfectly understand their 
 BManhigi without finding himself under any 
 neeesuty of believing them to be true or 
 Was, ffohaMe or hnprobableb The iudg- 
 .■■nt 'lumaina 'in suspense, until it 10 in- 
 ^ftied to one side or another by reasons or 
 'iinnMiiia. 
 
 But there mm other propositions which 
 mm im mmm 'UUderstood than, they are be- 
 lieved. The judgment follows the appre- 
 iMialmi. of them necessarily, and both are 
 iilially the work of natu,ire^, and the result 
 « our origiiiBl. powers. There is no aeatcii* 
 lag for evidence^ no weighing of arguments t 
 the fmpattioii is not deduced or inferred 
 ituai another ; it has the light of truth in 
 liMlfy Bud hiii' bo eifUBion to borrow it 
 another. 
 
 Propositions of the last kbd, when thej 
 are used in matters of science, have com* 
 monly been called ajtioms ; and on what- 
 ever occasion they are used, are caWeA. first 
 principle*, principlei of common ame^ cont' 
 mon notions, seif^evuient truths, Cicero 
 calls them natura judicia,judicia communi- 
 hm hominttm sensibus infisa. Lord Shaftes* 
 bury expresses them by the words, natural 
 knowMmffumktmtnial reason, and comnum 
 9tme. [666] 
 
 What has been said, I think, is sufficient 
 to distinguish first principles, or intuitive 
 judgmentB, from those which may be as- 
 cribed to the power of reasoning ; nor is it 
 a just objection agauist this distinction, that 
 there may be some judgments concerning 
 which we may be dubious to which class 
 they ought to be referred. There is a real 
 distinction between persons within the 
 house, and those that are without ; yet it 
 may be dubious to which the man belongs 
 that stands upon the threshold. 
 
 The power of reasoning — that is, of draw- 
 ing a cundusion from a chain of premises- 
 may with some propriety be called an art. 
 " All reasoning,** says Mr Locke, " is 
 search and casting about, and requires 
 pains and application.*' It resembles the 
 power of walking, which is acquired by use 
 and exercise. Nature prompts to it, and 
 has given the power of acquiring it ; but 
 rau»t be aided by frequent exercise before 
 we are able to walk. After repeated efforts, 
 much stumbling, and many falls, we learn 
 to walk ; and it is in a similar manner that 
 we learn, to reason. 
 
 But the power of judgmg in self-evident 
 propositions, which are clearly understood, 
 may be compared to the power of swallow- 
 ing our food. It is purely natural, and there- 
 fore common to the learned and the un- 
 learned, to the trained and the untrained. 
 It requires ripeness of understanding, and 
 Ikeedom from prejudice, but nothing else. 
 
 I take it for granted that there are self- 
 evident principles. Nobody, I think, de- 
 nies it. And if any man were so sceptical 
 as to deny that there is any proposition 
 that is self-evident, I see not how it would 
 be possible to convince hira by reasoning. 
 
 But yet there seems to be great difference 
 of opinions among philosophers about first 
 principlea. What one takes to be self-evi- 
 dent, another hibours to prove by argu- 
 ments, and a third denies altogether. [557] 
 Thus, before the time of Des Carles, it 
 waa taken for a first principle, that there is 
 a sun and a moon, an earth and sea, which 
 really exist, whether we think of them or 
 not. Des CaHes thought that the exist- 
 ence of those things ouglit to be prpved by 
 argument ; and in this he has been follow* 
 ed by Matobranehe, Arnauld, and Locke. 
 They have all kboured to prove, by very 
 
 CHAP. fV.] 
 
 OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 
 
 435 
 
 weak reasoning, the existence of external 
 objects of sense; and Berkeley and Hume, 
 sensible of the weakness of their arguments, 
 have been led to deny their existence alto- 
 gether. 
 
 The ancient philosophers granted, that 
 all knowledge must be grounded on first 
 , / principles, and that there is no reasoning 
 w thout them. The Peripatetic philosophy 
 was redundant rather thuu deficient in fiist 
 priuciples. Perhaps the abuse of them in 
 that ancient system may have brought 
 them into discredit in modern times ; for, 
 as the best things may be abused, so that 
 abuse is apt to give a disgust to the thing 
 itself; and as one extreme often leads into 
 the opposite, this seems to have been the 
 ease iu the respect paid to first principles 
 in ancient and modern times. 
 
 Des Cartes thought one principle, express- 
 ed in one word, coyito, a sufficient foundation 
 for his whole system, and asked no more. 
 
 Mr Locke seems to think first principles 
 of very small use. Knowledge consisting, 
 according to hira, in the perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas ; 
 wiien we Iiave clear ideas, and are able to 
 compare them together, we may always fa- 
 bricate first principles as often as we have 
 occasion for them. Such differences we find 
 among philosophers about first principles. 
 
 It is likewise a question of some moment, 
 whether the differences among men about 
 first principles can be brought to any issue ? 
 When iu disputes one man maintains that 
 to be a first principle which another denies, 
 commonly both parties appeal to common 
 sense, ajid so the matter rests. Now, is 
 there no way of discussing this appeal ? Is 
 there no mark or criterion, whereby first 
 principles that are truly such, may be dis- 
 tinguished from those that assume the cha- 
 racter without a just title ? I shall humbly 
 offer in the following propositions what 
 appears to me to be agreeable to truth in 
 these matters, always ready to change my 
 opinion upon conviction. [558] 
 
 I. Ftrat, I hold it to be certain, and even 
 demonstrable, that all knowledge got by 
 reasoning must be built upon firat princi- 
 pies.* 
 
 This is as certain as that every house 
 must have a foundation. The power of 
 reasoning, in this respect, resembles the 
 mechanical powers or engines; it must 
 have a fixed point to rest upon, otherwise 
 it spends its force in the air, and produces 
 no effect. 
 
 When we examine, in the way of ana- 
 lysis, the evidence of any proposition, either 
 we find It self-evident, or it rests upon one 
 or more propositions that support it. The 
 same thing may be said of the propositions 
 
 * So Arwtotle* 
 
 
 that support it, and of those that support 
 them, as far back as we can go. But we 
 cannot go back in this track to infinity. 
 Where then must this analysis stop ? It 
 is evident that it must stop only when we 
 come to propositions which support all that 
 are built upon them, but are themselves 
 supported by none— that is, to self-evident 
 propositions. 
 
 Let us again consider a synthetical proof of 
 any kind, where we begin with the premises, 
 and pursue a train of consequences, until wo 
 come to the last conclusion or thing to be 
 pnjved. Here we must begin, either with 
 self-evident propositions or with such as have 
 been already proved. When the last is the 
 case, the proof of the propositions, thus as- 
 sumed, is a part of our proof; and the 
 proof is deficient without it. Suppose then 
 the deficiency supplied, and the proof com- 
 pleted, is it not evident that it must set out 
 with self-evident propositions, and that the 
 whole evidence must rest upon them ? Se 
 that it appears to be demonstnible that, 
 without first principles, analytical reasoning 
 could have no end, and synthetical reason- 
 ing could have no beginning; and that 
 every conclusion got by reasoning must 
 rest with its whole weight upon first princi- 
 ples, as the building does upon its founda- 
 tion. L559] 
 
 2. A second proposition is, That some 
 first principles yield conclusions that are 
 certain, others such as are probable, in va- 
 rious degrees, from the highest probability 
 to the lowest. 
 
 In just reasoning, the strength or weak- 
 ness of the conclusion will always corre- 
 spond to that of the principles on which it is 
 grounded. 
 
 In a matter of testimony, it is self-evi. 
 dent that the testimony of two is bettor 
 than that of one, supposing them equal in 
 character, and in their means of knowledge ; 
 yet the simple testimony may be true, and 
 that which is preferred to it may be false. 
 
 When an experiment has succeeded in 
 several trials, and the circumstances have 
 been marked with care, there is a self-evi* 
 dent probability of its succeeding in a new 
 trial ; but there is no certainty. The pro- 
 bability, iu some cases, is much greater 
 than in others ; because, in some cases, it 
 is much easier to observe all the circum- 
 stances that may have influence upon the 
 event than in others. And it is possible 
 that, after many experiments made with 
 care, our expectation may be frustrated in 
 a succeeding one, by the variation of some 
 circumstance that has not, or perhaps 
 could not be observed. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton has laid it down as a 
 first principle in natural philosophy^ that a 
 property which has been found in all bodioa 
 upon which we have had access to make 
 
 SfS 
 
 \ 
 
4B4 
 
 ON THK INTBLLECTUAL POWEES. 
 
 [1 
 
 tionwl, lid Im tlnwiire bawi Wot© con- 
 
 Br Priestly lits given mnotlier defmition 
 l»f jadgment : — " It is nothing more than 
 
 'tllA |MMi|itiMi 'Off' tlw inif «««d 'eomnnenee, 
 Mr m rnkm mAnOiimm f»f tm ide«i ; or 
 'iW' iml of lli»t 'Qiili«itrrenc0 or oobci- 
 ience." This, I think, coincides with Mr 
 iMlw'ta delliiitiim, and therefore has been 
 :ilmMlf cmMidmd» 
 
 llMre •remwy pirticuUirs which deserve 
 to heknown, and which might very properly 
 be considered in this Essay on judgment ; 
 concerning the various kinds of propositions 
 
 S' which onr Judgment are expressed j 
 efe' inlileflti md predicates ; 'tlieir con- 
 ▼ersbns and oppositions : but as these are 
 lo M immd in every system of logic, from 
 Afittlilt* down to the present age, I think 
 M mmmitmry to swei this Essay with the 
 metition of what has been said so often. 
 tm remarks which have occurred to me 
 VfiMi vbsl Iseommonly said on these points, 
 ai liii M upon the art of syllogism ; the 
 miity «f the school logic, and the improve- 
 inentB that may be made in it, may be found 
 in a *< SlMifft Aemnt off Aristotle^s Logic, 
 with Renaiks,^ which Lord Kames has 
 ionoured with a phice in his " Sketches of 
 tli0 History off Man«'** IMIII 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 or FIRST P1UNCIPI.B8 IN OtiVSRAL. 
 
 0Niof tlie most important distinctions of 
 onr judgments is, that some off them are 
 intuitive, othen grounded on argument. 
 
 B is not in our power to judge as we 
 wii The judgment is carried along neces- 
 iiiily by the evidence^ real or seeming, 
 wMm appears to us at the time. But, m 
 BfupoBttions that are submitted to our 
 Judgment, tlMW is this great difference— 
 MRM' tfO off meli. a nature thai a man of 
 lipe naianitaniiim may aMirsfaend them 
 diatiiietly, and ptmotly mndentand their 
 
 neeossitgf off 'boieving them to be true or 
 Use^ 'pfobaMe or improbable. The ludg* 
 ■iint remains in ■uspen:Be, until it is in- 
 lliMd to one side or another by reasons or 
 
 But there :a*e other propositions which 
 are no sooner understood than they are be* 
 lieved. The judgment follows the appre- 
 
 lieiiaien of them necessarily, and bolli are 
 
 3uaiy the work of nature, and llie 'result 
 onr 'Oil|ilial. powers. There is no search- 
 luf iir evidence, no weighing of arguments ; 
 tlie pmiMeilioii h not dednced or inferred 
 from anklier ; it has the light of truth in 
 ttMiy aiMi hm no oeeasion to borrow it 
 
 Propositions off the kit kind, when they 
 are used in matters of science, have com* 
 monly been called axioms ; and on what- 
 ever occasion they are used, are called ftrsi 
 principle*, principle* qf ecmmon 9en$e^ com^ 
 men fiolJoiu, setf'evidcni truths. Cicero 
 calls them naturte judicia^judida communis 
 bus hominum unsilus infixa. Lord Shaftes- 
 bury expresses them by the words, natural 
 knowledge^ fundamental nasonf and common 
 sense, [556] 
 
 What has been said, I think, is sufficient 
 to distinguish first principles, or intuitive 
 judgments, from those which may be as- 
 cribed to the power of reasoning ; nor is it 
 a just objection against this distinction, that 
 there may be some judgments concerning 
 which we may be dubious to which class 
 they ought to be referred. There is a real 
 distinction between persons within the 
 house, and those that are without ; yet it 
 may be dubious to which the man belonia 
 that stands upon the threshold. 
 
 The power of reasoning — that is, of draw- 
 ing a conclusion from a chain of premises- 
 may with some propriety be called an art. 
 " All reasoning,*' says Mr Locke, " is 
 search and casting about, and requires 
 paius and application.** It resembles the 
 power of walking, which is acquired by use 
 and exercise. Nature prompts to it, and 
 has given the power of acquiring it ; but 
 must be aided by frequent exercise before 
 we are ab?e to walk. After repeated efforts, 
 much stumbling, and many falls, we learn 
 to walk ; and it is in a similar manner that 
 we learn to reason. 
 
 But the power of judging in self-evident 
 propositions, which are clearly understood, 
 may be compared to the power of swallow- 
 ing our food. It is purely natural, and there- 
 fore common to the learned and the un- 
 learned, to the trained and the untrained. 
 It requires ripeness of understanding, and 
 freedom from prejudice, but nothiug else. 
 
 I take it for granted that there are self- 
 evident principles. Nobody, I think, de- 
 nies it. And k any man were so sceptical 
 as to deny that there is any proposition 
 that is self-evident, I see not bow it would 
 be possible to convince him by reasoning. 
 
 But yet there seems to be great difference 
 of opinions among philosophers about first 
 principles. What one takes to be self-evi- 
 dent, another Ubours to prove by argu- 
 ments, and a third denies altogether. [557] 
 
 Thus, before the time of Des Cartes, it 
 was taken for a first principle, that there is 
 a son and a moon, an earth and sea, which 
 really exisi, whether we think of them or 
 not. Des Cartes thought that the exist- 
 ence of those things ought to be prpved by 
 argument ; and in this he has been follow* 
 ed by Malebranche, Amauld, and Locket. 
 They have all laboured to prove, by very 
 
 GIIAr. IV.] 
 
 OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 
 
 435 
 
 weak reasoning, the existence of external 
 objects of sense ; and Berkeley and Hume, 
 sensible of the weakness of their arguments, 
 have been led to deny their existence alto- 
 gether. 
 
 The ancient philosophers granted, that 
 all knowled^ must be grounded on first 
 principles, and that there is no reasoning 
 w thout them. The Peripatetic philosophy 
 was redundant rather than deficient in fi. st 
 principles. Perhaps the abuse of them in 
 that ancient system may have brought 
 them into discredit in modem times ; for, 
 as the best things may be abused, so that 
 abuse is apt to give a disgust to the thing 
 itself ; and as one extreme often leads into 
 the opposite, this seems to have been the 
 case iu the respect paid to first principles 
 in ancient and modern times. 
 
 Des Cartes thought one principle, express- 
 ed in one word, coyito, a sufiicieut foundation 
 for his whole system, and asked no more. 
 
 Mr Locke seems to think first principles 
 of very small use. Knowledge consisting, 
 according to him, in the perception of the 
 agreement or disagreement of our ideas ; 
 when we have clear ideas, and are able to 
 compare them together, we may always fa- 
 bricate first principles as often as we have 
 occasion for them. Such differences we find 
 among philosophers about first principles. 
 
 It is likewise a question of some moment, 
 whether the differences among men about 
 first principles can be brought to any issue ? 
 When in disputes one man maintains that 
 to be a first principle which another denies, 
 commonly both parties appeal to common 
 sense, and so the matter rests. Now, is 
 there no way of discussing this appeal ? Is 
 there no mark or criterion, whereby first 
 principles that are truly such, may be dis- 
 tinguished from those that assume the cha- 
 racter without a just title ? I shall humbly 
 offer in the following propositions what 
 appears to me to be agreeable to truth in 
 these matters, always ready to change my 
 opinion upon conviction. [558] 
 
 I. Firat, I hold it to be certain, and even 
 demonstrable, that all knowledge got by 
 reasoning must be built upon fii-st princi- 
 ples.* 
 
 This is as certiun as that every house 
 must have a foundation. The power of 
 reasoning, in this respect, resembles the 
 mechanical powers or engines; it must 
 have a fixed point to rest upon, otherwise 
 it spends its force iu the air, and produces 
 no effect. 
 
 When we examine, in the way of ana- 
 lysis, the evidence of any proposition, either 
 we find it self-evident, or it rests upon one 
 or more propositions that support it. The 
 same thing may be said of the propositions 
 
 « So Anttotte, ]A<rfM.«»II. 
 
 that support it, and of those that support 
 them, as far back as we can go. But wo 
 cannot go back in this track to infinity. 
 Where then must this analysis stop ? Itx 
 is evident that it must stop only when we 
 come to propositions which support all that 
 are built upon them, but are themselves 
 supported by none — tliat is, to self-evident 
 propositions. 
 
 Let us again consider a synthetical proof of 
 any kind, where we begin with the premises, 
 and pursue a train of consequences, until we 
 come to the last conclusion or thing to be 
 proved. Here we must begin, either with 
 self-evident propositions or with such as have 
 been already proved. When the last is the 
 case, the proof of the propositions, thus as- 
 sumed, is a part of our proof; and the 
 proof is deficient without it. Suppose then 
 the deficiency supplied, and the proof com- 
 pleted, is it not evident that it must set out 
 with self-evident propositions, and that the 
 whole evidence must rest upon them ? So 
 that it appears to be demonstrable that, 
 without first principles, analytical reasoning 
 could have no end, and synthetical reason- 
 ing could have no beginning ; and that 
 every conclusion got by reasoning must 
 rest with its whole weight upon first princi- 
 ples, as the building does upon its founda- 
 tion. [569] 
 
 2. A second proposition is, That some 
 first principles yield conclusions that are 
 certain, others such as are probable, in va- 
 rious degrees, from the highest probability 
 to the lowest. 
 
 In just reasoning, the strength or weak- 
 ness of the conclusion will always corre- 
 spond to that of the principles on which it is 
 grounded. 
 
 In a matter of testimony, it is self-evi- 
 dent that the testimony of two is better 
 than that of one, supposing them equal in 
 character, and in their means of knowledge ; 
 yet the simple testimony may be true, and 
 that which is preferred to it may be false. 
 
 When an experiment has succeeded in 
 several trials, and the circumstances have 
 been marked with care, there is a self-evi-? 
 dent probability of its succeeding in a new 
 trial ; but there is no certainty. The pro- 
 bability, in some cases, is much greater 
 than in others ; because, in some cases, it 
 is much easier to observe all the circum- 
 stances that may have influence upon the 
 event than in others. And it is possible 
 that, after many experiments made with 
 care, our expectation may be frustrated in 
 a succeeding one, by the variation of some 
 circumstance that has not, or perhaps 
 could not be observed. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton has laid it down as a 
 first principle in natural philosophy, that a 
 property which has been found in all bodioa 
 upon which we have had access to mako 
 
 SfS 
 
 \ 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [■tSAY Yl. 
 
 OHAP. IV.] OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 
 
 487 
 
 »xi»fiiii«iit% mi. 'ifliloli hm alwijt li««n 
 lounil in its quantllf UUim mad propor- 
 to"*li*'fiiiiitity oi mitttr in mmj body, m 
 to be hiM •• m iiiii»«fi»l property of mat- 
 
 ■"im» [060] 
 
 This principle, ts flur « I Imow, hm 
 ,mmm 'been called in f nestion. The evi- 
 ilMe we bave, tbat all matter is divisible, 
 movable, solid, and inert, is resolvable 
 ■'Mm 'tbis frineiplej' ^aiid, ill! ^bi^no* troe, 
 «• flttiiMt bave any .miinnid 'Mivielbn that 
 
 ai, .natter' 'im )imm pinpeities. From the 
 
 mamm prineiplo tbat great man baa shewn 
 .'HkI we have reason to wndiide that all 
 lodiea gmiilate towards eaefc other. 
 
 Iltia priselple,. howoYer, has not that 
 Hud nf tvidenoe which mathematical axioms 
 bavft It is not a neoessaiy taitb, wbose 
 Dontrsry Is impossible ; not did Sw Ittac 
 •veT' conceive it to be such. And, if it 
 dimid ever be found, by just experiments, 
 ibal then is any part in the composition of 
 some boiicB which has not gravity, the 
 iMit, if dily awieftained, ■■* be .adm.itted 
 as an exceptiin. to (IM ge«Mllawofgia- 
 
 *.A- J,.t 
 
 vltatioil* ^ . . , 
 
 In games of chance, it is a first principle 
 Ibal every side of a die has an eqiial chauoe 
 to be turned np ; and liat, m a lottery, 
 aveiy ticket has an e4|iial ehanee of being 
 drawn ont From such first principles as 
 these, which are tli© be«t we can have in 
 :nich matters, we may deduce, by demon- 
 ■tiative reasoning, the precise degree of 
 probiMlty of every event in such games. 
 
 But the pilnoiples of all this aceuiate 
 and profound iwasoBiif can. never yield a 
 Mrtak coneliision, It lieing impossible to 
 ilipnlj a deffci in the irst prmciples by any 
 aaouacy in the reasoning that is grounded 
 vpon them. As water, by its gravity, can 
 rise BO higher in its coarse than the fonn- 
 'tain, 'bowever artfblly it be oondoeted ; so 
 .no eoneliribn" of reasoning can have a 
 gnaler degree of evidence than the first 
 frineipteS' from which it is^ drawn. 
 
 Wtmm these bastances, it is evident that, 
 as ihen ara some first principles that yield 
 oonclosions of absoluto certainty, so there 
 aro others that can only yield probable con- 
 dusions i and that the lowest' degree of 
 probabilliy miit U .grounded "on firrt prin- 
 ciples as well as absolute certainty.* 
 
 I0il] 
 % A ikird proposition i% That it would 
 
 Mintribnte gpatly to the .stability of human 
 hnowledge, and' 'eonseqnently to the im- 
 provement of it, if the first principles upon 
 which the various parts of it are grounded 
 ware' pointed, out and. ascertained. 
 
 We have ground to think so, both from 
 fkets, and from the naturo of the thing. 
 
 Thero are two branches of human know- 
 
 «• 
 
 iCii. {k38.— H. 
 
 ledge in which this method has been followed 
 —to wit, mathematics and natural philoso- 
 phy ; in mathematics, as far back as we hav» 
 books. It is in this science only, that, for 
 more than two thousand years since it be- 
 gan to be cultivated, we find no sects, no 
 contrary systems, and hardly any disputes ; 
 or, if there have been disputes, they have 
 ended as soon as the animosity of par- 
 ties subsided, and have never been again 
 revived. The science, once firmly csta» 
 blished upon the foundation of a few axioms 
 and definitions, as upon a rock, has grown 
 from age so age, so as to become the loRisst 
 and the most solid fabric that human rea- 
 son can boast* 
 
 Natural philosophy, till less than two 
 hundred years ago, remained in the same 
 fluctuatbg state with the other sciences. 
 Every new system pulled up the old by 
 the roots. The system-builders, indeed 
 were always willing to accept of the aid 
 of first principles, when they were of their 
 side ; but, finding them insufficient to sup- 
 port the fabric which their imagination had 
 raised, they were only brought in as auxi- 
 liaries, and so intermixed with conjectures, 
 and with lame inductions, that their sys- 
 tems were like Nebuchadnezzar's image, 
 whose feet were partly of uron and partly 
 
 of day. 
 
 Lord Bacon first delineated the only so- 
 lid foundation on which natural philoso- 
 phy can be built; and Sir Isaac Newton 
 reduced the principles laid down by Bacon 
 into tliree or four axioms, which he calls 
 regnia phllotophandi. From these, toge- 
 ther with the phenomena observed by the 
 senses, which he likewise lays down as 
 . first principles, he deduces, by strict rea- 
 soning, the propositions contained in the 
 third book of bis *'Principia,'* and in his 
 " Optics ;" and by this means has raised a 
 fabric in those two branches of natural 
 philosophy, which is not liable to be shaken 
 by doubtful disputation, but stands im- 
 movable upon the basis of self-evident 
 principles. [562] 
 
 This fabric has been carried on by the 
 accession of new discoveries; but is no 
 more subject to revolutions. 
 
 The disputes about materia prima, sub- 
 stantial forms, Nature's abhorring a va- 
 cuum, and bodies having no gravitation 
 in their proper place, are now no more. 
 The builders in this work are not put to the 
 necessity of holding a weapon in one hand 
 while they build with the other ; their 
 whole employment is to carry on the work. 
 
 Yet it seems to be very probable, that, if 
 natural philosophy had not been reared upon 
 this solid foundation of self-evident princi- 
 ples, it would have been to this day a field 
 
 ♦ Ste Stewsiri •* fitemtsti,* U. p* 48.— H. 
 
 f 
 
 of battle, wherein every inch of giound 
 would have been disputed, and nothing fixed 
 and determined. 
 
 I acknowledge that mathematics and na- 
 tural philosophy, especially the former, 
 have this advantage of most other sciences, 
 that it is less difticult to form distinct and 
 determinate conceptions of the objects 
 about which they are employed ; but, as 
 this difficulty is not insuperable, it affords 
 a good reason, indeed, why other sciences 
 should have a longer infancy ; but no rea- 
 son at all why they may not at last arrive 
 at maturity, by the same steps as those of 
 quicker growth. 
 
 The facts I have mentioned may there- 
 fore lead us to conclude, that, if in other 
 branches of philosophy the first principles 
 were laid down, as has been done in ma- 
 thematics and natural philosophy, and the 
 subsequent conclusions grounded upon them, 
 this would make it much more easy to dis- 
 tinguish what is solid and well supported 
 from the vain fictions of human fancy. [563] 
 
 But, laying aside facts, the nature of the 
 thing leads to the same conclusion. 
 
 For, when any system is grounded upon 
 first principles, and deduced regularly from 
 them, we have a thread to lead us through 
 the labyrinth. The judgment has a distinct 
 and determinate object. The heterogeneous 
 parts being separated, can be examined each 
 by itself. 
 
 The whole system is reduced to axioms, 
 definitions, and deductions. These are ma- 
 terials of very different nature, and to be 
 measured by a very different standard ; and 
 it is much more easy to judge of each, taken 
 by itself, than to judge of a mass wherein 
 they are kneaded together without distinc- 
 tion. Let us consider how we judge of each 
 of them. 
 
 First, As to definitions, the matter is very 
 easy. They relate only to words, and differ- 
 ences about them may produce different 
 ways of speaking, but can never produce 
 different ways of thinking, while every man 
 keeps to his own definitions. 
 
 But, as there is not a more plentiful source 
 of fallacies in reasoning than men^s using 
 the same word sometimes in one sense and 
 at other times in another, the best means 
 of preventing such fallacies, or of detecting 
 them when they are committed, is defi- 
 nitions of words as accurate as can be 
 given. 
 
 Secondly, As to deductions drawn from 
 principles granted on both sides, I do not 
 see how they can long be a matter of dis- 
 pute among men who are not blinded by 
 prejudice or partiality; for the rules of 
 reasoning by which inferences may be drawn 
 from premises have been for two thousand 
 years fixed with great unanimity. No man 
 pretends to dispute the rules of reasonmg 
 [563-665] 
 
 laid down by Aristotle and repeated by 
 every writer in dialectics. [564] 
 
 And we may observe by the way, that 
 the reasoja why logicians have been so una- 
 nimous in determining the rules of reason- 
 ing, from Aristotle down to this day, seems 
 to be, that they were by that great genius 
 raised, in a scientific manner, from a few 
 definitions and axioms. It may farther be 
 observed, that, when men differ about a 
 deduction, whether it follows from certain 
 premises, this I think is always owing to 
 their differing about some first principle. 
 I shall explain this by an example. 
 
 Suppose that, from a thing having begun 
 to exist, one man infers that it must have 
 had a cause ; another man does not admit 
 the inference. Here it is evident, that the 
 first takes it for a self-evident principle, that 
 everything which begins to exist must have 
 a cause. The other does not allow this to 
 be self-evident. Let them settle this point, 
 and the dispute will be at an end. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that, in matters 
 of science, if the terms be properly explained, 
 the first principles upon which the reason- 
 ing is grounded be laid down and exposed 
 to examination, and the conclusions re- 
 gularly deduced from them, it might be 
 expected that men of candour and capacity, 
 who love truth, and have patience to ex- 
 amine things coolly, might come to unani- 
 mity with regard to the force of the deduc- 
 tions, and that their differences might be 
 reduced to those they may have about first 
 principles. 
 
 4. A fourth proposition is, That Nature 
 hath not left us destitute of means whereby 
 the candid and honest part of mankind may 
 be brought to unanimity when they happen 
 to differ about first principles. [5C5] 
 
 When men differ about things that are 
 taken to be first principles or self-evident 
 truths, reasoning seems to be at an end. 
 Each party appeals to common sense. When 
 one man's common sense gives one deter- 
 mination, another man's a contrary deter- 
 mination, there seems to be no remedy but 
 to leave every man to enjoy his own opinion. 
 This is a common observation, and, I be- 
 lieve, a just one, if it be rightly understood. 
 It is in vain to reason with a man who 
 denies the first principles on which the rea- 
 soning is grounded. Thus, it would be in 
 vain to attempt the proof of a proposition 
 in Euclid to a man who denies the axioms. 
 Indeed, we ought never to reason with men 
 who deny first principles from obstinacy 
 and unwillingness to yield to reason. 
 
 But is it not possible, that men who really 
 love truth, and are open to conviction, may 
 differ about first principles ? 
 
 I think it is possible, and that it cannot, 
 without great want of charity, be denied to 
 be possible. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTOAL POWERS. 
 
 [■»A¥ri. 
 
 WhM Ah hjM M p i t f ,, cvfry nuui who bo- 
 fiofw tlisl Hhem ma ml distiBctim betwMn 
 
 Cbd has given ui aio not in tlnir nttnre 
 MlMil»ii% niiiil be coDvinced that there is 
 m iMMt or ft pervefaloii off judgment on 
 
 llw on« m&i^ m tUm 'Otlnr. 
 
 '* '••■% very 'Dstuniy amtpKi hu own 
 .■0 Ikr ■■ to be desirous to enter 
 
 I: 
 
 imMP W9 iB™*! 
 
 rious 
 
 •■Wliiiiilion, mm, of what 
 
 'Wii. 'liink it not uniioiiiUi»'tliirt» 'latboiifh 
 bit beart be u|)r%ht, his judgment may have 
 Inill 'ppptilMi, by eduoation, by authority, 
 % 'ptif leil', or by some other of the com- 
 
 'BOil. ' tmnwi i of enVy from the infltionce of 
 wbieh neither parts nor integrity exempt 
 the human undentanding. [§66] 
 
 In iiifib. ft' stale off mind| sO' ammble, and 
 m 'lieooininf ' eveij good 'man, has Nature 
 left him desliliile ofany rational means by 
 whiob he may be enabledi dtber to oorreet 
 Ma- Jid|pMBt If it be wrong, or to eonfirm 
 it ■ it m « M»t f 
 
 I 'iiope il H not ao. I bone that, by the 
 means whieh natnn has furnished, con- 
 tmveniea about irst principles may be 
 bfoiighl to an. iasn^, .and. 'tluit the real loveis. 
 of "tmth 'may ownit' to 'nnaniniity with uMpirf 
 'to them. 
 
 It is true that, in other controversies 
 'ihS' pmess by whieh 'the tmth of a propo- 
 iiim it'diaeovaited, or ita^iaiielMiod deteotedi 
 m, toy ■bewing' its Mceaaaiy eonnection wltli 
 first prindinlesi or its repugnancy to them' 
 It is. 'true, Ekewiae, that, when the eontro- 
 vetay i% wiwilMr' ft preposition be itself a 
 ■m pitmipi% tnis process eannot be ap- 
 f li04 Hie truth, therefore, in controversies 
 off this kind, labours under a peculiar dis- 
 •diantage. But it has advantaniagca of 
 another kind to compensate this. 
 
 L For, in thejirif place, in such eon* 
 'lioversiee, every m.an is a competent judge: 
 and tiMielbre it is diffionit to impose uj^n 
 BianMnd. 
 
 Vo judge off first prineiples, 'requires no 
 mmm "'than ft amind mind free from projn- 
 diiiL and a distinetconception of the question. 
 The luained and the unlearned, the phi- 
 
 livei, and 'wiU pass the same judgment,, 
 when they aro not misled by some bias, or 
 ianght to renounce their nnderstauding 
 
 .In 'maftteiB beyond the' reach of common 
 indantandinir, the many aro led by the 
 fcW| and. wiil:lii|ly yield to their authority. 
 Bnt, in maHwt oCcoflinion fio'inn the few 
 lanst yield to the many, when Mai and 
 'iBliiporary prejudleea art: removed. No 
 '■an ia now moved by the subtle anraments 
 
 ^iMi ifliPliMMfiiiF iW|^MBRa#iaapwf laiia^NP'^^MiPwaiBi. WBww^'^B^fc'aBTp ••^•** **wpb* ^'ii' a*^"' 
 
 'ioiowa not how to .answer tliem. [M71 
 
 The ancient sceptical qrstem fumishes a 
 remarkaUo instance of thb truth. That 
 system, of which Pyrrho*was reputed the 
 father, was carried down, through a succes* 
 sion of ages, by very able and acute philo* 
 aophers, who taught men to believe nothing 
 at all, and esteemed it the higliest pitch of 
 human wisdom to withhold absent from 
 every proposition whatsoever. It was sup* 
 ported with very great subtilty and learning, 
 ■a we see from the writings of Sextus £m- 
 pirious, the only author of that sect whoea 
 writbgs have come down to our age. The 
 assault of the sceptics against all science 
 seems to have been managed with more art 
 and address than the defence of the dog- 
 matists. 
 
 Yet, as this system was an insult upon the 
 common sense of mankind, it died away of 
 itself; and it would be in vain to attempt 
 to revive it The modern scepticism is very 
 different from the ancient, otherwise it would 
 not have been allowed a hearing; and, when 
 it has loot the grace of novelty, it will die 
 away also, though it should never be refuted. 
 
 The modern scepticism, I mean that of 
 Mr Hume, is built upon principles which 
 were very generally maintained by philo- 
 sophers, though they did not see that they 
 led to scepticism. 5lr Hume, by tracing, 
 with great acuteness and ingenuity, the con- 
 sequences of principles commonly received, 
 has shewn that they overturn all knowledge, 
 and at last overturn themselves, and leave 
 the mind in perfect suspense. 
 
 2. Secondifff We may observe that opin- 
 ions which oontradict first principles, aro 
 distinguished, from other errors, by this :~. 
 That they aro not only false but absurd ; 
 and, to discountenance absurdity. Nature 
 hath given ns a particular emotion — to wit, 
 that of ridicule-which seems intended for 
 this very purpose of putting out of counte- 
 nance what is abenro, eitlier in opinion or 
 practice. [568] 
 
 This weapon, when properly applied, cuts 
 with as keen an edge as argument. Nature 
 hath furnished us vsith the first to expose 
 absurdity ; as with the last to refute error. 
 Both aro well fitted for their several offices, 
 and aro eaually friendly to truth when pro- 
 perly used. 
 
 Bk>th may be abused to serve the cause 
 of error ; but the same degree Of judgment 
 which serves to detect the abuse of argu- 
 ment in false reasoning, serves to detect the 
 abuse of ridieale when it is wrong directed. 
 
 Some have, from nature, a happier talent 
 for ridicule than others f and the same 
 thing holds with regard to the talent of 
 reasoning. Indeed, I conceive there is 
 hardly any absurdity, which, when touched 
 with the pencil of a Luetan, a Swift, or a 
 Yoltaire, would not be put out of count»> 
 nanea, whan there ia not aome religieoa 
 
 [5«6.5$8] 
 
 fUlAP. IV.] 
 
 OF FIRST PRINCIPLES IN GENERAL. 
 
 4*tfif 
 
 panic, or very powerful prejudice, to blind 
 the understanding. 
 
 But it must be acknowledged that the 
 emotion of ridicule, even when most natu- 
 ral, may be stifled by an emotion of a con- 
 trary nature, and cannot operate till that 
 is removed. 
 
 Tims, if the notion of sanctity is annexed 
 to an object, it is no longer a laughable 
 matter ; and this visor must be pulled ofi^ 
 before it appears ridiculous. Hence we 
 see, that notions which appear most ridicu- 
 lous to all who consider them coolly and in- 
 difierently, have no such appearance to 
 those who never thought of them but under 
 the impression of religious awe and dread. 
 
 Even where religion is not concerned, 
 the novelty of an opinion to those w ho are 
 too fond of novelties ; the gravity and 
 solemnity with which it is introduced ; the 
 opinion we have entertained of the author ; 
 its apparent connection with principles 
 already embraced, or subserviency to in- 
 terests which we have at heart ; and, above 
 all, its being fixed in our minds at that time 
 of life when we receive implicitly what we 
 are taught — may cover its absurdity, and 
 fascinate the understanding for a time. 
 [569] 
 
 But, if ever we are able to view it naked, 
 and stripped of those adventitious circum- 
 stances from which it borrowed its import- 
 ance and authority, the natural emotion of 
 ridicule wiU exert its force. An absurdity 
 can be entertained by men of sense no longer 
 than it wears a mask. When any man is 
 found who has the skill or the boldness to 
 
 {mil off the mask, it can no longer bear the 
 ight ; it slinks into dark comers for a while, 
 and then is no more heard of, but as an ob- 
 ject of ridicule. 
 
 Thus I conceive, that first principles, 
 which are really the dictates of common 
 sense, and directly opposed to absurdities 
 in opinion, will always, from the constitu- 
 tion of human nature, support themselves, 
 and gain rather than lose ground among 
 mankind. 
 
 3. Thirdly, It may be observed, that, al- 
 though it is contrary to the nature of first 
 principles to admit of direct or apodictical 
 proof ; yet there are certain ways of reason- 
 mg even about them, by which those that 
 are just and solid nmy be confirmed, and 
 those that are false may be detected. It 
 may here be proper to mention some of the 
 topics from which we may reason in matters 
 off this kind. 
 
 Fir«<, It is a good argument ad hominem, 
 if it can be shewn that a first principle 
 which a man rejects, stands upon the same 
 footing with others which he admits : for, 
 when this b the case, he must be guilty of 
 an inconsistency who holds the one and 
 rejects the other. 
 [56«-57l] 
 
 Thus the faculties of consciousness, Of 
 memory, of external sense, and of reason, 
 are all equally the gifts of nature. No good 
 reason can be assigned for receiving the 
 testimony of one of them, which is not of 
 equal force with regard to the others. The 
 greatest sceptics admit the testimony of 
 consciousness, and allow that what it testi- 
 fies is to be held as a first principle. If, 
 therefore, they reject the immediate testi 
 mony of sense or of memory, they aro 
 guilty of an inconsistency. [570] 
 
 Secondly^ A first principle may admit off 
 a proof ad ahsurdum. 
 
 In this kind of proof, which is very com- 
 mon in mathematics, we suppose the con- 
 tradictory proposition to be true. We trace 
 the consequences of that supposition in a 
 train of reasoning ; and, if we find any of 
 its necessary consequences to be manifestly 
 absurd, we conclude the supposition from 
 which it followed to be false ; and, there* 
 fore its contradictory to be true. 
 
 There is hardly any proposition, especially 
 of those that may claim the character of 
 first principles, that stands alone and un- 
 connected. It draws many others along 
 with it in a chain that cannot be broken. 
 He that takes it up must bear the burden 
 of all its consequences ; and, if that is too 
 heavy for him to bear, he must not pretend 
 to take it up. 
 
 Thirdly, I conceive that the consent of 
 ages and nations, of the learned and un- 
 learned, ought to have great authority with 
 regard to first principles, where every man 
 is a competent judge. 
 
 Our ordinary conduct in life is built upon 
 first principles, as well as our speculations 
 in philosophy ; and every motive to action 
 supposes some belief. When we find a 
 general agreement among men, in principles 
 that concern human life, this must have 
 great authority with every sober mind that 
 loves truth. 
 
 It is pleasant to observe the fruitless 
 pains which Bishop Berkeley takes to shew 
 that his system of the non-existence of a 
 material world did not contradict the senti- 
 ments of the vulgar, but those only of the 
 philosophers. 
 
 With good reason he dreaded more to 
 oppose the authority of vulgar opinion in a 
 matter of this kind, than all the schools of 
 philosophers. [571] 
 
 Here, perhaps, it will be said. What has 
 authority to do in matters of opinion ? Is 
 truth to be determined by most votes ? Or 
 is authority to be again raised out of its 
 grave to tyrannise over mankind ? 
 
 I am aware that, in this age, an advo- 
 cate for authority lias a very unfavourable 
 plea ; but I wish to give no more toauthor- 
 i^ than is its due. 
 
 Most justly do we honour the names of 
 
ON THB INTBLLBCTUAL FOMTBRS. 
 
 [ 
 
 ▼1. 
 
 tiiiigrlwiMiMlon to manMiid who hare oon* 
 imiiMMi OMiiii ur mm to tmuc tiw yoiio or 
 IImS ■juitiiiitHy wMeh 'dspiiw mon of tho 
 "l iiti iitiiti tlW ' uftlieiuiMo Afrt of judgioff 
 Ibr tlMiiiMkeB; but, wMle we indulge » 
 Jisl aniinositj agpuMt this authority, and 
 against aM who would snhjeet ua to its 
 tyiaony, let us romemher how common the 
 iiijr hf of going fvoin one faulty extreme 
 into the opposite. 
 
 Antiiffffltyi tlioitriia Teir Inannioal mis* 
 iiesB to private judgment, may vet, on some 
 iMcasions, be a useful handmaid. This Is 
 all she is entitled to, and this is all I plead 
 ill .her IwhalC 
 
 llH\Jii8tiee of this plea will appear bv 
 ;piiiii|g a 'Oase in a science, in. whwii, of all 
 ■^iMiOH,. authority is acknowli%sd.to have 
 .Isiiil we%ht.. 
 
 .Suppose' a mathematician has made a 
 discovery in that science which he thinks 
 Important ; that he has put his demonstra- 
 tion in just order ; and, after examining it 
 with an attentive eye, has found no flaw in 
 ilL I would ask, Wilt there not be still in 
 Ui bnasi some diffidence, some jealousy, 
 itil the ardour of invention may have made 
 Um overlook some falee step ? This must 
 bo granted. [572] 
 
 He commits his demonstration to the ex- 
 
 ^^^__V^^ jr*^^^ jiH,JP' ^ mill mill im lili'^* ^iM mi AS mi Mi'II iJUmI iiin^ nil ■■■Iw.ji.miimul 
 
 Miiii a t iott Of a matnemiUM, inenii, wnom 
 ImI' esteems a competent judges .and waits 
 with impatience the issue of his judgment. 
 Bere I would ask again. Whether the verdict 
 '"•f ' his friend,, according aa^ it 'is favourable 
 or mlsvourable, will not greatly increase or 
 diiwiniih, liia.'0Milidenee.inIii8own judgment ? 
 Xoit eeilaiiilly it wil, and it ought. 
 
 ~ his friend agree with 
 be confirms by two 
 rests secure of his 
 difPFtPj witfiftirt l i trth ff f ' f 'Wfffp **^"" i but, 
 M ..il be ni&vouiabl%:' Iw M biought back 
 into' a kind uf isuiptnie^ iinti the' part that 
 is suspected undergoes a new and a more 
 l%orou8 examination. 
 
 I hope' what iS' .supposed in this case is 
 ■gveeabfo to 'nature, .and to the experience 
 m candid and modest men on such occa* 
 ■ions i yet here we see a man*s judgment, 
 •m: .in anathematical .demonstration, con. 
 '•eioaS' of ^sone feebleness Im itself, seeking 
 the aid of authority to support it, greatly 
 strengthened by that authority, and hardly 
 able to stand erect against, it,, without somO' 
 siBv .aiila. 
 
 Sueieiy in judgment, of those who are 
 esteemed fair and competent judges, has 
 iAwti very similar to those of civil society : 
 it gives strength and courage to every indi- 
 vidual; it removes that timidity which is 
 ai' natarally the eonipanioii of solitary judg- 
 it, as of a M^itary man in the stato of 
 
 Mi'iisjiidlgelbr ourselves, therefore i but 
 
 let us not disdain to take that aid from the 
 authority of other competent judges, which 
 a mathematician thinks it necessary to take 
 in that science which, of all sciences, has 
 least to do with authority. 
 
 In a matter of conmion sense, every man 
 is no less a competent judge than a mathe- 
 matician is in a mathematical demonstra- 
 tion ; and there must be a great presump- 
 tion that the judgment of mankind, in such 
 a matter, is the natural issue of those facul- 
 ties which God hath given them. Such a 
 judgment can be erroneous only when there 
 IS some cause of the error, as general as the 
 error is. When this can be shewn to be the 
 case, I acknowledge it ought to have its due 
 weight. But, to suppose a general devia- 
 tion from truth among mankind in things 
 self-evident, of which no cause can be 
 assigned, is highly unreasonable. [573] 
 
 Perhaps it may be thought impossible 
 to collect the general opinion of men upon 
 any point whatsoever ; and, therefore, that 
 this authority can serve us in no stead in 
 examining first principlea But I appre- 
 hend that, in many cases, this is neither 
 impossible nor difficult. 
 
 Who can doubt whether men have uni- 
 versally believed the existence of a mate- 
 rial world ? Who can doubt whether men 
 have universally believed that every change 
 that happens in nature must have a cause ? 
 Who can doubt whether men have uni- 
 versally believed, that there is a right and 
 a wrong iu human conduct; some things 
 that merit blame, and others that are en- 
 titled to approbation ? 
 
 The universality of these opinions, and 
 of many such that might be named, is suf- 
 ficiently evident, from the whole tenor of 
 hunoan conduct, as far as our acquaintance 
 reaches, and from the history of all ages 
 and nations of which we have any records. 
 
 There are other opinions that appear to 
 be universal, from what is common in the 
 structure of all languages. 
 
 Language is the express image and pic- 
 ture of human thoughts; and from the 
 picture we may draw some certain conclu- 
 sions concemiug the original. 
 
 /We find in all languages the same parts 
 of speech ; we find nouns, substantive and 
 adjective; verbs, active and passive, in 
 their various tenses, numbers, and moods. 
 Some rules of syntax are the same in all 
 languages. 
 
 Now, what is common in the structure 
 of languages, indicates an uniformity of 
 opinion in those things upon which that 
 structure is grounded. [574] 
 
 The distinction between substances, and 
 the qualities belonging to them; between 
 thought and the being that thinks; be- 
 tween thought and the objects of thought ; 
 is to be found in the structure of all Ian- 
 
 [578-5741 
 
 OHAF. ¥.] FIRST PRINC1PLB8 OF CONTINGENT TRUTHa 441 
 
 guages. And, therefore, systems of philo- 
 sophy, which abolish those distinctions, wage 
 war with the common sense of mankind. 
 
 We are apt to imagine that those who 
 formed languages were no metaphysicians ; 
 but the first principles of all sciences are 
 the dictates of common sense, and lie open 
 to all men ; and every man who has con- 
 sidered the structure of language in a phi- 
 losophical light, will find infallible proofs that 
 those who have framed it, and those who 
 use it with understanding have the power 
 of making accurate distinctions, and of form- 
 ing geueral conceptions, as well as philoso- 
 phers. Nature has given those powers to 
 all men, and they can use them when occa- 
 sions require it, but they leave it to the 
 philosophers to give names to them, and to 
 descant upon their nature. In like manner, 
 nature has given eyes to all men, and they 
 can make good use of them ; but the struc- 
 ture of the eye, and the theory of vision, is 
 the business of philosophers. 
 
 Fourthly,, Opinions that appear so early 
 in the minds of men that they cannot be 
 the effect of education or of false reason- 
 ing, have a good claim to be considered as 
 first principles. Thus, the belief we have, 
 that the persons about us are living and in- 
 telligent beings, is a belief for which, per- 
 haps, we can give some reason, when we 
 are able to reason ; but we had this belief 
 before we could reason, and before we could 
 learn it by instruction. It seems, there- 
 fore, to be an immediate effect of our con- 
 stitution. 
 
 The last topic I shall mention is, when 
 an opinion is so necessary in the conduct of 
 life, that, without the belief of it, a man 
 must be led into a thousand absurdities in 
 practice, such an opinion, when we can 
 give no other reason for it, may safely be 
 taken for a first principle. [575] 
 
 Thus I have endeavoured to shew, that, 
 although first principles are not capable of 
 direct proof, yet differences, that may hap- 
 pen with regard to them among men of 
 candour, are not without remedy; that 
 Nature has not left us destitute of means 
 by which we may discover errors of this 
 kmd ; and that there are ways of reason- 
 ing, with regard to first principles, by which 
 those chat are truly such may be distin- 
 guished from vulgar errors or prejudices. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THB riSST PRINCIPLBS OP CONTINOBNT 
 TRUTHS. 
 
 " SwRSLv," says Bishop Berkeley, " it is 
 • work well deserving our pains to make 
 a strict inquiry concerning the first princi- 
 ples of knowledge; to sift and examine 
 [57*, 476] 
 
 them on all sides.** What was said in the 
 last chapter is intended both to shew the 
 importance of this inquiry, and to make it 
 more easy. 
 
 But, in order that such an inquiry may be 
 actually made, it is necessary that the first 
 principles of knowledge be distinguished 
 from other truths, and presented to view, 
 that they may be sifted and examined on 
 all sides. In order to this end, I shall 
 attempt a detail of those I take to be such, 
 and of the reasons why I think them entitled^^ 
 to that character. [576] 
 
 If the enumeration should appear to some 
 redundant, to others deficient, and to others 
 both— if things which I conceive to be first 
 principles, should to others appear to be 
 vulgar errors, or to be truths which derive 
 their evidence from other truths, and there- 
 fore not first principles— in these thmgs 
 every man must judge for himself. I shall 
 rejoice to see an enumeration more perfect 
 in any or in all of those respects ; being 
 persuaded that the agreement of men of 
 judgment' and candour in first principles 
 would be of no less consequence to the ad- 
 vancement of knowl^ge in general, than 
 the agreement of mathematicians in the 
 axioms of geometry has been to the ad- 
 vancement of that science. 
 
 The truths that fall within the compass 
 of human knowledge, whether they be self- 
 evident, or deduced from those that are 
 self-evident, may be reduced to two classes. 
 They are either necessary and immutable 
 truths, whose contrary is impossible; or 
 they are contingent and mutable, depend- 
 ing upon some effect of will and power, 
 which had a beginning, and may have an 
 end. 
 
 That a cone is the third part of a cylin- 
 der of the same base and the same altitude, 
 is a necessary truth. It depends not upon 
 the will and power of any being. It is im- 
 mutably true, and the contrary impossible. 
 That the sun is the centre about which the 
 earth, and the other planets of our system, 
 perform their revolutions, is a truth ; but 
 it is nut a necessary truth. It depends 
 upon the power and will of that Being who 
 made the sun and all the planets, and who 
 gave them those motions that seemed best 
 to him. 
 
 If all truths were necessary truths, there 
 would be no occasion for different tenses in 
 the verbs by which they are expressed. 
 What is true in the present time, would be 
 true in the past and future; and there 
 would be no change or variation of an} thing 
 in nature. 
 
 We use the present tense in expressing 
 necessary truths; but it is only because 
 there is no flexion of the verb which in- 
 cludes all times. When I say that three 
 is the half of six, I use the present tense 
 
ON THE INTELLICTOAL POWBBa [««*ir v«- 
 
 Mly, butIlllMmtll««|IWMIlO*flliywl»{ 
 
 mi k bttt what »lwiy» w», wwltlii^yt wiU 
 
 tot ni to wmj propoMtkm ii tobe nndw- 
 
 ■lood by whicli we mean to wwrnm m tmm- 
 ■Mf tf i# - Contingent trutfes m© of Mi- 
 oHicr iMitM* As they are mutably Hwy 
 nay be true ■* on* time, and not at m- 
 
 otlier ; and, tteroffoie, the expwiijMi of 
 Hiem muH include lome point or pcfiod of 
 
 If iMgiilp 'li«l *»••» » contrivance of 
 ■OiioaoiilMfB, they would probably have 
 eiven some flexion to the indiailiTe mood 
 if vtvfaB, which wtMided. to ai. tinios past, 
 'wroaent, .and Ikliife t foT' such a flexion only 
 would bo fli to expren necessary proposi- 
 iiiiM, which ha« no relation to time. But 
 llMn is no language, as iur as I know, in 
 vhieh sioh, a iosion 'Of ' 'iwrbs is to be^ found. 
 Mamma Ac thougbta and. discourse of men 
 awnddom employed about necessary truths, 
 but commonly about such as are contin- 
 gent, languages are fitted to express the 
 test rather tkin the first. 
 
 Tht distiaetum commonly made between 
 ■iiliact truths, and those that expreM mat- 
 leia of fkct, or real existences, coincides in 
 a great measure, but not altogether, with 
 thai between neoeispfy and contmgent 
 tnlhs^ The neoenaty tnths that fall 
 within our knowledge are, for tho most part, 
 
 One uuMaaee of this kind — ^namely — ^thal, 
 liom tho existence of things cootiugeut and 
 mntable, wo oan infer the existence of an 
 imm««U>le and eternal cause of them. 
 
 As the minds of men are occupied much' 
 more about truths that are contingent than 
 about those that are necessary, I shall first 
 endeavour to point out the phucipiea of the 
 former kind. ^ . . , 
 
 U;iZ*j *^Ti 1 Wib r i iff^ prmmDla. 
 the^ exi>t9RCfl.i£jttifli^lllng ilf whirh I am 
 conscious. 
 
 ' Cun8Ciou8 negs_»_sr «^P?"Vhop O' ^°^ 
 understanding of its own kind,_anijaumQt 
 be logically defined. The objects of it are 
 our present pains, our pleasures, our hope% 
 our fears, our desires, our doubts, out 
 thoughts of every kind ; in a word, all the 
 passions, and all the actions and operations 
 of our own minds, while they are present. 
 Wo may remember them when they are 
 past; but we are conscious of them only 
 while they are present. , 
 
 When a man is conscious of pain, he m 
 certain of its existence; when he is con- 
 scious that he doubts or believes, he is 
 certain of the existence of those operations. 
 But the irresistible conviction he has of 
 the reality of those operations is not the 
 eflect of reasoning; it is immediate and 
 iutuitive. The existence therefore of those 
 
 within our knowieage are, iorin«mo^|»n, ZlZ^.^a nnpmtiona of our minds, of 
 abslMCt tfothfc We must except tho ex- passions and operations oi ®^ °;;"'^^^ 
 
 wOTkKMvn Hwww* r «,uuw w. BM AnnR/>imif.. 18 a first nrincipie. 
 
 isteneo and nature of tlio Snpreme Bemg, 
 which is necessary. Other existences are 
 the eiSacts of will and power. They had a 
 
 bogpning,, Mid ■» mntabto. Theu: nature' 
 iiaiMliMtho Supremo Being was ^eaMd 
 to glw tlwm. Their attributes and rela- 
 tions must depend upon the nature God has 
 given them, the powers with which he has 
 Mdowed them, and 'tho iii«itioii in which 
 ;||«' hath phMsed them. 
 
 'ThO' 'CoatlMiiina dedneod % nasomng 
 from fist principles, will commonly be ne> 
 Mssary or contmgent, acoording as the 
 principles an from which they are drawn. 
 On 'th© onO' 'Iwnd,. 1 lake it to he certain, 
 tiiaA whatever can, by just reasomng, be 
 inlwredfromafrinciplnthaA is naeesoaiy, 
 ~ bo m mmmmrf truth, and 'Hial no 
 
 MMliiMMl'tralii can be inlncwd iraim prm- 
 liploa that .are necessary.* {678] ^ 
 
 Thus, as the axioms in mathematies are 
 .ai^iiBcessary truths,, so are all tho oonelu- 
 rioos drawn from them i that is, the whole 
 b:»dy of that science. But foom no matlie- 
 fi^fa*! trmh. ean we deduce the oxistonce 
 'Of ' wytiUhig' I not even. 'Of tho ohjoela of the 
 
 On tho other hand, I apprehend there 
 
 wo vorj low eases in which we can, from 
 pciiMiliaes that are contingent, deduce tmtha 
 
 iliat 'mm neoessary* I can only 'lecoUoot 
 
 which we are consciouf ^ is a first principle, 
 which nature requires ns to believe upon 
 her authority. 1679J ^ ^. 
 
 If I am asked to prove that I cannot be 
 deeeived by consciousness — to prove that it 
 is not a fallacious sense— I can find nc proof. 
 I cannot find any antecedent truth from 
 whioh it is deduced, or upon which ito evi- 
 denco depends. It seems to disdain any 
 Bocfa derived authority, and to claim my 
 assent in its own right. 
 
 If any man could be found so frantic aa 
 to deny that he thijiks, while he is conscious 
 of it, I may wonder, I may laugh, or I may 
 pity him, but 1 cannot reason the matter 
 with him. We have no common prmciplea 
 fkom which we may reason, and tbereiore 
 jf^ fi never join issue in an argument. 
 
 This, I thmk, is the only principle of 
 eommon sense that has never directly been 
 ealled in question. •It seems to bo so firmly 
 rooted in the minds of men, as to retain its 
 authority with the greatest sceptics, Mr 
 Hume, after annihilating body and mind, 
 time and space, action and causation, and 
 even his own mind, acknowledges the reality 
 of the thoughts, sensations, and passions of 
 which he is conscious. 
 
 • §m: mmm»9 *• mmMmm," Ik r ^ 
 
 ♦ It could not poalblT I e«*llcd in question. For, 
 fo dnubting the f^ct of hi* con»ci4»u»neM, ibetcepiio 
 ■iiwt at leM* attlrm thu fact of hit doubt ; but to 
 affirm a doubt i» »o affirm the consciousfictf of it ; 
 thedou't wouJd, therefore, be •elf-cenUradlctory— 
 f #.,»nnU.Uateit«elf.-II. _ 
 
 f«tT-S7«] 
 
 wiAP.y.J FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS^ 
 
 443 
 
 No philosopher has attempted, by any 
 hypothesis, to account for this consciousness 
 of our own thoughts, and the certain know- 
 ledge of their real existence which accom- 
 panies it. By this they seem to acknow- 
 ledge that this at least is an original power 
 of the mind ; a power by which we not only 
 have ideas, but original judgments, and the 
 knowledge of real existence. 
 
 I cannot reconcile this immediate know- 
 ledge of the operations of our own minds 
 with Mr Locke*8 theory, that all know- 
 ledge consists in perceiving the agreement 
 and disagreement of ideas. What are the 
 ideas, from whose comparison the knowledge 
 of our own thoughts results ? Or what are 
 the agreements or disagreements which con- 
 vince a man that he is in pain when he 
 feels it ? [580] 
 
 Neither can I reconcile it with Mr Hume's 
 theory, that to believe the existence of any- 
 thing, is nothing else than to have a strong 
 and lively conception of it; or, at most, 
 that belief is only some modification of the 
 idea which is the object of belief. For, not 
 to mention that propositions, not ideas, are 
 the object of belief, in all that variety of 
 thoughts and passions of which we are con- 
 scious we believe the existence of the weak 
 as well as of the strong, the faint as well as 
 the lively. No modification of the opera- 
 tions of our minds disposes us to the least 
 doubt of their real existence. 
 . As, therefore, the real existence of our 
 thoughts, and of all the operations and feel- 
 ings of our own minds, is believed by all 
 men — as we find ourselves incapable of 
 doubting it, and as incapable of offering any 
 proof of it — it may justly oe considered as a 
 first principle, or dictate of common sense. 
 
 But, although this principle rests upon 
 no other, a very considerable and import- 
 ant branch of human knowledge rests upon 
 It. 
 
 For from this source of consciousness is 
 derived all that we know, and indeed all 
 that we can know, of the structure and of 
 the powers of our own minds ; from which 
 we may conclude, that there is no branch 
 of knowledge that stands upon a firmer 
 foundation ; for surely no kind of evidence 
 can go beyond that of consciousness. 
 
 How does it come to pass, then, that in 
 this branch of knowledge there are so many 
 and so contrary systems ? so many subtile 
 controversies that are never brought to an 
 issue ? and so little fixed and determined ? 
 Is it possible that philosophers should differ 
 most where they have the surest means of 
 agreement — where everything is built upon 
 a species of evidence which all men ac- 
 
 ?uiesce in, and hold to be the most certain ? 
 581] 
 Tins strange phenomenon may, I think, 
 be aeoounted for, if we distinguish between 
 [«80-$8«] 
 
 consciousness and reflection, which are often 
 improperly confounded • 
 
 The first is conunon to all men at all 
 times ; but is insufficient of itself to give us 
 clear and distinct notions of the opera- 
 tions of which we are conscious, and of 
 their mutual relations and minute distinc- 
 tions. The second — to wit, attentive reflec- 
 tion upon those operations, making them 
 objects of thought, surveying them atten- 
 tively, and examining them on all sides^is 
 so far from being common to all men, that it 
 is the lot of very few. The greatest part 
 of men, either through want of capacity, or 
 from other causes, never reflect attentively 
 upon the operations of their own minds. 
 The habit of this reflection, even in those 
 whom nature has fitted for it, is not to be at- 
 tained without much pains and practice. 
 
 We can know nothing of the immediate 
 objects of sight, but by the testimony of our 
 eyes; and I apprehend that, if mankind 
 had found as great difficulty in giving at- 
 tention to the objects of sight, as they find 
 in attentive reflection upon the operations 
 of their own minds, our knowledge of the 
 first might have been in as backward a state 
 as our knowledge of the last 
 
 But this darkness will not last for ever. 
 Light will arise upon this benighted part t^f 
 the intellectual globe. When any man is 
 80 happy as to delineate the powers of the 
 human mind as they really are in nature, 
 men that are free from prejudice, and cap- 
 able of reflection, will recognise their own 
 features in the picture ; and then the wonder 
 will be, how things so obvious could be so 
 long wrapped up in mystery and darkness ; 
 how men could be carried away by false 
 theories and conjectures, when the truth 
 was to be found in their own breasts if they 
 had but attended to it. 
 
 2. Another first principle, I thmk, is. 
 That the thoughts of which I nm ccmcl'Ut^ 
 SriTlhe thoughts of a being which I paU 
 
 MYSELF, my MIND, m// PERSON. [58^] 
 
 The thoughts and feelings of which we are 
 conscious are continually changing, and the 
 thought of this moment is not the thought 
 of the last ; but something which I call my- 
 self, remains under this change of thought. 
 This self has the same rektion to all the 
 successive thoughts 1 am conscious of— they 
 are all my thoughts; and every thought 
 which is not my thought, must be the 
 thought of some other person. 
 
 If any man asks a proof of this, I confess 
 I cui give none ; there is an evidence in tho 
 proposition itself which I am unable to re- 
 sist. Shall I think that thought can stand 
 by itself without a thinking being ? or that 
 ideas can feel pleasure or pain ? My nature 
 dictates to me that it is impossible. 
 
 * Compare above, pp. 839, b, «58, •-— H. 
 

 / 
 
 ON TMB INTELLBCT0AL POWERS. 
 
 [BMAY VI. 
 
 And that mMam hm dictated the aameto 
 
 •11 HMO, a|iiMftrB from the stracture of all 
 Ittoguaget s for in all languages men have 
 txpresaed thinlciiig, roamming, willing, lov- 
 ing, hating, by personal vwIm, which, from 
 their nature, require a person who thinks, 
 fMHOns, wills, loves, or hates. From which 
 it appears, that men have been taught by 
 natars to believe that thought requires a 
 thinkeri reason m leasoiier, and love a lo%'er. 
 
 Hero we must leave Mr Hume, who con- 
 valves it to be a vulgar error, that, besides 
 tlW' then^h'ts we are conscious of, then m a 
 nind which is the Biili|ect of those thoughts. 
 If the mind be anything else than impres- 
 ■ims ami. ideaS| it must be a word without 
 m 'iMMi;im. 'Tim mind, theroforo, accord- 
 'log tn thH philosopher, is a word which 
 l^iiies a bundle of perceptions ; or, when 
 he defines it moro accurately.^" It is that 
 aiicoesaion of related ideas and impressions, 
 df which we have an intimate memory and 
 •onaeiousness.''* 
 
 I am, therefore, that succession of related 
 .ideas and impressifins of which. I have the 
 'imimate memory' »nd ^eiinseiMHnM& 
 
 But who is the / that hat this memory 
 and consciousness of a succession of ideas 
 and impressions ? Why, it is nothing but 
 'Hiat auccession itself. [583] 
 
 Benee^ I learn, that this succession of 
 ideas and impressions intimately remembers, 
 ■ni is conscious of itself. I would wish to 
 l«-fHrther .instructed, whether the impres- 
 aions 'remember and aw conscious of the 
 ideas, or the ideas remember and are con- 
 scious of the impressions, or if both remem- 
 ber and are coiseious of both ? and whether 
 the ideas ronember those that come after 
 them, as weM as those that wenbefore them ? 
 These aro questions naturally arising from 
 Ihia^yiCem, that have not yet been explained. 
 
 This, hwirever, is dear, that this succes- 
 ^■ion. of ideas .ancl iinpretsiiii^ not only re- 
 members and is conscious, but Ihat it judges, 
 nB8on% affirms, denies— nay, that it eats 
 
 and drinks, and is sometimes merry and 
 
 '■onetimes sad. 
 If these things can be ascribed to a suc- 
 of ideas and impressions, in'»a con- 
 wilh common sense, I should be 
 
 i 'to' know what is nonsense. 
 The scholastic phil'OSii|ilieia. have^ been 
 |pili% ridieuled, by repesenting' them as 
 iiiliiiliiif npon Ihis question — Numehimmm 
 iMtilMiif ' m wmrn^ mmii mmmkrt tmm^ 
 isf imtmHotm f and I 'bel;ievc the wit of 
 ■MH iHuinot invent a moro ridiculous qucs- 
 iioii. But, if Mr Hume*s philosophy be 
 .■ dimitt iidi this fiestion deserves to he 
 treated moro gimveljt for if, as we learn 
 from this philoaophy, a snceession of ideas 
 and impressions may eat, and drink, and 
 te BiflRj, I tee no good, letton why a 
 ehimaiai which, if not the tame is of kin to 
 
 an idea, may not chew the cud upon that 
 kind of food which the schoolmen oJl second 
 intentions.* 
 
 3. Another first principle I take to be— 
 TfiSMhassJtmas did r eai/jp ha ppen which ^ 
 ikfBSJiLXaumfjer. [584] 
 
 This has one of the surest marks of a first 
 principle ; for no man ever protended to 
 prove it, and yet no man in his wits calls it 
 in question : the testimouy of memory, like 
 that of consciousness, is immediate ; it 
 claims our assent upon its own authority. •!• 
 
 Suppose that a learned counsel, in defence 
 of a client agaiust the concurring testimony 
 of witnesses of credit, should insist upon a 
 new topic to invalidate the testimony. 
 " Admitting," says he, " the integrity of 
 the witnesses, and that they distinctly re- 
 member what they have given in evidence- 
 it does ndt follow that the prisoner is guilty. 
 It has never been proved that the most 
 distinct memory may not be fallacious. 
 Shew me any necessary connection between 
 that act of the mind which we call memory, 
 and the past existence of the event remem- 
 bered. No man has ever offered a shadow 
 of argument to prove such a connection; 
 yet this is one link of the chain of proof 
 against the prisoner ; and, if it have no 
 strength, the whole proof falls to the ground : 
 until this, therefore, be made evident — until 
 it can be proved that we may safely rest 
 upon the testimony of memory for the truth 
 of past events — no judge or jury can justly 
 take away the life of a citizen upon so 
 doubtful a point.** 
 
 I believe we may take it for granted, that 
 this argument from a learned counsel would 
 have no other effect upon the judge or jury, 
 than to convince them that he was dis- 
 ordered in his judgment. Counsel is allowed 
 to plead everything for a client that is fit to 
 persuade or to move ; yet I believe no 
 counsel ever had the boldness to plead this 
 topic And for what reason ? For no other 
 reason, surely, but because it is absurd. 
 Now, what is absurd at the bar, is so in the 
 philosopher's clmir. What would be ridi- 
 culous, if delivered to a jury of honest sen- 
 sible citizens, is no less so when delivered 
 gravely in a philosophical dissertation. 
 
 Mr Hume has not, as far as 1 remember, 
 directly called in question the testimony of 
 
 * All UiM criticism of Hume proceed* upon tlw 
 tmmeout hypothesis that he was a DogmatUt He 
 
 Was a Sceptic— ihAt if, he acceptedthe principlea aa. 
 anted bj ihepreralent Dogmatitm ; and only shewed 
 that lucn and such coi.clUKions were, on these pr in. 
 dples, inevitable. ThealMurdity wa> not Hume's, but 
 liMke'a. This is the kind of criticism, however, 
 with which Hume is Kcneratly assailetl.— H. 
 
 f The datum of Memory does not stand iipnn^tbe 
 same ground as the.datuni of simple Conscmusness. 
 In so far as memory is consciousness, it cannot be 
 denied We cannot, without contradiction, deny the 
 fact uf memory as a present consciousnrt'S ; but we 
 inajr, without contradiction, suppose ihat the past 
 ^vcn therein, ia only an illusion of the present.'— H. 
 
 f 68S, 584] 
 
 OHAF. v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OP CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 445 
 
 memory ; but he has laid down the premises 
 by which its authority is overturned, leav- 
 ing it to his reader to draw the conclu- 
 sion. [585] 
 
 He labours to shew that the belief or 
 assent which always attends the memory 
 and senses is nothing but the vivacity of 
 those perceptions which they present. He 
 'shews very clearly, that this vivacity gives 
 no ground to believe the existence of ex- 
 ternal objects. And it is obvious that it 
 can give as little ground to believe the past 
 existence of the objects of memory. 
 
 Indeed the theory concerning ideas, so 
 generally received by philosophers, destroys 
 all the authority of memory, as well as the 
 authority of the senses. Des Cartes, Ma- 
 lebranche, and Locke, were aware that this 
 theory made it necessary for them to find 
 out arguments to prove the existence of ex- 
 ternal objects, which the vulgar believe 
 upon the bare authority of their senses; 
 but those philosophers were not aware that 
 this theory made it equally necessary for 
 them to find arguments to prove the exist- 
 ence of things past, which we remember, 
 and to support the authority of memory. 
 
 All the arguments they advanced to sup- 
 port the authority of our senses, were easily 
 refuted by Bishop Berkeley and Mr Hume, 
 being indeed' very weak and inconclusive. 
 And it would have been as. easy to answer 
 every argument they could have brought, 
 consistent with their theory, to support the 
 authority of memory. 
 
 For, according to that theory, the im- 
 mediate object of memory, as well as of 
 every other operation of the understanding, 
 is an idea present in the mind. And, from 
 the present existence of this idea of me- 
 mory I am left to infer, by reasoning, that, 
 six months or six years ago, there did ex- 
 ist an object similar to. this idea. [586] 
 
 But what is there in the idea that can 
 lead me to this conclusion ? What mark 
 does it bear of the date of its archetype ? 
 Or what evidence have f that it had an 
 arehetype, and that it is not the first of its 
 kind? 
 
 Perhaps it will be said, that this idea or 
 image in the mind must have had a cause. 
 
 I admit that, if there is such an image in 
 the mind, it must have had a cause, and a 
 cause able to produce the effect ;. but what 
 can we infer from its having a cause ? Does 
 it follow that the effect is a type, an image, 
 a copy of its cause ? Then it will follow, 
 that a picture is an image of the painter, 
 and a coach of the coachroaker. 
 
 A past event may be known by reasoning ; 
 but that is not remembering it. When I 
 remember a thing distinctly, I disdain 
 equally to hear reasons for it or against it. 
 And so I think does every man in ^" 
 senses. 
 ^585-587] 
 
 his 
 
 4. Another first principle is. Our own per* 
 sonal identi fy an d_coni%n ued existence^aj 
 far back^qs weT£JMMj^.SVy]h^^]s distinctly. 
 
 This we know immediately, and not 
 by reasoning. It seems, indeed, to be a 
 part of the testimony of memory. Every- 
 thing we remember has such a relation to 
 ourselves as to imply necessarily our ex- 
 istence at the time remembered. And 
 there cannot be a more palpable absurdity 
 than that a man should remember what 
 happened before he existed. He must 
 therefore have existed as far back as he re- 
 members anything distinctly, if his memory 
 be not fallacious. This principle, there- 
 fore, is so connected with the last mention- 
 ed, that it may be doubtful whether both 
 ought not tu be included in one. Let 
 ev^ry one judge of this as he^sees reason. 
 The proper notion of identity, and the sen- 
 timents of Mr Locke on this subject, have 
 been considered before, under the head of 
 Memory. [587] 
 
 5. Another first principle is. That tho^e 
 thim/s do really exi nt which we distinctly 
 perceive by .QUrjOismZsMISli^^CMfi 
 percei ve them tojfe , 
 
 it is too evident to need proof, that all 
 men are by nature led to give implicit faith 
 to the distinct testimony of their senses, 
 long before they are capable of any bias 
 from prejudices of education or of philo- 
 sophy. 
 
 How came we at first to know that there 
 are certain beings about us whom we call 
 father, and mother, and sisters, and bro- 
 thers, and nurse ? Was it not by tlio 
 testimony of our senses ? How did these 
 persons convey to us any information or 
 instruction ? Was it not by means of our 
 senses ? 
 
 It is evident we can have no communi- 
 cation, no correspondence or society with 
 any created being, but by means of our 
 senses. And, untU we rely upon their testi- 
 mony, we must consider ourselves as being 
 alone in the universe, without any fellow- 
 creature, living or inanimate, and be left to 
 converse with our own thoughts. 
 
 BLbhop Berkeley surely did not duly con- • 
 sider that it is by means of the material 
 world that we have any correspondence 
 with thinking beings, or any knowledge of 
 their existence ; and that, by depriving us 
 of the material world, he deprived us, at 
 the same time, of family, friends, country, 
 and every human creature ; of every object 
 of affection, esteem, or concern, except our- 
 selves. 
 
 The good Bishop surely never intended 
 this. He was too warm a friend, t<>o zeal- 
 ous a patriot, and too good a Christian, to 
 be capable of such a thought. He was not 
 aware of the consequences of his system, 
 and therefore they ought not to be imputed 
 
'^tW» 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [■MAT VI. 
 
 to Mm I iMt we tiiiiil iifiiie Hiem to the 
 sjBtan ItMlf. It stiiM wwry generous and 
 ' il piiiwiiile. [JHHI] 
 W'lMt' I eoDsider myself m speaMng to 
 wlio lienr me, and can judge of wiiat 
 I say, I feel that respect which is due to 
 such an andienoe. I feel an enjoyment in 
 » reciprocal commniiimtion of S^Uments 
 with candid and ingenlras friendt^ t ud my 
 ■fmi blesses tlie Jtoilior of my being, who 
 has made me capable of this manly and 
 rational entertainment. 
 
 But Ihe Bishop shews me, thai this is 
 all a dream ; that I see not a human face t 
 that all the objects I see, and bear, and 
 handle, are only the ideas of my own mind ; 
 ideas are my only companions. Gdil com- 
 pany, indeed I Every soeial affectioii freeaes 
 at the thought ! 
 
 But, my Lord Bishop, are there no minds 
 lefl in the universe but my own ? 
 
 Yes, indeed; it is only tiie material 
 world that is annihihited | eveiytMng elae 
 remains as it was. 
 
 This seems to promise some comfort in 
 mj fortom 'Solitude. Bnl do I aeo' those' 
 ntidS'f Ho. Do I eee 'Hielr Meaa ? No. 
 Hor do they see me or my idea» They 
 are, then, no more to me than the inhabit- 
 ants of Solomon's isles, or of the moon ; 
 and my mehuiehiily solitode returns. Every 
 social tb is broken, and. emry eodal affec- 
 tion is stifled. 
 
 This dismal system, which, if it could be 
 beliived, 'WonM defirive men. of ever^ social 
 wnfiirti m wmtf^^mii ■ttUImp by st:riei and 
 aeeiifate reaioninf, dedneei ftom the'<f>rin- 
 dples commonly received by phOosophers 
 concerning ideas. The fault is not in the 
 .reasoning, but in the principles from which 
 il 'is ..drawn. 
 
 All the arguments urged by Berkeley and 
 Hnme^ against the existence of a material 
 world, .arc' gnmiided upon thk principle- 
 thai we do not perceive extornal objects 
 tbeimelTes, but certain images or ideas in 
 oar own minda* But this is no dictate of 
 eommoB .sense, but diiMilf 'Oonlsanr to the 
 sense of all who have not leen tanpil it by 
 philosophy. (1189] 
 
 We have before examined the reasons 
 given by philoBophers to prove that ideas, 
 and not extomal .objects,, are the immediate' 
 •hjeeto of pefsepfkin, and the instances 
 given to prove the senses fallacious. With- 
 out 'nneating what has before been said 
 flpon those points, 'W iiiall 'imly hc're ob- 
 .."'■"aerve, that, j{ fudrntmii oljeaia M peicaiiad. 
 
 JtiwaJi'ajjiw ^N#^d^asw w^M** '* v ^w* y'S!3mtiff3M!iitiHMHtHJHil^^ 
 
 e liMiini., ■■• already nnticcd. ictti eq'ually w«11, 
 ll'liel. lMlt«*ri. M 'llw tiypothcsM that mtm we pmdvt 
 lit' mm ■mmmimm ef tn |i«rc«|it'ioii) it onlf a ntidifra. 
 
 Ilisefiaiiiliaionlhehfpo'hwn that, \n percoi.tion, 
 W»af« cemiloiM off a repr«sentJitive entity distinct 
 
 'flmii' mind aa finoin 'tlie txiarasl rtalltj.<i*>H. 
 
 their e iiatone t a a p hiloiophMni have 
 to believe the Jliilsnce^Qf icleas^while they 
 liold them to be the immediate objects of 
 UBtSejition.* 
 
 ft Another first principle, 1 think, h^ 
 
 our aeHoM^mnd^a determinatwru oj ear 
 jff//. 
 
 All power must be derived from Iha 
 fonntain of power, and of every good gift. 
 Upon His good pleasure its continuance de- 
 pends, and it is always subject to his con- 
 trol. 
 
 Beings to whom Ood has given any de- 
 gree of power, and understanding to direct 
 them te the proper use of it, must be ao- 
 countable to their Maker. But those who 
 are intrusted with no power can have no 
 account to make ; for all good conduct con- 
 sisto in the right use of power; all bad 
 conduct in the abuse of it. 
 
 To call to account a being who never was 
 intrusted with any degree of power, is an 
 absurdity no less than it would be to call 
 to account an inanimate being. We are 
 snre, therefore, if we have any account to 
 make to the Author of our being, that we 
 must have some degree of power, which, 
 as far as it is properly used, entitles us to 
 his approbation ; and, when abused, renders 
 us obnoxious to his displeasure. [590] 
 
 It is not easy to say in what way we first 
 get the notion or idea of fomer. It is 
 neither an object of sense nor of conscious- 
 ness. We see events, one succeeding an- 
 other ; but we see not the power by which 
 they are produced. We are conscious of 
 the operations of our minds ; but power is 
 not an operation of mind. If we had no 
 notions but such as are furnished by the 
 external senses, and by consciousness, it 
 seems to be impossible that we should ever 
 have any conception of power. Accord- 
 ingly, Mr Hume, who has reasoned the 
 most accurately upon this hypothesis, denies 
 that we have any idea of power, and dearly 
 refutes the account given by Mr Locke m 
 the origin of this idea. 
 
 But it is in vain to reason from a hypo- 
 thesis against a fact, the truth of which 
 every man may see by attending to his own 
 thoughts. It is evident that all men, very 
 early in life, not only have an idea of power, 
 but a conviction that they have some de- 
 gree of it in themselves ; for this conviction 
 IS necessarily implied in many operations 
 of mind, which are familiar to every man, 
 and without which no man can act the part 
 of a reasonable being. 
 
 BttI* Jl jftiroplied in evety act of voli- 
 tion. ** Yolition, it is pl ain." sa ys Mr 
 Locke, " is an act of the nun(!, iraowingly 
 
 • PliUtMophers admitted that «e are eontdmM of 
 IliMe : doca Rcid admit thii of nicrnal otnlccti P.-I1. 
 
 [688-690] 
 
 . v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 
 
 ^fW:§ 
 
 exerting that dominion which it takes itself 
 to have over any part of the man, by em- 
 ploying it in, or withholding it from any 
 particular action.*' Every volition^ _there- 
 fore, implies a con^ctmnTofpower to do the 
 action willed. A man mayaesire to malce 
 a visit to the moon, or to the planet Jupi- 
 ter ; but nothing but insanity could make 
 him will to do so. And, if even insanity 
 produced this effect, it must be by making 
 aim think it to be in his power. 
 
 Secondly^ Th»j!9nviction .18 implied ip 
 all de liberation 4 tot no man in his wits.de- 
 Ubegatea j^hether \w. sliall dQ.JYUatJ;^, be- 
 V l ieves n ot to by yi bis powg£. thisdlu^ 
 Tlie same conviction ia. ijjijiU£dJii.exeiy 
 fgplutiojLWLjiurppBe formed ia ctmsequeuce 
 of *^fUiy^T»^'Pn A man may as well form 
 a resolution to pull the moon out of her 
 sphere, as to do the most insignificant action 
 which he believes not to be in his power. 
 The same thing may be said of every pro- 
 mise or contract wherein a man plights his 
 faith ; for he is not an honest man who 
 promises what he does not believe he has 
 power to perform. [591] 
 
 As these operations imply a belief of 
 some degree of power in ourselves ; so there 
 are others equally common and familiar, 
 which imply a like belief with regard to 
 others. 
 
 When we impute to a man any action or 
 omission, as a ground of approbation or of 
 blame, we must believe he had power to do 
 otherwise. The same is implied in all 
 advice, exhortation, command, and rebuke, 
 and in every case in which we rely upon his 
 fidelity in performing any engagement or 
 executing any trust. 
 I It is not more evident that mankind have 
 a conviction of the exis'ence of a material 
 world, than that they have the conviction 
 of some degree of power in themselves and 
 in others ; every one over his own actions, 
 and the determinations of his will— a con- 
 viction so early, so general, and so inter- 
 woven with the whole of human conduct, 
 that it mu'-t be the natural effect of our 
 constitution, and intended by the Author of 
 our being to guide our actions. 
 
 It resembles our conviction of the ex- 
 istence of a material world in this respect 
 also, that even those who reject it in specu- 
 lation, find themselves under a necessity of 
 being governed by it in their practice ; and 
 thus it will always happen when philosophy 
 eontradicts first principles* 
 
 7* Another first principle is — That the 
 natural facuUieSy by which wef di»iizujuish 
 ir^tfi/ram. sr4r4Mryjirg. notfaUqciQUfi- If any 
 man should demand a proof of this, it is 
 impossible to satisfy him. For, suppose it 
 should be mathematically demonstrited, 
 this would signify nothing in this case; 
 because, to judge of a demonstration, a man 
 [591-683] 
 
 must trust his faculties, and take for granted 
 the very thing in question. [592] 
 ^ If a man*8 honesty were called in ques- 
 tion, it would be ridiculous to refer it to the 
 man*s own word, whether he be honest or 
 not. The same absurdity there is in at- 
 tempting to prove, by any kind of reasoning, 
 probable or demonstrative, that our reason 
 is not fallacious, since the very point in 
 question is, whether reasonuig may be 
 trusted. 
 
 If a sceptic should build his scepticism 
 upon this foundation, that all our reasoning 
 and judging powers are fallacious in their 
 nature, or should resolve at least to with- 
 hold assent until it be proved that they are 
 not, it would be impossible by argument 
 to beat him out of this stronghold ; and he 
 must even be left to enjoy his scepticism. 
 
 Des Cartes certainly made a false step in 
 this matter, for having suggested this doubt 
 among others— that whatever evidence he 
 might have from his consciousness, his 
 senses, his memory, or his reason, yet 
 possibly some malignant being had given 
 him those faculties on purpose to impose 
 upon him ; and, therefore, that they are not 
 to be trusted without a proper voucher. 
 To remove this doubt, he endeavours to 
 prove the being of a Deity who is no de- 
 ceiver; whence he concludes, that the facul- 
 ties he had given him are true and worthy 
 to be trusted' 
 
 It is strange that so acute a reasoner did 
 not perceive that in this reasoning there is 
 evidently a begging of the question. 
 
 For, if our faculties be fallacious, why 
 may they not deceive us in this reasoning as 
 well as in others ? And, if they are not to 
 be trusted in this instance without a voucher, 
 why not in others ? [593] 
 
 Every kind of reasoning for the veracity 
 of our faculties, amounts to no more than 
 taking their own testimony for their vera- 
 city ; and this we must do implicitly, until 
 God give us neiy^faculties to sit in judg- 
 ment upon the^ybld ; and the reason why 
 Des Cartes sa«fied himself with so weak 
 an argument fljr the truth of his faculties, 
 most probab^was, that he never seriously 
 doubted of M' 
 
 If any timh can be said to be prior to all 
 others in the order of nature, this seems 
 to have the best claim-; because, in every 
 instance of assent, whether upon intuitive, 
 demonstrative, or probable evidence, the 
 truth of our faculties is taken for granted, 
 and is, as it were, one of the premises on 
 which our assent is grounded. * 
 
 How then come we to be assured of this 
 
 * There is a presyinpHon in favour of the veracity 
 of the primary data of conscioucnefs. 'J'hii can only 
 be rebutted by ahewingthat these facts are contradio. 
 tory. Scepticism attempts to shew tiiis on the prlii- 
 ciplea which Dogmatism poatulatea.--H. 
 
''^S^KiP' 
 
 ON THl INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 
 VI* 
 
 ___, triitli m which all others reat ? 
 
 Perhaps evidence as in many other respects 
 
 II resemlilM light, so in Ihia also—that, as 
 
 ,,,,|kht». ^^IMk m Urn iiaeoinrer' of' all visible 
 .o||eei8, dBsefuren itaoiff at^ th« aame time, 
 ■0 erideDee, which is the ireiicher for all 
 tnitllt vouches for itself at the same time. 
 
 This, however, is certain, that such is 
 .ae'Wislitnlion of the hiwian mind, that 
 .•tidsBfle diiMiMd by us, forces a corre- 
 sponding degree of assent And a man 
 Vim iMrteetly nndewtood a just syllogism, 
 iMiiMilbolienpg'tlialtheconclnsion follows 
 imm tie 'pmnises,. vmild 'be a greater mon- 
 than » man bom without hands or 
 
 We mm hmm under a neoessfty of trust- 
 ing to out reasoning and judging powers; 
 anftl a real belief of their being faUacioua 
 cannot be maintained for any considerable 
 time by the greatest sceptic, because it Is 
 doing violence to our -constitution. It is 
 like a man*s walking upon hU hands, a feat 
 which some men upon occasioii. can exhibit; 
 hut no man ever made a long journey in 
 this naanner. Cease to admire his dexte- 
 rity, and he will, like other men, betake 
 liimfielf to his legs. [504 ] 
 
 We may here take notice of a property 
 Iff the principle under consideration, that 
 Mtms to be common to it with many other 
 int f^ciples, and which can hardly be 
 found in any principle that Is built solely 
 upon reasonmg ; and that is, that in most 
 .liHli,,lt ftodwsea .ila etect without ever being 
 alfendei ^ or 'made an. object of thought 
 Ho man ever thinks of this principle, unless 
 when he considers the grounds of scepticism ; 
 yet It Invariably eoverns his opinions. 
 Whm m nan in the common course of 
 lib gives credit to the testimony of his 
 ■enses, his memory, or his reason, he does 
 not ]wl the question to himself, whether 
 these faculties may deceive him ; yet the 
 trust he reposes in them aupiMMeian inward 
 •onviellon, thai, ui that instance at least, 
 they do not deceive him. 
 
 It is another properly of thla and of many 
 ifst principles, that they force assentin par- 
 iieiilir instances, more powerfully than 
 when thi^ are turned into a general propo- 
 ■itei. Many acenties have denied every 
 meiml principle of 8eiene% excepting per- 
 hspe the existence: of eir preaent thoughts ; 
 ipl these men reason, and refute, and prove, 
 they assent and dissent m ptttiMihw mam. 
 They ■■»„i«wining to overtnm all reason- 
 ing, and Judge that they ouglit to have no 
 judgment, and see clearly tliat they are 
 liKn4 Many have in general mamtained 
 y thm Ihe sensea are faUacious, yet there 
 
 never' 'Waa found a man m sceptical as not 
 
 tO' tmat hit lenses in pniflcnlar instances 
 whin his salety required it ; and It may be 
 observed of IhoM who have profewed scep- 
 
 ticism, that their scepticism lies in generals^ 
 while in particukrs they are no less dog- 
 matical than others. 
 
 8. Another first principle relating to ex^ 
 istence, is, That ih^re iii.l>fg and inteiUoencB 
 in our^itow-men M>i</» tchjun viejisnv^l*^ 
 
 As soon as children are capable of asking 
 a question, or of answering a question, as 
 soon as they shew the signs of love, of re- 
 sentment, or of any other affection, they 
 must be convinced that those with whom 
 they have this intercourse are intelligent 
 beings. [595] 
 
 It b evident they are capable of such In* 
 tercourse long before they can reason. 
 Every one knows that there is a social in- 
 tercourse between the nurse and the child 
 before it is a year old. It can, at that age, 
 understand many things that are said to it. 
 
 It can by signs ask and refuse, threaten 
 and supplicate. It clings to its nurse in 
 danger, enters into her grief and joy, is hap- 
 py in her soothing and caresses, and un- 
 happy in her displeasure. That these 
 things cannot be without a conviction in 
 the child that the nurse is an intelligent 
 being, I think must be granted. 
 
 Now, I would ask how a child of a year 
 old comes by this conviction ? Not by rea- 
 soning surely, for children do not reason at 
 that age. Nor is it by external senses, fo/ 
 life and mtelligence are not objects of the 
 external senses. 
 
 By what means, or upon what occasions, 
 Nature first gives this information to the 
 infant mind, is not easy to determine. We 
 are not capable of refic-cting upon our own 
 thoughts at that period of life ; and before 
 we attain thb capacity, we have quite for- 
 got how or on what occasion we first had 
 this belief ; we perceive it in those who are 
 bom blind, and in others who are born 
 deaf; and therefore Nature has not con- 
 nected it solely either with any object of 
 sight, or with any object of hearing. When 
 we grow up to the years of reason and re- 
 flection, this belief remains. No man thinks 
 of asking himself what reason he has to be- 
 lieve that his neighbour is a living creature. 
 He would be not a little surprised if another 
 person should ask him so absurd a ques- 
 tion ; and perhaps could not give any rea- 
 son which would not equally prove a watch 
 or a puppet to be a living creature. 
 
 Bui, though you should satisfy him of the 
 weakness of the reasons he gives for his be- 
 lief, you cannot make him in the least 
 doubuuL This belief stands upon another 
 foundation than that of reasoning; and 
 therefore, whether a man can give good 
 reasons for it or not, it is not in his power 
 to shake it off. [596] 
 
 Setting aside this natural conviction, I 
 believe the best reason we can give, to 
 prove that other men are livuig and Intelli- 
 
 £594-496] 
 
 CHAP, v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 440 
 
 gent, is, that their words and actions indi- 
 cate like powers of understanding as we 
 are conscious of in ourselves. The very 
 eame argument applied to the works of na- 
 ture, le^s us to conclude that there is an 
 intelligent Author of nature, and appears 
 equally strong and obvious in the last case 
 as in the first ; so that it may be doubted 
 whether men, by the mere exercise of rea- 
 soning, might not as soon discover the ex- 
 istence of a Deity, as that other men have 
 life and intelligence. 
 
 The knowledge of the last is absolutely 
 necessary to our receiving any improve- 
 ment by means of instruction and example ; 
 and, without these means of improvement, 
 there is no ground to think that we should 
 ever be able to acquire the use of our rea- 
 soning powers. This knowledge, therefore, 
 must be antecedent to reasoning, and there- 
 fore must be a first princi[)le. 
 
 It cannot be said that the judgments we 
 form concerning life and intelligence in 
 other beings are at first free from error. 
 But the errors of children in this matter 
 lie on the safe side ; they are prone to at- 
 tribute intelligence to things inanimate. 
 These errors are of small consequence, and 
 are gradually corrected by experience and 
 ripe judgment. But the belief of life and 
 intelligence in other men, is absolutely ne- 
 cessary for us before we are capable of 
 reasoning; and therefore the Author of 
 our being hath given us this belief antece- 
 dently to all reasoning. 
 
 9. Another first principle I take to be, 
 
 ^kate crjttiiULJimmhi&Mmi d&kpmUum- tf 
 mind. [697] 
 
 ■'"T*hat many operations of the mind have 
 their natural signs in the countenance, voice, 
 and gesture, I suppose every man will ad- 
 mit. Omnis enim moms animi, says Cicero, 
 iuum quemdam habet a natuta vultum, ei 
 vocem ei gestutn. The only question is, 
 whether we understand the signification of 
 those signs, by the constitution of our na- 
 ture, by a kind of natural perception simi- 
 lar to the perceptions of sense ; or whether 
 we gradually learn the signification of such 
 signs from experience, as we learn that 
 smoke is a sign of fire, or that the freezing 
 of water is a sign of cold ? I take the first 
 to be the truth. 
 
 It seems to me incredible, that the no- 
 tions men have of the expression of features, 
 voice, and gesture, are entirely the fruit of 
 experience. Children, almost assoon as born, 
 may be frighted, and thrown into fits by a 
 threatening or angry tone of voice. I knew 
 a man who could make an infant cry, by 
 whistling a melancholy tune in the same 
 or in the next room ; and again, by alter- 
 ing his key, and the strain of his music, 
 (^697, 598] 
 
 could make the child leap and dance for 
 joy. 
 
 It is not by experience surely that we 
 learn the expression of music ; for its opera- 
 tion is commonly strongest the first time we 
 hear it. One air expresses mirth and festi- 
 vity — so that, when we hear it, it is with 
 difficulty we can forbear to dance ; another 
 is sorrowful and solemn. One inspires with 
 tenderness and love ; another with rage and 
 fury. 
 
 •« Hear how Timotheus varied lays surprise. 
 And bid alternate passions fall and rise ; 
 While at each change, ttie son of Lybian Jove 
 Now burns with glory, and then melts with love. 
 Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow. 
 Now sighs steaVout, and tears begin to flow. 
 Persians and Greeks, like turns of Nature, found, 
 Aud the world's victor stood suhdu'd by sound." 
 
 It is not necessary that a man have studied 
 either music or the passions, in order to his 
 feeling these effects. The most ignorant 
 and unimproved, to whom Nature has given 
 a good ear, feel them as strongly as the 
 most knowing. [598] 
 
 The countenance and gesture have an 
 expression no less strong and natural than 
 the voice. The first time one sees a stern 
 and fierce look, a contracted brow, and a 
 menacing posture, he concludes that the 
 person is inflamed with anger. Shall we 
 say, that, previous to experience, the most 
 hostile countenance has as agreeable an 
 appearance as the most gentle and benign ? 
 This surely would contradict all experience ; 
 for we know that an angry countenance 
 will fright a child in the cradle. Who has 
 .not observed that children, very early, are 
 able to distinguish what is said to them in 
 jest from what is said in earnest, by the 
 tone of the voice, and tlie features of the 
 face ? They judge by these natural signs, 
 even when they seem to contradict the arti- 
 ficial. 
 
 If it were by experience that we learn 
 the meaning of features, and sound, and 
 gesture, it might be expected that we should 
 recollect the time when we first learned 
 those lessons, or, at least, some of such a 
 multitude. 
 
 Those who give attention to the opera- 
 tions of children, can easily discover the 
 time when they have their earliest notices 
 from experience— such as that flame will 
 burn, or that knives will cut. But no 
 man is able to recollect in himself, or to 
 observe in others, the time when the expres- 
 sion of the face, voice, and gesture, were 
 
 learned. ... ., i 
 
 Nay, I apprehend that it is impossible 
 that this should be learned from experi- 
 ence. 0,1. il • 
 
 When we see the sij;n, and see the tlnng 
 signified always conjoined with it, expe- 
 rience may be the instructor, and teach us 
 how that sign is to be interpreted. But 
 
 2o 
 

 ON THE INTBLLBCTUAL POWERS. [kki^y vi. 
 
 CHAP, vj FIRST PRINCIPLES OF CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 451 
 
 how fliti Mperitnee infttnicl m when we 
 Bee the sign only, when the thing signified 
 is invisible ? Nnw, this is the case here : 
 llM tliiHM|it« and paasiona of the mind, as 
 "Hei: m me mind itaetf, ate 'invisible, and 
 Ihefetee their conneetiim with an j sensible 
 sign cannot he first discovered by expe- 
 perience ; there must be some earlier source 
 of this hnowledge. [ 509 ] 
 
 Nature seems to have given to men a 
 faculty or sense, by which this connection 
 is perceived. And the operation of this 
 ■ense is ver}* analogous to that of the ex- 
 letnal. aenica. 
 
 When I grasp an ivory ball in my hand, 
 I feel a certain sensation of touch. In the 
 sensation there is nothing external, nothing 
 corporeal* The sensation is neither round 
 nor hard; it is an act of feeling of the 
 mind, from which I cannot, by reasoning, 
 infer the existence of any body. But, by 
 tlW'CaiMtitiition. 'Of my nature, the sensation 
 harries ilonif wtA it the coDceptim and be- 
 lief of a round hard body really existing in 
 my hand. 
 
 In llie manner, when I see the features 
 Hi ' m espreasife fiice, 1 see only figu.re and 
 mUmm irarinnaly modified. But, by the 
 constitution of my nature, the visible ob- 
 jecl brings along with it the conception 
 and belief of a certain: .passion or sentiment 
 U the mind of the person. 
 
 In the former case, a sensation of touch 
 Is the sign, and the hardness and roundness 
 of the body I grasp is signified by that sen- 
 sation. In the ktter case, tile features of 
 the person is the sign, and tlie passion or 
 sentiment is signified by it. 
 
 The power of natural signs, to signify 
 the MntimentS' and paasiona 'Of the mind, is 
 ■sen in the signs of dumb persons, who can 
 'ftiaiEe themselves to be uniiialood in a con- 
 siderable degree, even by those who are 
 wholly inexperienced m that bngnage. 
 
 It is :seea In, the tra«e whieh, has been fiw- 
 quently caifled mi between peopte that have 
 no common acquired language. Thev can 
 buy and sell, and ask and refuse, and shew a 
 friendly or hostile disposition by natural 
 aigns.' fUfNI'] 
 
 It was seen still more in the actors 
 among the ancients who performed the 
 gistiailaticin upon 'the 'Stage, while others 
 licited. the 'wonls. To such a pitch was 
 tUs art carried, that we are told Cicero 
 and Eoeeius used to contend whether the 
 orator eonid express anything by words, 
 which the actor 'Could not expirees in dumb 
 tHk/m by gestiwlalion ; and whether the 
 same sentence or thought could not be act- 
 ed in all the variety of ways in which the 
 wator «Mlld express it in words. 
 
 But the most surprising exhibition of 
 
 ''- kind, was that of the pantomimes 
 
 the Bomans, who acted plays, or 
 
 •oenes of plays, without any recitation, and 
 yet could be perfectly understood* 
 
 And here it deserves our notice, that, al- 
 though it required much study and practice 
 in the pantomimes to excel in their art, 
 yet it required neither study nor practice in 
 the spectators to understand th<m. It was 
 a natural language, and therefore under- 
 stood by all men, whether Romans, Greeks, 
 or barbarians, by the learned and the un- 
 learned. ^ . 
 Lucian relates, that a king, whose domi- 
 nions bordered upon the Euxine Sea, hap- 
 pening to be at Rome in the reign of Nero, 
 and having seen a pantomime act, begged 
 him of Nero, that he might use him in his 
 intercourse with all the nations in his 
 neighbourhood ; for, said he, I am obliged 
 to employ I don't know how many inter- 
 preters, in order to keep a correspondence 
 with neighbours who speak many languages, 
 and do not understand mine ; but this fel- 
 low will make them all understand him. 
 
 For these reasons, I conceive, it must be 
 granted, not only that there is a connection 
 established by Nature between certain signs 
 in the countenance, voice, and gesture, and 
 the thoughts and passions of the mind ; but 
 also, that, by our constitution, we under- 
 stand the meaning of those signs, and from 
 the sign conclude the existence of the thing 
 signified. [001 J 
 
 10. Another first principle appears to 
 me to K« — Thaf (fkMrm iM..^a.^£itain regard 
 due to human testimom iii matters qf Jmh 
 and €vm to Jiumtm^ •nihoriiff m ma iime t(f 
 (^nion, 
 
 Before we are capable of reasoning about 
 testimony or authority, there are many 
 things which it concerns us to know, for 
 which we can have no other evidence. The 
 wise Author of nature hath phmted in the 
 human mind a propensity to rely upon this 
 evidence before we can give a reason for 
 doing so. This, indeed, puts our judgment 
 almost entirely in the power of those who 
 are about us m the first period of life ; but 
 this is necessary both to our preservation 
 and to our improvement. If children were 
 so framed as to pay no regard to testimony 
 Of to authority, they must, in the literal 
 sense, perish for lack of knowledge. It is 
 not more necessary that they should be fed 
 before they can feed themselves, than that 
 they should be instructed in many things 
 before they can discover them by their own 
 judgment. 
 
 But, when our faculties ripen, we find 
 reason to check tliat propensity to yield to 
 testimony and to authority, which was eo 
 necessary and so natural in the first period 
 of Ufe. We learn to reason about the re- 
 gard due to them, and see it to be achildibh 
 weakness to lay more stress upon them than 
 than reason justifies. Yet, I believe, to 
 
 the end of life, most men are more apt to go 
 into this extreme tlian into the contrary ; 
 and the natural propensity still retains some 
 force. 
 
 The natural principles, by which our 
 judgments and opinions are regulated before 
 we come to the use of reason, seem to be no 
 less necessary to such a being as man, than 
 those natural instincts which the Author of 
 nature hath given us to regulate our actions 
 during that period. [G02] 
 
 11. There are many events depending. 
 up*m th e will of man, in which (here is a 
 fe&-evidejU nrobahiiftUi greater or lesny ai^ 
 ^rfjfn^i ia. drxum&tances. 
 
 There may be in some individuals such a 
 degree of frenzy and madness, that no 
 man can say what they may or may not do. 
 Such persons we find it necessary to put 
 under restraint, that as far as possible they 
 may be kept from doing harm to themselves 
 or to others. They are not considered as 
 reasonable creatures, or members of society. 
 But, as to men who have a sound mind, we 
 depend upon a certain degree of regularity 
 in their conduct ; and could pat a thousand 
 different cases, wherein we could venture, 
 ten to one, that they will act in such a way, 
 and not in the contrary. 
 
 If we had no confidence in our fellow-men 
 that they will act such a part in such cir- 
 cumstances, it would be impossible to live 
 in society with them. For that which 
 makes men capable of living in society, and 
 uniting in a political body under government, 
 is, that their actions will always be regu- 
 lated, in a great measure, by the common 
 principles of human nature. 
 
 It may always be expected that they 
 will regard their own interest and reputa- 
 tion, and that of .their families and friends ; 
 that they will repel injuries, and have some 
 sense of good offices; and that they will 
 have some regard to truth and justice, so 
 far at least as not to swerve from them 
 without temptation. 
 
 It is upon such principles as these, that 
 all political reasoning is grounded. Such 
 reasoning is never demonstrative; but it 
 may have a very great degree of probability, 
 especially when appUed to great bodies of 
 nen. [603] 
 
 12. The last principle of contingent truths 
 I mention is, TAa/, in the jth^iomeiUL-Qf. 
 nnturey what is to be, will pruoably he. like. 
 to what has been in similar cirruJif^lanfes.* 
 
 ^We must have this conviction as soon as 
 we are capable of learning anything from 
 experience ; for all experience is grounded 
 upon a belief that the future will be like 
 the past. Take away this principle, and 
 the experience of an hundred years makes 
 
 * Compare above, " Inquiry j" c »i. § 24. Stewart's 
 •' Element*", I. p. i»t»3. <• Philoiophicia Essayg," 
 1^ 74, »q.— H. 
 
 Lf0a-6O4] 
 
 US no wiser with regard to what is te 
 come. 
 
 This is one of those principles which, 
 when we grow up and observe the course of 
 nature, we can confirm by reasoning. We 
 perceive that Nature is governed by fixed 
 laws, and that, if it were not so, there could 
 be no sueh thing as prudence in human 
 conduct ; there would be no fitness iu any 
 means to promote an end ; and what, on 
 one occasion, promoted it, might as pro- 
 bably, on another occasion, obstruct it. 
 
 But the principle is necessary for us be- 
 fore we are able to discover it by reasoning, 
 and therefore is made a part of uur consti- 
 tution, and produces its effects before the 
 use of reason. 
 
 This principle remains in all its force 
 when we come to the use of reason ; but 
 we learn to be more cautious in the appli- 
 cation of it. We observe more carefully 
 the circumstances on which the past event 
 depended, and learn to distinguish them 
 from those which were accidentally con- 
 joined with it. 
 
 In order to this, a number of experi- 
 ments, varied in their circumstances, is 
 often necessary. Sometimes a single ex- 
 periment is thought sufficient to establish a 
 general conclusion. Thus, when it was 
 once found, that, in a certain degree of cold, 
 quicksilver became a hard and malleable 
 metal, there was good reason to think that 
 the same degree of cold will always produce 
 this effect to the end of the world. [604] 
 
 I need hardly mention, that the whole 
 fabric of natural philosophy is built upon 
 this principle, and, if it be taken away, 
 must tumble down to the foundation. 
 
 Therefore the great Newton lays it down 
 as an axiom, or as one of his laws of philo- 
 sophising, in these words, Effectuum nature 
 altum ejusdem generis easdem esse cavsas. 
 This is what every man ajssents to, as soon 
 as he understands it, and no man asks a 
 reason for it. It has, therefore, the most 
 genuine marks of a first principle. 
 
 It is very remarkable, that, although all 
 our expectation of what is to happen in the 
 course of nature is derived from the belief 
 of this principle, yet no man thinks of ask- 
 ing what is the ground of this belief. 
 
 Mr Hume, I think, was the first* who 
 put this question; and he has shewn clearly 
 and invincibly, that it is neither grounded 
 upon reasoning, nor has that kind of intui- 
 tive evidence which mathematical axioms 
 have. It is not a necessary truth. 
 
 He has endeavoured to account for it 
 upon his own principles. It is not my 
 business, at present, to examine the account 
 he has given of this universal belief of man- 
 
 * Humr was not the firit ; but on the v^irjout 
 opinions touching the ground of this ex|>t ctancy, I 
 can not touch.— H. 
 
 / 
 
4m 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [kisay ?i 
 
 CHAP, v.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OP CONTINGENT TRUTHS. 451 
 
 htm iliai expCTieiic® imtniet i» wlien we 
 em the iign only, when tlie thing signified 
 is invisiMe ? Now, this h tlie cam here : 
 
 "'tlM^ inM^glits. and pMions of the muwl, m 
 mil m wm 'mind Itwl^i m% invimble, tnd 
 ilMvfon their conneefioii ififli my eensible 
 rign cannot be first discovered by expe- 
 perience ; there must be some earlier source 
 fl-thls knowledge. [G&B} 
 
 Nutitn JMMliu to b»Te given to men a 
 fMulty or eenee, by which this connection 
 is perceived. And the operation of this 
 sense is very analogoiis to that of the ex- 
 
 When I grasp an ivory bdl in my hand, 
 I 6d a certain sensation of touch. In the 
 Sensation there is nothing external, nothuig 
 
 (sorporeal- The Mnsntion is neither round 
 Mr liaid; it is aa tet of feeling of tlie 
 mind, Horn whieh I cannot, by reasoning, 
 infer the existence of any body. But, by 
 the constitution of my nature, the sensation 
 earties along with it the conception and be- 
 ief of a mund hard body really existuig in 
 my ban^d. 
 
 In like 'manner, when I see the featmea 
 ©f an expressive face, I see only figure and 
 colour variously modified. But, by the 
 constitntion of my nature, the visible ob- 
 ject brings along with it the conception 
 and belief of a certain pusion or sentiment 
 in. the mind of tlio 'peiaon. 
 
 In 'the former case, m^ sensation of touch 
 Is the sign, and the hardness and roundnewi 
 of the body I grasp is signified bv that sen- 
 lation. In tba hitter case, the features of 
 the person is tit afen, and tlie passion or 
 sentiment is signified by it. ^ 
 
 The power of natural signs, to signify 
 the sentimeals and passions of the mind, is 
 seen in Hit signs of dumbpenwis, who can 
 make th^emselves to benraisislood in a con- 
 siderable degree, even by those who are 
 wholly inexprieneed in that hinguage. 
 
 It is:seen in thetraifie whieh has been fre- 
 quently eaffled on between people that have 
 no common acquired language. They can 
 buy and sell, and ask and refuse, and shew a 
 fkieiidly or hostile disposition by natural 
 '■igns.' [600] 
 
 It was seen still more in the aetors 
 among the ancients who performed the 
 gtatinilation upon tbe stage, whUe others 
 incited 'tlie words. To sucfe a pitch was 
 'Ihis'" art cAffiei,* tbat we are told Cicero 
 and Boscius used to contend whether the 
 orator could express anything by words, 
 which 'the actor could not express in. dumb 
 'diow' by gettitiilatioii ; and whether the 
 same sentence or thought could not be act- 
 ed in aU the variety of ways in which the 
 mtAm moM eipieas it in, words. 
 
 Bnt the most enrprising exhibition of 
 iiia Mnd, wi» tiat of the pantomimes 
 ■nimg the Bomans, who acted plays, or 
 
 scenes of plays, without any recitation, and 
 yet could be perfectly understood* 
 
 And here it deserves our notice, that, al- 
 though it required much study and practice 
 hi the pantomimes to excel in their art, 
 yet it required neither study nor practice in 
 the spectators to understand them. It was 
 a natural language, and therefore under- 
 stood by all men, whether Romans, Greeks, 
 or barbarians, by tlie learned and the un- 
 learned. 
 
 Lucian relates, that a king, whose domi- 
 nions bordered upon the Euxine Sea, hap- 
 pening to be at Rome m the reign of Nero, 
 and having seen a pantomime act, begged 
 him of Nero, that he might use him in his 
 intercourse with all the nations in his 
 neighbourhood; for, said he, I am obliged 
 to employ I don't know how many mter- 
 preters, m order to keep a correspondence 
 with neighbours who speak many langiiages, 
 and do not miderstand mine ; but this fel- 
 low will make them all understand him. 
 
 For these reasi>ns, I conceive, it must he 
 granted, not only that there is a connection 
 established by Nature between certain signs 
 in the countenance, voice, and gesture, and 
 the thoughts and passions of the mind ; but 
 also, that, by our constitution, we under* 
 stand the meaning of those signs, and from 
 the sign conclude the existence of the thing 
 signified. [601] 
 
 10. Another first principle appears to 
 me to he—ThaUh£XA is u fimMm regard 
 due to human testimony in mailers df facty 
 and €ven iQ Jiuamt^ «wyAi»»*/y ia maUsrs-^qf 
 opinion. 
 
 Before we are capable of reasoning about 
 testimony or authority, there are many 
 things whieh it concerns us to know, for 
 which we can have no other evidence. The 
 wise Author of nature hath planted in the 
 human mmd a propensity to rely upon this 
 evidence before we can give a reason for 
 doing so. This, indeed, puts our judgment 
 almost entirely in the power of those who 
 are about us in the first period of life ; but 
 this is necessary both to our pre? ervation 
 and to our improvement. If children were 
 BO framed as to pay no regard to testimony 
 or to authority, they must, in the literal 
 sense, perish for lack of knowledge. It is 
 not more necessary that they should be fed 
 before they can feed themselves, than that 
 they should be instructed in many things 
 before they can discover them by their own 
 judgment. 
 
 But, when our faculties npen, we find 
 reason to check tliat propensity to yield to 
 testunony and to authority, which was eo 
 necefcsary and so natural in the first period 
 of life. We learn to reason about the re- 
 gard due to them, and see it to be a childish 
 weakness to lay more stress upon them than 
 than reason justifies. Yet, I believe, to 
 
 [599-6011 
 
 the end of life, most men are more apt to go 
 into this extreme than into the contrary ; 
 and the natural propensity still retains some 
 force. 
 
 The natural principles, by which our 
 judgments and opinions are regulated before 
 we come to the use of reason, seem to be no 
 less necessary to such a being as man, than 
 those natural instincts which the Author of 
 nature hath given us to regulate our actions 
 during tbat period. [602] 
 
 n. There are many events depending 
 ujh»n ih e will of man, in which there is^a 
 felf-evident proOaOilityt greater or le&Hy ae- 
 QOtdiiW-'la- cir£Uia£iances. 
 
 There may be in some individuals such a 
 degree of frenzy and madness, that no 
 man can say what they may or may not do. 
 Such persons we find it necessary to put 
 under restraint, that as far as possible they 
 may be kept from doing harm to themselves 
 or to others. They are not considered as 
 reasonable creatures, or members of society. 
 But, as to men who have a sound mind, we 
 depend upon a certain degree of regularity 
 in their conduct ; and could put a thousand 
 difierent cases, wherein we could venture, 
 ten to one, that they will act in such a way, 
 and not in the contrary. 
 
 If we had no confidence in our fellow-men 
 that they will act such a part in such cir- 
 cumstances, it w^ould be impossible to live 
 in society with them. For that which 
 makes men capable of living in society, and 
 uniting in a political body under government, 
 is, that their actions will always be regu- 
 lated, in a great measure, by Uie common 
 principles of human nature. 
 
 It may always be expected that they 
 will regard their own interest and reputa- 
 tion, and that of.their families and friends ; 
 that they will repel injuries, and have some 
 sense of good offices; and that they will 
 have some regard to truth and justice, so 
 far at least as not to swerve from them 
 without temptation. 
 
 It is upon such principles as these, that 
 all political reasoning is grounded.. Such 
 reasoning is never demonstrative; but it 
 may have a very great degree of probability, 
 especially when applied to great bodies of 
 men. [603] 
 
 12. The last principle of contingent truths 
 I mention is, That^in th(> jth^nflffiena i\f 
 WilurCy w hat U' to be^ «>/// pmhaj^ j^e like 
 to what has been in jimildjr ciretai^Uanc€» * 
 
 We must have this conviction as soon as 
 we are capable of learning anything from 
 experience ; for all experience is grounded 
 upon a belief that the future will be like 
 the past. Take away this principle, and 
 the experience of an hundred years makes 
 
 * Compare above, " Inquiry," c. »l. $ ?*. Stewart'i 
 •» Element", i. p. iJl'5. «• PhilMophical Essayi,'* 
 |t. 74, »q.'>H. 
 
 [;f02-604] 
 
 us no wiser with regard to what is to 
 come. 
 
 This is one of those principles which, 
 when we grow up and observe the course of 
 nature, we can confirm by reasoning. We 
 perceive that Nature is governed by fixed 
 laws, and that, if it were not so, there could 
 be no such thing as prudence in human 
 conduct ; there would be no fitness iu any 
 means to promote an end ; and what, on 
 one occasion, promoted it, might as pro- 
 bably, on another occasion, obstruct it. 
 
 But the principle is necessary for us be- 
 fore we are able to discover it by reasoning, 
 and therefore is made a part of our consti- 
 tution, and produces its effects before the 
 use of reason. 
 
 This principle remains in all its force 
 when we come to the use of reason ; but 
 we learn to be more cautious in the appli- 
 cation of it. We observe more carefully 
 the circumstances on which the past event 
 depended, and learn to distinguish them 
 from those which were accidentally con- 
 joined with it. 
 
 In order to this, a number of experi- 
 ments, varied in their circumstances, is 
 often necessary. Sometimes a single ex- 
 periment is thought sufficient to establish a 
 general conclusion. Thus, when it was 
 once found, that, in a certain degree of cold, 
 quicksilver became a hard and malleable 
 metal, there was good reason to think that 
 the same degree of cold will always produce 
 this effect to the end of the world. [604] 
 
 I need hardly mention, that the whole 
 fabric of natural philosophy is built upon 
 this principle, and, if it be taken away, 
 must tumble down to the foundation. 
 
 Therefore the great Newton lays it down 
 as an axiom, or as one of his laws of philo- 
 sophising, in these words, Effectuum nature 
 altum ejusdem generis easdem esse causas. 
 This is what every man assents to, as soon 
 as he understands it, and no man asks a 
 reason for it. It has, therefore, the most 
 genuine marks of a first principle. 
 
 It is very remarkable, that, although all 
 our expectation of what is to happen in the 
 course of nature is derived from the belief 
 of this principle, yet no man thinks of ask- 
 ing what is the ground of this belief. 
 
 Mr Hume, I think, was the first* who 
 put this question; and he has shewn clearly 
 and invincibly, that it is neither grounded 
 upon reasoning, nor has that kind of intui- 
 tive evidence which mathematical axioms 
 have. It is not a necessary truth. 
 
 He has endeavoured to account for it 
 upon his owa principles. It is not my 
 business, at present, to examine the account 
 he has given of this universal belief of man- 
 
 * Hirme was not the fint : but on tfie v^irjouf 
 opinions touching the ground of this expi ctancy, I 
 ramiot toiicii.~H. 
 
 ♦ G • 
 
 / 
 
4Af 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 mm 
 
 Hud ; liettnte, whether Mm aoeoimt of it be 
 just m mdf (and I Hunk It is not,) yet, ae 
 lUt^ MM'ii nniveml. ^aiwing 'mankind, and 
 if: not 'gnmnded. npon any antecedent rea- 
 ■oning, bnt npon the constitution (tf the 
 mind itself, it must be acknowledged to be 
 a first prineiiile. in the ■«■»« in whieh I 
 nae that werd. 
 
 I do not at all affirm, that those I have 
 mentaened are all the first principles from 
 which, we may reiMMi eoMemiqg 'Oontingent 
 tnitlia. :SimIi 'Cmniientiona, even when 
 mmim aHm miili/nieistliin, are seldom per- 
 fect [Oii] 
 
 CHAPTEE V.L 
 
 niST FRINCIPLBS OF NWBa&iHT TAUTH8. 
 
 .AiioPT meat of the finl prineiplea. ^ ne- 
 ■l ii H iiiff y 'tmlha: tliere 'has' 'been ma dispute, 
 and. therefore it is the less necessary to 
 dwell upon them. It will be sufficient to 
 divide them into different 'daases t to men- 
 tlm some, by way of specimen, in each 
 ehus ; and to make some nnarks on those 
 of which the truth has been called in qnes- 
 
 They may, I think, most properly be 
 divided according to the scienoes to which 
 they belong. 
 
 1. There are some first principles that 
 
 •Mffy a^pfeHfw 'ia a mnimm mmi belmg to 
 mm$ tmlstan^m espresged or understood ,* 
 Tkm mmtif mmpkU Menime§ mmi ham a 
 iwvA, 
 
 Thoeo' whn have attended to the struc- 
 ture of knguage, and formed distinct no-^ 
 lions of the nature and use of the various 
 parts of speech, perceive, without reasoning, 
 that these, and many other such principles, 
 are necessarily trua 
 
 - 2. There are hmmi axioms ; soch. as*. 
 Tkaimt^cmteftmr€ofmmh which do€imi 
 hmmv ' A fifi(i|Mi9iliiiii| ttiuilAei*' img nor ,/vilfv ; 
 Tkai*mmFjf pmptkiMtm ia ^iker irus or 
 J&ilW ; That no propodtion can be btrih tnte 
 mnd/mlae at the »awm time ; That reasoning 
 'lit m dnk iimMw* wotMuffi Thai whatcpcr 
 fiMf be f ni% iifinmd eif a f MUt, wmp be 
 lni% affirmed of aU the epmmt mad tdl the 
 MimdmalM 4teionffing to tftai ffenm,. [606] 
 
 X Eveiyon«..knowsthfi«a>B''iMlA«i|iiil'i<wil 
 axinms,* Mathematicians have, from the 
 days of Euclid, very wisely laid down the 
 axioms or first principles on which they 
 itason. And the effect which this appears 
 In have had upon the stability and happy 
 progfeas of this science, gives no .small en- 
 oountgiiMnt to attempt to ky the founda- 
 tion of 'Other sciences m a similar manner, 
 aa fiuT' as we are^ able. 
 
 *' Sit' St'owart't '* Element's,'*' li. p. SB, M}.— H. 
 
 Mr Hume hath discovered, as he appre- 
 hends, a weak side, even in mathematical 
 axioms ;• and thinks that it is not strictly 
 true, for instance, that two right lines can 
 cut one another in one point only. 
 
 The principle he reasons from is, That 
 every simple idea is a copy of a preceding 
 impression ; and therefore in its precision 
 and accuracy, can never go beyond its ori- 
 guial. From which he reasons in this man- 
 ner : No man ever saw or felt a line so 
 straight that it might not cut another, 
 equally straight, in two or more points. 
 Therefore, there can be no idea of such a 
 lina 
 
 The ideas that are most essential to geo- 
 metry — such as those of equality, of a 
 straight line, and of a square surface, are far, 
 he says, from being distinct and deter- 
 mmate; and the definitions destroy the 
 pretended demonstrations. Thus, mathe- 
 matical demonstration is found to be a rope 
 of sand. 
 
 I agree with this acute author, that, if 
 we could form no notion of points, lines, and 
 surfaces, more accurate than those we see 
 and handle, there could be no mathematical 
 demonstration. 
 
 But every man that has understanding, 
 by analysing, by abstracting, and compound- 
 ing the rude materials exhibited by his 
 senses, can fabricate, in his own mind, 
 those elegant and accurate forms of mathe- 
 matical lines, surfaces, and solids. [607] 
 
 If a man finds himself incapable of form- 
 ing a precise and determinate notion of the 
 figure which mathematicians call a cube, 
 he not only is no mathematician, but is in- 
 capable of being one. But, if he has a pre- 
 cise and determinate notion of that figure, 
 he must perceive that it is terminated by six 
 mathematical surfaces, perfectly square and 
 perfectly equal. He must perceive that 
 these surfaces are terminated by twelve 
 mathematical lines, perfectly straight and 
 perfectly equal, and that those lines are ter- 
 minated by eight mathematical points. 
 
 When a man is conscious of having these 
 coneeptbns distinct and determinate, as 
 every mathematician is, it is in vain to bring 
 metaphysical arguments to convince him 
 that they are not distinct. You may as well 
 bring arguments to convince a man racked 
 with pain that he feels no pain. 
 
 Every theory that is inconsistent with our 
 having accurate notions of mathematical 
 lines, surfaces, and solids, must be false. 
 Therefore it follows, that they are not copies 
 of our impressions. 
 
 The Medicean Venus is not a copy of the 
 block of marble from which it was madew 
 It is true, that the elegant statue was 
 formed out of the rude block, and that, too, 
 by a manual operation, which, in a literal 
 sense, we may call abstraction. Mathe- 
 
 r60S>607l 
 
 CMAP. VI.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 453 
 
 \ 
 
 matical notions are formed in the under- 
 standing by an abstraction of another kind, 
 out of the rude perceptions of our senses. 
 
 As the truths of natural philosophy are 
 not necessary truths, but contingent, de- 
 pending upon the will of the Maker of the 
 world, the principles from which they are 
 deduced must be of the same nature, and, 
 therefore, belong not to this class. [608] 
 
 4. I think there are axioms, even in 
 matters of taste. Notwithstanding the 
 variety found among men, in taste, there 
 are, I apprehend, some common principles, 
 even in matters of this kind. I never heard 
 of any man who thought it a beauty in a 
 human face to want a nose, or an eye, or to 
 have the mouth on one side. How many 
 ages have passed since the days of Homer ! 
 Yet, in this long tract of ages, there never 
 was fouud a man who took Tiiersites for a 
 beauty. 
 
 The^tie arts are very properly called the 
 arts of taste, because the principles of both 
 are the eame ; and, in the fine arts, we find 
 no less agreement among those who practise 
 them than among other artists. 
 
 No work of taste can be either relished 
 or understood by those who do not agree 
 with the author in the principles of taste. 
 
 Homer and Virgil, and Shakspeare and 
 Milton, had the same taste ; and all men 
 who have been acquainted with their writ- 
 ings, and agree in the admiration of them, 
 must have the same taste. 
 
 The fundamental rules of poetry and 
 music, and painting, and dramatic action and 
 eloquence, have been always the same, and 
 will be so to the end of the world. 
 
 The variety we find among men in matters 
 of taste, is easily accounted for, consistently 
 with what we have advanced. 
 
 There is a taste that is acquired, and a 
 taste tliat is natural. This holds with re- 
 spect both to the external sense of taste and 
 the internal. Habit and fashion have a 
 powerful influence upon both. 
 
 Of tastes that are natural, there are some 
 that may be called rational, others that are 
 merely animal. 
 
 Children are delighted with brilliant and 
 gaudy colours, with romping and noisy 
 mirth, with feats of agility, strength, or 
 cunning ; and savages have much the same 
 tafi*e as children. [609] 
 
 But there are tastes that are more intel- 
 lectual. It is the dictate of our rational na- 
 ture, that love and admiration are misplaced 
 when there is no intrinsic worth in the object. 
 
 In those operations of taste which are ra- 
 tional, we judge of the real worth and ex- 
 cellence of the object, and our love or 
 admiration is guided by that judgment. In 
 such operations there is judgment as well 
 as feeling, and the feeling depends upon 
 the judgment we form of the object. 
 [608-610] 
 
 I do not maintain that taste, so far as it 
 is acquired, or so far as it is merely animal, 
 can be reduced to principles. But, as far 
 as it is founded on judgment, it certainly may. 
 
 The virtues, the graces, the muses, have 
 a beauty that is intrinsic. It lies not in 
 the feelings of the spectator, but in the 
 real excellence of the object. If we do not 
 perceive their beauty, it is owing to the de- 
 fect or to the perversion of our faculties. 
 
 And, as there is an original beauty in cer- 
 tain moral and intellectual qualities, so 
 there is a borrowed and derived beauty 
 in the natural signs and expressions of 
 such qualities. 
 
 The features of the human face, the mo- 
 dulations of the voice, and the proportions, 
 attitudes, and gesture of the body, are all 
 natural expressions of good or bad quali- 
 ties of t'je person, and derive a beauty or 
 a deformity from the qualities which they 
 express. 
 
 Works of art express some quality of 
 the artist, and often derive an additional 
 beauty from their utility or fitness for their 
 end. 
 
 Of such things there are some that 
 ought to please, and others that ought to 
 displease. If they do not, it is owing to 
 some defect in the spectator. But what 
 has real excellence will always please 
 those who have a correct judgment and a 
 sound heart. [610] 
 
 The sum of what has been said upon 
 this subject is, that, setting aside the 
 tastes which men acquire by habit and 
 fashion, there is a natural taste, which is 
 partly animal, and partly rational. With 
 regard to the first, all we can say is, 
 that the Author of nature, for wise rea- 
 sons, has formed us so as to receive plea- 
 sure from the contemplation of certain 
 objects, and disgust from others, before 
 we are capable of perceiving any real ex- 
 cellence in one or defect in the other. 
 But that taste which we may call ration- 
 al, is that part of our constitution by 
 which we are made to receive pleasure 
 from the contemplation of what we con- 
 ceive to be excellent in its kind, the plea- 
 sure being annexed to this judgment, and 
 regulated by it. This taste may be true 
 or false, according as it is founded on a 
 true or false judgment. And, if it may be 
 true or false, it must have first principles. 
 
 5. There are also first principles in mo- 
 rals. 
 
 That an unjust action has more demerit 
 than an ungenerous one : That a generous 
 action has more merit than a merely just 
 That no man ought to be blamed for 
 
 one 
 
 what it was not in his power to hinder t That 
 we ought not to do to others what we would 
 think unjust or unfair to be done to u* in 
 like circumstances. These are moral axioms, 
 
454 
 
 ON THB INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [bUAY ¥U 
 
 ■ui mmy ^Amm'mi^ M mamd wMeli ai»- 
 {Mr to HI*. 'to :!!•▼© no lets wifcnw than 
 thom of jnitlMiiitilioi* 
 
 Some perhaps may tlitnk that our de- 
 'tomiliiatiMMi ©itlwr in, .matiew of taste or 
 in imnilii, oraglit 'iwt to h© afiomintod ne- 
 mmmtf tnitha i That they an grounded 
 upon the conatitution of that facility which 
 we oall taat% and of that which we call 
 'the monl, iMwe' or conscience ; which fa- 
 iMltiea Miihl Mm heen so conatituted as 
 to have given dflterminatious different, or 
 «f«n contrary to tboM they now give : 
 •lliat, as thmm la nothing sweet or bitter 
 in itself, bnl according as it agrees or dis- 
 apMt' 'Wilb theexto'rnal sense called taste ; 
 in tiMOT ia moiliii« heantlfnl or ugly in jt- 
 ■rif, hut accMdini' m it agrees or dis- 
 mmm with. Hm internal sense, which we 
 aEn aai laatet and nothing morally good 
 or il In itself, but according as it agrees 
 or disagrees with ouf moral sense. [611] 
 
 Una .indeed. iS' a system, with regard to 
 lifitBla and taste, which 'hath been supported 
 in modern times by great authorities. And 
 if thiS' system 'ho true, the consequence 
 nmst he^. 'thai there can be no principles, 
 Hther of 'taate or of morala, tlial art' 'neces- 
 iary truths. For, according to this system, 
 all our determiwiiiins, both with regard to 
 .■Milan, wf taste, and with regard to morals, 
 an ;rdhNai. 'to matters of 'fact— I tnean to 
 ■ach as these, that by our constitution we 
 h»Te on such occasions certain agreeable 
 'IMIngs, and on other occasions 'Cettpa dis- 
 
 Bui I fimnot help being of a contrary 
 nninion, being persuaded that a man who 
 dAtermined that iwlito behaviour has great 
 
 daloRni^, and, that there is great beauty 
 in .mdeiieaB :and. ill-breeding, would Judge 
 wim^g, whatever hla 'feelings were.. 
 
 In Iko manner, I cannot help thinking 
 
 that a man who datsnaiiDMl that there is 
 
 mmm imiinl worth in crielly, perfidy, and 
 injustice, than in guneroeitv, justice, pru- 
 daace, and temperance, would judge wrong, 
 
 whatever his constitotion was. 
 
 And, if it bO' 'tmn thai thcie .ia. jnipient 
 in our determinations of tasto .and ti morals, 
 it must be granted that whal is true or 
 iklso' in morals, or in. matters of taste, is 
 necaMarily 'SO. For this reason, I have 
 ranked, 'the 'irst principles of morals, and of 
 liato mder the daas m necessary 'truths. 
 
 4 The last chas of first principles I shall 
 mention, we may call meimp^tdmL 
 
 I I ahall 'pyrtionlarlyoonsidar 'three of theee^. 
 bocauso they have beii. called, in qiiistion 
 Dor Mr tinae. l.oi«j 
 
 J The Jfr5l is, That th€ quaMHm mk^h we 
 
 i pmrmim % our smmm mma kmm m mi*jmit 
 liMal 1PV mMhv^ md tkat tkg ikmiffha 
 
 '. iM' mm cumntont w '■«*<' *<ww m tw^c/, 
 mkkhwemM 
 
 It is not more evident that two and two 
 make four, than it is that figure cannot 
 exist, unless there be something that is 
 figured, nor motion without something that 
 is moved. I not only perceive figure and 
 motion, but I perceive them to be qualities. 
 They have a necessary relation to some- 
 thing in which they exist as their subject. 
 The difficulty vvhicii some philogophers have 
 found in adinitting this, is entirely owing to 
 the theory of ideas. A subject of the sen- 
 sible qualities which we perceive by our 
 senses, is not an idea either of sensation or 
 of consciousness ; therefore say they, we 
 have no audi idea. Or, in the style of Mr 
 Hume, from what impression is the idea of 
 substance derived ? It is not a copy of any 
 impression ; therefore there is no such idea. 
 
 The distinction between sensible quali- 
 ties, and the substance to which they belong, 
 and between thought and the mind that 
 thinks, is not the invention of philosophers ; 
 it is found in the structure of all languages, 
 and therefore must be common to all men 
 who speak with understanding. And I 
 believe no man, however sceptical he may 
 be in speculation, can talk on tlie common 
 affiurs of life for half an hour, without say- 
 ing things that imply his belief of the reality 
 of these distinctions. 
 
 Mr Locke acknowledges, " That we am- 
 not conceive how simple ideas of sensible 
 qualities should subsist alone ; and there- 
 fore we suppose tliem to exist in, and to be 
 supported by, some common subject,*' In 
 his Essay, indeed, some of his expressions 
 seem to lenve it dubious whether this belief, 
 that sensible qualities must have a subject, 
 be a true judgment or a vulgar prejudice. 
 [613] But in his first letter to the Bishop 
 of Worcester, he removes this doubt, and 
 quotes many passages of his Essay, to shew 
 ^t he neither denied nor doubted of the 
 existence of substances, both thinking and 
 material; and that he believed their ex- 
 istence on the same ground the Bishop 
 did— to wit, ** on the repugnancy to our 
 conceptions, that modes and accidents should 
 subsist by themselves. '* He offer* no proof 
 of this repngnaiicy ; nor, I think, can any 
 proof of it be given, because it is a first 
 principle. 
 
 It were to be wished that Mr Ijocke, who 
 inquired so accurately and so laudably into 
 the origin, certainty, and extent of human 
 knowledge, had turned his attention mora 
 particularly to the origin of these two 
 opinions which he firmly believed ; to wit, 
 tlial sensible qualities must have a subject 
 which we call body, and that thought must 
 liave a subject which we call mind. A due 
 attention to these two opinions which go- 
 vern the belief of all men, even of sceptics 
 in the practice of life, would probably liave 
 led him to perceive, that sensation and 
 
 OMAP. ▼!.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 
 
 465 
 
 oonaciousness are not the only sources of 
 human knowledge ; and that there are prin- 
 ciples of belief in human nature, of which 
 we can give no other account but that they 
 necessarily result from the constitution of 
 our faculties ; and that, if it were in our 
 power to throw off their influence upon our 
 practice and conduct, we could neither 
 speak nor act like reasonable men. 
 
 We cannot give a reason why we believe 
 even our sensations to be real and not fal- 
 lacious ; why we believe what we are con- 
 scious of; why we trust any of our natural 
 faculties. We say, it must be so, it cannot 
 be otherwise. This expresses only a strong 
 belief, which is indeed the voice of nature, 
 and which therefore in vain we attempt to 
 resist. But if, in spite of nature, we resolve 
 to go deeper, and not to trust our faculties, 
 without a reason to shew that they cannot 
 be fallacious, I am afraid, that, seeking to 
 become wise, and to be as gods, we shall 
 become foolish, and, bemg unsatisfied with 
 the lot of humanity, we shall throw off com- 
 mon sense. 
 
 The iffco/jrf metaphysical principle I men- 
 tion ia — Thai whatever begin* to exist, must 
 have a cause which produced it,* [614] 
 Philosophy is indebted to Mr Hume in 
 • this respect among others, that, by callmg 
 in question many of the first principles of 
 human knowledge, he hath put speculative 
 men upon inquiring more carefully than was 
 done before into the nature of the evidence 
 upon which they rest. Truth can never 
 suffer by a fair inquiry ; it can bear to be 
 seen naked and in the fullest li(;ht ; and the 
 strictest examination will al.vays turn out 
 in the issue to its advantage, i believe Mr 
 Hume was the first who ever called in 
 question whether things that begm to exist 
 must have a cause. 
 
 With regard to this point, we must hold 
 one of these three tilings, either that it is 
 an opinion for which we have no evidence, 
 and which men have foolishly taken up 
 without ground ; or, secondly,^ That it is 
 capable of direct proof by argument ; or, 
 thirdly. That it is self-evident, and needs no 
 proof, but ought to be received as an axiom, 
 which cannot, by reasonable men, be called 
 in question. 
 
 The first of these suppositions would put 
 an end to all philosophy, to all religion, to 
 all reasoning that would carry us beyond 
 the objects of sense, and to all prudence in 
 the conduct of life. 
 
 As to the second supposition, that this 
 principle nmy be proved by direct reason- 
 ing, I am afiraid we shall find the proof 
 extremely difficult, if not altogether im- 
 possible. 
 
 I know only of three or four arguments 
 
 * See below, •• EsMyton the Active Powew," p. 90. 
 ti|— H. 
 
 •til 4-61 6l 
 
 that have been urged by philosophers, in the 
 way of abstract reasoning, to prove that 
 things which begin to exist must have a cause. 
 
 One is offered by Mr Hobbes, another 
 by Dr Samuel Clarke, another by Mr Locke. 
 Mr Hume, in his *' Treatise of Human 
 Nature,'* has examined them all ;* and, in 
 my opinion, has shewn that they take for 
 granted the thing to be proved ; a kind of 
 false reasoning, which men are very apt to 
 fall into when they attempt to prove what 
 is self-evident. [615] 
 
 It has been thought, that, although this 
 principle does not admit of proof from 
 abstract reasoning, it may be proved from 
 experience, and may be justly drawn by 
 induction, from instances that fall within 
 our observation. 
 
 I conceive this method of proof will leave 
 us in great uncertainty, for these threo 
 reasons : 
 
 1*^, Because the proposition to be proved 
 is not a contingent but a necessary proposi- 
 tion. It is not that things which begin to 
 exist commonly have a cause, or even that 
 they always in fact have a cause ; but that 
 they must have a cause, and cannot begin 
 to exist without a cause. 
 
 Propositions of this kind, from their 
 nature, are incapable of proof by induction. 
 Experience informs us only of what is or 
 has been, not of what must be ; and the 
 conclusion must be of the same nature with 
 the premises, "f 
 
 For this reason, no mathematical propo- 
 sition can be proved by induction. Though 
 it should be found by experience in a thou- 
 sand cases, that the area of a plane triangle 
 is equal to the rectangle under the altitude 
 and half the base, this would not prove that 
 it must be so in all cases, and cannot be 
 otherwise; which is what the mathematician 
 afiirms.:}: 
 
 In like manner, though we had the most 
 ample experimental proof that tilings which 
 have begun to exist had a cause, this would 
 not prove tliat they must have a causes 
 Experience may shew us what is the esta- 
 blished course of nature, but can never shew 
 what connections of things are in their 
 nature necessary. 
 
 2dly, General maxims, grounded on ex- 
 perience, have only a degree of probability 
 proportioned to the extent of our experience, 
 and ought always to be understood so as to 
 leave room for exceptions, if future expe- 
 rience shall discover any such. [616] 
 
 The law of gravitation has as full a proof 
 from experience and induction as any prin- 
 ciple can be supposed to have. Yet, if any 
 philosopher should, by clear experiment. 
 
 ♦ Vol. i.p. 144-146.— H. „ .. „, 
 
 t ^ee below, p. 627 ; and " Active Powers, v 3l» 
 and aiove, p. 3«,a, note ♦.— H. 
 t So Aristotle.— H. 
 
ON THE IMTll-LBCTUAL POWERS. [umay vi. 
 
 iilitif tjbil' tlitftt is • Mn ^ of mattsf .in ioiik 
 iMiiMi'wIifeli does not gravitate^ Ibe kw 
 of graritatioii ought to be limitCMl by that 
 
 MMfllltlODa 
 
 Kow, it is evident that men have never 
 
 connctored the prinei|ile of the netsessity of 
 mmm, .as a truth of Ihii' kind wliieh may 
 admit of limitation or exception ; and there- 
 fore it has not been received upon this kind 
 of evidence. 
 
 . Mf , I do not fee that experience could 
 ■alirf'y us that every change in nature act- 
 uaily has a cause. 
 
 In the iar greatest 'p«rt of the changes in 
 nature: timi 'lui within our observation, the 
 orases arO' unknown ; and, therefore,, from 
 experiencey we cannot know whether they 
 liave causes or not. 
 
 Ckusation is not an object of sense. The 
 only experience we ean have of it, is in the 
 CfniMsiousness we have of exerting some 
 power in ordering our thoughts and actions. 
 But this experience is .surely too naisow a 
 IfNandation for a general conclusion, that 
 all things that have had or shai have a be- 
 ginning, must have a cause. 
 
 .For theso' .reasona, this principle cannot 
 bc' drawn from experience, any more' than 
 from abstract reasoning. 
 
 The third supposition is — ^That it is to be 
 admitted as a first or self-evideol principle. 
 Two reasons may be urged liif tiis. 
 
 1. The universal consent of mankind, not 
 of philosophers only, but of the rude and un- 
 levmed vulgar. 
 
 Mr Hmn% as far as I know, was the first 
 that ever expressed any doubt of this prin- 
 ciple.* And when we consider that he has re- 
 jected every principle of human knowledge, 
 OEOMptiiui toat of i y*fffgiffBBiftff| , ^it4 .has .not 
 cwm .spared the ajcioms 'Of iiiailiiiiisliis% 
 Ms auuiority is of amaU.' weight.. [§I7] 
 
 Indeed, with regard to first principles, 
 there is no reason why the opinion of a 
 philosopher should have more authority 
 than that of another man of common sens/, 
 who has been accustomed to judge in such 
 cases. The illiterate vulgar are competent 
 judges ; and the philosopher has no preroga- 
 tive in matters of this Mnd | but he is more 
 liable than they to be misled by a favourite 
 system, especially if it is his own. 
 
 Setting aside the authority of Mr Hume^ 
 vial 'hm philosophy been em.ployed in 
 :Binoe men. irst 'hegan to philosophise, but 
 in the investigation of the causes of things ? 
 This it has always professed, when we trace 
 M: tO' its cradle. It .never entered into any 
 'Baii*b thought, beforO' the philosopher we 
 have mentioned, to put the previous ques- 
 tion, whether things have a cause or not ? 
 Had it been thnnghl ;poi8ible that they 
 might not, it may 'be 'presumed that, in the 
 
 <■ Huaw WW CM the fiffst.— M. 
 
 variety of absurd and contradictory causes 
 assigned, some one would have had recourse 
 to this hypothesis. 
 
 They could conceive the world to arise 
 from an egg, from a struggle between love 
 and strife, between moisture and drought, 
 between heat and cold ; but they never sup- 
 posed that it had no cause. We know not 
 any atheistic sect that ever had recourse 
 to this topic, though by it, they might have 
 evaded every argument that could be 
 brought against them, and answered all 
 objections to their system. 
 
 But rather than adopt such an absurdity, 
 they contrived some imaginary cause— such 
 as chance, a concourse of atoms, or neces- 
 sity--as the cause of the universe. [618] 
 
 The accounts which philosophers have 
 given of particular phsenomena, as well as 
 of the universe in general, proceed upon 
 the same principle. That every pheno- 
 menon must have a cause, was always taken 
 for granted. Nil turpius physico, says 
 Cicero, qtmm fieri sine causa quicquam 
 dicere. Though an Academic, he was dog- 
 matical in this. And Plato, the father of 
 the Academy, was no less so. ** lUm 
 
 yk§ iMvmrmi xmtt mirim ylfirii j%ui> : it is impos- 
 
 sible that anythmg should have its origin 
 without a cause." — Timjrvs. 
 
 I believe Mr Hume was the first who 
 ever held the contrary.* This, indeed, he 
 avows, and assumes the honour of the dis- 
 covery. " It is," says he, " a maxim in 
 philosophy, that whatever begins to exist, 
 must have a cause of existence. This is 
 commonly taken for granted in all reason- 
 ings, without any proof given or demanded. 
 It is supposed to be founded on inttiition, 
 and to he one of those maxims which, 
 though they may be denied with the lips, 
 it is unpossible for men in their hearth 
 really to doubt of. But, if we examine 
 this nuixim by the idea of knowledge above 
 explained, we shall discover in it no mark 
 of such intuitive certainty." The meaning 
 of this seems to be, that it did not suit with 
 his theory of intuitive certainty, and, there- 
 fore, he excludes it from that privilege. 
 
 llie vulgar adhere to this maxim as 
 firmly and imiversally as the phUosoi»hers. 
 Their superstitions have the same origin 
 as the systems of philosophers— to wit, a 
 desire to know the causes of things. Felix 
 qui poluit rerum cognoseere causaSy is the 
 universal sense of men ; but to say that 
 anything can happen without a cause, shocks 
 the common sense of a savage. 
 
 This universal belief of mankind is easily 
 accounted for, if we allow that the neces- 
 sity of a cause of every event is obvious to 
 the rational powers of a man. But it is 
 impossible to account for it otherwise. It 
 
 « five lait' note— H. 
 
 [617,618] 
 
 CHAP VI.] FIKST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 
 
 457 
 
 cannot be ascribed to education, to systems 
 of philosophy, or to priestcraft. One 
 would think that a philosopher who takes 
 it to be a general delusiou or prejudice, 
 would endeavour to shew from what causes 
 in human nature such a general error may 
 take its rise. But I forget that Mr Hume 
 might answer upon his own principles, that 
 since things may happen without a cause — 
 this error and delusion of men may be uni- 
 versal without any cause. [619] 
 
 2. A second reason why I conceive this 
 to be a first principle, is, That mankind not 
 only assent to it in speculation, but that the 
 practice of life is grounded upon it in tiie 
 most important matters, even in cases where 
 experience leaves us doubtful ; and it is 
 Impossible to act with common prudence if 
 we set it aside. 
 
 In great families, there are so many bad 
 things done by a certain personage, called 
 Nobodiiy that it is proverbial that tliere is 
 a Nobody about every house who does a 
 great deal of mischief; and even where 
 there is the exactest inspection and govern- 
 ment, many events will hapi)en of which no 
 other author can be found ; so that, if we 
 trust merely to experience in this matter, No- 
 body will be found to be a very active person, 
 and to have no inconsiderable share in the 
 management of affairs. But whatever coun- 
 tenance ttiis system may have from experi- 
 ence, it is too shocking to common sense to 
 impose upon the most ignorant. A child 
 knows that, when his top, or any of his play- 
 things, are taken a^vay, it must be done by 
 somebody. Perhaps it would not be difii- 
 cult to persuade him that it was done by 
 some invisible being, but that it should be 
 done by nobody he cannot believe. 
 
 Suppose a man's house to be broke open, 
 his money and jewels taken away. Such 
 things have happened times innumerable 
 without any apparent cause ; and were he 
 only to reason from experience in such a 
 case, how must he behave ? He must put 
 in one scale the instances wherein a cause 
 was found of such an event, and in the other 
 scale the instances where no cause was 
 found, and the preponderant scale must 
 determine whether it be most probable that 
 there was a cause of this event, or that 
 there was none. Would any man of com- 
 mon understanding have recourse to such 
 an expedient todirect his judgment ? [620] 
 
 Suppose a man to be found dead on the 
 highway, his skull fractured, his body 
 pierced with deadly wounds, his watch and 
 money carried off. The coroner's jury sits 
 upon the body; and the question is put, 
 What was the cause of this man's death ? — 
 was it accident, or/<?/o de se, or murder by 
 persons unknown ? Let us suppose an 
 adept in Mr Hume's philosophy to make 
 one of the jury, and that he insists upon the 
 [619-621] 
 
 previous question, whether there was any 
 cause of the event, and whether it happened 
 without a cause. 
 
 Surely, upon Mr Hume's principles, a 
 great deal might be said upon this point ; 
 and, if the matter is to be determined by 
 past experience, it is dubious on which side 
 the weight of argument might stand- But 
 we may venture to say, that, if Mr Hume 
 bad been of such a jury, he would have laid 
 aside his philosophical principles, and acted 
 according to the dictates of common pru- 
 dence. 
 
 Many passages might be produced, even 
 in Mr Hume's philosophical writings, ia 
 which he, unawares, betrays the same in- 
 ward conviction of the necessity of causes 
 which is common to other men. I shall 
 mention only one, in the " Treatise of Hu- 
 man Nature," and in that part of it where 
 he combats this very principle i — " As to 
 those impressions," says he, ** which arise 
 from the senses, their ultimate cause is, in 
 my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by hu- 
 man reason ; and it will always be impos- 
 sible to decide with certainty whether they 
 arise immediately from the object, or are 
 produced by the creative power of the mind, 
 or are derived from the Author of our 
 being.'* 
 
 Among these alternatives, he never 
 thought of their not arising from any 
 cause.* [621] 
 
 The arguments which Mr Hume offers to 
 prove that this is not a self-evident prin- 
 ciple, are three. Firsty That all certainty 
 arises from a comparison of ideas, and a 
 discovery of their unalterable relations, 
 none of which relations imply this proposi- 
 tion. That whatever has a beginning must 
 have a cause of existence. Tliis theory of 
 certainty has been examined before. 
 
 The second argument is, That whatever 
 we can conceive is possible. This has like- 
 wise been examined. 
 
 The //lijvi argument is. That what we call 
 a cause, is only something antecedent to, 
 and always conjoined with, the eflPect. This 
 is also one of Mr Hume's peculiar doctrines, 
 which we may have occasion to consider 
 afterwards. It is sufficient here to observe, 
 that we may learn from it that night is the 
 cause of day, and day the cause of night : 
 for no two things have more constantly 
 followed each other since the beginning of 
 the world. 
 
 The [third and] laf,t metaphysical prin- 
 ciple I mention, which is opposed by the 
 same author, is, That design and intelli- 
 gence in the cause may be inferred, with 
 certainty, from marks or signs of it in the 
 efftct. 
 
 * See aboTC, p. 441, note *. It U the triumph of 
 ■repticism to shew tbat jrpecutotton and practice art 
 irreconcilable.— H. 
 
ON TUB INTELLKCTPAL POWERS. 
 
 [kssat yi. 
 
 CHAP. VI.J FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 
 
 459 
 
 
 lattllifniiiM* dificiia sihI nUIl, aro not' 
 allJMts of mm estenal 1011119% 'imr can we 
 te eonaeious of tliem in uy penon batour- 
 ■elT«8. Even in ourselves, we cannot, with 
 proprietj, be said to be eor«ciou8 of the 
 nitiutal iir ftefiiifed. taleiila we poaeesa We 
 .ace eomomiS' mAj of the operations of mind 
 in whidi. ''tliej mm exerted. Indeed, a man 
 flomea to know his own mental abilities, 
 JhI aa he knows .anotlier man*s, by the 
 tllwtilhty pHMliifl%. "WhMi, there .ia oecaaion 
 to pit. 'mm to mtumm, 
 
 A man*s wisdom is known to us only by 
 tlia signs of it in his conduct ; his eloquence 
 by the signs of itiii his speech. In the same 
 manner, we jwlin of his virtue, of his forti- 
 tilde, and of all hli talents and virtues. [622] 
 
 Yet it is to be observed, that we judge m 
 mim\ talents with as little doubt or luaila* 
 'ti ff m : iM p. 'ne judge of the immediato 'Olijeeta 
 of sense.. 
 
 One peraoiii we are sura, is a. perfect 
 Uiot ; another, wlm^ feigns idiocy to screen 
 ll ffflBH^ ff im n, .'piiiilihnen.1, is found, upon 
 
 and to be aaaoonlable for his conduct We 
 
 IMiceive ^one roan to be open, another cnn* 
 ning; one to be ignorant, another very 
 knowii^ { one to be slow of understanding, 
 another quiisk. Every man forms sudi 
 jaigments of those he oonveises with ; and 
 tiM common afTairs of life depend upon such 
 |'udgmen.t8.. We ^ean aa .little avoid them as 
 «• mm avoid eaeiiig what' ia. before our eyes. 
 
 From this it appears, that it is no less a 
 pwt of the hnman constitution, to judge of 
 'iinn% ci i a n ii t t if i| and of their' intollectual 
 p#ipif% Inim. tte iigiii of them in their 
 wtAmM and. d:isiMiiifS% 'titan to Ju^ge of cor- 
 poreal, objects by our senses; uiat .such 
 judgnieuts are common to the whole human 
 saee thai' .are endo'wed with imderBtandin| ; 
 'and 'that 'they are abaolufeely neoesaary m 
 the conduct of life. 
 
 Nuw, every judgment of thia kind we 
 iSiiBD, is only a particular an plieation of the 
 general priuctple, that intel'ligence. wisdom, 
 and other .mental, qoalitiea in the eanse, 
 may be inferred from their marks or signs 
 'la 'the effeet. 
 
 The' actions and. disoonrses of men are 
 eibeli, of wltieh the .actoni' and. speakers 
 .aiC' the causes. The 'Oibets art' 'perceived 
 by our senses ; but the causes are behind 
 'the :acene.. We only eowslude tlieir exist*' 
 enoe and their degrees, from 'Our observa- 
 Hon of the effecte 
 
 From wise eondnct, we infer wisdom in 
 the cause ; from bmve acliowi, we infer 
 eonrage ; and so ia oth^r eases. [623] 
 
 This infevenee' is made'With perfect secu- 
 rity by all men. We cannot avoid it ; it 
 is B naeiia ry in 'the ordinary conduct of 
 life ; 'it 'has therefore the strongest marks of 
 being a 'irat 'principle. 
 
 Pethaps some may think that this prin- 
 ciple may be learned either by reasoning or 
 by experience, and therefore that there is 
 no ground to think it a first principle. 
 
 If it can be shewn to be got by reasoning, 
 by all, or the greater part of those who are 
 governed by it, I shall very readily ac- 
 knowledge that it ought not to be esteemed 
 a first principle. But I apprehend the con- 
 trary appears from very convincing argu- 
 ments. 
 
 FirtI, The principle is too universal to 
 be the efiect of reasoning. It is common 
 to philosophers and to the vulgar ; to the 
 learned and to the most illiterate ; to the 
 civilized and to the savage. And of those 
 who are governed by it, not one in ten 
 thousand can give a reason for it. 
 
 Secomfti/j We find philosophers, ancient 
 and modern, who can reason excellently in 
 subjects that admit of reasoning, when they 
 have occasion to defend this principle, not 
 ofiertng reasons for it, or any medium of 
 proof, but appealing to the common sense 
 of mankind; mentiouing particular instan- 
 ces, to make the absurdity of the contrary 
 opinion mora apparent, and sometimes 
 using the weapons of wit and ridicule, which 
 ara very proper weapons for refuting ab- 
 surdities, but altogether improper in points 
 that are to be determined by reasoning. 
 
 To confirm this observation, I shall quote 
 two authors, an ancient and a modern, who 
 have more expressly undertaken the defence 
 of this principle than any others I remem- 
 ber to have met with, and whose good 
 sense and ability to reason, where reasouiug 
 is proper, will not be doubted. [624] 
 
 The first is Cicero, whose words, {Lb* 1. 
 cap, 13^ J)§ DioiMilionej) may be thus 
 tvanilated* 
 
 " Can anything done by chance have all 
 the marks of design ? Four dice may by 
 chanee torn up four aces; but do you think 
 that four hundred dice, thrown by chance, 
 will turn up four hundred aces ? Colours 
 thrown upfm canvas without design may 
 have some similitude to a human face ; but 
 do you think they might make as beautiful 
 a picture as that of the Cuan Venus ? A 
 hog turning up the ground with his nose 
 may make soujetluug of the form of the let- 
 ter A ; but do you think that a hog might 
 deseribe on the ground the Andromache of 
 Snnius ? Cameades imagined that, in the 
 Stone foarries at Chios, he found, in a stane 
 that was split, a representation of the head 
 of a little Pan, or sylvan deitv. I believe ha 
 might find a figure not unlike ; but surely not 
 such a one as you would say had been formed 
 by an excellent sculptor like Seopas. For 
 so, verily, the ease is, that chance never 
 perfectly imitates design.** Thus Cicero.* 
 
 * 8e« n\m Ctetro ••He JTnfitra I)fmmm,*''l. ii. c 
 
 31— a 
 
 [622-624J 
 
 I' 
 '1 
 
 Now, in all this discourse, I see very 
 good sense, and what is apt to convince 
 •very unprejudiced mind ; but I see not in 
 the whole a single step of reasoning. It is 
 barely an appeal to every man's common 
 sense. 
 
 •« Let us next see how- the same point is 
 handled by the excellent Archbishop Tillot- 
 Bon. (Ist Sermon, vol. i.) 
 
 "For I appeal to any man of reason, 
 whether anything can be more unreasonable 
 than obstinately to impute an efiect to chance 
 which carries in the face of it all the argu- 
 ments and characters of design ? Was ever 
 any considerable work, in which there was 
 required a great variety of parts, and an 
 orderly and regular adjustment of these 
 parts, done by chance P Will chance fit 
 means to ends, and that in ten thousand 
 instances, and not fail in any one ? [625] 
 How often might a man, after he had j umbled 
 a set of letters in a bag, fling them out upon 
 the ground before they would fall. into an 
 exact poem, yea, or so much as make a 
 good discourse in prose ? And may not a 
 Uttle book be as easily made as this great 
 volume of the world ? How long might a 
 man sprinkle colours upon canvass with a 
 careless hand, before they would make the 
 exact picture of a man ? And is a man 
 easier made by chance than hia | icture ? 
 How long might twenty thousand blind men, 
 which should be sent out from the remote 
 parts of England, wander up and down be- 
 fore they would all meet upon Salisbury 
 plams, andfaU into rank and file in the exact 
 order of an army ? And yet this is much 
 more easy to be unagined than how the 
 innumerable blind parts of matter should 
 rendezvous themselves into a word. A man 
 that sees Henry VII.'s chapel at West- 
 minster might, with as good reason, main- 
 tain, (yea, and much better, con^^idering the 
 vast difiierence between that little structure 
 and the huge fabric of the world,) that it 
 was never contrived or built by any man, 
 but that the stones did by chance grow into 
 those curious figures into which we see them 
 tokavebeen cut and graven ; and tlmt, upon 
 a time, (as tales usually begin,) the mate- 
 rials of that building — the stone, mortar, 
 timber, iron, lead, and glass — happily met 
 together, and very fortunately ranged them- 
 selves into that delicate order in which we 
 see them now, so close compacted that it 
 must be a very great chance that parts them 
 •gain. What would the world think of a 
 man that should advance such an opinion 
 as this, and write a book for it ? If tliey 
 would do him right, they ought to look upon 
 him as mad. But yet he might maintain 
 this opinion with a little more reason than 
 any man can have to say that the world was 
 made by chance, or that the first men grew 
 out of the earth, as plants do now ; for, can 
 f6«5-6«7] 
 
 anything be more ridiculous and against all 
 reason, than to ascribe the production of 
 men to the first fruitfulness of the earth, 
 without 80 much as one instance or experi- 
 ment in any age or history to countenance 
 so monstrous a supposition ? The thing is 
 at first sight so gross and palpable, that no 
 discourse about it can make it more appa- 
 rent. And yet these shameful beggars of 
 principles, who give this precarious account 
 of the original of things, assume to them- 
 selves to be the men of reason, the great 
 wits of the world, the only cautious and wary 
 persons, who hate to be imposed upon, that 
 must have convincing evidence for every- 
 thing, and can admit nothing without a clear 
 demonstration for it. [626] 
 
 In this passage, the excellent author takes 
 what I conceive to be the proper method of 
 refuting an absurdity, by exposing it in dif- 
 ferent Ughts, in which every man of common 
 understanding conceives it to be ridiculous. 
 And, altliough there is much good sense, as 
 well as wit, in the passage I have quoted, I 
 cannot find one medium of proof in the 
 whole. 
 
 I have met with one or two respectable 
 authors who draw an argument from the 
 doctrine of chances, to shew how impro- 
 bable it is that a regular arrangement of 
 parts should be the effect of chance, or that, 
 it should not be the efiect of design. 
 
 I do not object to this reasoning ; but I 
 would observe that the doctrine of chances 
 is a branch of mathematics little more than 
 an hundred years old. But the conclusion 
 drawn from it has been held by all men from 
 the beginning of the world. It cannot, 
 therefore, be thought that men have been 
 led to this conclusion by that reasoning. 
 Indeed, it may be doubted w hether the first 
 principle upon which all the mathematical 
 reasoning about chances is grounded, is 
 more self-evident than this conclusion drawn 
 from it, or whether it is not a particular 
 instance of that general conclusion. 
 
 We are next to consider whether we may 
 not learn this truth from experience. That 
 ( fleets which have all the marks and tokens 
 of design, must proceed from a designing 
 cause. [627] 
 
 I apprehend that we cannot learn this 
 truth from experience for two reasons. 
 
 Firstf Because it is a necessary truth, 
 not a contingent one. It agrees with the 
 experience of mankind since the beginning 
 of the world, that the area of a triangle is 
 equal to half the rectangle under its base 
 and perpendicular. It agrees no less with 
 experience, that the sun rises in the east 
 and sets in the west. So far as experience 
 goes, these truths are upon an equal footing. 
 But every man perceives this distinction 
 between them — that the first is a necessary 
 truth, and that it is impossible it should not 
 
4m 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 £bmay VI. 
 
 lit tfiM I Imt' 'tlm last is not neGcmaiy, but 
 wntingeiit, dtpending upon the will of Him 
 who made the world. As we ouuiot learn 
 from experience that twice three must ne- 
 oeasarily make six, so neither can we learn 
 iraiii. «qperience that certain effects m'ust 
 ffiMS^ed from a designing and intelligent 
 cause. Experience informs us only of what 
 has been, hat never of what must he.* 
 
 Stimuli It may be observed, tliat ex- 
 pemnweaii/'ahewa oonneetion between a 
 ■ign Md 'the thing signiied by it, in those 
 eases only where both the sign and thing 
 signified are ^rceived and have always 
 bm'peraaiwd.iii'eoqjiiMtion. But, if there 
 'be any caaS' when 'lie sign only is per- 
 ceived, experience' can never shew its oon- 
 neetion with the thing signified. Thus, for 
 example, thoujght is a sign of a thinking 
 prinetpk' er ni,ind. But how do we know 
 that thought cannot be without a m.ind ? 1 f 
 any man should say that he knows this by 
 experience, he deceives himself. It is im- 
 possible he 'Oan. have any experience of this f 
 because^ though we have an imm^ediate 
 InowMge of the existence of thought in 
 ourselves by consciousness, yet we have no 
 immediate knowledge of a mind. The mind 
 iS' .not an immediate obiieet either of sense 
 Off' 'Of flfinseiouaneaB.. Wc may, therefore, 
 Jwtlj conclude, that 'the neemaary con- 
 ■eelion between thought and a mind, or 
 tiiinking' beiiig, is not leam^ed from expe- 
 rience^ IffiS] 
 
 The same reasoning may be applied to 
 the connection between a work excellently 
 itted. for some purpose, and design in the 
 author or cause of that work. One off these 
 — ^to wit, the work— 'may h© an immediate 
 object of perception. But the design and 
 ftirpese of the author cannot be an inune- 
 iiatO' object of 'peneptioni .and, therefore, 
 •xperienee can never inform us of any con- 
 nection between the one and the other, Ikr 
 less of a necessary connection. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that the prin- 
 ciple w© have been considering -to wit, 
 tiiit from certaui signs or indleatious in the 
 «liBct,^we may mfer that there must have 
 been intelligence, wisdom, or other intel- 
 leet:ual or moral, qualities in. the cause, is a 
 
 Cinciple which we get, neither by 'leaaon- 
 g nor by experience ; and, therefore, if it 
 be a true principle, it must be a first prin- 
 ciple. There .is .in the .human, understand- 
 ing a light, by which we see .immediately 
 the evidence' of it, when there' hi oeeaaloii. 
 'tO' apply it. 
 'Of hov.gnat. liiiipwIaiMM' this, 'wriaeiple 
 
 iS: in conuMn life, '«e have'.alfiadv tibserved. 
 .And I need hardly omiiMi ila 'importance 
 in natnral theology. 
 The clear marks and signatures of wis- 
 
 pi ilS; .■mt '• Active iKiveii,"> 3|._ll. 
 
 doD, power, and goodness, in the consti- 
 tution and government of the world, is, of 
 all arguments that have been advanced for 
 the being and providence of the Deity, that 
 wliich in all ages has made the strongest 
 impression upon candid and thinking rainds ; 
 an argument, which has this peculiar ad- 
 vantage, that it gathers strength as human 
 knowledge advances, and is more convincing 
 at present than it was some centuries ago. 
 King Alphonsus might say, that he could 
 contrive a better planetary system than that 
 which astronomers held in his day.* That 
 system was not the work of God, but the 
 fiction of men. [62d] 
 
 But since the true system of the sun, 
 moon, and planets, lias been discovered, no 
 man, however atheistically disposed, has 
 pretended to shew how a better could be 
 contrived. 
 
 When we attend to the marks of good 
 contrivance which appear in the works of 
 God, every discovery we make in the con- 
 stitution of the material or intellectual 
 system becomes a hymn of praise to the 
 great Creator and Governor of the world. 
 And a man who is possessed of the genuine 
 spirit of philosophy will think it impiety to 
 contaminate the divine workmanship, by 
 mixing it with those fictions of human fancy, 
 called theories and hypotheses, which will 
 always bear the signatures of human folly, 
 no less than the other does of divine wis- 
 dom. 
 
 I know of no person who ever called in 
 question the principle now under our ctmsi- 
 deration, when it is applied to the actions 
 and discourses of men. For tb is would be to 
 deny that we have any means of discerning 
 a wise man from an idiot, or a man that ia 
 illiterate in the highest degree from a man 
 of knowledge and learning, which no man 
 has the effrontery to deny. 
 
 But, in all ages, those who have been 
 unfriendly to the principles of religion, have 
 made attempts to weaken the force of the 
 argument for the existence and perfee- 
 tions of the Deity, wliich is founded on this 
 principle. That argument has got the name 
 of the argument from final causes ; and aa 
 the meaning of this name is well understood, 
 we shall use it. 
 
 The argument from final causes, when re. 
 duced to a syUogism* has these two premises i 
 — Firstf That design and intelligence in the 
 cause, may, with certainty, be inferred from 
 marks or signs of it in the effect. This is 
 the principle we have been considering, and 
 
 * Alphonso X. of Cutlle. He foorithrd in tlw 
 thirteenth century—* great matheinatidan and ■■. 
 tronomcr. To him we owe the A Iphonsine Tablet. 
 HU laying waa not sq piout and philosophical as KrM 
 lUiea ; iMit that, ** Had he been precei«t with Unit 
 •t the creation, he could have ■upplied loroe UKftil 
 bttttt towarda the better ordering of the universe" 
 
 [628. 6S91 
 
 CHAP. VI.] FIRST PRINCIPLES OF NECESSARY TRUTHS. 461 
 
 we may call it the major proposition of the 
 argument The secon/y which we call the 
 minor proposition, is, That there are in fact 
 the clearest marks of design and wisdom in 
 the works of nature ; and the conclusion is. 
 That the works of nature are the effects 
 of a wise and intelligent Cause. One must 
 either assent to the conclusion, or deny one 
 or other of the premises. [630] 
 
 Those among the ancients who denied a 
 God or a Providence, seem to me to have 
 yielded the major proposition, and to have 
 denied the minor ; conceiving that there 
 are not in the constitution of things such 
 marks of wise contrivance as are sufficient 
 to put the conclusion beyond doubt. This, 
 I think, we may learn, from the reasoning 
 of Cotta the academic, in the third book of 
 Cicero, of tho Nature of the Gods. 
 
 The gradual advancement made in the 
 knowledge of nature, hath put this opinion 
 quite out of countenance. 
 
 When the structure of the human body 
 was much less known than it is now, the 
 famous Galen saw such evident marks of 
 wise contrivance in it, that, though he had 
 been educated an Epicurean, he renounced 
 that system, and wrote his book of the use 
 of the parts of the human body, on purpose 
 to convince others of what appeared so clear 
 to himself, that it was impossible that such 
 admirable contrivance should be the effect 
 of chance. 
 
 Those, therefore, of later times, who are 
 dissatisfied with this argument from final 
 causes, have quitted the stronghold of the 
 ancient atheists, which had become un- 
 tenable, and have chosen rather to make a 
 defence against the major proposition. 
 
 Des Cartes seems to have led the way in 
 this, thougli he was no atheist. But, having 
 invented some new arguments for the being 
 of God, he was, perhaps, led to disparage 
 those that had been used before, that he 
 might bring more credit to his own. Or 
 perhaps he was offended with the Peripa- 
 tetics, because they often mixed final causes 
 with physical, in order to accoimt for the 
 phsenomena of nature. [631 ] 
 
 He maintained, therefore, that physical 
 causes only should be assigned for phseno- 
 mena ; that the philosopher has nothmg to 
 do with final causes ; and that it is pre- 
 sumption in us to pretend to determine for 
 wliat end any work of nature is framed. 
 Some of those who were great admirers of 
 Des Cartes, and followed him in many, 
 points, differed from him in this, particu- 
 larly Dr Henry More and the pious Arch- 
 bishop Fenelon ; but others, after the ex- 
 ample of Des Cartes, have shewn a contempt 
 of all reasoning from final causes. Among 
 these, I think, we may reckon Maupertuis 
 and Buffon. But the most direct attack 
 has been made upo^ this principle by Mr 
 f630-632] 
 
 Hume, who puts an argument in the month 
 of an Epicurean, on which he seems to lay 
 great stress. 
 
 The argument is, Tliat the universe is a 
 singular effect, and, therefore, we can draw 
 no conclusion from it, whether it may have 
 been made by wisdom or not.* 
 
 If I understand the force of this argu- 
 ment, it amounts to this, That, if we had 
 been accustomed to see worlds produced, 
 some by wisdom and others without it, and 
 had observed that such a world as this 
 which we inhabit was always the effect of 
 wisdom, we might then, from past experi- 
 ence, conclude that this world was made 
 by wisdom; but, having no such experi- 
 ence, we have no means of farming any 
 conclusion about it. 
 
 That this is the strength of the argument 
 appears, because, if the marks of wisdom 
 seen in one world be no evidence of wisdom, 
 the like marks seen in ten thousand will 
 give as little evidence, unless, in time past, 
 we perceived wisdom itself coL.joined with 
 the tokens of it ; and, from their perceived 
 conjunction in time past, conclude that, al- 
 though, in the present world, we see only 
 one of the two, the other must accompany 
 it. [632] 
 
 Whence it appears that this reasoning of 
 Mr Hume is built on the supposition that 
 our inferring design from the strongest 
 marks of it, is entirely owing to our past 
 experience of having always found these 
 two things conjoined- But I hope I have 
 made it evident that this is not the case. 
 And, indeed, it is evident that, according 
 to this reasoning, we can have no evidence 
 of mind or design in any of our fellow- 
 men. 
 
 How do I know that any man of my ac- 
 quaintance has understanding ? I never 
 saw his understanding. I see only cer- 
 tain effects, which my judgment leads 
 me to conclude to be marks and tokens 
 of it. 
 
 But, says the sceptical philosopher, you 
 can conclude nothing from these tokens, un- 
 less past experience has informed you that 
 such tokens are always joined with under- 
 standing. Alas ! sir, it is impossible I can 
 ever have this experience. The understand- 
 ing of another man is no immediate object 
 of sight, or of any other faculty which God 
 hath given me ; and unless I can conclude 
 its existence from tokens that are visible, I 
 have no evidence that there is understand- 
 ing in any man. 
 
 It seems, then, that the man who main- 
 tains that there is no force in the argument 
 from final causes, must, if he will be con- 
 sistent, see no evidence of the existence of 
 any intelligent being but himself. 
 
 « See Stewart's " Elements," ii. p. 5791— H. 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [lasAY rt. 
 
 CHAPTEE ¥IL 
 
 ©FWIOIIS, A1ICI:11IT AND MOOIERN, ABOUT 
 Wmm PBINOPLBS. 
 
 I KNOW iiD lifiter wlio Imui 'tmited ex- 
 fveatly of int frinciples before Aristotle ; 
 lut it ia probabk iliat, in the ancient Fy- 
 HMg^reim school, from which both Plato 
 and Aristotle borrowed much, this subject 
 liad not been left untoielidL [633] 
 
 Bdbw the time of Arifetntle, eonsiderable 
 "pHMrtai bad been, made in the mathema- 
 tied sciences, particularly in geometry. 
 
 The diseoverj of the furty^venth pro-' 
 position of the first book of iBoeid, and of 
 the five regular solids, is, by antiquity, 
 aieribed to Pythagoras himself; and it is 
 inpoiRihle be could have made those dis- 
 coTeries viliout knowing wamj mkm pro- 
 positions te ttfttbemallQa. Anilotle' men- 
 'tiiililifllt .ilMMnimensurability of the diagonal 
 of a siinare to its side, and gives a hbit of 
 lb* iminner in which it was .demonstrated. 
 We find likewise some of Hie axioms of 
 geometry mentioned by Aristotle as axioms, 
 and as indemonstrable principles of mathe- 
 matical reasoning. 
 
 It iS' probable, therefore, that}. b«foie the 
 time 'Of Aristotle^ 'there were elemmtary 
 treatises of geometry, which are now lost ; 
 and that in tbem the axioms were distin- 
 goliied from the propositions which .rtquiro 
 tfoof.. 
 
 To suppose that so perfect a system as 
 that of Euclid's " Elements'* was produced 
 by one man, without any piteiiing model 
 or materials, would be to suppose Euclid 
 more than a man. We ascribe to him as 
 niieh. .aS' the weaknees of human under- 
 ■tMlding will permit, if we suppose that the 
 inventions in geometry, which had beeu 
 made in a tract of preceding ages, were by 
 him not only carried much farther, but 
 digested into so admirable a system that 
 his work obscured, .ai that went before it, 
 .and made than, te foi^got and lost. 
 
 'PwliaiM, 'in like imanner, the writings of 
 Aristotle with regard to first principlea, and 
 with regard to many other abstraet anbj^ects, 
 may have oecationed 'the loss of what had 
 been 'written 'ipon 'tbne subjects by 'more 
 ancient philosophers. [634] 
 
 Whatever may be in this, in his second 
 bonk upon demonstration, he hss treated 
 iraij iiiy of first principles ; and, though he 
 hm not attem'pled any enumeration of them, 
 he shews 'very clearly that all demonstra- 
 tion must b*' bull upon tmtba which are 
 «vident of theiiiMiTe% but can.not be de- 
 iHMiittrated. Ii.'i8 whole doetrine of syllo- 
 gisms is grounded upon a few axioms, from 
 which he endeavours to deniMiatrate the 
 ni.les of syllogism .in a mathemaliad way ; 
 
 and m his topics he points out many of the 
 first principles of probable reasoning. 
 
 As long as the philosophy of Aristotle 
 prevailed, it was held as a fixed point, that 
 all proof must be drawn from principles 
 already known and granted. 
 
 We must observe, however, that, in that 
 philosophy, manythinga were assumed as 
 first principles, which have no just claim 
 to that character: such as, that the eaith 
 is at rest ; that nature abhors a vacuum ; 
 that there is no change in the heavens above 
 the sphere of the moon ; that tlie heavenly 
 bodies move in circles, that being the most 
 prfect figure ; that bodies do not gravitate 
 m their proper place ; and many others. 
 
 The Peripatetic philosophy, therefore, 
 instead of being deficient in first principles, 
 was redundant; instead of rejecting those 
 thai are truly such, it adopted, as first 
 prindples, many vulgar prejudices and rash 
 judgments: and this seems in general to 
 have been the spirit of ancient philosophy.* 
 
 It is true, there were among the ancients 
 sceptical philosophers, who professed to have 
 no principles, and held it to be the greatest 
 virtue in a philosopher to withhold assent, 
 and keep his judgment in a periect equil - 
 brium between contradictory opinions. But, 
 though this sect was defended by some per- 
 sons of great erudition and acuteuess, it died 
 of itself, and the dogmatic philosophy ol 
 Aristotle obtained a complete triumph over 
 it. [6351 
 
 What Mr Hume says of those who are 
 sceptical with regard to moral distinctions 
 seems to have Iwd its accomplishment in 
 the ancient sect of Sceptics. " The only 
 way," says he, " of converting antagonists 
 of this kind is to leave them to them^ves ; 
 for, finding that nobudy keeps up the con- 
 troversy with tliem, it is probable they will 
 at last of themselves, from mere weariness, 
 come over to the side of common sense and 
 reason.^* 
 
 Setting aside this small sect of the Scep- 
 tics, which was extinct many ages before the 
 authority of Aristotle declined, I know of 
 no opi'osition made to first principles among 
 the ancienta The dbposition was, as has 
 been observed, not to oppose, but to mul- 
 tiply them beyond measure. 
 
 Men have always been prone, when they 
 leave one extreme, to run into the opposite ; 
 and this spirit, in the ancient philosophy, to 
 multiply first principles beyond reason, was 
 M strong presage that, when the authority 
 of the Peripatetic system was at aa end. 
 
 • Th« Peripatttie philosophy did not luume any 
 •ucb piinciijleit as original nuil self-evident ; but pro. 
 fetwdto establish tbein all upon induction and gene, 
 raliiatinn. In practice tt» induction nf iniitnncei 
 night be imperfect, sncl it« generalization front par. 
 Ifculars ra*h : but in theory, at ka»t, it wat> correct 
 
 [633-6351 
 
 CHAF. VII.] OPINIONS ABOUT FIRST PRINCIPLES. 
 
 463 
 
 the next reigmng system would diminish 
 their number beyond reason. 
 
 This, accordingly, happened in that great 
 revolution of the phUosopIiical republic 
 brought about by Des Cartes. That truly 
 great reformer m philosophy, cautious to 
 Svoid the snare in which Aristotle was 
 taken, of admitting things as first principles 
 too rashly, resolved to doubt of everything, 
 and to withhold his assent, until it was forced 
 by the clearest evidence.* 
 
 Thus Des Cartes brought himself into 
 that very state of suspense which the an- 
 cient Sceptics recommended as the highest 
 perfection of a wise man, and the only road 
 to tranquillity of mind. But he did not 
 remain long in this state ; his doubt did 
 not arise from despair of finding the truth, 
 but from caution, that he might not be im- 
 posed upon, and embrace a cloud instead of 
 a goddess. [636] 
 
 His very doubling convinced him of his 
 own existence ; for that which does not exist 
 can neither doubt, nor believe, nor reason. 
 
 Thus he emerged from universal scepti- 
 cism by this short euthymemc, Cogito, ergo 
 sum. 
 
 This enthymeme consists of an antece- 
 dent proposition, / (fiink, and a conclusion 
 drawn from it, therefore I exiat. 
 
 If it should be asked how Des Cartes 
 came to be certain of the antecedent proposi- 
 tion, it is evident that for this he trusted to 
 the testimony of consciousness. He was con- 
 scious that he thought, and needed no other 
 argument. 
 
 So that the first principle which he adopts 
 in this famous enthymeme is this. That those 
 doubts, and thoughts, and reasonings, of 
 which he was conscious, did certainly exist, 
 and that his consciousness put their exist- 
 ence beyond all doubt. 
 
 It might have been objected to this first 
 principle of Des Cartes, How do you know 
 that your consciousness cannot deceive you ? 
 You have supposed that all you see, and 
 hear, and handle, may be an illusion. Why, 
 therefore, should the power of conscious- 
 ness have this prerogative, to be believed 
 implicitly, when all our other powers are 
 supposed fallacious ? 
 
 To this objection I know no other answer 
 that can be made but that we find it im- 
 possible to doubt of things of which we are 
 conscious. The constitution of our nature 
 forces this belief upon us irresistibly. 
 
 This is true, and is sufficient to justify 
 Des Cartes in assuming, as a first principle, 
 the existence of thought, of which he was 
 conscious. [637] 
 
 He ought, however, to have gone farther 
 in this track, and to have considered whe- 
 ther there may not be other first principles 
 
 * On the Cartesian doubt, see Note K.— H. 
 
 which ought to be adopted for the same 
 reason. But he did not see this to be ne- 
 cessary, conceiving that, upon this om first 
 principle, he could support the whole fabric 
 of human knowledge. 
 
 To proceed to the conclusion of Des 
 Cartes^s enthymeme. From the existence 
 of his thought he infers his own existence. 
 Here he assumes another first principle, 
 not a contingent, but a necessary one ; to 
 wit, that, where there is thought, there 
 must be a thinking being or mind. 
 
 Haviug thus established his own exist- 
 ence, he proceeds to prove the existence of 
 a supreme and infinitely perfect Being; 
 and, from the perfection of the Deity, he 
 infers that his senses, his memory, and the 
 other faculties which God had given him, 
 are not fallacious. 
 
 Whereas other men, from the beginning 
 of the world, liad taken for granted, as a frst 
 principle, the truth and reality of what they 
 perceive by their senses, and from thence 
 inferred the existence of a Supreme Author 
 and Maker of the world, Des Cartes took 
 a contrary course, conceiving that the tes- 
 timony of our senses, and of all our facul- 
 ties, excepting that of consciousness, ought 
 not to be taken for granted, but to be 
 proved by argument. 
 
 Perhaps some may think that Des Car- 
 tes meant only to admit no other first prin- 
 ciple of contingent truths besides that of 
 consciousness ; but that he allowed the axi- 
 oms of mathematics, and of other necessary 
 truths, to be received without proof. [638] 
 
 But I apprehend this was not his inten- 
 tion ; for the truth of mathematical axioms 
 must depend upon the truth of the faculty 
 by which we judge of them. If the faculty 
 be fallacious, we may be deceived by tri. st- 
 ing to it. Therefore, as he supposes that 
 all our faculties, excepting consciousness, 
 may be fallacious, and attempts to prove 
 by argument that they are not, it follows 
 that, according to his principles, even ma- 
 thematical axioms require proof. Neither 
 did he allow that there are any necessary 
 truths, but maintained, that the truths 
 which are commonly so called, depend up- 
 on the will of God. And we find his fol- 
 lowers, who may be supposed to under- 
 stand his principles, agree in maintaining, 
 that the knowledge of our own existence is 
 the first and fundamental principle from 
 which all knowledge must be deduced by 
 one who proceeds regularly in philosophy. 
 
 There is, no doubt, a beauty in raising a 
 large fabric of knowledge upon a few first 
 principles. The stately fabric of mathema- 
 tical knowledge, raised upon the foundation 
 of a few axioms and definitions, charms 
 every beholder. Des Cartes, who was well 
 acquainted with this beauty in the mathe- 
 matical sciences, seems to have been am 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 464 
 
 Utioiis to givt 'ttft^itiM iMHitiiil ■implkity 
 to his syBiem of pMloMiiliy s mod therefore 
 ■Might only one first priBciple as the founda- 
 ifm of all our inowledge, at least of con- 
 
 'tiMniit lni,thi» 
 
 ImiM'tar hm Ma authoritj prevailed, 
 «liat tlMMii wlio cam© alter him haw 
 almost universaUy followed him in this 
 Isaek. This, therefore, may be consiilend 
 aa the spirit of modern philosophy, to allow 
 of no init principles of contingent treth» 
 Imt tUa on*, that the thoughts and opera- 
 tions of our own minds, of which we are 
 «onaoioii%. .ara .ielf«oirid«Dt|jr real and tme ; 
 Inl 'iial:'«vei3FtUng 'Olso' that la contingent 
 ;b to he proved hy argument. 
 
 The existence of a material world, and 
 of what we perceive by our aentes, is not 
 self-evident, aeeording to this philosophy. 
 Bos Cartes founded it upon this argument, 
 Aat Ood, who hath given ns our senses, 
 ■■d all our facilities, is no deceiver, and 
 theiiloia 'tlwy ^are not iOlaoioua. [639] 
 
 I ondtoiiTiinred to shew that, if it bO' not 
 ■dmiUod a* a first principle, that our facul- 
 lifla are not lUiacious, nothing else can be 
 admitted ; and that it is impassible to prove 
 this by argumeiit, unless Qod ahould ffive us 
 Bow^fiiculties to sat in judgment upon the old. 
 
 Father Halebranche agreed with Des 
 Cartes, that the eicistenoe of a material 
 world, re^uiies p? •of ; but, being diaiatasfied 
 with Bes Carte8*0 argument from the per- 
 fsetion of the Deity, thought that the only 
 ■olid proof is from divine revelation. 
 
 JlvnMld, who was engaged in controversy 
 'with llaiebianch©, approves' of his anta- 
 gonisi'' te offering an argument to prove the 
 •Jiistence of the material world, but objects 
 to the solidity of his argument, and offers 
 
 Mt M orria, m great admirer of Bes Cartes 
 and of Halebranche, seems to have thought 
 all the arguments offered by them and by 
 dd to be weak, and confesses that we 
 aft best, only probable evidence of the 
 
 nee of the material world. 
 
 Mr Locke acknowledges that the evidence 
 wo have of this point is neither mtuitive 
 nor demonstrative ; yet he thmks it ma^ 
 bo called knowledge, and distinguishes it 
 % the name of sensitive knowledge ; and, 
 as the ground of this sensitive knowledj^, 
 iM'Offcia^iono weak: aignmcnts, which would 
 .lather tonpl^ on«' to' doabft^ than to believe. 
 
 At laal, Bishop' :Berkeley and Arthur 
 Collier, without any knowledge of each 
 Dther, as far as appears by their writings, 
 undertook to prove, that there neither is 
 nor can be a material world. The excel- 
 lent style and elegant composition of the 
 iomier have made his writings to be known 
 and read, and thla system to be attributed 
 to him only, ai f Collier had never ex- 
 :|iled. (640] 
 
 [ESSAY VL 
 
 Both, indeed, owe so much to Male- 
 branche, that, if we take out of his system 
 the peculiarities of our seeing all things in 
 Qod, and our learning the existence of an 
 extomal world from divine revelation, what 
 remains is just the system of Bishop Berke- 
 ley. I make this observation, by the way, 
 in justice to a foreign author, to whom 
 British authors seem not to have allowed 
 all that is due.* 
 
 Mr Hume hath adopted Bishop Berke- 
 ley's arguments against the existence of 
 matter, and thinks thera unanswerable. 
 
 We may observe, that this great meta- 
 physician, though in general he declares in 
 favour of universal scepticism, and there- 
 fore may seem to have no first principles at 
 all, yet, with Des Cartes, he always acknow- 
 ledges the reaUty of thoM thoughts and 
 operations of mind of which we are con- 
 scious.'!* So that he yields the antecedent 
 of Des Cartes's enthymeme cogitOf but 
 denies the conclusion ergo sumy the mind 
 being, according to him, nothing but that 
 train of impressions and ideas of which wo 
 are conscious. 
 
 Thu«, we see that the modem philosophy, 
 of which Des Cartes may justly be ac- 
 counted the founder, being built upon tho 
 rums of the Peripatetic, has a spirit quite 
 opposite, and runs into a contrary extreme. 
 The Peripatetic not only adopted as first 
 principles those which mankind have always 
 rested upon in their most important trans- 
 actions, but, along with them, many vulgar 
 prejudices ; so that this system was founded 
 upon a wide bottom, but in many parts 
 unsound. The modem system has nar- 
 rowed the foundation so much, that every 
 superstructure raised upon it appears top- 
 heavy. 
 
 From the suigle principle of the exist- 
 ence of our own thoughts, very little, if any 
 thing, can be deduced by just reasoning, 
 especially if we suppose that all our other 
 faculties may be fallacious. 
 
 Accordingly, we find that Mr Hume was 
 not the first that was led into scepticism by 
 the want of first principles. For, soon after 
 Des Cartes, there arose a sect in France 
 called Egoists^ who maintained that we 
 have no evidence of the existence of any- 
 thing but oursel ves-t f ^ H 
 
 Whether these egoists, like Mr Hume, 
 
 * If I rocollect aright. (I write this note at a dif. 
 tance from i)ook>,) Ixtcke explicitly aiitici|<ate» the 
 Berkeleian idealiom in hia *< hxaminntinn ot Fuilier 
 Malebranche** Opinion," Thii wn« also done oy 
 Bayle. In fact, Malehranche, and many others be. 
 fore him, would inevitably have become Idealitti, 
 bad they not been Catholics. But an Idealist, at I 
 have already observed, no con»i>itent Catholic could 
 be. See above, p. iBb, note t> «nd p. 358, note *. 
 
 t See above, p. 41?, t), not*.— H. 
 
 t See above |k WBf a. note f t and p. 8SI3, 1^ note 
 
 "" * [639-641] 
 
 CHAP. VII.] OPIxVIONS ABOUT FIRST PRINCIPLES. 
 
 465 
 
 believed themselves to be nothing but a train 
 of ideas and impressions, or to have a more 
 permanent existence, I have not learned, 
 having never seen any of their writings ; nor 
 do I know whether any of this sect did write 
 in support of their principles. One would 
 think they who did not believe that there 
 was any person to read, could have little 
 inducement to write, unless they were 
 prompted by that inward monitor which 
 Persius makes to be the source of genius 
 and the teacher of arts. There can be no 
 doubt, however, of the existence of such a 
 sect, as they are mentioned by many 
 authors, and refuted by some, particularly 
 by BuflSer, in his treatise of first principles. 
 Those Egoists and Mr Hume seem to 
 me to have reasoned more consequentially 
 from Des Cartes* principle than he did him- 
 self; and, indeed, I cannot help thinking, 
 that all who have followed Des Cartes* 
 method, of requiring proof bv argument of 
 everything except the existence of their 
 own thoughts, have escaped the abyss of 
 scepticism by the help of weak reasoning 
 and strong faith more than by any other 
 means. And they seem to me to act more 
 consistently, who, having rejected the first 
 principles on which belief must be grounded, 
 have no belief, than they, who, like the 
 others, rejecting first principles, must yet 
 have a system of belief, without any solid 
 foundation on which it may stand. 
 
 The philosophers I have hitherto men- 
 tioned, after the time of Des Cartes, have 
 all followed his method, in resting upon the 
 truth of their own thoughts as a first 
 principle, but requiring arguments for the 
 proof of every other truth of a contingent 
 nature; but none of them, excepting Mr 
 Locke, has expressly treated of first princi- 
 ples, or given any opinion of their utility or 
 inutility. We only collect their opinion 
 from their following Des Cartes in requir- 
 ing proof, or pretending to offer proof of 
 the existence of a material world, which 
 surely ought to be received as a first princi- 
 ple, if anything be, beyond what we are 
 conscious of. [642] 
 
 I proceed, therefore, to consider what 
 Mr Locke has said on the subject of first 
 principles or maxims. 
 
 I have not the least doubt of this author's 
 candour in what he somewhere says, that 
 his essay was mostly spun out of his own 
 thoughts. Yet, it is certain, that, in many 
 of the notions which we are wont to ascribe 
 to him, others were before him, particularly 
 pes Cartes, Gassendi, and Hobbes. Nor 
 18 it at all to be thought strange, that inge- 
 nious men, when they are got into the 
 same track, should hit upon the same 
 thuigs. 
 
 But, in the definition which he gives of 
 knowledge in general, and in his notions 
 [648, 643] 
 
 concemmg axioms or first principles, I 
 know none that went before him, though 
 he has been very generally followed in both. 
 His definition of knowledge, that it con- 
 sists solely in the perception of the agree- 
 ment or disagreement of our ideas, has been 
 already considered. But supposing it to be 
 just, still it would be true, that some agree- 
 ments and disagreements of ideas must be 
 immediately perceived; and such agree- 
 ments or disagreements, when they are 
 expressed by affirmative or negative propo- 
 sitions, are first principles, because their 
 truth is immediately discerned as soon as 
 they are understood. 
 
 This, I think, is granted by Mr Locke, 
 book 4, chap. 2. " There is a part of our 
 knowledge," says he, " which we may call 
 intuitive. In this the mind is at no pains 
 of proving or examining, but perceives the 
 truth as the eye does light, only by being 
 directed toward it. And this kind of know- 
 ledge is the clearest and most certain that 
 human frailty is capable of. This part of 
 knowledge is irresistible, and, like bright 
 sunshine, forces itself immediately to be 
 perceived, as soon as ever the mind turns 
 its view that way.*' [043] 
 
 He farther observes — " That this intui- 
 tive knowledge is necessary to connect all 
 the steps of a demonstration."* 
 
 From this, I think, it necessarily follows, 
 that, in every branch of knowledge, we 
 must make use of truths that are intuitively 
 known, in order to deduce from them such 
 as require proof. 
 
 But I cannot reconcile this with what ho 
 says, § 8, of the same chapter:—" The 
 necessity of this intuitive knowledge in every 
 step of scientifical or demonstrative reason- 
 ing gave occasion, I imagine, to that mis- 
 taken axiom, that all reasoning waseje prce- 
 cognilis et prceconcessis, which, how far it is 
 mistaken, I shall have occasion to shew 
 more at large, when I come to consider 
 propositions, and particularly those proposi- 
 tions which are called maxims, and to shew 
 that it is by a mistake that they are sup* 
 posed to be the foundation of all our know- 
 ledge and reasonings.'* 
 
 1 have carefully considered the chapter 
 on maxims, which Mr Locke here refers to ; 
 and, though one would expect, from the 
 quotation last made, that it should run con- 
 trary to what I have before delivered con- 
 cerning first principles, I find only two or 
 three sentences in it, and those chiefly inci- 
 dental, to which I do not assent ; and I am 
 always happy in agreeing with a philoso- 
 pher whom I 80 highly respect. 
 
 He endeavours to shew that axioms or 
 intuitive truths are not innate.+ 
 
 * See Stewart's •• Elementa," ii. p. ift— H. 
 t He does more. He attempts to shew that they 
 are all generalizations from experience; whereas ex. 
 
 2 H 
 
4ii 
 
 w 
 
 W THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [essay vi« 
 
 T& tliii I upM. I mftiiitaiii only, tlist 
 Him. tiM luilfliiuiduig is rip, and when 
 'W9 iiiliiMlly qppvdiend siidi tnith% we 
 inmitidiataly aaoent to them. [644] 
 
 HO' obseffres, that telf-evidence is not 
 peanlkr to tluMe praiiotltions which piss 
 mder the BMie of' •nyms, and liave the 
 'd%iiity of aidoms ainlhed to them. • 
 
 I grant that theio are innumerable self- 
 •vldeiit ]ifO|MMitions, wUeh have neither 
 dignity nor utility, and, therefore, deserve 
 not the nkme of axioms, as that name is 
 oommonly understood to imply not only 
 S«lf-«ndMtce, but some degree of dignity or 
 atiity. That a man is a man, and that a 
 .iMUi ia not a hone, are self-evident propo- 
 •WfBs ; but they are, as Mr Locke very 
 jniily odUs them, trifling propositions. Til- 
 liiMiii-veiy: wittily says of sueh. propositions, 
 iiat they an sO' surfeited with truth, that 
 ihey aie good for nothing t and as they de- 
 serve not the name of axioms, so neithor 
 do they deserve the name <if knuwledge. 
 
 He observes, thai ^mih. ^Iriiimg self-evi- 
 dent propoflllloiiS' as we liav* 'named, are not 
 derived from axioms, and therefore that all 
 cmr knowledge is not derived from axioms. 
 
 I gnpt that they .are not derived from 
 axioms, 'heeause they are themselves self- 
 •vidont. But It is an abuse of words to call 
 them knowledge, as it is, to call them 
 'axioms ; for ho maa ean be said to be the 
 wiser or more knowing for having millions of 
 fhem ill store. 
 
 He observes, that the particular propo- 
 sitions contained under a general axiom are 
 BO less Belf-evidDOt than the general axiom, 
 :Biid thai they are^ sooner known, and under- 
 stood. Thus, it is as evident that my baud 
 is less than my body, as that a part is less 
 ihan the whole ; and I know the truth of 
 tin particular proposition sooner than that 
 of the general. 
 
 This is true. A man cannot perceive the 
 tnth of a general axiom, such as, that a 
 pvl m lesB' than the^ wholes until he has the 
 
 rieral notions of a 'part and a whole formed 
 his mind ; and, beforo he has these 
 general notions, he may perceive that his 
 hand iS' leas thaa 'his body. [045 ] 
 
 A ,gieat part' 'Of thk jiapter on maxims 
 is Iflvelbd against a notion, which, it seems, 
 some have entertained, that all our know- 
 :le%B: m 'dHrived from, these two majdina— 
 to 'wit, wkmlgiter is, ig ; and U is trngmMh 
 for the mms thing to 6«, trnti ned to bk* 
 
 This I take to be a ridiculous notion. 
 Justly 'deserving the treatment which Mr 
 
 "pnlMi'Ce on!f ifMa the oocttiotia on which fhe 
 '" (not innatel cr a primi cuf nitiooi. *irtu«|.|y 
 
 '1 bj the niiMl* actiialli' ' inin i il l t thdr exitt. 
 
 • ThMe are e«llti. tiw principle of ldmm» «>m1 the 
 
 fffindple 9i Cmmrimim^ m, Biovr properl'y, iVoii. 
 
 'iomtradidtoib— '.Hi. 
 
 Locke has given it, if it at all merited his 
 notice. These are identical propositions ; 
 they are trifling, and surfeited with truth. 
 No knowledge can be derived from them. 
 
 Having nieutioned how, far I agree with 
 Mr Locke concerning maxims or first prin- 
 ciples, I shall next take notice of two or 
 three things, wheroin I cannot agree with 
 htra. 
 
 In the seventh section of this chapter, he 
 says, That, concerning the real existence of 
 all other beings, besides ourselves and a 
 first cause, thero are no maxima 
 
 I have endeavoured to shew that there 
 are maxims, or first principles, with regard 
 to other existences. Mr Locke acknowledges 
 that we have a knowledge of such existences, 
 which, he says, is neither intuitive nor de- 
 monstrative, and which, therefore, he calls 
 sensitive knowledge. It is demonstrable, 
 and was long ago demonstrated by Aristotle, 
 that every proposition to which we give a 
 rational assent, must either have its evi- 
 dence in itself, or derive it from some ante- 
 cedent proposition. And the same thing 
 may be said of the antecedent proposition. 
 As, therefore, we cannot go back to ante- 
 cedent propositions without end, the evi- 
 dence must at last rest upon propositions, 
 one or more, which have their evidence in 
 themselves — that is, upon first principles. 
 
 As to the evidence of our own existence, 
 and of the existence of a first cause, Mr 
 Locke does not say whether it rests upon 
 first principles or not But it is manifest, 
 from what he has said upon both, that it 
 does. [646] 
 
 With regtird to our own existence, says 
 he, we perceive it so plainly and so cer- 
 tainly that it neither needs nor is capable 
 of any proof. This is as much as to say 
 that our own existence is a first principle i 
 for it is applying to this truth the very 
 definition of a fixBt principle. 
 
 He adds, that, if I doubt, that very doubt 
 makes me perceive my own existence, and 
 will not sufler me to doubt of that. If I 
 feel pain, I have as certain perception of 
 my existence as of the pain I feel. 
 
 Here we ha%'e two first principles plainly 
 implied — Firsi, That my feeling pain, or 
 being conscious of pain, is a certain evidence 
 of the real existence of that pain ; and, 
 Mgemdlpf That pain cannot exist without a 
 mind or being that is pained. That these 
 are first principles, and incapable of proof, 
 Mr Locke acknowledges. And it is certain, 
 that, if they are not true, we can have no 
 evidence of our own existence ; for, if we 
 may feel pain when no pain really exists, or 
 if pam may exist without any being that is 
 pained, then it is certain that our feeling 
 pain can give us no evidence of our ex- 
 istonoe. 
 
 Thus, it appears that the evidence of our 
 
 [644-646] 
 
 OHAF. VII.] OPINIONS ABOUT FIRST PRINCIPLES. 
 
 467 
 
 own existence, according to the view that 
 Mr Locke gives of it, is grounded upon two 
 of those first principles which we had occa- 
 sion to mention. 
 
 If we consider the argument he has given 
 for the existence of a first intelligent cause, 
 it is no less evident that it is grounded upon 
 other two of them. The first, That what 
 begins to exist must have a cause of its ex- 
 istence ; and the second, That an unintelli- 
 gent and unthinking being cannot be the 
 cause of beings that are thinking and in- 
 telligent. Upon these two principles, he 
 argues, very convincingly, for the existence 
 of a first intelligent cause of things. And, 
 if these principles are not true, we can have 
 no proof of the existence of a first cause, 
 either from our own existence, or from the 
 existence of other things that fall within our 
 view. [647] 
 
 Another thing advanced by Mr Locke 
 upon this subject is, that no science is or 
 hath been built upon maxims. 
 
 Surely Mr Locke was not ignorant of 
 geometry, which hath been built upon 
 maxims prefixed to the elements, as far back 
 as we are able to trace it.* But, though 
 they had not been prefixed, which was a 
 matter of utility rather than necessity, yet 
 it must be granted that every demonstra- 
 tion in geometry is grounded either upon 
 propositions formerly demonstrated, or upon 
 self-evident principles. 
 
 Mr Locke farther says, that maxims are 
 not of use to help men forward in the ad- 
 vancement of the sciences, or new dis- 
 coveries of yet unknown truths ; that New- 
 ton, in the discoveries he has made in his 
 never-enough-to-be-admired book, has not 
 been assisted by the general maxims — what- 
 ever is, is ; or, the whole is greater than a 
 part ; or the like. 
 
 I answer, the first of these is, as was be- 
 foro observed, an identical trifling proposi- 
 tion, of no use in mathematics, or in any 
 other science. The second is often nsed by 
 Newton, and by all mathematicians, and 
 many demonstrations rest upon it. In 
 general, Newton, as well as all other mathe- 
 maticians, grounds his demonstrations of 
 mathematical propositions upon the axioms 
 laid down by Euclid, or upon propositions 
 which have been before demonstrated by 
 help of those axioms. [64B] 
 
 But it deserves to be particularly observed, 
 that Newton, intending, in the third book of 
 his ** Principia,'* to give a more scientific 
 form to the physical part of astronomy, 
 which he had at first composed in a popular 
 form, thought proper to follow the example 
 of Euclid, and to lay down first, in what he 
 
 * Compare Stewart'« " Elements," iL pp. 38, 43, 
 198, On thif iubjecit, "Mtiusest silerequam parum 
 dicere.**^ H. 
 
 [647-649] 
 
 ealls " Regulm Philosophandi,*' and in his 
 " Phtenomenaj'* the first principles which ho 
 assumes in his reasoning. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, could have been more 
 unluckily adduced by Mr Locke to support 
 his aversion to first principles, than the ex- 
 ample of Sir Isaac Newton, who, by laying 
 down the first principles upon which he rea- 
 sons in those parts of natural philosophy 
 which he cultivated, has given a stability to 
 that science which it never had before, and 
 which it will retain to the end of the world. 
 I am now to give some account of a philo- 
 sopher, who wrote expressly on the subject 
 of first principles, after Mr Locke. 
 
 Pere Buffier, a French Jesuit, first pub- 
 lished his " Traite des premiers Veritez, et 
 de la Source de nos Jugements,''* in 8vo, if 
 I mistake not, in the year 1724. It was 
 afterwards published in folio, as a part of 
 his " Cours des- Sciences.*^ Paris, 1732. 
 
 He defines first principles to be proposi- 
 tions so clear that they can neither be 
 proved nor combated by those that are more 
 clear. 
 
 The first souree of first principles he men- 
 tions, is, that intimate conviction which 
 every man lias of his own existence, and of 
 what passes in his own mind. Some philo- 
 sophers, he observes, admitted these as first 
 principles, who were unwilling to admit any 
 others; and he shews the strange conse- 
 quences that follow from this system. 
 
 A second source of first principles he 
 makes to be common sense ; which, he ob- 
 serves, philosophers have not been wont to 
 consider. He defines it to be the disposi- 
 tion which Nature has planted in all men, 
 or the far greater part, which leads them, 
 when they come to the use of reason, to form 
 a common and uniform judgment upon 
 objects which are not objects of conscious- 
 ness, nor are founded on any antecedent 
 judgment [649] 
 
 He mentions, not as a full enumeration, 
 but as a specimen, the following principles 
 of common sense. 
 
 1. That there are other beings and other 
 men in the universe, besides myself. 
 
 2. That there is in them something that 
 is called truth, wisdom, prudence ; and that 
 these things are not purely arbitrary. 
 
 3. That there is something in me which 
 I call intelligence, and something which is 
 not that intelligence, which I call my body ; 
 and that these things have different pro- 
 perties. 
 
 4. That all men are not in a conspiracy 
 to deceive me and impose upon my cre- 
 dulity. 
 
 5. That what has not intelligence cannot 
 produce the effects of intelligence, nor can 
 pieces of matter thrown together by chance 
 form any regular work, such as a clock or 
 watch. 
 
 2 u2 
 
JJtft 
 
 OK THK INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 t 
 
 VI. 
 
 CHAP, viii] OF PllEJUDlCES, THE CAUSES OF ERROR. 
 
 4^ 
 
 He expkiiisvvryiHurtieiilarly tiie severml 
 fwta of his definition of common sense, 
 
 and sIiewB liow the dietates of common 
 sense may lie distingaisiwd Ifom common 
 pNtjndices; andtlien enteEi.inlO'a'|iarticalar 
 'Omsidflnition of the primaij ttiiths that 
 eoneem being in general ; the truths that 
 conegm,tiiimMng heinpi those that concern 
 body I and thooe 'On. vhieh the various 
 "'branches of human ImovMge are grounded. 
 I shall not enter into m detail of his sen- 
 timents on these subjects. I think there is 
 more vhieh I lake to bo' original in this 
 tieatiie 0mm 'in most books of the meta- 
 'fihysieal-kiiid I hare met with ; that many 
 m his notions are solid ; and that others, 
 which. I cannot altogether approve, are 
 linmifHiiB. [6fiOJ 
 
 Tim other wnten I have mentioned, 
 •aHar Bes Cartes, may, I think, *without 
 inmiiriefyi ho oalM 'Carlesians. For, 
 -Ihongn. 'thej diUbr ffioni. Des Cartes in some' 
 "tUngSt a»<l conteadid him in others, yet. 
 tlieyiet«out from the same prmciples, and 
 follow the same method, admitting no other 
 ":iBBt prin«iple with, .regard to the etistence 
 'Of "thiiigS' hut their' own existence, and the 
 tiislence of those operations of mind of 
 which they are conscious, and requiring 
 that the existence of a material world, and 
 ttff existence of other men and things, 
 " ilhouU bo proved by argument. 
 
 This method of philosophising is common 
 to Bes Cartes, Malebranche, Arnauld, 
 Locke, Norris, Collier, Berkdey, and Hume ; 
 and, as it was introduced by Bes Cartes, I 
 
 "tti it 'the Cartesian '^ysiem, and those who 
 follow it Cartesians, not intending any dis- 
 .vetpeet by this teem, but to sign.tfy a parti- 
 
 •oiiir nothod' of philo8oph.isinf ' common to 
 <hem all, and. b^gim. by Bes Cwtes. 
 
 Some of these have gone the utmost 
 length in soeptieism, leaving no existence 
 in aatain but that of ideas and impressions. 
 SomO' 'ham oideavoured to throw off the 
 
 '" Mief 'Of ft mate:rial world only, and to leave 
 us ideas and spirits* All of them have 
 
 'Iribn into very gross paradoxes, which can 
 '■iver sit easy upon th« human understand- 
 'iag, and which, though adopted in the 
 closet, men find themselves under a ne- 
 cessity of throwing off and dischiiming when 
 ^km' «ater into society, 
 
 iMieed, in my jud^^ment, 'those who have 
 
 ''fiaioiied most acutely and consequentially 
 
 "ipon this system, arO' they that have gone 
 deepest into scepticism. 
 Father Builef , .however, is no Cartesian 
 
 * 'la this sense. He seems 'to haw pneived 
 Ihe defects of' the Cartesian .iyttein 'Whilo 
 it waa in the meridian of its glory, and to 
 iftm 'been aware that a ridieuhnu scepticism 
 
 ''wMf 'aftHnfted to lay a broader founda- 
 tion for hnman Imowledge, and has the 
 
 honour of being the first, as far as I know, 
 after Aristotle, who has given the world a 
 just treatise upon first principles. [651] 
 
 Some late writers, particularly Dr Os- 
 wald, Br Beattie, and Dr Campbell, have 
 been led into a way of thinking somewhat 
 similar to that of Buffier ; the two former, 
 as I have reason to believe, without any in- 
 tercourse with one another, or any know- 
 ledge of what Bufiier had wrote on the sub- 
 ject Indeed, a man who thinks, and who 
 is acquainted with the philosophy of Mr 
 Hume, will very naturally be led to appre- 
 hend, that, to support the fabric of human 
 knowledge, some other principles are neces- 
 sary than those of Bes Cartes and Mr 
 Locke. Buffier must be acknowledged to 
 have the merit of having discovered this, 
 before the consequences of the Cartesian 
 system were so fully displayed as they have 
 been by Mr Hume. But I am apt to think 
 that the man who does not see this now, 
 must have but a superficial knowledge of 
 these subjects.* 
 
 The three writers above mentioned have 
 my high esteem and afiectiun as men ; but 
 I mtend to say nothing of them as writers 
 upon this subject, that I may not incur the 
 censure of partiality. Two of them have 
 been joined so closely with me in the anim- 
 adversions of a celebrated writer,-f- that 
 we may be thought too near of kin to give 
 our testimony of one another. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 OP PRJUt7DICSS, THE CAUSBS OF XRROR. 
 
 Oca intellectual powers are wisely fitted 
 by the Author of our nature for the disco- 
 very of tmth,.as far as suits our present 
 state. Error is not their natural issue, any 
 more than disease is of the natural structure 
 of the body. Yet, as we are liable to vari- 
 ous diseases of body from accidental causes, 
 external and internal ; so we are, from like 
 causes, liable to wrong judgments. [6d2] 
 
 Medical writers liave endeavoured to enu- 
 merate the diseases of the body, and to re- 
 duce them to a system, under the name of 
 nosology ; and it were to be wished that wo 
 had also a nosology of the human under- 
 standing. 
 
 When we know a disorder of the body, 
 we are often at a loss to find the proper 
 remedy ; but in most cases the disorders of 
 the understanding point out their remedies 
 so phunly, that he who knows the one must 
 know the other. 
 
 Many authors have furnished useful ma- 
 terials for this purpose, and some have en- 
 deavoured to reduce them to a system. I 
 
 \ 
 
 * 6m Note A.— H. 
 
 t PriMtley^ii. 
 [650-65«l 
 
 like best the general division given of them 
 by Lord Bacon, in his fifth book " De Aug- 
 mentis Scientiarum,'* and more fully treated 
 in his " Novum Organum.'* He divides 
 them into four classes — idola iribus, idola 
 $pecus, idola forty and idola tkeatri. The 
 names are perhaps fanciful ; but I think 
 the division judicious, like most of the pro- 
 ductions of that wonderful genius. And as 
 this division was first made by him, he may 
 be indulged the privilege of giving names 
 to its several members. 
 
 I propose in this chapter to explain the 
 several members of this division, according 
 to the meaning of the author, and to give 
 instances of each, without confining myself 
 to those which Lord Bacon has given, and 
 without pretending to a complete enumera- 
 tion. 
 
 Toevery bias of the understanding, by which 
 a man may be misled in judging, or drawn 
 into error. Lord Bacon gives the name of 
 an idol. The understanding, in its natural 
 and best state, pays its homage to truth 
 only. The causes of error are considered 
 by him as so many false deities, who receive 
 the homage which is due only to truth. 
 [653] 
 
 A. The first class are the idola tribus. 
 Thefie are such as beset the whole human 
 species ; so that every man is in danger 
 from them. They arise from principles of 
 the human constitution, wliieh are highly 
 useful and necessary in our present state ; 
 but, by their excess or defect, or wrong 
 direction, may lead us into error. 
 
 As the active principles of the human 
 frame are wisely contrived by the Author 
 of our being for the direction of our ac- 
 tions, and yet, without proper regulation 
 and restraint, are apt to lead us wrong, so 
 it is also ^^ ith regard to those parts of our 
 constitution that have influence upon our 
 opinions. Of this we may take the follow- 
 ing instances : — 
 
 1. First, — Men are prone to be led too 
 much by authority in their opinions. 
 
 In the first part of life, we have no other 
 puide ; and, without a disposition to receive 
 mfiplicitly what we are taught, we should 
 be incapable of instruction, and incapable 
 of improvement. 
 
 When judgment is ripe, there are many 
 things in which we are incompetent judges. 
 In such matters, it is most reasonable to 
 rely upon the judgment of those whom we 
 believe to be competent and disinterested. 
 The highest court of judicature in the 
 nation relies upon the authority of lawyers 
 and physicians in matters belonging to 
 their respective professions. 
 
 Even in matters which we have access 
 to know, authority aUays will have, and 
 ought to have, more or less weight, in pro- 
 portion to the evidence on which our own 
 [6.53-6551 
 
 judgment rests, and the opinion we have of 
 the judgment and candour of those who 
 differ from us, or agree with us The 
 modest man, conscious of his own fal- 
 libility in judging, is in danger of givmg 
 too much to authority; the arrogant of 
 giving too little. [654] 
 
 In all matters belonging to our cog- 
 nizance, every man must be determined by 
 his own final judgment, otherwise he does 
 not act the part of a rational being. 
 Authority may add weight to one scale; 
 but the man holds the balance, and judges 
 what weight he ought to allow to authority. 
 If a man should even claim infallibility, 
 we must judge of his title to that preroga- 
 tive. If a man pretend to be an ambassa- 
 dor from heaven, we must judge of his 
 credentials. No claim can deprive us of 
 this right, or excuse us for neglecting to 
 exercise it. 
 
 As, therefore, our regard to authority 
 may be either too great or too small, the 
 bias of human nature seems to lean to the 
 first of these extremes ; and I believe it is 
 good for men in general that it should do so. 
 When this bias concurs with an indiifer* 
 ence about truth, its operation will be the 
 more powerful. 
 
 The love of truth is natural to man, and 
 strong in every well-disposed mind. But 
 it may be overborne by party zeal, by 
 vanity, by the desire of victory, or even by 
 laziness. When it is superior to these, ft 
 is a manly virtue, and requires the exer- 
 cise of industry, fortitude, self-denial, can- 
 dour, and openness to conviction. 
 
 As there are persons in the world of so 
 mean and abject a spirit that they rather 
 choose to owe their subsistence to the 
 charity of others, than by industry to ac- 
 quire some property of their own ; so there 
 are many more who may be called mere 
 beggars with regard to their opinions. 
 Through laziness and indifference about 
 truth, they leave to others the drudgery of 
 <l'ggjng for this conmiodity ; they can have 
 enough at second hand to serve their occa- 
 sions. Their concern is not to Imow what 
 is true, but what is said and thought on 
 such subjects ; and their understanding, 
 like their clothes, is cut according to the 
 fashion. [655] 
 
 This distemper of the understanding has 
 taken so deep root in a great part of man- 
 kind, that it can hardly be said that they 
 use their own judgment in things that do 
 not concern their temporal interest. Nor is 
 it peculiar to the ignorant; it infects all 
 ranks. We may guess their opinions when 
 we know where they were born, of what 
 parents, how educated, and what company 
 they have kept. These circumstances de- 
 termine their opinions in religion, in politics, 
 and in philosophy. 
 

 OH THB INTELLECTUAL POWERa 
 
 I iS88AY VI* 
 
 mmi MM ihaliiari If ik§m tkai ar§ beiter 
 
 .AnMvift' 0mI iwmv jNMitJiiiff* 
 
 kmm m WM fMUMMUCIIl Of ^MBmOgMSM tttk' 
 
 amiiigi. tO' wlil«h we liave m graat pronenew 
 bj nfttare, aod to it in<leed we owe a great 
 
 to 'iMf' wMm ills 'kiniof ' reMoningalto^Blher, 
 and It ia iilieiilt to judge how w we may 
 vintiire upon it* The bias of hunuui nature 
 
 is 'to|:iid|P ftum too alight analogies.. 
 TM' <ii{|A0lt''ef lienee engrots oar thoughts 
 
 in Hw llist' pvl of lifey and arO' most fami- 
 
 ^agis 'men. lave been prone to attribute the 
 
 iLmi %nn^ and hiiiHiBpiwiMwaiilimi'- 
 
 ' #liajfc . Hi^^l^p^ glj!|li|i||i0i 
 
 There is a disposition in men to male. 
 
 .lialfaM everjthing, if I may be allowed the 
 fKl H i i iB io n. I tiiat .iii. to <aMilj the.niytioiis we 
 nafe Of iiiiMbh 'imifis 1^ 
 nature. niNigiii iS' eomsifierea as^ 'anamgous 
 to motioii in a body ; and as bodies are put 
 ln..|iMytioii by 'impulses, and by impressions 
 nadi vpoi thiii by oonliguoiis objects, we 
 an a|it to' eondnde that me mini is made 
 to thmk by impressions made upon it, and 
 llial tli^e must be some kind of contiguity 
 Mareeii il and the objects of thought 
 Httioe the theories of ideas and impressions 
 have so generally prevailed. [056] 
 
 Boeanse the most perfect works of human 
 artiMs are made aHer a model, and of ma- 
 terials that, before emistiMi, tli9 cneient phi- 
 .toMtpheni nnlveisally believsd/liial' the world, 
 wasmadeof »pre«existeQt uncreated matter; 
 and 'many of them,, that there were eternal 
 Wil. miiMited. 'models of every species of 
 lUiMi whieb Clod. made. 
 
 'lie 'BiistalMi in common life, which are 
 mbm to ^ prejudice, are innumerable, 
 and eannot escape the sl||^tail<ibaorvation. 
 If en judge of other men by themselves, or 
 % the small circle of their acquaintance* 
 Tim selfish man thinks all pretences to be- 
 nevolenc« and public spirit to be mere 
 liypoeciif ' or .self-deeelt». The^ generous and 
 .fipcn^ieiirfed believe fair pretences too 
 •asiy, and are apt to think men better than 
 they really are. The abandoned and pro* 
 ikpto can hardly be persuaded that there 
 isiny iiwii thing as r£ virtue in the world. 
 The ruitie fums bis notions of the man- 
 ners and characters of men from those 'Of 
 .Ilia-iOMtnr' village, and is easily duped when 
 M «eii|ia. .Iito a great city. 
 
 II ia 'MiniiioiiJj talten. for granted, that. 
 'lUi' mafffow way of judging of m^en is to bC' 
 ~ only by an extonstve intercourse with 
 •f . 'iiiSerent ranks, professions, and 
 I and that the man whose acquaint- 
 bais been confined within a narrow 
 irde, must have many prejudices and nar- 
 
 row notions, wbieii a more extensive intei- 
 course would havccured. 
 
 3* Men are often led into error by th§ 
 km qf MmpUcUiff which diiposes us to re- 
 ilii«« ihinffM io few principieM, and to am- 
 eeim a greater aimplicitp in natwe than 
 there really is.* [66?] 
 
 To love simplicity, and to be pleased with 
 it wherever we find it, is no imperfection, 
 but the contiaiy* It is the result of good 
 taste. We cannot but bo pleased to ob- 
 serve, that all the changes of motion pro- 
 duced by the collision of bodies, hard, soft, 
 or eh»tic, are reducible to three simple 
 kws of motion, which the industry of phi- 
 loeophers has discovered. 
 
 when we consider what a prodigious 
 variety of effects depend upon the kw of 
 gravitation ; how many phaenomena in the 
 earth, sea, and air, which, in all preceding 
 ages, had tortured the wits of philosophers, 
 and occasioned a thotigand vain theories, 
 are shewn to be the necessary consequences 
 of this one kiw ; how the whole system of 
 sun, moon, planets, primary' and secondary, 
 and comets, are kept in order by it, and 
 their seeming irregularities accounted for 
 and rednoed to accurate measure — the sim- 
 plicity of the cause, and the beauty and 
 variety of the effects, must give pleasure to 
 every ctjiitcmplative mind. By this noble 
 discovery, we are taken, as it were, behind 
 the scene in this great drama of nature, 
 and made to behold some part of the art of 
 the divine Author of this system, which, 
 before this discovery, eye had not seen, nor 
 ear heard, nor had it entered into the heart 
 of man to conceive. 
 
 There is, without doubt, in every work 
 of nature, all the beautiful simplicity that is 
 consistent with the end for which it was 
 made. But, if we hope to discover how 
 nature brings about its ends, merely from 
 this principle, that it operates in the simplest 
 and best way, we deceive ourselves, and 
 forget that the wisdom of nature is more 
 above the wisdom of man, than man^s wis- 
 dom is above that of a chUd. 
 
 If a child should sit down to contrive how 
 a city is to be fortified, or an army arranged 
 in tne day of battle, he would, no doubt, 
 conjecture wliat, to his understanding, ap- 
 peared the simplest and best way. But 
 could he ever hit upon the true way ? No 
 surely. When he learns from fact how 
 these effects are produced, he will then see 
 how foolish his childish conjectures were. 
 [668] 
 
 We may learn something of the way in 
 which nature operates from fact and ob- 
 servation ; but, if we conclude that it ope- 
 rates in such a manner, only because to our 
 
 * Sw " InqtiUry,** ch. vii. | 9* abovf, |v S06» 
 
 [656-658] 
 
 CBAF.viii.] OF PREJUDICES, THE CAUSES OF ERROR. 
 
 471 
 
 understanding that appears to be the best 
 and simplest manner, we shall always go 
 wrong. 
 
 It was believed, for many ages, that all 
 the variety of concrete bodies we find on 
 this globe is reducible to four elements, of 
 which they are compounded, and into which 
 they may be resolved. It was the simpli- 
 city of this theory, and not any evidence 
 from fact, that made it to be so generally 
 received ; for the more it is examined, we 
 find the less ground to believe it. 
 
 The Pythagoreans and Platonists were 
 carried farther by the same love of sim- 
 plicity. Pythagoras, by his skill in mathe- 
 matics, discovered, that there can be no 
 more tlrnn five regular solid figures, ter- 
 minated by plain surfaces, which are all 
 similar and equal ; to wit, the tetrahedron, 
 the cube, the octahedron, the dodecahedron, 
 and the eicosihedron. As nature works m 
 the most simple and regular way, he thought 
 that all the elementary bodies must have 
 one or other of those regular figures ; and 
 that the discovery of the properties and 
 relations of the regular solids would be a 
 key to open the mysteries of nature. 
 
 This notion of the Pythagoreans and 
 Platonists has undoubtedly great beauty 
 and simplicity. Accordingly it prevailed, 
 at least, to the time of Euclid. He was 
 a Platonic philosopher, and is said to have 
 wrote all the books of his " Elements" in 
 order to discover the properties and rela- 
 tions of the five regular solids. This ancient 
 tradition of the intention of Euclid in writing 
 bis " Elements," is countenanced by the 
 work itself. For the last books of the 
 " Elements" treat of the regular solids, and 
 all the preceding are subservient to the 
 last. [659] 
 
 So that this most ancient mathematical 
 work, which, for its admirable composition, 
 has served as a model to all succeeding 
 writers in mathematics, seems, like the two 
 first books of Newton*s "Principia," to 
 have been intended by its author to exhibit 
 the mathematical principles of natural phi- 
 sophy. 
 
 It was long believed, that all the qualities 
 of bodies,* and all their medical virtues, 
 were reducible to four — moisture and dry- 
 ness, heat and cold ; and that there are 
 only four temperaments of the human body — 
 the sanguine, the melancholy, the bilious, 
 and the phlegmatic. The chemical system, 
 of reducing all bodies to salt, sulphur, and 
 mercury, was of the same kuid. For how 
 many ages did men believe, that the division 
 of all the objects of thought into ten cate- 
 gories, and of all that can be affirmed or 
 denied of anything, into five universals or 
 predicables, were perfect enumerations ? 
 
 ♦ Only the qtialitatci primce of the Peripatetics.— 
 
 l^m, 660] 
 
 The evidence from reason that could be 
 produced for those systems was next to no- 
 thing, and bore no proportion to the ground 
 they gained in the belief of men ; but they 
 were simple and regular, and reduced things 
 to a few principles ; and this supplied their 
 want of evidence. 
 
 Of all the systems we know, that of Des 
 Cartes was most remarkable for its sim- 
 plicity.* Upon one proposition, / thinks 
 he builds the whole fabric of human know- 
 ledge. And from mere matter, with a 
 certain quantity of motion given it at first, 
 he accounts for all the phsenomena of the 
 material world. 
 
 The physical part of this system was 
 mere hypothesis. It had nothing to re- 
 commend it but its simplicity ; yet it had 
 force enough to overturn the system of 
 Aristotle, after that system had prevailed 
 for more than a thousand years. 
 
 The principle of gravitation, and other 
 attracting and repelling forces, after Sir 
 Isaac Newton had given the strongest evi- 
 dence of their real existence in nature, were 
 rejected by the greatest part of Europe for 
 half a century, because they could not be 
 accounted for by matter and motion. So 
 much were men enamoured with the sim- 
 plicity of the Cartesian system. [6G0] 
 
 Nay, I apprehend, it was this love of 
 simplicity, more than real evidence, that led 
 Newton himself to say, in the preface to his 
 " Principia," speaking of the phaenomena 
 of the material world — " Nam multa me 
 movent ut nonnihil suspicer, ea omnia ex 
 viribus quibusdam pendere posse, quibus 
 corporum particulae, per causas nondum 
 cognitas, vel in se mutuo impelluntur, et 
 secundum figuras regulares cohserent, vel 
 ab invicem fugantur et recedunt.'* For 
 certainly we have no evidence from fact, 
 that all the phaenomena of the material 
 world are produced by attracting or repell- 
 ing forces. 
 
 With his usual modesty, he proposes it 
 only as a slight suspicion ; and the ground 
 of this suspicion could only be, that he saw 
 that many of the phaenomena of nature de- 
 pended upon causes of this kind ; and there- 
 fore was disposed, from the simplicity of 
 nature, to think that all do. 
 
 When a real cause is discovered, the 
 game love of simplicity leads men to attri- 
 bute efiects to it which are beyond its pro- 
 vince. 
 
 A medicine that is found to be of great 
 use in one distemper, commonly has its 
 virtues multiplied, till it becomes a panacea. 
 Those who have lived long, can recollect 
 many instances of this. In other branches 
 of knowledge, the same thing often happens. 
 When the attention of men is turned to any 
 
 ♦ See above, p. 206. 1', note f.— H. 
 
ON THB INTELLECTUAL PO^I^ERa 
 
 I IS8BAY Vl« 
 
 liMtWbr mmm, hy S&mwering it to hmm 
 ;niilaiiill«' cffeeta, Hwy are in. great 'danger 
 iif'OElaiiii^'teiiiiimiooy upon alight evi- 
 dence, to Aings with whioli it has no con- 
 naetion. Such prejudices arise from the 
 natnnil desire of simplifying natural causes, 
 and. of aecounting m many plmnomena 
 itoin the same principle. [WIJ, 
 
 4. One of the most copious sources of 
 WfOT in philosophy is ik§ wmmKiMe^ii&n ^ 
 our mMmi htislketrnd pmmr fe pmrpmrnfar 
 'liAM U is immnpetmi* 
 
 Of all the intellectual powers of man, 
 that of invention hears the highest prices 
 It iesemWe8,mo6t the power of creation, 
 ■ad: ii honoured with that name. 
 
 We admire the man who shews a supe- 
 rioiity in the talent of finding the means of 
 ammiplishing an end ; who can, by a happy 
 eomhinatioii, produce an eifeel, or make a 
 discovery heyond the ^ach of other men ; 
 who can draw important conclusions from 
 f ifOiimsianees that conunonly pass unob- 
 larved ; who judges with the greatest saga- 
 city of the designs of other men, and the 
 conseqnenoes of his own actions. To this 
 superiority of understandmg we give the 
 name of genius, and look up with admira- 
 tion to everythmg that, hears the marks of it. 
 
 Yet this power, so highly valuable in it- 
 seE, and so useful in the conduct of life, 
 nay he mis^ppiedj: and men of genius, in 
 .all 'agesi ham heem 'prone to apply it to pur- 
 poms for which it is altogether incompe- 
 tent. 
 
 The works of men and the works of 
 Malitre are not of the same order. The 
 imse of genius may enable a man perfectly 
 to comprehend the former, and see them to 
 the bottom. What is contrived and exe- 
 ■cnted. by 'One man may be iperfectly under- 
 ■lood. hy another man. With great proba- 
 hility, he may from a part conjecture the 
 whole, or from the elfeets may conjecture 
 the 'Causes ; because they are effects of a 
 wisdom not superior to his own. [662] 
 
 But the works of Nature are contrived 
 and executed by a wisdom and power in- 
 initely superior to that of man ; and when 
 :nea 'altempty by the force ^of genius, to dis- 
 eover tlw' causes of the phamomena of Na- 
 ture, they have only the chance of going 
 wrong more ingeniously. Their conjectures 
 .may appear very probable to bemgs no 
 'Wiser than fheniselves ; but they have no 
 ohanoe to hit the truth. They are Uke the 
 mieetures of a chUd how a ship of war is 
 ham, and how it is managed at :sea. 
 
 Iiil Mm 'man of genius try to main an 
 ■niiiial,«fen the meanest; tomakeaplant, 
 or even a single leaf of a plant, or a feather 
 ofahlfd; he will find that all his wisdom 
 nai sagacity can bear no companaon 'with 
 lh« wisdom of Nature, nor his power with 
 the power of Natnre. 
 
 The experience of all ages shews how 
 
 Srone ingenious men have been to invent 
 ypothoses to explain the phienomena of 
 Nature ; how fond, by a kind of anticipa- 
 tion, to discover her secrets. Instead of a 
 slow and gradual ascent in the scale of na- 
 tural causes, by a just and copious induc- 
 tion, they would shorten the work, and, by 
 a flight of genius, get to the top at once. 
 This gratifies the pride of human under- 
 standing ; but it is an attempt beyond our 
 force, like that of Phaeton to guide the 
 diariot of the sun. 
 
 When a man has laid out all his inge- 
 nuity in fabricating a system, he views it 
 with the eye of a parent ; he strains phse- 
 nomena to make them tally with it, and 
 make it look like the work of Nature. 
 
 The slow and patient method of induc- 
 tion, the only way to attain any knowledge 
 of Natore*s work, was little understood 
 until it was delineated by Lord Bacon, and 
 has been Uttle followed since. It humbles 
 the pride of man, and puts him constantly in 
 mind that his most ingenious conjectures 
 with regard to the works of Qod are pitiful 
 and childish. [663] 
 
 There is no room here for the favourite 
 talent of invention. In the humble method 
 of infonnation, from the great volume of 
 Nature we must receive all our knowledge 
 of Nature. Whatever is beyond a just in- 
 terpretiition of that volume is the work of 
 man ; and the work of God ought not to be 
 contaminated by any mixture with it. 
 
 To a man of genius, self-denial is a diffi- 
 cult lesson in philosophy as well as in reli- 
 gion. To bring his fine imaginations and 
 most ingenious conjectures to the fiery trial 
 of experiment and induction, by which the 
 greater part, if not the whole, will be 
 found to be dross, is a humiliating task. 
 This is to condemn him to dig in a mme, 
 when he would fly with the wings of an 
 eagle. 
 
 In all the fine arts, whose end is to 
 please, genius is deservedly supreme. In 
 the conduct of human affairs, it often does 
 wonders ; but in all inquiries into the con- 
 stitution of Nature, it must act a subor- 
 dmate part, ill*snited to the superiority it 
 boasts. It may combine, but it must not 
 fabricate. It may collect evidence, but 
 must not supply the want of it by conjec- 
 ture^ It mav display its powers by putting 
 Nature to the question in well-contrived 
 experiments, but it must add nothing to her 
 answers. 
 
 5. In amiding om e^ltefM, m€n ars mr§ 
 apt i& futh into ike oppodte. 
 
 Thus, in rude ages, men, unaccustomed 
 to search for natural causes, ascribe every 
 uncommon appearance to the immediate 
 inter^iosition of invisible beings ; but when 
 philosophy has discovered natural causes of 
 
 [661>6{i3] 
 
 ouAF VIII.] OF PREJUDICES, THE CAUSES OF ERROR. 
 
 473 
 
 many events, which, in the days of ignor- 
 ance, were ascribed to the immediate opera- 
 tion of gods or daemons, they are apt to 
 think that all the phsenomena of Nature 
 may be acctmnted for in the same way, and 
 that there is no need of an invisible Maker 
 and Governor of the world. [664] 
 
 Rude men are, at first, disposed to ascribe 
 intelligence and active power to everything 
 they see move or undergo any change. 
 ** Savages," says the Abbe Raynal, ** where- 
 ever they see motion which they cannot 
 account for, there they suppose a soul.*' 
 When they come to be convinced of the 
 folly of this extreme, they are apt to run 
 into the opposite, and to think that every 
 thing moves only as it is moved, and acts 
 as it is acted upon. 
 
 Thus, from the extreme of superstition, 
 the transition is easy to that of atheism ; 
 and from the extreme of ascribing activity 
 to every part of Nature, to that of exclud- 
 ing it altogether, and making even the deter- 
 minations of intelligent beings, the links of 
 one fatal chain, or the wheels of one great 
 machine. 
 
 The abuse of occult qualities in the Peri- 
 patetic philosophy led Des Cartes and his 
 followers to reject all occult qualities, to 
 pretend to explain all the phienomena of 
 Nature by mere matter and motion, and 
 even to fix disgrace upon the name of occult 
 quality. 
 
 6. Men's judgments are often perverted 
 Dy their affections and passions. This is 
 so commonly observed, and so universally 
 acknowledged, that it needs no proof nor 
 illustration. 
 
 B. The second class of idols in Lord 
 Bacon^s division are the idola specus. 
 
 These are prejudices which have their 
 origin, not from the constitution of human 
 nature, but from something peculiar to the 
 individual. 
 
 As in a cave objects vary in their appear- 
 ance according to the form of the cave and 
 the manner in which it receives the light, 
 Lord Bacon conceives the mind of every 
 man to resemble a cave, which has its par- 
 ticular fonn, and its particular manner of 
 being enlightened ; and, from these circum- 
 stances, often gives false colours and a delu- 
 sive appearance to objects seen in it.* [665] 
 
 For this'reason he gives the name of irlola 
 epccus to those prejudices whicn arise from 
 the particular way in which a man has been 
 trained,, from his being addicted to some 
 particular profession, or from something 
 particular in the turn of his mind. 
 
 A man whose thoughts have been con- 
 
 * If Bacon took his 8iiniIe*of the cave.fTom Plato, 
 tie has perverted it irom Us proper meaning; for, in 
 the Flaton'c signification, the idola ttpectu should 
 denote the prrjudice3.of the species, and not of the 
 Individual— that is, express what Bacon denominatei 
 by idoia frt&t*r.— H. 
 
 [664-666] 
 
 fined to a certain track by his profession or 
 manner of life, is very apt to judge wrong 
 when he ventures out of that track. He is 
 apt to draw everything within the sphere of 
 his profession, and to judge by its maxims 
 of things that have no relation to it. 
 
 The mere mathematician is apt to apply 
 measure and calculation to things which do 
 not admit of it. Direct and inverse ratios 
 have been applied by an ingenious author to 
 measure human affections, and the moral 
 worth of actions. An eminent mathemati- 
 cian* attempted to ascertain by calculation 
 the ratio in which the evidence of facts 
 must decrease in the course, of time, and 
 fixed the period when the evidence of the 
 facts on which Christianity is founded shall 
 become evanescent, and when in conse- 
 quence no faith shall be found on the earth. 
 I have seen a philosophical dissertation, 
 published by a very good mathematician, 
 wherein, in opposition to the ancient divi- 
 sion of things into ten categories, he main- 
 tains that there are no more, and can be no 
 more than two categories, to wit, data and 
 qucBsita.'f 
 
 The ancient chemists were wont to ex- 
 plain all the mysteries of Nature, and even 
 of religion, by salt, sulphur, and mercury. 
 
 Mr Locke, I think, mentions an eminent 
 musician, who believed that God created 
 the world in six days, and rested the se- 
 venth, because there are but seven notes in 
 music. I knew one of that profession, who 
 thought that there could be only three parts 
 in harmony — to wit, bass, tenor, and treble 
 — because there are but three persons in the 
 Trinity. [666] 
 
 The learned and ingenious Dr Henry 
 More having very elaborately and methodi- 
 cally compiled his " Enchiridium Metaphy- 
 sicum,''* and " Enchiridium Ethicum,^'* 
 found all the divisions and subdivisions of 
 both to be allegorically taught in the first 
 chapter of Genesis. Thus even very inge- 
 nious men are . ' to make a ridiculous 
 figure, by drawing . ^ the track in which 
 their thoughts have long run, things alto- 
 gether foreign to it.:J: 
 
 Different persons, either from temper or 
 from education, have different tendencies of 
 understanding, which, by their excess, are 
 unfavourable to sound judgment. 
 
 Some have an undue admiration of anti- 
 quity, and contempt of whatever is modem ; 
 others go as far into the contrary extreme. 
 It may be judged, that the former are per- 
 
 * <:raig.— H. 
 
 t Reid refers to his uncle, Jaaies Gregory. Profes- 
 sorof Mathematics in St Andrew's and Edinburgh. 
 See above, p. 68, b. .— H. 
 I " Musicians think our souls are harmonies ; 
 Physicians hold that they complexions M 
 Epicures make them swarms of atomies, 
 Which do by chance into the body flee. 
 Sir John Davies, in the first and second lines, al 
 ludes to Ariitoxenusand (ialen.— H. 
 
ON THE INTELLICTUAL POWERS. 
 
 r BBS AY Vl« 
 
 OBAP.viii.] OF PREJUDICES, THE CAUSES OP ERROR. 
 
 475 
 
 ■on wlm iiliit thtmselvet uimmi their ac- 
 
 f oaintiiiM^ ifWi mmmak witliore, and the 
 iiiter auiih at hftfo ItCl* knowledge of this 
 
 Some «fe afiaid to venture a step out of the 
 
 iferjthing 
 ■pwiom. . 
 
 SoiM are desultory and ohnptMe in 
 their opnionai others andaly tenacious. 
 Most men have a predilection for the tenets 
 of' thoir 'net' or party, and still more for 
 their own inventions. 
 
 €. The idohfoH are the /allMift ■aridrnff 
 fmm IA# ia^imffectiom md Ifci m^ liflan- 
 0m§€^ which is an instniment ot thought 
 m well as of the oommunication of our 
 
 'tiioaiiila* |i®7] 
 
 l^ether it he the effect of coiititntion 
 or of hriiit, I will not take upon^mo to de- 
 liiniinO'i hot, .Jlrom one or bow of these 
 causes, it happens that no man can pursue 
 a train off thought or reaeoniiif without the 
 nse of langnago* Words are tlie signs^ of 
 our thoughts ; and the sign is so associated 
 with the thing aignified, that the last can 
 haidly present itself to the imagination, 
 without drawing the other along with it. 
 
 A man who would compose in any lan- 
 goace must think in that language. If he 
 Ihimcs in one langnag© wliat he would ex- 
 wess m another, he thereby doubles his 
 Uonr; and, after all, Iiis expressions will 
 have more the air of a translation than of 
 an original. , 
 
 This shews that our thoughts take their 
 .colour in some degree from the lan,guag© 
 vo iise ; and that, although language ought 
 'dways to he mhicrvient to thought, yet 
 thought must he, at some times and in some 
 degree, subservient to language. 
 
 M m servMitthftt ia^ extremely nsefhl and 
 iMCistBry to 'his mastor, by dogfees acquires 
 an authority over him, so that the master 
 must often yield to the servant, such is the 
 ease with regard to hiiwuage. Its inten- 
 tion is to be a servant to the understanding ; 
 hnt it is so useful and so necessary that we 
 cannot avoid being sometimes led by it when 
 it MUpit' to. foiow. We cannot shake off 
 thla fanpeihaaiit— we must drag it along 
 with US 5 aa^ Hiorofore, must direct our 
 course, and reguhito our pace, as it permits. 
 JLanguage must have many imporf ectiona 
 whOB. »ph«d, to philosophy, because It was 
 not. MiMe for that 'use. In the early periods 
 of society, rede and ignorant men use cer- 
 taia. inma of .ifecch, to oxpieis their wants, 
 lliilf defies, and 'thoir tnmaaetions wi'tb 
 OBO another. Thoir hmgungo can reach no 
 iirther than their specu]iitioiiB.and notions ; 
 .|lH flj^ .if ib ffif notions be vague and ill-defined, 
 'tiM wmi^ by which they oxpicta them, must 
 
 U WM m grand and noble project 0! 
 Bishop Wilkins* to invent a philosophical 
 langimge, which should be free from tho 
 imperfections of vulgar languages. Whether 
 this attempt will ever succeed, so far as to 
 be generally useful, I shall not pretend to 
 determine. The great pains taken by that 
 excellent man in this design have hitherto 
 produced no effect. Very few have ever 
 entered mmutely into his views ; far less 
 have his philosophical language and his real 
 eharactor been brought into use. [668] 
 
 He founds his philosophical language and 
 nal character upon a systematical division 
 and subdivision of all the things which may 
 be expressed by Unguage ; and, instead of 
 the ancient division into ten categories, has 
 made forty categories, or summa genera. 
 But whether this division, though made by 
 a very comprehensive mind, will always suit 
 the various systems that may be introduced, 
 and all the real improvements that may bo 
 made in human knowledge, may be doubted. 
 The diflSculty is still greater in the sub- 
 divisions ; so that it is to be feared that 
 this noble attempt of a great genius will 
 prove abortive, until philosophers have the 
 same opinions and the same systems in tho 
 various branches of human knowledge. 
 
 There is more reason to hope that the 
 hinguages used by philosophers may be 
 gradually improved in copiousness and in 
 distinctness; and that improvements in 
 knowledge and in language may go hand in 
 hand and facilitate each other. But I fear 
 the imperfections of language can never he 
 perfectly remedied while our knowledge 'is 
 fmperfeit. 
 
 However this may be, it is evident that 
 tho unperfections of language, and much 
 more the abuse of it, are the occasion of 
 many errors; and that in many disputes 
 which have engaged learned men, the differ- 
 ence has been partly, and in some wholly, 
 about the meaning of words. 
 
 Mr Locke found it necessary to employ a 
 fourth part of his " Essay on Human Un- 
 derstanding" about words, their various 
 kinds, their imperfection and abuse, and 
 the remedies of both ; and has made many 
 observations upon these subjects well worthy 
 of attentive perusal. [669] 
 
 D. The fourth class of prejudices are the 
 idola theairi, by which are meant ;>rf;Mr/trr« 
 arising from ths ^sterns or sects in which 
 we have been trainedf or which we have 
 adopted, 
 
 A false system once fixed in the mind, 
 becomes, as it were, the medium through 
 which we see objects : they receive a tinc- 
 ture from it, and appear of another colour 
 than when seen by a pure hght. 
 Upon the same subject, a Platonist, a 
 
 Peripatetic, and an Epicurean, will think 
 differently, not only in matters connected 
 with his peculiar tenets, but even in things 
 remote from them. 
 
 A judicious history of the different sects 
 <rf philosophers, and the different methods of 
 philosophising, which have obtained among 
 mankind, would be of no small use to direct 
 men in the search of truth. In such a 
 history, what would be of the greatest mo- 
 ment is not so much a minute detail of the 
 dogmata of each sect, as a just delineation 
 of the spirit of the sect, and of that point 
 of view in which things appeared to its 
 founder. This was perfectly understood, 
 and, as far as concerns the theories of mo- 
 rals, is executed with great judgment and 
 candour by Dr Smith in his theory of moral 
 sentiments. 
 
 As there arecertaiD temperamente of the 
 body that dispose a man more to one class 
 of diseases than to another, and, on the 
 
 other hand, diseases of that kmd, when they 
 happen by accident, are apt to induce the 
 temperament that is suited to them — there 
 is something analogous to this in the dis- 
 eases of the understanding. [670] 
 
 A certain complexion of understanding 
 may dispose a man to one system of opinions 
 more than to another ; and, on the other 
 hand, a system of opinions, fixed in the mind 
 by education or otherwise, gives that com- 
 plexion to the understanding which is suited 
 to them. 
 
 It were to be wished, that the different 
 systems that have prevailed could be classed 
 according to their spirit, as well as namea 
 from their founders. Lord Bacon has dis- 
 tinguished false philosophy into the sophis- 
 tical, the empirical, and the superstitious, 
 and has made judicious observations upon 
 each of these kinds. But I apprehend thissub- 
 ject deserves to be treated more fully by such 
 a hand, if such a hand can be found. [671 ] 
 
 • ESSAY VII. 
 
 OF REASONING. 
 
 » Jec atWTc. p. 403, note.— H. 
 
 [667-6691 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 OP REASONIRO IV GENERAL, AND OP 
 DEMONSTRATION. 
 
 The power of reasoning is very nearly 
 allied to that of judging ; and it is of little 
 consequence in the common affairs of life 
 to distinguish them nicely. On this account, 
 the same name is often given to both. We 
 include both under the name of reason.* 
 The assent we give to a proposition is called 
 judgment, whether the proposition be self- 
 evident, or derive its evidence by reasoning 
 from other propositions. 
 
 Yet there is a distinction between rea- 
 soning and judging. Reasoning is the pro- 
 cess by which we pass from one judgment 
 to another, which is the consequence of it. 
 Accordingly our judgments are distinguished 
 into intuitive, which are not grounded upon 
 any preceding judgment, and discursive, 
 which are deduced from some preceding 
 judgment by reasoning. 
 
 In all reasoning, therefore, there must be 
 a proposition inferred, and one or more from 
 which it is inferred. And this power of 
 inferring, or drawing a conclusion, is only 
 another name for reasoning ; the proposi- 
 tion inferred being called the conelueion, 
 
 '^ ♦~S«Sfew«rt'**'Eleinent»,"ii.p- 12— H. 
 1^70-679} 
 
 and the proposition or propositions from 
 which it is inferred, the premises. [672] 
 
 Reasoning may consist of many steps ; 
 the first conclusion being a premise to a 
 second, that to a third, and so on, till we 
 come to the last conclusion. A process 
 consisting of many steps of this kind, is so 
 easily distinguished from judgment, that it 
 is never called by that name. But when 
 there is only a single step to the conclusion, 
 the distinction is less obvious, and the pro- 
 cess is sometimes called judgment, some- 
 times reasoning. 
 
 It is not strange that, in common dis- 
 course, judgment and reasoning should not 
 be very nicely distinguished, since they are 
 in some cases confounded even by logicians. 
 We are taught in logic, that judgment is 
 expressed by one proposition, but that rea- 
 soning requires two or three. But so 
 various are the modes of speech, that what 
 in one mode is expressed by two or three 
 propositions, may, in another mode, be ex- 
 pressed by one. Thus I may say, God ia 
 pood ; therefore good men shall be happy. 
 This is reasoning, of that kind which logi- 
 cianscall an euthymeme, consisting of an 
 antecedent proposition, and a conclusion 
 drawn from it.* But this reasoning may 
 
 * Theenthymemeiiamere abbreviation of exprw- 
 •ioni in the menUl proce« there i» 00 cllipBis. By 
 
ON THB INTBLLBCT0AL POWERS. 
 
 \ 
 
 4J§ 
 
 1m «ipn8Bod bj one pro|>o8itio% 
 HiMiifi God u ffood, ffmd imn iMI' 6« 
 Huffy. Tliifl is wliat they eaSi a eauaal 
 
 |iRi|Miiiiiii% .and tlieraliira^ ex^raiaoB judg- 
 
 ilOi expresses no more. 
 
 Reasoning, as well as jii%ineBty must be 
 
 / tine or Idse s lioili are grounded upon evi- 
 
 / donee wbieli nay to probable or demonstni- 
 
 tive, and both are accompanied with assent 
 
 or belief. |67S] 
 
 of tbe prerogatiTes 'of iinmaa nature ; 
 huse by it many important trutba bave 
 been and may be discoYered, wbleb with- 
 out it would be beyond our reach ; yet it 
 leema to be only a kind of crutch to a 
 limiled undentanding. We can conceive 
 an understanding, superior to human, to 
 which that truth*.pp«i; mtuWrely, wWch 
 we can only discover by reasoning* For 
 ibis cause, though we must aseribe judg- 
 ment to the Abnighty, we do not ascribe 
 leasoning to him, because it implies some 
 defect or limitation of understanding. Even 
 among men, to ^use reasoning in tilings that 
 .are self-evident, is triiing ; liie m 'man 
 going upon crutches when be can walk 
 upon his legs* 
 
 What .leasonii^g i% am be understood 
 only by a man who bsa reasoned, and who 
 is capable of reflecting upon this operation 
 of his own mind We can deine it only by 
 " aynonymoos words or pbrasesi such as in- 
 ferring, drawing a 'Conelnsio% and the like. 
 The very notion of reasoning, therefore, can 
 enter into the mind by no other channel 
 than that of reflecting upon the operation 
 of leasoning in our own mmdsi and the 
 .notions, of premises' and conelusion, of a 
 qriogism and all its constituent parts, of 
 an entbymeme, sorites, demonstration, pa^ 
 lalqgism, and many others, have the same 
 'Origin* 
 
 It is nature, undoubtedly, that gives ns 
 the capacity of reasoning. When this is 
 WButtng, no art nor education can supply it 
 But Ibis capacity may be dormant through 
 We, like 'the :seed. 'Of a pknt, which, for want 
 of heat and moisture, never vegetates. This 
 is probably the case of some savages. 
 
 Although the capaoity be^ purely the sift 
 of nainfe, and protiaibly given in very dif- 
 ferent degrees to different persons ; yet the 
 power of reasoning seems to be got by habit, 
 
 ^ ""as much as tie power of wal.king or running. 
 
 Its irst exertions wo are not able to recol- 
 ted in ourselves, or clearly to discern in 
 #tiieffs. They are very feeble, and need to 
 ha led by example, and supported l^yautho- 
 litv.. By degrees it aei|iires atrength, 
 Ai«% by means 'Of 'Inltiition and exer- 
 JW4] 
 
 mm, AriiMle abo meant mmmIIiIm very dif. 
 
 iMmii ifnin wnai ■■ vniiBri j iiip|Kitciii~ u. 
 
 rBisaY VU. 
 
 The exercise of reasoning on various sub* 
 jects not only strengthens the faculty, but 
 furnishes the mind with a store of materials. 
 Every train of reasoning, which is familiar, 
 becomes a beaten track in the way to roanv 
 others. It removes many obstaclos which 
 hv in our way, and smooths many roads 
 which we may have occasion to travel in 
 future disquisitiona 
 
 When men of equal natural parts apply 
 their reasoning power to any subject, the 
 man who has reasoned much on the same 
 or on simihir subjects, has a like advantage 
 over him who has not, as the mechanic 
 who has store of tools for his wtirk, has of 
 hhn who has his tools to make, or even to 
 invent. 
 
 In a train of reasoning, the evidence of 
 every step, where nothing is left to be sup- 
 plied by the reader or hearer, must be im- 
 mediately discernible to every man of ripe 
 understanding who has a distinct compre« 
 hension of the premises and conelusion, and 
 who compares them together. To be able 
 to comprehend, in one view, a combination 
 of steps of this kind, is more difticult, and 
 seems to require a superior natural ability. 
 In all, it may be much improved by habit. 
 
 But the highest talent in reasoning is the 
 invention of proofs ; by which, truths re- 
 mote from the premises are brought to light. 
 In all works of understanding, invention 
 lias the highest praise : it requires an ex- 
 tensive view of what relates to the subject, 
 and a quickness in discerning those aflinities 
 and relations which may be subservient to 
 the purpose^ 
 
 In all invention there must be some end 
 in view: and sagacity in finding out the 
 road that leads to tliis end, is, I think, what 
 we call invention. In this chiefly, as I ap- 
 firebend, and in clear and distinct concep- 
 tions, consists that superiority of under- 
 standing which we call yenivs. [675] 
 
 In every chain of reasoning, the evidence 
 of the hist conclusion can be no greater than 
 that of the weakest link of the chain, what- 
 ever may be the strength of the rest. 
 
 The most remarkable distinction of rea- 
 sonings is, that some are probable, others 
 demonstrative. 
 
 In every step of demonstrative reason- 
 ing, the inference is necessary, and we per^ 
 ceive it to be impossible that the conclusion 
 should not follow from tlie premises. In 
 probable reasoning, the connection between 
 the pmnisesand tlie conclusion is not neces- 
 sary, nor do we perceive it to be impossible 
 that the first should be true while the last 
 
 Id ftt'loC^* 
 
 Hence, demonstrative reasoning has no 
 degrees, nor can one demonstration bo 
 stronger than another, though, in rektion 
 to our faculties, one may be more easilv 
 comprehended than another. Every du> 
 
 [67S-675) 
 
 OBAP. I.] OF REASONING, AND OF DEMONSTRATION. 
 
 477 
 
 monstration gives equal strength to the con- 
 dusion, and leaves no possibility of its being 
 false. 
 
 It was, I think, the opinion of all the 
 ancients, that demonstrative reasoning can 
 be applied only to truths that are necessary, 
 and not to those that are contingent. In 
 this, I believe, they judged right. Of all 
 created things, the existence, the attributes, 
 and, consequently, the relations resulting 
 from those attributes, are contingent. They 
 depend upon the will and power of Him who 
 milde them. These are matters of fact, and 
 admit not of demonstration. 
 
 The field of demonstrative reasoning, 
 therefore, is the various relations of things 
 abstract, that is, of things which we cou< 
 ceive, without regard to their existence. 
 Of these, as they are conceived by the mind, 
 and are nothing but what they are conceived 
 to be, we may have a clear and adequate 
 comprehension. Their relations and attri- 
 butes are necessary and immutable. They 
 are the things to «vhich the Pythagoreans 
 and Platonists gave the name of ideas. I 
 would beg leave to borrow this meaning of 
 the word ui^^a from those ancient philoso- 
 phers, and then I must agree with them, 
 that ideas are the only objects about which 
 we can reason demonstratively. [676] 
 
 There are many even of our ideas about 
 which we can carry on no considerable train 
 of reasoning. Though they be ever so well 
 defined and perfectly comprehended, yet 
 their agreements and disagreements are few, 
 and these are discerned at once. We may 
 go a step or two In forming a conclusion 
 with regard to such objects, but can go no 
 farther. There are others, about which we 
 may, by a long train of demonstrative rea- 
 soning, arrive at conclusions very remote 
 and unexpected. 
 
 The reasonings I have met with that can 
 be called strictly demonstrative, may, I 
 think, be reduced to two classes. They are 
 either metaphysical, or they are mathe- 
 matical. 
 
 In metaphysical reasoning, the process is 
 always short. The conclusion is but a step 
 or two, seldom more, from the first principle 
 or axiom on which it is grouuded, and the 
 diflerent conclusions depend not one upon 
 another. 
 
 It is otherwise in mathematical reason- 
 ing. Here the field has no limits. One 
 proposition leads on to another, that to a 
 thin], and so on without end. 
 
 If it should be asked, why demonstrative 
 reasoning has so wide a field in mathema- 
 tics, while, in other abstract subjects, it is 
 confined within very narrow limits, I con- 
 ceive this is chiefly owing to the nature of 
 quantity, the object of mathematics. 
 
 Every quantity, as it has magnitude, and 
 is divisible into parts without end, so, in 
 [676-678] 
 
 respect of its magnitude, it has a certain 
 ratio to every quantity of the kind. The 
 ratios of quantities are innumerable, such ' 
 as, a half, a third, a tenth, double, triple. 
 [677] AH the powers of number are in- 
 sufficient to express the variety of ratios. 
 For there are innumerable ratios which 
 cannot be perfectly expressed by numbers, 
 such as, the ratio of the side to the diagonal 
 of a square, or of the circumference of a circle 
 to the diameter. Of this infinite variety of 
 ratios, every one may be clearly conceived 
 and distinctly expressed, so as to be in no 
 danger of being mistaken for any other. 
 
 Extended quantities, such as lines, sur- 
 faces, solids, besides the variety of relations 
 they have in respect of magnitude, have no 
 less variety in respect of figure ; and every 
 mathematical figure may be accurately 
 defined, so as to distinguish it from all 
 others. 
 
 There is nothing of this kind in other 
 objects of abstract reasoning. Some of 
 them have various degrees ; but these are 
 not capable of measure, nor can be said to 
 have an assignable ratio to others of the 
 kind. They are either simple, or com- 
 pounded of a few indivisible parts; and 
 therefore, if we may be allowed the expres- 
 sion, can touch only in few points. But 
 mathematical quantities being made up of 
 parts without number, can touch in innu- 
 merable points, and be compared in umu- 
 raerable different ways. 
 
 There have been attempts made to mea- 
 sure the merit of actions by the ratios of 
 the affections and principles of action from 
 which they proceed. This may perhaps, 
 in the way of analogy, serve to illustrate 
 what was before known ; but I do not think 
 any truth can be discovered in this way. 
 There are, no doubt, degrees of benevolence, 
 self-love, and other affections ; but, when 
 we apply ratios to them, I apprehend we 
 have no distinct meaning. 
 
 Some demonstrations are called direct, 
 others indirect. The first kind leads directly 
 to the conclusion to be proved. Of the 
 indirect, some are called demonstrations ad 
 absurdum. In these, the proposition con- 
 tradictory to that which is to be proved is 
 demonstrated to be false, or to lead to an 
 absurdity ; whence it follows, that its con- 
 tradictory — that is, the proposition to be 
 proved — is true. This inference is grounded 
 upon an axiom in logic, that of two contra- 
 dictory propositions, if one be false, the 
 other must be true.* [678] 
 
 Another kind of indirect demonstration 
 proceeds by enumerating all the supposi- 
 tions that can possibly be made concerning 
 the proposition to be proved, and then 
 
 > This is called the principle o/ Exduded Middle^ 
 Til., t)etween two contradictorie*.— H 
 
47i 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 I 
 
 i VII. 
 
 ig that all of them, excepting 
 
 'dlllvlliflii is to be proved, are falae'; whence 
 
 'il''';filiiii%, that' IIm 'tueepted mippoaitioii ia 
 tvntb 11iiHi| MM 'liiW' it proved to be equal 
 to another, byprovirag int that it cannot be 
 peater, and then that it cannot be leta s for 
 If must be either .gfoater, or leas, or equal ; 
 and ■tirO' of thHo^wppaMtionS' beiiwdenon- 
 
 All theee Mnds of demonstration are used 
 
 in iiiathe a a liea » and peAaps some others.. 
 
 iamoiisffation is preferred where it oan be 
 ^bad, for this reason only, as I appreliend, 
 bseauae it ia the shortest road to the con- 
 
 'dmioiL Hm' natnn: 'Of ths^ avMence^ and 
 its 'itwiigtbt. :is the hbm^ 'in all i only we 
 avt 'Oondnflted to it by 'diUhrent .loadSk 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 wWMMminmM' tm\MmMM*lMM Um ttMlrMtSMtM Ur 
 
 nUIONflTRATlOfV. 
 
 What has been said of demonstrative 
 
 reasoning, may help us to j'udgie 'Of an opt-' 
 nion of MrLodce, advanced in several platies 
 
 of his Essay— to wit,, **That morality is 
 
 iapybltt 'Of 'danonstntion as well, as^ mathe- 
 
 In book III., diap. lit having observed 
 
 thai wibmd modes,, especially th& belong- 
 ing to noialitjr, being snch eoabinations of 
 .ideiM aS' the ni.ind puts 'together of te. own 
 dioico, the signification of their names 
 may be perfectly and exactly defined, he 
 adds— [#70] 
 
 Seol IC *' ITpon this ground it is that I 
 am bold to think that morality is capable of 
 demonstration as well as mathematics ; siuee 
 the preeise real essence of the things moral 
 words stand for may be pe^rfectly known, 
 and so the congruity or inoon'graity of the 
 things themselires be eertainly discovered, 
 .in. w.hiflh consists 'porfMt. knowledge. Nor 
 lii: iany -one obJMti Thai' the uunea 'Of su'b- 
 ■tanois .are 'Olisii: 'to' 'be :nHMio naa of ' .in mo- 
 rality, as weU as those of nodes, from 
 vhMi. will arise' obscurity { for, aS' to sub* 
 '■ t an e eat when 'eoMomed in moral dis- 
 •onrsesy 'their diverS' 'natures are not so 
 miflh inquired into as supposed : v. g. When 
 w% mj that man is subject to kw, we mean 
 Mliiiilg' by nan but a eoipnal rational 
 
 mmtamt what the .real 'essenoo' or other 
 
 f naiilieS' of' that' 'Oreature am, in this oiae, 
 is no way considered..** 
 
 Agpn, in book !¥., ch. iii, § 18 :— " The 
 idsa-'Of a Supreme Being, whose workman- 
 iiip 'WIS .ai% and the idea of ourselves, being 
 snch. as are elear' in ns, 'would, I suppose, 
 if duly oonsidered and pursued, afford such 
 'iMiiicJalion. ^of owt' duty and rules of aotion 
 as '' ■'«i'*l»i 'BhuM 'noialitY .—<"— ' 'the gfljiwwii 
 
 'capable of demonstration. The relation of 
 other modes may certainly be perceived, as 
 well as those of number and extension ; and 
 I cannot see why thejr should not be cap- 
 able of demonstration, if due methods were 
 thought on to examine or pursue their 
 agreement or disagreement." 
 
 lie afterwards gives, as instances, two 
 propositions, as moral propowtions of which 
 we may be as certain as of any in mathe- 
 matics ; and considers at large what may 
 have given the advantage to the ideas of 
 quantity, and made them be thought more 
 capable of certainty and demonstration. [ 680] 
 
 Again, in the 12th chapter of the same 
 book, § 7, « :— " This, I think, I may say, 
 that, if other ideas that are the real as w^l 
 as nominal essences of their several species 
 were pursued in the way familiar to mathe- 
 maticians, they would carry oar thoughts 
 farther, and with greater evidence and 
 cteamess, than possibly we are apt to ima- 
 ginew This gave me the confidence to 
 advance that conjecture which I suggest, 
 chap iiL— viz., That morality is capable of 
 demonstration as well as mathematics.** 
 
 From these passages, it appears that this 
 opinion was not a transient thought, but 
 what he had revolved in his mind on dif- 
 ferent occasions. He offers his reasons for 
 it, illustrates it by examples, and considers 
 at length Uie causes that have led men to 
 think inatliematics more capable of demon- 
 stration than the principles of morals* 
 
 Some of his learned oorrespondeiits, par- 
 ticularly his friend Mr Molyneux, urged 
 and importuned him to compose a system 
 of morals according to the idea he had ad- 
 vanced in his Essay ; and, in his answer to 
 these Holicitatious, he only pleads other oc- 
 cupations, without suggesting any change of 
 his opinion, or any great difiiculty in the 
 execution of what was desired. 
 
 The reason he gives for this opinion is 
 ingenious; and his regard for virtue, the 
 highest prerogative of the human species, 
 made him fond of an opinion which seemed 
 to be favourable to virtue, and to have a 
 just foundation in reason. 
 
 We need not, however, be afraid that the 
 interest of virtue may suffer by a free and 
 candid examination of this question, or in- 
 deed of any question whatever. For the 
 interests of truth and of virtue can never 
 be found in opposiUon. Darkness and error 
 may befriend vice, but can never be favour* 
 able to virtue. [681] 
 
 Those philosophers who thmk that our 
 determinations in morals are not real judg- 
 ments—that right and wrong in human con- 
 duct are only certain feelings or sensations 
 in the person who contemplates tb« action 
 —must reject Mr Locke's opinion without 
 examination. For, if the principles of mo- 
 rak be not a matter of judgment, but of 
 
 [679-6811 
 
 ouap.ii.] WHETHER MORALITY BE DEMONSTRABLE. 
 
 479 
 
 feeling only, there can be no demonstration 
 of them ; nor can any other reason be given 
 for them, but that men are so constituted 
 by the Author of their being as to contem- 
 plate with pleasure the actions we call vir- 
 tuous, and with disgust those we call vicious. 
 
 It is not, therefore, to be expected that 
 the philosophers of this class should think 
 this opinion of Mr Locke worthy of ex- 
 amination, since it is founded upon what 
 they think a false hypothesis. But if our 
 determinations in morality be real judg- 
 ments, and, like all other judgments, be 
 either true or false, it is not unimportant 
 to understand upon what kind of evidence 
 those judgments rest. 
 
 The argument offered by Mr Locke, 
 to shew that morality is capable of demon- 
 stration, is, " That the precise real essence 
 of the things moral words stand for, may be 
 perfectly known, and so the congruity or 
 incongruity of the things themselves be 
 perfectly discovered, in which consists per- 
 fect knowledge." 
 
 It is true, that the field of demonstration 
 IS the various relations of things conceived 
 abstractly, of which we may have perfect 
 and adequate conceptions. And Mr Locke, 
 taking all the things which moral words 
 stand for to be of this kind, concluded that 
 morality is as capable of demonstration as 
 matheuiatics. 
 
 I acknowledge that the names of the 
 virtues and vices, of right and obligation, 
 of liberty and property, stand for things 
 abstract, which may be accurately defined, 
 or, at least, conceived as distinctly and 
 adequatelyas mathematical quantities. And 
 thence, indeed, it follows, that their mutual 
 relations may be perceived as clearly and 
 certainly as mathematical truths. [682] 
 
 Of this Mr Locke gives two pertinent 
 examples. The first — " Where there is no 
 property, there is no injustice, is," says he, 
 " a proposition as certain as any demon- 
 stration in Euclid.** 
 
 When injustice is defined to be a viola- 
 tion of property, it is as necessary a truth, 
 that there can be no injustice where there 
 is no property, as that you cannot take 
 from a man that which he has not. 
 
 The second example is, " That no 
 government allows absolute liberty.** This 
 is a truth no less certain and necessary. 
 
 Such abstract truths I would call meta- 
 physical rather than moral. We give the 
 name of mathematical to truths that ex- 
 press the relations of quantities considered 
 abstractly; all other abstract truths may 
 be called metaphysical. But if those men- 
 tioned by Mr Locke are to be called moral 
 truths, I agree with him that there are 
 many such that are necessarily true, and 
 that have all the evidence that mathemati- 
 cal truths can havOi 
 r688, 683] 
 
 It ought, however, to be remembered, 
 that, as was before observed, the relations 
 of things abstract, perceivable by as, ex- 
 cepting those of mathematical quantities, 
 are few, and, for the most part, imn»ediately 
 discerned, so as not to require that train 
 of reasoning which we call demonstration. 
 Their evidence resembles more that of 
 mathematical axioms than mathematical 
 propositions. 
 
 This appears in the two propositions 
 given as examples by Mr Locke. The first 
 follows immediately from the definition of ^ 
 injustice ; the second from the definition of 
 government. Their evidence may more 
 properly be called intuitive than demon- 
 strative. And tliis I apprehend to be the 
 case, or nearly the case, of all abstract 
 truths that are not mathematical, for the 
 reason given in the last chapter. [683] 
 
 The propo utions which I think are pro- 
 perly called moral, are those that affirm 
 some moral obligation to be, or not to be 
 incumbent on one or more mdividual per- 
 sons. To such propositions, Mr Locke*s 
 reasoning does not apply, because the sub- 
 jects of the proposition are not things whose 
 real essence may be perfectly known. They 
 are the creatures of God ; their obligation 
 results from the constitution which God 
 hath given them, and the circumstances 
 in which he hath placed them. That an 
 individual hath such a constitution, and is 
 placed in such circumstances, is not an 
 abstract and necessary, but a contingent 
 truth. It is a matter of fact, and, there- 
 fore, not capable of demonstrative evidence, 
 which belongs only to necessary truths. 
 
 The evidence which every man hath of 
 his own existence, though it be irresistible, 
 is not demonstrative. And the same thing 
 may be said of the evidence which every 
 man hath, that he is a moral agent, and 
 under certain moral obligations. In like 
 manner, the evidence we have of the exist- 
 ence of other men, is not demonstrative; 
 nor is the evidence we have of their being 
 endowed with those faculties which make 
 them moral and accountable agents. 
 
 If man had not the faculty given hUn by 
 God of perceiving certain things in conduct 
 to be right, and others to be wrong, and of 
 perceiving his obligation to do what is right, 
 and not to do what is wrong, he would not 
 be a moral and accountable being. 
 
 If man be endowed with such a faculty, 
 there must be some things which, by this 
 faculty, are immediately discerned to be 
 right, and others to be wrong ; and, there- 
 fore, there must be in morals, as in other 
 sciences, first principles which do not de- 
 rive theu- evidence from any antecedent 
 principles, but may be said to be intuitively 
 
 discerned 
 
 Moral truths, therefore, may be divided 
 
ON THK INTELLBCTOAL POWERS. 
 
 C 
 
 Vll« 
 
 ORAP. III.] 
 
 OF PROBABLE REASONING. 
 
 481 
 
 • 
 
 Into lim ilannw in wil, siieli mi are wlf- 
 mMmt to mmy man whoae inid«f«t*nding 
 and moial teiillj aro ripe, and aiieh as are 
 ^^dadiNai. %' maoniiif frim tlMiee that are 
 ■miB4i9MmL If theinl 'lie not disceroed 
 'Witioiit' .naMW^ini, Ihe last never am be ae 
 1»y anj raaioiiiig. [684] 
 
 If any man could eay, with sincerity, that 
 ba ia enmaeions of no obligatioii to consult 
 .Us iMm. pNtent and future happineas ; to 
 Iw'iiflifti to' Us. mgageniento i to obey his 
 Ifalcer; to injure no mans I know not 
 'Vial reasoning, eitlier' puibaUe or demon- 
 atcatlve, I could use to eonvinee Mm of any 
 Bunal duty. As you eansot reason in 
 lematics with a man who denies the 
 as itkle esn yon rsasfin with a man 
 iii::iiiiiiila' whn daiiisa th«{ii«t principles^ of 
 ■Mials.. 'Tiia''iMilt who does not, by the light 
 'Of ..US'Wwn 'Uind, pereeive some things in 
 •miiifst to be right, and otheri to be wrong, 
 ia as incapable of reasoning about morals 
 is a blind man ia about edoun. Such a 
 'Dan, if amy :sneli 'BumI' ever was, would be 
 mo moral agent, nor capable of any moral 
 obligatioa 
 
 Some isst. jMinaiples^ of morals must be 
 :immediatoly diseenied, ollierwise we have 
 ■o foundation on which others can rest, or 
 from, which we mn reason. 
 
 Evieiy.maobow»'Cflrtalnly, that, what he 
 approves is oHier men, he ought to do in 
 Uke eirennslanees, and that hm ought not to 
 do what he condemns in other men. Every 
 nan knows that he ought, with candour, to 
 
 •Si^PW SpHVHP ■(■WilBiPW iJWMiSiil(HIMMlHi liWB' ^■•Hli'lll' WW iSlPH ||||| ••■•^P ^im^tm^rw w 
 
 T& mmgf "Bnan. who 'haS' a oonseience, these 
 'thinp are self-evident They are imme-' 
 diato dictates of our moral faculty, which is 
 
 • part of tlw twiwn eonstiltatiou i and every 
 
 iMIHIfti iflHi 'NHh JBiJllilllWttiiiiMl'idttiiilHHfei,>IMttiiJHli HbfilMMHL^tt^HBMlr 4MltflNhJlJUV''HlhJIHUHII' HftuHIk VK|H|I I J'^'IM 
 •W^^^WPWtB ^iPiilP'BilliiililWlPlliPliBiPl^ iBilWWWBHPWff'lP'WMiJj WW ■■■^■IP' •'^•^^i^ ■"■^P^ ~~ ••* ^liF^iM' 
 
 BOl, «lien. he 'knowinMy aats eonftrary to 
 them. The evidence m these fundamental 
 prhuipies of morals, and of others that 
 mUit 'be named, appears, therefore, to me 
 'to be intuitive' 'rather than demonstrative. 
 
 The man who acts according to the dic^ 
 fates of his conscience, and takes due pains 
 to he tightly informed of his duty, is a per- 
 feet 'man with regard to morals, and. merits 
 no hhune, whate'ver may 'be the imperfec- 
 tions or errors of his understanding. He 
 who knowingly acts contrary to them, la^ 
 '•onaeionS' of gnit, and self-condemned.^ 
 Bvf^partieiAvaetion that lalls evidently 
 within the fundamental rules of morals, is 
 evidently his duty; and it requires no rea- 
 .leniiig' 'to convince him that it is so. [685] 
 
 'Thusi. I think it appears, 'thai every man 
 'df eomnott understanding knows ce^rtainly, 
 and without reasoning, the ultimate ends 
 he ought to 'pursue, and that reasoning is 
 011% to discover the most proper 
 .attaliiing them ; and in this, in- 
 a f«iod. :nian. may often be in doubt 
 
 Thus, a magistrato knows that it is his 
 duty to promote the zood of the community 
 which hath intrusted him with authority { 
 and to oifer to prove this to him by reason- 
 ing, would be to affront him. But whether 
 such a scheme of conduct in his oflRoe, or 
 another, may best serve that end, he may 
 in many oases be doubtful. I believe, in 
 such cases, he ean very rarely have demon- 
 strative evidence. His conscience deter- 
 mines the end he ought to pursue, and he 
 has intuitive evidence that his end is good ; 
 but prudence must determine the means 
 of attaining that end ; and prudence can 
 very rarely use demonstrative reasoning, 
 but must rest in what appears most proba- 
 ble. 
 
 I apprehend, that, in every kind of duty 
 we owe to God or man, the case is similar—- 
 that IS, that the obligation of the most 
 general rules of duty is self-evident ; that 
 the application of those rales to particular 
 actions is often no less evident ; and that, 
 when it is not evident, but requires reason- 
 ing, that reasoning can very rarely he of 
 the demonstrative, but must be of the pro- 
 bable kind. Sometimes it depends upon 
 the temper, and talents, and circumstances 
 of the man himself; sometimes upon the 
 character and circumstances of others; 
 sometimes upon both ; and these are things 
 which admit not of demonstration. [686 J 
 
 Every man is bound to employ the talents 
 which God hath given him to the best pur- 
 pose ; but if, through accidents which he 
 eould not foresee, or ignorance which was 
 invincible, they be less usefully employed 
 than they might have been, this will not be 
 imputed to him by hb righteous Judge. 
 
 It is a common and a just obser\'ation, 
 that the man of virtue plays a surer game 
 in order to obtain his end than the man of 
 the world. It is not, however, because he 
 reasons belter concerning the means of 
 attaining his end ; for the children of this 
 world are often wiser in their generation 
 than the children of light. But the reason 
 of the observation is, that mvoluntary 
 errors, unforeseen accidents, and invincible 
 ignorance, which affect deeply all the con- 
 cerns of the present world, have no effect 
 upon virtue or tte reward. 
 
 In the common occurrences of life, a man 
 of integrity, who hath exercised his moral 
 faculty in judging what is right and what 
 Is wrong, sees his duty without reasoning, 
 as he sees the highway. The cases that 
 require reasoning are few, compared with 
 those that require none ; and a man may 
 be very honest and virtuous who cannot 
 reason, and who knows not what demon- 
 stration means. 
 
 The power of reasoning, in those that 
 have it, may be abused in morals, as in 
 otlier matters. To a man who uses it with 
 
 [684-686] 
 
 an upnght heart, and a single eye to find 
 what is his duty, it will be of great use ; 
 but when it is used to justify what a man 
 has a strong inclination to do, it will only 
 serve to deceive himself and others. When 
 a man can reason, his passions will reason, 
 and they are the most cunning sophists we 
 meet with 
 
 If the rules of virtue were left to be dis- 
 covered by demonstrative reasoning, or by 
 reasoning of any kind, sad would be the 
 condition of the far greater part of men, 
 who have not the means of cultivating the 
 power of reasoning. As virtue is the busi- 
 ness of all men, the first principles of it are 
 written in their hearts, in characters so 
 l^ble that no man can pretend ignorance 
 of them, or of his obligation to practise 
 
 them. [687] 
 
 Some knowledge of duty and of moral 
 obligation is necessary to all men. With- 
 out it they could not be moral and account- 
 able creatures, nor capable of being mem- 
 bers of civil society. It may, therefore, 
 be presumed that Nature has put this 
 knowledge within the reach of all men. 
 Reasoning and demonstration are weapons 
 which the greatest part of mankind never 
 was able to wield. The knowledge that ia 
 necessary to all, must be attainable by all. 
 We see it is so in what pertams to the 
 natural life of man. 
 
 Some knowledge of things that are usefiU 
 and things that are hurtful, is so necessary 
 to all men, that without it the species would 
 soon perish. But it is not by reasoning 
 that this knowledge is got, far less by de- 
 monstrative reasoning. It is by our senses, 
 by memory, by experience, by information ; 
 means of knowledge that are open to all 
 men, and put the learned and the unlearned, 
 those who can reason and those who can- 
 not, upon a level. 
 
 It may, therefore, be expected, from the 
 analogy of nature, that such a knowledge 
 of morals as is necessary to all men should 
 be had by means more suited to the abili- 
 ties of all men than demonstrative reason- 
 ing is. 
 
 This, I apprehend, is in fact the case. 
 When men*8 faculties are ripe, the first 
 principles of morals, into which all moral 
 reasoning may be resolved, are perceived 
 intuitively, and in a manner more analogous 
 to the perof^ptions of sense than to the con- 
 olusions of demonstrative reasoning. [688] 
 
 Upon the whole, I agree with Mr Locke, 
 that propositions expressing the congniities 
 and incongruities of things abstract, which 
 moral words stand for, may have all the 
 evidence of mathematical truths. But this 
 is not peculiar to things which moral words 
 stand for. It is common to abstract pro- 
 positions of every kind. For instance, you 
 eannot take from a man what he has not. 
 [687-689] 
 
 A man cannot be bound and perfectly free 
 at the same time. I think no man will 
 call these moral truths ; but they are neces- 
 sary truths, and as evident as any in mathe- 
 matics. Indeed, they are very nearly allied 
 to the two which Mr Locke gives as in- 
 stances of moral propositions capable of 
 demonstration. Of such abstract proposi- 
 tions, I think it may more properly be said 
 that they have the evidence of mathemati- 
 cal axioms, than that they are capable of 
 demonstration. 
 
 There are propositions of another kind, 
 which alone deserve the name of moral pro* 
 positions. They are such as affirm some- 
 thing to be the duty of persons that really 
 exist. These are not abstract propositions ; 
 and, therefore, Mr Locke's reasonbg does 
 not apply to them. The truth of all such 
 propositions depends upon the constitution 
 and circumstances of the persons to whom 
 they are applied. 
 
 Of such propositions, there are some that 
 are self-evident to every man that has a 
 conscience; and these are the principles 
 from which sdl moral reasoning must be 
 drawn. They may be called the axioms of 
 morals. But our reasoning from these 
 axioms to any duty that is not self-evident 
 can very rarely be demonstrative. Nor is this 
 any detriment to the cause of virtue, because 
 to act against what appears most probable 
 in a matter of duty, is as real a trespass 
 against the first principles of moraUty, as 
 to act against demonstration ; and, because 
 he who has but one talent in reasoning, and 
 makes the proper use of it, shall be ac- 
 cepted, as well as he to whom God has 
 given ten. [689] 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 OF PROBABLB RBASONING. 
 
 Thb field of demonstration, as has been 
 observed, is necessary truth i the field of 
 probable reasoning is contingent truth — not 
 what necessarily must be at all times, but 
 what is, or was, or shall be. 
 
 No contingent truth is capable of strict 
 demonstration; but necessary truths may 
 sometimes have probable evidence. 
 
 Dr Wallis discovered many important 
 mathematical truths, by that kind of induc- 
 tion which draws a general conclusion from 
 particular premises- This is not strict de- 
 monstration, but, in some cases, gives as 
 full conviction as demonstration itself; and 
 a man may be certain, that a truth is de- 
 monstrable before it ever has been demon- 
 strated. In other cases, a mathematical 
 proposition may have such probable evi- 
 dence from mduction or analogy as en- 
 courages the mathematician to mvestigato 
 
■■■iiiiH 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [emayvii. 
 
 BiA tM ik% MMBoniiif , 
 
 f foper to imlliaiiitifli^ tni^nHiw mmmmry 
 ■umkBt is demonslntioii ; snl ilnt' wMch is 
 fwptr to ooilimiiit tnitli% is probable 
 
 mining. . ^.«. . 
 
 Hum two :Uiidi' ol' .wMoning differ in 
 <ci«lMr'M|iMti. In demoMtrntive reason- 
 iiig, MM srgument is as good as a thousand. 
 One demonstration may be more elegant 
 tbaa another ; it may be more easily com- 
 f niiandiid, or it mi^ be more subservient 
 to tome purpose beyond the present. On 
 any of these accounts it may desetfe^a 
 Miiiience : but then it is suflldent by it* 
 idf ; it needs no .aid. from amotlMf't it can 
 iiioeiveuon» l^'adi/'iraoMdeniiinstiations 
 of the same eondnsion, would be a kind of 
 tantol*^ in 'leasontog.; because one_de- 
 'iBonstistion:, dearly comprehended, gives 
 all the evidence we are capable of receiv- 
 ini^ imO] 
 
 The strength of probable reasonkg, for 
 the most part, depends not upon any one 
 argument, bui upon many, which unite 
 their force, and lead to the aame conclusion. 
 Any one of them by itself would be insuf- 
 
 denoe, and is oppoaed to certainty: bo that 
 what is certain is more than probable, and 
 what is only probable is not certain. Phi- 
 losophers eonsider probable evidence, not 
 as a degree, but as a species of evidence, 
 which is opposed, not to certainty, but tti 
 another spedes of evidence, called demon- 
 6tration> 
 
 Demonstrative evidence has no degrees ; 
 but probable evidence, taken in the philo- 
 sophical sense, has all degrees, from the 
 very least to the greatest, which we call 
 certainty. 
 
 That there is such a city as Rome, I am 
 as certain as cf any proposition in Euclid ; 
 but the evidence is not demonstrative, but 
 of that kind which philosophers call pro- 
 bable. Yet, in common language, it would 
 sound oddly to say, it is probable there Is 
 such a city as Borne, because it would 
 imply some degree of doubt or uncertainty. 
 
 Taking pro^ble evidence, therefore, in 
 the philosophical sense, as it is opposed to 
 demonstrative, it may have any degrees of 
 evidence, from the least to the greatest. 
 
 I thinky in most cases, we measure the 
 
 ieient to convince; but the whole taken terees of evidence by the effect Oiey have 
 
 t«»ether may have a foroo that is irresistible, i/^pon a sound understanding, when «)m- 
 
 m that to teire more' evidence would be 
 aimird. Would any man seek new argu- 
 ments to prove that there were such persons 
 as King Charles I. or Oliver CMmwell ? 
 
 Sneh evidence' nii^y be^ 'Oorapaiei to a rope 
 'Bade: 'np df many slender ilainents twisted 
 together. The rope has strength more 
 than suAcient to bear the stress bid upon 
 it, though no one of the filaments of which 
 it Is composed would be' aulieient for that 
 purpose. 
 
 It is a common observation, that It is 
 unreasonable to require demonstration for 
 thiiiga which do not admit of it It is no 
 less unreasonable to require reasoning of 
 any kind for thing's which are known with- 
 out reasoning. All reasoning must be 
 .grounded upon truths which .are known 
 'without reasoning. In every branch of real 
 knowledge' there must hO' first principles 
 whose truth is known intuitively, without 
 reasoning, either probable or demonstrative. 
 They are Mt .grounded on reaaonhi|, but 
 all reaaonlifg is gromded. on 'them. It has 
 been sliewn, that there are first principles 
 of neeeisary truths, and first prineiplei of 
 eontingent truths. Bemonstirative reason- 
 ing 'is grounded' upon the former, and pro- 
 .hable reasoning upon the latter. 
 
 That we may not be embarrassed by the 
 amhignlty of words. It is pro|»er to observe, 
 ffaiit ther© is a popukr meanmg of prokahk 
 m^^mmy 'W'hich ought not to be confoonded 
 with the philosophical nuanhig, above ex- 
 '|ilained. [^1] 
 
 '- In eommon hagmmt. probable evidence 
 iseensidered .ai an ''iilifiif' degree of evi- 
 
 prehended clearly and without prejudice. 
 Every degree of evidence perceived by the 
 mind, produces a proportioned degree of 
 assent or belief. The judgment may be in 
 perfect suspense between two contradictory 
 opinions, when there is no evidence for 
 either, or equal evidence for both. The 
 least preponderancy on one side inclines the 
 judgment in proportion* Belief is mixed 
 with doubt, more or less, until we come 
 to the highest degree of evidence, when 
 tJl doubt vanishes, and the belief is firm 
 and hnmovable. This degree of evidence, 
 the hishest the human faculties can attain, 
 we caU certainty. [692] 
 
 Probable evidence not only differs in kmd 
 from demonstrative, but is itself of different 
 kinds. The chief of these 1 shall mention, 
 without pretending to make a complete 
 enumeration. 
 
 The first kind is that of human testimony, 
 upon which the greatest part of human 
 knowledge is built. 
 
 The faith of history depends upon it, as 
 well as the judgment of solemn tribunals, 
 with regard to men's acquired rights, and 
 with regard to their guilt or innocence, 
 when they are charged with crimes. A 
 great part of the business of the judge, of 
 counsel at the bar, of the historian, the 
 critic, and the antiquarian, is to canvass 
 and weigh this kind of evidence; and no 
 man can act with common prudence in the 
 ordinary occurrences of life, who has not 
 some competent judgment of it. 
 
 The belief we give to testimony, In many 
 cases, is not solely grounded upon the vera- 
 
 [690-692] 
 
 OHAP. III. j 
 
 OF PROBABLE REASONING. 
 
 
 city of the testifier. In a single testimony, 
 we consider the motives a man might have 
 to falsify. If there be no appearance of 
 any such motive, much more if there be 
 motives on the other side, his testimony has 
 weight independent of his moral character. 
 If the testimony be circumstantial, we con- 
 sider how far the circumstances agree to- 
 f ether, and with things that are known. 
 I is so very difficult to fabricate a story 
 which cannot be detected by a judicious 
 examination of the circumstances, that it 
 acquires evidence by being able to bear 
 such a triaL There is an art in detecting 
 fijse evidence in judicial proceedings, well 
 known to able judges and barristers; so 
 that I believe few false witnesses leave the 
 bar without suspicion of their guilt. 
 
 When there is an agreement of many 
 witnesses, in a great variety of circum- 
 stances, without the possibility of a previous 
 concert, the evidence may be equal to that 
 of demonstration. [693] 
 
 A second kind of probable evidence, is 
 the authority of those who are good judges 
 of the point in question. The supreme 
 court of judicature of the British nation, is 
 often determined by the opinion of lawyers 
 in a point of law, of physicians in a point of 
 medicine, and of other artists, in what re- 
 lates to their several professions. And, in 
 the common affairs of life, we frequently 
 rely upon the judgment of others, in points 
 of which we are not proper judges our- 
 selves. 
 
 A third kind of probable evidence, is that 
 by which we recognise the identity of things 
 and persons of our acquaintance. That two 
 swords, two horses, or two persons, may be 
 so perfectly alike as not to be distinguish- 
 able by those to whom they are best known, 
 cannot be shewn to be impossible. But we 
 learn either from nature, or from experience, 
 that it never happens ; or so very rarely, 
 that a person or thing, well known to us, is 
 immediately recognised without any doubt, 
 when we perceive the marks or signs bv 
 which we were in use to distinguish itfroili 
 all other individuals of the kind. 
 
 This evidence we rely upon in the most 
 important affairs of life ; and, by this evi- 
 dence, the identity, both of things and of 
 persons, is determined in courts of judica- 
 ture. 
 
 A fourth kind of probable evidence, is 
 that which we have of men's future actions 
 and conduct, from the general principles of 
 action in man, or from our knowledge of the 
 individuals. 
 
 Notwithstanding the folly and vice that 
 are to be found among men, there is a certain 
 degree of prudence and probity which we 
 rely upon in every man that is not insane. 
 If it were not so, no man would be safe in 
 the company of another, and there could be 
 [693-695] 
 
 no society among mankind. If men were 
 as much disposed to hurt as to do good, to 
 lie as to speak truth, they could not live to- 
 gether ; they would keep at as great dis- 
 tance from one another as possible, and the 
 race would soon perish. [694] 
 
 We expect that men will take some care 
 of themselves, of their family, friends, and 
 reputation ; that they will not injure others 
 without some temptation ; that they will 
 have some gratitude for good offices, and 
 some resentment of injuries. 
 
 Such maxims with regard to human con- 
 duct, are the foundation of all political rea- 
 soning, and of common prudence in the con- 
 duct of life. Hardly can a man form any 
 project in public or in private life, which 
 does not depend upon the conduct of other 
 men, as well as his own, and which does not 
 go upon the supposition that men will act 
 such a part in such circumstances. This 
 evidence may be probable in a very high 
 degree ; but can never be demonstrative. 
 The best concerted project may fail, and 
 wise counsels may be frustrated, because 
 some individual acted a part which it would 
 have been against all reason to expect. 
 
 Another kind of probable evidence, the 
 counterpart of the last, is that by which we 
 collect men's characters and designs from 
 their actions, speech, and other external 
 signs. 
 
 We see not men's hearts, nor the prin- 
 ciples by which they are actuated ; but 
 there are external signs of their principles 
 and dispositions, which, though not certain, 
 may sometimes be more trusted than their 
 professions ; and it is from external signs 
 that we must draw all the knowledge we 
 can attain of men's characters. 
 
 The next kind of probable evidence I 
 mention, is that which mathematicians call 
 the probability of chances. 
 
 We attribute some events to chance, be 
 cause we know only the remote cause which 
 must produce some one event of a num- 
 ber; but know not the more immediate 
 cause which determines a particular event 
 of that number in preference to the others^ 
 [695] 
 
 I think all the chances about which we rea- 
 son in mathematics are of tliis kind. Thus, 
 in throwing a just die upon a table, we say 
 it is an equal chance which of the six sides 
 shall be turned up ; because neither the 
 person who throws, nor the bystanders, 
 know the precise measure of force and di- 
 rection necessary to turn up any one side 
 rather than another. There are here, there- 
 fore six events, one of which must happen ; 
 and as all are supposed to have equal pro- 
 bability, the probabihty of any one side 
 being turned up, the ace, for instance, is as 
 one to the remaining immber, five. 
 
 The probability of turning up two acea 
 
 2i2 
 
4S4' 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL P0WEB8. 
 
 [E88Alf Vll. 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF MR HUME'S SCEPTICISM ABOUT REASON. 486 
 
 will, t«Ki"iiM^fe«i on© to tltirty-iw; heeanm 
 
 'IMM: iSImm aM' liiiiii-«ix &vm% mtk of 
 viMi liMi^ mmi poMilitjr. 
 Upon umIi firiiicipfea m Hmmi 'Hm oo^ 
 
 moHtntiTO 'MftMiiiiii' of' gtwi wimt, al- 
 Hmngh iie events About wlidi tMa Muon- 
 ing is employed be nolmeoeaaawj, bnt con- 
 tiiiMil, md b© not eortoin, but probabk. 
 
 ''fliii''iMy 9mm to mntndiet a principle 
 iMfeffO .advBiieed, tlifti' 'Omtiiigffit tiutlis are 
 not cttpable of demonstration i but it doet^ 
 iMit.s for, in tbe mat ii— iti itt 'i«»aontQgs 
 •bwt oianco, 'tlii MwdiMion domonatrated, 
 ii 'Ml. 'tlMt 'Midi m •vwit .siiaU bappen, but 
 that tlM probability of its bappemng bears 
 J TOuli a ratio to tlio probabilit j of its fuling ; 
 and tbis flowilnaioii, b .iMOwaarj upon the 
 '■nppiMitlona^oii/wliiah Mia grounded. 
 TSrlaatMiidrfpwiablaaildence I shall 
 iU ffff^ aiM j , ii that by which the kno^wn laws 
 of Nature havo bMn diaoofiwj, and the! 
 dlMi wMob 'bavo 'haoi. ;iiMMluoid by them 
 'in former ages, or whlA iMy ba axpwted 
 in time to come. 
 
 The laws of Nature are the rules bv which 
 
 'tiM: 'Supreme Balng'pvainatiia^ world. We 
 
 ^dadiM thoni Mb' Iwii^iwli'that^ til within 
 
 iNir'iiwnobaeirvation:,:or'ara'pfODOily'altaaled 
 
 by those who have observed Uiem. 1*8*11 
 
 'Tbo lmiiwlad|a of aom© of th© lawi of 
 
 Mtim' la naMiaaiy to all men in the con- 
 
 '"■ ^dnol 'of Ilk 'Thoia are soon ■discovered 
 
 mmm by eavagos. They know that fire 
 
 bum% that water drowns, that bodiaa |?a- 
 
 viMa"towaidB the earth* They know that 
 
 di^ and night, summer and wmter, regu- 
 
 htfW' iucoeed «aoh. ittor. As far back as 
 
 theur espaiiflnfle' and information reach,. 
 
 ttey know that these have happened regu- 
 
 'la* I and,, iipni, thia ground, they are led, 
 
 ]»' m ■•analltnlion of human mture, to c». 
 
 Mfsl thai Hktf wll happen in time to come, 
 
 in like drouBstanoca. 
 
 Tha knowWgo which the philoiopher 
 attaisi of llii' kwa of Natuia^ •diffiira from 
 'lhatrf'tlia''fiil|ar,not in/lba'lial|ifiwdpiaa 
 
 ■on wUei. tt ia grounded, but in its extent 
 .and aeouiaey. Ho coieota. with care the 
 'nbattomena that lead^ to' tha same conclu- 
 «ion, and oomparw than, with those that 
 mma to conliaiici or to Ihnit it He ob- 
 ■ervea the ^eireunistanoea on which every 
 .|ihMMinwnon, depends, and distfagniBhes 
 'Aeni, ■aaraiily 'from those that are aocident- 
 ■% eoi^ohiad with it. He puts natural 
 .iiidies in 'variiius situations, and apphes 
 ;4iam to one another in various ways, on 
 .pirpose' to observe tho' affoct ; and thus ac- 
 mlres from his senses a more extensive 
 knowledge of the course of Nature in a short 
 #11% than could be collectod by casual ob- 
 .■ippation 'in 'many 'ages. 
 
 lat vial is the result of his laborious 
 fiMcanshas ? It is, that, as far as he has 
 
 been able to observe, such things hava 
 always happened in such circumstances, and 
 such bodie» have always been found to have 
 such properties. These are matters of fact, 
 attested by sense, memory, and testimony, 
 just as the few facts which the vulgar know 
 are attested to them. 
 
 And what conclusions does the philoso- 
 pher draw from the facts he has collected ? 
 They are, that like eveuts have happened 
 in former times in like circumstances, and 
 will happen in time to come ; and these con- 
 dusious are built on the very same ground 
 on which the simple rustic concludes that 
 the sun will rise to-morrow. [097] 
 
 Facts reduced to general rules, and the 
 consequences of those general rules, are all 
 that we really know of the material world. 
 And the evidence that such general rules 
 have no exceptions, as well as the evidence 
 f ie ^ tliey will be the same in time to come 
 as they have been in time past, can never 
 be demonstrative. It is only that species 
 of evidence which philosophers call probable^ 
 General rules may have exceptions or lunit- 
 ations which no man ever had occasion to 
 observe. The kws of nature may be changed 
 by him who established them. But we are 
 led by our constitution to rely upon theur 
 contmuance with as little doubt as if it was 
 demonstrable. 
 
 I prcteutl not to have made a completo 
 enumeration of all the kinds of probable 
 evidence ; but those I have mentioned are 
 sufficient to shew, that the far greatest part, 
 and the most interesting part of our know- 
 ledge, must rest upon evidence of this kind ; 
 and that many thmgs are certain for which 
 w© have only that kind of evidence which 
 philoaophera call probable. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Of MB KOMI*! SCXFTICISM WFTH RXGAIW TO 
 RXASON. 
 
 In the « Treatise of Human Nature," 
 book I. part iv. § 1, the author undertakes 
 to prove two points h^First, That all that 
 is called human knowledge (meaning de» 
 monstrative knowledge) is only probability ; 
 and, aearmilif, That this probabUity, when 
 duly examined, evanishes by degrees, and 
 leaves at last no evidence at all : so that, 
 in the issue, there is no ground to believe 
 anyone proposition rather than its contrary; 
 and " all those are certainly fools who reason 
 or believe anything." [698] 
 
 Aooordmg to this account, reason, tliat 
 boasted prerogative of man, and theUght of 
 his mind, is an iffnisfatuua, which misleads 
 the wandering trnveller, and leaves him at 
 kst in absolute darkness. 
 
 How -unhappy is the condition of man, 
 
 [696-6981 
 
 born under a necessity of believing contra- 
 dictions, and of trusting to a guide who con- 
 fesses herself to be a false one ! 
 
 It is some comfort, that tbis doctrine can 
 never be seriously adopted by any man in 
 his senses. And after this author had 
 shewn that ** all the rules of logic require a 
 total extinction of all belief and evidence,** 
 he himself, and all men that are not insane, 
 must have believed many things, and yielded 
 assent to the evidence which he had ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 This, indeed, he is so candid as to acknow- 
 ledge. " He finds himself absolutely and 
 necessarily determined, to live and talk and 
 act like other people in the common affairs 
 of life. And since reason is incapable of 
 dispelling these clouds, most fortunately it 
 happens, that nature herself sufiices to that 
 purpose, and cures him of this philosophical 
 "melancholy and delirium." See § 7. 
 
 This was surely a very kind and friendly 
 interposition of nature; for the effects of 
 this philosophical delirium, if carried into 
 life, must have been very melancholy. 
 
 But what pity is it, that nature, (what- 
 ever is meant by that personage,) so kind 
 in curing this delirium, should be so cruel 
 as to cause it. Doth the same fountain 
 send forth sweet waters and bitter ? Is it 
 not more probable, that, if the cure was the 
 work of nature, the disease came from 
 another hand, and was the work of the 
 philosopher ? [699 J 
 
 To pretend to prove by reasonmg that 
 there is no force in reason, does indeed look 
 like a philosophical delirium. It is like a 
 man*H pretending to see clearly, that he 
 himself and all other men are blind. 
 
 A common symptom of delirium is, to 
 think that all other men are fools or mad. 
 This appears to have been the case of our 
 author, who concluded, " That all those are 
 certainiy fools who reason or believe any- 
 thmg.'» 
 
 Whatever was the cause of this delurium, 
 it must be granted that, if it was real and 
 not feigned, it was not to be cured by rea- 
 soning ; for what can be more absurd than 
 to attempt to convince a man by reasoning 
 who disowns the authority of reason. It 
 was, therefore, very fortunate that Nature 
 found other means of curing it. 
 
 It may, however, not be improper to 
 inquire, whether, as the author thinks, it 
 was produced by a just application of the 
 rules of logic, or, as others may be apt to 
 think, by th© misapplication and abuse of 
 them. 
 
 Firstj Because we arc fallible, the author 
 infers that all knowledge degenerates into 
 probability. 
 
 That man, and probably every created 
 being, is fallible; and that a fallible being 
 cannot have that perfect comprehension 
 [699-7011 
 
 and assurance of truth which an infallible 
 bemg has~I think ought to be granted. It 
 becomes a fallible being to be modest, open 
 to new .light, and sensible that, by some 
 false bias, or by rash judging, he may be 
 misled. If this be called a degree of scep- 
 ticism, I cannot help approving of it, being 
 persuaded that the man who makes the best 
 use he can of the faculties which God has 
 given him, without thinking them more per- 
 fect than they really are, may have all the 
 belief that is necessary in the conduct of 
 life, and all that is necessary to bis accept- 
 ance with his Maker. [700] 
 
 It is granted, then, that human judg- 
 ments ought always to be formed with an 
 humble sense of our fallibility in judging. 
 
 This is all that can be inferred by the 
 rules of logic from our being fallible. And 
 if this be all that is meant by our know- 
 ledge degenerating into probability, I know 
 no person of a different opinion. 
 
 But it may be observed, that the author 
 here uses the word probability in a sense 
 for which I know no authority but his own. 
 Philosophers understand probability as op- 
 posed to demonstration ; the vulgar as 
 opposed to certainty ; but this author un- 
 derstands it as opposed to infallibility, which 
 no man claims. 
 
 One who believes himself to be fallible 
 may still hold it to be certain that two and 
 two make four, and that two contradictory 
 propositions cannot both be true. He may 
 believe some things to be probable only, 
 and other things to be demonstrable^ with- 
 out making any pretence to infallibility. 
 
 If we use words in their proper meaning, 
 it is impossible that demonstration should 
 degenerate into probability from the imper- 
 fection of our faculties. Our judgment can- 
 not change the nature of the things about 
 which we judge. What is really demon- 
 stration, will still be so, whatever judgment 
 we form concerning it. It may, likewise, 
 be observed, that, when we mistake that foi 
 demonstration which really is not, the con- 
 sequence of this mistake is^ not that de- 
 monstration degenerates into probability, 
 but that what we took to be demonstration 
 is no proof at all ; for one false step in .a 
 demonstration destroys the whole, but can- 
 not turn it into another kind of proofl 
 [701] 
 
 Upon the whole, then, this first conclu- 
 sion of our author. That the fallibility of 
 human judgment turns all knowledge into 
 probability, if understood literally, is absurd ; 
 but, if it be only a figure of speech, and 
 means no more but that, in all our judg- 
 ments, we ought to be sensible of our falli- 
 bility, and ought to hold our opinions with 
 that modesty that becomes fallible crea- 
 tures—which I take to be what the aathor 
 meant — this, I think, nobody denies, nor 
 
4m 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. 
 
 [■WAV VII 
 
 OHAF. IV.] OF MR HUME'S SCEPTICISM ABOUT REASON. 
 
 487 
 
 
 it mmmmrj to enter into a kborious 
 
 pNwf 'Hf it. 
 
 One iB never in gimter infer of trans- 
 fieeiiiig. afiiiiil tlM: rules of lofie than in 
 ■ttenfung to 'pfove wlul neede no prool 
 Of tltie we liave an inalsmW' in IMb veij 
 ease ; for the author begins his proof, that 
 all human judgments are lUlihle^ with af- 
 inninf that some. arO' infillible. 
 
 «*' In ^all iemoMtiatlve sciencei,'* mjn 
 he, " the rules are certain and infallible ; 
 but when we applj them, emr &Uible and 
 nnaertain lacnlties are very apt to^ depart 
 from them, and fall into error.** 
 
 He had forgot, munlj, that the rules of 
 demonstrative scieiioes are discovered by 
 enr fallible and uncertain famlttes, and 
 .liave no authority but that nf hom.an judg- 
 ment If they he inWHWe, .some human 
 JB%raent» are infalltble ; and there ar© many 
 m various branches of human knowledge 
 which have as 0md a elaim to inlallibtltty 
 as the mles' of the demonstrative sciences. 
 
 We have reason here to find fault with 
 our author for not being sceptical enough, 
 as well as for a mistake in reasoning, when 
 he dains infallibility to certain decisions of 
 the iiman 'ibenltlee, in order to prove thut 
 all their decisions are fallible. 
 
 The geemid point which he attempts to 
 ftmm 'is. That, this probability, when duly 
 eiamined, infers a 'Continual diminution, 
 and: :at' last a total extinction. 
 
 The obvious eonsequence of this is, that 
 no fallible being ean have good reason to 
 lielieve anything ^t all ; but let us hear the 
 proof. |70'2'] 
 
 •• In every judgment, we ought to eor- 
 reet the first judgment derived from the 
 natare of 'tfie object, by another judgment 
 derived 'IImmb. HM: Mture of the understand- 
 ing. Beside the original uncertainty inher- 
 ent in the subject, there arises another, 
 ^derived. fwmi the wetliness of the faculty 
 'Wiiih Judges. Having .adjusted these two 
 'itiMertaintkS' together, 'we an obliged, by 
 eur reason, to add a new uncertainty, de- 
 rived from the possibility of error in the 
 'estimation «e ;imiEe of the 'truth and fidelity 
 '<if OOF imKlea. Thfa m a doubt of which, 
 if we would closely pursue our reasoning, 
 we eannot avoid giving a deeisbn* But 
 this decision, thm^^. It ahwiM be favour- 
 able to our preceding judgment, being 
 founded only on probi^iity, 'BnHt weaken 
 •till farther our int evidence. The third 
 uncertainty must, m like manner be critt- 
 'Ciied by m fourth, ^and m cm without end* 
 
 ^' Mow, •■ every ene ef these uncertainties 
 takeS' away a part of the original evidence, 
 it must at hist be reduced to nothing. Let 
 Mr iiat belief he ever so strong, it must in- 
 Mlil Ij perish, by passing through so many 
 •Bammattona, eaeb of which carries off 
 somewhat of Its force and vigour. Mo finito 
 
 object can subsist under a decrease repeated 
 in injimitumm 
 
 ** When I reflect on the natural fallibil- 
 ity of my judgment, I have less confidence 
 in my opinions tlian when I only consider 
 the objects concerning which I reason. And 
 when I proceed still farther, to turn the scru- 
 tiny against every ruccessive estimation I 
 make of my faculties, all the rules of logic 
 require a continual diminution, and at last 
 a total extinction of belief and evidence,*' 
 
 This is the author's Achillean argument 
 against the evidence of reason, from which 
 lie concludes, that a man who would govern 
 his belief by reason must believe notiiingat 
 all, and that belief is an act, not of the co« 
 gitative, but of the sensitive part of our 
 nature. [703] 
 
 If there be any such thing as motion, 
 (said an ancient Sceptic,*) the swift-footod 
 Achilles could never overtake an old man 
 in a journey. For, suppose the old man to 
 set out a thousand paces before Achilles, 
 and that, while Acliilles has travelled the 
 thousand paces, the old man has gone five 
 hundred ; when Achilles has gone the five 
 hundred, the old nmn has gone two hun- 
 dred and fifty; and when Achilles has 
 gone the two hundred and fifty, the old 
 man is still one hundred and twenty-five 
 before him. Repeat these estimations in 
 i^0miumj and you will still find the old man 
 foremost; therefore Achilles can never 
 overtake him ; therefore there can be no 
 such thing as motion. 
 
 The reasoning of the modem Sceptto 
 against reason is equally ingenious, and 
 equally convincing. Indeed, they have a 
 great sunilarity. 
 
 If we trace the journey of Achilles two 
 thousand paces, we shall find the very 
 point where the old man is overtaken. But 
 this short journey, by dividing it into an 
 infinite number of stages, with correspond- 
 ing estimations, is made to appear infinite. 
 In like manner, our author, subjecting 
 every judgment to an infinite number of 
 successive probable estimatious, reduces 
 the evidence to nothing. 
 
 To return then to the argument of the 
 modem Sceptic. I examine the proof of a 
 theorem of Euclid. It appears to me to be 
 strict demonstration- But I may have 
 overlooked some fallacy; therefore I ex- 
 amine it again and a;;ain, but can find no 
 flaw in it. I find all that have examined 
 it agree with me. I have now that evidence 
 of the truth of the proposition which I and 
 all men call demonstration, aud that belief 
 of it which we call certainty. [704] 
 
 Here my sceptical friend interposes, and 
 assures me, that the rules of logic reduce 
 
 * Zcnn Kleatct, He it impia|)crl| called, t^iqilt 
 
 [70« 701] 
 
 lliifl demonstration to no evidence at aU. 
 I am willing to hear what step in it he thinks 
 fallacious, and why. He makes no objec- 
 tion to any part of the demonstration, but 
 pleads my fallibility in judging. I have 
 made the proper allowance for this already, 
 by being open to conviction. But, says he, 
 there are two uncertainties, the first inherent 
 in the subject, which I have already shewn 
 to have only probable evidence ; the second 
 arising from the weakness of the ^faculty 
 that judges. I answer, it is the weakness of 
 the faculty only that reduces this demonstra- 
 tion to what you call probability. You 
 must not therefore make it a second uncer- 
 tainty; for it is the same with the first. 
 To take credit twice in an account for 
 the same article is not agreeable to the 
 rules of logic. Hitherto, therefore, there 
 Is but one uncertainty— to wit, my fallibility 
 in judging. 
 
 But, says my friend, you are obliged by 
 reason to add a new uncertainty, derived 
 from the possibility of error in the estima- 
 tion you make of the truth and fidelity of 
 your faculties. I answer— 
 
 This estimation is ambiguously ex- 
 pressed ; it may either mean an estimation 
 of my liableness to err by the misapplica- 
 tion and abuse of my faculties ; or it may 
 mean an estimation of my liableness to err 
 by conceiving my faculties to be true and 
 faithful, while they may be false and falla- 
 cious in themselves, even when applied in 
 the best manner. I shall consider this 
 estimation in each of these senses. 
 
 If the first be the estimation meant, it is 
 true that reason directs us, as falUble crea- 
 tures, to carry along with us, in all our 
 judgments, a sense of our fallibility. It is 
 true also, that we are in greater danger of 
 erring in some cases, and less in others ; 
 and that this danger of erring may, accord- 
 ing to the circumstances of the case, admit 
 of an estimation, which we ought likewise 
 to carry along with us in every judgment 
 we form. [705] 
 
 When a demonstration is short and plain ; 
 when the point to be proved does not 
 touch our interest or our passions ; when 
 the faculty of judging, in such cases, has 
 acquired strength by much exercise — there is 
 less danger of erring ; when the contrary 
 circumstances take place, there is more. 
 
 In the present case, every circumstance 
 is favourable to the judgment I have formed. 
 There cannot be less danger of erring in 
 any case, excepting, perhaps, when I judge 
 of a self-evident axiom- 
 
 The Sceptic farther urges, that thb deci- 
 sion, though favourable to my first judg- 
 ment, being founded only on probability, 
 must still weaken the evidence of that judg- 
 ment- 
 Here I cannot help being of a quite con- 
 C7a5, 7061 
 
 trary opinion ; nor can I imagine how an 
 ingenious author could impose upon himself 
 so grossly ; for surely he did not intend to 
 impose upon his reader. 
 
 After repeated examination of a propo- 
 sition of £uclid, I judge it to be strictly 
 demonstrated; this is my first judgment. 
 But, as I am liable to err from various 
 causes, I consider how far I may have been 
 misled by any of these causes in this judg- 
 ment. My decision upon this second point 
 is favourable to my first judgment, and 
 therefore, as I apprehend, must strengthen 
 it. To say that this decision, because it is 
 only probable, must weaken the first evi- 
 dence, seems to me contrary to all rules of 
 logic, and to common sense. 
 
 The first judgment may be compared to 
 the testimony of a credible witness ; the 
 second, after a scrutiny into the character 
 of the witness, wipes off every objection 
 that can be made to it, and therefore surely 
 must confirm and not weaken his testi- 
 mony. [706] 
 
 But let us suppose, that, in another case, 
 I examine my first judgment upon some 
 point, and find that it was attended with 
 unfavourable circumstances, what, in rea- 
 son, aud according to the rules of logic, 
 ought to be the effect of this discovery ? 
 
 The effect surely will be, and ought to 
 be, to make me less confident in my first 
 judgment, until I examine the point anew 
 in more favourable circumstances. If it 
 be a matter of importance, I return to 
 weigh the evidence of my first judgment. 
 If it was precipitate before, it must now be 
 deliberate in every point. If, at first, I 
 was in passion, I must now be cool. If I 
 had an interest in the decision, I must 
 place the interest on the other side. 
 
 It is evident that this review of the sub- 
 ject may confirm my first judgment, not- 
 withstanding the suspicious circumstances 
 that attended it. Though the judge was 
 biassed or corrupted, it does not follow that 
 the sentence was unjust. The rectitude of 
 the decision does not depend upon the cha- 
 racter of the judge, but upon the nature of 
 the case. From that only, it must be deter- 
 mined whether the decision be just. The 
 circumstances that rendered it suspicious 
 are mere presumptions, which have no force 
 against direct evidence. 
 
 Thus, I have considered the effect of this 
 estimation of our liableness to err in our 
 first judgment, aud have allowed to it all 
 the effect that reason and the rules of logic 
 permit. In the case I first supposed, and 
 in every case where we can discover no 
 cause of error, it affords a presumption in 
 favour of the first judgment. In other 
 cases, it may afford a presumption against 
 it. But the rales of logic require, that we 
 should not judge by presumptions, where 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [may vn. 
 
 «• ]»v« tfnet tvidoiM. 11i« cANst of an 
 ■niiiiiiiiBlite piMiii|»tion ehoiild onlv be, 
 to make ni eiamine tlie evidence witb tbe 
 ,gfester care. [707] * 
 
 HM' leefitie iiife%: in. tlie last' plaoe^ tliat 
 Ibis •a ti iii aii w i, iniiit lie:mibjeeted to another 
 lltillialili% tbai to anotber, and so on, in In- 
 jiiiiMai' I ^andM every new eatimiataon takes 
 •wif ftum the 'evidewse of tbe^ Hist |iidg* 
 mmd, it Must at last be totally anmbilateiC 
 
 I answer, jSf If, It baa been sbewn above, 
 Unl tlW' irst 'eatliiation, supposing it nn- 
 HnroaaMe, eaa mty alfaid a presumption 
 ^against tbe ifsl^ judgiiMit; tbe second, 
 apn tbe same supposition, will be only the 
 pminptioii of a presumption; and tbe 
 tbivdy w 'pnsmnptioia that there is a pie*' 
 mmptiiiii 1^ n prenunplion. This infinite 
 ■eties of preeumptiaui resembles an infinite 
 series of quantities, decreasing in geome- 
 trical proportion, which amounts only to a 
 finite sum. 'Hie infinite seiiaa ^of stages of 
 4ehilles*sjoainey aller the old man, amounts 
 only to two thousand paces i nor can this 
 infinite aeries of presumptions outweigh one 
 Miiid aiganent in favomr of the first judg- 
 :iiieiit, supiMising tbem ^al to be 'unfiivour- 
 
 Ji«fM% I iate shewn, that the estima-' 
 tlott. of 'Out' iiat judgment may atisngtlieii 
 it ; and the same thing may be said of dl tlW' 
 •nbsequent 'estimations. It would, there- 
 fore^ be as reasonable to conclude, that tbe 
 fimtjudgment will be brought to infallible 
 ceiliiinij wImD: 'HiiS' .seiieS' of estimations is 
 wholly m Mb iivoiir, aa that its evidence 
 will be bMMgiil to nothing by such a series 
 supposed to be who% uniavounible to it 
 .Bat|, :in leaitj, oao' sorionS' and cool re- 
 ■ fwaiiiiiaiioa m the evidence by which our 
 fflnt Judgment is supported, has, and in 
 ittason ought tobavemore force tostrengthen 
 or weaken it, than an infinite series of such 
 '•sthnations m ma author lof uiies.' 
 
 7*Alr</|jr, I know no veason nor rule in 
 logic, that requires that such a series of 
 estinations should folow every particular 
 Jntenent [708] 
 
 £ wise' man, who baa inaetised naaoning, 
 knows that be is iyiilil% and carries this 
 •onviction along witb bim in every judg- 
 ment he forms. He knows likewise that 
 IM' .is more liable tO' err in some' eases than 
 in iifaeis. Me has a leale .in. his mind, by 
 niileh be estimates his :Malihne8s to err, and 
 If this be rtgiihites.the degree of bis assent 
 .in hla fiiat jiii%ntnt upon, any point. 
 
 Tito antmi^ 'leasonint supposes, that a 
 mm, iiImii he forms bis first judgment, 
 floneoiviia tiimself to be inlUlible ; that by a 
 laaiili and subsequent judgment, be dis- 
 •oviini 'that be Is not hilUlibb ; and that by 
 .» ttiid jnlgmsiii, sabsofiMOt to the second, 
 he estiniates his liablsiiefi' to err in mch a 
 'CS'Se aS' the pnsenla' 
 
 If tbe man proceed in this order. I grant, 
 tliat his second judgment will, with good 
 reason, bring down the first from supposed 
 infallibility to fallibility ; and that his third 
 Judgment will, in some degree, either 
 Ktrengthen or weaken tbe first, as it is cor- 
 rected by the second. ^ 
 
 But every man of understanding proceeds 
 in a contrary order. When about to judj^ 
 in any partictilar point, he knows already 
 that be is not infallible. He knows what 
 are the cases in which be is most or least 
 liable to err. The conviction of these things 
 is always present to his luind, and LnflueDces 
 the degree of his assent in his first judg- 
 ment, as far as to him appears reasonable. 
 
 If he should afterwards find reason to 
 suspect his first judgment, and desires to 
 have all tlie satisfaction his faculties can 
 give, reason will direct him not to form 
 such a series of estimations upon estima- 
 tions, as this author requires, but to examine 
 the evideuce of bis first judgment carefully 
 and coolly ; and this review may very reason- 
 ably, according to its result, either strengthen 
 or weaken, or totally overturn his first 
 judgment [709] 
 
 This infinite series of estimations, there- 
 fore, is not tbe method that reason directs, 
 in order to form our judgment in any caee. 
 It is introduced without necessity, without 
 any use but to puzzle the understanding, 
 and to make us think, that to judge, even 
 in the simplest and plainest cases, is a mat- 
 ter of insurmountable difficulty and endless 
 labour ; just as the ancient Sceptic, to make 
 a Journey of two thousand paces appear 
 endless, divided it into an infinite number 
 of stages. 
 
 But we observed, that the estimation 
 which our author requires, may admit of 
 anotber meaning, which, indeed, is more 
 agreeable to the expression, but inconsist- 
 ent witb what he advanced before. 
 
 By the possibility of error in the estima- 
 tion of the truth and fidelity of our faeulties, 
 may be meant, that we may err by esteem- 
 ing our faculties true and faithful* while they 
 may be false and fallacious, even when used 
 according to tbe rules of reason and logic. 
 
 If this be meant, I answer, Jirst, That 
 the truth and fidelity of our faculty of judg- 
 ing is, and must be taken for granted in 
 eveinr indgment and in every estimation. 
 
 If the sceptic can seriously doubt of the 
 truth and fidelity of his faculty of judging 
 when properly used, and suspend his judg- 
 ment upon that point till he finds proof, his 
 scepticism admits of no cure by reasoning, 
 and he must even continue in it until he 
 liavc new faculties given him, which shall 
 have authority to sit in judgment upon the 
 old. Nor is there any need of an endless 
 succession of doubts upon this subject; for 
 the first puts an end to all judgment and 
 
 [T07-70!>"» 
 
 CBAF. iv.J OF MR HUME'S SCEPTICISM ABOUT REASON. 
 
 489 
 
 reasoning, and to the possibility of convic- 
 tion by tliat means. The sceptic has here 
 got possession of a stronghold, which is im- 
 pregnable to reasoning, and we must leave 
 him in possession of it till Nature, by other 
 means, makes him give it up. [710] 
 
 Secondly^ I observe, that this ground of 
 scepticism, from the supposed infidelity of 
 our faculties, contradicts what the author 
 before advanced in this very argument — ^to 
 wit, that " the rules of the demonstrative 
 sciences are certain and infallible, and tliat 
 truth is the natural effect of reason, and 
 that error arises from the irruption of other 
 
 causes. 
 
 But, perhaps, he made these concessions 
 unwarily. He is, therefore, at liberty to 
 retract them, and to rest his scepticism upon 
 this sole foundation. That no reasoning can 
 prove the truth and fidelity of our faculties. 
 Here he stands upon firm ground ; for it is 
 evident that every argument offered to 
 prove the truth and fidelity of our faculties, 
 takes for granted the thing in question, and 
 is, therefore, that kind of sophism which 
 logicians call petitio principv. 
 
 All we would ask of this kind of sceptic 
 IS, that he would be uniform and consistent, 
 and that his practice in lite do not belie his 
 profession of scepticism, with regard to the 
 fidelity of his faculties ; for the want of faith, 
 as well as faith itself, is best shewn by 
 works. If a sceptic avoid the fire as much 
 as those who believe it dangerous to go 
 into it, we can hardly avoid thinking his 
 scepticism to be feigned, and not real. 
 
 Our author, indeed, was aware, that 
 neither his scepticism nor that of any other 
 person, was able to endure this trial, and, 
 therefore, enters a caveat against it. 
 ** Neither I," says he, " nor any other per- 
 son was ever sincerely and constantly of 
 that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and 
 uncontrollable necessity, has determined us 
 to judge, as well as to breathe and feel. My 
 intention, therefore," says he, " in display- 
 ing so carefully the arguments of that fan- 
 tastic sect, is only to make the reader sen- 
 sible of the truth of my hypothesis, that all 
 our reasonings concerning causes and effects, 
 are derived fn)m nothing but custom, and 
 that belief is more properly an act (^ tbe 
 £710-713] 
 
 sensitive than of the cogitative part of our 
 nature.** [711] 
 
 We have before considered the first part 
 of this hypothesis. Whether our reasoning 
 about causes be derived only from custom ? 
 
 The other part of the author's hypothesis 
 here mentioned is darkly expressed, though 
 the expression seems to be studied, as it is 
 put in Italics. It cannot, surely, mean 
 that belief is not an act of thinking. It is 
 not, therefore, the power of thinking that 
 he calls the cogitative part of our nature. 
 Neither can it be the power of judging, for 
 all belief implies judgment ; and to believe 
 a proposition means the same thing as to 
 judge it to be true. It seems, therefore, to 
 be the power of reasoning that he calls the 
 cogitative part of our nature. 
 
 If this be the meaning, I agree to it in 
 part The belief of first principles is not 
 an act of the reasoning power ; for all rea- 
 soning must be grounded upon them. Wo 
 judge them to be true, and believe them 
 without reasoning. But why this power of 
 judging of first principles should be called 
 the sensitive part of our nature, I do not 
 understand. 
 
 As our belief of first principles is an act 
 of pure judgment without reasoning ; so 
 our belief of the conclusions drawn by rea- 
 EM>nlng from first principles, may, I think, be 
 called an act of tbe reasoning faculty. 
 [712] 
 
 Upon the whole, I see only two conclu- 
 sions that can be fairly drawn from this 
 profound and intricate reasoning against 
 reason. The first is. That we are fallible 
 in all our judgments and in all our reason- 
 ings. The second. That the truth and 
 fidelity of our faculties can never be proved 
 by reasoning ; and, therefore, our belief of 
 it cannot be founded on reasoning. If the 
 last be what the author calls his hypothesis, 
 I subscribe to it, and think it not an hypo- 
 thesis, but a manifest truth ; though I con- 
 ceive it to be very improperly expressed, by 
 saying that belief is more properly an act 
 of the sensitive than of the cogitative part 
 of our nature. • [713] 
 
 * In the preceding gtrictures, the Sceuta* i«again 
 too often auailed «i a Dogmatist. See wovm p. 4il 
 note ♦.— H. 
 
wWI 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWBHa [eway viii. 
 
 CHAP. I. ] 
 
 OF TASTE IN GENERAL. 
 
 491 
 
 11 
 
 ESSAY VIII. 
 
 OF TAbTE, 
 
 CM AFTER L 
 
 OF TASTE IN OSNBEAL. 
 
 That ;miwer ^ 'ilM mind hf whkA we 
 mm mpaim df iimaniliif and nliiliing tlie 
 IwMlws of Natare, and wliatevw is excel- 
 lent in the fine arts, is called taste. 
 
 Tli# «lef wil .iem» of tast% bj which we 
 iiatinguiah and iwlish the various kinds of 
 food, La given occasion to a metophoricaj 
 application of iu name to this internal 
 p^wer of the mind, by wfaioh we perceive 
 what^ is beautiful mnd wlal h defomed or 
 defective in the 'variouS' objeisit that we 
 eontemplate. 
 
 Like the taste of the pakle, it relishes 
 wnie thinp, U diapisted with others ; with 
 fogard to nanj, is indiAient or dubious ; 
 and is considerably influenced by habit, by 
 associations, and by opinion. These obvious 
 •naiogies between external and internal 
 taate,: 'have led men, in all ages, and in 
 d or most polUiid langnagee,*' to give the 
 name of the external sense' to this power of 
 dliieemtng what is beautiful with fileasnre, 
 ■iMl, 'Viiat m uriv and faulty in its kind with 
 ^Misi [714] 
 
 IB treating of this as an intelleetual 
 power of the mind, I intend only to make 
 some observations, first on its mitnf% and 
 then on ila objeets* 
 
 1. In tie oxtemal aenae of taste, we are 
 led by reason and reiection to distinpish 
 lietween the agreeable sensation we feel, .and 
 the fuaity in the ohjeet'. whieh, occasions it. 
 Both' }mm Urn ■mam wmmf and on that ac- 
 eount aro: ^afit tH'teconfouiiei. bj'tiiS' vulip, 
 and even by philosophersi The sensation 
 I feel when I taste any sapid body is in my 
 mind.; but thers' is a real quality in the 
 liody whieh ia the causO' of wis sensation. 
 Iliese two things, have the same name in 
 ;iaqgnim», 'not 'imii. any staOitude^ in thetf 
 :iiatwr«^ but because the one is the sign of 
 the other, and becanae thure. ia little occa- 
 sion in common, 'life to distlngiiiah them. 
 
 This was fully explained in treating of the 
 aeeondary qualities of bodies. The leaaon 
 of 'taUag mitiuo of it now is, that the in- 
 ternal powtT'Of taste bears a gnal. analogy 
 in this napeet to the external. 
 
 When a beautiful object is before us, w« 
 
 * Ihk it .hanllf cwrect..— H. 
 
 may distinguish the agreeable emotion it 
 produces in us, from the quality of the ob- 
 ject which causes that emotion. When I 
 hear an air in music that pleases me, I say, 
 it is fine, it is excellent. This excellence is 
 not in me ; it is in the music But the 
 pleasure it gives is not in the music ; it is 
 in me. Perhaps I cannot say what it is in 
 the tnno that pleases my ear, as I cannot 
 say what it is in a sapid body that pleases my 
 pakte ; but there is a quality m the sapid 
 body which pleases my palate, and I call it 
 a delicious taste; and there is a quality in 
 the tune that pleases my taste, and I call it 
 a fine or an exceltent air. 
 
 This ought the rather to be observed, 
 because it is become a fashion among mo- 
 dem philosophers, to resolve all ourpercep* 
 tions into mere feelings or sensations in the 
 person that perceives, without anything 
 corresponding to those feelings in the ex- 
 ternal object. [715] According to those 
 philosophers, there is no heat in the fire, 
 no taste in a sapid body ; the taste and the 
 heat being only in the person that feels 
 them.* In like manner, there is no beauty 
 in any object whatsoever ; it is only a sens- 
 ation or feeUng in the person that per- 
 ceives it. 
 
 The language and the common sense of 
 mankind contradict this theory. Even those 
 who hold it, find themselves obliged to uso 
 a language that contradicts it. 1 had occa- 
 sion to shew, that there is no solid founda- 
 tion for it when applied to the secondary 
 qualities of body ; and the same arguments 
 shew equally, that it has no solid foundation 
 when applied to the beauty of objects, or to 
 any of those qualities that are perceived by 
 a good taste. 
 
 But, though some of the qualities that 
 please a good tasto resemble the secondary 
 qualities of body, and therefore may be 
 called occult qualities, as we only feel thew 
 effect, and have no more knowledge of the 
 cause, but that it is something which is 
 adapted by nature to produce that effiect— 
 thia ii not always the case. 
 
 Our judgment of beauty is in many cases 
 more enlightened. A work of art may 
 appear beautiful to the most ignorant, even 
 to a child. It pleases, but he knows not 
 
 • But »m, Stinw, p. 8», l>, nuts *. «m» p. SI© b, 
 
 [TI4, TIS] 
 
 
 why. To one who understands it perfectly, 
 and perceives how every part is fitted with 
 exact judgment to its end, the beauty is not 
 mysterious ; it is perfectly comprehended ; 
 and he knows wherein it consists, as well 
 as how it afiects him. 
 
 2. We may observe, tliat, though all the 
 tastes* we perceive by the palate are either 
 agreeable or disagreeable, or indifferent ; 
 yet, among those that are agreeable, there 
 is great diversity, not in degree only, but in 
 kind. And, as we have not generical names 
 for all the different kinds of taste, we dis- 
 tinguish them by the bodies in which they 
 are found. [716] 
 
 In like manner, all the objects of our 
 internal taste are either beautiful, or dis- 
 agreeable, or indifferent ; yet of beauty there 
 is a great diversity, not only of degree, but 
 of kind. The beauty of a demonstration, 
 the beauty of a poem, the beauty of a palace, 
 the beauty of a piece of music, the beauty 
 of a fine woman, and many more that might 
 be named, are different kinds of beauty ; 
 and we have no names to distinguish them 
 but the names of the diii'ereut objects to 
 which they belong. 
 
 As there is such diversity in the kinds of 
 beauty as well as in the degrees, we need 
 not think it strange that philosophers have 
 gone into different systems in analysing it, 
 and enumerating its simple ingredients. 
 They have made many just observations on 
 tlie subject ; but, from the love of simplicity, 
 have reduced it to fewer principles than the 
 nature of the thing will permit, having had 
 in their eye some particular kinds of beauty, 
 while they overlooked others. 
 
 There are moral beauties as well as na- 
 tural ; beauties in the objects of sense, and 
 in intellectual objects ; in the works of men, 
 and in the works of God ; in things inani- 
 mate, in brute animals, and in rational 
 beings ; in the constitution of the body of 
 man, and in the constitutiou of his mind. 
 There is no real excellence which has not 
 its beauty to a discerning eye, when placed 
 in a proper point of view ; and it is as diffi- 
 cult to enumerate the ingredients of beauty 
 as the ingredients of real excellence. 
 
 3. The taste of the palate may be accounted 
 roost just and perfect, when we relish the 
 things that are St for the nourishment of 
 the body, and are disgusted with things of 
 a contrary nature. The manifest intention 
 of nature in giving us this sense, is, that 
 we may discern what it is fit for us to eat 
 and to drink, and wliat it is not. Brute 
 animals are directed in the choice of their 
 food merely by their taste. [717] Led by 
 this guide, they choose the food that nature 
 intended for them, and seldom make mis- 
 takes, unless they be pinched by hunger, or 
 deceived by artificial compositions. In in- 
 fants likewise the taste is commonly sound 
 [716-718J 
 
 and uncorrupted, and of the simple produc- 
 tions of nature they relish the things that 
 are most wholesome. 
 
 In like manner, our internal taste ought 
 to be accounted most just and perfect, when 
 we are pleased with things that are most 
 excellent in their kind, and displeased with 
 the contrary. The intention of nature is 
 no less evident in this internal taste than 
 in the external. Every excellence has a 
 real beauty and charm that makes it an 
 agreeable object to those who have the 
 faculty of discerning its beauty ; and this 
 faculty is what we call a good taste. 
 
 A man who, by any disorder in his mental 
 powers, or by bad habits, has contracted a 
 relish for what has no real excellence, or 
 what is deformed and defective, has a de- 
 praved taste, like one who finds a more 
 agreeable relish in ashes or cinders than in 
 the most wholesome food. As we must ac- 
 knowledge the taste of the palate to be de- 
 praved in this case, there is the same reason 
 to think the taste of the mind depraved in 
 the other. 
 
 There is therefore a just and rational 
 taste, and there is a depraved and corrupted 
 taste. For it is too evident, that, by bad 
 education, bad habits, and wrong associa- 
 tions, men may acquire a relish for nasti- 
 ness, for rudeness, and ill-breeding, and for 
 many other deformities. To say that such 
 a taste is not vitiated, is no less absurd than 
 to say, that the sickly girl who delights in 
 eating charcoal and tobacco-pipes, has as 
 just and natural a taste as when she is in 
 perfect health. 
 
 4. The force of custom, of fancy, and of 
 casual associations, is very great both upon 
 the external and internal taste. An Eski- 
 maux can regale himself with a draught of 
 whale-oil, and a Canadian can feast upon a 
 dog. A Kamschatkadale lives upon putrid 
 fish, and is sometimes reduced to eat the 
 bark of trees. The taste of rum , or of green 
 tea, is at first as nauseous as that of ipeca- 
 cuan, to some persons, who may be brought 
 by use to relish what they once found so 
 disagreeable. [718] 
 
 When we see such varieties in the tasto 
 of the palate produced by custom and as- 
 sociations, and some, perhaps, by constitu- 
 tion, we may be the less surprised that the 
 same causes should produce like varieties 
 in the taste of beauty ; that the African 
 should esteem thick lips and a flat nose ; 
 that other nations should draw out their 
 ears, till they hang over theur shoulders! 
 that in one nation ladies should paint their 
 faces, and in another should make them 
 shuie with grease. 
 
 5. Those who conceive that there is no 
 standard in nature by which taste may be 
 regulated, and that the common proverb, 
 " That there ought to be no dispute about 
 
ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [bisay viii. 
 
 OHAP. II.] 
 
 OF NOVELTY. 
 
 493 
 
 taste,** it to bo ialwn in the utmost l&titade, 
 m upon tlendor and insufficient ground. 
 T!ie samo afgunwnla .might be used with 
 equal force a^aiml sny standard of truth. 
 
 Whole natwiia 1^ the force of prejudice 
 sre brought to believe the grossest absurdi- 
 ties ; and why shoiid il bo thought that the 
 taite is less capable of being perverted than 
 the judgment f It must indeed be admow. 
 Myedi that men dtlfer more in the iacultv 
 of taste than ia^ what we commonly call 
 jadgmoDl 3 and tliaielnreiit may bC' expected 
 that they should te^mofe liable to .have their 
 taste 'COinipted. in matters of bimty and 
 deformity, than their judgment In matters 
 of truth and error. 
 
 .If we make due allowance iar this, we 
 ■haU see that it is as easy to account for 
 the variety of tastes^ though there be in 
 nature a standard of true boHity, and con- 
 sequently of good tast%. Ml ft' Is to account 
 for the variety .and eontiarlety of opinions, 
 though therO' be in 'nature a standard of 
 of truth, snd, consequently, of right judg- 
 ment. [719] 
 
 i. Nay, if we speak aceuratoly and 
 strictly, we shall find that, in every opera- 
 tion of taste, there is judgment implied. 
 
 When a man pronounces a poem or a 
 pdae O ' to' ho beautiful, he affirms somethiug 
 of' thai poem or that. pahMse; and every 
 '■ninwtion ot' denial eipiisioe jiMlgiiient. 
 For wo cannot better dei.ne' judgment, than 
 by sayiqg that it is an aUrmation or denial 
 m mm thing concerning another. I had 
 occasion to shew, when treating of judg- 
 ment that it is implied in every perception 
 of our eitomal senses. There is an imme- 
 diate oonvietion and belief of the eadstonoe 
 of the quality 'perceived, whether it be 
 eolour, or sound, or figure ; and the same 
 thhig holds in Ae peneption of beauty or 
 deformity. 
 
 If it be siyd that the pefoeption of beauty 
 is merely a feeling in the mind that per^ 
 edives, without any belief of excellence In 
 the ol|eet, the neceesary consequence of 
 Ibis opnion i% that when I say Yiigil's 
 '* Cteoigies** is a beautiful poem, I mean not 
 to say anything of the poem, but only some- 
 iMiig concerning myself and my feelings. 
 Why should I use a luiguap that expresses 
 'the contrary of what I mean f 
 
 My language, according to the necessary 
 mies of eonstnietion, can bear no other 
 meaning hut this, that there is something 
 In iie poenii and 'not in. me, 'whIch I call 
 'hean^* Even those 'Who bold beauty to 
 be netoly a feehng in the person that per- 
 ceives It, find themselves under a necessity 
 of I iiiiiiMniiii tteinselvoa ■■. if baantv wmm 
 ioWtjr* fnaity of' the ol|eet» mni 'mot of 
 iie poicipieni. 
 
 No reason can be given why all roan- 
 kind should express themselves thus, but that 
 they believe what they say. It is there- 
 fore contrary to the universal sense of 
 mankind, expressed by their language, that 
 beauty is not really in the object, but is 
 merely a feeling in the person who is said 
 to perceive it Philosophers should be very 
 cautious in opposing the common sense 
 of mankind ; for, when they do, they rarely 
 miss going wrong. [720] 
 
 Our judgment of beauty is not indeed a 
 dry and uuaffectmg judgment, like that- of 
 a mathematical or metaphysical truth. By 
 the constitution of our nature, it is accom- 
 
 ried with an agreeble feeling or emotion, 
 which we have no other name but the 
 sense of beauty. Thissense of beauty, like 
 the perceptions of our other senses, implies 
 not only a feeling, but an opinion of some 
 quality In the object which occasions that 
 feeling. 
 
 In objects that please the taste, we alwajrs 
 judge that there is some real excellence, 
 some superiority to those that do not 
 please. In some cases, that superior ex- 
 cellence is distinctly perceived, and can 
 be pointed out; in other cases, we have 
 only a general notion of some excellence 
 which we cannot describe. Beauties of the 
 former kind may be compared to the 
 primary qualities perceived by the external 
 senses ; those of the hitter kmd, to the 
 secondary. 
 
 7. Beauty or deformity in an object, re- 
 sults from its nature or structure. To per- 
 ceive the beauty, therefore, we must peiw 
 ceive the nature or structure from which it 
 results. In this the internal sense differs 
 from the external. Our external senses 
 may discover qualities which do not depend 
 upon any antecedent perception. Thus, I 
 can hear the sound of a bell, though I never 
 
 Sjrceived anything else belonging te it 
 ut it is impossible to perceive the beauty 
 of an object without perceiving the object, 
 or, at least, conceiving it On this account, 
 Dr Hutcheson called the senses of beauty 
 and harmony reflex or secondary senses ; 
 because the beauty cannot be perceived 
 unless the object be perceived by some other 
 power of the mind. Thus, the sense of 
 harmony and melody in sounds supposea 
 the external sense of hearing, and is a kind 
 of secondary to it A man bom deaf may 
 be a good judge of beauties of another kind, 
 bnt can have no notion of melody or har- 
 mony. The like may be said of beau- 
 ties in colouring and in figure, which can 
 never be perceived without the senses by 
 which eolour and figure are peroeivei 
 
 [719-791J 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 
 I 
 
 OP THK OBJECTS OP TASTB ; AND, PIBST, OP 
 NOVELTY. 
 
 A PHILOSOPHICAL analysis of the objects 
 of taste is like applyiug the anatomical knife 
 to a fine face. The design of the philoso- 
 pher, as well as of the anatomist, is not to 
 gratify taste, but to improve knowledge. 
 The reader ought to be aware of this, that 
 he may not entertain an expectation in 
 which he will be disappointed. 
 
 By the objecte of taste, I mean those 
 qualities or attributes of things which are, 
 by Nature, adapted to please a good taste. 
 Mr Addison, and Dr Akenside after him, 
 have reduced them to three— to wit, novelty, 
 grandeur, and beauty^ This division is 
 sufficient for all I intend to say upon the 
 subject, and therefore I shall adopt it — 
 observing only, that beauty is often taken 
 in so extensive a sense as to comprehend 
 all the objects of taste ; yet all the authors 
 I have met with, who have given a division 
 of the objecte of taste, make beauty one 
 species. 
 
 I take the reason of thb to be, that we 
 have specific names for some of the quali- 
 ties that please the taste, but not for all ; 
 and therefore all those fall under the gene- 
 ral name of beauty, for which there is no 
 specific name in the division. 
 
 There are, indeed, so many species of 
 beauty, that it would be as difficult to enu- 
 merate them perfectly, as to enumerate all 
 the tastes we perceive by the palate. Nor 
 does there appear to me sufficient reason 
 for making, as some very ingenious authors 
 have done, as many different internal senses 
 as there are different species of beauty or 
 deformity. [722] 
 
 The division of our external senses is 
 taken from the organs of perception, and 
 not from the qualities perceived. We have 
 not the same means of dividing the inter- 
 nal ; because, though some kinds of beauty 
 belong only to objects of the eye, and others 
 to objects of the ear, there are many which 
 we cannot refer to any bodily organ ; and 
 therefore I conceive every division that has 
 been made of our internal senses to be in 
 some degree arbitrary. They may be made 
 more or fewer, according as we have dis- 
 tinct names for the various kinds of beauty 
 and deformity; and I suspect the most 
 copious Umguages have not names for them 
 all. 
 
 Novelty is not properly a quality of the 
 thing to which we attribute it, far less is 
 it a sensation in the mind to which it is 
 new ; it is a relation which the thing has 
 to the knowledge of the person. What is 
 new to one man, may not be so to another ; 
 [722, 723] 
 
 what is new this moment, may be familiar 
 to the same person some time hence. When 
 an object is first brought to our know- 
 ledge, it is new, whether it be agreeable 
 or not 
 
 It is evident, therefore, with regard to 
 novelty, (whatever may be said of other 
 objects of taste,) that it is not merely a 
 sensatioR in the mind of him to whom the 
 thing is new ; it is a real relation which 
 the thing has to his knowledge at that 
 time. 
 
 But we are so constituted, that what is 
 new to us commonly gives pleasure upon 
 that account, if it be not in itself disagree- 
 able. It rouses our attention, and occa- 
 sions an agreeable exertion of our facul- 
 ties. 
 
 The pleasure we receive from novelty in 
 objects has so great influence in human 
 life, that it well deserves the attention of 
 philosophers ; and several ingenious authors 
 — particularly Dr Gerard, in his " Essay on 
 Taste'*— have, I think, successfully account- 
 ed for it, from the principles of the human 
 constitution. [723] 
 
 We can perhaps conceive a being so 
 made, that his happiness consiste in a con- 
 tinuance of the same unvaried sensations or 
 feelings, without any active exertion on his 
 part. Whether this be possible or not, it 
 is evident that man is not such a being ; 
 his good consiste in the vigorous exertion 
 of his active and intellective powers upon 
 their proper objects ; he is made for action 
 and progress, and cannot be happy without 
 it; his enjoyments seem to be given by 
 Nature, not so much for their own sake, as 
 to encourage the exercise of his various 
 powers. That tranquillity of soul in which 
 some place human happiness, is not a dead 
 rest, but a regular progressive motion. 
 
 Such is the constitution of man by the 
 appointment of Nature. This constitution 
 is perhaps a part of the imperfection of our 
 nature ; but it is wisely adapted to our 
 state, which is not intended to be stationary, 
 but progressive. The eye is not satiated 
 with seeing, nor the ear with hearing; 
 something is always wanted. Desire and 
 hope never cease, but remain to spur us vn 
 to something yet to be acquired; and, if 
 they could cease, human happiness must 
 end with them. That our desire and hope 
 be properly directed, is our part ; that they 
 can never be extinguished, is the work of 
 Nature, 
 
 It is this that makes human life so busy 
 a scene. Man must be doing something, 
 good or bad, trifling or important ; and he 
 must vary the employment of his facul- 
 ties, or theu* exercise will become languid, 
 and the pleasure that attends it sicken of 
 course. . 
 
 The notions of enjoyment, and of activity. 
 
 
494 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [imay viii. 
 
 MiwMeml nimniiji are no doubt very 
 differeiit, aiiil'if0"«tiiiMlt fereeive m necesiuiry 
 mmmetifm 'ImtifMii. fieiii. But, in our con- 
 stitatwii, Hmy «» m connected by the 
 wisdom of Nature, that they must go hand 
 in hand ; and the irst must be led and 
 supported 1^ the last [7^] 
 
 An objeel at trot, perhaps, gave much 
 pleiMire, while attention was directed to it 
 with Tioour. But attention cannot be long 
 •onfiiied to one unvaried object, nor can it 
 be carried lound in the same narrow circle. 
 'Curifwity Is a capital principle in the human 
 constitution, and its food must be what is 
 in some respect new. What is said of the 
 AtheniMsmay, in some degree, be applied 
 to all manMnd, Thai their time is spent 
 In liearing, or teUlngi or doing some new 
 
 things 
 
 Into this part of tlie hmnan constitution, 
 I think, we may resolve the pleasure we 
 hftim from novelty in objects. 
 
 Curiosity is commonly strongest in child- 
 ren and in young persons, and accordingly 
 novellf pleases lliem mmL In all ages, in 
 'proportiiiiiaS'iiimilty gratifies curiosity, and 
 wieisioiii ft 'Vigorous exertion of any of our 
 mental powers in. attending to the new ob- 
 ject,. In the same pwprtaon it nves plea- 
 muo. In advanced life, ^km ioiolent and 
 luMfive have the strongcst^ paasiim iir news, 
 as a relief from a pahiful vacuity of thought. 
 
 But the pleasure derived from new objects, | 
 ifl' many ciiiwi, :iS' not owing solely or chiefly 
 to 'Hieir" 'being' new, but to some other cir- 
 'Oinislanee'tlMl gives 'then. 'valne The new 
 fashion in dnss, furniture, equipge, and 
 other accommodations of life, gives plea- 
 sure, not M much, as I ippieMM, beouise' 
 it 'is new, .as beeame It lift sign, of rank, 
 ud distingnishes a man from the vulgar. 
 
 In some things novelty is due, and the 
 'Want of it a real. impcflMtiinL Thus, if au 
 mthor adds to the number of books with 
 vUeii the public is already OTSfbaded, we 
 expect from him something new; and, if he 
 says nothing but what has been said before 
 m m ^agpeabfe' » manner, we are justly 
 dlMstei.. I'm} 
 
 when novelty is altogether separated 
 inim the conception of worth and utility, it 
 raakeS' but ft slight 'impression upon a truly 
 correct taale. Every diseoveiy In nature, 
 in the arts, and in the scienees, has a real, 
 value, and gives a rational pleasure to a 
 geod taste. But things that have nothing 
 to reeommend. them but novelty, are fit 
 oily 'to^ entertain children, or those who are 
 distressed from a vacuity of thought. This 
 i|uality of ol{|cets may therefore be com- 
 'paied. to the cypher in. arithmetic, which 
 ftida greatly to the value of significant 
 ifignrest but, when put by Itself signttss 
 nothing at all. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 OP ORANOXVR. 
 
 Thb qualities which please the taste are 
 not more various in themselves than are 
 the emotions and feelings with which they 
 affect our minds. 
 
 Things new and uneommon affect us with 
 a pleasmg surprise, which rouses and invi- 
 gorates our attention to the object. But 
 this emotion soon flags, if there is nothmg 
 but novelty to give it continuance, and 
 leaves no effect upon the mind. 
 
 The emotion raised by grand objects is 
 awful, solemn, and serious. 
 
 Of all objects of contempktion, the Su- 
 preme Being, is the most grand. His 
 eternity, hisinmiensity, his irresistible power, 
 his infinite knowledge and unerring wisdom, 
 his inflexible justice and rectitude, his su- 
 preme government, conducting all the 
 movements of this vast universe to the no- 
 blest ends and in the wisest manner — are 
 objects which fill the utmost capacity of the 
 soul, and reach far beyond its comprehension. 
 The emotion which this grandest of all 
 objects raises In the human mind, is what 
 we call devotion ; a serious recollected tem- 
 per, which inspires magnanimity, and dis. 
 poses to the most heroic acts of virtue. [ 726] 
 The emotion produced by other objects 
 which may be called grand, though iu an 
 inferior degree, is, in its nature and in its 
 effects, similar to that of devotion. It dis- 
 poses to seriousness, elevates the mhid 
 above Its usual state, to a kind of enthusi- 
 asm, and inspires magnanimity, and a con- 
 tempt of what is mean. 
 
 Such, I conceive, is the emotion which 
 the contemplation of grand objects raises iu 
 us. We are next to consider what this 
 grandeur in objects is. 
 
 To me it seems to be nothing else but 
 such a degree of excellence, in one kind or 
 another, as merits our admiration. 
 
 There ate some attributes of mind which 
 have a real and intrinsie excellence, com- 
 pared with their contraries, and which, in 
 every degree, are the natural objects of 
 esteem, but, in an uncommon degree, are ob- 
 jects of admiration. We put a value upon 
 them because they are intrinsically valuable 
 and excellent. 
 
 The spirit of modem philosophy would 
 indeed lead us to think, that the worth and 
 value we put upon things is only a sensation 
 in our minds, and not aujthing inherent in 
 the object ; and that we miglit have been so 
 constituted as to put the highest value upon 
 the things which we now despise, and to 
 despise the qualities which we now highly 
 esteem. 
 
 [ 7l44— 726j 
 
 OHAP. III.] 
 
 OF GRANDEUR. 
 
 495 
 
 It gives me pleasure to observe, that Dr 
 Price, in his " Review of the Questions 
 concerning Morals,** strenuously opposes 
 this opinion, as well as that which resolves 
 , moral right and wrong into a sensation in 
 the mind of the spectator. That judicious 
 author saw the consequences which these 
 opinions draw after them, and has traced 
 them to their source — to wit, the account 
 given by Mr Locke, and adopted by the gen- 
 erality of modern philosophers, of the ori- 
 gin of all our ideas, which account he shews 
 to be very defective. [727] 
 
 This pronenessto resolve everything into 
 feelings and sensations, is an extreme into 
 which we have been led by the desire of 
 avoiding an opposite extreme, as common 
 in the ancient philosophy. 
 
 At first, me are prone by nature and by 
 habit to give all their attention to things 
 ^ external. Their notions of the mind, and 
 ^ its operations, are formed from some analogy 
 they bear to objects of sense ; and an ex- 
 ternal existence is ascribed to things which 
 are only conceptions or feelings of the 
 mind. 
 
 This spirit prevailed much in the philo- 
 sophy both of Plato and of Aristotle, and 
 produced the mysterious notions of eternal 
 and self-existent ideas, of materia puma, of 
 substantial forms, and others of the like 
 nature. 
 
 From the time of Des Cartes, philosophy 
 took a contrary turn. That great man dis- 
 covered, that many things supposed to have 
 an external existence, were only conceptions 
 or feelings of the mind. This track has 
 been pursued by his successors to such au 
 extreme as to resolve everything into sens- ' 
 ations, feelings, and ideas in the mind, and 
 to leave nothing external at all. 
 ^ The Peripatetics thought that heat and 
 cold which we feel to be qualities of external 
 objects. The moderns make heat and cold 
 to be sensations only, and allow no real 
 quality of body to be called by that name : 
 and the same judgment they have formed 
 with regard to all secondary qualities. 
 
 So far Des Cartes and Mr Locke went. 
 Their successors being put into this track 
 of converting into feelings things that were 
 y believed to have an external existence, found 
 \ that extension, solidity, figure, and all the 
 primary qualities of body, are sensations or 
 feelings of the mind ; and that the material 
 world is a phaenomenon only, and has no 
 existence but in our mind. [728] 
 
 It was then a very natural progress to con- 
 ceive, that beauty, harmony, and grandeur, 
 the objects of taste, as well as right and 
 wrong, the objects of the moral faculty, are 
 nothing but feelings of the mind. 
 
 Those who are acquainted with the 
 writings of modem philosophers, can easily 
 trace this doctrine of feelings, from Des 
 [727-72S] 
 
 Cartes down to Mr Hume, who put the 
 finishing stroke to it, by making truth and 
 error to be feelings of the mind, and belief 
 to be an operation of the sensitive part of 
 our nature. 
 
 To return to our subject, if we hearken 
 to the dictates of common sense, we must be 
 convinced that there is real excellence in 
 some things, whatever our feelings or our 
 constitution be. 
 
 It depends no doubt upon our constitu- 
 tion, whether we do or do not perceive ex- 
 cellence where it really is : but the object 
 has its excellence from its own constitution, 
 and not from ours. 
 
 The common judgment of mankind in this 
 matter sufficiently appears in the language 
 of all nations, which uniformly ascribes ex- 
 cellence, grandeur, and beauty to the object, 
 and not to the mind that perceives it. And 
 I believe in this, as in most other things, 
 we shall find the common judgment of man- 
 kind and true philosophy not to be at va- 
 riance. 
 
 Is not power in its nature more excel- 
 lent tlian weakness ; knowledge than igno- 
 rance ; wisdom than folly ; fortitude than 
 pusillanimity ? 
 
 Is there no intrinsic excellence in self- 
 command, in generosity, in public spirit ? 
 Is not friendship a better affection of mind 
 than hatred, a noble emulation than envy ? 
 [729] 
 
 Let us suppose, if possible, a being so 
 constituted as to have a high respect for 
 ignorance, weakness, and folly ; to venerate 
 cowardice, malice, and envy, and to hold 
 the contrary qualities in contempt ; to have 
 an esteem for lying and falsehood ; and to 
 love most those who imposed upon him, 
 and used him worst. Could we believe 
 such a constitution to be anything else than 
 madness and delirium ? It is impossible. 
 We can as easily conceive a constitution, 
 by which one should perceive two and three 
 to make fifteen, or a part to be greater than 
 the whole. 
 
 Every one who attends to the operations 
 of his own mind will find it to be certainly 
 true, as it is the common belief of mankind, 
 that esteem is led by opinion, and that every 
 person draws our esteem, as far only as he 
 appears either to reason or fancy to be 
 amiable and worthy. 
 
 There is therefore a real intrinsic excel- 
 lence in some qualities of mind, as in power, 
 knowledge, wisdom, virtue, magnanimity. 
 These, in every degree, merit esteem ; but 
 in an uncommon degree they merit admir- 
 ation ; and that which merits admiration 
 we call grand. 
 
 In the contemplation of uncommon ex- 
 cellence, the mind feels a noble enthusiasm, 
 which disposes it to the imitation of what it 
 admires. 
 
ON THl INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [MiAY viii. 
 
 WlMi «•' eoBtmiiilate Urn tkmmbm of 
 CSttto^-4ito gTCftteflH' of loiil,. hk miprioiily 
 to nlMmii% to toil, and t^ daii|er; Bis ar- 
 Mt 9ml for HM' liberty of hw countiirf 
 iiImii 'WO' wm liiiii atanding uBmoved in. nus- 
 iMtiiiMi tliA laal pillar of the liberty of 
 .Bone, and MSaa$ m/Mj in. Ms coiintnr*k 
 fli^tap^wliO'iiiiiiU'iMit'Viili to lieCato' talMf 
 %m Cmmi' In 9M. Ma triniiipli f [730] 
 
 Siiflii. ft ifpoolade of a grait Kflil timg» 
 l^ng with miafortune, Seneca tlMmgfat nOt 
 ini«ortli|y of tlio attontion of Jnpit^ him- 
 iel^ ** mm ■potactilum Deo d^um, ad 
 quod foa|iiiiial .Jnpiter sno open intentn% 
 vir fofia enm mala fortuna oompositiui.'* 
 
 As tlw Deity is, of all objoets of tkiogbt, 
 Urn 'WMl pnid, the deseriptims jpYen m 
 lMly'«filof:US''altribatesandworii, even 
 iilmi elothei In shnple expniesion, are 
 acknowledged to he sablime. The expres- 
 aiom of If oies, <^And God said, Let there 
 lo Pghty and there was light,"* has not 
 '•■OBped 'the Botioe of Longin.ii8|^ a Heathen 
 fffWe, as an example of the sulilinie. 
 
 What we eall snMime in description, or 
 hi speech of any hind, is a pro^ expres- 
 iioii of the admiration and enthusiafim which 
 Hie anileel' nroduoes in the mind of the 
 ■peaker. If this admiration and entha- 
 ataam appears to be jnst, it carries the 
 hearer mmg with it in^volnntarily, and by 
 a kind of vMenoe rather than hy cool oon- 
 Tictbn: for no passions are so infMtioai as 
 those which hold of enthusiasm. 
 
 But, on the other hand, if the passion of 
 the speaker appears to be in no degree jos- 
 tiied by tim sahieet or the occasion, it pro* 
 iMss in the judicious hearer no other emo- 
 §m but ridieiile and eontenpt. 
 
 ■11% by art in the osmpeslion $ U must 
 'take itS' rise from grandamr in the subject, 
 and a oorrespoming emotion raised in the 
 mind of ^le speaker. A proper exhibition 
 of these, though it should be artless, is 
 inesisttble, ike ire thrown into the midst 
 of combustible matter. [ 731 ] 
 
 When we contempiato the earth, the sea, 
 the planetary system, the universe, these 
 are vast^ .ebfects; it .requires a stretch ^of 
 imagiBatlon to grasp them in our minds. 
 But they appear truly grand, and merit the 
 'higheit admliation, when we consider them 
 
 'SSPUF SSSS™P' TPP ^iB'lS'iiaip tbPiSII' iImSi'W^I'''v "^ ■■Wi'^P'w '(PiwWi W^PW^P ■•'^••w ■F*''^ip 
 
 MiiliiiiHi'll^k jftjBr ^|ga||^K|^i|||||{iiM||M^ Aiil^i^UMl^jssilh^u'l jkakA dkSa^^ v^j||y||||||^jHHj|||gg-|M 
 ■mpajf iiHtSp upsi' 'awiiiiiSP''iifflp' siiiswa iipfl| sshns ^■P'swiMipirwP^Hi '^^"WiP^p^ '^miwwp' ••^i^^w w ^p^b^pj 
 
 .and. hud the IbnndatioDOf the earth ; or, hi. 
 HW' poetical huiniaiEe of Milton^ 
 
 ** In hit hand 
 
 .He took tho goldcii. csompaiset. pre|Mu"d 
 
 la Ood^'itonsl ilorr, lo dicuinaetilis 
 Tbls animfte and 'ai <a«Btcd. thiiapb. 
 'Om im liC' cetittlil.,. apt tlw dtimr' 'ttmU 
 'MmmA Hmf tiw wm poflindliy olMco.rti 
 
 • Bitter tranilalcd— ^ Be tli«ct llglil, and tlglit 
 thin «•• "^-tl. 
 
 And taid. Unit tu tmtawl, thus Ikr thj bemndi, 
 Thlf In tbf liM olioimfticDGe, O workL" 
 
 When we contempiato the world of Epi- 
 curus, and conceive the universe to be a 
 fortuitous jumble of atoms, there is nothing 
 grand m this idea. The clashing of atoms 
 by blind chance has nothing in it fit to raise 
 our conceptions, or to elevate the mind. 
 But the regular structure of a vast system 
 of beings, produced by creating power, and 
 governed by the best hiwa which perfect 
 wisdom and goodness could contrive, is a 
 spectacle which elevates the understandmg, 
 and fills the sonl with devout admiration. 
 
 A great work is a work of great power, 
 great wisdom, and great goodness, well con- 
 trived for some important end. But power, 
 wisdom, and goodness, are properly the at- 
 tributes of mind only. They are ascribed to 
 the work figuratively, but are really inherent 
 in the author : and by the same figure, the 
 grandeur is ascribed to the work, but is, 
 properly inherent in the mind that made it. 
 
 I^me figures of speech are so natural and 
 so common in all languages, that we are led 
 to think tliem literal and proper expressions. 
 Thus an action is called brave, virtuous, 
 generous; but it is evident, that valour, 
 virtue, generosity, are the attributes of per- 
 sons only, and not of actions. In the action 
 considered abstractly, there is neither val* 
 our, nor virtue, nor generosity. The same 
 action done from a different motive may 
 deserve none of those epithets. [732] The 
 change in this case is not in the action, but 
 in the agent; yet, in all languages, generosity 
 and other moral qualities are ascribed to 
 aetiona By a figure, we assign to the effect 
 a quality which is inherent only in the 
 cause* 
 
 By the same figure, we ascribe to a work 
 that grandeur which properly is inherent in 
 the mind of the author. 
 
 When we consider the « Iliad" as the 
 work of the poet, its sublimity was really 
 m the mmd of Homer. He conceived 
 great characters, great actions, and great 
 events, in a manner suitable to their nature, 
 and with those emotions which they are 
 naturally fitted to produce ; and he conveys 
 his conceptions and his emotions by the 
 most proper signs. The grandeur of his 
 thoughts is reflected to our eye by his work, 
 and, therefore, it is justly called a gnmd 
 work. 
 
 When we consider the things presented 
 to our mind in the '^ Iliad'* without regard 
 to the poet, the grandeur is properly in 
 Hcetor and Achilles, and the other great 
 personages, human and divine, brought 
 upon the stage. 
 
 Next to the Deity and his works, we ad- 
 mire great talents and heroic virtue in men, 
 whether represented in history or in fiction. 
 The virtues of Cato, Aristides, Socrates, 
 
 [730-7S2] 
 
 CHAP. III.] 
 
 OF GRANDEUR. 
 
 497 
 
 Marcus Aurelius, are truly grand. Extra- 
 ordinary talents and genius, whether in 
 poets, orators, philosophers, or lawgivers, are 
 objects of admiration, and therefore grand. 
 We find writers of taste seized with a kind 
 of enthusiasm in the description of such 
 personages. 
 
 What a grand idea does Virgil give of the 
 power of eloquence, when he compares the 
 tempest of the sea, suddenly calmed by the 
 command of Neptune, to a furious sedition 
 in a great city, quelled at once by a man of 
 authority and eloquence. [733] 
 
 •• Sic ait. ac dicto "itius titmida squon placat : 
 Ac veluti magno in populo, si forte coorta est 
 St'ditio, saevitque animis ignobile vulgus ; 
 Jamque faces et saxa volant, furor arma ministrat ; 
 Tuir. pietate gravem, et meritis, si forte virum quem 
 Con>pexere, silent, arrectisque auribus adstant 
 Ule regit dictis animos, et pectora mulcet. 
 Sic cunctua pelagi cecidit fragor." 
 
 The wonderful genius of Sir Isaac New- 
 ton, and his sagacity in discovermg the laws 
 'of Nature, is admirably expressed in that 
 short but sublime epitaph by Pope : — 
 
 •* Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night ; 
 God said. Let Newton be— and all was light." 
 
 Hitherto we have found grandeur only in 
 qualities of mind ; but, it may be asked, Is 
 there no real grandeur in material objects ? 
 
 It will, perhaps, appear extravagant to 
 deny that there is ; yet it deserves to be 
 considered, whethei- all the grandeur we 
 ascribe to objects of sense be not derived 
 from something mtellectual, of which they 
 a.*e the effects or signs, or to which they bear 
 some relation or analogy. 
 
 Besides the relations of effect and cause, 
 of sign and thing signified, there are innu- 
 merable similitudes and analogies between 
 things of very different nature, which lead 
 us to connect them in our imagination, and 
 to ascribe to the one what properly belongs 
 to the other. 
 
 Every metaphor in language is an instance 
 of this ; and it must be remembered, that a 
 very great part of language, which we now 
 account proper, was originally metaphorical ; 
 for the metaphorical meaning becomes the 
 proper, as soon as it becomes the most 
 usual ; much more, when that which was at 
 first the proper meaning falls mto disuse. 
 
 [734] 
 
 The poverty of language, no doubt, con- 
 tributes in part to the use of metaphor ; 
 and, therefore, we find the most barren and 
 uncultivated languages the most metaphori- 
 cal. But the most copious language may 
 be called barren, compared with tl>e fertility 
 of human conceptions, and can never, with- 
 out the use of figures, keep pace with the 
 variety of their delicate modifications. 
 
 But another cause of the use of metaphor 
 is, that we find pleasure in discovering rela- 
 tions, similitudes, analogies, and even cou- 
 traste, that are not obvious to every eye. 
 7S3-7.151 
 
 All figurative speech presents something of 
 this kind ; and the beauty of poetical lan- 
 guage seems to be derived in a great mea* 
 sure from this source. 
 
 Of all figurative language, that is the most 
 common, the most natural, and the most 
 agreeable, which either gives a body, if we 
 may so speak, to things intellectual, and 
 clothes them with visible qualities; or which, 
 on the other hand, gives mtellectual qualities 
 to the objects of sense. 
 
 To beings of more exalted faculties, intel- 
 lectual objects may, perhaps, appear to most 
 advantage in their naked simplicity. But 
 we can hardly conceive them but by means 
 of some analogy they bear to the objects of 
 sense. The names we give them are almost 
 all metaphorical or analogical. 
 
 Thus, the names of grand and sublime, as 
 well as their opposites, mean and low, are 
 evidently borrowed from the dimensions of 
 body ; yet, it must be acknowledged, that 
 many things are truly grand and sublime, 
 to which we cannot ascribe the dimensions 
 of height and extension. 
 
 Some analogy there is, without doubt, be- 
 tween greatness of dimension, which is an 
 object of external sense, and that grandeur 
 which is an object of taste. On account of 
 this analogy, the last borrows its name from 
 the first ; and, the name being common, 
 leads us to conceive that there is something 
 common in the nature of the things. [735] 
 But we shall find many qualities of mind, 
 denoted by names taken from some quality 
 of body to which they have some analogy, 
 without anything common in their nature. 
 Sweetness and austerity, simplicity and 
 duplicity, rectitude and crookedness, are 
 names common to certain qualities of mind, 
 and to qualities of body to which they have 
 some analogy ; yet he would err greatly who 
 ascribed to a body that sweetness or that 
 simplicity which are the qualities of mind. 
 In like manner, greatness and meanness 
 are names common to qualities perceived 
 by the external sense, and to qualities 
 perceived by taste ; yet he may be in an 
 error, who ascribes to the objects of sense 
 that greatness or that meanness which is 
 only an object of taste. 
 
 As intellectual objects are made more 
 level to our apprehension by giving them a 
 visible form ; so the objects of sense are 
 dignified and made more august, by ascrib- 
 ing to them intellectual qualities which have 
 some analogy to those they really possess. 
 The sea rages, the sky lowers, the meadows 
 smUe, the rivulets murmur, the breezes 
 whisper, the soil is grateful or ungrateful- 
 such expressions are so familiar in common 
 language, that they are scarcely accounted 
 poetical or figurative ; but they give a kind 
 of dignity to inanimate objects, and nmkfi^ 
 our conception of them more agreeable. 
 
 '2 k 
 
4m 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWEIIS. [e.*«ay viii. 
 
 riiAP 
 
 IV.] 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 When we consider mslter is mi inert, 
 "•xtended, iUvMlile, and moviible substanoOy 
 tbere seems to be nothing in tliea« qmM^m 
 whieli we'eiin.mU.f!irMid; Mid,.w.lMii'W««wiil» 
 gfHiiifiiif ^ to may portion of" matter, ioweirer 
 owdiied, may it not borrow this quality 
 from something intellectual, of which it is 
 the effect, or sign, or i»tmment, or to 
 which it bears some analogy f or, perhap, 
 because it pndaces .in tlW' Bind an emotma 
 that has some resemblance to that admira^ 
 ^on which truly grand objects raise ? [736] 
 
 A very elegant writer on the sublime and 
 beantifal,* makes everything grand or sub- 
 lime that is terrible. Might he not be led 
 to this by the similarity between dread and 
 admiration ? Both are grave and solemn 
 pMdons ; both make a strong impression 
 ipon the mind j and both are very infec- 
 tioQfl. But they differ specifically, in this 
 respect, that admiration supposes some un- 
 eommon execllenc© in its object, which 
 dread does not We may admire what we 
 see no reason to dread; and we may dread 
 what we do not admire. In dread, there is 
 BothiDg of that enthusiaam which natnially 
 aecom^uiies admimtlon, and Is a chief m- 
 gredient of the emotion raised by what is 
 truly grand or sublime. 
 
 Upon the whole, I humbly apprehend 
 thai true grandeur is such a degree of ex- 
 'eelence as is it to raise an enthusiastical 
 admiration; that this grandeur is found, 
 nriginally and properly, in qualities of mind ; 
 that it is discerned, in objects of sense, only 
 by reflection, as the light we perceive in the 
 moon and planets, 'is truly the light of the 
 sun ; and that those who look for grandeur 
 in mere matter, seek the living among the 
 dead. 
 
 If this be a mistake, it ought, at least, to 
 be granted, that the grandeur which we 
 perceive in qualities of mind, ought to have 
 a different name from that which belongs 
 f roperly to the objects of sense, as they are 
 very dimwent in their nature, and produce 
 very different emotions in the mind of the 
 'Spectator. [737] 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF ntaiJTV. 
 
 Bkautt is found in things so various 
 
 ■iii so very different in nature, that it is 
 dmicult to say wherein it oomisli, or what 
 
 Hiere eaii be eommon to al tie objects in 
 ivUeii it li«:iMmd* 
 
 Of the objects of ienee, we find beauty in 
 eolonr, in sound, in form, in motion. There 
 are beauties of speech, and beauties of 
 thought { beantiea in the arta, and in the 
 
 • Burt*— M. 
 
 sciences ; beauties in actions, in affections, 
 and in characters. 
 
 In things so different and so unlike is 
 there any quality, the same in all, which we 
 may call by the name of beauty ? What 
 can it be that is common to the thought of 
 a mind and the form of a piece of matter, 
 to an abstract theorem and a stroke of wit ? 
 
 I am indeed unable to conceive any qua- 
 lity in all the different things that are called 
 b^utiful, that is the same in them alL 
 There seems to be no identity, nor even 
 similarity, between the beauty of a theorem 
 and the beauty of a piece of munic, though 
 both may be beautiful. The kinds of beauty 
 seem to be as various as the objects to which 
 it is ascribed. 
 
 But why should things so different be 
 called by the same name ? This cannot be 
 without a reason. If there be nothing com- 
 mon in the tilings themselves, they must 
 have some common relation to us, or to , 
 somethhig else, which leads us to give them 
 theeameliam^ [738] ^ 
 
 All the objects we caU beautiful agree in 
 two things, which seem to concur in our 
 sense of beauty. First, When they are 
 perceived, or even imagined, tliey produce 
 a certain agreeable emotion or feeling in the 
 mind; and, secondly y This agreeable emotion 
 is accompanied with an opinion or belief of 
 their having some perfection or excellence 
 belonging to them. 
 
 Whether the pleasure we feel in contem- 
 plating beautiful objects may have any ne- 
 cessary connection with the belief of their 
 excellence, or whether that pleasure be con- 
 joined with this belief, by the good pleasure « 
 only of our Maker, I will not determine. 
 The reader may see Dr Price's sentiments 
 upon this subject, which merit considera- 
 tion, in the second chapter of his " Review 
 of the Questions concerning Morals." 
 
 Though we may be able to conceive these 
 two ingredients of our sense of beauty dis- 
 joined, this affords no evidence that they 
 have no necessary connection. It has in- 
 deed been maintained, that whatever we can 
 conceive, is possible : but I endeavoured, 
 in treating of conception, to shew, that this 
 opinion, though very common, is a mistake. 
 There may Idkb, and probably are, many 
 necessary connections of things in nature, 
 which we are too dim-sighted to discover. 
 
 The emotion produced by beautiful ob- | 
 jects is gay and pleasant It sweetens and 
 humanisee the temper, is friendly to every 
 benevolent affection, and tends to alky 
 sullen and aiigry passions. It enlivens the 
 mind, and disposes it to other agreeable 
 emotions, such as those of love, hope, and 
 joy. It gives a value to the object, ah- 1 
 stracted from its utility. 
 
 In things that may be possessed as pro- 
 perty, beauty greatly enhances the price.' 
 
 [736-7381 ■ 
 
 A beautiful dog or horse, a beautiful coach 
 or house, a beautiful picture or prospect, is 
 valued by its owner and by others, not only 
 for its utility, but for its beauty. [739] 
 
 If the beautiful object be a person, his 
 company and conversation are, on that ac- 
 count, the more agreeable, and we are dis- 
 posed to love and esteem him. Even in a 
 perfect stranger, it is a powerful recom- 
 mendation, and disposes us to favour and 
 thhik well of him, if of our own sex, and 
 still more if of the other. 
 
 " There is nothing," says Mr Addison, 
 " that makes its way more directly to the soul 
 than beauty, which immediately diffuses a 
 secret satisfaction and complacence through 
 the imagination, and gives a finishing to 
 anything that is great and uncommon. 
 The very first discovery of it strikes the 
 mind with an inward joy, and spreads a 
 cheerfulness and delight through all its 
 faculties." 
 
 As we ascribe beauty, not only to per- 
 sons, but to inanimate things, we give the 
 name of love or liking to the eiuotion, which 
 btautv, in both these kinds of objects, 
 produces. It is evident, however, that 
 liking to a person is a very different affec- 
 tion of mind from hking to an inanunate 
 thing. The first always implies benevo- 
 lence ; but what is inanimate cannot be the 
 object of benevolence. The two affections, 
 however different, have a resemblance in 
 some respects; and, on account of that 
 resemblance, have the same name. And 
 perhaps beauty, in these two different kinds 
 of objects, though it has one name, may be 
 as different in its nature as the emotions 
 which it produces in us. 
 
 Besides the agreeable emotion which 
 beautiful objects produce in the mind of 
 the spectator, they produce also an opuiion 
 or judgment of some perfection or excel- 
 lence in the object. This I take to be a 
 J second ingredient in our sense of beauty, 
 though it seems not to be admitted by 
 modern philosophers. [740] 
 
 The ingenious Dr Hutcheson, who per- 
 ceived some of the defects of Mr Locke's 
 system, and made very important improve- 
 ments upon it, seems to have been earned 
 away by it, in his notion of beauty. In 
 his " Inquiry concerning Beauty," § 1, 
 " Let it be observed," says he, " that in the 
 following papers, the word beauty is taken 
 for the idea raised in us, and the sense of 
 beauty for our power of receiving that idea." 
 And again—" Only let it be observed, that, 
 by absolute or original beauty, is not under- 
 stood any qimlity supposed to be in the 
 object which should, of itself, be beautiful, 
 without relation to any mind which per- 
 ceives it : for beauty, like other names of 
 sensible ideas, properly denotes the per- 
 ception of some mind ; so cold, hot, sweet, 
 [739-741] 
 
 bitter, denote the sensations in our minds, 
 to which, perhaps, there is no resemblance 
 in the objects which excite these ideas in 
 us ; however, we generally imagine other- 
 wise. Were there no mind, with a sense 
 of beauty, to contemplate objects, I see not 
 how they could be called beautiful." 
 
 There is no doubt an analogy between 
 the external senses of touch and taste, and 
 the internal sense of beauty. This analogy 
 led Dr Hutcheson, and other modern phi- 
 losophers, to apply to beauty what Des 
 Cartes and Locke had taught concerning 
 the secondary qualities perceived by the 
 external senses. 
 
 Mr Locke's doctrine concerning the se- 
 condary qualities of body, is not so nmch 
 an error in judgment as an abuse of words. 
 He distinguished very properly between 
 the sensations we have of heat and cold, 
 and that quality or structure in the body 
 which is adapted by Nature to produce 
 those sensations m us. He observed very 
 justly, that there can be no similitude be- 
 tween one of these and the other. They 
 have the relation of an effect to its cause, 
 but no sunilitude. This was a very just 
 and proper correction of the doctrine of the 
 Peripatetics, who taught, that all our sens- 
 ations are the very form and image of the 
 quality in the object by which they are 
 produced. [741] 
 
 What remained to be determined was, 
 whether the words, heat and cold, in com- 
 mon language, signify the sensations we 
 feel, or the qualities of the object which 
 are the cause of these sensations. Mr 
 Locke made heat and cold to signify only 
 the sensations we feel, and not the qualities 
 which are the cause of them. And in this, 
 1 apprehend, lay his mistake. For it is 
 evident, from the use of lauguage, that hot 
 and cold, sweet and bitter, are attributes of 
 external objects, and not of the person who 
 perceives them. Hence, it appears a mon- 
 strous paradox to say, there is no heat in 
 the fire, no sweetness m sugar ; but, when 
 explamed accordmg to Mr Locke's meaning, 
 it is only, like most other paradoxes, an 
 abuse of words.* . 
 
 The sense of beauty may be analysed m 
 a manner very sunilar to the.sense of sweet- 
 ness. It is an agreeable feeling or emotion, 
 accompanied with an opinion or judgment 
 of some excellence in the object, which is 
 fitted by Nature to produce that feehng. 
 
 The feeling is, no doubt, in the mind, 
 and so also is the judgment we form of the 
 object : but this judgment, like all others, 
 must be true or false. If it be a true j udg- 
 ment, there is some real excellence in the 
 object. And the use of all languages shews 
 that the name of beauty belongs to this ex- 
 
 ♦ See above, p. 205, b, note *.— H. 
 
 2 It 2 
 
500 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS [essay viii. 
 
 rellenoe of the object, and not to tlie feel- j 
 ifi|» (if 'tliA' aiMielfttor. 
 
 TO ii.y 'imi HwTO Ib,. in reality, no beauty 
 in tlioae objeetB in which all men perceive 
 beauty, is to attributo to man laUaeions 
 ■enaes. But we have no ground to thmk 
 m ditreapactfully of the Author of our 
 Ibeinf ; iie fiwultiea he hath given us are 
 not falkeious $ nor is that beauty which 
 he hath so liberally diffused over all the 
 works of his hand% a mere fiwey in us, but 
 creal. excellenee In his works, which express 
 the perfection of their Divine Author. 
 
 We have reason to believe, not only that 
 the beauties we see in .nature are real, and 
 not imeiiil, but that there are thousands 
 which our Iwsullles are too dull to perceive. 
 We see many beauties, both of human and 
 divine art, whieh the brute animals are in- 
 capable of penseivingi Md superior beings 
 'inay 'emel 'Ua .as Ikr In their discernment of 
 true beauty as we excel the brutes. [742] 
 
 The man who is tkiled m painting or 
 itatuary seea more of the beauty of a fine 
 pietnie or statue than a common specta- 
 tor. The same thing holds in all the fine 
 arts* The most perfect works of art have 
 a beauty that strikes even the rude and ig- 
 norant ; but they see only a small part of 
 that beauty which is seen in such works by 
 those who understand them perfectly, and 
 can produce them. 
 
 Th» may be applied,, 'With no leas justice, 
 to the works of Nature. They have a 
 beauty that strikes even the ignorant and 
 inattentive. But the more we discover of 
 their structure, of their mutual rektions,. 
 and of the laws by which they ai» governed, 
 the gieaWf ' 'beaibr, ^and the more delightfbl 
 mails of art, wisdom, and goodness, we 
 discern. 
 
 Thus the expert anatomist sees number^ 
 feis beauttfbl eontrivanoes in the structure 
 iif tie human body, which are unknown to 
 the ignoranl 
 
 Althongh the vulgar eye sees much beauty 
 in the' 'iuse of lim heavens, .and hi the various 
 motions, and dianges of thtt lieavenly bodies, 
 the expert astronomer, who knows their 
 order and distances, their periodt, HlO nUll 
 they describe in the vast r«ions of 'spoos,, 
 mi. 'iM' shnple and hentifttfkws by which 
 tiidr motions ire governed, and all the 
 appearances of their stations, progressions, 
 waA rettogtaialloiii,, their eclipses, occulta- 
 tiona, :aiid tninaltS' 'are produced^sees a 
 beauty, order, and harmony reign through 
 the #lio1e pbuietafy mitero, which delights 
 the mind. The edipaes of the iun and 
 taoon, and the blazing tails of comets, 
 which, ittike terror Into barbarous nations, 
 ftattiih the most pleosbg entertainment to 
 hii eye, and a fbiit to his understaiidhi|; 
 
 IS] 
 
 In every part, of Hatire's worli, there 
 
 ore numberless beauties, which, on account 
 of our ignorance, we are unable to perceive. 
 Superior beings may see more than we ; but 
 He only who made them, and, upon a re- 
 view, pronounced them all to be very good, I 
 can see ail their beauty. 
 
 Our determinations with regard to the / 
 beauty of objects, may, I think, be distin- f 
 guished into two kinds ; the first we may 
 call instmotive, the other rational. 
 
 Some objects strike us at once, and ap- 
 pear beautiful at first sight, without any re- 
 flection, without our being able to say why 
 we call them beautiful, or being able to spe- 
 cify any perfection which justifies our judg- 
 ment. Something of this kind there seems 
 to be m brute animals, and in children 
 before the use of reason ; nor does it end 
 with infancy, but continues through life. 
 
 In the plumage of birds and of butterflies, 
 in the colours and form of flowers, of shells, 
 and of many other objects, we perceive a 
 beauty that delights ; but cannot say what 
 it is in the object that should produce that 
 emotion. 
 
 The beauty of the object may in such . 
 coses be called an occult quality. We know ] 
 well how it affects our senses ; but what it 
 is in itself we know not. But this, as well 
 as other occult qualities, is a proper subject 
 of philosophical disquisition ; and, by a care- 
 ful examination of the objects to which Na- 
 ture hath given this amiable quality, we 
 may perhaps discover some real excellence 
 in the object, or, at least, some valuable 
 purpose that is served by the effect which 
 it produces upon us. 
 
 This instinctive sense of beauty, in differ- 
 ent species of animals, may differ aa much 
 as the external sense of taste, and in each 
 species be adapted to its manner of life. By 
 this perhaps the various tribes are led to 
 associate with their kind, to dwell among 
 certain objects rather than others, and to 
 construct their habitation in a particnhur 
 manner. [744] 
 
 There seem likewise to be varieties in 
 the sense of beauty in the individuals of the 
 same species, by which they are directed in 
 the choice of a mate, and in the love and 
 care of their offiipring. 
 
 "We see," says Mr Addison, "that 
 every different species of sensible creatures 
 has its different notions of beauty, uid thai 
 each of tiiem is most affected with the 
 beauties of its own kind. This is nowhere 
 moie remarkable than in birds of the some 
 shape and proportion, where we often see 
 the mate determined in his courtship by the 
 single grain or tincture of a feather, and 
 never discovering any charms but in the 
 colour of its own species." 
 
 " Scit thalamo tervare fldcm, sanctaique veretur 
 
 Connubii leges } non ilium in pectore candor 
 
 Sollicitat niveui ; neque pravom accendit aroo. 
 
 [743-744] 
 
 CHAP, v.] 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 501 
 
 .'( 
 
 iM 
 
 Splendida lanugo, vel honesta in vertice crista ; 
 Purpureusve nitor pciinarum ; ast afmina late 
 Foeminea explorat cautiis, rnaculasque requirit 
 Cognatas, paribusque iiiterlita c rpora guttis : 
 Ni faceret, pictis sylvam circum umiique inons. 
 
 tris 
 Contusam aspiceres vulgo, partusque biformes, 
 £t genus ambiguuiOj el veneris monumenta ne. 
 
 faudai. 
 
 ** Hinc merula in nigro se oblectat nigra marito ; 
 Hinc socium lasciva petit philomela canorum, 
 Agnotcitque pare« sonitus ; hinc noclua tetram 
 Canitieni alanim, et glaucos miratur ocellos. 
 Nentpe siui semper constat, cre'^citqui' quotannis 
 Lucida progeuieb, castos contessa parentes : 
 Vere novo exultat, plumasque dec«>ra juventus 
 £xplicat a4 solem, patriisque culoribus ardet." 
 
 \ In the human kind there are varieties in 
 I the taste of beauty, of which we can no 
 more assign a reason than of the variety of 
 their features, though it is easy to perceive 
 that very important ends are answered by 
 both. These varieties are most observable 
 in the judgments we form of the features of 
 the other sex ; and in this the intention of 
 nature is most apparent. [745] 
 
 As far as our determinations of the com- 
 parative beauty of objects are instinctive, 
 they are no subject of reasoning or of criti- 
 cism ; they are purely the gift of nature, 
 and we have no standard by which they niay 
 be measured. 
 
 But there are judgments of beauty that 
 may be called rational, being grounded on 
 some agreeable quality of the object which is 
 distinctly conceived, and may be specified. 
 
 This distinction between a rational judg- 
 ment of beauty and that which is instinc- 
 tive, may be illustrated by an instance. 
 
 In a heap of pebbles, one that is remark- 
 able for brilliancy of colour and regularity 
 of figure, will be picked out of the heap by a 
 I child. He perceives a beauty in it, puts a 
 value upon it, and is fond of the property ot 
 It. For this preference, no reason can be 
 given, but that children are, by their con- 
 titution, fond of brilliant colours, and ot 
 regular figures. 
 
 Suppose again that an expert mechanic 
 views a well constructed machine. He sees 
 all its parts to be made of the fittest mate- 
 rials, and of the most proper form ; no- 
 thing superfluous, nothing deficient ; every 
 part adapted to its use, and the whole fitted 
 in the most perfect manner to the end for 
 which it is intended. He pronounces it to 
 be a beautiful machine. He views it with 
 the same agreeable emotion as the child 
 viewed the pebble ; but he can give a reason 
 for his judgment, and point out the particu- 
 lar perfections of the object on which it is 
 grounded. [74C] 
 
 Although the instinctive and the rational 
 sense of beauty may be perfectly distin- 
 guished in speculation, yet, in passing judg- 
 ment upon particular objects, they are often 
 80 mixed and confounded, that it is difficult 
 to assign to eacli its own province. Nay, it 
 [7i5 7*7] 
 
 may often happen, that a judgment of the 
 beauty of an object, which was at first 
 merely instinctive, shall afterwards become 
 rational, when we discover some latent per- 
 fection of which that beauty in the object is 
 a sign. 
 
 As the sense of beauty may be distm- 
 guished into instinctive and rational ; so I ) 
 think beauty itself may be distinguished into 
 original and derived. 
 
 As some objects shine by their own light, i 
 and many more by light that is borrowed | 
 and reflected ; so I conceive the lustre of 
 beauty in some objects is inherent and 
 original, and in many others is borrowed 
 and reflected. 
 
 There is nothing more common in the 
 sentiments of all mankind, and in the lan- 
 guage of all nations, than what may be 
 called a communication of attributes ; that 
 is, transferring an attribute, from the sub- 
 ject to which it properly belongs, to some 
 related or resembling subject. 
 
 The various objects which nature pre- 
 sents to our view, even those that are most 
 different in kind, have innumerable simili- 
 tudes, relations, and analogies, which we 
 contemplate with pleasure, and which lead 
 us naturally to borrow words and attributes 
 from one object to express what belongs to 
 another. The greatest part of every lan- 
 guage under heaven is made up of words 
 borrowed from one thing, and applied to 
 something supposed to have some relation 
 or analogy to their first signification. [747] 
 
 The attributes of body we ascribe to mind, 
 and the attributes of mind to material ob- 
 jects. To inanimate things we ascribe life, 
 and even intellectual and moral qualities. 
 And, although the qualities that are thus 
 made common belong to one of the subjects 
 in the proper sense, and to the other meta- 
 phorically, these different senses are often 
 so mixed in our imagination, as to produce 
 the same sentiment with regard to both. 
 
 It is therefore natural, and agreeable to 
 the strain of human sentiments and of 
 human language, that in many cases the * 
 beauty which originally and properly is in \ 
 the thing signified, should be transferred ^ 
 to the sign ; that which is hi the cause to 
 the effect ; that which is in the end to the 
 means ; and that which is ui the agent to 
 the instrument. 
 
 If what was said in the last chapter of 
 the distinction between the grandeur which 
 we ascribe to qualities of mind, and that 
 which we ascribe to material objects, be 
 well founded, this distinction of the beauty 
 of objects will easily be admitted as per- *^ 
 fectly analagous to it. I shall therefore 
 only illustrate it by an example. 
 
 There is nothing in the exterior of a man 
 more lovely and more attractive than per- 
 fect good breeding. But what is this good 
 
S02 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [bssay viii. 
 
 CHAP. IV. J 
 
 OP BEAUTY. 
 
 503 
 
 Imediiigf It eonmsts of all tlie external 
 ligiti cvff due respect to our siiperiorfi, con- 
 descension to our inferioM, politeness to all 
 witli whom we converse or have to do, 
 Jcfaed in the fiiif sex with that delicacy of 
 milwiird hehavionr which becomes them. 
 And how comes it to have such charms in 
 the eyes of all mankind ; for this reason 
 mdj^ as I appiehend, thai it .is a natural 
 ■Ign of that 'lumper, tmi 'iww' affections 
 ■ad sentimeiitfl with regard to others, and 
 with teg^rd to ourselves, which are in 
 lllfiiiielves truly amiable and beautifui 
 
 This is the original, of which good breed- 
 ing iS' the pirtuie $ and it is the beauty of 
 Ihe originid that is reflected to our sense 
 by the picture. The beauty of good breed- 
 ings therefore, is not origimlly in the ex- 
 lenal behaviour in which it eonslsis, but is 
 derived from the qualities of mind which it 
 expresses. And though there may be good 
 breeding without the amiable qualities of 
 mind, its beauty is stEl derived from what 
 it naturally expresses. [748] 
 
 Having exphuned these distinctions of 
 Mr sense of beauty into instinctive and 
 rational, and of beauty itself into original 
 and derived, I would now proceed to give 
 a general view of those qualities in objects, 
 to which we may justly and rationally 
 awribe beauty, whether original or derived. 
 Bui here some embarrassment arises 
 from the vague hieanmg of the word beauty, 
 which I had occasion before to observe. 
 
 Sometimes it is extended, so iis to include 
 ■everything, that pleases a good taste, and 
 ■o comprehends grandeur and novelty, as 
 well as what in a more restricted sense is 
 adled beauty. At other times, it is even 
 by good writers confined to the objects of 
 light, when they are either seen, ot remem- 
 bered, or imagined. Yet it is admitted by 
 all men, that there are beanties in music ; 
 that there is beauty as well as sublimity in 
 composition, both in verse and in prose; 
 that there h beauty in characters, in affec- 
 tions, and in actions. These are not ob- 
 jeets of sight ; and a man may be a good 
 judge of beauty of various kinds, who has 
 not the faculty of sight. 
 
 To give a determinate meaning to a word 
 so variously extended and restricted, I 
 kmw no better way than what is suggested 
 Iqflhe common division of the objects of 
 taste into novelty, grandeur, and beauty. 
 Novelty, it is pkm. Is no quality of tlie 
 niw object, but merely a rehitiou which it 
 has to the knowledge of the person to whom 
 it is now. Therefore, if this general divi- 
 aion foe just, every quality in an object that 
 pleases a good taste, must, in one degree 
 or another, have either grandeur or beauty. 
 It may still be difficult to fix the precise 
 limit betwixt grandeur and bfauty ; but 
 they must together comprehend everything 
 
 fitted by its nature to please a good taste- 
 that is, every real perfection and excellence 
 in the objects we contemphite. [749] 
 
 In a poem, in a picture, in a piece of 
 music, it is real excellence that pleases a | 
 good taste. In a person, every perfection 
 of the mind, moral or intellectual, and every 
 perfection of the body, gives pleasure to the 
 spectator, as well as to the owner, when 
 there is no envy nor malignity to destroy 
 that pleasure. 
 
 It is, therefore, in the scale of perfection 
 and real excellence that we must look for 
 what is either grand or beautiful in objects. 
 What is the proper object of admiration is 
 grand, and what is the proper object of love 
 and esteem is beautiful. 
 
 This, I thmk, is the only notion of beauty 
 that corresponds with the division of the 
 objects of taste which has been generally 
 received by philosophers. And this con- 
 nection of beauty with real perfection, was 
 a capitiil doctrine of the Socratic school. 
 It is often ascribed to Socrates, in the dia- 
 logues of Plato and of Xenophon. 
 
 We may, therefore, take a view, first, of 
 those qualities of mind to which we may | 
 justly and rationally ascribe beauty, and 
 then of the beauty we jierceive in the objects 
 of sense. We shall find, if I mistake not, 
 that, in the first, original beauty is to be 
 found, and that the beauties of the second 
 daws are derived from some relation they 
 beiir to mind, as the signs or expressions 
 of some amiable mental quality, or as the 
 efiects of design, art, and wise contrivance. 
 As grandeur naturally produces admira- 
 tion, beauty naturally produces love. We 
 may, therefore, justly ascribe beauty to those 
 qualities which are tlie natural objects of 
 love and kind affection. 
 
 Of this kind chiefly are some of the moral 
 virtues, which, in a' peculiar manner, con- 
 stitute a lovely character. Innocence, gen- 1 
 tleness, condescension, humanity, natural 
 affection, public spirit, and the whole train 
 of the soft and gentle virtues : these qualities 
 are amiable from their very nature, and on 
 I account of their intrinsic worth. [750] 
 There are other virtues that raise admira* 
 tion, and are, therefore, grand; such as 
 magnanimity, fortitude, self-command, su- 
 periority to pain and labour, superiority to 
 pleasure, and to the smiles of Fortune as 
 well as to her frowns. 
 
 These awful virtues constitute what is 
 most grand in the human cliaracter; the 
 gentle virtues, what is most beautiful and 
 lovely. As they are virtues, they draw the 
 apprubation of our moral faculty ; as they , 
 are becoming and amiable, they affect our J 
 sense of beauty. 
 
 Next to the amiable moral virtues, there 
 are many intellectual talents which have an 
 intrinsic value, and draw our love and esteem 
 
 f7iH--750] 
 
 I to those who possess them. Such are, 
 knowledge, good sense, wit, humour, cheer- 
 / fulness, good taste, excellence in any of the 
 fine arts, in eloquence, in dramatic action ; 
 and, we may add, excellence in every art of 
 peace or war that is useful in society. 
 
 There are likewise talents which we refer 
 to the body, which have an original beauty 
 / and comeliness ; such as health, strength, 
 and agility, the usual attendants of youth ; 
 skill in bodily exercises, and skill in the 
 mechanic arts. These are real perfections 
 of the man, as they increase his power, and 
 render the body a fit instrument for the 
 mind. 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that it is in the 
 moral and intellectual perfections of mind, 
 %^ and in its active powers, that beauty origin- 
 \ ally dwells ; and that from this as the foun- 
 tain, all the beauty which we perceive in 
 the visible world is derived. [7^1] 
 
 This, I think, was the opinion of the 
 
 ancient philosophers before-named ; and it 
 
 has beeu adopted by Lord Shaftesbury and 
 
 Dr Akeiiside among the modems. 
 
 •• Mind, mind alone, bear witness, earth and heav'n I 
 
 The living I'ountains in itself contains 
 
 Of beauteous and sublime. Here hand in hand 
 
 Si. paramount the graces. Here enthron'd. 
 
 Celestial Venus, with divirast airs. 
 
 Invites the soul to uever-fadingjoy."— j4A:t7W*d<?. 
 
 But neither mind, nor any of its qualities 
 or ]>owers, is an immedate object of per- 
 ception to man. We are, indeed, imme- 
 diately conscious of the operations of our 
 own mind ; and every degree of perfection 
 in them gives the purest pleasure, with a 
 proportional degree of self-esteem, so flat- 
 tering to self-love, that the great difficulty 
 is to keep it within just bounds, so that we 
 may not think of ourselves above what we 
 ought to think. 
 
 Other minds we perceive only through 
 the medium of material objects, on which 
 their signatures are impressed. It is 
 through this medium that we perceive life, 
 activity, wisdom, and every moral and in- 
 tellectual quality in other beings. The 
 signs of those qualities are immediately 
 perceived by the senses ; by them the qua- 
 lities themselves are reflected to our under- 
 standing ; and we are very apt to attribute 
 to the sign the beauty or the grandeur 
 which is properly and originally in the 
 things signified. 
 
 The invisible Creator, the Fountain of 
 all perfection, hath stamped upon all his 
 works signatures of his divine wisdom, 
 power, and benignity, which are visible to 
 all men. The works of men in science, in 
 the arts of taste, and in the mechanical 
 arts, bear the signatures of those qualities 
 of mind which were employed in their pro- 
 duction. Their external behaviour and 
 conduct in hfe expresses the good or bad 
 qualities of their mind. [7^2] 
 [751-7531 
 
 In every species of animals, we perceive 
 by visible signs their instincts, their appe- 
 tites, their affections, their sagacity. Even 
 in the inanimate world, there are many 
 things analogous to the qualities of mind ; 
 so that there is hardly anything belonging y 
 to mind which may not be represented by 
 images taken from the objects of sense ; 
 and, on the other hand, every object of 
 sense is beautified, by borrowing attire from 
 the attributes of mind. 
 
 Thus, the beauties of mind, though invi- 
 sible in themselves, are perceived in the , y[ 
 objects of sense, on which their image is 
 impressed. 
 
 If we consider, on the other hand, the 
 qualities in sensible objects to which we 
 ascribe beauty, I apprehend we shall find 
 in all of them some relation to mind, and 
 the greatest in those that are most beau- 
 tiful. 
 
 When we consider inanimate matter 
 abstractly, as a substance endowed with 
 the qualities of extension, soUdity, divisi- 
 bility, and mobility, there seems to be 
 nothing in these qualities that affects our 
 sense of beauty. But when we contem- 
 plate the globe which we uihabit, as fitted 
 by its form, by its motions, and by its fur* 
 niture, for the habitation and support of an 
 infinity of various orders of living creatures, 
 from the lowest reptile up to man, we have 
 a glorious spectacle indeed ! with which 
 the grandest and the mbst beautiful struc- 
 tures of human art can bear no compa> 
 rison. 
 
 The only perfection of dead matter is its ^ 
 being, by its various forms and qualitiesj Y 
 so admirably fitted for the purposes of ani- 
 mal life, and chiefly that of man. It fur- 
 nishes the materials of every art that tends 
 to the support or the embellishment of 
 human life. By the Supreme Artist, it is 
 organized in the various tribes of the veget- 
 able kingdom, and endowed with a kind of 
 life ; a work which human art cannot imi- 
 tate, nor human understanding compre- 
 hend. [753] 
 
 In the bodies and various organs of the 
 animal tribes, there is a composition of 
 matter still more wonderful and more mys- 
 terious, though we see it to be admirably 
 adapted to the purposes and manner of life 
 of every species. But in every form, unor- 
 ganized, vegetable, or animal, it derives its 
 beauty from the purposes to which it is^ 
 subservient, or from the signs of wisdom 
 or of other mental qualities which it ex- 
 hibits. 
 
 The qualities of inanimate matter, m 
 which we perceive beauty, are— sound, . 
 colour, form, and motion ; the first an ob- \ 
 ject of hearing, the other three of sight ; 
 which we may consider in order. 
 
 In a single note, sounded by a very fine 
 
lull, 
 mi'if 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [«.*» vm. 
 
 v«ite% there is a beauty whfeli we do not 
 perceive in tlw :iii|iie iwte^ MMniled by a bad 
 voice or an iiii|ie:riBet inftnineiii I need 
 not attempt to enumerate the perfections 
 In a tingle note, which give beauty to it. 
 Sfiiie of then, have iuunea in th« ^wsieiice of 
 nnsie, and Ihem 'peibaps are^ others which 
 have no namei. Bat I think it will be 
 :aiMred9 that every quality which gives 
 beauty to a single note,, is a sign of some 
 
 Krfeetiou, either in the organ, whether it 
 the human voice or an instrument, or in 
 tie execution. The beauty of the sound 
 is both the sign and the effect of this per- 
 feetinn ; and the perfection of the cause is 
 the only reason we can assign for the beauty 
 of the ^eet 
 
 IB . cnTpo^tion of .mndiS or > Iri«» of 
 Busie, the beauty is either in the harmony, 
 the metodVy or tlw expression. The beauty 
 of expression must be 'derivedi, either ttom 
 the beauty of the thing expnsiml, or from 
 the art and skill employed in expressing it 
 pniperly. 
 
 In harmony^ the very names of concord 
 and diaoonl are metaphorical, and suppose 
 ifMneanatogy between the rektions of sound, 
 to which they are figuratively applied, and 
 
 they originally and properly signify. [7^] 
 As far as I can Judge by my ear, when 
 two or more persons, of a good voice and 
 ear, converse tofelher m amity and friend- 
 •hip|. the tones of their diiTerent voiees: art' 
 iteiH»idant, but become discordant when 
 tbev give vent to angry passions ; so that, 
 winout hearing what is said, one may know 
 M the tones of the different voices, whether 
 they quarrel or converse amieahly. This, 
 indeed, m not so easily perceived, in those 
 who have been taught, by |i;ood-hreeding, 
 to suppress angry tonea of voice, even when 
 they M.n .apfpyi as in the lowest rank, who 
 express their angry passions withdlit any 
 .restraini. 
 
 When discord arises occasionally in con- 
 '^vatsatioUi but soon terminates in perfect 
 .amity, we receive more pleas'ure than from 
 perfect unanimity. In like manner, in the 
 iiamlony of music, discordant sounds are 
 occasionally introduced, but it is always in 
 .^orderto^five a ""relish to the most perfect 
 moortliitt follows. 
 
 Whether these analogies, between the 
 harmony of a piece of music, and liarmonj 
 in the intercourse of minds, be merely fanci- 
 ful, or 'have any real foundation in fact, I 
 fubnit to those who have a nicer ear, and 
 ittw applied it to observations of this kind. 
 If they have any just foundatbn, as they 
 .BOeni to :nw to' have, they serve to account 
 for' UM' nwtiiilMiriciil application of the 
 ;iiaiini ef ^eoiimfd. .and discord to the rek* 
 tioBB of ioniidi ; to account for the pleasure 
 we have fmm harmony in music ; and to 
 
 shew, that the beauty of harmony is derived 
 from the reliition it has to agreeable affec- 
 tions of mind. 
 
 With recard to melody. I leave it to the 
 adepts in the science of music, to determine 
 whether music, composed according to the 
 established rules of harmony and melody, 
 can be altogetlier void of expression ; and 
 whether music that has no expression can 
 have any beauty. To me it seems, that 
 every strain in melody that is agreeable, is 
 an imitation of the tones of the human 
 voice in the expression of some sentiment 
 or passion, or an imitation of some other ob- ^ 
 ject in nature ; and that music, as well as 
 poetry, is an imitative art. [7^5] 
 
 The sense of beauty in the colours, and 
 in the motions of inanimate objects, is, I 
 believe, in some cases instinctive. We see 
 that children and savages are~pleased with 
 brilliant colours and sprightly motions. In 
 persons of an improved and rational taste, 
 there are many sources from which colours 
 and motions may derive their beauty. They, 
 as well as the forms of objects, admit of 
 regularity and variety. The motions pro- 
 duced by machinery, indicate the perfectii»n 
 or imperfection of the mechanism, and nia} 
 he better or worse adapted to their end, and 
 from that derive their beauty or defonniiy. 
 
 The colours of natural objects, are cuni- 
 monly signs of some good or bad quality in 
 the object; or they may suggest to the 
 imagination something agreeable or dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 In dress and furniture, fashion has a con- 
 siderable influence on the preference we give 
 to one colour above another. 
 
 A number of clouds of different and ever- 
 changing hue, seen on the ground of a serene 
 azure sky, at the going down of the sun, 
 present to the eye of every man a glorious 
 spectacle. It is. hard to say, whether we 
 should call it grand or beautifuL It is both 
 in a high degree. Clouds towering above 
 clouds, variously tuiged, according as they 
 approach nearer to the direct rays of the 
 sun, enlarge our conceptions of the regions " 
 above us. They give us a view of the fur- 
 niture of those regions, which, in an un- 
 clouded air, seem to be a perfect void ; but 
 are now seen to contain the stores of wind 
 and rain, bound up for the present, but to 
 be poured dowa upon the earth in due sea- 
 son. Even the simple rustic does not look 
 upon this beautiful sky, merely as a show 
 to please the eye, but as a happy omen of I 
 fine weather to come. 
 
 The proper arrangement of colour, and of 
 light and shade, is one of the chief beauties 
 of painting ; but this beauty is greatest, 
 when that arrangement gives the most dis- 
 tinct, the most natural, and the most agree- 
 able image of that which the paintes intend- | 
 ed to represent. [76^} 
 
 OHAP. IV.] 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 505 
 
 If we consider, in the last place, the 
 beauty of form or figure in inanimate ob- 
 jectS) this, according to Dr Hutcheson, re- 
 sults from regularity, mixed with variety. 
 Here, it ought to be observed, that regu- 
 larity, in all cases, expresses design and 
 art : for nothing regular was ever the work 
 of chance ; and where regularity is joined 
 with variety, it expresses design more 
 strongly. Besides, it has been justly ob- 
 served, that regular figures are more easily 
 I and more perfectly comprehended by the 
 mind than the irregular, of which we can 
 never form an adequate conception. 
 
 Although straight lines and plain surfaces 
 have a beauty from their regularity, they 
 admit of no variety, and, therefore, are 
 beauties of the lowest order. Curve lines 
 and surfaces admit of infinite variety, joined 
 with every degree of regularity ; and, there- 
 fore, in many cases, excel in beauty those 
 that are straight. 
 
 But the beauty arising from regularity 
 and variety, must always yield to that which 
 arises from the fitness of the form for the 
 end intended. In everything made for an 
 end, the form must be adapted to that end ; 
 and everything in the form that suits the 
 end, is a beauty ; everything that unfits it 
 for its end, is a deformity. 
 
 The forms of a pillar, of a sword, and of 
 . a balance are very different. Each may 
 have great beauty ; but that beauty is de- 
 rived from the fitness of the form and of 
 the matter for the purpose intended. [757] 
 
 Were we to consider the form of the earth 
 itself, and the various furniture it contains, 
 of the inanimate kind ; its distribution into 
 land and sea, mountains and valleys, rivers 
 and springs of water, the variety of soils 
 that cover its surface, and of mineral and 
 metallic substances laid up within it, the air 
 that surrounds it, the vicissitudes of day 
 and night, and of the seasons ; the beauty 
 of all these, which indeed is superlative, 
 consists in this, that they bear the most 
 lively and striking impression of the wisdom 
 ■ and goodness of their Author, in contriving 
 them so admirably for the use of man, and 
 of their other inhabitants. 
 
 The beauties of the vegetable kingdom 
 are far superior to those of inanimate mat- 
 ter, in any form which human art can give 
 it. Hence, in all ages, men have been fond 
 to adorn their persons and their habitations 
 with the vegetable productions of nature. 
 
 The beauties of the field, of the forest, 
 and of the flower-garden, strike a child long 
 before he can reason. He is delighted with 
 what he sees ; but he knows not why. This 
 is instinct, but it is not confined to child- 
 hood ; it continues through all the stages of 
 life. It leads the florist, the botanist, the 
 philosopher, to examine and compare the 
 objects which Nature, by this powerful in- 
 [757, 758] 
 
 stmct, recommends to his attention. By 
 degrees, he becomes a critic in beauties of 
 this kind, and can give a reason why he 
 prefers one to another. In every species, 
 he sees the greatest beauty in the plants or 
 flowers that are most perfect in their kind^ 
 which have neither suffered from unkindly 
 soil nor inclement weather ; which have not 
 been robbed of their nourishment by other 
 plants, nor hurt by any accident. When he 
 exammes the internal structure of those 
 productions of Nature, and traces them 
 from their embryo state in the seed to their 
 maturity, he sees a thousand beautiful con- 
 trivances of Nature, which feast his under- 
 standing more than their external form 
 delighted his eye. 
 
 Thus, every beauty in the vegetable 
 creation, of which he has formed any ra- 
 tionaljudgment, expresses some perfection 
 STIHe object, or some wise contrivance in 
 its Author. [758] 
 
 In the animal kingdom, we perceive still 
 greater beauties than in the vegetable- Here 
 we observe life, and sense, and activity, 
 various instincts and aftections, and, in 
 many eases, great sagacity. These, are 
 attributes of mind, and have an original 
 "beaufyr X. 
 
 '~As we allow to brute animals a thinking 
 principle or mind, though far inferior to 
 that which is in man ; and as, in many of 
 their intellectual and active powers, they 
 very much resemble the human species, 
 their actions, their motions, and even their 
 looks, derive a beauty from the powers of 
 thought which they express. 
 
 There is a wonderful variety in theur 
 manner of life ; and we find the powers they 
 possess, their outward form, and their in- 
 ward structure, exactly adapted to it. In 
 every species, the more perfectly any indi- 
 vidual is fitted for its end and manner of 
 life, the greater is its beauty. 
 
 In a race-horse, everything that expresses 
 agility, ardour, and emulation, gives beauty 
 to the animal. In a pointer, acuteness of 
 scent, eagerness on the game, and tractable- 
 ness, are the beauties of the species. A 
 sheep derives its beauty from the fineness 
 and quantity of its fleece ; and in the wild 
 animals, every beauty is a sign of their 
 perfection in their kind. 
 
 It is an observation of the celebrated 
 Linnaeus, that, in the vegetable kingdom, 
 the poisonous plants l:ave commonly a lurid 
 and disagreeable appearance to the eye, of 
 which he gives many instances. I appre- 
 hend the observation may be extended to 
 the animal kingdom, in which we commonly 
 see something shocking to the eye in the 
 noxious and poisonous animals. 
 
 The beauties which anatomists and phy- 
 siologists describe in the internal structure 
 of the various tribes of animals ; m tlw 
 
h 
 
 
 ON THE INTELLICTUAL POWERS. [essay viii. 
 
 m§Km of aai.ee, of mitrition, and <if motion, 
 are' expKssiTo of wise design and oontriv- 
 ance, in fitting thein for the varions kinds 
 nf life for whicli they an intended. [709] 
 
 TliaB, I think, it appean that ilie heanty 
 which we perceive in the inferior animals, 
 is expressive, either of such perfections as 
 CiMtr acfwal, naUwes may receive, or ex- 
 pCiMiTe of wise design in Him who made 
 titem, and that their beauty is derived from 
 (he perfections which it expresses. 
 
 But of all the ohjaets of sense, the most 
 ■trilcinc and attractive beauty is perceived 
 inHieliiiman speeies, and parlieniarly in 
 
 llMi iUT' BBMrn 
 
 M iton itpvesents Satan himself, in sur- 
 feying the furniture of this riobe, aS'.strwik 
 with tlie beauty of the firat happy pair. 
 
 « Two of Ihr RobiffT tliaiie, erect and tall, 
 
 OiMllli* erect! with native honour ctoi 
 
 In mikm m^mj* mem'd lords of alL 
 
 And worthf McniV, fur in tlisir looki' iivlne. 
 The image tii f Mr glodoiH. 'Maker, sImim^ 
 Truth, wMm, lanctittide wvere and .piaiti 
 Severe, but in true filial freetlom platfd, 
 Wlience true authority in man : thouith ImiCIb 
 Nile equal, as their m x not equal sefwn'd, 
 Fttcapntenplatiiia he, and valwr fnmi'd. 
 Ibr^nomeii ihe. mA mtel .attractive sr.'.ce.** 
 
 In this well-known passage of Milton, 
 
 we see that this great ^mi derives the 
 'heanty of the fint pair m Paradise from 
 those expressions of moral and intellectual 
 qualities which appeared in their outward 
 form and demeanour. 
 
 The most minute and systematical ac- 
 Miunt of beauty in the human species, and 
 partieukrly in the fair sex, I have met 
 with, is in " Crito ; or, a Dialogue on 
 Beauty/* said to be written hy the author 
 of ** Polymetis,"* and repnhlisned by Dods- 
 fef m his coUeetion. of fngitive pieces 
 
 I shall borrow from that author some 
 observationB, which, I think, tend to shew 
 that the beauty of the human body is 
 
 'derived from the signs it exhibits of some 
 perfeetim. 'Of the mind or person. 
 
 All tliat 'Can.. he^ called beauty in ^ the 
 
 ■human species may be reduced to these 
 
 I four heads: colour, form, expression, and 
 
 Kiee. Tie two former may be called the 
 Jy , the two latter the soul of beauty. 
 The beauty of colour is not owing solely 
 to tlie 'natural .liveliness of flesh^colour and 
 led, nor to the much greater charms they 
 neeive from being properly blended toge- 
 ther ; but is also owing, in some degree, to 
 JUhe idea> they carry with them of good 
 health, without which all beauty grows 
 hnguid and less engaging, and with which 
 it always recovers an additional strength 
 Slid lustre. This is supported by the autho- 
 rity of Cicero. Vmmtim et pukhritudo 
 mrpwiB semnd mm po/cil u mktnd m. 
 
 '^'Sncfiiee, under 'the name' of iM'r tiarrj 
 
 ' Here I observe, that, as the colour of the 
 body is very different in different climates, 
 every nation preferring the colour of its 
 climate, and as, among us, one man prefers 
 a fair beauty, another a brunette, without 
 being able to give any reason for this pre- 
 ference; this diversity of taste has no stand- 
 ard in the common principles of human 
 nature, but must arise from something that 
 is different in different nations, and^in dif- 
 ferent individuals of the same nation. 
 
 I observed before, that fashion, habit, 
 associations, and perhaps some peculiarity | 
 of constitution, may have great influence 
 upon this internal sense, as well as upon 
 the external. Setting aside the judgments 
 arising from such causes, there seems to 
 remain notliing that, according to the com- 
 mon judgment of mankind, can be called 
 beauty in the colour of the species, but 
 what expresses perfect health and liveli- 
 ness, and in the fair sex softness and deli- 
 cacy; and nothing that can be called deform- 
 ity but what indicates disease and decline. 
 And if this be so, it follows, that the beauty 
 of colour is derived from the perfections 
 which it expresses. This, however, of all 
 the ingredients of beauty, is the least [761 ] 
 
 The next in order is form, or proportion 
 of parts. The most beautiful form, as the 
 author thinks, is that which indicates deli- 
 cacy and softness in the fair sex, and in the , 
 male either strength or agility. The beau* 
 ty of form, therefore, Mes all in expression. 
 
 The third ingredient, which has more 
 power than eitlier colour or form, he calls 
 expression, and observes, that it is only the 
 expression of the tender and kind passions 
 that gives beauty ; that all the cruel and 
 unkind ones add to deformity ; and that, on 
 this account, good nature may very justly 
 be said to be the best feature, even in tlie 
 finest face. Blodesty, sensibility, and 
 sweetness, blended together, so as either 
 to enliven or to correct each other, give al- 
 most as much attraction as the passions are 
 capable of adding to a very pretty face. 
 
 It is owing, says the author, to the great 
 force of pleasingness which attends all the 
 kinder passions, that lovers not only seem, 
 but really are, more beautiful to each other 
 than they are lo the rest of the world ; be- 
 cause, when they are together, the most pleas- 
 ing passions are more frequently exerted in 
 each of their faces than they are in either 
 before the rest of the world. There is then, 
 as a French author very well expresses it, 
 a soul upon their countenances, which does 
 not appear when they are absent from one 
 another, or even in company that lays a re* 
 straint upon their features. 
 
 There is a great difference in the same 
 face, according as the person is in a better 
 or a worse humour, or more or less lively. 
 The bMt complexion, the finest features, 
 
 [T59-761] 
 
 CHAP. IV] 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 5^7 
 
 and the exactest shape, without anything 
 
 of the mind expressed in the face, is insipid 
 
 and unmoving. The finest eyes in the 
 
 world, with an excess of malice or rage in 
 
 them, will grow shocking. The passions 
 
 I B I can give beauty without the assistance of 
 
 * " " colour or form, and take it away where 
 
 these have united most strongly to give it ; 
 
 and therefore this part of beauty is greatly 
 
 I / superior to the other two. [762] 
 
 The hist and noblest part of beauty is 
 grace, which the author thinks undefin- 
 
 able. 
 
 Nothing causes love so gene-ally and ir- 
 resistibly as grace. Therefore, in the my- 
 thology of the Greeks and Romans, the 
 Graces were the constant attendants of 
 Venus the goddess of love. Grace is like 
 the cestus of the same goddess, which was 
 supposed to comprehend everything that 
 was winning and engaging, and to create 
 love by a secret and inexplicable force, like 
 that of some magical charm. 
 
 There are two kinds of grace— the majes- 
 tic and the familiar ; the first more com- 
 manding, the last more delightful and en- 
 gaging. The Grecian painters and sculp- 
 tore iwed to express the former most strongly 
 in the looks and attitudes of their Miner- 
 vas, and the latter in those of Venus. This 
 distinction is marked in the description of 
 the personages of Virtue and Pleasure in 
 the ancient fable of the Choice of Hercules. 
 •• Oracenil, buv each with diffbrent grace they move, 
 Tbi« striking sacred awe, that lofter winning love. 
 
 K 
 
 In the persons of Adam and Eve in Pa- 
 radise, Milton has made the same distinc- 
 tion — 
 " For contemplation he. and valour formed. 
 For 8oftnes« she, and sweet attractive grace. [TtK^ 
 Though grace be so difficult to be defined, 
 there are two things that hold universally 
 with relation to it. First, There is no 
 f grace without motion; some genteel or 
 pleasing motion, either of the whole body 
 or of some limb, or at least some feature. 
 Hence, in the face, grace appears only on 
 those features that aremovaMe, and change 
 with the various emotions and sentiments 
 of the mind, such as the eyes and eye- 
 brows, the mouth and parts adjacent. 
 When Venus appeared to her son ^neas 
 in dis'niise, and, after some conversation 
 with him, retired, it was by the grace of 
 her motion in retiring that he discovered 
 her lie to truly a goddess. 
 
 •« Dixit, et avcrten* rosea cervice refulsit, 
 AmbrosiKque comas divinum vertice odorem 
 Spiravere ; !>cde« vestis dcfluxit ad imos ; 
 Et vera inccssu patuit dea. llle, ubi matrem 
 Agnovit," &c 
 
 A .secund oliservation is, That there can 
 lie no grace with impropriety, or that no- 
 thing can be graceful that is not adapted to 
 the character and situation of the person. 
 From these observations, which appear ( 
 
 [726-765.] 
 
 to me to be just, we may, I think, conclude, 
 that grace, as far as it is visible, consists of 
 those motions, either of the whole body, or 
 of a part or feature, which express the most 
 perfect propriety of conduct and sentiment i 
 in an amiable character. 
 
 Those motions must be different m dif- 
 ferent characters; they must vary with 
 every variation of emotion and sentiment ; 
 they may express either dignity or respect, 
 confidence or reserve, love or just resent- 
 ment, esteem or indignation, zeal or indif- 
 ference. Every passion, sentiment, or emo- 
 tion, that in its nature and degree is just 
 and proper, and corresponds perfectly with 
 the character of the person, and with the oc- 
 casion, is what may we call the soul of grace. 
 The body or visible part consists of those 
 emotions and features which give the true 
 and unafiected expression of this soul. [764 J 
 Thus, I think, all the ingredients of 
 human beauty, as they are enumerated and 
 described by this ingenious author, termi- ^ 
 nate in expression : they either express 
 some perfection of the body, as a part of the 
 man, and an instrument of the mind, or 
 some amiable quality or attribute of the 
 
 mind itself. 
 
 It cannot, indeed, be denied, that the 
 expression of a fine countenance may be 
 unnaturally disjoined from the amiable qua- 
 lities which it naturally expresses : but we 
 presume the contrary till we have clear evi- 
 dence ; and even then we pay homage to 
 the expression, as we do to the throne when 
 it happens to be unworthily filled. 
 
 Whether what I have offered to shew, 
 that all the beauty of the objects of sense 
 is borrowed, and derived from the beauties 
 of mind which it expresses or suggests to 
 the imagination, be well-founded or not, 1 
 hope this terrestrial Venus will not he 
 deemed less worthy of the homage which 
 has always been paid to her, by being con- 
 ceived more nearly allied to the celestial 
 than she has commonly been represented. 
 
 To make an end of this subject, tsisie 
 seems to be progressive as man is. Child- 
 ren, when refreshed by sleep, and at ease 
 from pain and hunger, are disposed to at- 
 tend to the objects about them ; they are 
 pleased with brilliant colours, gaudy orna- 
 ments, regular forms, cheerful counte- 
 nances, noisy mirth and glee. Such is 
 the taste of childhood, which we must con- 
 clude to be given for wise purposes. A 
 ereat part of the happiness of that period 
 of life is derived from it ; and, therefore, it 
 ought to be indulged. It leads them to 
 attend to objects which they may afterwards 
 find worthy of their attention. It puts them 
 upon exerting their infant faculties of body 
 and mind, which, by such exertions are 
 daily strengthened and improved. | Ibb \ 
 As they advance in years and in under- 
 
5oe 
 
 ON THE INTELLECTUAL POWERS. [essay viii. 
 
 •tsn&g, other beauiiee attract their atten- 
 tion, which, by their novelty or superiority, 
 tiufow a shade upon those they formerly ad- 
 aifed. They delight in feats of agility, 
 ■trength, and art ; they love those that ex- 
 cel in them, and strive to equal them. In 
 the tales and fables they hear, they begin to 
 discern beauties of mind. Some characters 
 Mid actions appear lovely, others give dis- 
 mtL The intellectual and moral powers 
 Mgin to open, and, if cherished by favour- 
 able circumstances, advance gradually in 
 strength, till they arrive at that degree 
 dt perfection to which human nature, in its 
 fment state, is limited. 
 
 In our progress from infancy to maturity, 
 our faculties open in a regukr order ap- 
 pointed by Nature ; the meanest first, those 
 nl more dignity in succession, until the mo- 
 lal and rational powers finish the man. 
 Every faculty furnishes new notions, brings 
 new beauties into view, and enlarges the 
 province of taste; so that we may say, 
 there is a taste of childhood, a taste of 
 youth, and a manly taste. Each is beau- 
 tiful in its season ; but not so much so, 
 when carried beyond its season. Not that 
 the man ought to dislike the things that 
 please the child or the youth, but to put 
 less value upon them, compared with other 
 beauties, with which he ought to be ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 Our moral and rational powers justly 
 claim dominion over the whole man. Even 
 taste is not exempted from their authority ; 
 it must be subject to that authority in 
 every case wherein we pretend to reason or 
 dispute about matters of taste ; it is the voice 
 of reason that our love or our admiration 
 
 ought to be proportioned to the merit of the 
 object. When it is not grounded on real 
 worth, it must be the effect of constitution, 
 or of some lu«.bit, or casual association. A 
 fond mother may see a beauty in her dar- 
 ling child, or a fond author in his work, to 
 which the rest of the world are blind. In 
 such cases, the aifection is pre-engaged, 
 and, as it were, bribes the judgment, to 
 make the object worthy of that affection. 
 For the mind cannot be easy in putting a 
 value upon an object beyond what it con- 
 ceives to be due. When affection is not 
 carried away by some natural or acquired 
 bias, it naturally is and ought to be led by 
 the j udgment. [ 766 ] 
 
 As, in the division which I have followed 
 of our intellectual powers, I mentioned 
 Moral Perception and Consciousness, the 
 reader 'may expect that some reason should 
 be given, why they are not treated of in 
 this place. 
 
 As to Consciousness, what I think neces- 
 sary to be said upon it has been already 
 said. Essay vi., chap. 5. As to the faculty 
 of moral perception, it is indeed a most im- 
 portant part of human understanding, and 
 well worthy of the most attentive considera- 
 tion, since without it we could have no con- 
 ception of right and wrong, of duty and 
 moral obligation, and since the first princi- 
 ples of morals, upon which all moral rea- 
 soning must be grounded, are its immediate 
 dictates ; but, as it is an active as well as 
 an intellectual power, and has an immediate 
 relation to the other active powers of the 
 mind, I apprehend that it is proper to defer 
 the consideration of it till these be explained. 
 
 [766] 
 
 t. 
 I 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 ON THB 
 
 ACTIVE POWERS OF MAN, 
 
 By THOMAS REID, D.D., F.R.S.E., 
 
 PROFESSOR OP MORAL PHILOSOPHV IN THE UNIVERSITY OP (JILASOOW. 
 
 •* He hath shewed thee, O Man, what is good."— .Mic4h. 
 
^ The only authentic edition of the " Essays on the Active Powers" is that of 178«, 
 in 4to ; and from that edition the present is taken. The pages of the original impression 
 are here also marked^ and by them all protpectiw references made.— H. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The division of the faculties of the hu- 
 man mind into Understanding and Will* is 
 very ancient, and has been very generally 
 adopted ; the former comprehending all 
 our Speculative J the latter all our Active 
 powers.-f 
 
 It is evidently the intention of our Ma- 
 ker, that man should -be an active and not 
 merely a speculative being. For this pur- 
 pose, certain active powers have been given 
 him, limited indeed in many respects, but 
 suited to his rank and place in the crea- 
 tion. 
 
 Our business is to manage these powers, 
 by proposing to ourselves the best ends, 
 planning the most proper system of con- 
 duct that is in our power, and executing it 
 with industry and zeal. This is true wis- 
 dom; this is the very intention of our 
 being. 
 
 Everything virtuous and praiseworthy 
 must lie in the right use of our power ; 
 everything vicious and blameable in the 
 abuse of it. What is not within the sphere 
 
 » See above, p. 24-2, a, note t. 
 
 The division of the powers into those of the t7n- 
 derstandhuf and those of the Willt is very objection, 
 able. It is, as I have before observed, taken from the 
 Peripatetic distinction of these into qnostic or cogni- 
 tivCt and orectlc or appetent ; but the'original division 
 is far preferable to the borrowed ; fur, in the first 
 place, the term Understandlnq usually and properly 
 denotes only a part— the higher part— of the cognitive 
 faculties, and is then exclusive of sense, imagination, 
 memory, &c., which it is now intended to include, 
 ill the second place, the term Will is also usually 
 and properly limited to our higher appetencies, or 
 rational determinations, as opposed to our lower ap. 
 petencies, or irrational desires, which last, however, 
 it is here employed to comprehend. In the third 
 place, both the original and borrowed divisions are 
 improper, inasmuch as they either exclude or impro. 
 perly include a third great class of mental phaeno- 
 mena— the phaenomena of Feding.—R. 
 
 t The distribution of our powers into Spectilative 
 and Active^ is also very objectionable. Independently 
 of the objection common to it with that into the 
 powers of the utiderstanding and the powers of the 
 will— that the Feelings are excluded or improperly 
 Included— it is liable to objections peculiar to itself. 
 In the first place. Speculation, or Theory, is a certain 
 kind or certain application of k owledge; therefore. 
 Speculation is not a proper term by which to denote 
 the cognitive operations in general. In the second 
 place, speculation and knowledge are not opposed to 
 action, but to practice or doin'q, or, as it is best ex- 
 pressed in German, <ta* Jfandeln. Speculative powers 
 ought not, therefore, to have been opposed to active. 
 In the third place, the distinction of active powers is 
 in itself vicious, liecause it does not distinguish, or 
 distinguishes wrongly. Active is opposed to inactive,- 
 but it is not here intended to t>e said, that the cogni. 
 live powers are inactive ; but merely that the action 
 of the powers of appetency is diilisrent in kind from 
 the action of the powers of knowledge. The term 
 active doe« not, therefore, express what was meant, 
 or rather does express what was not meant. It is to 
 be observed, however, that the English language is 
 very defective in terms requisite to denote the die 
 tmctions in question.— H. 
 
 [1-4] 
 
 of our power cannot be imputed to us either 
 for blame or praise. These are self-evi- 
 dent truths, to which every unprejudiced 
 mind yields an inmiediate and iuviucible 
 assent. [2] 
 
 Knowledge derives its value from this, 
 that it enlarges our power, and directs us 
 in the application of it. For, in the right 
 employment of our active power consists all 
 the honour, dignity, and worth, of a man, 
 and, in the abuse and perversion of it, all 
 vice, corruption, and depravity. 
 
 We are distinguished from the brute ani- 
 mals, not less by our active than by our 
 speculative powers. 
 
 The brutes are stimulated to various ac- 
 tions by their instincts, by their appetites, 
 by their passions. But they seem to be 
 necessarily determined by the strongest im- 
 pulse, without any capacity of self-govern- 
 ment. Therefore we do not blame them 
 for what they do ; nor have we any reason 
 to think that they blame themselves. They 
 may be trained up by discipline, but cannot 
 bo governed by law. There is no evidence 
 that they have the conception of a law, or 
 of its obligation. 
 
 Man is capable of acting from motives of 
 a higher nature. He perceives a dignity and 
 worth in one course of conduct, a demerit 
 and turpitude in another, which brutes 
 have not the capacity to discern. 
 
 He perceives it to be his duty to act the 
 worthy and the honourable part, whether 
 his appetites and passions incite him to it 
 or to the contrary. When he sacrifices 
 the gratification of the strongest appetites 
 or passions to duty, this is so far from di- 
 minishing the merit of his conduct, that it 
 greatly increases it, and affords, upon re- , 
 flection, an inward satisfaction and triumph, { 
 of which brute-animals are not susceptible. ■ 
 When he acts a contrary part, he has 
 consciousness of demerit, to which they ar j 
 no less strangers. [3] 
 
 Since, therefore, the active powers 
 man make so important a part of his con] 
 stitution, and distinguish him so eminently 
 from his fellow-animals, they deserve n" 
 less to be the subject of philosophical dis- 
 quisition than his intellectual powers. 
 
 A just knowledge of our powers, whether 
 intellectual or active, is so far of real im- 
 portance to us, as it aids us in the exer- 
 cise of them. And every man must ac- 
 knowledge, that to act properly is much 
 more valuable than to think justly or rea- 
 son acutely. [4] 
 
Lessay f.— chap, i] OF THE NO 1 ION OF ACTIVE POWER. 513 
 
 E S S A I S 
 
 cm t'UB 
 
 ACTIVE POWERS OF MAN. 
 
 £ S b A I 1. 
 
 OF ACTIVE POWER IN GENERAL. 
 
 CHAPT'BH' 1 
 
 Of *!!■' MOTION Of ACTZTI WOWWU 
 
 To moMm grnm^ wTaml u mmai by 
 if oliw FMMry mmj seem ftItof*eflMsr tume- 
 mmmrff »nd to be mere trifling. It is not 
 K term of art, but a common word in our 
 Isogniige, uaed every day in discoiirse, even 
 'by 'tiM' vulgar. We fiiut words of the same 
 'miHiiiig 'ia all otber laognigeB ; ^and tbere 
 is no iwiwii to think that it is not perfectly 
 understood by all men who understand the 
 Bii#ih latigiiW , , 
 
 I bolieYO' alf tiiit m true, and that an 
 
 tttempt to explain a word so well under- 
 stood, and to shew that It has a meaning, 
 rec^uires an apology* 
 
 The apology is, That this tofin^ so well 
 understood by the vulgar, baa biwi dariened 
 by phiooophers, who, m this as in many 
 other instances, have found great difficul- 
 ties about a thing whioh, to tho' lesl of .man- 
 Mnd, seems perfectly elear. 
 
 This has been the more easily effected, 
 
 L because Power is a thing so much of its own 
 
 kind, and so simple in its nature, as not to 
 
 I admit of a hMpcal definition. [6] 
 
 The Aristotelian definition of motion — thai 
 it is " AcltM eniis in potenHa, quatenus in 
 potentia,** has been justly censured by mo- 
 dem philosophers ;• yet 1 think it is matched 
 by what a celebrated modern philosopher 
 luis given us, as the ruost accurate defiuitioii 
 of belief— to wit, " That it is a lively idea 
 related to or associated with a present im- 
 pression." (" Treatise of Human Nature,** 
 vol i. p. 172.) " Memory," according to 
 the same philosopher, " is the faculty by 
 which we repeat our impressions, so as that 
 they retain a considerable degree of their 
 first vivacity, and are somewhat interme- 
 diate betwixt an idea and an impression.** 
 
 Euclid, if his editors have not done him 
 injustice, has attempted to define a right 
 line, to define unity, ratio, and number. 
 But these definitions are good for nothing. 
 We may indeed suspect them not to be 
 Euelid*s; because they are never once 
 quoted in the Elements, and are of no use. 
 
 I shall not therefore attempt to define 
 Active Power, that I may not be liable to 
 the same censure ; but shall offer some ob- 
 servations that may lead us to attend to the 
 conception we have of it in our own minds, 
 
 ill III 
 
 luinwni n«»w lii-M...*."". i«j / ^*Fmm. JH not ^ object of any of our 
 
 It is wei Uiown that there are manv /extsDalsfjUflk. nor even an ubfect of con 
 
 lings perfecUy understood, and of which ^ifi^j^8,.t ^''^ 
 m have dear and distinct oonoeptions, ^ TbatitiBi 
 
 I oannot bo logically defined. Neman 
 attempted to define magnitade ; yet 
 
 -> 
 
 not seen, nor heard, nor toucheil, 
 nor tasted, nor smelt, needs no proof. That 
 wo are not conscious of it, in the proper 
 sense of that word, will be no less evident, 
 if we reflect, that consciousness is that 
 Dowerilt tlULinind hywmchithasan im- 
 mi^MsJkamMg^ of its 03fai. operations. 
 l/i>»ii/<M. ;« Ml* mm operation of Ih&jmud^juid 
 
 Pow 
 
 [here is no word whose meauiug is more 
 ibtinctly or more geneially understood. 
 We cannot give atogiaddcfinitioE of thought, 
 of duration, of number, or of motion. 
 
 Wheiimenattonipttodeiiioiiichthmg8,_^^, __^ __. . 
 
 they give no light They maygiveasynonyA ttofiCora no object of consciousn^ Jn; 
 miMS word or phrase, but it will proba- ^deed,_ every operation oT the mmd is thp 
 Mf be a worse for a better. If tliey will Exertion of so me power of tl ie rm d; but 
 dilie, the definition wiU either be grounded ♦ whetherjiiitiir may be di«puted.-H. 
 vpn a hypothesis, or it will darieil the ^ inMmucbiltb} conaciousoeM, Reid meaiM our 
 •nWcct rather than throw light upon ll Innncdlate internal experimce, he u right— H. 
 
 [5-7] 
 
 weare cpiisciptts of the oper ation only— .theN l 
 powerJieaJjehind the sc ene; and» though U 
 we may^ittstly infer the power_from_.the/ 
 
 ^ratioD^ muat be remembered,_th»t 
 
 mfcrring is not the province of co nscious- 
 neJBS, but of reason. 
 
 Tackuowledge, therefore, that our having 
 any conception or idea of power is repug- 
 nant to Mr Locke's theory, that all our 
 simple ideas are got either by the external 
 senses, or by consciousness. Both cannot 
 be true. Mr Hume perceived this repug- 
 nancy, and consistently maintained, that 
 we have no idea of power. Mr Locke did 
 not perceive it. If he had, it might have 
 led him to suspect his theory ; for when 
 theory is repugnant to fact, it is easy to 
 see which ought to yield. I auLgonscious 
 |hat I ji^vej» conception o r idea* of power ; 
 bat, strictly speaking, I am not consci o us 
 that I have power, 
 
 TihaD ^have ^occaajoii- to ehew, that we 
 have very early, from our. constitution, a 
 conviction or belief of some decree of active 
 power i n ourselve s. This belief, liowever, 
 m not consciousness— for we may be deceived 
 in it ; but the testimony of consciousness 
 1 can never deceive. Thus, a man who is 
 I struck with a palsy in the night, commonly 
 knows not that he has lo.st the power of 
 speech till he attempts to speak : he knows 
 jlot whether he can move his hands and 
 arms till he makes the trial ; and if, with- 
 out making trial, he consults his conscious- 
 ness ever so attentively, it will give him no 
 information whether he has lost these powers, 
 or still retains them. [8] 
 
 From this we must conclude, that the 
 powers we have are not an object of con- 
 sciousness, though it would be foolish to 
 censure this way of speaking in popular 
 discourse, which requires not accurate at- 
 tention to the different provinces of our 
 various faculties. The testimony of con- 
 sciousness is always unerring, nor was it 
 ever called in question by the greatest 
 sceptics, ancient or modern. 
 
 2. A «^conrf pjjservation is — ^That, as there 
 are some things of which we have a direcjj 
 and^thers of which we have only a rela- 
 gEg,t conception; Power belongs to the 
 ]atj;ej* class. 
 
 As this distinction is overlooked by most 
 writers in logic, I shall beg leave to illus- 
 trate it a little, and then shall apply it to 
 the present subject. 
 
 Of some things, we know what they are 
 in themselves: our conception of such 
 things I call direcf. Of other things, we 
 
 * It would have been better if Reid had abstained 
 from the term ulea in this relation, or indeed alto- 
 Kether. The word notion would be herepreferable.— M. 
 
 ♦ The word relative is here again improperly used. 
 If not aU our knowledge relative ? It would be betier 
 to lay direct and ituiirectt or immediaU and mediate. 
 See above, p. 322, note *.— H. 
 
 [8.9] 
 
 know not what they are in themselves, but 
 only that they have certain properties or 
 attributes, or certain relations to other 
 things: of these our conception is only 
 relativf.* 
 
 To illustrate this by some examples :— 
 In the university library, I call for the 
 book, press L, shelf 10, No. 10 ; the library- 
 keeper must have such a conception of the 
 book I want as to be able to distinguish it 
 from ten thousand that are under his care. 
 But what conception does he form of it 
 from my words ? They inform him neither 
 of the author, nor the subject, nor the lan- 
 guage, nor the size, nor the binding, but 
 only of its mark and place. His concep- 
 tion of it is merely relative to these circum- 
 stances; yet this relative notion enables 
 him to distinguish it from every other book 
 in the Ubrary. 
 
 There are other relative notions that are 
 not taken from accidental relations, as in 
 the example just now mentioned, but from 
 qualities or attributes essential to the thing. 
 
 19] 
 Of this kind are our notions both of body 
 
 andmiiid. IVIiaTls "body ? It is, say 
 
 piiijosopliers, that which Is^tended, solid, 
 
 and divisive. Says the querist, ITdo not 
 
 ask wliat the* properties of body are, bu| 
 
 what is the thuig itself ; let me first knoF 
 
 di rectly what body is, and then consider 
 
 its properties ? TTo tW demand, T am 
 
 afraid the querist will meet with no satisfa^c- 
 
 iory answer ; because^our notion olhod^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 
 
 raindl .It is that which, tliinka a^,! ask 
 
 not what it does, or what its pperations atfi^ 
 but what it is. To this I_.can find no 
 a nswer ; our notion ofjrahid beings not 
 direct,^ but relative toita.op£riilE)ua^.aa our 
 notion, of body is relative to its qualities. 
 
 There are even many of tbe qualities of 
 body, of which we have only a relative con- 
 ception. What is heat in a body ? It is 
 a quality which affects the sense of touch 
 in a certain way. If you want to know, 
 not how it affects the sense of touch, but 
 what it is in itself— this, I confess, I know 
 not. My conception of it is not direct, but 
 relative to the effect it has upon bodies. 
 The notions we have of all those qualities 
 which Mr Locke calls secondary, and of 
 those he calls powers of bodies— such as the 
 power of the magnet to attract iron, or of 
 lire to burn wood — are relative. 
 
 Having given examples of things of which 
 our conception is only relative, it may be 
 proper to mention some of which it is direcL 
 Of this kind, are all the primary qualities of 
 
 « See preceding note.— H. 
 
 2 L 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [emay I. 
 
 CHAP. ...] OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 
 
 515 
 
 ( 
 
 lody— igiiM, «xt«iiiioii, solidity, hardnem, 
 Mdifty, and tlie like. Of these we have a 
 direct and immediate knowledge from our 
 1011061. To ihh elaaa belong also aU the 
 uperataons of mini, nf 'whieli we are con- 
 •oioiia. I know iHiat Aonght Is, what 
 oiy, what a pirpose, what a promise. 
 
 are some things of which we can 
 have both a direct and a relative conception. 
 I can directly conceive ten thousand men, 
 or ten thousand ponnds, 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 i it 
 is only that of a great multitude of men, 
 m of a great heap of money ; and a small 
 addition or diauniitaon makes no perceptible 
 iiiange in tlie notion I form in this way. 
 But I can form a rebtive notion of the 
 ■une number of men or of pounds, by at« 
 leniiiif to the relations which this number 
 .iiaa lO' llHier numbers, greater or lesSi Then 
 I preiivi} that the rektive notion is distinct 
 and scientific ; for the addition of a single 
 nan, or a single pound, or even of a penny, 
 is easiy perceived. 
 
 In like manneri I can form a direct notion 
 of a polygon of a thousand equal sides and 
 equal angles. This direct notion cannot be 
 mora distinet, when conceived in the mind, 
 than that which I get by sight, when the 
 object is before me ; and I find it so indis- 
 tinct, that it has the same appearance to my 
 eye, or to my direct conception, as a poly- 
 gon of a thoiiaand and one, or of nine hund- 
 nd and ninety-nine sides. But, when I 
 form a relative conception of it, by attend- 
 ing to the relation it bears to 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 polygona* 
 |l*Min. these instances, it appears that our 
 
 * liivt'^'Ooneeptions. of thinpiam not always 
 1 distinct, 'nor less, it malirilils for accu- 
 I reasonmg than those that am direct ; 
 
 id that the contrary may happen in a 
 
 ■naikmbie degree. 
 
 ^excrti<iit,„M fifffCts-^PowiElijone thing ; 
 
 ^\ita exertion is another tmo^. It b true, 
 
 ,p»«'e ...caiiJhijilJBxertion without xx»w^ 
 
 imiSi, a man may have power to s 
 
 when he is mient ; he may have power to 
 lite and walk when he sits still. [1 1 J 
 
 But, though it be one thing to speak, and 
 another to lave the power of speaking, I 
 apprehend weconcefve o f the'power a s 
 
 9USOtiamg WhiaL ha* * mtmtmtm wmamMiSi4m, 
 
 lhe_efl^ MM^ijBBLJm m...m^tatm 
 
 tf el at 
 
 ite 
 
 ^' 
 
 « '11ilscx.siii|ile of the Mnon !• tafctn. fkmn D« 
 Cartft or Araiiil<L— H. 
 
 our n otion by the eflfeet which it is able t o 
 p roduce. 
 
 It is evident that Power is a qmiify, 
 
 ICB 
 
 and fi^pn ot eiSit without a subject to in^Ei^ 
 
 That power may exist without any being 
 or subject to which that power may be at- 
 tributed, is an absurdity, shocking to every 
 man of common understanding. 
 
 It is a quality which may be varied, not 
 only in degree, but also in kind ; and we 
 distinguish both the kinds and degrees by 
 the effects which they are able to pro- 
 duce* 
 
 Thus a power to fly, and a power to rea- 
 son, are different kinds of power, their 
 effects being different in kind. But a power 
 to carry one hundred weight, and a power 
 to carry two hundred, are different degrees 
 of the same kind. 
 
 4. We_c|nnot condude the want of power 
 f rom Its n ot bein g exerted ; nor from th jp 
 exertion of a less dggre&.fl f power, pan y n 
 conclude t'h^^t IhereJaaiOLfiTSaterdegre^jn 
 the subject. Thus, though a man on a 
 particular occasion said nothing, we cannot 
 conclude from that circumstance, that he 
 had not the power of speech ; nor from a 
 man*s carrying ten pound weight, can we 
 conclude that he had not power to carry 
 twenty. 
 
 5. There are aome quaEties that have a 
 
 jffWiiuvto. Miav *«a.y.R..i*yHi li ji BffBimLft 
 
 i»»aJity pf Ihe^JaUfiiLkuiA 
 
 Vice is contrary to virtue, misery to 
 happiness, hatred to love, negation to affirm- 
 ation ; but there is no contrary to power. 
 Weakness or impotence are defects or pri- 
 vations of power, but not contraries to it 
 [12] 
 
 If what has been said of power be easily 
 understood, and readily assented to, by all 
 who understand our language, as I believe 
 it is, we may from this justly conclude. That 
 we have a distinct notion of power, and may \] 
 reason about it with understanding, though t 
 we can give no logical definition of it. K 
 
 If power were a thmg of which we have 
 no idea, as some philosophers have taken 
 much pains to prove — that is, if power were 
 a word without any meaning — we could 
 neither affirm nor deny an^'thing concerning 
 it with understanding. We should have 
 equal reason to say that it is a substance, 
 as that it is a quality ; that it does not admit 
 of degrees as that it does. If the under- 
 standing inunediately assents to one of these 
 aasertions, and revolts from the eontraiy, 
 we may oondude with certainty, that we 
 put some meaning upon the word pomer-^ 
 that is, that we have some idea of it. An^ 
 it is chiefly for the sake of this conclusion, 
 tiiat I have enumerated so many obnous 
 tliiDip eooceming it. 
 
 Tleterm actimmmr m used. I conceive. 
 
 [10-lSJ 
 
 to distinguish it from speeulative powers,* 
 As all languages distinguish action from 
 roecuiation, the same diiJtinction is applied 
 to the powere^y which they are produced. 
 The powers of seeingj hearing, remembering, 
 distin guishing, judging, reasojiing, are spe- 
 culative powers ; the power of executing any 
 work of art or labour is active power. 
 
 jower, 
 
 There are ma ny things related to 
 
 in_8u ch a mann er that we ca n have n o no- 
 tion of them if we have none ofjpower. [13] 
 
 The exertion of acUve power we call 
 action ;*}- and, as every action produces some 
 change, so every change must be caused by 
 some exertion, or by the cessation of some 
 exertion of power. That which produces 
 a change by the exertion of its power we 
 call the cause of that change ; and the 
 change produced, the effect of that cause. 
 
 When one being, by its actiate power, 
 produces any change upon another, the last 
 IS said to be passive ^ or to be acted upon. 
 Thus we see that action and passion, cause 
 and effectj pvprt.inn and op eration, have 
 8uch_a_ielatiQii tQ activje-powfir, that, if it 
 Ije ui )dftrstood) t hey are under stood of con - 
 aeau^JBCia^Jautif poivftr Hq a word Wftbout 
 ai^Y "ig ft pj jg, all those words which are re- 
 lated to it, musrVie words without any meSkBz 
 ing. They are, however, common words in 
 our language ; and equivalent words have 
 always been common in all languages. 
 
 It would be very strange indeed, if man- 
 kind had always used these words so fami- 
 liarly, without perceiving that they had no 
 meaning ; and that this discovery should 
 have been first made by a philosopher of 
 the present age. 
 
 With equal reason it might be maintain- 
 ed, that though there are words in all lan- 
 guages to express sight, and words to sig- 
 nify the various colours which are objects 
 of sight; yet that all mankind, from the 
 beginning of the world, had been blind, and 
 never had an idea of sight or of colour. But 
 there are no absurdities so gross as those 
 which philosophers have advanced con- 
 cerning ideas. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THK 6AMA SUBJECT. 
 
 Thkrk arcy I believe , no abstract no - 
 ^gnfl> that are t^ h^ fmiT^rJ more fiarly^ or 
 more nni Yp.rfially, JiUbfiJluadajaLmgPjJbaP 
 ^cf^. of (iin,lif^ jjad hei^^ff o^ted upon. Every 
 child that understands the d^tinction be- 
 
 * No: from passive Power See above, p. 511, 
 note t, and below, p. 23, note ♦.— H. 
 
 t Mmo operalion tXiA energy (iyieyuot, the YmnK'm 
 work.) Energy is often iffnorantly used in EnglUh 
 for force. In Latin, functio, functio muneriSt cor- 
 respond* to operation or performance ; with mfiinc- 
 tion denotes something to be performed.— H. 
 
 [13-14] 
 
 tween strikmg and bemg struck, must have 
 the conception of action and passion. [14] 
 
 We fiud accordingly, that there is no lan- 
 guage so imperfect but that it has active 
 and passive verbs and participles ; the one 
 signifying some kind of action ; the other be- 
 ing acted upon. This distinction enters 
 into the original contexture of all lan- 
 guages. 
 
 Active verbs have a form and construc- 
 tion proper to themselves ; passive verbs a 
 different form and a different construction. 
 In all languages, the nominative to an ac- 
 tive verb is the agent ; the thing acted up- 
 on is put in an oblique case. In passive 
 verbs, the thing acted upon is the nomina- 
 tive, and the agent, if expressed, must be 
 in an oblique case ; as in this example — 
 Raphael drew the Cartoons ; the Cartoons 
 were drawn by Raphael, 
 
 Every distinction which we find in thel 
 structure of all languages, must have been , 
 familiar to those who framed the languages 
 at first, and to all who speak them with i 
 understanding. I 
 
 It may be objected to this argument, 
 taken from the structure of language, in the 
 use of active and passive verbs, that active 
 verbs are not always used to denote an ac- 
 tion, nor is the nominative before an ac- 
 tive verb, conceived in all cases to be an 
 agent, in the strict sense of that word ; that 
 there are many passive verbs which have an 
 active signification, and active verbs which 
 have a passive. From these facts, it may be 
 thought a just conclusion, tliat, in contriv- 
 ing the different forms of active and passive 
 verbs, and their different construction, men 
 have not been governed by a regard to any 
 distinction between action and passion, but 
 by chance, or some accidental cause. [15] 
 
 In answer to this objection, the fact on 
 which it is founded must be admitted ; but 
 I think the conclusion not justly drawn 
 from it, for the following reasons : — 
 
 1. It seems contrary to reason to attri- 
 bute to chance or accident what is subject 
 to rules, even though there may be excep- 
 tions to the rule. The exceptions may, m 
 such a case, be attributed to accident, but 
 the rule cannot. There is perhaps hardly 
 anything in language so general as not to 
 admit of exceptions. It cannot be denied 
 to be a general rule, that verbs and parti- 
 ciples have an active and a passive voice ; 
 and, as this is a general rule, not in one 
 language only, but in all the languages we 
 are acquainted with, it shews evidently that 
 men, in the earliest stages, and in all periods 
 of society, have distinguished action from 
 passion. 
 
 2. It is to be observed, that the forms of 
 language are often applied to purposes dif- 
 ferent from those for which they were on 
 ginally intended. The varieties of a ton- 
 
 * Ij * 
 
 y" 
 
 1 
 
olCI 
 
 0N THE ACTIVE P0WEE8. 
 
 I dBXHiAir M 
 
 'InttM. 'tftn 'Umi hmmI oorlSKL isan never hm 
 :iiiwto equal, to all the 'variety of lioiiiaii 
 iMiie^tMMiHB The forms an4 modifications 
 
 if 'laiipiage mnal be ennfined witlim eertain. 
 PfiiMj ihu t thej ' Pm y 'mt 'exeeed tlM' cspa* 
 dty of human memory. Therefore, in all 
 luniigeai there' must he a kind of frugality 
 
 med, tO' main mm tmn of expreeaion serve 
 many dUfcieiit 'infiioaea, like' Kr Hndibrns' 
 dagger, which, though made to stah or 
 
 llVtfA.'ll!' ft. YlifHIll 'Wfliflt Tlllfl 'f^Jt% IlilflLiri'V' i^f'llflV' fl'WiUML 
 
 Many examfles m%ht be pradimed of thk 
 inuEallty in lanptage^ This, the Latins 
 ■MtCbeelBi 'had five' or six eases of nouns, 
 to i3ipra88' 'the various relations that one 
 'filing Mmld bear to another.* The geni- 
 tive case must have been at first intended 
 to express some one eapitsl relation, such 
 aa Ihal' of posaeesion or of property ; but it 
 'mmild be very diflienlt to enumerato all the 
 
 it 'UBS 'Used, 'to exprni. The same observ- 
 aitai may he applied to other caaes^ of 
 biiiiiiSb 1 1 61 
 
 The sif||it«t' Mmilitiide or analogy' Is 
 fhouihl amfieient 'to Justi^ the extension 
 dt a lorB of speeeh bmrond its proper mean- 
 ing, whenevefthe langnan does not afi<>rd 
 a more proper form. In the moods of 
 verbs, a few of those^ whieh oocnr most fre- 
 qnenuy are iiatingui»hed 'by different forms, 
 and these are made to supply all the forms 
 that are wanting. The same observation 
 ■ay he applied to what is caUed the voices 
 if Wba.' An active and a passive are the 
 oi^iilal ones; some languages have more, 
 hilt no language so many as to answer to 
 all the variations of human thought. We 
 oamnol' al^wajs eom new ones, and there- 
 iift must wm some one or other of those 
 Oat are to he found in the language, 
 lAough at first intended for another pur- 
 
 3. A <hbd> observation in answer to the 
 objeeticn. is, that we^caiLpmiiiJiiilLlljcaufie 
 rf gie i iMuent nu^pp lication of active 
 
 ^^'TT*'! *^ '"iip irif«> h^*** Iff pxyg^ •c^*- 
 
 canse w, 
 
 mi^ itt f«2^, .^ V^« 
 
 proper mtention of active 
 
 verW. 
 
 Am there is no prinelpto' that appears to 
 
 kind, fa>m tfa. <M dawn rfSBoJ, than 
 
 that eveij' 'Ohange 'we observe in nature 
 must have s csuae ; so this is no sooner 
 peretived, than 'there arises in the human 
 ■hid a stmng desire to know the causes of 
 those changes that taM withm our observa- 
 
 * Hw eraieKilt if I Ncol'lcct. !!•• Im. Thui, vMle 
 In Lutln 'liM' vriailoM'Or vrllk^firom. Inf. &c, iirv oao. 
 flMSitf denoted bj me fonn of inflection,, calM tiM 
 MMItei in SsnMTit, tbew difltet nt lelttlou ait 
 Artinctly pointed out lif diflhrent 
 
 tion. Fe^ljr qui patuit return cognme§ri 
 mu§a§, is the voice of nature in all men. 
 Kor is there anything that more early 
 distmguishes the rational from the bruto 
 creation, than this avidity to know the 
 causes of things, of which I see no sign in 
 brute-animals. [ 17 ] 
 
 It must surely be admitted, that, in those 
 periods wherein languages are formed, men 
 are but poorly furnished for carrying on 
 this investigation with succesa We see 
 that the experience of thousands of years is 
 necessary to bring men into the right track 
 in this investigation, if indeed they can yet 
 be said to be brought into it. What innu> 
 roerable errors rude ages must fall into 
 with regard to causes, from impatience to 
 judge, and inability to judge right, we may 
 conjecture from reason, and may see from 
 experience ; from which I think it is evi- 
 dent, that, supposing active verbs to have 
 been originally intended to express what is 
 properly called action, and their nomina- 
 tives to express the agent ; yet, in the rude 
 and barbarous state wherein languages are 
 formed, there must be innumerable misap- 
 plications of such verbs and nominatives, 
 and many things spoken of as active which 
 have no real activity. 
 
 To this we may add, that it is a general 
 prejudice of our early years, and of rude 
 Sation., when we pe^elve anything to be 
 changed, and do not perceive any other 
 thing which we can believe to be the cause 
 of that change, to impute it to the thing 
 itself, and conceive it to be active and ani- 
 mated, so far as to have the power of pro- 
 ducing that change in itself. Hence, to a 
 child, or to a savage, all nature seems to be 
 animated ; the sea, the earth, the air, the 
 sun, moon, and stars, rivers, fountains and 
 groves, are conceived to be active and ani- 
 mated beings. As this is a sentiment 
 natural to man in his rude state, it has, on 
 that account, even in polished nations, the 
 verisimilitude that is required in poetical 
 fiction and fable, and makes personification 
 one of the most agreeable figures in poetiy 
 and eloquence.* 
 
 The origin of this prejudice probably is, 
 that we judge of other things by ourselves, 
 and therefore are disposed to ascribe to them 
 that life and activity which we know to be 
 in ourselves. 
 
 A little girl ascribes to her doll the pas- 
 sions and sentiments she feels in herself. 
 Even brutes seem to have something of this 
 nature. A young cat, when she sees any 
 brisk motion in a feather or a straw, is 
 prompted, by natural instinct, to hunt it as 
 she would hunt a mouse. [18] 
 
 Whatever be the orifl^ of this prejudice 
 
 « lee SchillPfV ** Die 66tier Oiicchenlands,'' and 
 Wordfwonh puiim.— H. 
 
 [16-181 
 
 CHAP. II.] OF THE NOTION OF ACTIVE POWER. 
 
 517 
 
 in mankind, it has a powerful influence upon 
 language, and leads men, in the structure 
 of language, to ascribe action to many things 
 that are merely passive ; because, when such 
 forms of speech were invented, those things 
 were really believed to be active. Thus we 
 flay, the wind blows, the sea rages, the sun 
 rises and sets, bodies gravitate and move. 
 
 When experience discovers that these 
 things are altogether inactive, it is easy to 
 correct our opinion about them ; but it is 
 not so easy to alter the established forms 
 of language. The most perfect and the 
 most polished languages are like old furni- 
 ture, which is never perfectly suited to the 
 present taste, but retains something of the 
 fashion of the times when it was made. 
 
 Thus, though all men of knowledge be- 
 lieve that the succession of day and night 
 Is owing to the rotation of the earth round 
 its axis, and not to any diurnal motion of 
 the heavens, yet we find ourselves under a 
 necessity of speaking in the old style, of 
 the sun's rising and going down, and coming 
 to the meridian. And this style is used, 
 not only in converKing with the vulgar, but 
 when men of knowledge converse with one 
 another. And if we should suppose the 
 vulgar to be at last so far enlightened as to 
 have the same belief with the learned, of 
 the cause of day and night, the same style 
 would still be used. 
 
 From this instance we may learn, that 
 the language of mankind may furnish good 
 evidence of opinions which have been early 
 and universally entertained, and that the 
 forms contrived for expressing such opinions, 
 may remain in use after the opinions which 
 gave rise to them have been greatly changed. 
 
 Active verbs appear plainly to have been 
 first contrived to express action. They are 
 still in general applied to this purpose. 
 And though we find many instances of the 
 application of active verbs to things which 
 we now believe not to be active, this ought 
 to be ascribed to men's having once had 
 the belief that those things are active, and 
 perhaps, in some cases, to this, that fornas 
 of expression are commonly extended, in 
 course of time, beyond their original inten- 
 tion, either from analogy, or because more 
 proper forms for the purpose are not found 
 in language. 
 
 Even the misapplication of this notion of 
 action and active power shews that there is 
 such a notion in the human mind, and shews 
 the necessity there is in philosophy of dis- 
 tinguishing the proper application of these 
 words, from the vague and improper appli- 
 cation of them, founded on common lan- 
 guage or on popular prejudice. 
 
 Another argument to shew that all men 
 have a notion or idea of active iM>wer is, 
 that there are many operations of mind com- 
 [19.20] 
 
 mon to all men who have reason, and neces^l* 
 sary in the ordinary conduct of life, which \ 
 imply a belief of active power in ourselves [ 
 and in others. 
 
 All our volitions and efforts^ to.act^ aU 
 our deliberationSjOur^urjiose&jUidprfimises, 
 Imp ly a belief of active_BQwgrinjMU3filYeg,; 
 our counsels, exhortations, and commands, 
 imply a belief of active power in those to 
 whom they are addressed. 
 
 If a man should make an effort to fly to 
 the moon — if he should even deliberate 
 about it, or resolve to do it — we should con- 
 clude him to be a lunatic ; and even lunacy 
 would not account for his conduct, unless it 
 made him believe the thing to be in his 
 power. 
 
 If a man promises to pay me a sum of 
 money to-morrow, without believing that it 
 will then be in his power, he is not an 
 honest man ; and, if I did not believe that 
 it will then be in his power, I should have 
 no dependence on his promise. [20] 
 
 All our power is, without doubt, derived 
 from the Author of our being, and, as he 
 gave it freely, he may take it away when he 
 will. No man can be certain of the con- 1 
 tinuance of any of his powers of body or 
 mind for a moment; and, therefore, in 
 every promise, there is a condition under- 
 stood — to wit, if we live, if we retain that 
 health of body and soundness of mind which 
 is necessary to the performance, and if 
 nothing happen, in the providence of God, 
 which puts it out of our power. The rudest 
 savages are taught by nature to admit these 
 conditions in all promises, whether they be 
 expressed or not ; and no man is charged 
 with breach of promise, when he fails through 
 the failure of these conditions. 
 
 ltJs_exident,lherefore, that, without the 
 belief of some actiYe ^Oiverj^ no honest man 
 wbuld^makea promise, nowise man would 
 trust to'a promise j and it is no less evident 
 that the beUef of active power, in ourselves 
 or in others, implies an idea or notion oT 
 active power. 
 
 The same reasoning may be applied to 
 every instance wherein we give counsel to 
 others, wherein we persuade or command. 
 As long, therefore, as mankind are beings 
 who can deliberate and resolve and will, as 
 long as they can give counsel, and exhort, 
 and command, they must believa the exist- 
 ence of active power in themselves and in 
 others, and, therefore, must have a notion 
 or idea of active power. 
 
 It might farther be observed, that power 
 is the proper and immediate object of ambi- 
 tion, one of the most universal passions of 
 the human mind, and that which makes the 
 greatest figure in the history of all ages. 
 Whether Mr Hume, in defence of his sys- 
 tem, would maintain that there is no such 
 passion in nmnkind as ambition, or that 
 
518 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWBRa 
 
 I RflSAY J» 
 
 fli ^tliim 11 Dot Avdienieiit desire of power, 
 Hi lliat men mw hme a vehement deeire of 
 fmrntf witfwut wi^lig any idea of power, I 
 ivil. not. ftetand to^ dlirine^ [21 ] 
 
 I UHIBOC help repeating my apology for 
 iiiililiiig 80 long in the refutation of ao g;reat 
 -'M aiMiiidity.' It is a capital, doctrine in a 
 ...lolo c«le%f»ted aystem of lunnon noture, 
 Hiat we have no idea of power, not even in 
 the Deity; that we or© not able to discover 
 a iingle imtinee of it, either in body or 
 ■fiiiti either in oiiprior or inferior natures ; 
 iiii. thai 'we' iswlve ennelvea when we ini- 
 apne that wo ate possessed of any idea of 
 'foialdnd. 
 
 To «nppofl tkii important doctrine, and 
 Him ontwoffci that are raised in its defence, 
 a great part of the if«t volume of the " Trea- 
 tise of Human Nature" is employed. That 
 system abounds with conclusions the most 
 absurd tliat ever were advanced by any 
 phikaiqilMil dWuced with great acuteness 
 and ingenuity from principles commonly re- 
 Mived by philosophers. To reject such 
 eonclusions as unworthy of a hearing, would 
 be disrefflpectfol to the ingenious author $ 
 and to refute them is difficult, and appears 
 f H ii ei ilon%. 
 
 Itii diSeult» became' we^ con hardly find 
 principles U leoion flram more evident than 
 these we wish to prove ; and it ai>pears 
 tiiieulous, because, as this author justly 
 obierres^ next to the ridicule of denying an 
 evident truth, is that of taking much pams 
 tO' prove it. 
 
 Protestants complain, with justice, of the 
 iardship put upon them by Roman Ca- 
 iSbtMm, in requiring them, to prove that 
 IvMid mad wine is net iesh and blood.* 
 They have, however, submitted to this 
 hardship for the sake of truth. I think it 
 is no less hard to be put to prove thatimen 
 have an idea of power. 
 
 What convinces myself that I have an 
 idea of no— yr li, fn^il" *"" ftynncious that 
 
 ii BfBUr T i lw' ™*"TiF ii l ifjf rff^ wvru«^ _j 
 
 ♦^ JMi^ y ^ npifnAnta for ftr affunftt 
 
 _ ggScIl i» Mefc. But, if we would 
 
 eonvmce those, who, bomg led away by 
 
 prejudice or In onthoritf » deny that they 
 lave' any such idem, w 'ttmsl Mniiaeiiicl to 
 use such arguments as the subject will af- 
 ford, and such as we should use with a man 
 who^ should deny that, mankind have any 
 :idea< rf nii^ltwie or of equality. [22] 
 'The arguments' I have adduced are taken 
 
 • Tli« CaliiOllct requira iwlllfng of the kind. 
 
 • Tliw aimit HmH fUlWfettl^llie hnnd and wine are 
 * * ani win* > anioaly eontend that, h!/peri>hiW' 
 
 culte. In m •pMllMl* mysterious, and inconceivable 
 SSS«.llief •cemflf «eh and bloo«l. Tho^there. 
 foiv^ WIMi iMlifc af Aprwl ng the doctnne oftorMsub- 
 at«ntlatlM,lif amtilipthat fntbeeuchafUtlire^and 
 wtne remain pSfiSl* bfc»d»and wine, awfuilty of 
 tbc idle •nptilmi callad mutatto doicAi— H. 
 
 from these live topics : — 1. That there are 
 many things that we can affirm or deny con- 
 cemmg power, with understanding. 2. That 
 there are, in all languages, words signifying, 
 not only power, but signifying many other 
 things that imply power, such as action 
 and passion, cause and effect, energy, ope- ^ 
 ration, and others. 3. That, in the struc- 
 ture of all languages, there is an active and 
 passive form in verbs and participles, and a 
 different construction adapted to these 
 forms, of which diversity no account can 
 be given, but that it has been intended to 
 distinguish action from passion. 4. That 
 there are many operations of the human 
 mind familiar to every man come to the 
 use of reason, and necessary in the ordinary 
 conduct of life, which imply a conviction of 
 some degree of power in ourselves and in 
 others. 5. That the desire of power is one 
 of the strongest passions of human nature. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OP ME LOCXB^S AGGOtTNT OF OUR IDMA OP 
 POWXR. 
 
 This author, having refuted the Carte- 
 sian doctrine of innate ideas, took up, per- 
 haps too rashly, an opinion that all our 
 mmple ideas are got, either by Sensation or 
 by Reflection— that is, by our external 
 senses, or by consciousness of the opera- 
 tions of our own mmds. 
 
 Throughout the whole of his ** Essay," he 
 shews a fatherly affection to this opinion, 
 and often strains very hard to reduce our 
 simple ideas to one of those sources, or 
 both. Of this several instances might be 
 given, in his account of our idea of substance^ 
 of rfiiTH/io/i, of personal iderUity. Omitting 
 these as foreign to the present subject, 1 
 shall only take notice of the account he 
 gives of our idea of power. [23] 
 
 The sum of it is, that observing, by our 
 senses, various changes in objects, we col- 
 lect the possibility in one object to be chan- 
 ged, and in another a possibility of making 
 that change, and so come by that idea 
 which we call power. 
 
 Thus we say the fire has a power io melt 
 gold, and gold has power to be melted t 
 the first he calls active, the second passive 
 power. 
 
 He thinks, however, that we have the 
 most distinct notion of active power, by 
 attending to the power which we ourselves 
 exert, in giving motion to our bodies when 
 at rest, or in directing our thoughts to this 
 or the other object as we will. And this 
 way of forming the idea of power he attri- 
 butes to reflection, as he refers the former 
 to sensation. 
 On this account of the origin of our idea 
 
 [21-83] 
 
 cHAf . 111.] MR LOCKE'S ACCOUNT OF POWER. 
 
 of power, I would beg leave to make two 
 remarks, with the respect that is most justly 
 due to so great a philosopher and so good 
 
 519 
 
 a man. 
 
 1. Whereas he distinguishes power mto 
 active and passive, I conceive passive power 
 is no power at all. He means by it, the 
 possibility of being changed. To call this 
 powetf seems to be a misapplication of the 
 word. I do not remember to have met 
 with the phrase passive power in any other 
 good author. Mr Locke seems to have 
 been unlucky in inventing it; and it de- 
 serves not to be retained in our language.* 
 
 [24] 
 
 Perhaps he was unwarily led into it, as 
 an opposite to active power. But I con- 
 ceive we call certain powers ac^ii;^, to dis- 
 tinguish them from other powers tha,t are 
 called speculative.-^- As all mankind distin- 
 guish action from speculation, it is very 
 proper to distinguish the powers by which 
 those different operations are performed 
 into active and speculative. Mr Locke, 
 indeed, acknowledges that active power is 
 more properly called power ; but I see no 
 propriety at all in passive power; it is a 
 powerless power, and a contradiction in 
 
 terms. 
 
 2. I would observe, that Mr Locke seems 
 to have imposed upon himself, in attempt- 
 ing to reconcile this account of the idea of 
 power to his favourite doctrine, that all our 
 simple ideas are ideas of sensation, or of 
 reflection. 
 
 There are two steps, according to his 
 account, which the mind takes in formingthis 
 idea of power : first, It observes changes m 
 things ; and, secondly, From these changes 
 it infers a cause of them, and a power to 
 produce them. , 
 
 If both these steps are operations of the 
 external senses, or of consciousness, then 
 the idea of power may be called an idea of 
 sensation, or of reflection. But, if either 
 of those steps requires the co-operation of 
 other powers of the mind, it will follow, 
 
 * This paragraph is erroneous In almost all its state- 
 nents. Locke did not invent the phrase passive 
 power. The distinction of iCveifjus rev troiu* ( i. *»f{- 
 ynrmh) potentia activa, and Jw*«^f «5 ^iirxu^ 
 {^. w»ht*xii) jwtcnti'i patsiva, was established, if 
 not invented, by Aristotle ; and, subsequently tonim, 
 it became one not only common but classical. &o 
 far, therefore, is the phrsL^e passive power from being 
 not to be met with in any other good author, it is 
 to be found in almost every metaphysical system 
 whatever before Locke. Rcid understands by Fower 
 merely Active Power, Efficacy. Force, Vis ; and »n 
 this exclusive sense, Passive Power is certainly a 
 coutradichon in terms." But this is not the mean- 
 Ing attached to it by philosophers in general, llie 
 Greek language, I may observe, atrords a nne iiius. 
 oration of the contrast and correlation of power active 
 and power passive in Ito adjectives ending in tix«s 
 «nd T^' It has also others to express power in 
 action, and power that must of necessity be exerted. 
 
 t flee last note, and note *, st p. 515.— H. 
 l«4, 25] 
 
 that the idea of power cannot be got by 
 sensation, nor by reflection, nor by both 
 together.* Let us, therefore, consider each 
 of these steps by itself. 
 
 First, We observe various changes in 
 things. And Mr Locke takes it for granted, 
 that changes in external things are observed 
 by our senses, and that changes in our 
 thoughts are observed by consciousness. 
 
 I grant that it may be said, that changes 
 in things are observed by our senses, when 
 we do not mean to exclude every other 
 faculty from a share in this operation. And 
 it would be ridiculous to censure the phrase, 
 when it is so used in popular discourse. 
 
 [25] 
 
 But it is necessary to Mr Locke's pur- 
 pose, that changes in external things should 
 be observed by the senses alone, excluding 
 every other faculty ; because every faculty 
 that is necessary in order to observe the 
 change, will claim a share in the origin of 
 the idea of power. 
 
 Now, it is evident, that memory is no 
 less necessary than the senses, in order to 
 our observing changes in external things, 
 and therefore the idea of power, derived 
 from the changes observed, may as justly 
 be ascribed to memory as to the senses. 
 
 Every change supposes two states of the 
 thing changed. Both these states may be 
 past ; one of them at least must be past ; 
 and one only can be present. By our senses 
 we may observe the present state of the 
 thing ; but memory must supply us with 
 the past ; and, unless we remember the past 
 state, we can perceive no change. 
 
 The same observation may be applied to 
 consciousness. The truth, therefore, is, 
 that, by the senses alone, without memory, 
 or by consciousness alone, without memory, 
 no change can be observed. Every idea, 
 therefore, that is derived from observing 
 changes in things, must have its origin, 
 partly from memory, and not from the 
 senses alone, nor from consciousness alone, 
 nor from both together.+ _ 
 
 The second step made by the mind m 
 forming this idea of power is this :_Froin 
 the changes observed we collect a cause of 
 those changes, and a power to produce 
 
 them. 
 
 Here one might ask Mr Locke, whether 
 it is by our senses that we draw this con- 
 clusion, or is it by consciousness ? Is rea- 
 soning the province of the senses, or is it 
 
 * Locke does not exclude the co-operation of other 
 faculties. Sensation and Reflection are in his phila. 
 sophy. the exclusive sources, and not the exclusive 
 clatJrators of our notions. The only question is. do 
 all our notions spring from experience ? "• 
 
 t Mr Locke did not. like Keid, contradistinguish 
 consciousness and memory, as two separate a.|d spe- 
 cial faculties ; but memory he Properly reganled as a 
 mere modification of consciousness ,1 Sesame may 
 be said in regard to cur reasc.ning I'OAer in wlmi 
 follows.— H. 
 
ill' JHhiJIIIb 
 
 020 
 
 \3fi gMm AlJllVii PuWlSllS. 
 
 I^BmmsA X !• 
 
 mmm ma. dimw one concloston from pra- 
 
 demonatnto tho whole elemeiito of Euclid. 
 
 TlmSy I thinlci it vjpncMBf iliat tlie iic* 
 'Mail wUdi. Mr ..Loele bimself gives of the 
 llf%iil of our idea of power, cannot be re- 
 eoMled to his favourite doctrine — That all 
 our simple ideas have their origin from 
 •onsation or reikctioa ; and that, in attempt- 
 ing to derive the idea of power from these 
 two aoimet only, he unawares brings in our 
 iMMij, nd our leMHiing power, for a 
 ■hare m its origin. 
 
 tj>JCtil.FlJ!iI% tW* I 
 
 or MR HUIIB*B OPINION OF TUS lOlA OV 
 rOW'KE. 
 
 This verj ingenioas .author adopts the 
 principle of Mr Locke before mentioned — 
 !^l k our Bhnple ideas are derived either 
 fhni.ienMilion or reHeetion. Thiateeeems 
 to 'Udentand even in a stricter' Bene than 
 Mr Locke did. For he wiU have all our 
 iimple ideas to be copies of preceding im- 
 f icasions, either of our external senses or 
 of flOBBeioiiiiiesii. ** After the roost accu- 
 :iiite' tmnhution,'* lajs 'he, " of which I 
 im capable, I venturo to afifirm, that the 
 rule here holds without any exception, and 
 that every simple idea has a simpfo impres- 
 rion which resembles it, and every simple 
 inpiesssioa a correspondent idea. Every 
 one may satisfy himself in this point, by 
 running over as m.any as he pleaiefc** 
 
 I observe here, by the way, that this 
 conclusion is formed by the author rashly 
 and unphilosophically. For it is a conclu- 
 sion that admits of no proof but by induc> 
 tion I and it is upon this ground that he 
 hhudf founds it The induction cannot 
 be perfect till every simple idea that can 
 enter into the human mind be examined, 
 :aiid 'be: shewn to be copied from a reiemhling 
 imptesslonofseiiseorofconacioiwieii. Ko 
 man can protend to have made this exauin- 
 atbn of all our simple ideas without ex- 
 ception ; and, therefore, no man can, ccm- 
 ■istently with the rules of philosophising, 
 assure us, that this condmien holds with- 
 out any exception. [27'] 
 
 The author profetais, in his title page, to 
 introduce Into moial. .subjects, the experts 
 mental method of reasoning. This was a 
 very laudable attempt i but he ought to 
 have known that it is a rule in the experi- 
 Bental.. .method of reaso.nin.g — That conclu- 
 •iOHi iMiltshed by induction ought never 
 to exehide exeeptioni, if any such should 
 aHerwarda appear from observation orex- 
 fcrimerat Sir Isaac Newton, .speaking of 
 
 snoli conclusions, says, " Et si quando in 
 experiundo poetea reperiatur aliquid, quod 
 a parte contraria faciat ; tum demum, non 
 sine istis exceptionibus affirmetur conclusio 
 opportebit." " But," says our author, " I 
 will venture to affirm that the rule here 
 holds without any exception.** 
 
 Accordingly, throughout the whole trea- 
 tise, this general rule is considered as of 
 sufficient authority, in itself, to exclude, 
 even from a hearing, everything that appears 
 to be an exception to it. This is contrary 
 to the fundamental priuciples of the experi- 
 mental method of reasoning, and, therefore, 
 may be called rash and unphilosophicai 
 
 Having thus established this general 
 
 Srinciple, the author does great execution 
 y it among our ideaa lie finds, that we 
 have no idea of tubstance, material or 
 spiritual ; that body and mind are only cer- 
 tain tiaansof related impressions and ideas ; 
 that we have no idea of space or duration, 
 and no idea ot power ^ active or intellectual. 
 1281 
 
 Mr Locke used his principle of sensation 
 and reflection with greater moderation and 
 mercy. Being unwilling to thrust the ideas 
 we have mentioned into the limbo of non- 
 existence, he stretches sensation and reflec- 
 tion to the very utmost, in order to receive 
 these ideas within the pale; and draws 
 •them into it, as it were, by violence. 
 
 But this author, instead of shewing them 
 any favour, seems fond to get rid of them. 
 
 Of the ideas mentioned, it is only that of 
 powit that concerns our present subject. 
 And, with regard to this, the author boldly 
 affir^ «<That we neve^ have any idea oY 
 Power ; that we deceive ourselves when we 
 imagine we are possessed of any idea of this 
 kind.** 
 
 He begins with observing, ''That the 
 terms ejicacy, agency y powety force, energy, 
 are all nearly synonymous ; and, therefore, 
 it is an absurdity to employ any of them in 
 defining the rest By this observation,** 
 says he, " we reject at once all the vulgar 
 definitions which philosophers have given 
 ai power and efficacy.^'' 
 
 Purely this author was not ignorant that 
 there are many things of which we have a 
 clear and distinct conception, which are so 
 simple in their nature, that they cannot be 
 defined any other way than by synonymous 
 words. It is true that this is not a logical 
 definition ; but that there is, as he affirms, 
 an absurdity in using it, when no better can 
 he had, I cannot perceive. 
 
 He might here have applied to power and 
 ejicacyt what he says, in another place, of 
 pride and humility. " The passions of 
 pride and humility j*^ he says, " being simple 
 and uniform impressions, it is impossible we 
 can ever give a just definition of them. As 
 the words are of general use, and the things 
 
 [26-28] 
 
 «3HAP. IT.] 
 
 MR HUME'S OPINION OF POWER. 
 
 521 
 
 they represent the most common of any, 
 every one, of himself, will be able to form a 
 just notion of them without danger of 
 mistake.** [29] 
 
 He mentions Mr Locke*s account of the 
 idea of Power — that, observing various 
 changes in things, we conclude that there 
 must be somewhere a power capable of 
 producing them, and so arrive at last, by 
 this reasoning, at the idea of Power and 
 Efficacy; 
 f* " But," says he, ** to be satisfied that this 
 explication is more popular than philoso- 
 phical, we need but reflect on two very 
 obvious priuciples : first, That Reason alone 
 can never give rise to any onginal idea ;• 
 and, secondly. That Reason, as distinguished 
 from Experience, can never make us con- 
 elude that a cause, or productive quality^ is 
 absolutely requisite to every beginning of 
 existence.^^-f 
 
 Before we consider the two principles 
 which our author opposes to the popular 
 opinion of Mr Locke, I observe — 
 
 First, That there are some popular opi- 
 nions, which, on that very account, deserve 
 more regard from philosophers than this 
 author is willing to bestow. 
 
 That tilings cannot begin to exist, nor 
 undergo any change, without a cause that 
 hath power to produce that change, is in- 
 deed so popular an opinion that, I believe, 
 this author is the first of mankind that ever 
 called it in question. It is so popular that 
 there is not a man of common prudence 
 who does not act from this opinion, and 
 rely upon it every day of his life. And 
 any man who should conduct himself by 
 the contrary opinion, would soon be con- 
 fined as insane, and continue in that state 
 till a sufficient cause was found for hb 
 enlargement. [30] 
 
 Such a popular opinion as this stands 
 upon a higher authority than that of phi- 
 losophy ; and philosophy must strike sail 
 to it, if she would not render herself con- 
 temptible to every man of common under- 
 standing. 
 
 For though, in matters of deep specula- 
 tion, the multitude must be guided by phi- 
 losophers, yet, in things that are within the 
 reach of every man's understanding, and 
 upon which the whole conduct of human 
 life turns, the philosopher must follow the 
 multitude, or make himself perfectly ridi- 
 culous. 
 
 Secondly, I observCf that whether this 
 popular opinionbe true or jklse, it follows, 
 jrmn.mRn '» having ihia ftpi"'?yi, that thgy 
 
 * In other words— there are no neUive or a priori 
 notions in the intellect ; atl are immediate or mediate 
 educts from experience. — H. 
 
 t in other words, that we cannot, on the Princi- 
 ple qf Contradiction^ shew, that for everything which 
 begins to be, a cau«e must have been.— H. 
 
 [29-31} 
 
 have an^idga ot_POwer. A false op inion 
 a bout power, no less than a true, in)plijai 
 an idea of power ; fo r }iaw ^n ^netn have 
 an^^ opinion, true or false, about a thing of 
 which they haye no idea ? 
 
 The first of the very obvious principles 
 which the author opposes to Mr Locke*B 
 account of the idea of power, is— that Rea- 
 son alone can never give rise to any original 
 idea. 
 
 This appears to me so far from being a 
 very obvious principle, that the contrary is 
 very obvious. 
 
 Is it not our reasoning faculty that gives 
 rise to the idea of reasoning itself ?• As 
 our idea of sight takes its rise from our be- 
 ing endowed with that faculty) so does our 
 idea of reasoning. Do not the ideas of 
 demonstration, of probability, our ideas of 
 a syllogism, of major, minor and conclu- 
 sion, of an enthymeme, dilemma, sorites, 
 and all the various modes of reasoning, take 
 their rise frcm the faculty of reason ? Or 
 is it possible that a being, not endowed with 
 the faculty of reasoning, should have these 
 ideas ? This principle, therefore, is so far 
 from being obviously true, that it appears 
 to be obviously false. [31] 
 
 The second obvious principle is, Thai 
 Reason, as distinguished from Experience, 
 can never make us conclude, that a cause, or 
 productive quality, is absolutely requisite to 
 every beginning of existence. 
 
 In some '^ Essays on the Intellectual 
 Powers of Man," I had occasion to treat 
 of this principle, — That every change in 
 nature must have a cause ; and, to pre- 
 vent repetition, I beg leave to refer the 
 reader to what is said upon this subject, 
 Essay vi. Chap. 6. I endeavoured to 
 shew that it is a first principle, evident 
 to all men come to years of understand- 
 ing. Besides its having been universally 
 received, without the least doubt, from 
 the beginning of the world, it has this 
 sure mark of a first principle, that the 
 belief of it is absolutely necessary in the 
 ordinary affairs of life, and, without it, 
 no man could act with common prudence, 
 or avoid the imputatitm of insanity. Yet 
 a philosopher, who acted upon the firm 
 belief of it every day of his life, thinks fit, 
 in his closet, to call it in question. 
 
 He insinuates here that we may know 
 it from experience. [?] I endeavoured to 
 shew, that we do not learn it from expe- 
 rience, for two reasons. 
 
 First — Because it is a necessary truth, 
 and has always been received as a necessary 
 truth. Ejtperience<fives no information of 
 what is necessary^^or^^hat musHJe.^ i 
 '"""We may know from experience, what is, 
 
 * Mr Hume says, " reason atone."— H. 
 t See above, pp. 3-^i. a; 455, b; 460, a ; and note* 
 See alio note T.— H. 
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
||B,jj||bn^|||{| 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay I. 
 
 CHAP, v.] OF BEINGS THAT HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING. 523 
 
 f,,0'"0 ■ 
 
 ...rt' 
 
 •r wliat «■% and from tlml mmy proba^ 
 ijgr eoiiflliMie wluil shall be in lilce cmmm- 
 ■tttMos s Imt, with regard to wliat must 
 ■Mtssarily h^ eiperienoe is perfectly sOent. 
 
 Thus wo Imow, by unvaried experience, 
 imii. Urn beginning of the world, that the 
 ■W ud stars rise in the east and set in 
 tli« west. But no man beliews, that it 
 •MlU aot poflsibly have been otherwise, 
 or that it did not depend upon the wiU 
 and power of Him who madie the world, 
 whether the earth should vefdve to the 
 ••St or to the west, [32] 
 
 In like manner, if we bad experience, 
 
 JIIIIIIHMUMi iMiri% .JlJ^rfhHkiSHiil^iiMliillillh v dl^BikJai4' MbMMMiyWUf' Jllll'llMh.'Ifli'AMflk vlRk MiiSa 
 
 tan -W6'liftw«bserved, aotnally 'haa a eause, 
 this mig^i iibrd ground to believe, that, 
 Ibr the future, it shall be so ; but no ground 
 at all to beliiv* thai it must b« so^ and 
 'Oannot be otherwise. 
 
 jimoAmr reason to shew thai this princi- 
 ple is not learned from experience is---7Aal 
 mpmimmdmimoi §kmif' m m^ mmim ef one 
 In m 'kmMkwtl i{f thme ekmn^B wMoh w€ 
 olsffw, mnd ikimfore am never tmwk us 
 thai ik§m muMi k§ m mum of atf. 
 
 Of all the paradoxes this author hsa ad- 
 vanced, theifi ii not ope more shocking to 
 
 the httmaa mndeistanding than this, fliat 
 
 things 'may begm to exist without a cause,* 
 
 This would put an end to all speculation, 
 as well as to all the business of life. The 
 'Vmployment of speculative men, since the 
 iepiming of the world, has been to inves- 
 Urnto the causes of things. What pity is 
 it, they never thought of putting the pre- 
 vioos question, Whether things have a 
 aaose or not ? This question has at last 
 been started; and what is there so ridi- 
 flulous as not to be maintained by some phi- 
 losniher ? 
 
 .liMi^ has been said upon it, and more, 
 I think, than it deserves. But, being about 
 to' treat 'Of the active powers of the numan 
 mind, I thoiisbt it improper to take no no- 
 tice' of what 'las been said by so^ celebrated 
 •.Philosopher, to shew that^ there is not, in 
 the human mind, any idea of power, f [33] 
 
 £*XM' A ''D'l*11*l> U 
 vUiilrl BJli' V • 
 
 WBBTEm. BMNOS THAT IIAVB KO WIU 
 
 Mon UKnamsTANMNo may havb activb 
 
 Mf|1||BI'*''|||!ll' 
 
 'Tbat active power is an attribute, which 
 
 «annot exist but in some, bdnf possessed of 
 ihai power, and the .snbjeot of that attri- 
 Imiei I 'tain: for granled as a .self-evident 
 
 • Tliii It not Hume's aawtfon j but that, on the 
 
 Mnlioi«fiai.ilOCtri»e geii«taUf ' ailiiiltlMl,.«t bave no 
 «Miil MMtaMi'lluu tbey nwf twl«— M, 
 I' On. Bnwuli crltldtm of Heiil* ate Not* Q. - H. 
 
 in a subject which has no thought, no on- 
 derstanding, no will, is not so evident 
 
 The ambiguity of the words poic^r, cai/jir, 
 Offentf and of all the words related to these, 
 tends to perplex this question. Th^ yq aif- 
 ness o f jiunianunderstanding, whicli gives 
 us only an indirect and relative conception of 
 power, contributes to darken our reasoning, 
 and should make us cautious and modest in 
 our determinations. 
 
 We can derive little light in this matter 
 from the events which we observe in the 
 course of nature. We perceive changes 
 innumerable in things without us. We 
 know that those changes must be produced 
 by the active power of some agent ; but we 
 neither perceive the agent nor the power, 
 but the change only. Whether the things 
 be active, or merely passive, is not easily dis- 
 covered. And though it may be an object 
 of curiosity to the speculative few, it does 
 not greatly concern the many. 
 
 To know the event and the circumstances | 
 that attended it, and to know in what cir- 1 
 cumstances like events may be expected, 
 may be of consequence in the conduct of 
 life ; but to know the real efficient, whether 
 it be matter or mind, whether of a supe- 
 rior or inferior order, concerns us little. 
 [34] 
 
 Thus it is with regard to all the effects 
 we ascribe to nature. 
 
 Nature is the name we give to the effi- 
 cient cause of innumerable effects which 
 fall daily under our observation. But, if it 
 be asked what nature is — whether the first 
 universal cause or a subordinate one, whe- 
 ther one or many, whether intelligent or 
 unintelligent — upon these points we find 
 various conjectures and theories, but no 
 soUd ground ufion which we can rest. And 
 I apprehend the wisest men are they who 
 are sensible that they know nothing of the 
 matter. 
 
 From the course of events in the natural 
 world, we have sufficient reason to conclude 
 the existence of an eternal intelligent First 
 Cause. But whether He acts immediately 
 in the production of those events, or by 
 subordinate intelligent agents, or ^by in- 
 struments that are unintelligent, and what 
 the number, the nature, and the different 
 offices, of those agents or instruments may 
 be — these I apprehend to be my8terie8 
 placed beyond the limits of human know- 
 ledge. We see an establi shed ord er in the 
 
 succession nf n/ttiynl j>vpntH, hilt, jye^see 
 
 not the bond thnt ccauiccta thfim together. 
 
 Since we derive so little light, with re- 
 gard to efficient causes and their active 
 power, from attention to the natural world, 
 let us next attend to the moral, I mean to 
 human actions and conduct. 
 
 Mr Locke observes very justly, *^That, 
 from the observation of tlie operation of 
 
 /' 
 
 bodies by our senses, we have but a very im- 
 perfect 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." Re adds, " That we 
 find in ourselves a power to begin or for- 
 bear, continue or end, several actions of 
 our minds and motions of our bodies, barely 
 by a thought or preference of the mind, or- 
 dering, or, as it were, commanding the do- 
 ing or not doing 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 vtc^ versa, in any particular instance, 
 is that which we call the will. The actual 
 exercise of that power, by directing any 
 particular action, or its forbearance, is that 
 which we call volition or willing.** [35] 
 
 According to Mr Locke, therefore, the 
 only clear notion or id^L we haYje.of-active 
 power, is taken from the pijwer jyhich. we 
 find in our selves to give certain motions to 
 our bodies, or a certain direction, to our 
 thpu ghts y and this power in ourselves can 
 be brought into action only by willing or 
 volition. 
 
 From tbis^ I think^jyollowg^that, ifwe^ 
 hadnoJt_will, and that degree of understand- 
 mg whic h wUJ necessarily implies, we could 
 exert, no. active power, and, consequently, 
 could have none ; for powe r Jhatcaimot be 
 exerted is no power. It follows, _also, that 
 the activgjijQtwer, of which jQniy_BLe._can 
 have any distinc t conception, can be only in 
 beings that Jiave understanding and will. 
 
 Power to produce any effect, implies 
 power not to produce it. We can conceive 
 no way in which power may be determined 
 to one of these rather than the other, in a 
 being that has no will. 
 
 Whatever is the effect of active power, 
 must be something that is contingent. Con- 
 tingent existence is that which depended 
 upon the power and will of its cause. Op- 
 posed to this, is necessary existence, which 
 we ascribe to the Supreme Being, because 
 his existence is not owing to the power of 
 any being. The same distinction there is be- 
 tween contingent and necessary truth. [36] 
 
 That the planets of our system go round 
 the sun from west to east, is a contingent 
 truth ; because it depended upon the power 
 and will of Him who made the planetary 
 system, and gave motion to it. That a 
 circle and a right line can cut one another 
 onl^ in two pomts, is a truth which depends 
 upon no power nor will, and, therefore, is 
 called necessary and immutable. Contin- 
 gency, therefore, has a relation to active 
 power, as all active power is exerted in con- 
 tingent evento, and as such events can 
 liave no existence but by the exertion of 
 active power. 
 [35-871 
 
 When I observe a plant growing, from 
 itejeed^to^aturityj I know that there must 
 b e a cause, th at has power to pro(iuce.th^ 
 eff ect. But I s ee neither the cause nor the 
 mannei: jof its Gperation. 
 
 Bu t, in cert ai n motions of my b ody and 
 directions of m y thought, T'Tcnp vy not only 
 that there must be a cause _that has power 
 to produ ce these effects, but that I am that 
 causey aioSfTam cpDScioua. QJt.wluyLXjiP 
 jnorder to the production of them. 
 
 Fromjthe. conscio usness of our o wnacti- 
 yity, seems to be derived nqt__only.the 
 clearest, but the only conception we. can 
 form of activity, or tne exertioftjot active 
 power.* 
 
 As I am unable to form a notion of any 
 intellectual power different in kind from 
 those I possess, the same holds with respect 
 to active power. If all men had been blind, 
 we should have had no conception of the 
 power of seeing, nor any name for it in 
 language. If man had not the powers of 
 abstraction and reasoning, we could not have 
 had any conception of these operations. In 
 like manner, if. he had not some degree jrf 
 active power, and lifTie^were not conscious 
 of the exertion of it in his voluntary actions, 
 it is probable he could have no conception 
 of activity, pr of active, power. [37 J 
 
 A train oif events following one another 
 ever so regularly, could never lead us to 
 thejiotion of a cause, if we had not, from 
 our constitu^ipsi^ja, conviction of the neces- 
 ^IXJof a cause to. every event. 
 
 And of the manner m which a cause may 
 exert i ts^ctive power, we can have no con- 
 ceptjon, but from consciousn e s s jof_the 
 manner.in which our own actiye power is 
 exerted. 
 
 With regard to the operations of nature, i 
 it is sufficient for us to know, that, what-l 
 ever the agents may be, whatever the man*] 
 ner of their operation or the extent of their 
 power, they depend upon the First Cause, _ 
 and are under his control ; and this indeed i 
 is all that we know ; beyond this we are \ 
 left in darkness. But, in what regards, 
 human actions, we have a more immediate i 
 concern. » 
 
 Itisojibe highest unportance to us, as 
 moral and accountable creatures, to knoy 
 what actions are in our own power, because 
 it is fp.iLthese only that we can be account- 
 able to our Maker, or to our fellow-men jn 
 society ; by these only we can merit praise 
 or blame ; in these only all our prudence, 
 wisdom, and virtue must be employed ; and, 
 therefore, with regard to them, the wise 
 Author of nature has not left us in the 
 dark. 
 
 ♦ From IhiB congcioukness, many philosophers have, 
 after Locke, endeavoured to deduce our whole notion 
 of Causalitp. The ablest developement of this theory 
 is that of W. Maine de BIran ; the ablest refutation 
 of it that of his friend and editor, M. Couiin.— H. 
 
1184 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay I. 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 OF THE PHiENOMENA OF NATURE. 
 
 525 
 
 - Mmg^^ ma is. M Igr mAim to .•ttifflmto 
 In. iimself ' Ae ftm «letotiiiimtii»s' of his 
 mm will, Mill to twlitfmi Aose ©vents to he 
 in Mb power which depend upon his will. 
 dm the other huid, it is self-evident, that 
 nothing is in our power that is not subject 
 10 our wili 
 
 W« BTOW fr om childhood to manhood^ 
 'lft.ipil,>ur food^ our15r,SIcimilates^ our 
 llMtft andaitoriis heat, we are so metimes 
 
 ■iidi: iSI" ioiiiliiies " in heiflffij all thes§ 
 
 iKin^jnust be done by thepowff' cf siinie 
 it ; "but they are nol doneXyonr power, 
 low do we know this F^^ "^^ *^ 
 
 not subjeol to our will. This is the infal- 
 UlrfeLCriteliQll .bj which we distinguUJi.w|ipj 
 
 Jl.QHr ,doiiw.lhim what is not : whiijup 
 
 j>Hr power from what is not, [38| 
 
 amnwi. "power, therefore, 'Can. only he 
 exerled by ■will, md we are unable to con- 
 ceive any active power to be exerted with- 
 out will Every man knows infallibly that 
 what is done by his conscious will and in- 
 tention, ia to be unputed to him, as the 
 ni^ent or CMise ; and that whatever is done 
 without his will and intention, cannot be 
 imputed to him with truth. 
 
 y t JBika ii ifr*^ mHinM and,, conduct of 
 lithstpen by the 'Same rulejaweJu^gg.of 
 nur o wn. In morals, it la aeif-evident that 
 no man can be the object either of approba- 
 tion or of blame for wliat he did not. But 
 how shall we know whether it is his doing 
 or not ? If the action depended upon his 
 will, and if he intended and willed it, it h 
 hsa .action In. the judgment of all mankind. 
 .But if il was done without his knowledge, 
 or without his will and intention, it is as 
 certain that he did it not, and that it ought 
 not to be impited to him as the ^gent 
 
 When there is any doubt to whom a par- 
 tieular action ought to be imputed, the 
 doubt arises only from our ignorance of 
 IfMta ; when the facts rehiting to it are 
 .kno'wn., no man of undentandkg has any 
 imki to whom the action ought to be im- 
 puted. 
 
 The general rules of imputation are self- 
 '•vident They have been the .same in all 
 ages, and among ail civilized nations. No 
 ^bkmes another for beiuR bkck or fair, 
 for having a fever or the l&liing sickness ; 
 iMfSBoae these thinp. are believed not to be 
 in .his power ; and they are believed not to 
 he in his power, beeanse they depend not 
 upon his will We can never conceive that 
 a lum^s duty goes beyond hb power, or that 
 hit BOwer goes beyond what depends upon 
 li.is.'wa po] 
 
 Beason leads is to ascribe unlimited 
 pwer to the Supreme Being. But what 
 ,|i».'VO mean by nnlimited power? It is 
 ftwer to do whatsoever he wills. To sup. 
 
 rst Mim to do what he does not will to do, 
 absurd*. 
 
 ■J*r." 
 
 The only distinct .coBc eption I can form 
 qi active power is,, that it is an attrib ute m 
 a being by y^."lb ^\^/'»" ^" oprtain thinfg^ 
 
 if he wills. This, afte r all, is only a rela- 
 tive con ception. It is relative to the effect, 
 and ^o tlie will of proctucing it. Take away 
 IHese, and the conception vanishes. They 
 are the handles by which the mind takes 
 hold of it. When they are taken away, our 
 hold is gone. The same is the case with 
 regard to other relative conceptions. Thus 
 velocity is a real state of a body, about which 
 philosophers reason with the force of de- 
 monstration ; but our conception of it is 
 relative to space and time. What is velo- 
 city in a body ? It is a state in which it 
 passes through a certain space in a certain 
 time. Space and time are very different 
 from velocity ; but we cannot conceive it 
 but by its relation to them. The effect 
 produced, and the will to produce it, are 
 things different from active power, but we 
 can have no conception of it, but by its re- 
 lation te them. 
 
 Whether the c onception of an efficient 
 cause« and of real activity, cquldjgvcrhavc o^- 
 entered, intp the raiJu^l i?f m.an^ ifL]^^® ^^^ f^, 
 not had the experience of activity in our- 
 selves, I am notable to cleterniine udth cer- 
 tainty. The origin Qt' lu^ny ol" our^concep- 
 tipns, and even uf inauy of our judgm ents,. 
 is not so easily traced as phihjsophers haY.e 
 gejiefally conceived No man can reeol- 
 lect the time when he first got the concep- 
 tion of an efficient cause, or the time wheu 
 he tirst got the belief that an efficient cause 
 is necessary to every change in nature. [40] 
 The conception of an efficient cause may 
 very probably lie derived from the expe- 
 rience we have had in very early life of our 
 own power to produce certain effects. But 
 the belief, that no event can happen without 
 an efficient cause, cannot be derived fr<»m 
 experience. We may learn from expe rience 
 what isj or wEattoJis. Ibut no experience 
 c a m feach na what necessarily must be, * 
 
 III like manner, we probably derive the 
 conception of pain from the experience we 
 have had of it in ourselves ; but our belief 
 that pain can only exist in a being that hath 
 life, cannot be got by experience, because 
 it is a necessary truth ; and no necessary 
 truth can have ite attestation from expe> 
 rience. 
 
 If it be so that the conception of an effi- 
 cient cause entere into the mT n3» only from 
 the early conviction. Wft have. that we are 
 the. efficients of our q\vix vfliiuitary actjgns^ 
 (which I think is most probable,) the notion 
 (Inefficiency will be reduced to this, That 
 it is a relation between the cause and the 
 effect, similar to that which is between us 
 and our voluntary actions. This is surely 
 
 * S«e above, pp. 323, a; 455, b; 460,ai 521, b; and 
 notm. See alfo Note T.—H. 
 
 [38-40] 
 
 
 the most distinct notion, and. I think , 
 the. only n otion we can form of real effi- 
 Sieucy. 
 
 Now it ia ftvide nt, that, to constitute th e 
 relatipp b etween me and my action, my con - 
 jgeption of tfa e action^ and_wiU to do it, are 
 essen tial^ For w hat I never conceived nor 
 willed, j^ neve r did. 
 
 If any man, therefore, affirms, that a 
 being may be the efficient cause of an action, 
 and have power to produce it, which that 
 being can neither conceive nor will, he 
 speaks a language which I do not under- 
 stand. If he has a meaning, his notion of 
 power and efficiency must be essentially 
 different from mine ; and, until he -conveys 
 his notion of efficiency to my understand- 
 ing, I can no more assent to his opinion 
 than if he should affirm that a being with- 
 out life may feel pain. [41 ] 
 
 It seems, therefore, to me most probable, 
 that such beings only as have some degree 
 of understanding and will, can possess ac- 
 tive power ; and that inanimate beings must 
 be merely passive, and have no real activity. 
 / Nothing we perceive without us affords any 
 ^ good ground for ascribing active power to 
 any inanimate being ; and everything we 
 can discover in our own constitution, leads 
 us to think that active power cannot be ex- 
 erted without will and intelligence. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OP THE BFFICIENT CAUSES OF THE PHiENO- 
 MENA OF NATURE. 
 
 If active power, in its proper meaning, 
 requires a subject endowed with will and in- 
 telligence, what shall we say of those active 
 powers which philosophers teach us to 
 ascribe to matter — the powers of corpuscu- 
 lar attraction, magnetism, electricity, gra- 
 vitation, and others ? Is it not universally 
 allowed, that heavy bodies descend to the 
 earth by the power of gravity ; that, by the 
 same power, the moon, and all the planets 
 a.nd comets, are retained in their orbits ? 
 Have the most eminent natural philosophers 
 been imposing upon us, and giving us words 
 instead of real causes ? 
 
 In answer to this, I apprehend, that the 
 principles of natural philosophy have, in 
 modem times, been built upon a foundation 
 that cannot be shaken, and that they can be 
 called in question only by those who do not 
 understand the evidenceon which they stand. 
 But the ambiguity of the words cause, 
 agency, active power, and the other words 
 related to these, has led many to understand 
 them, when used 'in natural philosophy, in 
 ft wrong sense, and in a sense which is 
 neither necessary for e stablishing the true 
 principlaa «f natm^ philosophy, MtSJMm 
 [41-43] 
 
 ever meant by the most enlightened Inthat 
 science. [42] 
 
 To be convinced of this, we may observe 
 that those very philosophers who attribute 
 to matter the power of gravitation, and 
 other active powers, teach us, at the same 
 time, that matter is a substance altogether 
 inert, and merely passive ; that gravitation, 
 and the other attractive or repulsive powers 
 which they ascribe to it, are not inherent 
 in ite nature, but impressed upon it by 
 some external cause, which they do not pre- 
 tend to know or to explain. Now, when 
 we find wise men ascribing action and active 
 power to a substance which they expressly 
 teach us to consider as merely passive and 
 acted upon by some unknown cause, we 
 must conclude that the action and active 
 power ascribed to it are not to be understood 
 strictly, but in some popular sense. 
 
 It ought likewise to be observed, that 
 although philosophers, for the sake of being 
 understood, must speak the language of the 
 vulgar— as when they say, the sun rises and 
 sets, and goes through all the signs of the 
 zodiac — yet they often think differently from 
 the vulgar. Let us hear what the greatest 
 of natural philosophers says, in the eighth 
 definition prefixed to his " Principia :" — 
 " Voces autem attractionis, impulsus, vel pro- 
 . pensionis cujuscunque in centrum, indiffer- 
 enter et pro se mutuo promiscue usurpo ; 
 has voces non physice sed mathematice con- 
 siderando. Unde caveat lector, ne per 
 hujus modi voces cogitet me speciem vel 
 modum actionis, causamve aut rationem 
 physicam, alicubi definire ; vel centris (quae 
 sunt puncta mathematica) vires vere et 
 physice tribuere, si forte centra trahere, 
 aut vires centrorum esse, dixero." 
 
 In all languages, action is attributed to 
 many things which all men of common un- 
 derstanding believe to be merely passive. 
 Thus, we say the wind blows, the rivers 
 flow, the sea rages, the fire burns, bodies 
 move, and impel other bodies. [43] 
 
 Every object which undergoes any change f 
 must be either active or passive in that^ 
 change. This is self-evident to all men, 
 from the first dawn of reason ; and, there- 
 fore, the change is always expressed in ; 
 language, either by an active or a passive [ 
 verb. Nor do I know any verb, expressive 
 of a change, which does not imply either 
 action or passion. The thing either changes, 
 or it is changed. But it is remarkable in 
 language, that when an external cause of 
 the change is not obvious, the change is 
 always imputed to the thing changed, as if ^ 
 it were animated, and had active power to j 
 produce the change in itself. So we say, [ 
 the moon changes, the sun rises and goes ', 
 down. 
 
 Thus active verbs are very often applied, I 
 and active power imputed to things, which ', 
 
IISp 
 
 ON TUB ACTIVE POWERS* 
 
 [iGSaiY 
 
 '• 
 
 I » litlia advano® io knowledge and experience 
 
 ttadies U8 to ho merely fniaivii. Thia 
 I property, ooinmon to all langoains, I en- 
 deavoured to aecoiint for in tlie second 
 chaptor of this Eaiay, to wlwsh tlie reader 
 ia referred 
 
 A like irNgplarity may be 'tlnerved in 
 Hw iiae of ' Hw word Bignifying mmm, in all 
 laiigiiafe% and of the words related to it. 
 
 Oiir knowledge of eaiises is very scanty 
 M 'tlw most advanced state of society, much 
 'mm' is it so in that early period in which 
 bngoago is imed. A strong desire to 
 know the causes of things, is common to all 
 men in every state; but the experience of 
 all ages ■he«% that this keen appetite, 
 nther than go em|Pty, wUl feed upon the 
 Imski of real knowledge where the fruit can- 
 not be found* 
 
 While we amwmey wmdk. in the dark with 
 .regard, to the Mai ^pnta m mxmea which 
 
 EfodnM Ae phsnoiwna of nature, and. 
 ave, at tlie same time^ an avidity to know 
 them, ingeniiMs nittn. ;teme con|eeti»c% 
 which Ihme of weakir understau'ding take 
 iiff 'tnitlL The 'iy» :ia 'Coarse, but appetite 
 makes it go down. [44] 
 
 Thos, in a very ancient system, love and 
 ■trife weve made the causes of things.* 
 FblMi' 'made ths' causes of thinp to^ be nmt- 
 'ter, ideaii, and an efficient aanitect ; Aris- 
 totle^ matter, form, and privation ; Des 
 1 Carles thonght 'mattefi and a eertain quan- 
 tity of 'motioB |iv«n 11 hy iw Almighty at 
 ~' 'uat :iB neeasiary to make the 
 
 first, to bo all 
 material world ; Leibnitz conceived the 
 whole universe, even the material part of it, 
 to Ibe made up of ffloiMilff^ each of which is 
 
 by its own aetlve power, all 'the changes it 
 nndergoes Iromthe beginning of its existence 
 to eternity. 
 
 In cfnumii. laignage, 'we give the name 
 nf a mmm' to a reason, a motive, an end, to 
 any circumstance which is connected with 
 the effect, and goes before it. 
 
 Affistotby. and the schoolmen after Mm, 
 'distinguifiiied four' kinds of cansea~-4he Ef- 
 ficient, the Material, the Formal, and the 
 Final This, like many of Aristotle^s dis- 
 tinetions, is only a distinction of the various 
 meanings of an ambiguous word ; for the 
 Effietent, liie Matter, the Form, and the End, 
 have nothing common in their nature, by 
 wIMl thqr may be accounted species of the 
 ■Bine f«iitit if but the Greek word which 
 we 'Iranalato mmm^ had tlieoe fow different 
 miiiiiinp in Aristotle** days, and we have 
 ■died other meanings.^ We do not indeed 
 'Cdl. 'tlie .naftler or' the form of a thing ite 
 I tnt we liave final causes, instru- 
 
 't llMf'dlliafelliliiii oommon— that Mdi torn 
 
 1 'Of ■npedoelet.^Il. 
 gUMfelliliiii oommoii— uiM Mcn m ma 
 ^ 'WbWi not being, the conieqiient, called 
 
 the 'tliol, wmM not 1>*.»I1. 
 I' ftoe ahofc* p, 1ft s Mow,. Eiasf IV. cc 2, 3— H. 
 
 mental causes, occasional causes, and I 
 know not how many others. 
 
 Thus the word cause has 'been so hack- 
 neyed, and made to have so many different 
 meanings in the writings of phUosophers, 
 and in the discourse of the vulgar, that its 
 original and proper meaning is lost in the 
 crowd. [45] 
 
 With regard to the phsenomena of nature, 
 the important end of knowing their causes, 
 besides gratifying our curiosity, is, that we 
 may know when to expect them, or how to 
 hna^ them about. This is very often of 
 real unportance in life ; and this purpose is 
 served by knowing what, by the course of 
 nature, goes before them and ia connected 
 with them ; and this, therefore, we call the 
 cause of such a phsenomenon. 
 
 If a magnet be brought near to a mariner*s 
 compass, the needle, which was before at 
 rest, immediately begins to move, and bends 
 ite course towards the magnet, or perhaps 
 the contrary way. If an unlearned sailor 
 is asked the cause of this motion of the 
 needle, he is at no loss for an answer. He 
 tells you it ia the magnet ; and the proof ia 
 clear ; for, remove the magnet, and the ef- 
 fect ceases ; bring it near, and the effect is 
 again produced. It is, therefore, evident 
 to sense, that the magnet is the cause of 
 this effect. 
 
 A Cartesian philosopher enters deeper 
 into the cause of this phsenomenon. He 
 observes, that the magnet does not touch 
 the needle, and therefore can give it no im- 
 pulse. He pities the ignorance of the saUor. 
 The effect is product says he, by magne- 
 tic effluvia, or subtile matter, which passes 
 from the magnet to the needle, and forces 
 it from its pkce. He can even shew you, 
 in a fieure, where these magnetic effluvia 
 issue m>m the magnet, what round they 
 take, and what way they return home again. 
 And thus he thii^ he comprehends per- 
 fectly how, and by what cause, the motion 
 of the needle is produced. 
 
 A Newtonian philosopher inquires what 
 proof can be offered for the existence of 
 magnetic effluvia, and can find none. He 
 therefore holds it as a fiction, a hypothesis ; 
 and he has learned that hypotheses ought to 
 have no place in the philosophy of nature. 
 He confesses his ignorance of the real cause 
 of this motion, and thinks that his busi > 
 ness, as a philosopher, is only to find from 
 experiment the laws by which it is regu- 
 lated in all cases. [46] 
 
 These three persons differ much in their 
 sentiments with regard to the real cause of 
 this phaBnomenon ; and the man who knows 
 most is he who is sensible that he knows j 
 nothing of the matter. Yet all the three 
 speak the same language, and acknowledge 
 that the cause of this motion is the attract- 
 ive or repulsive power of the magnet. 
 
 £44— 4>€J 
 
 CHAP. VII.] OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 527 
 
 Whathafi hftffn said of thisj^may be ap- 
 5liedjQ_eyery phaeaomenon thaLMl^wgR- 
 m the compass of natural pbilo sophv. Wp 
 deceive ou rselves if we conceive that we 
 canj^t out the real efficient cause of any" 
 one of thpm. 
 
 The grandest discovery ever made in na- 
 tural philosophy, was that of the law of 
 gravitation, which opens such a view of our 
 .' planetary system that it looks like some- 
 I thing divine. But the author of this disco- 
 very was perfectly aware, that he discovered 
 no real cause, but only the law or rnly 
 
 according to which the ufl kfifl W Tl raus? n p t 
 rates. 
 
 Natural phUosophers, who think accu- 
 rately, have a precise meaning to the terms 
 they use in the science ; and, when they 
 p retend t osbew the cause of any plijenome- 
 no.nj>f nature, they mean by the cause, a 
 Jaw^f. out lire of which that phaBn9menon 
 isjuiecessary consequence. 
 
 The whole object of natural philosophy, 
 as Newton expressly teaches, is reducible 
 to these two heads ; first, by just induction 
 from experiment and observation, to disco- 
 ver the laws of nature ; and then, to apply 
 those laws to the solution of the phsenome- 
 na of nature. This was all that this great 
 philosopher attempted, and all that he 
 thought attainable. And this indeed heat- 
 tamed in a great measure, with regard to 
 the motions of our planetary system, and 
 with regard to the rays of light. [47] 
 
 But supposing that all the phaenomena 
 I that fall within the reach of our senses, were 
 accounted for from general laws of nature 
 justly deduced from experience— that is' 
 supposing natural philosophy brought to its 
 utmost perfection— it does not discover the 
 efficient cause of any one phaenomenon in 
 U nature. 
 
 . The laws of nature are the nUesaccord- 
 mgjo_which the.£ffecla are prpduced ; byt 
 fficrejiiuat Ue_a cAuae which opecatea^ac- 
 cordi ng to these rules. The rules of navi- 
 gation never navigated a ship; the rules 
 of architecture never built a house. 
 
 Natural philosophers, by great attention 
 to the course of nature, have discovered 
 many of her laws, and have very happily 
 applied them to account for many phseno- 
 
 mena ; biit_$hfiy_hayfi_jjfiKet diacojtfir^d the 
 msiSBi. cauaa iif .any one ^hjenomenonj 
 nor do those who have distmct notions of 
 the principles of the science make any such 
 pretence. 
 
 Upon the theatre of nature we see innu- 
 merable effects, which require an agent 
 endowed with active power; but thg.agent 
 g-k«]llfld_the,scen> Whether it be the 
 Supreme Cause alone, or a subordinate 
 cause or causes ; and if subordmate causes 
 be employed by the Ahnighty, what their 
 nature, their number, and their different 
 [47-49] 
 
 offices may be— are things hid, for wise 
 reasons without doubt, from the human 
 eye. 
 
 . ILLS QnljisJiummjactionMhaUBa^ 
 "BBiitedJpjLDiaise or Uslxt^^,^ that it if\ nrrn 
 
 f?^?X/2LustQ.kiiOttJKheJaihe_ageiit: and 
 
 I" te*-0»tttre has.givcajia.Aa thi figlit 
 
 that. 1H ^ftA^eaQt.y f^y p|^ ytf tlll Mfi tl [48] 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OP THB EXTENT OP HUMAN POWEB. 
 
 Every thing kudable and praiseworthy 
 m man, must consist in the proper exercise 
 of that power which is given him by his 
 Maker. This is the talent which he is 
 required to occupy, and of which he must 
 give an account to Him who committed it 
 to his trust. 
 
 To some persons more power is given 
 than to others ; and to the same person, 
 more at one time and less at another. Its 
 existence, its extent, and its continuance, 
 depend solely upon the pleasure of the 
 Almighty ; but every man that is account- 
 able must have more or less of it. For to 
 call a person to account, to approve or dis- 
 approve of his conduct, who had no power 
 to do good or ill, is absurd. No axiom of 
 Euchd appears more evident than this. 
 
 As power is a valuable gift, to under- 
 rate it is ingratitude to the giver ; to over- 
 rate it, begets pride and presumption, and 
 leads to unsuccessful attempts. It is there- 
 fore, m every man, a point of wisdom to 
 make a just estimate of his own power. 
 Quid ferre recusent, quid valeant humeri. 
 
 We can only speak of the power of man 
 m general ; and as ^ur notion of power is 
 relative to its^ effects, we can estimate its 
 
 extent oiJxbyjk„.ettiBcta. which it la able 
 to produce. 
 
 It would be wrong to estunate the extent 
 of human power by the effects which it haa- 
 actually produced. For every man had 
 power to do many things which he did not, 
 and not to do many things which he did ; 
 otherwise he could not be an object either 
 of approbation or of disapprobation to any 
 rational bemg. [49] 
 
 The effects of human power are either 
 immediate, or they are more remote. 
 
 The immediate effects, I thmk, are re- 
 ducible to two heads. WecaiLgive certain 
 mptionstp our -Own. l^JI^X^^d ssce cap 
 S?^ aS?£tain.direction to ourown thoughts. 
 
 WEalever we can do~1^ypnarthii7 mugt 
 be done by one of these meaas^ oiiboth. . 
 
 We can produce no motion in anybody 
 m the universe, but by moving first our own 
 body as an instrument. Nor can we pro- 
 duce thought in any other person, but by 
 thought and motion in ourselves. 
 
 ^kiuuiBi^S^ 
 
ON THK ACTIVE POWBES- 
 
 £E8SAV 1. 
 
 CHAP. viii.J OF THE EXTENT OF HUMAN POWER. 
 
 529 
 
 
 ^wm m *»'«^MMi mat ^ ^«1'2^ 
 
 ,^SKKiw«_-~ -nrine endowed with. Hie 
 compared to a spring «j"« _ji«- iimsJtf 
 ,m0mfi comwMStwf or expanding it»eii, 
 iCi wlifeli camaol contract without dmwing 
 Mwir at too* ««*^ °**' expand witliont 
 3Uing equally at both ends ; so that evew 
 Sion of the spring is always accompa«Md 
 villi an equal reaction in a contrary direc- 
 
 We can eonoeive » man *o J**!® P?*®' 
 to mow his whole body i»*«^JMj«^»°» 
 ^MmA the aid of any o*«!^yv J' * 
 nnwer to move one part of his body without 
 Smi aid of any other part But philosophy 
 ZtOm ns thU :»» h«i » wmhvow^r. 
 
 \ 
 
 IfTe carries lili whole body in any di- 
 
 p«,tion with a corliiiii *1^2!l7/thrr^h 
 Ala he ean do only by pushing the eann, 
 
 Tr some other body, with an n^^^}"^^ 
 
 of motion in the oomtiaiy i^'^^^f ^. J^™ 
 
 ilw iwl of Ms body is pushed with an ejl^» 
 ^tity of motion in the contrary direc- 
 
 ^Thk kthe CAMi wiA fe»fd to all animal 
 md TOlnntary motions, which come withm 
 the reach of our senses. They are per- 
 temed by the contraction of ««^°J^J;" 
 des ; and a muscle, when it is ^f^^ 
 draws equally at both ends. As to the 
 motions antecedent to the contraction of 
 the muscle, and consequent upon the iroh- 
 tion of the animal, we know nothmg, and 
 tm. m nothing about them. . ^ ^j.^^ 
 Wo know not even how those immediate 
 •IKiets of our power are produced by our 
 willing them- We porceive not any ne- 
 cessary connection between the vohtion and 
 exertion on our part, and the motion of our 
 body that i^owB them. ^, ^_^ .^„ 
 Amitiimists inform us, that every volun- 
 ta» motion of tlie body is performed by the 
 contraction of certain musdes, and that the 
 muscles are contracted by some mfluenoe 
 derived from the nerves. But, without 
 thinlcing in the least, either of muscte or 
 BCftca, we wUl only the external effect, 
 and the mtemal machinery, without our 
 call, unmediately producer that effect. 
 
 This is one of the wonders of our frame, 
 iMfih we have reason to admire ; but to 
 ■Mouni for it, is beyond the reach of our 
 
 That there is an established harmony 
 ibetween our willing ocrlain motions of our 
 
 »«*^ •»t.*tj!!T*^"*f l^lotST tea 
 
 .jug,^^ !^: ybifh. "produces those motions, is » 
 
 itti known by experience. This volition is 
 VQ Ml of the mind. Bnl whether this act 
 
 I of the nimd h»vo any physical effect upon 
 IhonMrvoa and mnsdes; or *»ie"^^' " do 
 only an occasion of their being acted upon 
 liyaomc olhof eilBtail, according to the 
 
 established kws of nature, is hid from iif. I 
 ^TikTour conception of our own power ( 
 when we trace it to ite origin. 151J 
 
 We have Bood reason to believe, inai 
 maUer htd i^rigin from --^ as wdl a. 
 all its motions ; but how, or - whaj^man- 
 ner, it is moved by mind, we know as uuie 
 as how it was created. 
 
 It is possible, therefore, for anything wo 
 know, thTwhat we call the »™ni«diate ^- 
 fects of our power, may "«t ^ «^ »° ™^ 
 strictest sense. Between the will to pi^ 
 duce the effect, and the production of it, 
 the^nly be agJntsor instruments of which 
 
 "VhTst;"^- some doubt, whether we 
 
 be> the strictest sense, the efficient cau^ 
 
 ^'the voluntary motions of our own body 
 
 But it can produce no doubt with regard to 
 
 the moral estimation of our actious. 
 
 The man who knows that such an event 
 depends upon hiswiU, and who ^flf j^^^^y 
 wX to piiiduce it, is, in the strictest moral 
 sense, the cause of the event ; and it is 
 ISry imputed to him, whatever physical 
 iausL mLy have concurred m its produc 
 
 *'**Thu8, he who maliciously intends to 
 
 shoot hte neighbour dead, and voluntarily 
 
 dor it, is undoubtedly the cause of his 
 
 deSh though he did no more to occasion 
 
 it than draw the trigger of the gun. He 
 
 neither gave to the ball »ts velocity nor to 
 
 the powder its expansive force, nor to the 
 
 flint and steel the power to strike fire, 
 
 Su he knew that what he did must be fol- 
 
 lowed by the man's death and did it wth 
 
 that intention ; and therefore he is justly 
 
 chargeable with the murder. 15^1 
 
 IP 
 
 arceauie wiiu ^^^ u»«.-^ — a- * 
 Philosophers may therefore dispute inno- 
 cently, whether we be the proper efticient i 
 causes of the voluntary motions of our own , 
 body; orwhetherwebeonly,asMalebranche 
 
 thiukkthe occasional causes. Thedetermin- jj 
 at on of this question, if it can be deter- 
 mined, can have no effect o^^uman conduct^ ^ 
 The other branch of what is unmediately 
 in our power, is to give a certain direction 
 to Tr Swn thoughts. This, as well M the 
 first branch, is limited m various ways^K 
 is greater in some persons than »" other^ 
 and in the same person is very different, 
 ^cordinK to the health of his body and the 
 :S^^ This mind. But that men, when 
 ?ree from disease of body and of mind,havea 
 
 considerable degree of power of thiskinrt, 
 and that it "ay he.greaUy.mcrea^ hy 
 oractice and habit, is sufficiently evident 
 ?r"m experien^^^ and from the natural con- 
 viction of all mankind. . 
 
 Were we to examine minutely mto the 
 
 connection between our volitions, and the 
 
 dSon of onr thoughts wh.cli oljpys these 
 
 ^^^Snl^were we tS considerhow we are 
 
 I able to giveattcntionto an ob,oct for^ajj- 
 
 tain time, and turn our attention to another 
 when we choose, we might perhaps find it 
 difficult to determine whether the mind it- 
 self be the sole efficient cause of the volun- 
 tary changes in the direction of our thoughts, 
 or whether it requires the aid of other effi- 
 cient causes. 
 
 I see no good reason why the dispute 
 about efficient and occasional causes, may 
 not be applied to the power of directing our 
 thoughts, as well as to the power of moving 
 our bodies. In both cases, I apprehend, 
 tlie dispute is endless, and, if it could be 
 brought to an issue, would be fruitless. 
 
 Nothing appears more evident to our rea- 
 son, than that there must be an efficient 
 cause of every change that happens in na- 
 ture. But when I attempt to comprehend 
 the manner in which an efficient cause ope- 
 rates, either upon body or upon mind, there 
 is a darkness which my faculties are not 
 able to penetrate. [53] 
 
 However small the immediate effects of 
 human power seem to be, its more remote 
 effects are very considerable. 
 
 In this respect, the power of man may 
 be compared to the Nile, the Ganges, and 
 other great rivers, which make a figure up- 
 on the globe of the earth, and, traversing 
 vast regions, bring sometimes great benefit, 
 at other tunes great mischief, to many na- 
 tions : yet, when we trace those rivers to 
 their source, we find them to rise from in- 
 considerable fountains and rills' 
 
 The command of a mighty prince, what 
 is it but the sound of his breath, modified 
 by his organs of speech ? But it may have 
 great consequences : it may raise armies, 
 equip fleets, and spread war and desolation 
 over a great part of the earth. 
 
 The meanest of mankind has considerable 
 power to do good, and more to hurt him- 
 self and others. 
 
 From this I think we may conclude, that, 
 although the degeneracy of mankind be 
 great, aud justly to be lamented, yet men, 
 in general, are more disposed to employ 
 their power hi doing good, than in doing 
 I hurt, to their fellow-men. The last is much 
 more in their power than the first ; and, if 
 they were as much disposed to it, human 
 society could not subsist, and the species 
 must soon perish from the earth. 
 I We may first consider the effects which 
 may be produced by human power upon 
 the material system. 
 
 It is confined indeed to the planet which 
 we inhabit ; we cannot remove to another ; 
 nor can we produce any change in the an- 
 nual or diurnal motions of our own. [54] 
 
 But, by human power, great changes may 
 be made upon the face of the earth ; and 
 those treasures of metals and minerals that 
 are stored up in its bowels, may be disco- 
 vered and brought forth. 
 £53-55] 
 
 The Supreme Being could, no doubt, have 
 made the earth to supply the wants of man, 
 without any cultivation by human labour. 
 Many inferior animals, who neither plant, 
 nor sow, nor spin, are provided for by the 
 bounty of Heaven. But this is not the 
 case with man. 
 
 He has active powers and ingenuity given 
 him, by which he can do much for supply- 
 ing his wants ; and his labour is made ne- 
 cessary for that purpose. 
 
 His wants are more than those of any 
 other animal that inhabits this globe ; and 
 his resources are proportioned to them, 
 and put within the sphere of his power. 
 
 The earth is left by nature in such a state 
 as to require cultivation for the accommo- 
 dation of man. 
 
 It is capable of cultivation, in most places, 
 to such a degree, that, by human labour, 
 it may afford subsistence to an hundred 
 times the number of men it could in its 
 natural state. 
 
 Every tribe of men, in every climate, 
 must labour for their subsistence and ac- 
 commodation ; and their supply is more or 
 less comfortable, in proportion to the labour 
 properly employed for that purpose. 
 
 It is evidently the intention of Nature, 
 that man should be laborious, and that he 
 should exert his powers of body and mind 
 for his own, and for the common, good. 
 And, by his power properly applied, he 
 may make great improvement upon the fer- 
 tility of the earth, and a great addition to 
 his own accommodation and comfortable 
 state. [55] 
 
 By clearing, tilling, and manuring the 
 ground, by planting and sowing, by build- 
 ing cities and harbours, draining marshes 
 and lakes, making rivers navigable, and 
 joining them by canals, by manufacturing 
 the rude materials which the earth, duly 
 cultivated, produces in abundance, by the 
 mutual exchange of commodities and of 
 labour, he may make the barren wilderness 
 the habitation of rich and populous states. 
 If we compare the city of Venice, the 
 province of Holland, the empire of China, 
 with those places of the earth which never 
 felt the hand of industry, we may form some 
 conception of the extent of human power 
 upon the material system, in changing the 
 face of the earth, and furnishing the accom- 
 modations of human life. 
 
 But, in order to produce those happy 
 changes, man himself must be improved. 
 
 His animal faculties are sufficient for the 
 preservation of the species ; they grow up 
 of themselves, like the trees of the forest, 
 which require only the force of nature and 
 the influences of Heaven. 
 
 His rational and moral faculties, like the 
 earth itself, are rude and barren by nature, 
 but capable of a high degree of culture ; and 
 
 2 m 
 
530 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay II. 
 
 in* 
 
 this culture lie nmat reoeiTo from parentu, 
 from inatracton, from those with whom he 
 lives in society, Joined with his own in- 
 dustry* 
 
 If we consider the changes that may he 
 produced hy man upon his own mind, and 
 n|)on the minds of others, they appear to he 
 gieat. [56] 
 
 Upon his own mind he may make great 
 improvement, in acquiring th© tre««are8 of 
 useful knowledge, the habits of skill in arts, 
 the liaMts of wisdom, pnidence, self-com- 
 Biiind, and every other virtue. It is the 
 eonstitution of nature, that such qualities 
 as exalt and dignify human nature are to 
 he acquired by proper exertions ; and, by 
 « flontrary conduct, such qualities as debase 
 It below the condition of bmles.. 
 
 Even upon the mind» of others, great 
 effects may be produced by means within 
 the compass of human power j by means of 
 good education, of proper instmistion, of 
 persuasion, of good example, and by the 
 discipline of laws and government 
 
 That these have often had great and good 
 effects on the civilization and improvement 
 of individuals and of nations, cannot be 
 doubted. But what happy effiBcts they 
 might have, if applied universally with the 
 skill and address that is within the reach 
 #f human wisdom and power, is not easily 
 flonceived, or to what pitch the happiness 
 of human society, and the improvement of 
 the species, might be carried. 
 
 What anobk, what a divine employment 
 ni human power is here assi|;ned us ! How 
 cmsht it to rouse the ambition of parents, 
 of mstructors, of lawgivers, of magistrates, 
 of every man in his station, to contribute 
 Ms lart towards the accomplishment of so 
 glonons an end ! 
 
 The power of man over his own and 
 other minds, when we trace it to its 
 origin, is isTOlved in darkness, no less 
 thm his power to move Ms own and other 
 
 How far we are properly efficient causes. 
 
 how far occasional causes, I cannot pre* 
 tend to determine. [571 
 
 We know that habit produces great 
 changes in the miiid ; but how it does so, 
 we know not We know that example has 
 a powerful, and, in the early period of life, 
 almost an irresistible effect ; but we know 
 not how it produces this effects. The com- 
 munication of thought, sentiment, and pas- 
 sion, from one mind to another, has some- 
 thing in it as mysterious as the communi- 
 cation of motion from one body to another. 
 
 We perceive one event to follow another, 
 according to established laws of nature, and 
 we are accustomed to call the first the 
 cause, and the last the effect, without know- 
 ing what is the bond that unites them. In 
 oi^er to produce a certain event, we use 
 means which, by laws of nature, are con- 
 nected with that event ; and we call our- 
 selves the cause of that event, though other 
 efficient causes may have had the chief 
 hand in its production. 
 
 Upon the whole, human power, in its 
 existence, in its extent, and in its exertions 
 is entirely dependent upon God, and upon 
 the laws of nature which he has established. 
 This ought to banish pride and arrogance 
 from the most mighty of the sons of men. 
 At the same time, that degree of power 
 which we have received from the bounty of 
 Heaven, is one of the noblest gifts of God 
 to man; of which we ought not to be in- 
 sensible, that we may not be ungrateful, 
 and that we may be excited to make the 
 proper use of it 
 
 The extent of human power is perfectly 
 suited to the state of man, as a state of 
 improvement and discipline. It is sufficient 
 to animate us to the noblest exertions. By 
 the proper exercise of this gift, of God, 
 human nature, in individuals and in societies, 
 may be exalted to a high degree of dignity 
 and felicity, and the earth become a para- 
 dise. On the contrary, its perversion and 
 abuse is the cause of most of the evils that 
 afflict human life. [69] 
 
 ESSAY 11. 
 
 OF THE WILL. 
 
 
 YATIONS OONCXnNINO T'M.B WIL^L. 
 
 Evf RY 'man is^ consdone of a power to 
 itfttrmine, in things whidi lie eonceives to 
 
 ^^pmd upon his dflMiiiiiiatlon. To this 
 
 •v. 
 
 power we give the name of Wiil ; and, as it 
 is usual, in the operations of the mind, to 
 give the same name to the power and to 
 the act of that power, the term triii is often 
 put to signify the act of determining, which 
 more properly is called volition* 
 
 Volition, therefore, signiiies the act of 
 
 [56-59] 
 
 CBAP. I.] OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING THE WILL. 
 
 531 
 
 willing and determining, and Will is put 
 indifferently to signify either the power of 
 „ willing or the act. 
 
 But the term will has very often, espe- 
 cially in the writings of philosophers, a more 
 extensive meaning, which we must care- 
 fully distinguish from that which we have 
 now given. 
 
 In the general division of our faculties 
 into Understanding and Will, our passions, 
 appetites, and atfeetions are comprehended 
 under the will ; and so it is made to signify, 
 not only our determination to act or not to 
 act, but every motive and incitement to 
 action. [60] 
 
 It is this, probably, that has led some 
 philosophers to represent desire, aversion, 
 hope, fear, joy, sorrow, all our appetites, 
 passions, and affections, as different modi- 
 fications of the will,* which, I think, tends 
 to confound things which are very different 
 in their nature. 
 
 The advice given to a man, and his de- 
 termination consequent to that advice, are 
 things so different in their nature, that it 
 would be improper to call them modifica- 
 tions of one and the same thing. In like 
 manner, the motives to action, and the de- 
 termination to act or not to act, are things 
 that have no common nature, and, there- 
 fore, ought not to be confounded under one 
 name, or represented as different modifica- 
 tions of the same thing. 
 
 For this reason, in speaking of the will 
 in ♦his Essay, I do not comprehend under 
 that term any of the incitements or motives 
 which may have an influence upon our de- 
 terminations, but solely the determination 
 itself, and the power to determine. 
 
 Mr Locke has considered this operation 
 of the mind more attentively, and dis- 
 tinguished it more accurately, than some 
 very ingenious authors who wrote after him. 
 
 He defines volition to be, " An act of the 
 
 mind knowingly exerting that dominion it 
 
 takes itself to have over any part of the man, 
 
 by employing it in, or withliolding it from 
 
 \ any particular action.*' 
 
 It may more briefly be defined — The de- 
 termination of the mind to do, or not to do, 
 something which we conceive to be in our 
 y power. [61] 
 
 If this were given as a strictly logical de- 
 finition, it would be liable to this objection, 
 that the determination of the mind is only 
 another term for volition. But it ought to 
 be observed, that the most simple Acts of 
 the mind do not admit of a logical aefiui- 
 tion. The way to form a clear notion of 
 them is, to reflect attentively upon them as 
 we feel them in ourselvea Without this 
 reflection, no definition can give us a distinct 
 conception of them. 
 
 [60-62] 
 
 Seelbllowing note.— H. 
 
 For this reason, rather than sift any de- 
 finition of the will, I shall make some ob- 
 servations upon it, which may lead us to re- 
 flect upon it, and to distinguish it from other 
 acts of mind, which, from the ambiguity of 
 words, are apt to be confounded with it. 
 
 Firatj Every act of will must have an 
 object He that wills must will something ; 
 and that which he wills is called the object 
 of his volition. As a man cannot think 
 without thinking of something, nor remem- 
 ber without remembering something, so 
 neither can he will without willing some- 
 thing. Every act of will, therefore, must 
 have an object ; and the person who wills 
 must have some conception, more or less 
 distinct, of what he wills. 
 
 By this, things done voluntarily are dis- 
 tinguished from things done merely from 
 instinct, or merely from habit. 
 
 A healthy child, some hours after its birth, 
 feels the sensation of hunger, and, if applied 
 to the breast, sucks and swallows its food 
 very perfectly. We have no reason to 
 think, that, before it ever sucked, it has 
 any conception of that complex operation, 
 or how it is performed. It cannot, there- 
 fore, with propriety, be said that it wills to 
 suck. [62] 
 
 Numberless instances might be given of 
 things done by animals without any previous 
 conception of what they are to do, without 
 the intention of doing it. They act by some 
 inward blind impulse, of which the efficient 
 cause is hid from us ; and, though there is 
 an end evidently intended by the action, 
 this intention is not in the animal, but iu 
 its Maker. 
 
 Other things are done by habit, which 
 cannot properly be called voluntary. We 
 shut our eyes several times every minute 
 while we are awake ; no man is conscious 
 of willing this every time he does it. 
 
 A second observation is, That the imme- 
 diate object of will must be some action of 
 our own. 
 
 By this, will is distinguished from two 
 acts of the mind, which sometimes takes its 
 name, and thereby are apt to be confounded 
 with it. These are desire and command. 
 
 The distinction between will and desire, 
 has been well explained by Mr Locke ; yet 
 many later writers have overlooked it, and 
 have represented desire as a modification of 
 will.* 
 
 Desire and will agree in this, that both 
 
 must have an object, of which we must 
 
 have some conception ; and, therefore, both 
 
 must be accompanied with some degree of 
 
 understanding. But they differ in several 
 
 things. 
 
 * Rather— Wifl as a modiflcation of Desire. Thii 
 has beei>done, since Reid, (to say nothing of others.) 
 aUo by Dr I'homas Brown, in whose scheme there 
 U thus virtually alxjiishcd all rational freedom, all 
 res|MiiMlble agency, all moral diitinctions.— H. 
 
 2 u2 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [KS8AY II. 
 
 Tha object of desire may !» iBythinf 
 which appetite, paaaion, or affection lead* 
 iM to pureue; it may be any event which 
 we think giiod for ns, or for those to whom 
 we are well affected. I may deaire meat, 
 or drink, or ease from pain ; bnt, to say 
 thai I will meat, or will drink, or will ease 
 fRMn fwn, in not English. There b, there- 
 'iM% II distinction in common tognage be- 
 tween deaire and will- And the distinction 
 is, That what we will must be an action, 
 and onr own action ; what we desire may 
 .mt be onr own action ; it may be no 
 
 aitionatall. [Ol ,, ,.,^ , 
 
 A man desires that hia children may be 
 iuuipy, and that they may behave well 
 Their being happy is no action at all; their 
 hdhairing well is not Ms actioo but theirs. 
 
 With regard to our own actions, we may 
 ieeire what we do not will, and will what 
 we do not desire; nay, wliat we have a 
 great aTersion to* 
 
 A man a-thirst haa a vlrong denm to 
 drink, but, for some particular leiiaon, he 
 detemin:es not to gratify his diwe. A 
 judge, from a regard to justice, wd to the 
 4nty of his office, dooms a criminal to die, 
 while, from humanity or particuhir affec- 
 tinn, he desires that he should live. A man, 
 for health, may take a nauseous draught, 
 for which he has no desire, but a great aver- 
 sion. Desire, therefore, even when its 
 object is some action of our own, is only an 
 imsitemml to wHl, but it is not volition. 
 Hie detefmination of the mind may be, not 
 to do what we desire to do. But, as desire 
 it oHeo accompanied by will, we are apt to 
 ©▼erlook the distinction between them. 
 
 The command of a pe:r8on is sometimes 
 .eaifei hia 'Wil, aomeCimeii' his desire ; but,. 
 wlmi. these words are used properly, they 
 iigiiify three different acts of the mind. 
 
 The immediate object of will is some 
 action of our own ; the object of a command 
 ia some action of another person over 
 whom we claim authority; the object of 
 <bsire may be no action at all. 
 
 In giving a command, all these acts con- 
 cur ; and, as they go together, it is not un- 
 common in kngnage to give to one the name 
 which properly belongs to another. 
 
 A command being a voluntary action, 
 there must be a will to give the command. 
 Some desire is commonly the motive to that 
 aet of will, and the command ia the effect 
 ofik [Ml 
 
 Pailuips It may lie thought thai a com- 
 wamA h only a deeire exprtsted by ''language, 
 that the thmg commanded should be done. 
 Bnt it ia not so. For a desire may be ex- 
 Bcd by langnagc when there is no com- 
 id ; and tiitfe may possibly be a cora- 
 
 id, without any desire that the thing 
 
 commandad should be done. There have 
 been instances of tyrants who have kid 
 
 grievous commands upon their subjects, in 
 order to reap the penalty of their disobe- 
 dience, or to furnish a pretence for their 
 punishment 
 
 We might farther observe, that a com- 
 mand is a social act of the mind. It can 
 have no existence but by a communication 
 of thought to some intelligent being; and 
 therefore implies a belief that there is such 
 a being, and that we can communicate our 
 thoughts to him. 
 
 Desire and will are solitary acts, which 
 do not unply any such communication or 
 belief. 
 
 The immediate object of volition, there- 
 fore, must be some action, and our own 
 action. 
 
 A ihird observation is, That the object of 
 our volition must be something which we 
 believe to be in our power, and to depend 
 upon our will. 
 
 A man may desire to make a visit to the 
 moon, or to the planet Jupiter, but he can- 
 not will or determine to do it : because he 
 knows it is not in his power. If an insane 
 person should make an attempt, his insanity 
 must first make him believe it to be in his 
 power. [661 
 
 A man in his sleep may be struck with a 
 palsy, which deprives him of the power of 
 speech; when he awakes, he attempts to 
 speak, not knowing that he has lost the 
 power. But when he knows by experience 
 that the power is gone, he ceases to make 
 the effort. 
 
 The same man, knowmg that some per- 
 sons have recovered the power of speech 
 after they had lost it by a paralytical stroke, 
 may now and then make an effort. In this 
 effort, however, there is not properly a will 
 to speak, but a will to try whether he can 
 speak or not. 
 
 In like manner, a man may exert hia 
 strength to raise a weight which is too 
 heavy for him. But he always does this, 
 either from the belief that he can raise the 
 weight, or for a trial whether he can or 
 not. It is evident, therefore, that what we 
 will must be believed to be in our power, 
 and to depend upon our will. 
 
 The «ex< observation is. That when wo 
 will to do a thing immediately, the volition 
 is accompanied with an effort to execute 
 that which we willed. 
 
 If a man wills to raise a great weight 
 from the ground by the strength of his arm, 
 he makes an effort for that purpose pro- 
 portioned to the weight he determines to 
 raises A great weight requires a great 
 effort; a small weight a less effort. We 
 say, indeed, that to raise a very small body 
 requires no effort at all. But this, I appre- 
 hend, must be understood either as a figura- 
 tive way of speaking, by which things very 
 small are accounted as nothing; or it is 
 
 [63-64] 
 
 I 
 
 
 CHAP. II.] INFLUENCES OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILU 5S3 
 
 owing to our giving no attention to very 
 small efforts, and therefore having no name 
 for them. [66] 
 
 Great efforts, whether of liody or mind, 
 are attended with difficulty, and, when long 
 continued, produce lassitude, which requires 
 that they should be intermitted. This leads 
 us to reflect upon them, and to give them a 
 name. The name eff'ort is commonly ap- 
 propriated to them; and those that are 
 made with ease, and leave no sensible effect, 
 pass without observation and without a 
 name, though they be of the same kind, 
 and differ only in degree from those to which 
 the name is given. 
 
 This effort we are conscious of, if we will 
 but give attention to it ; and there is no- 
 thing in which we are in a more strict sense 
 active. 
 
 The last observation is, That in all deter- 
 minations of the mind that are of any im- 
 portance, there must be something in the 
 preceding state of the mind that disposes or 
 inclines us to that determination- 
 
 If the mind were always in a state of 
 perfect indifference, without any incitement, 
 motive, or reason, to act, or not t<i act, to 
 act one way rather than another, our active 
 power, having no end to pursue, no rule to 
 direct its exertions, would be given in vain. 
 We should either be altogether inactive, 
 and never will to do anything, or our voli- 
 tions would be perfectly unmeaning and 
 futile, being neither wise nor foolish, vir- 
 tuous nor vicious. 
 
 We have reason therefore to think, that, 
 to every being to whom God hath given any 
 degree of active power, he hath also given 
 some principles of action, for the dire .tion 
 of that power to the end for which it was 
 intended. 
 
 It is evident that, in the constitution of 
 man, there are various principles of action 
 suited to our state and situation. A parti- 
 cular consideration of these is the subject 
 of the next essay ; in this we are only to 
 consider them in general, with a view to 
 examine the relation they bear to volition, 
 and how it is influenced by them. [67] 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OP THE INFLUENCK OF INCITEMENTS ANO 
 MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 
 
 Wk come into the world ignorant of every 
 thing, yet we must do many things in order 
 to our subsistence and well-being. A new- 
 bom child may be carried in arms, and kept 
 wann by his nurse ; but he must suck and 
 swalbw his food for himself. And this must 
 be done before he has any conception of 
 sucking or swallowing, or of the manner in 
 which they are to be performed. He is I< d 
 [fi6-68] " 
 
 by nature to do these actions without know- 
 ing for what end, or what he is about. This 
 we call instinct. 
 
 In many cases there is no time for volun- 
 tary determination. The motions must go 
 on so rapidly that the conception and voli- 
 tion of every movement cannot keep pace 
 with them. In some cases of this kind, 
 instinct, in others habit, comes in to our 
 aid. 
 
 When a man stumbles and loses his ba- 
 lance, the motion necessary to prevent his 
 fall would come too late, if it were the con- 
 sequence of thinking what is fit to be done, 
 and making a voluntary effort for that pur- 
 pose. He does this instinctively. 
 
 When a man beats a drum or plays a 
 tune, he has not time to direct every parti- 
 cular beat or stop by a voluntary deter- 
 mination ; but the habit which may be ac- 
 quired by exercise answers the purpose as 
 well. 
 
 By instinct, therefore, and by habit, we 
 do many things without any exercise either 
 of judgment or will. 
 
 In other actions the will is exerted, but 
 without judgment. [68] 
 
 Suppose a man to know that, in order to 
 live, he must eat. What shall he eat ? 
 How much ? And how often ? His reason 
 can answer none of these questions; and 
 therefore can give no direction how he 
 should determine. Here, again, nature, as 
 an indulgent parent, supplies the defects of . / _# j 
 hfa reason ; giving him appetite, which fc^^f v^**' 
 shews him when he is to eat, how often, ,'9-tM^v^ A-t 
 and how much ; and taste, which informs ^^^ #v/i ,,. . , 
 him what he is and what he is not to eat. e/- 4 Cj 
 And by these principles he is much better ^ n^flMAi 
 directed than he could be without them, by § 
 
 all the knowledge he can acquire. 
 
 As the Author of nature has given us 
 some principles of action to supply the 
 defects of our knowledge, he has given 
 others to supply the defects of our wisdom 
 and virtue. 
 
 The natural desires, affections, and pas- 
 sions, which are common to the wise and 
 to the foolish, to the virtuous and to the 
 vicious, and even to the more sagacious 
 brutes, serve very often to direct the course 
 of human actions. By these principles men 
 may perform the most laborious duties of 
 life, without any regard to duty ; and do 
 what is proper to be done, without regard 
 to propriety ; like a vessel that is carried on 
 in her proper course by a prosperous gale, 
 without the skill or judgment of those that 
 are aboard. 
 
 Appetite, affection, or passion, give an 
 impulse to a certain action. In this im- 
 pulse there is no judgment implied. It 
 may be weak or strong ; we can even con- 
 ceive it irresistible. In the case of mad- 
 ness it is so. Madmen have their appe- 
 
JMtiiMBb Jti 
 
 534 
 
 ON THl ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay It. 
 
 liiM mA pasioiis i but they wsnt ftlie power 
 of ■^-goTenmeiit ; and therefore we do 
 not imimte their aetions to the man, but to 
 the disease. 
 
 In actions thai fioeeed fmn appetite or 
 pwsion, we are 'passive in part, .and only in 
 |kart active; They are therefore partly 
 miputed to the passion ; and if it is sup- 
 posed to be irresistible, we do not impute 
 them to the man at all. [HOI 
 
 Even an American savage judges in this 
 manner : When in a lit of drunkenness he 
 kils his friend^-as soon as he comes to 
 liimself, he is very sorry for what he has 
 done; but pleads that drink, and not he, 
 'ma the cause. 
 
 We 'Conceive brute animals to 'have no 
 snperior principle to control their appetites 
 and. passions. On this account, their ac- 
 tions are not subject to law. Men are in a 
 like state in infancy, in madness, and in 
 the delirium of a fever. They have appe- 
 ti:tes. and passions, hot thej want that which 
 makes them, mom agent% aeeountahle for 
 their conduct, and objects of moral appro- 
 bation or of blame. 
 
 In some cases, a stniiger impulse of ap- 
 
 Stite or passion may oppose a weaker. 
 ere also there may be determmation and 
 aetion without judgment. 
 
 Suppose a soldier ordered to mount a 
 Iweai^, and certain of present death if he 
 letieats, this man needs not couflage to go 
 on — fear is sufficient The certainty of pre- 
 sent death if he retreats, is an overbalance 
 to the probability of beuig killed if he goes 
 im. The man is pushed by contrary fo^rces, 
 and it requires neither judgment nor ex- 
 ertion to yield to the strongest 
 
 A hungry dog acts by the 'Samc' pruiciple, 
 if meat is set before him with a threatening 
 to beat him if he touch it Hunger pushes 
 him forward, fear pushes^im back with 
 more force, and the strongest force prevails 
 
 Thus we see, that, in many even of our 
 voluntary actions, we may .act from the 
 impulse of appetite^ affectltin, or passion, 
 without any exercise of judgment, and 
 much in the same manner as brute animals 
 .seem to .act. [70] 
 
 Sometim.es, however, there is a calm in 
 the mind from the gales of passion or ap- 
 petite, and the man is lefl to work his way, 
 IB the voyage of life, without those im- 
 pulses which they give. Then he calmly 
 weighs goods and evils, which are at too 
 Ipreat a distance to excite any passion. He 
 judges what is best upon the whole, without 
 feeling any bias drawing him to one side. 
 He judges for himself as he would do for 
 anoiier in his situation ; and the determin- 
 ation is wholly imputable to the man, and 
 not in any degree tO' bia passion. 
 
 Every nan eometo jmm of understand- 
 'ing, who has givtu any attention to his own 
 
 conduct, and to that of others, has, in his 
 mind, a scale or measure of goods and evils, 
 more or less exact. He makes an estimate 
 of the value of health, of reputation, of 
 riches, of pleasure, of virtue, of self-appro- 
 bation, and of the approbation of his Maker. 
 These things, and their contraries, have a 
 comparative importance in his cool and de- 
 Mberate judgment. 
 
 When a man considers whether health 
 ought to be preferred to bodily strength, 
 fame to riches ; whether a good conscience 
 and the afiprobation of his Maker, to every- 
 thing that can come in competition with it; 
 this appears to me to be an exercise of 
 judgment, ud not any impulse of i»3«on 
 or appetite. 
 
 Everything worthy of pursnit, must be 
 BO, either intrinsically, and upon its own ac- 
 count, or as the means of procuring some- 
 thing that is intrinsically valuable. That 
 it is by judgment that we discern the fitness 
 of means for attaining an end, is self-evi- 
 dent ; and in this, I think, all philosophers 
 agree. But that it is the office of judgment 
 to appreciate the value of an end, or the 
 preference due to one end above another, is 
 not granted by some philosophers. [71] 
 
 In determining what is good or ill, and, 
 of different goods, which is best, they think 
 we must be guided, not by judgment, but 
 by some natural or acquired taste, which 
 makes us relish one thing and dislike an- 
 other. 
 
 Thus, if one man prefers cheese to lob- 
 sters, another lobsters to cheese, it is 
 vain, say they, to apply judgment to deter- 
 mine which is right In like manner, if 
 one man prefers pleasure to virtue, another 
 virtue to pleasure, this is a matter of taste, 
 ludgment has nothing to do in it. This 
 seems to be the opinion of some philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 I cannot help being of a contrary opin- 
 ion. I thmk we may form a judgment, 
 both in the question about >clieese and lob- 
 sters, and in the more important question 
 about pleasure and virtue. 
 
 When one man feels a more agreeable 
 relish in cheese, another in lobsters, this, I 
 grant, requires no judgment ; it depends 
 only upon the constitution of the palate. 
 But, if we would determine which of the ^ 
 
 two has the best taste, I think the question ^<^l(£^l 
 must be deternuned by judgment ; and that, * 
 with a snuUl share of this faculty, we may 
 give a very certain determination — to wit, 
 that the two tastes are equally good, and 
 that both of the parties do equally well, in 
 preferring what suits their palate and their 
 stomach. 
 
 Kay, I apprehend, that the two persons 
 who differ in their tastes will, notwithstand- 
 ing that difference, agree perfectly in their 
 judgment, that both tastes are upon a foot- 
 
 [69-71] 
 
 MAP. II.] INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES UPON THE WILL. 
 
 ing of equality, and that neither has a just 
 claim to preference. [72] 
 
 Thus it appears, that, in this instance, 
 the office of taste is very different from that 
 of judgment; and that men, who differ 
 most in taste, may agree perfectly in their 
 judgment, even with respect to the tastes 
 wherein they differ. 
 
 To make the other case parallel with this, 
 it must be supposed that the man of plea- 
 sure and the man of virtue agree in their 
 judgment, and that neither sees any reason 
 to prefer the one course of life to the 
 
 other. 
 
 If this be supposed, I shall grant that 
 neither of these persons has reason to con- 
 demn the other. Each chooses according 
 to his taste, in matters which his best judg- 
 ment determines to be perfectly indifler- 
 ent. 
 
 But it is to be observed, that this suppo- 
 sition cannot have place, when we speak of 
 men, or hideed of moral agents. Tlie man 
 who is incapable of perceiving the obliga- 
 tion of vurtue when he uses his best judg- 
 ment, is a man in name, but not in reality. 
 He is incapable either of virtue or vice, 
 and is not a moral agent. 
 
 Even the man of pleasure, when his judg- 
 ment is unbiassed, sees that there are cer- 
 tain things which a man ought not to do, 
 though he should have a taste for them. If 
 a thief breaks into his house and carries off 
 his goods, he is perfectly convinced that he 
 did wrong, and deserves punishment, al- 
 though he had as strong a relish for tlie 
 goods as he himself has for the pleasures he 
 pursues. 
 
 It is evident that mankind, in all ages, 
 have conceived two parts in the human con- 
 stitution that may have influence upon our 
 \oluntary actions. These we call by the 
 general names of passion and reason ; and 
 we shall find, in all languages, names that 
 are equivalent. [73] 
 
 Under the former, we comprehend vari- 
 ous principles of action, similar to those we 
 observe in brute-animals, and in men who 
 have not the use of reason. Appetites, 
 ftfftctionSy pfissionsy are the names by which 
 they are denominated ; and these names are 
 not so accurately distinguished in common 
 language, but that they are used somewhat 
 promiscuously. This, however, is common 
 to them all, that they draw a man toward 
 a certain object, without any farther view, 
 by a kind of violence ; a violence which, 
 indeed, may be resisted, if the man is mas- 
 ter of himself, but cannot be resisted with- 
 out a struggle. 
 
 Cicero*s phrase for expressing their in- 
 fluence is — *' Hominem hue et illuc rapiunt.'* 
 Dr Hutcheson uses a similar phrase — " Qui- 
 bus agitatur mens et bruto quodam impetu 
 fertur." There is no exercise of reason or 
 
 535 
 
 judgment necessary in order to feel their 
 influence. 
 
 With regard to this part of the human 
 constitution, I see no difference between 
 the vulgar and philosophers. 
 
 As to the other part of our constitution, 
 which is commonly called reason, as opposed 
 to passion, there have heen very subtile 
 disputes among modern philosophers, whe- 
 ther it ought to be called reason, or be not 
 rather some internal sense or taste. 
 
 Whether it ought to be called reason, or 
 by what other name, I do not here inquire, 
 but what kind of influence it has upon our 
 voluntary actions. 
 
 As to this pomt, I think all men must 
 allow that this is the manly part of our con- 
 stitution, the other the brute part. This 
 operates in a calm and dispassionate man- 
 ner ; a manner so like to judgment or rea- 
 son, that even those who do not allow it to 
 be called by that name, endeavour to account 
 for its having always had the name; he- 
 cause, in the manner of its operation, it has 
 a similitude to reason. [74] 
 
 As the similitude between this principle 
 and reason has led mankind to give it that 
 name, so the dissimilitude between it and 
 passion has led them to set the two in oppo- 
 sition. They have considered this cool 
 principle as having an influence upon our 
 actions so different from passion, that what 
 a man does coolly and deliberately, without 
 passion, is imputed solely to the man, whe- 
 ther it have merit or demerit; whereas, 
 what he does from passion is injputed in 
 part to the passion. If the passion be con- 
 ceived to be irresistible, the action is im- 
 puted solely to it, and not at all to the man. 
 If he had power to resist, and ought to 
 have resisted, we blame him for not doing 
 his duty ; but, in proportion to the violence 
 of the passion, the fault is alleviated. 
 
 By this cool principle, we judge what 
 ends are most worthy to be pursued, how 
 far every appetite and passion may be in- 
 dulged, and when it ought to be resisted. 
 
 It directs us, not only to resist the im- 
 pulse of passion when it would lead us 
 wrong, but to avoid the occasions of inflam- 
 ing it ; like Cyrus, who refused to see the 
 beautiful captive princess. In this he acted 
 the part both of a wise and a good man ; 
 firm in the love of virtue, and, at the same 
 time, conscious of the weakness of human 
 nature, and unwilling to put it to too severe 
 a trial. In this case, the youth of Cyrus, 
 the incomparable beauty of his captive, and 
 every circumstance which tended to inflame 
 his desire, exalts the merit of his conduct 
 in resisting it- 
 It is m such actions that the superiority 
 of human nature appears, and the specific 
 difference between it and that of brutes. In 
 them we may observe one passion combating 
 
 [72-74] 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay II. 
 
 CHAP. III.] 
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 
 
 537 
 
 .MmHier, and the itfODg^ prevailing ; biit 
 we ferceive no caln prfacipk in tlieir con- 
 stitntifin, tliat m mufmrnr to every.paasion, 
 and able to give law to it [75] 
 
 The difference between the«e two parta of 
 our oonslitution, may be farther illiHtrated 
 by an instance or two wherein paenon pre- 
 Taihh' 
 
 If a man, upon great provocation, strike 
 another, when he ought to Iceep: 'the peace, 
 he: 'blamea himaelf for what he did, and ac- 
 'ImowledgeS' that he ought not to have 
 yielded to his pawion. Every other per- 
 aon agrees with his sober iudgnent. They 
 think he did wrong in yielding to his passion, 
 when he might and onght to have resisted 
 its im[»nl8e. If they thought it impossible 
 to bear the provocation, they would not 
 bhune Mm at all ; but, believing that it was 
 in his power, and was his duty, iMf impute 
 to him some degree of blane, aeimowledg- 
 ing, at' the same time, that it is alleviated 
 IB proportion to the provocatien ; so that 
 the trespass is imputed, partly to the man 
 and partly to the passion. But, if a man 
 dblibemtely conceives a design of mischief 
 i^punst his neighbour, contrives the means, 
 and executes it, the action admits of no al- 
 leviation, it is perfectly voluntary, and .he 
 bean tie whole guilt of the evil intended 
 and done* 
 
 If a man, by the agony of the rack, is 
 made to disclose a secret of importance with 
 which he is entrusted, we pity him more than 
 we blame him. We consider, that such is 
 the weakness of human nature, that the 
 resolution, even of a gnod' man, might be 
 overcome by such a tml. But, if he have 
 iimigth of mind, which even the agony of 
 the rack could not subdue, we admire 4iis 
 fortitude as truly heroical. |73] 
 
 Thus, I think, it appearS' that 'the common 
 wnse of men (whieb, 'k matters of common 
 life, ought to have great authority) has led 
 them to distinguish two parts in the human 
 'Ooustitution, which have influinwe:' upon our 
 vnlnntary determkations. There is an 
 hnational part, common to ns with brute 
 animals, consisting of appetites, affections, 
 and passions; and there is a cool and 
 rattonal parL The first, in many cases, 
 gives a strong Impulse, but without judg- 
 ment and without authority. The second 
 ia alwa^ accompanied with authority. All 
 wiiiiioi and virtue consist in following its 
 dietatos ; all vice and folly in disobeying 
 tlMBL We may resist the 'impulaea of ap- 
 petite and passion, not only without regret, 
 but with, .self-applause and triumph ; but 
 
 (tile, eaiti of .reason and duty can .never be 
 teilBlei'wilhimt 'renofseand self-condenma- 
 don 
 The ancient phUoiophers agreed with the 
 vulgar, in mating 'th.i8 'diiiinction of the 
 prindpte of .aetion^ The inmtional part, 
 
 the Oieeks called !©»*. Cicero calls it ap^ 
 petiius, taking that word in an extensive 
 sense, so as to include every propensity to 
 action which is not grounded on judg- 
 ment 
 
 The other principle the Greeks called MVf 
 [and xiytr] ; Pkto calls it the ^/mmm*. or 
 leading prmciple. " Duplex enim. est vis 
 ammorttm atque naturaJ'^ says Cicero, " una 
 pars in appetitu pmila eUy qvm est iffAh 
 Grmc»i qua hominem hue et iiluc rapit ; 
 altera in ratione, gtm docet, et explanat, 
 quid faciendum fm/iendumve sit ; itafit, ut 
 ratio pradt, appetitus obtemperet,''—[De 
 
 Off. L. I. c. 2&] 
 
 The reason of explaining this distinction 
 here is, that these two principles infl uence 
 the will in different wave. Their influence 
 differs, not in degree only, but m kmd. 
 This difference we feel, though it may be 
 difficult to find words to express it We 
 may, perhaps, more easily form a notion of 
 it by a similitude. [77] 
 
 It is one thing to push a man from one 
 part of the room to another ; it is a thing 
 of a very different nature to use arguments 
 to persuade him to leave his place and go to 
 another. He may yield to the force which 
 pushes him, without any exercise of his 
 rational faculties ; nay, he must yield to it, 
 if he do not oppose an equal or a greater 
 force. His liberty is impaired in some 
 degree ; and, if he has not power sufficient 
 to oppose, his liberty is quite taken away, 
 and the motion cannot be unputed to him 
 at all. The influence of appetite or passion 
 seems to me to be very like to this. If the 
 passion be supposed jrresistiblej we impute 
 the action to it solely«.aadjant to..the.oiajL. 
 If he ha<i power to resikjt^ but yields afcer a 
 struggle, we impute the Action pafitljLiQtht 
 man, and partly to the passioij. 
 
 If we attend to the other case, when the 
 man is only urged by arguments to leave 
 his pkce, this resembles the operation of 
 the cool or rational principle. It is evident 
 that, whether he yields to the arguments or 
 not, the determination is wholly his own 
 act, and is entirely to be imputed to hini. 
 Arguments, whatever be the degree of their 
 strength, diminish not a man^s liberty; 
 they may produce a cool conviction of what 
 we ought to do, and they can do no more. 
 But appetite and passion give an impulse to 
 act, and impair liberty, in proportion to their 
 strength. 
 
 With most men, the impulse of passion 
 is more effectual than bare conviction ; and, 
 on this account, orators, who would per- 
 suade, find it necessary to address the pas- 
 sions, as well as to convince the understand- 
 ing ; and, in all systems of rhetoric, these 
 two have been considered as different in- 
 tentions of the orator, and to be accomplished 
 by different means. [78] 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 OF OPBRATIONS OF MIND WHICH MAY BB 
 CALLBD VOLUNTARY. 
 
 The faculties of Understanding &nd Willy 
 are easily distinguished in thought, but very 
 rarely, if ever, disjoined in operation. 
 
 In most, perhaps in all the operations of 
 mind for which we have names in language, 
 both faculties are employed, and we are 
 both intellective and active. 
 
 Whether it be possible that intelligence 
 may exist without some degree of activity, 
 or impossible, is, perhaps, beyond the reach 
 of our faculties to determine ; but, I appre- 
 hend, that, in fact, they are always con- 
 joined in the operations of our minds. 
 
 It is probable, I think, that there is some 
 degree of activity in those operations which 
 we refer to the understanding ; accordingly, 
 they have always, and in all languages, 
 been expressed by active verbs ; as, / see, 
 I hear, I remember, I apprehend, I jud,,e, 
 I reason. And it is certain that every act 
 of will must be accompanied by some oper- 
 ation of the understanding; for he that 
 wills must apprehend what he wills, and 
 apprehension belongs to the understanding. 
 
 The operations I am to consider in this 
 chapter, I think, have commonly beefl re- 
 ferred to the understanding ; but we shall 
 find that the will has so great a share in 
 them, that they may, with propriety, be 
 called voluntary. They are these three, 
 Attention, Delifjeration,Sind Fixed Purpose, 
 or Resolution, [79] 
 
 1. AtletUion may be given to any object, 
 either of sense or of intellect, in order to 
 form a distinct notion of it, or to discover 
 its nature, its attributes, or its relations. 
 And so great is the effect of attention, that, 
 without it, it is impossible to acquire or 
 retain a distinct notion of any object of 
 thought. 
 
 If a man hear a discourse without atten- 
 tion, what does he carry away with him ? 
 If he see St Peter's or the Vatican without 
 attention, what account can he give of it ? 
 While two persons are engaged in interest- 
 ing discourse, the clock strikes within their 
 hearing, to which they give no attention — 
 what is the consequence? The next 
 minute they know not whether the clock 
 struck or not. Yet their ears were not 
 shut The usual impression was made 
 upon the organ of hearing, and upon the 
 auditory nerve and brain ; but from inat-* 
 tention the sound either was not perceived, 
 or passed in the twinkling of an eye, with- 
 out leaving the least vestige in the memory. 
 A man sees not what is before his eyes 
 when his mind is occupied about another 
 object In the tumult of a battle a man 
 [79-81] 
 
 may be shot through the body without 
 knowing anythmg of the matter, till he dis- 
 cover it by the loss of blood or of strength. 
 
 The most acute sensation of pain may be 
 deadened, if the attention can be vigorously 
 directed to another object. A gentleman 
 of my acquaintance, in the agony of a fit of 
 the gout, used to call for the chess-board, i 
 
 As he was fond of that game, he acknow- 
 ledged that, as the game advanced and drew 
 his attention, the sense of pain abated, and 
 the time seemed much shorter. 
 
 Archimedes, it is said, being intent upon 
 a mathematical proposition, when Syracuse 
 was taken by the Romans, knew not the 
 calamity of the city, till a Roman soldier 
 broke in upon his retirement, and gave him 
 a deadly wound ; on which he lamented 
 only that he had lost a fine demonstra- 
 tion. [80] 
 
 It is needless to multiply instances to 
 shew, that when one faculty of the mind is 
 intensely engaged about any object, the 
 other faculties are laid, as it were, fast 
 asleep. 
 
 It may be farther observed, that, if there 
 be anything that can be called genius in 
 matters of mere judgment and reasoning, 
 it seems to consist chiefly in being able to 
 give that attention to the subject which 
 keeps it steady in the mind, till we can 
 survey it accurately on all sides. 
 
 There is a talent of imagination, which 
 bounds from earth to heaven, and from 
 heaven to earth in a moment. This may 
 be favourable to wit and imagery ; but the 
 powers of judging and reasoning depend 
 chiefly upon keeping the mind to a clear 
 and steady view of the subject. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, to one who compli- 
 mented him upon the force of genius which 
 had made such improvements in mathe- 
 matics and natural philosophy, is said to 
 have made this reply, which was both mo- 
 dest and judicious. That if he had made 
 any improvements in those sciences, it was 
 owing more to patient attention than to any 
 other talent 
 
 Whatever be the effects which attention 
 may produce, (and I apprehend they are 
 far beyond what is commonly believed,) it 
 is for the most part in our power. 
 
 Every man knows that he can turn his 
 attention to this subject or to that, for a 
 longer or a shorter time, and with more or 
 less intenseness, as he pleases. It is a 
 voluntary act, and depends upon his will. 
 [81] 
 
 But what was before observed of the 
 will in general, is applicable to this parti- 
 cular exertion of it, That the mind is rarely 
 in a state of indifference, left to turn its 
 attention to the object which to reason ap- 
 pears most deserving of it. There is, for 
 the most part, a bias to some particular 
 
sm 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 £bS8AY 11. 
 
 CHAP. Ill ] 
 
 OF VOLUNTARY OPERATIONS. 
 
 539 
 
 object, more than to any other; unci thia 
 not from any judgment of its ^dnwrnngoor 
 
 •tt««tioii mow, Iwt .from some impulae or 
 propensity, granndied on nature or hftbit 
 
 It is well known that things new and un- 
 common, things grand, and things that are 
 heuttilul, drmw omr att«iitiii% mil in pro- 
 
 Krtion to the uatefest w« fcaw, or think we 
 ,ve in them, but. in a much greater pro- 
 portion. 
 
 Whatever moves our passions or aflrec- 
 tions, draws our attention, very often, more 
 tiban we. wish. 
 
 Yon desire a man not to think of an un- 
 fortunate event which torments him. It 
 utelts of no remedy. The thought of it 
 MM««IB no purpose hut to keep the wound 
 ile«ding. He is perfectly convinced of all 
 you say. He knows that he would not 
 feel the affliction, if he could only not think 
 of it ; yet he hardly thinks of anything 
 else. Strange! when happmesa and misery 
 stand before him, and depend upon his 
 diotce, he chooses misery, and rejects hap- 
 piness with his eyes opent 
 
 Yet he wishes to be happy, as all men 
 do. How shall we reconcile this contra- 
 diction between his judgment and his con- 
 duct? 
 
 The account of it seems to me to be 
 this : The afflicting event draws his atten- 
 tion so strongly, by a natural and blind 
 force, that he either hath not the power, or 
 bwtll not the vigour of mind to resist its 
 Impulse, though he knows that to yield to 
 it is misery, without any good to balance it. 
 
 1821 
 
 Acute bodily pain draws our attention, 
 and makes it very difficult to attend to any 
 tihing else, even when attention to the pain 
 serves no other purpose but to aggravate it 
 
 iMifold.. 
 
 The man who played a game at chess in 
 the agony of the gout, to engage his atten- 
 tion to another object, acted the reason- 
 able part, and consulted his real happi- 
 ness ; but it required a great effort to give 
 that attention to his game which was ne- 
 oesaary to produce the effect intended by 
 
 Even when ther« is no particular object 
 
 thill dimws awny ma attention, there is a 
 'desultorinees of 'thought in man, and m 
 ■orae more than in otleta, which makes it 
 wry difficult to give that fixed attention to 
 teportant objecta which, reaann leuuires. 
 
 ft appears, I think, fifom what has been 
 said, that the attention we give to objects 
 is for the most part voluntary ; that a great 
 part of wisdom and virtue cimsists in giving 
 a proper direction to our attention ; and 
 timt, however reasonable thia .appears to 
 tlie judgment of every man, yet, in some 
 eases, it requirea an effort of self-command 
 no leas than the most heroic virtues. 
 
 2. Another operation that may be caHed 
 ©o/iiniory, is Deliberation about what we 
 ate to do or to forbear. i 
 
 Every man knows that it is in his power 
 to deliberate or not to deUberate about any 
 part of his conduct; to deliberate for a 
 shorter or a longer time, more carelessly or 
 more seriously: and, when he has reason 
 to suspect that his affection may bias his 
 judgment, he may either honestly use the 
 best means in his power to form an impar- 
 tial judgment, or he may yield to-his bias, 
 and only seek arguments to justify what 
 inclination leads him to do. In all these 
 points, he determines, he wills the right or 
 the wrong. [83] 
 
 The general rules of deliberation are 
 perfectly evident to reason, when we con- 
 sider them abstracUy. They are axioms in 
 
 morals. 
 
 We ought not to deUberate in cases that 
 are perfectly clear. No man deliberates 
 whether he ought to choose happiness or 
 misery. " No honest man deliberates whether 
 he shall steal his neighbour's property. 
 When the case is not clear, when it ia of 
 importance, and when there is time for 
 deliberation, we ought to deliberate with 
 more or less care, in proportion to the im- 
 portance of the action. In deliberation we 
 ought to weigh things in an even balance, 
 and to allow to every consideration the 
 weight which, in sober judgment, we think 
 it ought to have, and no more. This is to 
 deliberate impartially. Our deliberation 
 should be brought to an issue in due time, 
 so that we may not lose the opportunity of 
 acting while we deliberate. 
 
 The axioms of Euclid do not appear to 
 me to have a greater degree of self-evidence 
 than these rules of deliberation. And as 
 far as a man acts according to them, his 
 heart approves of him, and he has confi- 
 dence of the approbation of the Searcher of 
 
 But though the manner in which we 
 ought to deliberate be evident to reason, it 
 is not always easy to follow it. Our appe- 
 tites, our affection and passions, oppose all 
 deliberation, but that which is employed in 
 finding the means of their gratification. 
 Avarice may lead to deliberate upon the 
 ways of making money, but it does not 
 distinguish between the honest and the dis- 
 honest. 
 
 We ought surely to deliberate how far 
 every appetite and passion may be in- 
 dulged, and what limits should be set to it. 
 But our appetites and passions push us on 
 to the attainment of their objects, in the 
 shortest road, and without delay. [84] 
 
 Thus it happens, that, if we yield to their 
 impulse, we shall often transgress those 
 rules of deliberation wfiich reason approves. 
 In this conflict between the dictates of 
 
 reason, and the blind impulse of passion, 
 we must voluntarily determine. When we 
 take part with our reason, though in oppo- 
 sition to passion, we approve of our own 
 conduct. 
 
 What we call a fault of ignorance, is 
 I always owing to the want of due delibera- 
 tion. When we do not take due pains to 
 be rightly informed, there is a fault, not 
 indeed in acting according to the light we 
 have, but in not using the proper means 
 to get light For if we judge wrong, after 
 using the proper means of infortnation, 
 there is no fault in acting according to that 
 wrong judgment ; the error is invincible. 
 
 The natural consequence of deliberation 
 on any part of our conduct, is a determina- 
 tion how we shall act ; and if it is not 
 brought to this issue it is lost labour. 
 
 There are two cases in which a deter- 
 mination may take place — when the oppor- 
 tunity of putting it in execution is present, 
 and when it is at a distance. 
 
 When the opportunity is present, the 
 determination to act is immediately fol- 
 lowed by the action. Thus, if a man de- 
 termine to rise and walk, he immediately 
 does it, unless he is hindered by force, or 
 has lost the power of walking. And if he 
 sit still when he has power to walk, we 
 conclude infallibly that he has not deter- 
 mined or willed to walk immediately. 
 
 Our determination or will to act, is not 
 always the result of deliberation, it may be 
 the effect of some passion or appetite, with- 
 out any judgment interposed. And when 
 judgment is interposed, we may determine 
 and act either according to that judgment 
 or contrary to it. [85] 
 
 When a man sits down hungry to dine, 
 he eats from appetite, very often without 
 exercising his judgment at all ; nature in 
 vites, and he obeys the call, as the ox, or 
 the horse, or as an infant does. 
 
 When we converse with persons whom 
 we love or respect, we say and do civil 
 tilings merely from affection or from re- 
 spect. They flow spontaneously from the 
 heart, without requiring any judgment. In 
 such cases we act as brute-animals do, or 
 as children before the use of reason. We 
 feel an impulse in our nature, and we yield 
 to it 
 
 When a man eats merely from appetite, 
 he does not consider the pleasure of eating, 
 or its tendency to health. These considera- 
 tions are not in his thoughts. But we can 
 suppose a man who eats with a view to en- 
 joy the pleasure of eating. Such a man rea- 
 sons and j udges. He will take care to use the 
 proper means of procuring an appetite. He 
 will be a critic in tastes, and make nice dis- 
 criminations. This man uses his rational 
 faculties even in eating. And however 
 contemptible this application of them may 
 [85-871 
 
 be, it is an exercise of which, I apprehend, 
 brute-animals are not capable. 
 
 In like manner, a man may say or do ci- 
 vil things to another, not from affection, 
 but in order to serve some end by it, or be- 
 cause he thinks it his duty. 
 
 To act with a view to some distant inte- 
 rest, or to act from a sense of duty, seems 
 to be proper to man as a reasonable beuig ; 
 but to act merely from passion, from appe- 
 tite, or from afl'ection, is common to him 
 with the brute-animals. In the last case 
 there is no judgment required, but in the 
 first there is. [86] 
 
 To act against wliat one judges to be for 
 his real good, upon the whole, is folly. To 
 act against what he judges to be his duty, 
 is immorality. It cannot be denied that 
 there are too many instances of both in hu- 
 man life. Vi'/eo meliora prabcque, deteriora 
 srgiior, is neither an impossible nor an nn- 
 frequeiit case. 
 
 While a man does what he really thinks j 
 wisest and best to be done, the more his/ 
 appetites, his affections, and passions draw 
 him the contrary way, the more he ap-j 
 proves of his own conduct, and the more i 
 he is entitled to the approbation of every 
 rational being. 
 
 3. The ihtrd operation of mind I men- 1 
 tioned, which may be called voluntary, is, 1 
 a Fiofed Purpose or Besolulion with regard \ 
 to our future conduct. I 
 
 This naturally takes place, when any ac- ' 
 tion, or course of action, about wliich we 
 have deliberated, is not immediately to be 
 executed, the occasion of acting being at 
 some distance. 
 
 A fixed purpose to do, some time hence, 
 something whicli we believe shall then be 
 in our power, is strictly and properly a de- 
 termination of will, no less than a deter- 
 mination to do it instantly. Every defini- 
 tion of volition agrees to it. Whether the 
 opportunity of doing what we have deter- 
 mined to do be present or at some distance, 
 is an accidental circumstance which does 
 not affect the nature of the determination, 
 and no good reason can be assigned why it 
 should not be called volition in the one case, 
 as well as in the other. A purpose or re- 
 solution, therefore, is truly and properly an 
 act of will. 
 
 Our purposes are of two kinds. Wo 
 may call the one particular j the other gene- 
 ral. By a particufar purpose, I mean that 
 which has for its object an individual action, 
 limited to one time and place ; by a general 
 purpose, that of a course or train of action, 
 intended for some general end, or regulated 
 by some general rule. [87] 
 
 Thus, I may purpose to go to London 
 next winter. When the time comes, I exe- 
 cute my purpose, if I continue of the same 
 mind ; and the purpose, when executed, is 
 
BM 
 
 OS THE ACTIVE POWERa 
 
 [^BiSAY II. 
 
 m mote. Thai it is with i!¥Bfy pwticukr 
 
 purpose. 
 
 A general purpose may contimie for me ; 
 and, after many particular actions have been 
 dunii in ^iseqmsnco ©f it, may remain and 
 
 ngnkfte fntim actioiia.. 
 
 Thns, a young man proposes to follow 
 the profession of law, of medicine, or of 
 thfldlllgy. ThiSi geMial purpose directs the 
 CQUfse of' his reading and stndy. It directs 
 him in the choice of his company and eom- 
 panions, and even of his diversiona. It de- 
 termines his ttavela and the place of his 
 .aboda It has ininenoO' upon his dreaa and 
 BMUierB, and a eonsiilefBhle' eibot te 'iMrm- 
 lug his character. 
 
 There ar© other fixed pnrposas which 
 hm% a itii gfwHW' «ff«!t in formmg the 
 ehaiaeter. I meaii. :siiiii^ as regard our mo- 
 inl fldndaet. 
 
 Suppose a man to have exercised his in- 
 tellectual and moral facilities, so far as to 
 hmn disttnel notions ef justice and injus- 
 lice, and of the consequences of both, and, 
 after due deliberation, to have formed a fixed 
 purpose to adhere inflexibly to Justice, and 
 never to handle the wages of iniquity. 
 
 la not this the man whom we sliould call 
 a jiist man ? We consider the moral virtues 
 as inherent in the mmd of a good man, even 
 when there is no opportunity of exercising 
 tliem. And wluit is it in the mind which 
 we can call the virtue of justice, when it is 
 not exercised? It can be nothing but a 
 fixed purpose, or determination, to act ac- 
 'Oifdiiig to the niles of justice^ when there m 
 oppoftnnitj. [8B] 
 
 The' Bmrnn law defined justice, A sirndp 
 and ptrpeimi mii to gim i& mmtM man hk 
 rf-it. When the opportunity of doing jus- 
 tice' m not. pKHsnt, this can. mean nothing 
 else thanattiady purpose, wWch is very pro- 
 perly calfcd will Such a purpose, if it 
 is steady, will infallibly produce just con- 
 duct ; for every known tramgreswiii. of jus- 
 tice demonatiates.a chanp of forpose, at 
 least for that tine. 
 
 What has been said of justice, may be so 
 easily applied, to every other moral virtue, 
 that it ia uniecesiary to give instances. 
 Tliey are' all fixed, purposes of acting ac- 
 terding tO' a 'Certain, rule.*' 
 
 « Mr Stewart, (** PhtlcMipiiy or the Active apd 
 Moral Poweti.** il. |». 44«l.) in lulofidiig thii doclrlue 
 ■a|i— ** Agieeably to this view of the subject, tlie 
 aneicitt Pythagnreaiis deflncd virtue to lie *E|rj 
 f«vli*»fW5, the oldest definition of virtue of which 
 we have aii| account, and one of the most un. 
 emjcptionidile wlilcti ii yet to tie fiWtnd In any system 
 Of" piiloaoiAy." Itie deflnitloii: to which Mr Stewart 
 
 'nIfcrS''— & i^M***' i^* *** *•*' ^ SiMWf — is that un- 
 der the name of 1 heaaefc The treatise attributed 
 to this plillo«i|*ec Ii» however, like the other Py. 
 thagoraan Iveatiset. spurlou* ihe defiiutSon in 
 luestloti, with the whole moral system of its pretended 
 luthor, is an ctapiH tpitonie of Aristotle, wlio, on 
 the f4ith of lh& Hmtriii.. bai 'liecn comisoiilf 
 
 By this, the virtues may be easily dis- 
 tinguished, in thought at least, from natural 
 affections that bear the same name. Thus, 
 benevolence is a capital virtue, which, 
 though not so necessary to the being of so- 
 ciety, is entitled to a higher degree of appro- 
 bation than even justice. But there is a 
 natural affection of benevolence, common 
 to good and bad men, to the virtuous and 
 to the vicious. How shall these be distin- 
 guished f 
 
 In practice, indeed, we cannot distinguish 
 them in other men, and with difficulty in 
 ourselves ; but, in theory, nothing is more 
 easy. The virtue of benevolence is a fixed 
 
 {mrpose or resolution to do good when we 
 lave opportunity, from a conviction that it 
 is right, and is our duty. The affection of 
 benevolence, is a propensity to do good, from 
 natural constitution or habit, withbut regard 
 to rectitude or duty. 
 
 There are good tempers and bad, which 
 are a part of the constitution of the man, 
 and ar© really involuntary, though they of- 
 ten lead to voluntary actions. A good na- 
 tural temper is not virtue, nor is a bad one 
 vice. Hard would it be indeed to think, 
 that a man should be born under a decree 
 of reprobation, because he has the misfor- 
 tune of a bad natural temper. [89] 
 
 The physiognomist saw, in the features 
 of Socrates, the signatures of many bad 
 ai8iK)sitions, which that good man acknow 
 ledgedhe felt within him j but the triumph 
 of his virtue was the greater in having con- 
 quered them. 
 
 In men who have no fixed rales of con- 
 duct, no self-government, the natural temper 
 is variable by numberless accidents. The 
 man who is full of affection and benevolence 
 this hour, when a cross accident happens 
 to ruffle him, or perhaps when an easterly 
 wind blows, feels a strange revolution in 
 his temper. The kind and benevolent 
 affections give place to the jealous and 
 malignant, which are as readily indulged ia 
 their turn, and for the same reason, because 
 he feels a propensity to indulge them. 
 
 We may observe, that men who have 
 exercised their rational powers, are generally 
 governed in their opinions by fixed prin- 
 ciples of belief; and men who have made 
 the greatest advance in self-government, 
 are governed, in their practice, by general 
 fixed purposea Without the former, there 
 would be no steadiness and consistence in 
 our belief; nor without the latter, in our 
 conduct. 
 
 When a man is come to years of under- 
 standing, from his education, from his com- 
 pany, or from his study, he forms to him- 
 self a set of general principles, a creed, which 
 
 viewed as himself the plapiarist. Ethics, I may oh" 
 serve, arc thus well deoamlnated DconWw/y-— H- 
 
 [88, 89] 
 
 €11 A P. IV.] 
 
 COROLLARIES. 
 
 541 
 
 governs his judgment in particular points 
 that occur. 
 
 If new evidence is laid before him which 
 tends to overthrow any of his received 
 principles, it requires in him a great degree 
 of candour and love of truth, to give it an 
 impartial examination, and to form a new 
 judgment. Most men, when they are fixed 
 in their principles, upon what they account 
 sufficient evidence, can hardly be drawn 
 into a new and serious examination of them. 
 [90] 
 
 They get a habit of believing them, which 
 is strengthened by repeated acts, and re- 
 mains immoveable, even when the evidence 
 upon which their belief was at first grounded, 
 is forgot 
 
 \ It is this that makes conversions, either 
 from religious or political principles, so 
 difficult 
 
 A mere prejudice of education sticks fast, 
 as a proposition of Euclid does with a man 
 who hath long ago forgot the proof. Both 
 indeed are upon a similar footing. We rest 
 in both, because we have long done so, and 
 think we received them at first upon good 
 evidence, though that evidence be quite 
 forgot. 
 
 When we know a man's principles, we 
 judge by them, rather than by the degree 
 of his imderstanding, how he will deter- 
 mine in any point which is connected with 
 them. 
 
 Thus, the judgment of most men who 
 Judge for themselves is governed by fixed 
 principles ; and I apprehend that the con- 
 duct of most men who have any self-govern- 
 ment, and any consistency of conduct, is 
 governed by fixed purposes. 
 
 A man of breeding n«ay, in his natural 
 temper, be proud, passionate,- revengeful, 
 and in his morals a very bad man ; yet, in 
 good company, he can stifle every passion 
 that is inconsistent with good breeding, and 
 be humane, modest, complaisant, even to 
 those whom in his heart he despises or 
 hates. Why is this man, who can com- 
 mand all his passions before company, a 
 slave to them in private ? The reason is 
 plain ; He has a fixed resolution to be a 
 man of breeding, but hath no such resolu- 
 tion to be a man of virtue. He hath com- 
 bated his most violent passions a thousand 
 times before he became master of them in 
 company. The same resolution and per- 
 severance would have given him the com- 
 mand of them when alone. [91] 
 
 A fixed resolution retains its influence 
 upon the conduct, even when the motives 
 to it are not in view, in the same manner 
 as a fixed principle retains its influence 
 upon the belief, when the evidence of it is 
 forgot. The former may be called a habit 
 of the t<rt7/, the latter a habit of the under- 
 standing. By such habits chiefly, men are 
 [90-92] 
 
 governed in their opinions and in their 
 practice. 
 
 A man who has no general fixed pur- 
 poses, may be said, as Pope says of most 
 women, (I hope unjustly,) to have no cha- 
 racter at all. He will be honest or dis- 
 honest, benevolent or malicious, compas- 
 sionate or cruel, as the tide of his passions 
 and affections drives him. This, however, 
 I believe, is the case of but a few in ad- 
 vanced life, and these, with regard to con- 
 duct, the weakest and most contemptible of 
 the species. 
 
 A man of some constancy may change 
 his general purposes once or twice in life, 
 seldom more. From the pursuit of pleasure 
 in early life, he may change to that of am- 
 bition, and from ambition to avarice. But 
 every man who uses his reason in the con- 
 duct of life, wiil have some end, to which 
 he gives a preference above all others. To 
 this he steers his course ; his projects and 
 his actions will be regulated by it. With- 
 out this, there wouLl be no consistency in his 
 conduct. He would be like a ship in the 
 ocean, which is bound to no port, under no 
 government, but left to the rfiercy of winds 
 and tides. 
 
 We observed before, that there are moral 
 rules respecting the attention we ought to 
 give to objects, and respecting our delibe- 
 rations, which are no less evident than 
 mathematical axioms. The same thing 
 may be observed with respect to our fixed 
 purposes, whether particular or generaL 
 [92] 
 
 Is it not self-evident, that, after due de- 
 liberation, we ought to resolve upon that 
 conduct, or that course of conduct, which, 
 to our sober judgment, appears to be best 
 and most appro vable ? — that we ought to 
 be firm and steady in adhering to such re- 
 solutions, while wc are persuaded that they 
 are right ; but open to conviction, and ready 
 to change our course, when we have good 
 evidence that it is wrong ? 
 
 Fickleness, inconstancy, facility, on the 
 one hand, wilfulness, inflexibility, and ob- 
 stinacy, on the other, are moral qualities, 
 respecting our purposes, which every one 
 sees to be wrong. A manly firmness, 
 grounded ujion rational conviction, is the 
 proper mean which every man approves 
 and reveres. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 COROLLARIES. 
 
 From what has been said concerning ths 
 will, it appears — 
 
 First, That as some acts of the will are 
 transient and momentary, so others are per- 
 manent, and may continue for a long time. 
 
542 
 
 ON THl ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 £e88AV II. 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 543 
 
 h 
 
 mmi. ttiffwi^ the whole oourae of our 
 " life. 
 
 When I will to stretch out mj hind, 
 that will is at an end as soon as the action 
 is done. It is an act of the will which he- 
 gins and ends in a moment. But when I 
 will to atiend to a maihenaliial proposi- 
 tion, to examine the demonstration, and the 
 iMiiiMi|iienccs that, maj be drawn from it, 
 this will 'may ewtiiiie for hours. It must 
 eontiiiue' »long asimj attention continues ; 
 Ibr no man attends to a mathematical pro- 
 potilion longer than he wills. 
 
 •flii^ same thkg niaj te said of delibera- 
 te,. 'With legard, eitlief tO' any point of 
 enndtiet, or with regard to any general 
 mmm of condnct We wiB to defiberate 
 as long as we do daliherate i and that may 
 he for days, or for weeliL. 198] 
 
 A purpose or resolution, which we have 
 shown to be an act of the will, may eon- 
 thrae for a great part of life, or for the 
 whok, after we are of age to form a resolu- 
 tion* 
 
 Thus, a merchant may resolve, that, alter 
 he has made such a fortune by traffic, he 
 will give it up, and retire to a country 
 life. Me may continue this resolution for 
 thurty or forty yean, and eteeute it at kst ; 
 but he continues it no longer than he wills, 
 for ho nay at any tune change his resolu- 
 iion. 
 
 There are^ therefore acts, of the will which 
 are not transient and momentary, which 
 mav continue long, and grow into a habit 
 This deserves the more to be observed, be- 
 cause a very eminent philosopher has ad- 
 vanced a contrary principle — to wit, That 
 all the acts of the wEI are transient and 
 momentaiy ; and from that nrinciple has 
 drawn very inportaat eopttuaions, with 
 ngard to what. 'COiistitutes the moral cha- 
 .taeter of man. 
 
 A memd corollary is— That nothing in a 
 num, wherein the will is not concerned, can 
 justly he .accounted, either virtuous or im- 
 moral. 
 
 That no blame can he unputed to a man 
 
 for what is altogether involuntary, is so 
 
 •vidmt in Itself, that no arguments ean 
 
 inahi it more evident. The practice of ai 
 
 . .. crimiiiil courts, in all enl%hteued .laiiiNMi, 
 
 l4(/j^^,^Je founded u^^ . 
 
 If It should be thought an objection to 
 
 this. ;ma3mn, that, by the hiws of .all nations, 
 
 chiMrsD often Bullerforfheerimesof parents, 
 
 ;iii; which they had. no .hand, the answer is 
 
 r. [M] 
 
 'oTi jlrif , Such .is the comMetioD between 
 ,.^. juts and children, that tiM puuisfament. 
 .of n 'parent must hurt Mi eiildren whether 
 the law will or not If a man is fined, or 
 ,:inpiwiiid^if he loses life, or lunh, or 
 estate, or reputation, by the hand of justice— 
 his ehildren suffir by neccsiaiy eonse^uenee. 
 
 Y(l "**.,#<«* ^i^ 
 
 ».4i*.'Mti'.-. t..t 
 
 /' 
 
 '1 1''. 
 
 >.**"f *'"■"' '"■' ■■ 
 
 j*« 
 
 S€condfy, When kws intend to appoint any 
 punishment of innocent children for the 
 father*8 crime, such laws are either unjust, 
 or they are to be considered as acts of police, 
 andntlt of jurisprudence, and are intended 
 as an expedient to deter parents more ef- 
 fectually from the commission of the crime. 
 The innocent children, in this case, are 
 sacrificed to the public good, in like manner 
 as, to prevent the spreading of the plague, 
 the sound are shut up with the infected in 
 a house or ship that has the infection. 
 
 By the law of England, if a man is killed 
 by an ox goring him, or a cart running over 
 him, though there be no fault or neglect in 
 the owner, the ox or the cart is a deodand, 
 and is confiscated to the church. The 
 legiskture surely did not intend to punish 
 the ox as a criminal, far less the cart. 
 The intention evidently was, to mspire the 
 people with a sacred regard to the life of 
 man. 
 
 When the Parliament of Paris, with a 
 similar intention, ordained the house in 
 which Ravilliac was lorn, to be razed to the 
 ground, and never to be rebuilt, it would be 
 great weakness to conclude, that the wise 
 judicature intended to punish the house. 
 
 If any judicature should, in any instance, 
 find a man guilty, and an object of punish- 
 ment, for what tliey allowed to be altogether 
 involuntary, all the world would condemn 
 them as men who knew nothing of the first 
 and most Ihndamental rules of justice. 
 
 I have endeavoured to shew, that, in our 
 attention to objects, in order to form a right 
 judgment of them; in our deliberation 
 about particular actions, or about general 
 rules of conduct ; in our purposes and reso- 
 lutions, as well as in the execution of them,' 
 the will has a principal share. If any man 
 could lie found, who, in the whole course of 
 his life, had given due attention to things 
 that concern bun, had deliberated duly and 
 impartially about his conduct, had formed 
 his resolutions, and executed them accord- 
 ing to his best judgment and capacity, surely 
 such a man might hold up his face before 
 God and man, and plead innocence. He 
 must be acquitted by the impartial Judge, 
 whatever his natural temper was, whatever 
 his passions and affections, as far as they 
 were involuntary. 
 
 A third corollary is, That all virtuous 
 habits, when we distinguish them from vur- 
 tuous actions, consist in fixed purposes of 
 acting according to the rules of virtue, as 
 often as we have opportunity. 
 
 We can conceive in a man a greater or a 
 less degree of steadiness to his purposes or 
 resolutions ; but that the general tenor of 
 his conduct should be contrary to them, is 
 impossible. 
 
 The man who has a determined resolu- 
 
 [93-95] 
 
 r 
 t 
 
 Ition to do his duty in every instance, and 
 who adheres steadily to his resolution, is a 
 perfect man. The man who has a deter- 
 mined purpose of carrying on a course of 
 
 action which he knows to be wrong, is a 
 hardened offender. Between these extremes 
 there are many intermediate degrees of 
 virtue and vice. [96] 
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OF THE MECHANICAL PRINCIPLES 
 OP ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 OF THE PRINCJFLBS OP ACTION IN GENERAL. 
 
 In jhejtrict phjIogoBli ical sense, nothing 
 can be called the action of a man, but what 
 he_ previously fionceived and willeA. or_de.- 
 termined jojlo. In morals we commonly 
 employ the word in this sense, and never 
 inapute anything to a man as his doing, in 
 which his will was not interposed. But when 
 moral imputation is not concerned, we call 
 many things actions of the man, which he 
 neither previously conceived nor willed. 
 Hence the actions of men have been dis- 
 tinguished into three classes — the voluntary 
 the involuntary, and the mixed. By tlie 
 last are meant such actions as are under 
 the command of the will, but are commonly 
 performed without any interposition of 
 will. 
 
 ^ We cannot avoid using the word action 
 m this popular sense, without deviating too 
 much froni the common use of language ; 
 and it is in this sense we use it when we 
 inquire into the principles* of action in the 
 human mind. 
 
 By principles* of action, I understand 
 everything that incites us to act. [98] 
 
 If there we rejio incitenignj^ to action . 
 Mtive_power would be given us in vain, 
 ifeyjnguao motivft tn direct "our nVfivg^g^r 
 ertions, the m ind wouldj \^ alj casfig, be in 
 a state of perfect indifference,.lo do t'hi/or 
 *°af* or nptking at all The active power 
 would either not be exerted at all, or its ex- 
 ertions would be perfectly unmeaning and 
 mvolous, neither wise nor foolish, neither 
 good nor bad. To every action that is of 
 the smallest importance, there must be 
 some incitement, some motive, some rea- 
 
 SOIL 
 
 * It would have been better to have here substi. 
 tuted another word (at Cause) for the ambiguoui 
 term principle.-^H. 
 
 r96-99] 
 
 It is therefore a most important part of 
 the philosophy of the human mind, to have 
 a distinct and just view of the various prin- 
 ciples of action, which the Author of our 
 being hath planted in our nature, to ar- 
 range them properly, and to assign to every 
 one its rank. 
 
 By this it is, that we may discover the 
 end of our being, and the part which is as- 
 signed us upon the theatre of life. In this 
 part of tlie human constitution, the noblest 
 work of God that falls within our notice, 
 we may discern most clearly the character 
 of Him who made us, and how he would 
 have us to employ that active power which 
 he hath given us. 
 
 I cannot, without great diffidence, enter 
 upon this subject, observing that almost 
 every author of reputation, who has given 
 attention to it, has a system of his own ; 
 and that no man has been so happy as to 
 give general satisfaction to those who came 
 after him. 
 
 There is a branch of knowledge much 
 valued, and very justly, which we call knoiv- 
 ledge of the world, knowledge of mankind, 
 knowledge of human nature. This, I think, 
 consists in knowing from what principles 
 men generally act ; and it is commonly the 
 fruit of natural sagacity joined with expe- 
 rience. [99] 
 
 A man of sagacity, who has had occasion 
 to deal in interesting matters, with a great 
 variety of persons of different age, sex, rank, 
 and profession, learns to judge what may 
 be expected from men in given circum- 
 stances ; and how they may be most effec- 
 tually induced to act the part which he de- 
 sires. To know this is of so great import- 
 ance to men in active life, that it is called 
 knowing men, and knowing human nature. 
 This knowledge may be of considerable 
 use to a man who would speculate upon the 
 subject we have proposed, but is not, by it- 
 self, sufficient for that purpose. 
 
 The man of the world conjectures, per- 
 haps with great probability, how a man 
 wiU act in certain given circumstances ; and 
 this is all he wants to know. To enter in- 
 to a detail of the various principles which 
 influence the actions of men, to give them 
 
■If VI. 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay hi.— part i. 
 
 €UAP» II.] 
 
 INSTINCT. 
 
 545 
 
 ^liitiMt .MUMi,' te>' Mine ihein,. snd to ts- 
 oertain thmWiiieiit provmoM, Is the busi- 
 ness of a pMloepi^lwr, and not of a man of the 
 world ; and, indeed, it ia a matter attended 
 with great difficulty from various causes. 
 
 Fir:iit On account of the great number of 
 aetive principles that iniiwnise the actions 
 of men. 
 I . I Man baSi not without reason, been called 
 
 ir'ff 'iffw ma mIIoiho of the imiTerse, His body, by 
 ' which his mind is groatlj affected, being a 
 
 pwt of the material ajitam, is subject to 
 all the laws of inanimate matter. During 
 «ime part of his existence, his state is very 
 Wm thai of a Tegetable. He .rises, by im- 
 ntrceptible degrees, to the aainial, and, at 
 List, to the rational life, and has the princi- 
 ples that belong to all 
 
 jim&ik§r caiise of the difficulty of tracing 
 ilw ▼atioiii pfinciples of action in man, is, 
 That the same action, nay, the same course 
 and train of action may proceed from very 
 dVerent principles. [ 100] 
 
 Man who are fond of a hypothesis, com- 
 monly seek no other proof or its truth, but 
 that it serves to account for the appear- 
 ances which it is brought to expkin. This 
 is a very tl^peiry kind of proof in every 
 part of iltiloMphy, and never to be trusted ; 
 but, least of au, when the appearances to be 
 accounted for are human actions. 
 
 Kost actions proceed from a variety of 
 pind^os. 'Oonsnrring in their direction ; 
 and according as we are disposed to judge 
 favourably or unfavourably of the person, 
 or of human nature in general, we impute 
 them wholly to the best, or wholly to the 
 worst, overlooking others which had no 
 ■mall share in them. 
 
 The principles from which men act can 
 he discovered only in these two ways— by 
 attention to the conduct of other men, or 
 by attention to our own conduct, and to 
 what we feel in onrsel ves> There is much un- 
 certainty in the former, and much difficulty 
 .in. Him latter.. 
 
 .lieu differ much in thrar characters ; and 
 we can observe the conduct of a few only 
 of the species. Men differ not only from 
 other men, but from themselves at different 
 lines, and on different occasions ; accord- 
 ing as they are m the company of their su- 
 periors, inferiors, or equals; according as 
 tliey are in the eye of strangers, or of meir 
 familiars only, or in the view of no human 
 eye; according as they are in good or bad 
 lortune, or in good or had humour. We see 
 bnt a small pari of the actions of our most 
 familiar acquaintance ; and what we see 
 may lead us to a probable coujeclnre, but 
 flan, .give no certain knowlidgo m the prin- 
 MBMB from which they act. 
 
 A man may, no doubt, know with e«r- 
 !■«%'. .'tiW' pfinciples from, vhieh he himself 
 'Mt% 'Iw i iiHit he 10 conscioni' if Hieni. But 
 
 this knowledge requires an attentive reflec- 
 tion upon the operations of his own mind, 
 which is very rarely to be found. It is pen- 
 haps more easy to find a man who has formed 
 a just notion of the character of man in gen- 
 eral, or of those of his familiar acquaint- 
 ance, than one who has a just notion of his 
 own character. 1 1 *^ 1 1 
 
 Most men, through pride and self-flattery, 
 are apt to think themselves better than they 
 really are ; and some, perhaps from melan- 
 choly, or from false principles of religion, 
 are led to think themselves worse than 
 they really are. 
 
 It requires, therefore, a very accurate 
 and impartial examination of a man's own 
 heart, to be able to form a distinct notion 
 of the various principles which influence his 
 conduct That this is a matter of great 
 difficulty, we may judge from the very dif- 
 ferent and contradictory systems of philoso- 
 phers upon this subject, from the earUest 
 ages to this day. 
 
 During the age of Greek philosopny, the 
 Platouist, the Peripatetic, the Stoic, th« 
 Epicurean, had each his own system. In 
 the dark ages, the Schoolmen and the 
 Mystics had systems diametrically opposite ; 
 and, since the revival of learning, no con- 
 troversy hath been more keenly agitated, 
 especially among British philosophers, than 
 that about the principles of action in the 
 human constitution. 
 
 They have determined, to the satisfaction 
 of the learned, the forces by which the 
 planets and comets traverse the boundless 
 regions of space ; but have not been able to 
 determine, with any degree of unanimity, 
 the forces which every man is conscious oif 
 in himself, and by which his conduct is 
 directed. 
 
 Some admit no principle but self-love; 
 others resolve all into love of the pleasures 
 of sense, variously modified by the associa- 
 tion of ideas; others admit disinterested 
 benevolence along with self-love ; others 
 reduce all to reason and passion ; others to 
 passion alone ; nor is there less variety 
 about the number and distribution of the 
 passions. [102] 
 
 The names we give to the various prin- 
 ciples of action, have so Uttle precision, 
 even in the best and purest writers in every 
 language, that, on this account, there is no 
 small difficulty in giving them names, and 
 arranging them properly. 
 
 The words a;>/>r/i/^, passion, affection, in- 
 ieresti rcastm^ cannot be said to have one 
 definite signification. They are taken some- 
 times in a larger, and sometimes in a more 
 limited sense. The same principle is some- 
 times crlled by one of those names, some- 
 times by another ; and principles of a very 
 different nature are often called by the same 
 name, 
 
 [100-102] 
 
 To remedy this confusion of names, it 
 might, perhaps, seem proper to invent new 
 ones. But there are so few entitled to this 
 privilege, that I shall not lay chim to it ; 
 but shall endeavour to class the various 
 principles of human action as distinctly as 
 I am able, and to point out their specific 
 differences; giving them such names as may 
 deviate from the common use of the words 
 as little as possible. 
 
 There are some principles of action which 
 require no attention, no deliberation, no will. 
 These, for distinction's sake, we shall call 
 mechanical. Another class we may call 
 animal, as they seem common to man with 
 other animals. A third class we may call 
 rational, being proper to man as a rational 
 creature. • [103] 
 
 CHAPTER ir. 
 
 INSTINCT. 
 
 Thb mechanical principles of action may, 
 I think, be reduced to two species — instincts 
 and futOits. 
 
 By Instinct, I mean a natural blind im- 
 pulse to certain actions, without having any 
 end in view, without deliberation, and very 
 often without any conception of what we 
 do. 
 
 Thus, a man breathes while he is alive, 
 by the alternate contraction and relaxation 
 of certain muscles, by which the chest, and 
 of consequence the lungs, are contracted 
 and dilated. There is no reason to think 
 that an infant new-born knows that breath- 
 ing is necessary to life in its new state, that 
 he knows how it must be performed, or even 
 that he has any thought or conception of 
 that operation ; yet he breathes, as soon as 
 he is bom, with perfect regularity, as if he 
 had been taught, and got the habit by long 
 practice. 
 
 By the same kind of principle, a new- 
 born child, when its stomach is emptied, 
 and nature has brought milk into the mo- 
 therms breast, sucks and swallows its food as 
 perfectly as if it knew the principles of that 
 operation, and had got the habit of working 
 according to them. 
 
 Sucking and swallowing are very complex 
 operations. Anatomists describe about 
 thirty pairs of muscles that must be em- 
 I ployed in every draught. Of those muscles, 
 \ every one must be served by its proper 
 nerve, and can make no exertion but by some 
 influence communicated by the nerve. The 
 exertion of all those muscles and nerves is 
 not simultaneous. They must succeed each 
 
 * On thia classiflcaUon of Reid, see Mr stevart's 
 ■tricture«, in his *• Philosophy of the Active Powers," 
 1. pp. li, ii. The division I would prefer, is differ- 
 erit from that of either philosopher.— H. 
 
 [103-105] 
 
 other in a certain order, and their order is 
 no less necessary than the exertion itself. 
 [104] 
 
 This regular train of operations is carried 
 on according to the nicest rules of art, by 
 the infant, who has neither art, nor science, 
 nor experience, nor habit. 
 
 That the infant feels the uneasy tensation 
 of hunger, I admit ; and that it sucks no 
 longer than till this sensation be removed. 
 But who informed it that this uneasy sensa- 
 tion might be removed, or by what means ? 
 That it knows nothing of this is evident ; 
 for it will as readily suck a finger, or a bit 
 of stick, as the nipple. 
 
 By a like principle it is, that infants cry 
 when they are pained or hurt ; that they are 
 afraid when left alone, especially in the dark; 
 that they start when in danger of fiUling ; 
 that they are terrified by an angry counte- 
 nance, or au angry tone of voicej^ and are 
 soothed and comforted by a placid counte- 
 nance, and by soft and gentle tones of voice. 
 In the animals we are best acquainted 
 with, and which we look upon as the more 
 perfect of the brute creation, we see much 
 the same instincts as in the human kind, or 
 very similar ones, suited to the particular 
 state and manner of life of the animal. 
 
 Besides these, there are ia brute animals 
 instincts peculiar to each tribe, by which 
 they are fitted for defence, for offence, or 
 for providing for themselves, and for their 
 offspring. 
 
 It is not more certain that nature hath 
 furnished various animals with various 
 weapons of offence and defence, than that 
 the same nature hath taught them how to 
 use them : the bull and the ram to butt, 
 the horse to kick, the dog to bite, the lion 
 to use his paws, the boar his tusks, the 
 serpent his fangs, and the bee and wasp 
 their sting. [105] 
 
 The manufactures of animals, if we may 
 call them by that name, present us with a 
 wonderful variety of instincts, belonging to 
 particular species, whether of the sociul or 
 of the solitary kind ; the nests of birds, so 
 similar in their situation and architecture 
 in the same kind, so various in different 
 kinds ; the webs of spiders, and of other 
 spinning animals ; the ball of the silkworm ; 
 the nests of ants and other mining animals ; 
 the combs of wasps, hornets, and bees ; the 
 dams and houses of beavers. 
 
 The instinct of animals is one of the most 
 delightful and instructive parts of a most 
 pleasant study, that of natural history ; and 
 deserves to be more cultivated than it has 
 yet been. 
 
 Every manufacturing art among men 
 was invented by some man, improved by 
 others, and brought to perfection by time 
 and experience. Men learn to work in it 
 by long practice, which produces a habit. 
 
 2 N 
 
540 
 
 %jN THE Al/llVjfi rUWJKIlS. LE88AY lU. — PARTI* 
 
 TImi arts fif ' ni'iii irary in mrtcf tutu snd In 
 «Y«i7 natiora, and are fmiiil mlj in those 
 wbo Imve been taught tien. 
 
 The manufactures of animahi differ firom 
 theee <if men in many slriMng particularo. 
 
 Me animal, ui the' :mneiei' ean claim the 
 Invention. Wo animal ever Introduced any 
 new improvement, or any variation from the 
 former practice. Every one of the speeies 
 has equal ekill from the beginning, with- 
 out 'tcMhiitti without experience' or habit 
 Every onelaS' te art by a kind of 'inspira- 
 tion. I do not mean tlwt it is inspired with 
 the principles or rules of the art, but with 
 the ability and inclination of working in it 
 to perfeetion, 'without any knowledge of its 
 pimeiples, rules, or end. [106] 
 
 The more sagaeious animals may be 
 'fii^tto do many things which they do 
 not by Instinct What they are taught to 
 dO| they do with more or less skill, accord- 
 ing to their sagacity and their training. 
 But| in their own arts, they need no teach- 
 ing nor 'training, nor is the art ever im- 
 p«ivad.or lost. Beea^ gather" their' honey 
 •ni their wax, they falirieattt their' eombs, 
 and rear theur young at this day, neither 
 better nor worse than they did when Ytrgil 
 to sweetly sung their works. 
 
 The work of every animal is indeed like 
 the works of nature^ perfect in its kmd, and 
 can bear the most critical examination of 
 the'imchanic or the mathematlGian. One 
 example Ikim the #ii'jwiiil last :neiitioned, 
 UMf serve to lll mt Hiti t ft t y - 
 
 Bees, it is well known, construct their 
 eomba with imai eells on both sides, fit both 
 §at holding their store of honey, and for 
 rearing their young. There are only three 
 iKMnbie igines of the cells, which can make 
 them all. equal and nnilar, without any 
 
 lateral triangle^ the square^, and the reguhur 
 iHaa^n. 
 
 It M well known to mathematicians, that 
 there is not a fourth way noiaible, in which 
 a pbme ma^ be eut kt^ iSTa^ees that 
 .diaU be equal, aiinilar and tegular, 'without 
 leaving any Interstlcea. Of lie three, the 
 hexagon is the most proper, both for con- 
 veniency and. iStrength. Beesi aa if they 
 knew this, make thSr cells r^gnkr hexa- 
 
 Aa the eombs have eeHa on both sides, 
 the cells may either be exactly opposite, 
 having pMtitaon .against partition, or the 
 'Iwttini'Ofaeillmay rest upon the parti- 
 tkna between the cells on the other side, 
 whieh will serve as a buttress to st.rengthen 
 'it. ^Tht list way ia best for strength ; ac» 
 'eofdiilglyi the bottom, of each cell rests 
 ■gainat.' ' §m point where three partitions 
 meet on the other aide, which gives it all 
 the strength poeaible. [107] 
 
 The b^tom of a oeU may «ither be ona 
 
 plane perpendicular to the nde-partltions, or 
 it may be composed of several planes, meet- 
 ing in a solid angle in the middle point It 
 is only in one of these two ways, that all 
 the cells can be similar without losing room. 
 And, for the same intention, the planes of 
 which the bottom is ccmposed, if there be 
 more than one, must be three in number, 
 and neither more nor fewer. 
 
 It has been demonstrated, that, by mak- 
 ing the bottoms of the cells to consist of 
 three planes meeting in a point, there is a 
 saving of material and labour no way in- 
 considerable. The bees, as if acquainted 
 with these principles of solid geometry, fol- 
 low them most accurately ; the bottom of 
 each cell being composed of three planes, 
 which make obtuse angles with the side- 
 partitions, and with one another, and meet 
 In a point in the middle of the bottom ; the 
 three angles of this bottom being supported 
 by three partitions on the other side of the 
 comb, and the point of it by the common 
 intersection of those three partitions. 
 
 One instance more of the mathematical 
 skill displayed in the structure of a honey- 
 comb, deserves to be mentioned. 
 
 It is a curious mathematical problem, at 
 what precise angle the three planes which 
 compose the bottom of a cell ought to meet, 
 in order to make the greatest possible sav- 
 ing, or the least expense, of material and 
 
 This is one of those problems, belonging 
 to the higher parts of mathematics, which 
 are called problems of mamma and minima. 
 It has been resolved by some mathemati- 
 cians, particularly by the ingenious Mr 
 Maclaurin, by a fluxionary calculation, 
 which is to be found in the '* Transactions 
 of the Royal Society of London.** He haa 
 determined precisely the angle required; 
 and he found, by the most exact mensura- 
 tion the subject could adroit, tlmt it is the 
 very angle, in which the three planes in the 
 bottom of the cell of a honey-comb do ac- 
 tually meet. [108] 
 
 Shall we ask here, who taught the bee 
 the properties of solids, and to resolve prob- 
 lems of muutima and minima $ If a honey- 
 comb were a work of human art, every man 
 of ecmimon sense would conclude, without 
 hesitation, that he who invented the con- 
 struction must have understood the prin- 
 ciples on which it is constructed. 
 
 We need not say that bees know none of 
 these things. They work most geometri- 
 cally, without any knowledge of geometry ; 
 somewhat like a child, who, by tuniing the 
 handle of an organ, makes good music, with- 
 out any knowledge of music. 
 
 The art is not in the child, but in him 
 who made the organ. In like manner, 
 when a bee makes its comb so geometrically, 
 the geometry is not in the bee, but in that 
 
 [106-1083 
 
 /J 
 
 OHAP. If 1 
 
 ^^mm «MI Aw J||. • • I 
 
 INSTINCT. 
 
 547 
 
 great Geometrician who made the bee, and 
 made all things in number, weight, and 
 measure.* 
 
 To return to instincts in man ; those are 
 most remarkable which appear in infancy, 
 when we are ignorant of everything neces- 
 sary to our preservation, and therefore must 
 perish, if we had not an invisible guide, who 
 leads us blindfold in the way we should 
 take, if we had eyes to see it. 
 
 Besides tiie instincts which appear only 
 in infancy, and are intended to supply the 
 want «t understanding in that early period, 
 there are many which continue through life, 
 and which supply the defects of our intel- 
 lectual powers in every period. Of these 
 we may observe three classes. 
 
 Fiistf There are many things necessary 
 to be done for our preservation, which, even 
 when we will to do, we know not the means 
 by which they must be done. [109] 
 
 A man knows that he must swallow his 
 food before it can nourish him. But this 
 action requires the co-operation of many 
 nerves and muscles, of which he knows no- 
 thing ; and if it were to be directed solely 
 by his understanding and will, he would 
 starve before he learned how to perform it. 
 Here instinct conies in to his aid. He 
 needs do no more than will to swallow. All 
 the requisite motions of nerves and mus- 
 cles immediately take place in their proper 
 order, without his knowing or willing any- 
 thing about them. 
 
 If we ask here, whose will do these nerves 
 and muscles obey? Not his, surely, to 
 whom they belong. He knows neither 
 their names, nor nature, nor office; he 
 never thought of them. They are moved 
 by some impulse, of which the cause is un- 
 known, without any thought, will, or inten- 
 tion on his part— that is, they are moved 
 instinctively. 
 
 This is the case, in some degree, in every 
 voluntary motion of our body. Thus, I 
 will to stretch out my arm. The effect im- 
 mediately follows. But we know that the 
 arm is stretched out by the contraction of 
 certain muscles ; and that the muscles are 
 contracted by the influence of the nerves. 
 I know nothing, I think nothuag, either of 
 nerves or muscles, when I stretch out my 
 arm : yet this nervous influence, and this 
 contraction of the muscles, uncalled by me, 
 immediately produce the effect which I 
 willed. This is as if a weight were to be 
 raised, which can be raised only by a com- 
 plication of levers, pullies, and other me- 
 chanical powers, that are behind the cur- 
 tain, and altogether unknown to me. I 
 will to raise the weight ; and no sooner is 
 this volition exerted, than the machinery 
 
 * •• Omnia in mensura, et numero, etpondere dia- 
 poMiisti.". f Witdom of Solomon). 1 forget how it it 
 rendered in our hngliah rersion.— H. 
 [109-111] 
 
 behind the curtain falls to work and raises 
 the weight. [110] 
 
 If such a case should happen, we would 
 conclude that there is some person behind 
 the curtain who knew my will, and put the 
 machine in motion to execute it. 
 
 The case of my willing to stretch out my 
 arm, or to swallow my food, has evidently 
 a great similarity to this. But who it is 
 that stands behind the curtain, and sets the 
 internal machinery a-going, is hid from us; 
 so strangely and wonderfully are we made. 
 This, however, is evident, that those in- 
 ternal motions are not willed nor intended 
 by us, and therefore are instinctive. 
 
 A second case in which we have need of 
 instinct, even in advanced life, is, When 
 the action must be so frequently repeated, 
 that to intend and will it every time it is 
 done,*would occupy too much of our thought, 
 and leave no room for other necessary em- 
 ployments of the mind. 
 
 We must breathe often every minute 
 whether awake or asleep. We must often 
 close the eye-lids, in order to preserve the 
 lustre of the eye. If these things required 
 particular attention and volition every time 
 they are done, they would occupy all our 
 thought. Nature, therefore, gives an im- 
 pulse to do them as often as is necessary, 
 without any thought at all. They consume 
 no time, they give not the least interrup- 
 tion to any exercise of the mind ; because 
 they are done by instinct. 
 
 A third case, in which we need the aid of 
 histinct, is, When the action must be done 
 so suddenly that there is no time to think 
 and determine. When a man loses his 
 balance, either on foot or on horseback, he 
 makes an instantaneous effort to recover it 
 by instinct. The effort would be in vain, 
 if it waited the determination of reason and 
 will. [HI] 
 
 When anything threatens our eyes, we 
 wink hard, by instinct, and can hardly 
 avoid doing so, even when we know that 
 the stroke is aimed in jest, and that we are 
 perfectly safe from danger. I have see& 
 this tried upon a wager, which a man was 
 to gain if he could keep his eyes open, while 
 another aimed a stroke at them in jest. 
 The difficulty of doing this shews that there 
 may be a struggle between instinct and 
 will ; and that it is not easy to resist the 
 impulse of instinct, even by a strong reso- 
 lution not to yield to it. 
 
 Thus the merciful Author of our nature 
 hath adapted our instincts to the defects 
 and to the weakness of our understanding. 
 In infancy we are ignorant of everything ; 
 yet many things must be done by us for 
 our preservation : These are done by in- 
 stinct. When we grow up there are many 
 motions of our limbs and bodies necessary, 
 which can be performed only by a curioua 
 
 2 N 3 
 
Siifl 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [kssay hi.— paet i. 
 
 ■nd complex intcmaJ. macliiiiery-a ma- 
 diioiefy of which the hulk of mankind are 
 totally iRiiomiit, and which the mont^ikilful 
 anatomiit knowa hut imperfectly. All this 
 machinery ia set a-going by instinct We 
 need only to will the extefnal motion, and 
 m the iuteinal motions, previously neces- 
 ■ary to th« eibcl, take place of themselves, 
 without our will or command. 
 
 Some actions must he so often repeated, 
 thfongh the whole of life, that, if they re- 
 mired attention and will, we should be able 
 to do nothing else: These go on regularly 
 hy instinct 
 
 Our preservation «rom danger often re- 
 nnirea. such siddi».«x«fliM8> that there is 
 Ml 'time to think, and to detennines Ae^ 
 iMifdingly we make such exertions hy instinct. 
 
 Another thing in the nature of man, 
 wliiei I take to he partly, though notwhoUy, 
 'inttlnetive, is his pwmeieie to imitation. 
 
 Aristotle observed, long ago, that man is 
 an imitative animal. He is so in more 
 nii|iMt« than ona He is disposed to imi- 
 tate what he approves* In all arts men 
 leam more and more agreeably, hy example 
 than hy rules. Imitation by the chiasel, by 
 the pencil, by description pimiaic and poet- 
 .ieal,and by actimi. Md |eatwf% have been 
 iiironrito' :uid client cnttrtaimnents of the 
 whole species. In all these cases, however, 
 the imitation is intended and willed, and 
 therefore cannot he said to be instinctive. 
 
 But I appreiiend tiial hitman nature 
 diipoiesus to the imitation of those among 
 whom we live, when we neither desire nor 
 will it 
 
 :Let an. Englishman, of middle age, take 
 np Ma 'lealdwice in Edinburgh or Glasgow ; 
 although he has not the least intention to 
 use the Scots dialect, but a firm resolution 
 to pwsorve his own pure aud unmixed, he 
 will ind it very dilieiilt to make good his 
 intention. He will, in a eourac of years, 
 idl insensibly, and without intention, into 
 the tone and^accent,. and even into the words 
 and phiaies of those he converses with ; 
 and nothing can preserve him from this, 
 hm a strong disgust to every Scotticism, 
 which perhaps may overcome the natural 
 
 li ia commonly thought that children 
 oflen leam to stammer hy imitation ; yet I 
 believe no person ever desired or willed to 
 
 I appidmii. 'that hutinctive imitation has 
 no smaU ininence in forming the peculia- 
 rities of provincial dialects, the peculiarities 
 of voice, geatnfo,, and manner which we 
 
 wm in Mune iwniiis, the ■maiinera peculiar 
 to'diARDt lanla and diiftffflBt professions; 
 and pcffaapa even in forming national cba- 
 factors, and the human character m gen- 
 
 Cfal* 
 
 The instances that history furnishes of 
 wild men, brought up from early jears, 
 without the society of any of their own spe- 
 cies, are so few, that we cannot build con- 
 clusions upon them with great certainty. 
 But all I have heard of agreed in this, that 
 the wild man gave but very slender indica- 
 tions of the rational faculties; and, with 
 regard to his mind, was hardly distin- 
 guishable from the more sagacious of the 
 brutes. 
 
 There is a considerable part of the lowest 
 rank in every nation, of whom it cannot be 
 said that any paina have been taken by 
 themselves, or by others, to cultivate their 
 understanding, or to form their manners ; 
 yet we see an immense difference between 
 them and the wUd man 
 
 This difference is wholly the effect of 
 society ; and, I think, it is in a great mea- 
 sure, though not wholly, the effect of unde- 
 signed and instinctive imitation. 
 
 Perhaps not only our actions, but even 
 our judgment and belief, is, in some cases, 
 guided by instinct — that is, by a natural and 
 blind impulse. 
 
 When we consider man as a rational 
 creature, it may seem right that he should 
 have no belief but what ia grounded upon 
 evidence, probable or demonstrative; and 
 it is, I think, commonly taken for granted, 
 that it is always evidence, real or apparent, 
 that determines our belief. 
 
 If this be so, the consequence is, that, in 
 no case, can there be any belief, till we 
 find evidence, or, at least, what te our judg- 
 ment appears to be e\^dence. I suspect it 
 is not so ; but that, on the contrary, before 
 we grow up to the full use of our rational 
 faculties, we do believe, aud must believe, 
 many things without any evidence at alh 
 [114] 
 
 The faculties which we have in common 
 with brute-anunals, are of earlier growth 
 than reason. We are irrational animals 
 for a considerable time before we can pro- 
 perly be called rational. The operations 
 of reason spring up by imperceptible de- 
 grees; nor is it possible for us to trace 
 accurately the order in which they rise. 
 The power of reflection, by which only we 
 could trace the progress of our growing 
 faculties, comes too late to answer that 
 end. Some operations of brute-animals 
 look BO like reason that they ar^ not easily 
 distinguished from it Whether brutes 
 have anything that can properly be called 
 beUef, I cannot say; but their actions shew 
 something that looks very like it. 
 
 If there be any instinctive belief in man, 
 il is probably of the same kind with that 
 which we ascribe to brutes, and may be 
 specifically different from that rational be- 
 lief which is grounded on evidence; but 
 that there is something in man which wc 
 
 [112-114] 
 
 €HAP. II.] 
 
 INSTINCT. 
 
 549 
 
 call belief, which is not grounded on evi- 
 dence, I think, must be granted. 
 
 [lo] We need to be informed of many 
 things before we are capable of discerning 
 the evidence on which they rest. Were 
 our belief to be withheld till we are capable, 
 in any degree, of weighing evidence, we 
 should lose all the benefit of that instruc- 
 tion and information, without which we 
 could never attain the use of our rational 
 Acuities. 
 
 Man would never acquire the use of rea- 
 son if he were not brought up in the society 
 of reasonable creatures. The benefit he 
 receives from society is derived partly from 
 imitation of what he sees others do, partly 
 from the instruction and information they 
 communicate to him, without which he 
 <M»uld neither be preserved from destruc- 
 tion, nor acquire the use of his rational 
 powers. 
 
 Children have a thousand things to learn, 
 and they learn many things every day ; 
 more than will be easily believed by those 
 who have never given attention to their 
 \progress. [115] 
 
 Oportet discentcm credere is a common 
 adage. Children have everything to learn ; 
 and, in order to learn, they must believe 
 their instructors. They need a greater 
 stock of faith from infancy to twelve or 
 fourteen, than ever after. But how shall 
 they get this stock so necessary to them ? 
 If their faith depend upon evidence, the 
 stock of evidence, real or apparent, must 
 1 bear proportion to their faith. But such, 
 in reality, is their situation, that when their 
 faith must be greatest, the evidence is least. 
 * They believe a thousand things before they 
 I ever spend a thought upon evidence. Na- 
 ture supplies the want of evidencey and 
 gives them an instinctive kind of faith with- 
 cut evidence,* 
 
 They believe implicitly whatever they 
 are told, and receive with assurance the 
 testimony of every one, without ever think- 
 ing of a reason why they should do so. 
 
 A parent or a master might command 
 them to believe, but in vain, for belief is 
 not in our power ; but, in the first part of 
 life, it is governed by mere testimony ia 
 matters of fact, and by mere authority in 
 all other matters, no less than by evidence 
 in riper years. 
 
 It is not the words of the testifier, but 
 his belief, that produces this belief in a 
 child I for children soon leam to distinguish 
 what is said in jest, from what is said in 
 good earnest. What appears to them to 
 be said in jest, produces no beUef. They 
 glory m shewing that they are not to be 
 
 * See Stewart's'* Philosophy of (he Active Powers." 
 II. p. S4I. Heid It not, however, the first who re- 
 lolved the credulity of children into an original 
 pHndple. Sec above, pp. IW, 19/.— H. 
 
 ln.^-117] 
 
 imposed on. When the signs of belief in 
 the speaker are ambiguous, it is pleasant to 
 observe with what sagacity they pry into 
 his features, to discern whether he really t 
 believes what he says, or only counterfeits 
 belief. As soon as this point is determined, 
 their belief is regulated by his. If he be 
 doubtful, they are doubtful ; if he be as- 
 sured, they are also assured. [116] 
 
 It is well known what a deep impression 
 religious principles, zealously inculcated, 
 make upon the minds of children. The 
 absurdities of ghosts and hobgoblins, early 
 impressed, have been known to stick so 
 fast, even in enlightened mmds, as to baffle 
 all rational conviction. 
 
 When we grow up to the use of reason, 
 testimony, attended with certain circum- 
 stances, or even authority, may afford a 
 rational ground of belief ; but with children, 
 without any regard to circumstances, either 
 of them operates like demonstration. And 
 as they seek no reason, nor can give any 
 reason, for this regard to testimony and to 
 authority, it is the effect of a natural ini^ 
 pulse, and may be called instinct. 
 
 [2o] Another instance of belief which 
 appears to be instinctive, is that which 
 children shew even in infancy, That an event 
 which they have obicrced in certain circum- 
 stances, wilt happen again in like circum- 
 stances. A child of half a year old, who 
 has once burned his finger by putting it in 
 the candle, will not put it there again. And 
 if you make a shew of putting it in the 
 candle by force, you see the most manifest 
 signs that he believes he shall meet with 
 the same calamity. 
 
 Mr Hume hath shewn very clearly, that 
 this belief is not the effect either of Reason 
 or Experience. He endeavours to account 
 for it by the Association of Ideas. Though 
 I am not satisfied with his account of this 
 phaenomenon, I shall not now examine it ; 
 because it is sufficient for the present argu- 
 ment, that this belief is not grounded on 
 evidence, real or apparent, which I think 
 he clearly proves. 
 
 A person who has lived so long in the 
 world as to observe that nature is governed 
 by fixed laws, may have some rational 
 ground to expect similar events in similar 
 circumstances ; but this cannot be the case 
 of the child. His belief, therefore, is not 
 grounded on evidence. It is the result of 
 his constitution. [117] 
 
 Nor is it the less so, though it should arise 
 from the association of ideas. For what is 
 called the association of ideas is a law of 
 nature in our constitution ; which produces 
 its effects without any operation of reason 
 on our part, and in a maimer of which we 
 are entirely ignorant* 
 
 * See above, pp. 197-201.— H. 
 

 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. [aiSAv iii.-pa«t i. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 O'P uamo* 
 
 'Dailies 'Imt iii: itt origiaf '<lit Isttor beiBg 
 naloiml, tlie former .ac^uircd. " Both operate 
 wiUmut vUl or iutantioii, 'Villioiit thought, 
 md therefore nmy he called mschankal prin' 
 eiples* 
 
 Habit is commonly deiiied, A faeiHty qf 
 4eiii|f « thing, aepmed frjr hamng done ii 
 frequmtiif» Tiiis lieinitioii is iiilicieiit for 
 hahita of .art'; but itM^ ^iahlta' wMch may, 
 with propriety, hO'CalM 'prindlples. of action, 
 must give more than a facility, they must 
 give an tnclioation or impulse to do the 
 lietiilli.{ and that,, in many cases, habits 
 lMiir« 'liia foffiNi. cannot be doubted. 
 
 H'Oir many ftwfciwrd habits, by frequent- 
 'iig' ;improper company, are cbUdrent apt to 
 leam, In their additas, motion, looks, ges- 
 liif«,. .and pronmeiation. They acquire 
 ■meh 'liaMta' wmmonly from an undesigned 
 and instinctive unitation, before they can 
 juiAra of what ia proper and becoming. 
 
 whan, thoy are a little advanced in 
 undenitanding, they may easily be con- 
 vinced that ancii m thmg is 'nnbecotting , they 
 may resoke to forbear it, but when the 
 lidiit is formed, such a general resolution 
 ii.:lltl of itself .sufficient ; for the habit wiE 
 t^mmM witbonl intention ; and particular 
 ailintion is necessary, on every oeoiiion, 
 to resist its impulse, until it be undone by 
 'tb« .habit of o|ipf)ainf it. 1 1 1 8] 
 
 It is owing' to the force of habits, early 
 acquired by imitation, that a man who has 
 
 Sown np to manhood in the lowest rank of 
 e, if fortune raise him to a higher rank, 
 ▼ery rarely acquires the air and manners of 
 ft geiiiiflinan.. 
 
 Wiwm. to 'ilifti instinctive imitation which 
 I spoke of before, we jom the force of habit. 
 It k easy to see, that these mechanical 
 '|iiiiMi|ilea have no smai shave in formkg 
 'tlM' mannen' and character of most men. 
 
 The diileulty of overcoming vicious habits 
 'ba% In all ages, been a common topic of 
 Ihaoh^gianS' and. iwinilistB.| and wo see too 
 ■Miij sad eiasiplea' to petmit ns to doubt of 
 
 ;*A. 
 
 There are good haMls, hi a moral sense, 
 ••wellaabJVMid it l: certain, that th^ 
 
 ■latiid. and ;ngnh» .pctformance of what we 
 
 na uneasy in the omiasioa of it This is 
 
 'the case, even when the action derives all 
 
 WB .gwwiiii> nnni hm npitioii of tne per^ 
 flwiiieff. A .good ilHeiato' Roman. CathoUc 
 doai' :iMit sitep' sound .if' he"goea' to bed with- 
 
 nul'. toiiiig 'ill' beads, and repeathig prayers 
 
 wliiili. 1m dff fl# not nndwritawd. 
 Afi.Btotle makes Wisdom, Pradence, Oood 
 
 Sense,* Science, and Art, as well as the 
 moral virtues and vices, to be htditt. If 
 he meant no more, by giving this name to 
 all those intellectual and moral qualities, 
 than that they are all strengthened and con- 
 irmed by repeated acts, this is undoubtedly 
 tme> I take the word in a less extensive 
 sense, when I consider habits as principles 
 of action. I conceive it to be a part of our 
 constitution, that what we have been ac- 
 customed to do, we acquire, not only a 
 facility, but a proneness to do on like occa- 
 sions ; so tliat it requires a particular will 
 and eifort to forbear it, but to do it, requires 
 very often no will at all. We are carried 
 by habit as by a stream in swimming, if we 
 make no resistance. [1191 
 
 Every art furnishes examples both of 
 the power of habits and of their utility ; no 
 one more than the most common of all arts, 
 the art of speaking. 
 
 Articulate language is spoken, not by 
 nature, but by art. It is no easy matter to 
 children to learn the sunple sounds of Ian- 
 guage ; I mean, to learn to pronounce the 
 vowels and consonants. It would be much 
 more difficult, if they were not led by 
 instinct to imitate the sounds they hear; 
 for the difficulty is vastly greater of teach- 
 ing the deaf to pronounce the letters and 
 word., thoogh experience shew» that cu> 
 be done. 
 
 What is it that makes this pronunciation 
 so easy at last which was so difficult at first ? 
 It is habit. 
 
 But from what cause does it happen, that 
 a good speaker no sooner conceives what he 
 would express, than the letters, syllables, 
 and words arrange themselves according to 
 innumerable rules of speech, while he never 
 thinks of these rules ? He means to ex- 
 press certain sentiments; in order to do 
 this properly, a selection must be made of 
 the materials, out of many thousands. He 
 makes this selection without any expense 
 of time or thought The materials selected 
 must be arranged in a particular order, 
 according to innumerable rules of gram- 
 mar, logic, and rhetoric, and accompanied 
 with a particular tone and emphasis. Me 
 does all this as it were by inspiration, with- 
 out thinking of any of these rules, and 
 without breaking one of them. [ 120] 
 
 This art, if it were not more common, 
 would appear more wonderful than that 
 a man should dance blindfold amidst a 
 thousand burning ploughshares, without 
 being burnt ; yet all this may be done by 
 habit 
 
 It appears evident, that as, without in- 
 stinct, the infant could not live to become 
 
 • Ni5( is here ill translated by Good Sense. Itcor- 
 mpoMla rathft to what Keid and other* have called 
 CiNiMiMM 8am, tie*ni the faculty of primary truths<- 
 
 CHAP, iii.^ 
 
 OP HABIT. 
 
 551 
 
 a man, so, without habit, man would re- 
 main an infant through life, and would be 
 as helpless, as unhandy, as speechless, and 
 as much a child in understanding at three- 
 score as at three. 
 
 I see no reason to think that we shall 
 ever be able to assign the physical cause, 
 either of instinct, or of the power of habit.* 
 
 Both seem to be parts of our original 
 constitution. Their end and use is evi- 
 dent ; but we can assign no cause of them, 
 but the will of Him who made us. 
 
 With regard to instinct, which is a na- 
 tural propensity, this will perhaps be easily 
 granted ; but it is no less true with regard 
 to that power and inclination which we ac- 
 quire by habit. 
 
 No man can shew a reason why our do- 
 ing a thing frequently should produce either 
 facility or inclination to do it. 
 
 The fact is so notorious, and so con- 
 stantly in our eye, that we are apt to think 
 no reason should be sought for it, any more 
 than why the sun shines. But there must 
 be a cause of the sun's shining, and there 
 must be a cause of the power of habit. 
 
 We see nothing analogous to it in inani- 
 mate matter, or in things made by human 
 art. A clock or a watch, a waggon or a 
 plough, by the custom of going, does not 
 learn to go better, or require less moving 
 force. The earth does not increase in fer- 
 tility by the custom of bearing crops. [121] 
 
 It is said, that trees and other vegetables, 
 by growing long in an unkindly soil or 
 climate, sometimes acquire qualities by 
 which they can bear its inclemency with 
 less hurt. This, in the vegetable kingdom, 
 has some resemblance to the power of habit ; 
 but, in inanimate matter, I know nothing 
 that resembles it. 
 
 A stone loses nothing of its weight by 
 being long supported, or made to move up- 
 ward. A body, by being tossed about ever 
 80 Ions, or ever so violently, loses nothing 
 of its tnertia, nor acquires the least dispo- 
 sition to change its state. 
 
 * Mr Stewart has made an ingenious attempt to 
 explain sundry of the pha?nomena referred to the oc. 
 cult principle of habit, in his chapter on Attention, 
 inr the first volume of his " Elements of the Philo- 
 sophy of the Human Mind." It is to be regretted 
 that he had not studied (he even treats it as incon. 
 ceivable) the Leibnitzian doctrine of what has not 
 well been denominated, obscure perceptions, or ideas—' 
 that is, acts and affections of mind, which, manifest- 
 ing their existence in their effects, are themselves out 
 of consciousness or apperception. I'he fact of such 
 latent mental modifications, is now established be. 
 yond ail rational doubt ; and on the supposition of 
 their reaUty, we are able to solve various pKychoIo. 
 gtcal phenomena otherwise inexplicable. Among 
 Hieie are many ofthoie attributed to Habit.— H. 
 
 [121, 122] 
 
 PART II. 
 
 OF ANIMAL PUINCIPLBS OP ACTION. 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 OF APPETITES. 
 
 Having discoursed of the mechanical 
 principles of action, I proceed to consider 
 those I called animal.* 
 
 They are such as operate upon the wiU 
 and intention, but do not suppose any exer- 
 cise of judgment or reason ; and are most 
 of them to be found in some brute animals, 
 as well as in man. 
 
 In this class, the Jirst kind I shall call 
 Appetites, taking that word in a stricter 
 sense than it is sometimes taken, even by 
 good writers. [122] 
 
 The word appetite is sometimes limited, 
 so as to signify only the desire of food when 
 we hunger ; sometimes it is extended so as 
 to signify any strong desire, whatever be its 
 object. Without pretending to censure 
 any use of the word which custom hath 
 authorized, I beg leave to limit it to a par- 
 ticular class of desires, which are dis- 
 tinguished from all others by the following 
 marlvs : — 
 
 First, Every appetite is accompanied 
 with an uneasy sensation proper to it, 
 which is strong or weak, in proportion to 
 the desire we have of the object. Secondly, 
 Appetites are not constant, but periodical, 
 being sated by their objects for a time, and 
 returning after certain periods. Such ia 
 the nature of those principles of action, to 
 which I beg leave, in this essay, to appro- 
 priate the name of appetites. Those that 
 are chiefly observable in man, as well as in 
 most other animals, are Hunger, Thirst, and 
 Lust. 
 
 If we attend to the appetite of Hunger, 
 we shall find in it two ingredients, an uneasy 
 sensation and a desire to eat. The desire 
 keeps pace with the sensation, and ceases 
 when it ceases. When a man is sated with 
 eating, both the uneasy sensation and the 
 desire to eat cease for a time, and return 
 after a certain inverval. So it is with other 
 appetites. 
 
 In infants, for some time after they come 
 into the world, the uneasy sensation of 
 hunger is probably the whole. We cannot 
 
 * It is observed by "Vlr Stewart, in reference to the 
 undue latitude wiih which, in this part of his work, 
 Reid has employed, among otherd, the term Animal, 
 that, in consequence of this, he has been led to rank 
 among our animai principles of action, (that is, 
 among the active principles common to man with the 
 brutes,) not only the desire of knowledge, and th« 
 desire of esteem, but pity to the* distressed, patrlot- 
 ifm, and other benevolent aflbctions.— H. 
 
552 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay hi.— fart ii. 
 
 MflMMe 111 them, before exporitiMe, mj 
 'iMieeiilioa of est%, nor, goiimii|im!ii%, mj 
 desire of it They Are led by mere instinct 
 U suck wlien they feel the sensation of 
 hunger,. But when exfiemnee has con- 
 iMstiMi, in their imaginmiion, the uneasy 
 ■ensation with the means of removing it, 
 ftho desire of the kst cornea to be bo asao- 
 tiiited. with the int» that they remain 
 thfOttgli life inaeparaUe. And we give the 
 mtnie of hu9^er to the principle that is 
 made up of both. [123] 
 
 That the appetite of hunger includes the 
 two ingredients I have mentioned will not, 
 I apprehend,, be <]uestioned. I take notice 
 ©f it the rather beisaiise we mar, if I mfe- 
 take not, find a similar composition in other 
 niiwiplea of .action. Thay are made up of dif. 
 'iereiit iogredienli, mad :may be analyzed into 
 the parts that enter bio their composition.. 
 If one philosopher should maintain that 
 imiiger ia an uneasy sensation, another, 
 Ihat it is a desire' to eat, they seem to differ 
 'Wi^ly ; for a desire .and a .sensation are^ 
 very di.ffere.nt things, and have no simili- 
 tude^ But they are both in the right ; for 
 hmiger includes both an uneasy sensation 
 and m desire to eai 
 
 Although there has been no such dispute 
 among philosophers as we have mpposed 
 with regard to hunger, yet there have been 
 iteilar disputes with regard to other princi- 
 ples of action ; and it deserves to be con- 
 sidered whether they may not be termi- 
 nated in a similar manner. 
 
 The ends for which our natural appetites 
 are given, are too evident to escape the ob- 
 servation of any man of the least reieetion. 
 Two of those I named are intended for the 
 preservation of the individual, and the 
 third for the continuance of the species. 
 
 The reason of mankind would be alto- 
 gether insuiieieni for these ends, without 
 the durection and call of appetite. 
 
 Though a man knew that Iiis life mnst be 
 supported by 'eating, reason ^couid not direct 
 him when to eat, or what; how much, or 
 now often. In all these things, appetite is 
 a much better guide than our reason. 
 Were reason only to direct us in this mat- 
 ter, its calm voice would often be drowned 
 il tile hurry of business, or the charms of 
 amusement But the voice of appetite 
 rises gradually, and, at huit, becomes loud 
 enough to call off our attention from any 
 other employment [ 124] 
 
 Every man must be convinced that, 
 without our appetites, even 'Supposing man- 
 kind inspired with all the knowledge re- 
 foisite for answering their ends, the race of 
 men must have perished lone aim 5 but, by 
 their means, the race is contL»d from one 
 generation to another, whether men ho 
 iia.vage or civiliaed, knowing 'Or ignorani, 
 ■virtnons or vieiooa. 
 
 By the same means, every tribe of brute 
 animals, from the whale that ranges the 
 ocean to the least microscopic insect, has 
 been contuiued from the beginning of the 
 world to this day ; nor lias good evidence 
 been found, that any one species which God 
 made has (lerished. 
 
 Nature has given to every animal, not 
 only an appetite for its food, but taste and 
 smell, by which it distinguishes the food 
 proper for it. 
 
 It is pleasant to see a caterpillar, which 
 nature intended to live upon the leaf of one 
 species of plant, travel over a hundred 
 leaves of other kinds without tasting one, 
 till it comes to that which is its natural 
 food, which it immediately falls on, and de- 
 vours greedily. 
 
 Most caterpillars feed only upon the leaf 
 of one species of plant, and nature suits the 
 season of their production to the food that 
 is intended to nourish them. Many insects 
 and animals have a greater variety of food ; 
 hut, of all animals, man has the greatest 
 variety, being able to subsist upon almost 
 every kind of vegetable or animal food, from 
 the bark of trees to the oil of whales. 1 125] 
 I believe our natural appetites may be 
 made more violent by excessive indulgence, 
 and tliat, on the other hand, they may be 
 weakened by starving. The first is often 
 theeffect of a pernicious luxury, the last may 
 sometimes he the effect of want, sometimes 
 of superstition. I apprehend that nature 
 has given to our appetites that degree of 
 strength which is moBt proper for us ; and 
 that whatever alters their natural tone, 
 either in excess or in defect, does not mend 
 the work of nature, but may mar and per- 
 vert it 
 
 A man may eat from appetite only. So 
 the brutes commonly do. He may eat to 
 please his taste when he has no call of ap- 
 petite. I believe a brute may do this also. 
 He may eat for the sake of health, when 
 neither appetite nor taste invites. This, as 
 far as I am able to judge, brutes never do. 
 From so many different principles, and 
 from many more, the same action may bi» 
 done ; and this maj be said of most human 
 actions. From this, it appears that very 
 different and contrary theories may serve to 
 account for the actions of men. Tlie causes 
 assigned may be suflicient to produce the 
 effect, and yet not be the true causes. 
 
 To act merely from appetite, is neither 
 good nor ill in a moral view. It is neither 
 an object of praise nor of blame. No man 
 claims any praise because he eats when he 
 is hungry, or rests when he is weary. On 
 the other hand, ho is no object of blame, if 
 he obeys the call of appetite when there is 
 no reason to hinder him. In this lie acts 
 agreeably to his nature. 
 From this, we may observe, that the de- 
 
 [123-125] 
 
 CHAP. l] 
 
 OF APPETITES. 
 
 553 
 
 fiuitiou of virtuous actions given by the 
 ancient Stoics, and adopted by some modern 
 authors, is imperfect. They defined virtu- 
 ous actions to be such as are according to 
 nature. What is done according to the an- 
 imal part of our nature, which is common 
 to us with the brute animals, is in itself 
 neither virtuous nor vicious, but perfectly 
 indifferent. Then only it becomes vicious. 
 wheu it is done in opposition to some prin- 
 ciple of superior importance and authority. 
 And it may be virtuous, if done for some 
 important or worthy end. [126] 
 
 Appetites, considered in themselves, are 
 neither social principles of action, nor selfish. 
 They cannot be called social, because they 
 imply no concern for the good of others. 
 Nor can they justly be called selfish, though 
 tliey be commonly referred to that class. 
 An appetite draws us to a certain object, 
 without regard to its being good for us, or 
 ill. There is no self-love implied in it any 
 more than benevolence. We see that, in 
 many cases, appetite may lead a man to 
 what he knows will be to his hurt. To call 
 this acting from self-love, is to pervert the 
 meaning of words. It is evident that, in 
 every case of this kind, self-love is sacrificed 
 to appetite. 
 
 There are some principles of the human 
 frame very like to our appetites, though they 
 do not commonly get that name. 
 
 Men are made for labour either of body 
 or mind. Yet excessive labour hurts the 
 powers of both. To prevent this hurt, 
 nature hath given to men, and other ani- 
 mals, an uneasy sensation, which always 
 attends excessive labour, and which we call 
 fatigue, weariness^ lassitude. This uneasy 
 sensation is conjoined with the desire of rest, 
 or intermission of our labour ; and thus na- 
 ture calls us to rest when we are weary, in the 
 same manner as to eat when we are hungry. 
 
 In both cases, there is a desire of a cer- 
 tain object, and an uneasy sensation accom- 
 panying that desire. In both cases, the de- 
 sire is satiated by its object, and returns 
 after certain intervals. In this only they 
 differ, that in the appetites first mentioned, 
 the uneasy sensation arises at intervals with- 
 out action, and leads to a certain action. In 
 weariness, the uneasy sensation arises from 
 action too long continued, and leads to rest. 
 
 [127] 
 
 But nature intended that we should be 
 active, and we need some principle to incite 
 us to action when we happen not to be in- 
 vited by any appetite or passion. 
 
 For this end, when strength and spirits 
 are recruited by rest, nature has made total 
 inaction as uneasy as excessive labour. 
 
 We may call this the principle of activity. 
 It is most conspicuous in children, who can- 
 not be supposed to know how useful and 
 necessary it is for their improvement to be 
 [126-128] 
 
 constantly employed. Their constant acti- 
 vity, therefore, appears not to proceed from 
 their having some end constantly in view, 
 but rather from this, that they desire to be 
 always doing something, and feel uneasiness 
 in total inaction. 
 
 Nor is this principle confined to childhood ; 
 it has great effects in advanced life. 
 
 When a man has neither hope, nor fear, 
 nor desire, nor project, nor employment of 
 body or mind, one might be apt to think him 
 the happiest mortal upon earth, having no- 
 thing to do but to enjoy himself ; but we 
 find him, in fact, the most unhappy. 
 
 He is more weary of inaction than ever 
 he was of excessive labour ; he is weary of 
 the world and of his own existence ; and is 
 more miserable than the sailor wrestling with 
 a storm, or the soldier mounting a breach. 
 
 This dismal state is commonly the lot of 
 the man who has neither exercise of body 
 nor employment of mind ; for the mind, like 
 water, corrupts and putrifies by stagnation, 
 but, by running, purifies and refines.* 
 
 Besides the appetites which nature hath 
 given us for useful and necessary purposes, 
 we may create appetites which nature never 
 gave. [128] 
 
 The frequent use of things which stimu- 
 late the nervous system, produces a lan- 
 guor when their effect is gone off, and a 
 desire to repeat them. By this means, a 
 desire of a certain object is created, accom- 
 panied by an uneasy sensation. Both are 
 removed for a time by the object desired ; 
 but they return after a certain interval. 
 This differs from natural appetite only in 
 being acquired by custom. Such are the 
 appetites which some men acquire for the use 
 of tobacco, for opiates, and for intoxicating 
 liquors. 
 
 These are commonly called habits, and 
 justly. But there are different kinds of 
 habits, even of the active sort, which ought 
 to be distinguished. Some habits produce 
 only a facility of doing a thing, without any 
 inclination to do it. All arts are habits of 
 this kind ; but they cannot be called prin- 
 ciples of action. Other habits produce a 
 proneness to do an action, without thought 
 or intention. These we considered before 
 as mechanical principles of action. There 
 are other habits which produce a desire of a 
 certain object, and an uneasy sensation till 
 it is obtained. It is this last kmdonly that j 
 I call acquired appetites. 
 
 As it is best to preserve our natural appe- 
 tites in tliat tone and degree of strength 
 which nature gives them, so we ought to 
 beware of acquiring appetites which nature 
 never gave. They are always useless, and 
 very often hurtful. 
 
 * The true theory of Pleasure and Pain affordt t 
 solution of th«» and of many other psychological 
 phienomena. — H. 
 
ON THB ACTIVE POWEES. [essay iii.-FAmT ii. 
 
 AKImii#, at wit MSnie observvd, tlian 
 be neither riHm mm viise iu acting from 
 apfietite, there nwj he mueh of etther in 
 the manageiiMBt of our appetites. [ 1291 
 
 When :a|i|Mille h opp<M«i hy some prni. 
 
 ciple dmwimi a eontrairy way, there most 
 
 I he a determinatioii of the will, which shai 
 
 Iptmaa, and this deteaninatimi may he, in 
 
 ta 'moral sense, 'right or WMOf, 
 
 Appeti te^ even in a brate-animal, may 
 he leskained by a stronger principle op« 
 paei. tx>' ii A 4)0§, when he is hungry and 
 .hai' ;niaal iset 'befew him, may he kept from 
 lomehing it bjr the fear of immediate punish- 
 meni In this^ case his fear opetalea more' 
 ■tmiigly than his. desure. 
 
 .D<|' 'we attfihate' any virtne to the dog on 
 tUsaeeonntP Ithhiinot Korshouldwe 
 asenbe any virtue to a man in a like esse. 
 The animal is carried by the strongest mov- 
 ing force. Tliis requires no exertion, no 
 self-government, but passively to yield to 
 the strongest impulse. This, I think, 
 brutes always do ; therefore we attribute 
 to them neither virtue nor vice. We con- 
 aider them M: beipg .neither' objects of mo* 
 iri^ appMbaioo, nor disapprobation. 
 
 But it may happen that, when appetite 
 draws one way, it may be opposed, not by 
 ■y »PP«tite or passion, but by some cool 
 fnaeipie of action, which has authority 
 without any impulsive force— for example, 
 by some interest which is too distant to 
 raise any passion or emotion, or by some 
 eoBsideiation of decency or of duty. 
 ^ In 'Sases of tbis kind, the man is con- 
 vmeed that hAonght not to yield to appetite, 
 yet then Is not an equal or a greater im- 
 folse to oppose it There aro circum- 
 slanoe% indeed, that 'Oonvinoe the judgment ; 
 bit 'these aro' not sufieient to determine 
 the will agiinsta strong appetite, without 
 lelf-govemment [130] 
 
 I apprehend that brute-animals have no 
 power of self-fovemment From their con- 
 stitution, they^ m'Ut. be led by the appetite 
 VMssion which is strongest for the time. 
 On this account, they have, in al ages, 
 and among all nataon% been thought inca- 
 pable of being governed by kws, though 
 some of them may be subjects of disci- 
 puie.' 
 
 The same vomki bo the conditien of man, 
 if he had no power to restiain ametite but 
 by a stranger contraty appetite or passion. 
 It would be to no purpose to prescribe laivs 
 tn Uin for the government of his actions. 
 ¥m might as well forbid the wind to blow, 
 aa wrbid him to follow whatever .happens 
 to give the strongest present iin'imlffr. 
 
 Every one knows that whcn^ appetite 
 draws one way, duty, decency, or even in- 
 terest, may draw the oontniiy way ; and 
 that appetite may give a stronger unpulse 
 than any one of these, or even all of them 
 
 conjoined. Yet it is certain, that, in every 
 I case of this kind, appetite ought to yield to 
 any of these principles when it stands op- 
 posed to them. It is in such cases that 
 self-government is necessarj-. 
 
 The man who suffers himself to be led by 
 appetite to do what he knows, he ought not 
 to do, has an hnroediate and natural con- 
 viction that he did wrong, and might have 
 done otherwise ; and therefore he condemns 
 himself, and confesses that he yielded to an 
 appetite which ought to have been under 
 his command. 
 
 Thus it appears, that, though our natural 
 appetites have in themselves neither virtue 
 nor vice, though the acting merely from ap- 
 petite* when there is no principle of greater 
 authority to oppose it, be a matter indiffer- 
 ent ; yet thero may be a great deal of vir- 
 tue or of vice in the management of our 
 appetites; and that the power of self-govern- 
 ment is necessary for their regulation. 
 1 131 J 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OFDISIRBB. 
 
 Ahothbr class of animal principles of 
 action in man, I shall, for want of a better 
 specific name, call desires, 
 . They are distinguished from appetites by 
 this : That there is not an uneasy sensa- 
 tion proper to each, and always accompany- 
 ing It ; and that they are not periodical, 
 but constant, not being sated with their ob- 
 jects for a time, as appetites are. 
 
 The desires I have in view, are chiefly 
 these three— the desire of power, the de- 
 sire of esteem, and the desire of knowledge. 
 
 We may, I think, perceive some degree 
 of these principles in brute-animals of the 
 more sagacious kind ; but in man they are 
 much more conspicuous, and have a larger 
 sphere. 
 
 In a herd of black cattle, there is a rank 
 and subordination. When a stranger is in- 
 troduced into the herd, he must fight every 
 one till his rank is settled. Then he yields 
 to the stronger and assumes authority over 
 the weaker. The case is much the same 
 in the crew of a ship of war. 
 
 As soon as men associate together, the 
 desire of superiority discovers itself. In 
 barbarous tribes, as well as among the gre- 
 garious kinds of animals, rank is determined 
 by strength, courage, swiftness, or such 
 other qualities. Among civilized nations, 
 many things of a different kind give power 
 and rank—iilaces in government, titles of 
 honour, riches, wisdom, eloquence, virtue, 
 and even the reputation of these. All these 
 are either different species of power, or 
 means of acquiring it ; and when they are 
 
 [129-1311 
 
 CHAP. II.J 
 
 OF DESIRES. 
 
 555 
 
 Bought for that end, must be considered as 
 instances of the desire of power. [ 132] 
 
 The desire of esteem is not peculiar to 
 man. A dog exults in the approbation and 
 applause of his master, and is humbled by 
 his displeasure. But in man this desire is 
 much more conspicuous, and operates in a 
 thousand different ways. 
 
 Hence it is that so very few are proof 
 against flattery, when it is not very gross. 
 We wish to be well in the opinion of 
 others, and therefore are prone to inter- 
 pret in our own favour, the signs of their 
 good opinion, even when they are ambi- 
 
 Iguous. 
 There are few injuries that are not 
 more easy to be borne than contempt. 
 
 We cannot always avoid seeing, in the 
 conduct of others, things that move con- 
 tempt ; but, in all polite circles, the signs 
 of it must be suppressed, otherwise men 
 could not converse together. 
 
 As there is no quality, common to good 
 and bad men, more esteemed than courage, 
 nor anything in a man more the object 
 of contempt than cowardice, hence every 
 man desires to be thought a man of cou- 
 rage; and the reputation of cowardice is 
 worse than death. How many have died 
 to avoid being thought cowards ? How 
 many, for the same reason, have done 
 what made them unhappy to the end of 
 their lives. 
 
 I believe many a tragical event, if traced 
 to its source in human nature, might be 
 referred to the desire of esteem, or the 
 dread of contempt. [ 133] 
 
 In brute animals there is so little that 
 ean be called knowledge, that the desire of 
 it can make no considerable figure in them. 
 Yet I have seen a cat, when brought into 
 m new habitation, examine with care every 
 eomer of it, and anxious to know every 
 lurking place, and the avenues to it. And 
 I believe the same thing may be observed 
 In many other species, especially in those 
 that are liable to be hunted by man or by 
 other animals. 
 
 But the desire of knowledge in the human 
 species, is a principle that cannot escape 
 our observation. 
 
 The curiosity of children is the principle 
 that occupies most of their time while they 
 are awake. What they can handle they 
 examine on all sides, and often break in 
 pieces, in order to discover what is within. 
 
 When men grow up, their curiosity does 
 not cease, but is employed upon other ob- 
 jects. Novelty is considered as one great 
 souree of the pleasures of taste, and indeed 
 is necessary, in one degree or other, to give 
 a relish to them all. 
 
 When we speak of the desire of know- 
 ledge as a principle of action in man, we 
 must not confine it to the pursuits of the 
 [132-135] 
 
 philosopher, or of the literary man. The 
 
 desire of knowledge discovers itself, in one ' 
 person, by an avidity to know the scandal 
 of the village, and who makes love, and to 
 whom ; in another, to know the economy 
 of the next family ; in another, to know 
 what the post brings ; and, in another, to ^ 
 trace the path of a new comet. 
 
 When men shew an anxiety, and take 
 pains to know what is of no moment, and 
 can be of no use to themselves or to others, 
 this is trifling, and vain curiosity. It is a 
 culpable weakness and folly ; but still it is 
 the wrong direction of a natural principle, 
 and shews the force of that principle more 
 than when it is directed to matters worthy 
 to be known. [134] 
 
 I think it unnecessary to use arguments 
 to shew that the desires of power, of esteem, 
 and of knowledge, are natural principles in 
 the constitution of man. Those who are 
 not convinced of this by reflecting upon 
 their own feelings and sentiments, will not 
 easily be convinced by arguments. 
 
 Power, esteem, and knowledge, are so 
 useful for many purposes, that it is easy to 
 resolve the desire of them into other prin- 
 ciples. Those who do so must maintain, 
 that we never desire these objects for their 
 own sakes, but as means only of procuring 
 pleasure, or something which is a natural 
 object of desire. This, indeed, was the 
 doctrine of Epicurus : and it has had its 
 votaries in modern times. But it has been 
 observed, that men desire posthumous fame, 
 which can procure no pleasure. 
 
 Epicurus himself, though he believed that 
 he should have no existence after death, 
 was so desirous to be remembered with 
 esteem, that, by his last will, he appointed 
 hisheirsto commemorate his birth annually, 
 and to give a monthly feast to his disciples, 
 upon the twentieth day of the moon. What 
 pleasure could this give to Epicurus when 
 he had no existence? On this account, 
 Cicero justly observes, that his doctrine was 
 refuted by his own practice. 
 
 Innumerable instances occur in life, of 
 men who sacrifice ease, pleasure, and every- 
 thing else, to the lust of power, of fame, 
 or even of knowledge. It is absurd to sup- 
 pose that men should sacrifice the end to 
 what they desire only as the means of pro- 
 moting that end. [ 1 35 ] 
 
 The natural desires I have mentioned 
 are, in themselves, neither virtuous nor 
 vicious. They are parts of our constitu- 
 tion, and ought to be regulated and re- 
 strained, when they stand in competition 
 with more important principles. But to 
 eradicate them, if it were possible, (and I 
 believe it is not,) would only be like cuttmg 
 off a leg or an arm— that is, making our- 
 selves other creatures than God has made 
 us. 
 
556 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay m— part ii. 
 
 CHAP. II.] 
 
 OF DESIRES. 
 
 557 
 
 Th«y cannot, with pnipiily, be called 
 inllish principki, ttMi^ tliej .have conii- 
 
 inciiily been aeiMmtiteil neh. 
 
 When power is desaied. for its own sake, 
 and not as the means in order to obtain 
 
 :iior sodal. When a man detures imwer as 
 the means of doing good to otiiera, this is 
 benevolence When he deshres it only as 
 the ineanS' of pronotmg hw own ,good, this 
 it self-love. Bat when he deaires^ it for its 
 own ^sahe, thb only can properly be called 
 the deaire of power ; and it implies neither 
 self-love nor benevolence. The same thing 
 majr be apiilied to the desires of esteem and 
 
 The wise intention of nature in giving ns 
 these desires, is no less evident than in 
 givini^' onr natural appetites. 
 
 Wtthont tho' natural, appeti^lea, .reason, as 
 was^ before observed, would bo' insuffleient, 
 either for the preservation of the individual 
 or the continuation of the species; and 
 without the natural desires we have men- 
 tioned, human, virtae would be insufficient 
 to influmice mankind to a 'toleiable wnduct 
 in society. 
 
 To these natural desires, common to good 
 and to bad nie% it is owipg, that m man, 
 who has little or no rega:Kl to virtue, may 
 notwithstanding be a good member of so- 
 cittj. It is true, indeed, that perfect virtue, 
 joined with perfecti knowledge^ would make^ 
 both, our appetites and tehrea unBeoessary 
 ineimibranees of our nature ; biit,:as human 
 knowledge and human virtue are both very 
 imperfect, these appetites and desires are 
 1 supplements to our imperfeettous. 
 
 Sodety, MBong men, could not subsist 
 wUhout a ce:rtain degree of that regularity 
 of conduet which virtue prescri'bes. To 
 this regubrity of conduct, men who have 
 10 vfrtuo we induced by a regard to cha- 
 racter, sometimes by a regard to interest. 
 
 ^ Even in those who are not destitute of 
 virtue, a m^ard to charaetor is often an 
 useful aojuliary to it, when both principles 
 eoneur in 'their direction. 
 
 The pursuits of power, of iune, and of 
 kjowledge, require a self-command no less 
 iMii virtue does., la our befaavioiir towards 
 MV feUowHsnatures, they generally lead to 
 that veiy conduet which virtue requires. 
 I mygmfmilif, for this, no doubt, admits 
 •I oioeptions, espeeially in the case of am- 
 UtioB, or the ieiire of power. 
 
 The evils whieh. ambitiott has produced 
 in the world area common topic of declam- 
 ation. But it ought to be observed that, 
 where it haa^ led to one Mtion hurtful to 
 ioeiely, it 'haa^ led to ten thou8ji.ndl.hat ar@ 
 benendal to it. And we justly look upon 
 lie want of ambition aa one of the most 
 '■uilivoiiiable symptoms in a man*s temper. 
 
 The desires of esteem and of knowledge 
 are highly useful to society, as well as the 
 desire of power, and, at the same time, are 
 less dangerous in their excesses. 
 
 Although actions proceeding merely from 
 the love of power, of reputation, or of know- 
 ledge, cannot be accounted virtuous, or be 
 entitled to moral approbation ; yet we allow 
 them to be manly, ingenuous, and suited to 
 the dignity of human nature ; and, there- 
 fore, they are entitled to a degree of esti- 
 mation superior to those which proceed 
 from mere appetite. 1137) 
 
 Alexander the Great deserved that epi- 
 thet in the early part of his life, when ease 
 and pleasure, and every appetite, were sac- 
 rificed to the love of glory aud power. But 
 when we view bun conquered by oriental 
 luxury, and using his power to gratify his 
 passions and appetites, he sinks in our 
 esteem, and seems to forfeit the title which 
 he had acquired. 
 
 Sardanapalus, who is said to have pur- 
 sued pleasure as eagerly as Alexander pur- 
 sued glory, never obtained from mankind 
 the appellatton of the Gna/, 
 
 Appetite is the principle of most of the 
 actions of brutes, and we account it brutal 
 in a man to employ himself chiefly in the 
 gratification of his appetites. The desires 
 of power, of esteem, and of knowledge, are 
 capital parts in the constitution of man ; and 
 the actions proceeding from them, though not 
 properly virtuous, are human and manly ; 
 and they claim a just superiority over those 
 that proceed from appetite. This, I think, 
 is the universal and unbiassed judgment of 
 mankind. Upon what ground this judg- 
 ment is founded niav deserve to be consi- 
 dered in its proper place. 
 
 The desires we have mentioned are not 
 only highly useful in society, and in their 
 nature more noble than our appetites— they 
 are likewise the most proper engines that 
 can be used in the educatron and discipline 
 of men. 
 
 In training brute-animals to such habits 
 as they are capable of, the fear of punish- 
 ment is the chief instrument to be used. 
 But, in training men of ingenuous disposi- 
 tion, ambition to excel, and the love of 
 esteem, are nmch nobler and more power- 
 ful engines, by which they may be led to 
 worthy conduct, and trained to good habits. 
 [138] 
 
 To this we may add, that the desires we 
 have mentioned are very friendly to real 
 virtue, and make it more easy to be ac- 
 quired. 
 
 A man that is not quite abandoned must 
 behave so in society as to preserve some 
 degree of reputation. This every man 
 deiires to do, and the greater part actiudly 
 do it In order to this, he must acquire 
 the habit of restraining his appetites and 
 
 L136-138] 
 
 passions within the bounds which common 
 
 11 
 
 passions withm the bounds which common I sired for its own sake, and not merely as 
 r^_1°^?',.'^^"^^*' ^"*^/" ^ ^** ^^^^ himself | the means of procuring something else. 
 
 It is evident tliat there is in misers such 
 
 a tolerable member of society, if not an use 
 ful and agreeable one. 
 
 It cannot be doubted that many, from a 
 regard to character and to the opinion of 
 others, are led to make themselves both 
 useful and agreeable members of society, in 
 whom a sense of duty has but a small in- 
 fluence. 
 
 Thus men, living in society, especially in 
 polished society, are tamed and civilized by 
 the principles that are common to good and 
 bad men. They are taught to bring their 
 appetites and passions under due restraint 
 before the eyes of men, which makes it 
 more easy to bring them under the rein of 
 virtue. 
 
 As a horse that is broken is more easily 
 managed than an unbroken colt, so the man 
 who has undergone the discipline of society 
 is more tractable, and is in an excellent 
 state of preparation for the discipline of 
 virtue ; and that self-command, which is 
 necessary in the race of ambition and honour, 
 is an attainment of no small importance in 
 the course of virtue. [139] 
 
 For this reason, I apprehend, they err 
 very grossly who conceive the life of a her- 
 mit to be favourable to a course of virtue. 
 The hermit, no doubt, is free from some 
 temptations to vice, but he is deprived of 
 many strong inducements to self-govern- 
 ment, as well as of every opportunity of 
 exercising the social virtues.* 
 
 A very ingenious authorf has resolved 
 our moral sentiments respecting the virtues 
 of self-government, into a regard to the opin- 
 ion of men. This, I think, is giving a great 
 deal too much to the love of esteem, and 
 putting the slra,dow of virtue in place of the 
 substance ; but that a regard to the opinion 
 of others is, in most instances of our exter- 
 nal behaviour, a great inducement to good 
 conduct, cannot be doubted. For, whatever 
 men may practice themselves, they will al- 
 ways approve of that in others which they 
 think right. 
 
 It was before observed, that, besides the 
 appetites which nature has given us, we 
 may acquire appetites which, by indulgence, 
 become as importunate as the natural. The 
 same thing may be applied to desires. 
 ^ One of themost remarkable acquired de- 
 sires is that of money, which, in commer- 
 cial states, will be found in most men, in 
 one degree or other, and, in some men, 
 swallows up every other desire, appetite, 
 and passion. 
 
 1 he desire of money can then only be ac- 
 QOunted a principle of action, when it is de- 
 
 a desire of money ; and, I suppose, no man 
 will say that it is natural, or a part of our 
 original constitution. It seems to be the 
 effect of habit. [140] 
 
 In commercial nations, money is an in- 
 strument by which almost everything may 
 be procured that is desired. Being useful 
 for many different purposes as the means, 
 some men lose sight of the end, and termi- 
 nate their desire upon the means. Money 
 is also a species of power, putting a man in 
 condition to do many things which he could 
 not do without it ; aud power is a natural 
 object of desire, even when it is not exer- 
 cised. 
 
 In like manner, a man may acquire the 
 desire of a title of honour, of an equipage, 
 of an estate. 
 
 Although our natural desires are highly 
 beneficial to society, and even aiding to vir- 
 tue, yet acquired desires are not only use- 
 less, but hurtful and even disgraceful. 
 
 No man is ashamed to own that he loves 
 power, that he loves esteem, that he loves 
 knowledge, for their own sake. There may 
 be an excess m the love of these things, 
 which is a blemish ; but there is a degree 
 of it which is natural, and is no blemish. 
 To love money, titles, or equipage, on any 
 other account than as they are useful or or- 
 namental, is allowed by all to be weakness 
 and folly. 
 
 The natural desires I have been consi- 
 dering, though they cannot be called social 
 principles of action in the common sense of 
 that word, since it is not their object to 
 procure any good or benefit to others, yet 
 they have such a relation to society as to 
 shew most evidently the intention of Nature 
 to be, that man should live in society. 
 
 The desire of knowledge is not more na- 
 tural than is the desire of communicating 
 our knowledge.* Even power would be 
 less valued if there were no opportunity of 
 shewing it to others. It derives half its 
 value from that circumstance. And as to 
 the desire of esteem, it can have no possible 
 gratification but in society. [141] 
 
 These parts of our constitution, therefore, 
 are evidently intended for social life ; and 
 it is not more evident that birds were made 
 for flying and fishes for swimming, than 
 that man, endowed with a natural desire of 
 power, of esteem, and of knowledge, is made, 
 not for the savage and soUtary state, but 
 for living in society. -f- 
 
 ( 
 
 * The solitary (says Aristotle) is either a god or a 
 twast— H. 
 t Adam Smith:— H. 
 
 [139-141] 
 
 '•' ^)ClTe tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter. 
 Persius, after Lucilius.— H. 
 
 t On this subject, what has been best said has 
 been said by Aristotle. See his Politics, loos 
 l-irst.-H. 
 
558 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 or ■iwivoiTOT Awwmanm m obkbeal. 
 
 Wx Mm 'mm hm* hj instinct and Iw^ 
 
 Mt*^ Mni of MiadianW principles— man, 
 vithout anj expene© of thought, without de- 
 
 Utnition or nil,. is^M tn mmj^ «stioii% no- 
 mmrj for hii^ 'pmwrfaiM. and well-being, 
 wMeK witkmltlioie ptinciptes, all hii 111111 
 mi wiadfiai wwuld not hiiT© been able to ac- 
 MBptiah. 
 
 It may perhaps be thmght, thit hS» deli- 
 bifile^ and volimtify' ^aetiniis are to te gnided 
 'bw' hit' leaBon. 
 
 But it ought to be observed, that he is a 
 ^volimtaiy' aipil tong befow he has the use 
 of'tcason. Reason and Tirtne, the prero- 
 utives of man, are of the ktcst growth. 
 liey emsm to maturity by slow degrees, and 
 aie too weak, in the greater part of the spe- 
 eie% to seenre the preservation of individu- 
 als and of comm]iiiitie% and to produce 
 that varied seene of hnman life in which 
 Ihey are to be exercised and improved. 
 
 Theiefoie, the wise Author of our being 
 hath iiB|ilaiited In hamaii nature many in- 
 IMor prinoiples of .aeHon, which, with little 
 or no aid of reason or virtue, preserve the 
 qpeeies, and produce the vawims exertions, 
 and ■the mamm ehaigP' anil fevolutione 
 'Whidt wi elaerve^ vpon th« tiMatfft of life. 
 [142] 
 
 In this busy scene, reason and virtue 
 have access to act their 'parts, and do often 
 ppo^ee great aid good effecto } but whe- 
 ther they interpose or not, then are actors 
 of an inferior order that will carry on the 
 play, and produce a variety of events, good 
 <V' bad. 
 
 'BetKili. tf it were perfect, would lead 
 :in«ii to'osi' the proper means of nreserving 
 their own lives, and continuing their kind. 
 But the Author of our being hath not 
 thoughl it to leave tUi^ task to reason alone, 
 lylh^se the race wmM Img ago have 
 lieen extinct He hath given us, in com- 
 son with othef animals, appetites, by which 
 'Hiaas. 'ImportBBl purposes aro' aeenred, whe- 
 Hwr 'men 'be 'wise' m foolish, virtuous or vi- 
 
 ., If it wer©^ perfect, wmld lead 
 
 sun, neitiher to lose th«< 'beneit of their ae- 
 tive powers by inauivlty, raur to overstrain 
 them by eiasssive'hiliour. Bui Nature hath 
 given a powerM assistant to reason, by 
 'Wikiiig inactivity a grievous punishment 
 to 'iiself I and bf .anwiJting the pain, of .las- 
 ■iiiiie' to «ee8Sive .lalmr. 
 
 Besson, if it were perfect, would lead us 
 to desire power, knowMge, and the esteem 
 and affection of our feltow-men, as means 
 of pfomotiog our own happiness, and of be- 
 ing Qsefol to otlieis. Here spin. Nature, 
 
 ON THE ACTIVB POWERS, [bssay in.— pabt n. 
 
 to supply the defects of reason, hath given 
 us a strong natural desure of those objects, 
 which \mm us to pursue them without re- 
 gard to their utility. 
 
 These principles we liave already consi- 
 dered ; and, we may observe, that all of 
 them have things, not persons, for their ob- 
 ject They neither imply any good nor ill 
 aABCtion towards any other person, nor even 
 towards ourselves. They cannot, therefore, 
 with propriety, be called either se//ish or jto- 
 eial. But there are various principles of 
 action in man, which have persons for their 
 immediato object, and imply, in their very 
 nature, our being well or ill affected to some 
 person, or, at least, to some animated be- 
 kg. [143] 
 
 Such principles, 1 shall call by the gen- 
 eral name of affections, whether they dis- 
 pose us to do good or hurt to others. 
 
 Perhaps, in giving them this general 
 maodf I extond the meaning of the word 
 off^cHtm beyond its common U6e in discourse. 
 Indeed, our language seems in this to have 
 departed a little from analogy ; for we use 
 the verb affect^ and the participle affected^ 
 in an indifferent sense, so that they may be 
 joined either with good or ill. A man may 
 be said to be ill affected towards another 
 man, or well affected. But the word offec- 
 Hon, which, according to analogy, ought to 
 have the same latitude of signification with 
 that from which it is derived, and, there, 
 fore, ought to be applicable to ill affections 
 as well as to good, seems, by custom, to be 
 limited to good affections. When we speak 
 of having affection for any person, it is al- 
 ways understood to be a benevolent affec- 
 
 Malevolent principles— such as anger, 
 resentment, envy— are not commonly called 
 offectimuty but rather passioftM, 
 
 I take the reason of this to be, that the 
 malevolent affections are almost always ac- 
 companied with that perturbation of mind 
 which we properly call pansion ; and this 
 passion, being the most conspicuous ingre- 
 dient, gives its name to the whole. 
 
 Even love, when it goes beyond a ccrtam 
 degree, is called a passion. But it gets not 
 that name when it is so moderate as not to 
 discompose a man's mind, nor deprive him 
 in any measure of the government of him- 
 
 Ab we give the name of passion, even to 
 benevolent affection when it is so vehement 
 as to discompose the mind, so, I think, 
 without trespassing much against propriety 
 of words, we may give the name of affection 
 even to malevolent principles, when unat- 
 tended with that disturbance of mind which 
 commonly, though not always, goes along 
 with them, and which has made them get 
 the name of ptissions. 
 
 The principles which lead us immediately 
 
 [142-1441 
 
 CHAP. IU.1 OF BENEVOLENT AFFECTION IN GENERAL. 559 
 
 to desire the good of others, and those that 
 lead us to desire their hurt, agree in this, 
 that persons, and not things, are their im- 
 mediate object. Both imply our being some 
 way affected towards the person. They 
 ought, therefore, to have some common 
 name to express what is common in their 
 nature ; and I know no name more proper 
 for this than affection. 
 
 Talcing affection, therefore, in this exten- 
 sive sense, our affections are very naturally 
 divided into benevolent and malevolent, 
 according as they imply our being well or 
 ill affected towards their object. 
 
 Tliere are some things common to all 
 benevolent affections, others wherein they 
 differ. 
 
 They differ both in the feeling or sensa- 
 tion, which is an ingredient in all of them, 
 and in the objects to which they are directed. 
 They all agree in two things — to wit, 
 That the feeling which accompanies them is 
 agreeable ; and. That they imply a desire of 
 good and happiness to iheir object. 
 
 The affection we bear to a parent, to a 
 ehild, to a benefactor, to a person in dis- 
 tress, to a mistress, differ not more in their 
 object, than in the feelings they produce 
 n the mind. We have not names to ex- 
 press the differences of these feelings, but 
 every man is conscious of a difference. Yet, 
 with all this difference, they agree in being 
 agreeable feeUngs. [145] 
 
 I know no exception to this rule, if we 
 distinguish, as we ought, the feeling which 
 naturally and necessarily attends the kind 
 affection, from those which accidentally, in 
 certain circumstances, it may produce. 
 
 The parental affection is an agreeable 
 feeling ; but it makes the misfortune or mis- 
 behaviour of a child give a deeper wound to 
 the mind. Pity is an agreeable feeling, yet 
 distress; which we are not able to relieve, 
 may give a painful sympathy. Love to one 
 of the other sex is an agreeable feeling ; 
 but, where it does not meet with a proper 
 return, it may give the most pungent dis- 
 tress. 
 
 The joy and comfort of human life con- 
 sist in the reciprocal exercise of kind affec- 
 tions, and without them life would be 
 undesirable. 
 
 It has been observed by Lord Shaftesbury, 
 and by many other judicious moralists, That 
 even the epicure and the debauchee, who 
 are thought to place all their happiness in 
 the gratifications of sense, and to pursue 
 these as their only object, can find no relish 
 in solitary indulgences of this kind, but in 
 those only that are mixed with social inter- 
 course, and a reciprocal exchange of kind 
 affections. 
 
 Cicero has observed that the word convi- 
 mum, which in Latin signifies a feast, is 
 not borrowed from eating or from drinking, I 
 [I4S-147] 
 
 but from that social intercourse which, fff^tdi Mr riJ 
 being the chief part of such an entertain- ^^^"'^ 
 ment, gives the name to the whole. 
 
 Mutual kind affections are undoubtedly 
 the balm of life, and of all the enjoyments 
 common to good and bad men, are the chief. 
 If a man had no person whom he loved or 
 esteemed, no person who loved or esteemed 
 hira, how wretched must his condition be ! 
 Purely a man capable of reflection would 
 choose to pass out of existence, rather than 
 to live in such a state. [ 146] 
 
 It has been, by the poets, represented as 
 the state of some bloody and barbarous 
 tyrants ; but poets are allowed to pamt a 
 little beyond the life. Atreus is represented 
 
 as saying OJerint dum metuant " I care 
 
 not for their hatred, provided they dread my 
 power." I believe there never was a man 
 so disposed towards all mankind. The 
 most odious tyrant that ever was, will have 
 his favourites, whose affection he endeavours 
 to deserve or to bribe, and to whom he bears 
 some good will. 
 
 We may, therefore, lay it down as a prin- . 
 ciple, that all benevolent affections are, in I 
 their nature, agreeable ; and that, next to | 
 a good conscience, to which they are al- ' 
 ways friendly, and never can be adverse, 
 they make the capital part of human hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Another ingredient essential to every 
 benevolent affection, and from which it takes 
 the name, is a desire of the good and liappi- 
 ness of the object. 
 
 The object of benevolent affection, there- 
 fore, must be some being capable of happi- 
 ness. When we speak of affection to a 
 house, or to any inanimate thing, the word 
 has a different meaning ; for that which has 
 no capacity of enjoyment or of suffering, 
 may be an object of liking or disgust, but 
 cannot possibly be an object either of bene- 
 volent or malevolent affection. 
 
 A thing may be desired either on its own 
 account, or as the means in order to some- 
 thing else. That only can properly be 
 called an object of desire, which is desired 
 upon its own account ; and it is only such 
 desires that I call principles of action. When 
 anything is desired as the means only, there 
 must be an end for which it is desired ; and 
 the desire of the end is, in this case, the 
 principle of action. The means are desired 
 only as they tend to that end ; and, if dif- 
 ferent, or even contrary means, tended to 
 the same end, they would be equally de- 
 sired. [147] 
 
 On this account, I consider those affec- 
 tions only as benevolent, where the good of 
 the object is desired ultimately, and not 
 as the means only, in order to something 
 else. 
 
 To say that we desire the good of others, 
 only in order to procure some pleasure or 
 
§m 
 
 0?l THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay hi.— part ii. 
 
 giMMl to oiiwelires, is to say that there is no 
 lieiievoleiit affection in human nature^ 
 
 This, indeed, haa been the opinion of some 
 pllilotiophers, both in ancient and in later 
 times. I intend not to examine this opinion 
 in this place, conceiving it proper to give 
 ihat view of the principles of action in man, 
 which appears to me to he jnst, before I 
 eimiiiiiie the systems wherein they have 
 been mistiilcen or miarepreseiited. 
 
 I observe only at present, that it appears 
 as unreasonable to resolve all our benevo- 
 lent affeotions into self-love, us it wonld 
 be to resolve bunj^r and thirst into self- 
 love. 
 
 These appetites are necessary for the 
 preservation of the indi%idiiiik Benevolent 
 aibetiona^ aw .no leas necessary for the pre- 
 'Servation of society among men, without 
 which man would become an easy prey to 
 the beasts of the field. 
 
 We are placed, in this world by the Author 
 nf our being, surtonnded 'with many objects 
 that are necessary or useful to us, and with 
 many that may hurt us- We are led, not 
 by reason and self-love only, hut by many 
 Instincts, and appetites, and nalnial desires, 
 to seek the former and to avoM the latter. 
 
 But of all the things of this world, man 
 ij he the most useful or the most hurtful 
 to wi%w- Every man is in the power of 
 every man with whom he lives. Every 
 man has power to do much good to his 
 ifillow-men, and to do more hnrL 
 
 We cannot live without the society of 
 men ; and it would he impossible to live in 
 society, if men were not disposed to do 
 much of that sood to men, and but little 
 of that hurt, which It is in their power to 
 
 dOb 
 
 Bit how shall this end, so necessary to 
 Ihe existence of human society, and conse- 
 quently to the existence of the human spe- 
 cies, he accomplished f 
 
 If we judge frmn analogy, we must con- 
 clude that in this, as lu other parts of our 
 conduct, our rational principles are aided 
 by priuoifles of an inferior order, similar to 
 'thcMM 'by which many brute animals live in 
 society with their species ; and that, by 
 neans of such principles, that degree of re- 
 KulMTlty is observed|, which we find in all 
 iwietiefi of men, wletlier wise or foolish, 
 virtaous^ or vicious. 
 
 The benevolent affections planted in 
 human nature, appear therefore no less 
 mmmmry for the preservation of the human 
 iMflieB, than the spptite af hunger and 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THS FARTICULAR BBNKV0I.BNT APPEC- 
 T10N8. 
 
 Having premised these things In general 
 concerning benevolent affections, i shall 
 now attempt some enumeration of them. 
 
 [149] , ^ 
 
 1. Thefni I mention is, that of paremtM 
 
 and childrtn, awt other near rflatinm.* 
 
 This we commonly call natural affection. 
 Every language has a name for it It is 
 common to us with most of the brute-ani- 
 mals ; and k variously modified in differ- 
 ent animals, according as it is more or less 
 necessary for the preservation of the spe- 
 
 * 
 
 Many of the insect tribe need no other 
 care of parents, than that the eggs be laid 
 In a proper place, where they shall have 
 neither too httle nor too much heat, and 
 where the animal, as soon as it is hatched, 
 shall find its natural food. This care the 
 {tarent takes, and no more. 
 
 In other tribes, the young must be lodged 
 in some secret place, where they cann(»t be 
 easily discovered by their enemies. They 
 must be cherished by the warmth of the 
 parent's body. They nmst be suckled, and 
 fed at first with tender fuod ; attended in 
 their excursions, and guarded from dai)ger, 
 till they have learned, by experience, and by 
 the example of their parents, to provide lor 
 their own subsistence and safety. With 
 what ansidulty and tender afiection this ia 
 done by the parents, in every species that 
 reuuires it, is well known. 
 
 The eggs of the feathered tribe are com- 
 monly hatched by incubation of the dam, 
 who leaves off at once her sprightly motions 
 and migrations, and confines herself to her 
 soUtary ana pamful task, cheered by the 
 song of lier mate upon a neighbourmgbough, 
 and sometimes fed by him, sometimes re- 
 Ueved in her incubation, while she gathers 
 a scanty meal, and with the greatest dispatch 
 returns to her post. [150] 
 
 The young birds of many species are so 
 very tender and delicate, that man, with all 
 his wisdom and experience, would not be 
 able to rear one to maturity. But the 
 parents, without any experience, know per- 
 fectly how to rear sometimes a dozen or 
 more at one brood, and to give every one 
 its portion In due season. They know the 
 food best suited to their deUcate constitu- 
 tion, which is sometimes afforded by nature, 
 sometimes must be cooked and half digested 
 in the stomach of the parent 
 
 In some animals, nature hath furnished 
 the female with a kind of second womb, into 
 
 ' Jfijj'ifc— H. 
 
 [148-150] 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 561 
 
 which the young retire occasionally, for 
 food, warmth, and the conveniency of being 
 carried about with the mother. 
 
 It would be endless to recount all the 
 various ways in which the parental affection 
 is expressed by brute-animals. 
 
 He must, in my apprehension, have a 
 
 J very strange complexion of understanding, 
 
 ' who can survey the various ways in which 
 
 the young of the various species are reared, 
 
 witlumt wonder, without pious admiration 
 
 of that manifold wisdom which hath so 
 
 skilfully fitted means to ends, in such an 
 
 ' Infinite variety of ways. 
 
 In all the brute-animals we are ac- 
 quainted with, the end of the parental affec- 
 tion is completely answered in a short time ; 
 and then it ceases as if it bad never been. 
 
 The infancy of man is longer and more 
 helpless than that of any other animal. The 
 parental affection is necessary for many 
 years ; it is highly useful through life ; and 
 therefore it terminates only with life. It 
 extends to children's children, without any 
 diminution of its force. 
 
 How common io it to see a young woman, 
 in the gayest period of life, who has spent 
 her days in mirth, and her nights in pro- 
 found sleep, without solicitude or care, all 
 at once transformed into the careful, the 
 solicitous, the watchful nurse of her dear 
 infant: doing nothing by day but gazing 
 upon it, and serving it in the meanest 
 offices ; by night, depriving herself of sound 
 sleep for months, that it may lie safe in her 
 arras. Forgetful of herself, her whole care 
 is centred in this little object. [151] 
 
 Such a sudden transformation of her 
 whole habits, and occupation, and turn of 
 mind, if we did not see it every day, would 
 appear a more wonderful mciamorpftosis 
 than any that Ovid has described. 
 
 This, however, is the work of nature, 
 and not the effect of reason and reflection. 
 For we see it in the good and in the bad, 
 in the most thoughtless as well as in the 
 thoughtful. 
 
 Nature has assigned different depart- 
 ments to the father and mother in rearing 
 their offspring. This may be seen in many 
 brute animals ; and that it is so in the hu- 
 man species, was long ago observed by So- 
 crates, and most beautifully illustrated by 
 him, as we learn from Xenophon's (Econn- 
 mick.1. The parental affection in the dif- 
 ferent sexes is exactly adapted to the office 
 assigned to each. The father would make 
 an awkward nurse to a new-bom child, and 
 the mother too indulgent a guardian. But 
 both act with propriety and grace in their 
 proper sphere. 
 
 It is very remarkable that, when the 
 office of rearing a child is transferred from 
 the parent to another person, nature seems 
 to transfer the affection along witli the 
 
 fui-iss] 
 
 office. A wet nurse, or even a dry nurse, 
 has commonly the same affection for her 
 nursling as if she had borne it. The fact ia 
 so well known that nothing needs be said to 
 confirm it ; and it seems to be the work of 
 nature. 
 
 Our affections are not immediately in our 
 power, as our outward actions are. Nature 
 has directed them to certain objects. We 
 may do kind offices without affection ; but 
 we cannot create an affection which nature 
 has not given. [152] 
 
 Reason might teach a man that his 
 children are particularly committed to his 
 care by the providence of God, and, on that 
 account, that he ought to attend to them as 
 his particular charge ; but reason could not 
 teach him to love them more than other child- 
 ren of equal merit, or to be more afflicted 
 for their misfortunes or misbehaviour. 
 
 It is evident, therefore, that that peculiar 
 sensibility of affection, with regard to his 
 own children, is not the effect of reasoning 
 or reflection, but the effect of that constitu- 
 tion which nature has given him. 
 
 There are some affections which we may 
 call rational, because they are grounded 
 n[)on an opinion of merit in the object. The 
 parental affection is not of this kind. For, 
 though a man's affection to his child may 
 be increased by merit, and diminished by 
 demerit, I think no man will say, that it 
 took its rise from an opinion of merit It is 
 not opinion that creates the affection, but 
 affection often creates opinion. It is apt 
 to pervert the judgment, and create an 
 opinion of merit where there is none , 
 
 The absolute necessity of this parental 
 affection, in order to tlie continuance of the 
 human species, is so apparent that there ia 
 no need of arguments to prove it. The 
 rearing of a child from its birth to maturity 
 requires so much time and care, and such 
 infinite attentions, that, if it were to be done 
 merely from considerations of reason and 
 duty, and were not sweetened by affection 
 in parents, nurses, and guardians, there is 
 reason to doubt whether one child in ten 
 thousand would ever be reared. [153] 
 
 Beside the absolute necessity of this part 
 of the human constitution to the preserva- 
 tion of the species, its utility is very great, 
 for tempering the giddiness and impetuosity 
 of youth, and improving its knowledge by 
 the prudence and experience of age, for en- 
 couraging industry and frugality In the 
 parents, in order to provide for their child- 
 ren, for the solace and support of parents 
 under the infirmities of old age; not to 
 mention that it probably gave rise to the 
 first civil governments. 
 
 It does not appear that the parental, and 
 other family affections, are, in general, 
 either too strong or too weak for answer- 
 ing their end If they were too weak, 
 
 20 
 
662 
 
 01% THE ACTIVE POWERS. [wiA¥ iii— pari it. 
 
 jMyponta would be nmet a|}| to err on the 
 Mde of UQdiie severity ; if too strong, of 
 ludiie indulgence. Ab thej are in fact, I 
 
 lielieve no man can lay tlial the errors are 
 men general on oneaulo tban on the other. 
 
 When these affeetiiiia ^aie exerted ac- 
 Miding to their inteilliii% 'Under the direc- 
 tioil m wisdom and prudence, the eco- 
 nomj of Mwli a famdy is a most debghtful 
 •lieetade^ and furnishes, the most agreeable 
 and aflMting subject to Hhm pencil of the 
 painter, and to the pen of the omtof and 
 poet. 
 
 & Th« mmi henevoleBt ailNtion I men- 
 .^tion,. is GtmiUmie m M$m^fii$ior§, 
 
 That good offices are, by the very oon- 
 Bliiution of our nature, apt to produce good 
 will towards the benelactor, in good and 
 bad. men, in the savage and in the civilized, 
 Minnot surely be denied by any one in tlie 
 least acquainted with human nature. 
 
 The w^r of ;penFartipg a man's judg- 
 ment by good dMds, where he ought to 
 have no bias, w so well Inown that it is 
 dishonourable in judges, in witnesses, in 
 .dwitors to offices of tmati tO' accept of 
 'liiem ; and, in all civilliadr nations, they 
 .■le, in. such cases, proMMted, as the means 
 of corruption. [ 154} 
 
 Those who would comtpt th» sentence 
 of a judge, the testimony of a witness, or 
 the vote of an eleetOTi know well, that they 
 ■mat not make a bargpla, or stipulate what 
 is to be done in return. This would shock 
 •Tfliy ;maii. who has the least pretension to 
 'imnih. If the^ peiwii: 'Han. only be pre- 
 'irail'Sd upon tO' aoosfi'lhO' good. nSce, as a 
 testimony of pure and disinterested friend- 
 .ship, it 'is ieft to work upon his gratituda 
 Us finds himself under a kind of moral 
 <ll%ation to consider the cause of his bene- 
 'ii«tir and friend, la the most favourable 
 Igihi He 5nd8 it easier to justify his con- 
 iifll U himself, by Ikvoaring the interest 
 iif .hiS' benaiwtor, than by opposin.g it. 
 
 Thns' 'th» 'principle m gratitude' is sup- 
 posed, even in the nature of a bribe. Bad 
 men know how to make this natural prin- 
 ciple the most effeetnal means, of comip- 
 tioii. 'The ▼ery best things may be turned 
 to a bad use. But the natural tenden<^ 
 of this prineinle, and the intention of nature 
 la nhntliiii it in the hum.an breast, are, 
 fvicbntly to promote good-will among men, 
 and to ^ve to good ofioes the power of 
 mnltiplymg their 'kinid, like seed sown in 
 #• tifth, which brings a return, with In- 
 
 Whittir there be, or be not, in. the 
 more sagaeions brutes, something that may 
 he called gistitad% I will not dispute. We 
 mast allow thi n iinportant difference be- 
 tween their gtaMtnde and that of the human 
 kind, that, in the last, the mind of the bene* 
 fMHv la diieiy r^gardMl, in the first, the 
 
 external action only. A brute-animal will 
 be as kmdlv affected to him who feeds it in 
 order to kiU and eat it, as to him who does 
 it from affection- 
 
 A man may be justly entitled to our gva- 
 titude, for an office that is useful, though 
 it be, at the same time, disagreeable ; and 
 not only for doing, but for forbearing what 
 he had a right to do. Among me^, it is 
 not every beneficial office that claims our 
 gratitude, but such only as are not due to 
 us in justice. [ 156] A favour alone gives 
 a claim to gratitude ; and a favour must be 
 something more than justice requires. It 
 does not appear that brutes have any con- 
 ception of justice. They can neither dis- 
 tinguish hurt from injury, nor a lavour 
 from a good office that is due. 
 
 3. A third natural benevolent affection 
 is Pitff and Compassion towards the Di*m 
 trۤ$ed. 
 
 Of all persons, those in distress stand 
 most in need of our good offices. And, for 
 that reason, the Author of nature hath 
 phinted in the breast of every human crea- 
 ture a powerful advocate to plead their 
 cause. 
 
 In man, and in some other animals, there 
 are signs of distress, which nature hath 
 both taught them to use, and taught all 
 men to understand without any interpreter. 
 These natural signs are more eloquent than 
 language ; they move our hearts, and pro- 
 duce a sympathy, and a desire to give re- 
 iieta 
 
 There are few hearts so hard, but great 
 distress will conquer their anger, their in- 
 dignation, and every malevolent affection. 
 
 We sympathise even with the traitor and 
 with the assassin, when we see him led to 
 execution. It is only self-preservation and 
 the public good, that makes us reluctantly 
 assent to his being cut off from among 
 men. 
 
 The practice of the Canadian nations 
 towards their prisoners would tempt one 
 to think that they have been able to root 
 out the principle of compassion from their 
 nature* But this^ I apprehend, would be 
 a rash conclusion. It is only a part of the 
 prisoners of war that they devote to a 
 cruel death. This gratifies the revenge of 
 the women and children who have lost their 
 husbands and fathers in the war. The 
 other prisoners are kindly used, and adopted 
 as brethren. [156] 
 
 Compassion with bodily pain is no doubt 
 weakened among these savages, because 
 they are trained from their infancy to be 
 superior to death, and to every degree of 
 pain ; and he is thought unworthy of the 
 name of a man, who cannot defy his tor- 
 mentors, and sing hb death-song in the 
 midst of the most cruel tortures. He who 
 do thin, is honoured as a brave maui 
 
 CHAP. IV.] OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. 563 
 
 though an enemy. But he must perish in 
 the experiment. 
 
 A Canadian has the most perfect con- 
 tempt for every man who thinks pain an 
 intolerable evil. And nothing is so apt to 
 stifle compassion as contempt, and an ap- 
 prehension that the evil suffered is nothing 
 but what ought to be manfully borne. 
 
 It must also be observed, that savages 
 set no bounds to their revenge. Those who 
 find no protection in laws and government 
 never think themselves safe, but in the 
 destruction of their enemy. And one of 
 the chief advantages of civU government is, 
 that it tempers the cruel passion of re- 
 venge, and opens the heart to compassion 
 with every hunoan wo> 
 
 It seems to be false religion only, that is 
 able to check the tear of compassion. 
 
 We are told, that, in Portugal and Spain, 
 a man condemned to be burned as an ob- 
 stinate heretic, meets with no compassion, 
 even from the multitude. It is true, they 
 are taught to look upon him as an enemy to 
 Qodf and doomed to hell-fire. But should 
 not this very circumstance move compas- 
 sion ? Surely it would, if they were not 
 taught that, in this case, it is a crime to 
 shew compassion, or even to feel it. 
 
 4. A/our/A benevolent affection is, Esteem 
 qfthe Wise and the' Good, [157] 
 
 The worst men cannot avoid feeling this 
 in some degree. Esteem, veneration, de- 
 votion, are different degrees of the same 
 affection. The perfection of wisdom, power, 
 and goodness, which belongs only to the 
 Almighty, is the object of the last. 
 
 It may be a doubt whether this principle 
 of esteem, as well as that of gratitude, ought 
 to be ranked in the order of animal prin- 
 ciples, or if they ought not rather to be 
 placed in a higher order." They are cer- 
 tainly more allied to the rational nature 
 tlian-the others that have been named; 
 nor is it evident that there is anything in 
 brute animals that deserves the same name. 
 
 There is indeed a subordination in a herd 
 of cattle, and in a flock of sheep, which, I 
 believe, is determined by strength and 
 courage, as it is among savage tribes of 
 men. I have been informed that, in a 
 pack of hounds, a stanch hound acquires a 
 degree of esteem in the pack ; so that, when 
 the dogs are wandering in quest of the scent, 
 if he opens, the pack immediately closes in 
 with him, when they would not regard the 
 opening of a dog of no reputation. This is 
 something like a respect to wisdom. 
 
 But I have placed esteem of the wise and 
 good in the order of animal principles, not 
 from any persuasion that it is to be found 
 in brute-animals, but because, I think, it 
 appears in the most unimproved and in the 
 
 ♦ See alMive. p 5ft I, b, uote *.— H. 
 [157-169] 
 
 most degenerate part of our species, even in 
 those in whom we hardly perceive any ex- 
 ertion, either of reason or virtue. 
 
 I will not, however, dispute with any 
 man who thinks that it deserves a more 
 honourable name than that of an animal 
 principle. It is of small importance what 
 name we give it, if we are satisfied that 
 that there is such a principle in the human 
 constitution. [158] 
 
 5. Friendship is another benevolent 
 affection. 
 
 Of this we have some instances famous in 
 history — ^few indeed, but sufficient to shew 
 that human nature is susceptible of that 
 extraordinary attachment, sympathy, and 
 affection, to one or a few persons, which the 
 ancients thought alone worthy of the name 
 of friendship. 
 
 The Epicureans found it very difficult to 
 reconcile the existence of friendship to the 
 principles of their sect. They were not so 
 bold as to deny its existence. They even 
 boasted that there had been more attach- 
 ments of that kind between Epicureans than 
 in any other sect. But the difficulty was, 
 to account for real friendship upon Epicu- 
 rean principles. They went into different 
 hypotheses upon this point, three of which 
 are explained by Torquatus the Epicurean, 
 in Cicero*s book, " De Finibus." 
 
 Cicero, in his reply to Torquatus, ex- 
 amines all the three, and shews them all 
 to be either inconsistent with the nature of 
 true friendship, or inconsistent with the 
 fundamental principles of the Epicurean 
 sect. 
 
 As to the friendship which the Epicu- 
 reans boasted of among those of their sect, 
 Cicero does not question the fact, but ob- 
 serves that, as there are many whose prac- 
 tice is worse than their principles, so there 
 are some whose principles are worse than 
 their practice, and that the bad principles 
 of these Epicureans were overcome by the 
 goodness of their nature. 
 
 6. Among the benevolent affections, the 
 passion of Love between the Sexes cannot be 
 overlooked. 
 
 Although it is commonly the theme of 
 poets, it is not unworthy of the pen of the 
 philosopher, as it is a most important part 
 of the human constitution. [159] 
 
 It is no doubt made up of various in- 
 gredients, as many other principles of action 
 are ; but it certainly cannot exist without a 
 very strong benevolent affection towards 
 its object, in whom it finds, or conceives, 
 everything that is amiable and excellent, and 
 even something more than human. I con- 
 sider it here only as a benevolent affection 
 natural to man. And that it is so, no man 
 can doubt who ever felt its force. 
 
 It is evidently intended by nature to 
 direct a man in the choice of a mate, with 
 
 2 u2 
 
664 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay hi.- part ii. 
 
 CHAP, iv.l OF PARTICULAR BENEVOLENT AFFECTIONS. B6o 
 
 whtm Tm cMns to live^ and to rear an off- 
 
 Itias 'tilMliially' ^noiveil^'tliia end in all 
 amtL and 'Im mwty state of ^ sodety. 
 
 'TI« fBMilin of lo¥e, and the parental 
 aSewtion, are counterparts to each other i 
 and when they are oondueted with pra- 
 4mmf and meet with a proper return, are 
 ih« aoonse of all domeatie felkity, the 
 greatest, next to that of a good eonscience, 
 'iri:Mi. 'this world affordii. 
 
 A% In th« present stata of things, pain 
 often dwells 'near to pleasnie, and sorrow 
 to joy, it needs not be thought strange 
 tliat a passion, fitted and intended by nature 
 to yield 'the greatast worldly felicity, should, 
 % Wof il«^giilated or wrong directed, 
 fra¥e 'tis ooesflioii of the most pungent 
 distress. 
 
 But its joys and its gfiali, its different 
 modifications .in. the diiweal .sAxes, and its 
 infl'nenoenpon the' eharaetar 'Of'hoth, though 
 ¥ery important subjects, are fitter to l>e 
 sung than said ; and I leave them to those 
 who .hftTO islept 'upon the 'two-topped Par- 
 oassns. [li§J 
 
 7. The imi benevolent affection I shall 
 mention is, what we commonly call FwMk 
 Spirit, that is, an affection to any mmmuniip 
 f# which we Afloisf^ 
 
 If there be any man ijnite destitute of 
 ilia ailMitiou, be must be as great a monster 
 as a man born with two heads. Its effects 
 we 'manifest in the whole of human life, 
 and in the history of all nations. 
 
 The situation of a great prt of mankind, 
 indeed, is such, that their thoughts and 
 viawa must bo confined within a very nar- 
 row sphere, and be very much engroiwed 
 by their private concerns. With regard to 
 an extensive public, such as a state or 
 nation, they are like a drop to the ocean, 
 so thai they have rarely an opportunity of 
 aeting with .a view to it> 
 
 In many, whose actions may affect the 
 public, and whose rank and station lead 
 tliem tO' think of it, private' pssions may be 
 .an. overmatch for public spint. All that can 
 be inferred from this is, that their public 
 spirit is wedk, not thai it does not exist. 
 
 Ifaman wishes well to the public, and 
 is ready to do good to it rather than hurt, 
 when It eosts him nothing, he has some 
 affeelion to it, though it may be scandalously 
 weakindegt^ ^ 
 
 I believe eveij m.an has it in one degree 
 or another. What man is there who does 
 not resent satirical refiections upon bis 
 country, or upon any community of which 
 he is a member? 
 
 Wheiher tb^ affection be to a college or 
 in a ehiister, to a ohm or to a profession, 
 to a party or to a nation, it is public spirit 
 'These alfeeliiiiiB 'differ, not in kind, but in 
 th« 'OxteDt of' ihoir object. 1 161 ] 
 
 The object extends as our connections 
 extend i and a sense of the connection car- 
 ries the affection along with it to every 
 community to which we can apply the pro- 
 nouns we and our, 
 
 •• Friend, parent, neighbour, firit it will embrace. 
 Hit country next, and then all human race."— Port. 
 
 Even in the misanthrope, this affection 
 is not extinguished. It is overpowered by 
 the apprehension he has of the worthless- 
 ness, the baseness, and the ingratitude of 
 mankind. Convince him that there is any 
 amiable quality in the species, and imme- 
 diately his philanthropy revives, and rejoices 
 to find an object on which it can exert it* 
 
 Public spirit has this in common with 
 every subordinate principle of action — that, 
 when it is not under the government dt 
 reason and virtue, it may produce much 
 evil as well as good. Yet, where there is 
 least of reason and virtue to regulate it, ito 
 good far overlialances ite ill. 
 
 It sometimes kindles or inflames animo- 
 sities between communities or contending 
 parties, and makes them treat each other 
 with Uttle regard to justice. It kindles 
 wars between nations, and makes them 
 destroy one another for trifling causes- But, 
 without it, society could not subsist, and 
 every community would be a rope of sand. 
 
 When under the direction of reason and 
 virtue, it is the very image of God in the 
 soul. It diffuses its benign influence as far 
 as ite power extends, and participates in the 
 happiness of God, and of the whole creation. 
 
 These are the benevolent aflections which 
 appear to me to be parte of the human con- 
 stitution. [162] 
 
 If any one thinks the enumeration in- 
 complete, and that there are natural bene- 
 volent affections, which are not included 
 under any of those that have been named, 
 1 shall very readily listen to such a cor^ 
 rectiou, being sensible that such enumera- 
 tions are very often incomplete. 
 
 If others should think that any, or all, 
 the affections I have named, are acquired 
 by education, or by habits and associations 
 grounded on self-love, and are not original 
 parte of our constitution ; this is a point 
 upon which, indeed, there has been much 
 subtile disputetion in ancient and modem 
 times, and which, I believe, must be de> 
 termined from what a man, by careful re- 
 fiection, may feel in himself, rather than 
 from what he observes in others. But I 
 decline entering into this dispute, tiU I 
 shall have explained that principle of action 
 which we commonly call self-love, 
 
 I shall conclude this subject with some 
 reflections upon the benevolent affections 
 
 The Jir$t is, That all of them, in as far 
 as they are benevolent, in which view only 
 I consider Uiem, agree very much in the 
 
 L160-1621 
 
 conduct they dispose us to, with regard to 
 their objects. 
 
 They dispose us to do them good as far 
 as we have power and opportunity ; to wish 
 them well, when we can do them no good ; 
 to judge favourably, and often partially, of 
 thera; to sympathise with them in their 
 afflictions and calamities; and to rejoice 
 with them in their happmess and good 
 fortune. 
 
 It is impossible that there can be bene- 
 volent affection without sympathy both 
 with the good and bad fortune of the object; 
 and it appears to be impossible that there 
 can be sympathy without benevolent affec- 
 tion. Men do not sympathise with one 
 whom they hate; nor even with one to 
 whose good or ill they are perfectly indif- 
 ferent. [163] 
 
 We may sympathise with a perfect 
 stranger, or even with an enemy whom we 
 see in distress; but this is the effect of 
 pity ; and, if we did not pity him, we should 
 not sympathise with him. 
 
 I take notice of this the rather, because 
 a very ingenious author, • in his " Theory 
 of Moral Sentiments," gives a very differ- 
 ent account of the origin of Sympathy. It 
 appears to me to be the effect of benevolent 
 affection, and to be inseparable from it. 
 
 A second reflection is, That the constitu- 
 tion of our nature very powerfully invites 
 ns to cherish and cultivate in our minds the 
 benevolent affections. 
 
 The agreeable feeling which always at- 
 tends them as a present reward, appears to 
 be intended by nature for this purpose. 
 
 Benevolence, from its nature, composes 
 the mind, warms the heart, enlivens the 
 whole frame, and brightens every feature of 
 the countenance. It may justly be said to 
 be medicinal both to soul and body. We 
 are bound to it by duty ; we are invited to 
 it by interest; and because both these cords 
 Me often feeble, we have natural kind affec- 
 tions to aid them in their operation, and 
 supply their defects; and these affections 
 are joined with a manly pleasure in their 
 exertion. 
 
 A third reflection is. That the natural 
 benevolent affections furnish the most irre- 
 sistible proof that the Author of our nature 
 intended that we should live in society, and 
 do good to our fellow-men as we have oppor- 
 tunity ; since this great and importent part 
 of the human constitution has a manifest 
 relation to society, and can have no exer- 
 cise nor use in a solitary state. 
 
 The ia$t reflection is, That the different 
 pnnciples of action have different degrees 
 of dignity, and rise one above another in 
 our estimation, when we make them objects 
 of contemplation. [ 164] 
 
 [163-165] 
 
 ♦ Adam Smith.- H. 
 
 We ascribe no dignity to instincts or to 
 habits. They lead us only to admire the 
 wisdom of the Creator, in adapting them so 
 perfectly to the manner of life of the dif- 
 ferent animals in which they are found. 
 Much the same may be said of appetites; 
 They serve rather for use than ornament. 
 
 The desires of knowledge, of power, and 
 of esteem, rise higher in our estimation, 
 and we consider them as giving dignity and 
 ornament to man. The actions proceeding 
 from them, though not properly virtuous, 
 are manly and respectable, and claim a just 
 superiority over those that proceed merely 
 from appetite. This, I think, is the uni- 
 form judgment of mankind. 
 
 If we apply the same kind of judgment 
 to our benevolent affections, they appear 
 not only manly and respecteble, but amiable 
 in a high degree. 
 
 They are amiable even in brute animals. 
 We love the meekness of the lamb, the 
 gentleness of the dove, the affection of a dog 
 to his master. We cannot, without pleasure, 
 observe the timid ewe, who never shewed 
 the least degree of courage in her own de- 
 fence, become valiant and intrepid in de- 
 fence of her lamb, and boldly assault those 
 enemies, .the very sight of whom was wout 
 to put her to flight. 
 
 How pleasant is it to see the family eco- 
 nomy of a pair of little birds in rearing their 
 tender offspring ; the conjugal affection and 
 fidelity of the parente ; their cheerful toil 
 and industry in providing food to their 
 family; their sagacity in concealing their 
 habitation ; the arts they use, often at the 
 peril of their own lives, to decoy hawks, and 
 other enemies, from their dwellingplace ; 
 and the affliction they feel when some un- 
 lucky boy has robbed them of the dear 
 pledges of their affection, and frustrated 
 all their hopes of their risine family ? 
 [165] 6 J 
 
 If kind affection be amiable in brutes, 
 it is not less so in our own species. Even 
 the external signs of it have a powerful 
 charm. 
 
 Every one knows that a person of ac- 
 complished good breeding charms every 
 one he converses with. And what is this 
 good breeding ? If we analyze it, we shall 
 find it to be made up of looks, gestures, and 
 speeches, which are the natural signs of 
 benevolence and good affection. He who 
 has got the habit of using these signs with 
 propriety, and without meanness, is a well- 
 bred and a polite man. 
 
 What is that beauty in the features of 
 the face, particularly of the fair sex, which 
 all men love and admire ? I believe it con« 
 sists chiefly in the features which indicate 
 good affections. Every indication of meek- 
 ness, gentleness, and benignity, is a beauty. 
 On the contrary, every feature that indi- 
 
566 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [wiay hi.— part ii. 
 
 t, «Ty,. md mtipiiy, 
 
 F I JPli ^Tl— WIP^I 
 
 m m dwonnity.* 
 
 KW, aiiMtifiiH, iMNtee, an' amiable in 
 brutes- Even tbe atgns and shadows of 
 tiMn aie MgWy aUiactive in our own spe- 
 'tiii. IndM: m&y art tbe joy and tbe oom- 
 ibrt of buman lilb^ not lo good men only, 
 'tat' mm U tbe ▼ieaoas and diaiolate. 
 
 Witbuut MMsiety, and tbe intercourse of 
 Mod affeetim, man ia aj^my, melancholy, 
 and joyless being. Hie mind oppressed 
 witbeans and fears, he cannot enjoy tbe 
 babn of Mmnd alcep : in constant dread 
 of impeniliig danger,, be starts at tbe mst- 
 lii^f of m leal Mia ears are continnally 
 upwi tbe stieteb, and every zephyr brings 
 .sone sound that alarms him. 
 
 Wion. baanlers into society, and feels 
 •Murily ii Urn .good affection of firiends and 
 neighbours, it is then only tbal bis fear 
 vanndMS, and bis mind is at ease. His 
 courage is raised, bis understanding is 
 enlightened, and bia heart dilates with joy. 
 
 Human society may be comipiied to a 
 heap of embeisi. vhidi^ vhenj laiid. asunder, 
 'oui retain neilhar 'their' 'Igbt nor beat, 
 amidst tbe sunmmdingelanints; but, when 
 brought together, they mutually give heat 
 and light to each other ; tbe flame breaks 
 forth, and not only defends itself, but snb- 
 dnss everything around it 
 
 Tbe security, the happiness, and tbe 
 ■Ittmgih of human society, spring solely 
 Hon the reeiproeal benevolent affections of 
 itS'DMibon. 
 
 'Tho'beneirolent affections, though they be 
 all honourable and lovely, are notaU equally 
 10. Thore is a subordination among them ; 
 andlhO' bononr' w% pay to them generally 
 corre^ionds io tho extent of their object. 
 
 % Tbe good hndiand, the good father, the 
 good friend, tbe good neighbour, we honour 
 as a good man, worthy of our love and af. 
 'llMtion. But 'the man in. whom these more 
 'ttifile' affections ave^ tiialowed np in leal. 
 lit tbe good of his country and of man- 
 'Undi who goes about doing .good, and seeks 
 oppctftunities of being naeii to bis species, 
 w mmm as more iiatt a good man— as^ a 
 
 \ taro, as a good angeL 
 
 OHAPTBE V. 
 
 or MALifOiiifr Arroenoit. 
 
 Am then, 'in. the eonaitntion of man, 
 any ^alfcelions that may be^ called makm' 
 iMlf What an they ? and what is their 
 Vie and end? [167] 
 
 «' Itaicet en tblf principle of aatocialioni . 
 
 fMlMeiEilS^a^^ the ■cntlmciit 
 
 MtelEiiltiU. ■••'•bote.p.W.-H. 
 
 To me then seem to be ^o which we 
 may call by that name. They are Emula- 
 Hm and RfentnmU, These I take to be 
 parts of the human constitution, given us 
 by our Maker for good ends, and, when 
 properly directed and regulated, of excel- 
 lent use. But, as their excess or abuse, to 
 which human nature is very prone, is tbe 
 source and spring of all the malevolence 
 that is to be found among men, it is on that 
 account I call them malevolent. 
 
 If any man thinks that they deserve a 
 softer name — since they may be exercised, 
 according to the intention of nature, with- 
 out malevolence— to this I have no objec- 
 tion. 
 
 [1.1 By Emulatum, I mean a desire of 
 superiority to our rivals in any pursuit, 
 accompanied with an uneasmess at being 
 surpassed.* 
 
 Human life has justly been compared to 
 a race. The prize is superiority in one 
 kind or another. But the species or forms 
 (if I may use tbe expression) of superiority 
 among men are infinitely diversified. ^ 
 
 There is no man so contemptible in his 
 own eyes as to binder him from entering 
 tbe lists in one form or another ; and he 
 will always find competitors to rival him in 
 his own way. 
 
 We see emulation among brute-animals. 
 Dogs and horses contend each with bis 
 kind in the race* Many animals of the 
 gregarious kind contend for superiority in 
 theur flock or herd, and shew manifest signs 
 of jealousy when others pretend to rival 
 them. 
 
 Tbe emulation of the brute-animals ia 
 mostly confined to swiftness, or strength, 
 or favour with their females. But the emu- 
 ktion of the human kind has a much wider 
 
 field. [168] 
 
 In every profession, and in every accom- 
 plishment of body or mind, real or imagin- 
 ary, there are rivalships. Literary men rival 
 one another in literary abilities ; artists, in 
 their several arts; the fair sex, in their 
 beauty and attractions, and in the respect 
 paid uiem by the other sex. 
 
 In every political society, from a petty 
 corporation up to the national administra- 
 tion, there is a rivalsbip for power and in- 
 fluence. 
 
 Men have a natural desire of power, with- 
 out respect to the power of others. Thii 
 we call AmbUimu But the desire of supe- 
 riority, either in power, or m anything we 
 tliink worthy of estimation, has a respect 
 to rivals, and is what we properly call tffnu- 
 kUkm. 
 
 ♦ Reid baa not properly distinguished Emulatxon 
 flrom Envy. See, among others, Aristotle's " Rheto. 
 ric'Sook Second , in fhe chapters on those affcctiona j 
 Bullet, iermon 1. " On Human Nature j" Stewarti 
 " PhilOBophy of the Active rowera," I.p.66.iq.i and 
 otiitr author! quoted by him — H. 
 
 [166-168] 
 
 CHAP, v.] 
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 
 
 567 
 
 The stronger the desire is, the more 
 pungent will be the uneasiness of being 
 found behind, and the mind will be the 
 more hurt by this humiliating view. 
 
 Emulation has a manifest tendency to 
 improvement. Without it life would stag- 
 nate, and the discoveries of art and genius 
 would be at a stand. This principle pro- 
 duces a constant fermentation in society, 
 by which, though dregs may be produced, 
 the better part is purified and exalted to a 
 perfection which it could not otherwise 
 attain. 
 
 We have not sufl&cient data for a com- 
 parison of the good and bad effects which 
 this principle actually produces in society ; 
 but there is ground to think of this, as of 
 other natural principles, that the good over- 
 balances the ill. As far as it is under the 
 dominion of reason and virtue, its effects 
 are always good ; when left to be guided by 
 passion and folly, they are often very bad. 
 1169] 
 
 Reason directs us to strive for supe- 
 riority only in things that have real excel- 
 lence, otherwise we spend our labour for 
 that which profiteth not. To value our- 
 selves for superiority in things that have 
 no real worth, or none compared with what 
 they cost, is to be vain of our own folly ; 
 and to be uneasy at the superiority of 
 others in such things, is no less ridiculous. 
 Reason directs us to strive for superiority 
 only in things in our power, and attainable 
 by our exertion, otherwise we shall be like 
 the frog in the fable, who swelled herself 
 till she burst, in order to equal the ox in 
 magnitude. 
 
 To check all desure of things not attain- 
 able, and every uneasy thought in the 
 want of them, is an obvious dictate of pru- 
 dence, as well as of virtue and religion. 
 
 If emulation be regulated by such maxims 
 of reason, and all undue partiality to our- 
 selves be laid aside, it will be a powerful 
 pi'inciple of our improvement, without hurt 
 to any other person. It will give strength 
 to the nerves and vigour to the mind in 
 every noble and manly pursuit. 
 
 But dismal are its effects, when it is not 
 under the direction of reason and virtue. 
 It has often the most malignant influence 
 on men's opinions, on their affections, and 
 on their actions. 
 
 It is an old observation, that affection 
 follows opinion ; and it is undoubtedly true 
 in many cases. A man cannot be grateful 
 without the opinion of a favour done him. 
 He cannot have deliberate resentment with- 
 out the opinion of an injury ; nor esteem 
 without the opinion of some estimable 
 quality ; nor compassion, without the opi- 
 nion of suffering. 
 
 But it is no less true, that opinion some- 
 times follows affection— not that it it ought. 
 [169-171] 
 
 but that it actually does so, by giving a false 
 bias to our judgment. We are apt to be 
 partial to our friends, and still more to 
 ourselves. [170] 
 
 Hence the desire of superiority leads men 
 to put an undue estimation upon those 
 things wherein they excel, or think they 
 excel. And by this means, pride may feed 
 itself upon the very dregs of hiunan nature. 
 
 The same desire of superiority may lead 
 men to undervalue those things wherein 
 they either despair of excelling, or care not 
 to make the exertion necessary for that 
 end. " The grapes are sour,'* said the 
 fox, when he saw them beyond his reach. 
 The same principle leads men to detract 
 from the merit of others, and to impute their 
 brightest actions to mean or bad motives. 
 
 He who runs a race feels uneasiness at 
 seeing another outstrip him. This is uncor- 
 rupted nature, and the work of God within 
 him. But this uneasiness may produce either 
 of two very different effects. It may incite 
 him to make more vigorous exertions, and to 
 strain every nerve to get before his rivaL This 
 is fair and honest emulation. This is the 
 effect it is intended to produce. But, if he 
 has not fairness and candour of heart, he will 
 look with an evil eye upon his competitor, 
 and will endeavour to trip him, or to throw 
 a stumblingblock in his way. This is pure 
 envy, the most malignant passion that can 
 lodge in the human breast ; which devours, 
 as its natural food, the fame and the happi- 
 ness of those who are most deserving of our 
 esteem.* 
 
 If there be m some men, a proneness to 
 detract from the character, even of persons 
 unknown or indifl*erent, in others an avidity 
 to hear and to propagate scandal, to what 
 principle in human nature must we ascribe 
 these qualities? The failings of others 
 surely add nothing to our worth, nor are 
 they, in themselves, a pleasant subject of 
 thought or of discourse. But they flatter 
 pride, by giving an opinion of our supe- 
 riority to those from whom we detract. 
 
 1171] 
 Is it not possible that the same desire of 
 
 superiority may have some secret influence 
 upon those who love to display their elo- 
 quence in declaiming upon the corruption of 
 human nature, and the wickedness, f raud,and 
 insincerity of mankind in general ? It ought 
 always to be taken for granted, that the de- 
 claimer is an exception to the general rule, 
 otherwise he would rather choose, even for 
 his own sake, to draw a veil over the naked- 
 ness of his species. But, hoping that his 
 audience will be so civil as not to include 
 him in the black description, he rises supe- 
 rior by the depression of the species, and 
 
 * in this paragraph Reid makes the (lift'nction 
 lietween Euvy and Emulation, which, in tue otner 
 pitrts of the chapter, he has not kept m view.— H. 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay iil—pab t ii. 
 
 ftlone^ like Noali in Hie antediluvian 
 viiiliL This IwlM. lito eovy .against the 
 
 'It wfiiiM be endless, and nowaji arree* 
 abl% to enumerate all the evils and all the 
 tIms wliioli passion and folly beget upon 
 •fmlation. Here, as in most cases, the 
 iwmiption of the best tbings is the worst 
 III brnle-animals, emulation has little mat- 
 t0r to work upon, and its effects, good or 
 bii^are few. It may produee battles of 
 0oefai and battles of bulls, and little else 
 that is obserrable. But in mankind, it 'has 
 an infinity of matter to work upon, and its 
 food, or bad effects, aoeordins as it is well 
 
 iMHP' III JPil|i|3f 11 ljl'i''tflil Aflifi jtI I l^ilTllllfio' YntlltHlTll V 111 
 
 proportion. 
 
 The conclusion to be drawn from what 
 luM been said upon this principle is, that 
 •mnlattott, as^ lar as it is a part- of our con- 
 ■tittttion, is highly useful and important in 
 ■osiflty; that in the wise and good, it pro- 
 dnces the best effects without any harm ; 
 but in the loolish and vicious, it is the par- 
 ent of a great pirt of the evils of life, and 
 nf the most 'maligiimwt vices tliat stain human 
 nature. [172] 
 
 [2. ] We are next to consider RetentmenL 
 latnre disposes us, when we are hurt, to 
 and fetaiiate. Besides the bodily 
 leeaaionedliy the hurt, the mind is 
 iliaed, and a desire raised to retaliate upon 
 'tit antlMir of' the hurt or injnry. This, in 
 pneisl,. la what we oaU mm§m' or resent" 
 
 [2. 
 
 Ml 
 
 A very important distinction is made by 
 Bishop Butler between sudden resentment, 
 
 wbieh ia a blind impulse arising from our 
 eonstitntion, and that which is dehberate. 
 The first may be raised by hurt of any 
 kind ; but the last can only be raised by 
 
 injury real or eonoeived. 
 
 The aanw diatinelion m 'made by Lord 
 KamM in. 'Ha ** Elemenla of Criticism.** 
 What Butler ealla ewAkn^ he calls injlltic- 
 
 We have not| in. eonmon language, dif- 
 ferent names< Ibr these dliiirent kinck of re- 
 sentment i but the distinction is very neces- 
 sary, in order to our having just notions of 
 this part of the human constitution. It 
 eonetponds perfectly with the dbtinction I 
 liave made between the animal and rational 
 
 C* leiples of action. For this sudden or 
 inctive resentment, is an animal prin- 
 eSple common to ns with brute-animals. 
 Mt tliat 'reeentment wliieb the authors I 
 bave named call delihefaie^ must IkU under 
 th« elasB' of rational principles. 
 
 It is to be observed, however, that, by 
 referring it to that class, I do not mean, 
 that it is always kept within the bounds 
 that reason prescribes, but only that it is 
 proper to man at a reasonable being, cap- 
 
 ing between hurt and injury ; a distinction 
 which no brute-animal can make. 
 
 Both these kinds of resentment are raised, 
 whether the hurt or injury be done to our- 
 selves, or to those we are interested in 1 1 73 ) 
 
 Wherever there is any benevolent aH'ec- 
 tion towards others, we resent their wrongs 
 in proportion to the strength of our affec- 
 tion. Pity and sympatiiy with the sufferer 
 produce resentment against the author of 
 the suffering, as naturally aa concern for 
 ourselves produces resentment of our own 
 wrongs. 
 
 I shall first consider that resentment 
 which 1 call aatmo/, which Butler calls 
 iudden, and Lord Kames instinctive. 
 
 In every uiimal to which nature Imtb 
 given the power of hurting its enemy, we 
 see an endeavour to retaliate the ill that is 
 done to it. EVen a mouse w'dl bite when 
 it cannot run away. 
 
 Perhaps there may be some animals to 
 whom nature hath given no offensive weapon. 
 To such, anger and resentment would be of 
 no use ; and I believe we shall find that 
 they never shew any sign of it. But there 
 are few of this kind. 
 
 Some of the more sagacious animals can 
 be provoked to fierce anger, and retain it 
 long. Many of them shew great animosity 
 in defending their young, who hardly shew 
 any in defending themselves. Others resist 
 every assault made upon the flock or herd 
 to which they belong. Bees defend their 
 hive, wild beasts their den, and birds their 
 nest. 
 
 This sudden resentment operates in a 
 similar manner in men and in brutes, and 
 appears to be given by nature to both for 
 the same end — namely, for defence, even in 
 cases where there is no time for deliberation. 
 It may be compared to that natural instinct 
 by which a man, who has lost his balance 
 and begins to fall, makes a sudden and 
 violent effort to recover himself, without 
 any intention or deliberation. [174] 
 
 In such efforts, men often exert a degree 
 of muscular strength beyond what they are 
 able to exert by a calm determination of the 
 will, and thereby save themselves from 
 many a dangerous fall. 
 
 By a like violent and sudden impulse, 
 nature prompts us to repel hurt upon the 
 cause of it, whether it be man or beast. 
 The instinct before mentioned is solely de- 
 fensive, and is prompted by fear. This sud- 
 den resentment is offensive, and is prompted 
 by anger, but with a view to defence. 
 
 Man, in his present state, is surrounded 
 with so many dangers from his own species, 
 from brute-animab, from everything around 
 him, that he baa need of some defensive 
 armour that shall always be ready in the 
 moment of danger. His reason is of great 
 use for this purpose, when there is time to 
 
 [172-1741 
 
 CHAP, v.] 
 
 OF MALEVOLENT AFFECTION. 
 
 569 
 
 apply it But, in many cases, the mischief 
 would be done before reason could think of 
 the means of preventing it. 
 
 The wisdom of nature hath provided two 
 means to supply this defect of our reason. 
 One of these is the instinct* before men- 
 tioned, by which the body, upon the appear- 
 ance of danger, is instantly, and without 
 thought or intention, put in that posture 
 which is proper for preventing the danger, 
 or lessening it. Tims, we wink hard when 
 our eyes are threatened ; we bend the body 
 to avoid a stroke ; we make a sudden effort 
 to recover our balance, when in danger of 
 falling. By such means we are guarded 
 from many dangers which our reason would 
 come too late to prevent. 
 
 But, as offensive arms are often the surest 
 means of defence, by deterring the enemy 
 from an assault, nature hath also provided 
 man, and other animals, with this kind of 
 defence, by that sudden resentment of which 
 we now speak, which outruns the quickest 
 determinations of reason, and takes fire in 
 an instant, threatening the enemy with re- 
 taliation. [175] 
 
 The first of these principles operates upon 
 the defender only ; but this operates both 
 upon the defender and the assailant, inspir- 
 ing the former with courage and animosity, 
 and striking terror into the latter. It pro- 
 claims to all assailants, what our ancient 
 Scottish kings did upon their coins, by the 
 emblem of a thistle, with this motto, I^emo 
 me impiine lace.ssei. By this, in innumerable 
 cases, men and beasts are deterred from do- 
 ing hurt, and others thereby secured from 
 auffering it. 
 
 But, as resentment supposes an object on 
 whom we may retaliate, how comes it to 
 pass, that in brutes, very often, and some- 
 times in our own species, we see it wreaked 
 upon inanimate things, which are incapable 
 of suffering by it ? 
 
 Perhaps it might be a sufficient answer 
 to this question — That nature acts by gen- 
 eral laws, which, in some particular cases, 
 may go beyond or fall short of their inten- 
 tion, though they be ever so well adapted 
 to it in general. 
 
 But I confess it seems to me impossible 
 that there should be resentment against a 
 thing which at that very moment is con- 
 
 * See Mr Stewart, in *• Philosophical Essays" Note 
 (I), wtiocensureii Reid for applying the term instinct 
 to an acquired dexterity. Reid may be defended, 
 however, on the ground that, though in man there 
 may be prima facie reason on which to explain the 
 notions in question as the results of practice, that 
 this is not, at least in a great measure, thec^ise. We 
 lee many cf the brutes performing these actions from 
 the moment of birth in full perfection ; those, to wit, 
 as I have ascertained, who have the cerebellum pro. 
 portionally to the bram proper, then fully developed; 
 and it is only with the proportional developcment of 
 this part of the cncephalos, that children obtain the 
 ftjll command of their limbs, the complete power of 
 regulated movement.— H. 
 
 [175-177] 
 
 sidered as inanimate, and consequently in- 
 capable either of intending hurt, or of being 
 punished. For what can be more absurd 
 than to be angry with the knife for cutting 
 me, or with the weight for falling upon my 
 toes ? There must, therefore, 1 conceive, 
 be some momentary notion or conception 
 that the object of our resentment is capable 
 of punishment ; and, if it be natural, before 
 reflection, to be angry with things inanimate, 
 it seems to be a necessary consequence, that 
 it is natural to think that they have life and 
 feeling. 
 
 Several pheenomena in human nature lead 
 us to conjecture that, in the earliest period 
 of life, we are apt to think every object 
 about us to be animated. Judging of them 
 by ourselves, we ascribe to them the feelings 
 we are conscious of in ourselves. So we 
 see a little girl judges of her doll and of her 
 playthings. And so we see rude nations 
 judgeof the heavenly bodies, of the elements, 
 and of the sea, rivers, and fountains. [176] 
 If this be so, it ought not to be said, that 
 by reason and experience, we learn to ascribe 
 life and intelligence to things which we be- 
 fore considered as inanimate. It ought 
 rather to be said — That by reason and ex- 
 perience we learn that certain things are 
 inanimate, to which at first we ascribed life 
 and intelligence. 
 
 If this be true, it is less surprising that, 
 before reflection, we should for a moment 
 relapse into this prejudice of our early years, 
 and treat things as if they had life, whicli 
 we once believed to have it. 
 
 It does not much affect our present argu- 
 ment, whether this be or be not the cause 
 why a dog pursues and gnashes at the stone 
 that hurt him ; and why a man, in a passion 
 for losing at play, sometimes wreaks his 
 vengeance on the cards or dice. 
 
 It is not strange that a blind animal im- 
 pulse should sometimes lose its proper di- 
 rection. In brutes this has no bad conse- 
 quence ; in men the least ray of reflection 
 corrects it. and shews its absurdity. 
 
 It is sufficiently evident, upon the whole, 
 that this sudden or animal resentment, is 
 intended by nature for our defence. It pre- 
 vents mischief by the fear of punishment. 
 It is a kind of penal statute, pronmlgated 
 by nature, the execution of which is com- 
 mitted to the sufferer. 
 
 It may be expected, indeed, that one who 
 judges in his own cause, will be disposed to 
 seek more than an equitable redress. But 
 this disposition is checked by the resent- 
 ment of the other party. [ 1 77 ] 
 
 Yet, in the state of nature, injuries once 
 begun will often be reciprocated between 
 the parties, until mortal enmity is produced, 
 and each party thinks himself safe only in 
 the destruction of his enemy. 
 
 This right of redressing and punishinf 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERa [kssay hi.— pabtii. 
 
 our Mm wrongs, eo apt to 1» aliiiMdifa mm 
 nfilMW matund rights witeli, in poEtieal 
 ■mAity, is given wp to the laws, and to the 
 eivil magistrate ; and this, indeed, is one off 
 
 tlM espial advantage we reap from tho 
 
 politiial. union, 'that the eirik arising from 
 WBgO^eiiwi'iesentnient are in a great^ degree 
 prevented* 
 
 .MMvmA ^deihaiate resentment does not 
 piopeily fielong to the elass of animal prin- 
 •tplM} f«t| as both have the same name, 
 ■Ml aie distiiigili^ed only by philosophers, 
 and as in real life they are commonly inter* 
 aiiedp^ I shall here maie some remarks 
 
 'Wl MMl, It,, 
 
 A anall degree of reason and reflection 
 
 'liaidieS' a man that injury only, and not 
 ■MM hnrt, is a just object of resentment to 
 m lallonal ■•satwre, A man may suffer 
 pfavonsly l^y the hand of another, not only 
 without injury, but with the most friendly 
 hUmtion ; as in the case of a painful chir- 
 nrglei!^ operation. Every man of common 
 ■eom sees, thai to resent such suffering, is 
 .nut the jait of » man, but of a brute. 
 
 Mr Locfcie mentions a gentleman who, 
 having been cured of madness by a very 
 liaish and offensive operation, with great 
 •ouMof graitude, owned liie core as the 
 gnatest obligation he could have received, 
 hut could never bear the sight of the oper- 
 ator, because It brought back the idea of 
 that agony which he had endured from his 
 hands.' [IIBJ 
 
 In this case, we see diilhMily the opera- 
 tion, 'both, 'Of 'the., ,aBinial, and off the rational 
 priaciplib Tho fcst produced an aversion 
 to the opeiaior, whieh reason was not able 
 to overcome ; and probably in a weak mind, 
 might have produced kstinfr resentment 
 and hatred. But, in this gentleman, reason 
 so iMf fiwraiM as to make him sensible 
 that gr!Btitiid% and not resentment, waa 
 due. 
 
 'SuiiBiimf ' 'nagr ,g|ve a Mas 'to the jndg- 
 wamA,. and make us apprehend injury where 
 no injuiy is done. But, I think, without 
 an j^ipffiiiinsion of injury, there can be no 
 
 IIenee,anoiig enlightenednations, hostile 
 armieB i^t without anger or resentment 
 The vanquished are not treated as offenders, 
 but as brave men who have fought for their 
 country unsuccessfully, and wiio are en- 
 tilled to every office of humanity eonaifltent 
 with the safety of the conquerars. 
 
 II wo analyze that deUberate resentment 
 whieh iS' proper to rational creatures, we 
 ehal ind that, tbongh it agrees with that 
 which is merely animal in some respects, it 
 differs in others. Both are accompanied 
 with, an, uaeaQf sensation, which disturbs 
 the peace of tlie wamA Both prompt ns to 
 seek redress of our saffsffhigs, and security 
 from harm. But, in deliberate resentment. 
 
 there must be an opinion of injury done or 
 ktended. And an opinion of injury implies 
 an idea of justice, and consequently a moral 
 
 The very notion of an hijury is, that it is 
 lees than wo may justly cUim ; as, on tho 
 contrary, the notion of a favour is, t1 at itia 
 more than we can justly claim- Whence, 
 it is evident, that justice is the standard by 
 which both a favour and an injury are to be 
 weighed and estimated. Their very nature 
 and definition consist in their exceeding or 
 falling short of this standard. No man, 
 therefore, can have the idea either of a 
 favour or of an injury, who has not the idea 
 
 of justice. [179] 
 
 That very idea of justice which enters 
 into cool and deliberate resentment, tends 
 to restrain its excesses. For, as there is 
 injustice in doing an injury, so there is in- 
 justice in punishing it beyond measure. 
 
 To a man of candour and reflection, con- 
 sciousness of the frailty of human nature, 
 and that he has often stood in need of for- 
 giveness himself, the pleasure of rene¥ring 
 good understanding after it has been in- 
 terrupted, the inward approbation of a 
 generous and forgiving disposition, and even 
 the irksomeness and uneasiness of a mind 
 ruffled by resentment, plead stronglyagainst 
 its excesses. 
 
 Upon the whole, when we consider, That, 
 on the one hand, every benevolent affection 
 is pleasant m its nature, is health to the 
 soul, and a cordial to the spirits; That 
 nature has made even the outward expres- 
 sion of benevolent affections in the counte- 
 nance, pleasant to every beholder, and the 
 chief mgredient of beauty in the human face 
 (HviM; That, on the other hand, every 
 malevolent affection, not only in its faulty 
 excesses, but in its moderate degrees, is 
 vexation and disquiet to the mind, and even 
 gives deformity to the countenance— it is 
 evident that, by these signals, nature loudly 
 admonishes us to use the former as our 
 daily bread, both for health and pleasure, 
 but to consider the latter as a nauseous 
 medicine, which is never to be taken with- 
 out necessity j and even then in no greater 
 quantity than the necessity requires- Llw| 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF PASSION. 
 
 BaroBB I proceed to consider the rational 
 pnnciples off action, it is proper to observe 
 that theio are some things belonging to the 
 mind, which have great influence upon 
 human conduct, by exciting or allaying, 
 inflaming or cooling tho animal principles 
 we have mentioned. 
 
 Three of this kind deserve particukr con- 
 
 [178-180] 
 
 CBAP. VI.] 
 
 OF PASSION. 
 
 671 
 
 sideratlon. I shall call them by the names 
 uf Patsion, Disposition^ and Opinion. 
 
 The meaning of the word Passion is not 
 precisely ascertained, either in common 
 discourse, or in the writings of philosophers. 
 
 I think it is commonly put to signify 
 some agitation of mind, which is opposed 
 to that state of tranquillity and composure 
 in which a man is most master of himself. 
 
 The word mfiw, which answers to it in 
 the Oreek language, is, by Cicero^ rendered 
 by the word perturbatio. 
 
 It has always been conceived to bear 
 analogy to a storm at sea,* or to a tempest 
 in the air.-f It does not therefore signify 
 anything in the mind that is constant and 
 permanent, but something that is occa- 
 sional, and has a limited duration, like a 
 storm or tempest. 
 
 Passion commonly produces sensibleeffects 
 even upon the body. It changes the voice, 
 the features, and the gesture. The external 
 signs of passion have, in some cases, a great 
 resemblance to those of madness ; in others, 
 to those of melancholy. It gives often a 
 degree of muscular force and agility to the 
 body, far beyond what it possesses in calm 
 moments. [181] 
 
 The effects of passion upon the mind are 
 not less remarkable. It turns the thoughts 
 involuntarily to the objects related to it, 
 BO that a man can hardly think of any- 
 thing else. It gives often a strange bias 
 to the judgment, making a man quick- 
 sighted in everything that tends to inflame 
 hu passion, and to justify it, but blind to 
 everything that tends to moderate and 
 
 a •*. SKpe .mlhi humane meditanti incommoda 
 
 Spcsque le^et , trepidogque metus, vanosquelaboreSf 
 Gaudiaque instabili gemper fucata sereiio, 
 Non secus ac navis lato jactata profundo, 
 Quam venti, violensqueffistui, canusque magister 
 in di\ersa trahunt,"&c.— Buciiananis. 
 MontaiRiie alludes to these verses in the tenth 
 chapter of his third book, but without naming his 
 master. He has thus puzsled his commentators. 
 
 •* Nubibus atrls 
 Condita nullum 
 Funilere possunt 
 Sidera lumen. 
 8i mare vol vens 
 Turbidus Auster 
 Misceat sstum, 
 Vitrea dudum, 
 Farque serenis 
 Unda diebus, 
 Mox resoluto 
 Sordida coeno 
 Visibus obstat. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Tu quoque ai via 
 
 Lumitie claro 
 
 Cerneie verum, 
 
 Tramite recto 
 
 Carpere callem ; 
 
 Gaudiapelle, 
 
 Pelle timorem, 
 
 ^emque Ai^ato, 
 
 Nee dolor adi»it. 
 
 Nubila mens est, 
 
 VinctaquefTBenis 
 
 ll«c ubi regnant— BoErinu-.-^H. 
 
 [181, 182] 
 
 allay it. Like a magic lanthom, it raises | 
 up spectres and apparitions that have no f 
 reality, and throws false colours upon every f 
 object. It can turn deformity into beauty, I 
 vice into virtue, and virtue into vice. 
 
 The sentiments of a man under its in- 
 fluence will appear absurd and ridiculous, 
 no^ only to other men, but even to himself, 
 wnen the storm is spent and is succeeded 
 by a calm. Passion often gives a violent 
 impulse to the will, and makes a man do 
 what he knows he shall repent as long as 
 he lives. 
 
 Tliat such are the effects of passion, I 
 think all men agree. They have been 
 described in lively colours by poets, ora- 
 tors, and moralists, in all ages.* But men 
 have given more attention to the effects of 
 passion than to its nature ; and, while they 
 have copiously and elegantly described the 
 former, they have not precisely defined the 
 latter. 
 
 The controversy between the ancient 
 Peripatetics and the Stoics, with regard to 
 the passions, was probably owing to their 
 affixing different meanings to the word. 
 The one sect maintained that the passions 
 are good and useful parts of our constitu- 
 tion, while they are held under the govern- 
 ment of reason. The other sect, con- 
 ceiving that nothing is to be called passion 
 which does not, in some degree, cloud and 
 darken the understanding, considered all 
 passion as hostile to reason, and therefore 
 maintained that, in the wise man, passion 
 should have no existence, but be utterly 
 exterminated. [ 1 82] 
 
 If both sects had agreed about the defini- 
 tion of passion, they would probably have 
 had no difference. But while one con- 
 sidered passion only as the cause of those 
 bad effects which it often produces, and 
 the other considered it as fitted by nature 
 to produce good effects, while it is under 
 subjection to reason, it does not appear 
 that what one sect justified, was the same 
 thing which the other condemned. Both 
 allowed that no dictate of passion ought to 
 be followed in opposition to reason. Their 
 difference therefore was verbal more than 
 real, and was owing to their giving different 
 meanings to the same word. 
 
 The precise meaning of this word seems 
 not to be more clearly ascertained among 
 modern philosophers. 
 
 Mr Hume gives the name of passion to 
 every principle of action in the human 
 mind ; and, in consequence of this, main- 
 tains that every man is and ought to be 
 led by his passions, and that the use of 
 reason is to be subservient to the passions. 
 
 Dr Hutcheson, considering all the prin- 
 ciples of action as so m any determinations 
 
 * See particularly Aristotle's delineation of the 
 Passions in the second book of bis •• Rhetoric. — M. 
 
572 
 
 ON THE ACTIVK POWERS, [essay hi.— fart ii. 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 OF PASSION. 
 
 573 
 
 nr molioita of ^tm will, Mmim them into 
 the etdm md the iwrtmknt Tim terlmleiit, 
 he 1MB, mn our mppeiiirs and our pmsImM, 
 Of the puBiiloiw, M well a« of the calm 
 determinationfi, he says, that " some are 
 benevolent, others are $e^h ; that anger, 
 «Ty, kdigimtioii, and some others, may be 
 dther selfish or benevolent, according as 
 they arise from some opposition to onr own 
 interests, or to those of our friends, or per- 
 mum beloved or esteemed.*' 
 
 It apiieart,. therefow, that thk excellent 
 Mithor' gives the :iisme of pmdm^ not to 
 •very principle of action, but to some, and 
 to those only when they are torbolent and 
 ▼ehement, not when they are caUn and 
 ielibetate. [163] 
 
 Onr natunl desires and affections may 
 be so calm as to leave room for reflection, 
 ■0 that we ind m difficulty in deliber- 
 sting cooll¥, whether, in sneh a partknlar 
 instance, they ought to be gratified or not. 
 On other occasions, they may be so im- 
 porlnimte as to make deliberation very dif- 
 ficnlt, urging na, by a Idnd of violence, to 
 their imme&te grmlification. 
 
 Thus, a man may be sensible of an in- 
 jury without being inflamed. He Judges 
 coelly of the injury, and of the proper means 
 flf mdnaa. Thia is resentment without 
 pMsinn* II leaves to the man the entire 
 command of himself. 
 
 On aMthM nectaiim, tho same pruiciple 
 ^ TCwnlment rises. Iiitii« Haine. H is blood 
 bolls withk him ; hit leuha, his voice, and 
 his gesture are ehanged ; he can think of 
 nothing but immediate revenge, and feels a 
 ■Iroiig impulse, without repard to conse- 
 f aencia, to say and do thmgs which his 
 oool leiMiii cannot Juatify. This is the 
 pMsion of reien.tmait 
 
 What has been said of Nsoitment may 
 •aeiy bo ^appliMl. to other nataiml desires 
 :aiid .aiteHoni. When, 'they are so cahn as 
 neither to produce any sensible effects upon 
 the body, nor to darken the understanding 
 and wmIwb the power of ielf-command, 
 they are not ealled pasaiona. But the same 
 f rineiple, when it beeuuMS so violent as to 
 produce these effects upNon the body and 
 apon the mind, is a 'passion, or, as Cicero 
 'Very properly calls it, a perturbation. 
 
 It is evident, that thia memliig of the 
 word patmm aeoords much bettor with its 
 wmnion use in hmguage, than that which 
 Mr HuoM' givea it. [ 184] 
 
 When iM laya, that men ought to be 
 
 Svemed by their passions only, and that 
 » use of reason is to he subservient to 
 iho fMarions, this, at first hearing, appears 
 m shecMng paradox, repugnant to good 
 mnmla and to common sense; but, like 
 most other paradoxes, when explained ac- 
 OWlding to his meaning, it is nothing but an 
 ■buie of wordSk 
 
 For, if we give the name of pamon to 
 every principle of action, in every degree, 
 and give the name of reason solely to the 
 power of discerning the fitness of means to 
 ends, it will be true that the use oi reason 
 is to be subservient to the passions. 
 
 As I wish to use words as agreeably as 
 possible to their common use in language,* 
 I shall, by the word pmsion mean, not any 
 principle of action distinct from those de- 
 sires and affections before explained, but 
 stteh a def/ree of vehemence in them, or in 
 any of them, as is apt to produce those 
 effects upon the body or upon the mind 
 which have been above described. 
 
 Our appettteSf even when vehement, are 
 not, I think, very commonly called /)««*Jon«; 
 yet they are capable of being inflamed to 
 rage, and in that case their effects are very 
 aimihu: to those of the passions ; and what 
 is said of one may be appUed to both. 
 
 Having explained what I mean by pas- 
 sions, I think it unnecessary to enter into 
 any enumeration of them, since they differ, 
 not in kind, l.ut rather in degree, from the 
 principles already enumerated* 
 
 The common division of the passions into i 
 dmre and avergion^ hope and featf joy and | 
 ffrkiff has been mentioned almost by every I 
 author who lias treated of them, and needs 
 no explication. But we may observe, that 
 these are ingredients or modifications, not 
 of the passions only, but of everv principle 
 of action, animal and rational. [ 1 &5] 
 
 All of them imply the desire of some 
 object ; and the desire of an object cannot 
 be without aversion to its contrary ; and, 
 according as the object is present or absent, 
 desire and aversion will be variously modi- 
 fied into joy or grief, hope or fear. It is 
 evident that desire and aversion, joy and 
 grief, hope and fear, may be either calm 
 and sedato, or vehement and passionate. 
 
 Passing these, therefore, as common to 
 all principles of action, whether calm or 
 vehement, I shall only make some observa- 
 tions on passion in general, which tend to 
 ihew its mfluence on human conduct. 
 
 Firtty It is passion that makes us liable 
 to strong temptations. Indeed, if we had 
 no passions, we should hardly be under any 
 temptation to wrong conduct. For, when 
 we view things calmly, and free from any 
 of the false colours which passion throws 
 upon them, we can hardly fail to see the 
 right and the wrong, and to see that the 
 first is more eligible than the last 
 
 I believe a cool and deliberate preference 
 of ill to good is never the first step into vice. 
 
 ** When the woman saw that the tree 
 was good for food, and that it was pleasant 
 to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to 
 
 « It Is not in a<I languaget mat Reid'i limit«tionol 
 the tefm pastim to the man ? eliement aftdioiu, 
 will ind • warrant.->fl. 
 
 ■hk mm 
 
 make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof 
 and did eat, and gave also to her husband 
 with her, and he did eat ; and the eyes of 
 them both were opened." Inflamed desire 
 had blinded the eyes of their understand- 
 ing. [186] 
 
 " Fixed on the fruit she gaz*d, which to behold 
 Might teropt alone ; and in her ears the sound 
 Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregn'd 
 With reason to her seeming, and wi»h truth. 
 
 Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste. 
 Of virtue to make wise— what hinders, then. 
 To reach, and feed at once both body and mind P" 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Thus our first parents were tempted to 
 
 disobey their Maker, and all their posterity 
 
 are liable to temptation from the same 
 
 leause. Passion, or violent appetite, first 
 
 Iblinds the imderstanding, and then perverts 
 
 |the will. 
 
 It is passion, therefore, and the vehement 
 motions of appetite, that make us liable, 
 in our present state, to strong temptations 
 to deviate from our duty. This is the lot 
 of human nature in the present period of 
 our existence. 
 
 Human virtue must gather strength by 
 fitruggle and effort As infants, before they 
 can walk without stumbling, must be ex- 
 posed to many a fall and bruise ; as wrest- 
 lers acquire their strength and agility by 
 many a combat and violent exertion ; so it 
 is in the noblest powers of human nature, 
 as well as the meanest, and even in virtue 
 itself. 
 
 It is not only made manifest by tempta- 
 tion and trial, but by these means it ac- 
 quires its strength and vigour. 
 
 Men must acquire patience by suffering, 
 and fortitude by being exposed to danger, 
 and every other virtue by situations that 
 put it to trial and exercise. 
 
 This, for anything we know, may be ne- 
 oessarv in the nature of things. It is cer- 
 tainly a kw of nature with regard to man. 
 [187] 
 
 Whether there may be orders of intelli- 
 gent and moral creatures who never were 
 subject to any temptation, nor had their 
 virtue put to any trial, we cannot without 
 presumption determine. But it is evident 
 that this neither is, nor ever was the lot of 
 man, not even in the state of innocence. 
 
 Sad, indeed, would be the condition of 
 man, if the temptations to which, by the 
 constitution of his nature, and by his cir- 
 cumstances, he is liable, were irresistible. 
 Such a state would not at all be a state of 
 trial and discipline. 
 
 Our condition here is such that, on the 
 one hand, passion often tempts and solicits 
 us to do wrong ; on the other hand, reason 
 and conscience oppose the dictates of pas- 
 ision. The flesh lusteth against the spirit, 
 and the spirit against the flesh. And upon 
 the issue of this conflict, the character of 
 the man and his fate depend. 
 [186-188] 
 
 If reason be victorious, his virtue is 
 strengthened ; he has the inward satisfac- 
 tion of having fought a good fight in behalf 
 of his duty, and the peace of his mind is 
 preserved. 
 
 If, on the other hand, passion prevail 
 against the sense of duty, the man is con- 
 scious of having done what he ought not 
 and might not have done. His own heart 
 condemns him, and he is guilty to himself. 
 
 This conflict between the passions of our 
 animal nature and the calm dictates of rea- 
 son and conscience, is not a theory invented 
 to solve the phsenomena of human conduct ; 
 it is a fact, of which every man who attends 
 to his own conduct is conscious. 
 
 In the most ancient philosophy of which 
 we have any account — I mean that of the 
 Pythagorean school* — the mind of man was 
 compared to a state or commo nwealth, iu 
 which there are various powers, some that 
 ought to govern and others that ought to 
 be subordinate. [188] 
 
 The good of the whole, which is the sn- 
 preme law in this, as in every common- 
 wealth, requires that this subordination be 
 preserved, and that the governing powers 
 have always the ascendant over the appe- 
 tites and passions. All wise and good con- 
 duct consists iu this ; all folly and vice in the 
 prevalence of passion over the dictates of 
 reason. 
 
 This philosophy was adopted by Plato 5 
 and it is so agreeable to what every man 
 feels in himself, that it must always prevail 
 with men who think without bias to a 
 system. 
 
 The governing powers, of which these 
 ancient philosophers speak, are the same 
 which I call the raftona/ principles of action, 
 and which I shall have occasion to explain. 
 I only mention them here, because, with- 
 out a regard to them, the influence of the 
 passions, and their rank in our constitution, 
 cannot be distinctly understood. 
 
 A second observation is. That the impulse 
 of passion is not always to what is bad, but 
 very often to what is good, and what our 
 reason approves. There are some passions, 
 as Dr Hutcheson observes, that are bene- 
 volent, as well as others that are selfish. 
 
 The affections of resentment and emula- 
 tion, with those that spring from them, 
 from their very nature, disturb and disquiet 
 the mind, though they be not carried beyond 
 the bounds which reason prescribes; and 
 therefore they are commonly called passions, 
 even in their moderate degrees. From a 
 similar cause, the benevolent affections, 
 which are placid in their nature, and are 
 
 * Of the Pythagorean school and its particular 
 doctrines, we know very little with any certainty. 
 The cn-ticulate accounts we have from the lower 
 Flatonistsarerrcent and fabulous, and the treatises 
 under the names of the Pythagorean philosophew 
 themselves, 8purious.~H. 
 
BftM 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [emay hi.— fakt ii. 
 
 Hrely carriad beyond the bounds of reaaon, 
 mm very ■eldom oalled fHUHuons. We do 
 not gin tiM iMiMi «f ■ wmam to beneTO- 
 hmm, putltode, or fnendabip. Yet we 
 niiit enBift from thia general rule, love 
 between tbe lexee, which, aa it commonly 
 iiscompoees the nlili, wd is not eraily kept 
 within reftsonable bOTmd% ia alw»ys called 
 A'pHBion* 1189} 
 
 MM our natural desires and affections are 
 good and neoessary parts of ouv eoMtitii- 
 tioa I and paaiioii, being only a certain de- 
 groe of vehemenee In these, its natural tend> 
 •nmf is to good, and it is by aceident that it 
 leads us wrong. 
 
 Passion is very fwpiiriy aaid to be blmd. 
 It looks nut beyond the preMot gratifica- 
 lion. It belongs to reason to"aitond to the 
 aeeidental circumstances which may some* 
 limes make that gratification improper or 
 bmrtfiiL When there is no impropriety 
 in ft, mneh more when it is our duty, pas- 
 sion aids reason, and gives additional force 
 to its dictates. 
 
 Sympithy with the distressed may brmg 
 lliem,»«iiifllabto 'relief, when a calm senseof 
 duly 'Weald. be toi> weak to produce the ened 
 Objects, either good or ill, conceived to 
 be very distant, when they are considered 
 coolly, have nol that Influence upon men 
 whicii in reason they ought to have. Ima- 
 gination, like the eye, diminisheth its objects 
 in proportion to their distance. The pas- 
 laiins of hope and fear must be raised, in 
 nfder to' mve such objects their due magni- 
 tude In tie Imagination, and their due m- 
 fluence upon our conduct. 
 
 The dread of disgiane and of the civil 
 naitttrat% and the appwhcnsion of future 
 puiiiidl.iiient, prevent many crimes, which 
 bad men, without these restraints, would 
 commit, and contribute greatly to the peace 
 and good order of society. [ 190] 
 
 There is no bad action which some pas- 
 siou may not prevent; nor is there any 
 external good action, of which some passion 
 may not be the main spring ; and it is very 
 probable that even the passions of men, upon 
 the whole^ do more good to society than hurt. 
 The ill that is done draws our attention 
 ^more, and is imputed solely to human pas- 
 sions. The good may have better motives, 
 and charity leads us to think that it has ; 
 but, as we see not the heart, it is impossible 
 to detormine what share men*s passions 
 nay have in its production. 
 
 The Imt observation Is— That, If we dia- 
 thignlah, in the effects of our passions, 
 those which are altogether involuntary and 
 without the sphere of our power, from the 
 effects which may be prevented by an ex- 
 •rtiin, perhaps a great exertion, of self- 
 gdvanment ; we shall find the first to be 
 good and highly useful, and the hwt only 
 tobe'hMi^ 
 
 Nol to speak of the effects of moderate 
 passions upon the health of the body, to 
 which some agitation of this kind seems to 
 be no less useful than storms and tempests 
 to the salubrity of the air; every passion 
 naturally draws our attention to its objeet, 
 and interests ua in it. 
 
 The mind of man is naturally desultory, 
 and when it has no interesting object in 
 view, roves from one to another, without 
 fixing its attention upon any one. A tran- 
 sient and careless glance is all that we be- 
 stow upon objects in which we take no 
 concern. It requires a strong degree of 
 curiosity, or some more important passion, 
 to give ua that interest in an object which 
 ia necessary to our giving attention to it. 
 
 And, without attention, we can form no 
 true and stable judgment of any object. 
 
 [101] 
 
 Take away the passions, and it is nol 
 easy to say how great a part of mankind 
 would resemble those frivolous mortals, 
 who never had a thought that engaged 
 them in good earnest. 
 
 It is not mere judgment or intellectual 
 ability that enables a man to excel in any 
 art or science. He must have a love and 
 admiration of it bordering upon enthusiasm, 
 or a passionate desire of the fame, or of 
 some other advantage to be got by thai 
 excellence. Without this, he would not 
 undergo the labour and fatigue of his facul- 
 ties, which it requires. So that, I think, 
 we may with justice allow no small merit 
 to the passions, even in the discoveries and 
 improvements of the arts and sciences. 
 
 If the passions for fame and distinction 
 were extinguished, it would be difBcult to 
 find men ready to undertake the cares and 
 toils of government ; and few perhaps would 
 make the exertion necessary to raise them- 
 selves above the ignoble vulgar. 
 
 The involuntary signs of the passions 
 and dispositions of the mind, in the voice, 
 features, and action, are a part of the human 
 constitution which deserves admiration. 
 The signification of those signs is known to 
 all men by nature, and previous to all expe- 
 
 rience. 
 
 They are so many openings into theaoula 
 of our fellow-men, by which their aenti- 
 ments become vbible to the eye. They are 
 a natural language common to mankmd, 
 without which it would have been impos- 
 sible to have invented any artificial Ian- 
 guage. 
 
 It is from the natural signs of the pas- 
 sions and dispositions of the mind that the 
 human form derives its beauty ; that pamt- 
 ing, poetry, and music derive their expres- 
 sion; that eloquence derives Its greatest 
 force, and conversation ita greatest charm. 
 
 [1921 
 The naasiona, when kept within their 
 ' I— ^ fl89-l9«l 
 
 VKaAP* V Jll.« I 
 
 OF DISPOSITION. 
 
 675 
 
 proper bounda, pve life and vigour to the 
 whole man. Without them man would be 
 a slug. We see what polish and anima- 
 tion the passion of love, when honourable 
 and not unsuccessful, gives to both "sexes. 
 
 The passion for military glory raises the 
 brave commander, in the day of battle, far 
 above himself, making his countenance to 
 shine, and his eyes to sparkle. The glory 
 of old England warms the heart even of the 
 British tar, and makes him despise every 
 danger. 
 
 As to the bad effects of passion, it must 
 be acknowledged that it often gives a strong 
 impulse to what is bad, and what a man 
 condemns himself for, as soon as it is done. 
 But he must be conscious that the impulse, 
 though strong, was not irresistible, other- 
 wise he could not condemn himselfl 
 ^ We allow that a sudden and violent pas- 
 sion, into which a man is surprised, alle- 
 viates a bad action ; but, if it was irresist- 
 ible, it would not only alleviate, but totally 
 exculpate, which it never does, either in the 
 judgment of the man himself, or of others. 
 
 I To sum up all, passion furnishes a very 
 ■trong instance of the truth of the common 
 maxim, " That the corruption of the best 
 ; things is worst."* 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF DISPOSITION. 
 
 By Disposition I mean a state of mind 
 which, while it lasts, gives a tendency, or 
 proneness, to be moved by certain animal 
 principles, rather than by others; while, 
 at another time, another state of mind, in 
 the same person, may give the ascendant 
 to other animal principles. [ 193] 
 
 It was before observed, that it is a pro- 
 perty of our appetites to be periodical, 
 ceasing for a time, when sated by their 
 objects, and returning regularly after cer- 
 tain periods. 
 
 Even those principles which are not peri- 
 odical, have their ebbs and flows occasion- 
 ally, according to the present disposition of 
 the mind. 
 
 Among some of the principles of action, 
 there is a natural affinity, so that one of the 
 tribe naturally disposes to those which are 
 allied to it. 
 
 Such an afiKnity has been observed by 
 many good authors to be among all the 
 benevolent affections. The exercise of one 
 benevolent affection gives a proneness to the 
 exercise of others. 
 
 There is a certain placid and agreeable 
 
 *' Corruptio optimi petsima. From Ariftotle; 
 who uwt it when speaking of pure monarchy— a 
 form of polity which may either be the bett or the 
 wont^H. 
 
 [193, 194] 
 
 tone of mind which is common to them all, 
 which seems to be the bond of that connec- 
 tion and affinity they have with one another. 
 
 The malevolent affections have also an 
 affinity, and mutually dispose to each other, 
 by means, perhaps, of that disagreeable 
 feeling common to them all, which makes 
 the mind sore and uneasy. 
 
 As far as we can trace the causes of the 
 different dispositions of the mind, they seem 
 to be in some cases owing to those associat- 
 ing powers of the principles of action which 
 have a natural affinity, and are prone to 
 keep company with one another; sometimes 
 to accidents of good or bad fortune ; and 
 sometimes, no doubt, the state of the body 
 may have influence upon the disposition of 
 the mind. 
 
 At one time, the state of the mind, like a 
 serene unclouded sky, shews everything in 
 the most agreeable light. Then a man is 
 prone to benevolence, compassion, and 
 every kind affection ; unsuspicious, not 
 easily provoked. [ 1 94 ] 
 
 The poets have observed that men have 
 their mollia temporafandl* when they are 
 averse from saying or doing a harsh thing ; 
 and artful men watch these occasions, and 
 know how to improve them to promote their 
 ends. 
 
 This disposition, I think, we commonly 
 
 call (food humour ; of which, in the fair sex, 
 
 Mr Pope says — 
 
 " Good humour only teaches charmy to last, 
 
 Stili makes new conquests, and maintains the past." 
 
 There is no disposition more comfortable 
 to the person himself, or more agreeable to 
 others, than good humour. It is to the 
 mind, what good health is to the body, put- 
 ting a man in the capacity of enjoying 
 everything that is agreeable in life, and of 
 using every faculty without clog or impedi- 
 ment. It disposes to contentment with our 
 lot, to benevolence to all men, to sympathy 
 with the distressed. It presents every 
 object in the most favourable light, and dis- 
 poses us to avoid giving or taking offence. 
 
 This happy disposition seems to be the 
 natural fruit of a good conscience, and a 
 firm belief that the world is under a wise 
 and benevolent administration ; and, when 
 it springs from this root, it is an habitual 
 sentiment of piety. 
 
 Crood humour is likewise apt to be pro- 
 duced by happy success, or unexpected good 
 fortune. Joy and hope are favourable to 
 it; vexation and disappointment are un- 
 favourable. 
 
 The only danger of this disposition aeema 
 to be — That, if we are not upon our guard, 
 it may degenerate into levity, and indispose 
 us to a proper degree of caution, and of at- 
 
 * MolIlMtmaAindl Terapora.— Viroilius. 
 Sola rirl molles aditua «t tempora ooras, Iu.-.H. 
 
570 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay hi.— part it. 
 
 UIIAF^ VII I. J 
 
 OP OPINION. 
 
 677 
 
 'tantkii to tlie fatura ^oouMqiieiices of our 
 'iistioiis. |ti5l 
 
 There is ft dispoBition oppoeite to good 
 liiiinoiir which we call bad humour, of which 
 Ihe tenduiicy it directly eonlrary, and there- 
 fore its infltieitce is as malignant as that of 
 iHm other is salutary. 
 
 Bad humour alone la mfiicient to make 
 a man unhappy ; it tinges every object with 
 its own difliial colour ; and, lilie » pMt that 
 'is galhMl, iS' linrt by everythinf thai' touches 
 il It takes offence where none was meant, 
 and disposes to discontent, jealousy, envy, 
 and, in general, to malevolence. 
 
 Another emiple of opposite dispositions 
 lie «l€l<oii of mind, on the one band, and 
 JipmMOfi, on the other. 
 
 These centaury di^iositions are both of 
 an '.ambiguous iiatnie 3 their influence may 
 he good or bad, according as they are 
 grounded on tme or fake opinion, and ac- 
 iMiilng m they are wifa,iateA' 
 
 'That ebtion of mind whieh arises fhim a 
 Just sense of tlie dignity of our nature, and 
 of the powers and faculties with which Ood 
 'ka^ endowed 'US, is true magnanimity, and 
 disposes a man to the nohlfst virtues, and 
 the most heroie actions and enterprises. 
 
 There is also an ektion of mind, which 
 ■liiis from, a consciousness of our worth 
 ani integrity, such as Job felt, when he 
 'sidd— " Till I die, I will not remove my 
 Integrity from me. My righteonnses I 
 iMld last, and will not let it go ; my heart 
 ■hall not fepieaeh me wMk I live.*^ This 
 'Bay be' eallei, die pride of virtue i hut it is 
 m 'nohhi f ii*i.' B Tomkm a man disdain to 
 do what is base or mean. This is the true 
 ,iense of honour. [ 1116] 
 
 But then is m elation of mmd arising 
 fren a frin opinion of our having talents, 
 or 'worth, 'Whieh we have not ; or from put- 
 ting' »n undue value upon any of our endow- 
 nients of mind, body, or fortune. This is 
 inMe, the patent of many odious vices $ 
 such asatllipnee, uudue contempt of others, 
 ■elf-pafftiaity, and vicious self-love. 
 
 The opposite disposition to elation of 
 nnndi is depression, which also has good or 
 bad elfMt% aeeording as it Is grounded upon 
 true' or iUie' opinion. 
 
 A Just sense of the weakness and imper- 
 iMtim. of human nature, and of our own 
 MHffnal. 'fuillaand. defeets, istrue humility. 
 It'iiy not' fo liMI' itf oti:rstfliff« mbove what w§ 
 OiifAl to tkmk^~tk most salutary and amiable 
 dlfoiition, of great price in the sight of 
 Cwd and man. Nor is it inconsistent with 
 real magnanimity and greatness of soul. 
 They may dwell together with great advan- 
 lige and nnament to both, and be faithful 
 iDonitore agaimft^'tteMtienes to which each 
 ;iaa the greatest tondeney. 
 
 Bnt there is a depression of mmd which 
 is tiie oppoeato to mugnanimity, which de- 
 
 biliUtes the springs of action, and freezes 
 every sentiment that should lead to any 
 noble exertion or enterprise. 
 
 Suppose a man to have no belief of a 
 good administration of thcT world, no con- 
 ception of the dignity of virtue, no hope of 
 happiness in another state. Suppose him, 
 at the same time, in a state of extreme 
 poverty and dependence, and that he has 
 no higher aim than to supply his bodily 
 wants, or to minister to the pleasure, or 
 flatter the pride of some being as worthless 
 as himself. Is not the soul of such a man 
 depressed as much as his body or his for- 
 tune ? And, if fortune should smile upon 
 him while he retains the same sentiments 
 he is only the slave of fortune. His mind 
 is depressed to the state of a brute ; and his 
 human faculties serve only to make him 
 feel that depression. [197] 
 
 Depression of mind may be owing to 
 melancholy, a distemper of mind which 
 proceeds from the state of the body, which 
 throws a dismal gloom upon every object 
 of thought, cuts all the sinews of action, and 
 often gives rise to strange and absurd 
 opinions in religion, or in other interesting 
 matters. Yet, where there is real worth 
 at bottom, same rays of it will break forth 
 even in this depressed state of mind. 
 
 A remarkable instance of this was ex« 
 hibited. in Mr Simon Brown, a dissenting 
 clergymen in England, who, by melancholy, 
 was led into the belief that his rational soul 
 had gradually decayed %ithtn him, and at 
 hut was totally extinct. From this belief 
 he gave up his ministerial function, and 
 would not even join with others in any act 
 of worship, conceiving it to be a profana- 
 tion to wornhip God without a soul. 
 
 In ilm dismal state of mind, he wrote 
 an excellent defence of the Christian reli- 
 gion, against Tindal's " Christianity as old 
 as tlie Creation." To the book he pre- 
 flmed an epistle dedicatory to Queen Caro- 
 line, wherein he mentions — " That he was 
 once a man ; but, by the immediate hand ol 
 God, for his sins, his very thinking sub- 
 stance has, ibr more than seven years, been 
 continually wasting away, till it is wholly 
 l>erished out of him, if it be not utteriy 
 come to nothing." And, having heard of 
 her Majesty's eminent piety, he begs the 
 aid of her prayers. 
 
 The book was published after his death 
 without the dedication, which, however, 
 having been preserved in manuscript, was 
 afterwards printed in the " Adventurer,* 
 No. 88. [198] 
 
 Thus, this good man, when he believed 
 that he had no soul, shewed a most gene- 
 rous and disinterested concern for those 
 who had souls. 
 
 As depression of mind may produce 
 strange opinions, especially in ^e case of 
 
 fl96-198l 
 
 llliiiip 
 
 melancholy, so our opinions may have a 
 very considerable influence, either to ele- 
 vate or to depress the mind, even where 
 there is no melancholy. 
 
 Suppose, on one hand, a man who be- 
 lieves that he is destined to an eternal 
 existence ; that He who made and who 
 governs the world, maketh account of him, 
 and hath furnished him with the means of 
 attaining a high degree of perfection and 
 glory. With this man, compare, on the 
 other hand, the man who believes nothing 
 at all, or who believes that his existence is 
 only the play of atoms, and that, after he 
 hath been tossed about by blind fortune 
 for a few years, he shall again return to 
 nothing. Cau it be doubted, that the 
 former opinion leads to elevation and great- 
 ness of mind, the latter to meanness and 
 depression ? 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF OPINION. 
 
 When we come to explain the rational 
 principles of action, it will appear that 
 Opinion is an essential ingredient in them. 
 Here we are only to consider its influence 
 upon the animal principles. Some of those 
 I have ranked in that class cannot, I think, 
 exist in the human mind without it 
 
 Gratitude supposes the opinion of a 
 favour done or intended; resentment the 
 opinion of an injury ; esteem the opinion 
 of merit ; the passion of love supposes the 
 opinion of uncommon merit and perfection 
 in its object. [190] 
 
 Althouj^h natural afi*ection to parents, 
 i^ildren, and near relations is not grounded 
 on the opinion of their merit, it is much 
 increased by that consideration. So is 
 every benevolent aff*ection. On the con- 
 trary, real malevolence can hardly exist 
 without the opinion of demerit in the ob- 
 ject. 
 
 There is no natural desire or aversion 
 which may not be restrained by opinion. 
 Thus, if a man were a-thirst, and had a 
 strong desire to drink, the opinion that 
 there was poison in the cup would make him 
 forbear. 
 
 It is evident that hope and fear, which 
 every natural desire or affection may create, 
 depend upon the opinion of future good or 
 ilL 
 
 Thus it appears, that our passions, our 
 dispositions, and our opinions, have great 
 influence upon our animal principles, to 
 strengthen or weaken, to excite or restrain 
 them ; and, by that means, have great 
 influence upon human actions and charac- 
 ters. 
 
 That brute-animals have both passions 
 [199-201] 
 
 and dispositions similar, in many respects, 
 to those of men, cannot be doubted. Whe- 
 ther they have opinions is not so clear. I 
 think they have not, in the proper sen 'e of 
 the word. But, waving all dispute upon 
 this point, it will be granted that opinion in 
 men has a much wider field than in brutes. 
 No man will say that they have systems of 
 theology, morals, jurisprudence, or politics ; 
 or that they can reason from the laws of 
 nature, in mechanics, medicine, or agricul- 
 ture. 
 
 They feel the evils or enjoyments that 
 are present ; probably they imagine those 
 which experience has associated with what 
 they feel. But they can take no large pros- 
 pect either of the past or of the future, nor 
 see through a train of consequences. [200] 
 
 A dog may be deterred from eating what 
 is before him by the fear of immediate 
 punishment, which he has felt on like occa- 
 sions ; but he is never deterred by the con- 
 sideration of health, or of any distant good. 
 
 I have been credibly informed, that a ¥ 
 monkey, having once been intoxicated with ' 
 strong drink, in consequence of which it 
 burnt its foot in the fire, and had a severe 
 fit of sickness, could never after be induced 
 to drink anything but pure water. I be- + 
 lieve this is the utmost pitch which the ' 
 faculties of brutes can reach. 
 
 From the influence of opinion upon the 
 conduct of mankind, we may learn that it is 
 one of the chief instruments to be used in 
 the discipline and government of men. 
 
 All men, in the early part of life, must he 
 under the discipline and government of pa- 
 rents and tutors. Men who live in society 
 must be under the government of laws and 
 magbtrates through life. The government 
 of men is undoubtedly one of the noblest 
 exertions of human power. And it is of 
 great importance that those who have any 
 share, either in domestic or civil govern- 
 ment, should know the nature of man, and 
 how he is to be trained and governed. 
 
 Of all instruments of government, opinion 
 is the sweetest, and the most a'^reeable to 
 the nature of man. Obedience that flows 
 from opinion is real freedom, which every 
 man desires. That which is extorted by 
 fear of punishment is slavery, a yoke which 
 is always galling, and which every man will 
 shake off" when it is in his power. 
 
 The opinions of the bulk of mankind have 
 always been, and will always be, what they 
 are taught by those whom they esteem to 
 be wise and good ; and, therefore, in a con- 
 sideral>le degree, are in the power of those 
 who govern thim. [201] 
 
 Man, uncornipted by bad habits and bad 
 opinions, is of all animals the most tract- 
 able ; corrupted by these, he is of all ani- < 
 mals the most untractable. 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that, if ever civil 
 
 2 P 
 
57i 
 
 OM TIB ACTIVE POWERS, [bssay hi.— pabt ii. 
 
 -w,^„-.-j| lUl be broiglit to iwlection, 
 
 11 itiiil U «!• ffiiMiipal caw <if ti« itoto to 
 
 mmm initfiMtifiii ant Awipiiifr* 
 
 The most useful part of imediciiie is that 
 vliiii, :gtitDgtli0iii the conttittttioii, and pre- 
 iHto: dSmmmm 'hy gooi. :iegiiiicii i the rest 
 Il,iemewhal lie' pwwtog a fititow fabric 
 :al.gwat expense, maA U little pnipeie.^ The 
 art of government is the mediohio of the 
 ■wamil,^ and the most useful ppri. of it is that 
 ivUdi pteTOWta 'Orinies and l»d ■habits, and 
 ftwl'^» 'Hill to 'virlW' and. jpod habits bj 
 proper ediMation and diseiplme. 
 
 The 'Cad of government is to make tit 
 wmUlf'^immf which can only he done by 
 
 ■fc%.il::|(MMl.'and^irirtnou& 
 
 =lhat men in. general will be good or bad 
 khera of society, according to the edu- 
 
 M and dis^line by which they have 
 
 hean trained, experience .may convmce us. 
 
 The present age has made gfeat advances 
 in the art of training men to nulitary duty. 
 It will not be said that those who enter 
 'iml ii :.' f|^ t . aefflee .are more taetablo than 
 Aeir Mlow-MiiJMili^ off' other professions. 
 ittd I know not why il should be thought 
 imiiossible to train men to equal jperfec- 
 tion in the other dnties of good citizens. 
 
 . . _jit an imniiie differenco is there, for 
 'the purpose' of war, between an army pro- 
 perly trained, and a militia hastily drawn 
 ©ntoftheinnltitnde? What shodd hinder 
 
 na from thinking that, for every pwf*« «' 
 Mi govemnent, there may be a like dif- 
 llMaee between a civE society properly 
 mined to f irtne, good habits, and rjght 
 ;iiiitiinant%i and. lhoM< oivil lOoietieB which 
 m WW' .behold:? But I fear I shall be 
 iMM^ to' digfesa itom ny subject Into 
 IJ'topian speculation* 
 
 To make an end of what I have to say 
 upon the animal principles of action, we 
 may take a complex view of their effect in 
 life^ by supposing a being actuated by pnn- 
 ciples of no higher order, to have no con- 
 .siiiiwe or sense of duty, only .kt< na allow 
 him that superiority of underslandinf 'Wd 
 that power of self-govenrn'Oit which man 
 .iilnally has. Let us speculate a little upon 
 'Hdi' ;iniag|nary being, :and consider what 
 
 • II if not iMlitable tollie people of Ormt Briton 
 
 that wt Atfl iilKnt tlM iMt natkin of Europe, if not 
 to nminlat tlllt' Vfacllilt, at Veaat to carry it ioto 
 •iM. ial lie iplffit of manufacturet, which vipwt 
 iinHW. 'Matt' enlf ia lelation to productifm, and 
 aiaif eitllWlvelf •( lilCallllng thera for instruineiiU 
 at lfcielli«|itil rate, it diametrically opposed to the 
 ■Ulirlt of edlieatioii i in as much as education viewa 
 tliicitifeii ■■ ••rtileclof intellectual iinprovemeni, 
 awL wiOwm miking him a l?etter instrument, makw 
 aim one awie cortly. Aristotle has signaliaed thu 
 i«lltOiilini.wfcielili«iti«tn oterlooked by recent pi. 
 
 I lilM fpcciiltlMrt. But, ia ancimt times, the proa, 
 nrity of a ttate nrsi pMad In the moral and intel- 
 
 I Cuial difniiy <if Iti dtliena j in modern timet, in 
 * " rial rkii€&— H. 
 
 conduct and tenor of action migfat be ex- 
 
 oeoted from him* 
 
 ^Uk evident be would be a very different 
 
 animal from a brute, and, perhaps, not very 
 
 different, in appearance, from what a great- 
 
 partofi^kindis. 
 
 He would be capable of considering the 
 distant consequences of his actions, and of 
 restraining or indulging his appetites, de- 
 sires, and affections, from the consideration 
 of distant good or evil. 
 
 He woidd be capable of choosing some 
 main end of his life, and planning such a 
 rule of conduct as api>eared most subser- 
 vient to it. Of this we have reason to think 
 no brute is capable. 
 
 We can, perhaps, conceive such a baknce 
 of the animal principles of action as, with 
 very little self-government, might make a 
 man to be a gowi member of society, a good 
 companion, and to have many amiable C[ua- 
 liUes. [2031 . , , 
 
 The balance of our animal pnnciples, 1 
 think, constitutes what we call a nian*s 
 natural temper ; which may be good or 
 had, without regard to his virtue. 
 
 A man in whom the benevolent affec- 
 tions, the desire of esteem and good humour, 
 are naturally prevalent, who is of a cahn 
 and dispassionate nature, who has the good 
 fortune to live with good men and associate 
 with good companions, may behave pro- 
 perly with little effort. 
 
 His natural temper leads him, in most 
 cases, to do what virtue requires. And if 
 he happens not to be exposed to those try- 
 ing situations in which virtue crosses the 
 natural bent of his temper, he has no great 
 temptation to act amiss. 
 
 But, perhaps, a happy natural temper, 
 joined with such a happy situation, is more 
 ideal than real, though, no doubt, some men 
 make nearer approaches to it than others. 
 
 The temper and the situation of men is 
 
 commonly such that the animal principlee 
 
 alone, without self-government, would never 
 
 produce any regular and consistent train 
 
 of conduct. 
 
 One principle crosses another. Without 
 
 self-government, that which is stronge^ 
 at the time will prevail. And that which ^ 
 is weakest at one time may, from paswon, l 
 from a change of disposition or of fortune, 
 become strongest at another time. CT 
 
 Every natural appetite, desire, and affec- 
 tion, has its own present gratification only 
 in view. A man, therefore, who has no 
 other leader than these, would be hke a 
 ship in the ocean without hands, which 
 cannot he said to be destined to any P®'^ 
 He would have no character at all, but be 
 benevolent or spiteful, pleasant or morose, 
 honest or dishonest, as the present wind of 
 passion or tide of humour moved him. 
 
 [2041 
 
 [202-204] 
 
 iiHAP. VIII.] RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION. 579 
 
 
 '1. 1 
 
 \ 
 
 Every man who pursues an end, be it 
 good or bad, must be active when he is dis- i 
 posed to be indolent ; he must rein every 
 passion and appetite that would lead him 
 out of his road. 
 
 Mortification and self-denial are found 
 not m the path of vurtue only— they are 
 common to every road that leads to an end, 
 be it ambition, or avarice, or even pleasure 
 itself. Every man who maintains a uni- 
 form and consistent character, must sweat 
 and toil, and often struggle with his pre- 
 sent inclination. 
 
 Yet those who steadily pursue some end 
 in life, though they must often restrain their 
 strongest desires, and practise much self- 
 denial, have, upon the whole, more enjoy- 
 ment than those who have no end at all, 
 hut to gratify the present prevailing in- 
 clination. 
 
 A dog that is made for the chase cannot 
 enjoy the happiness of a dog without that 
 exercise. Keep him within doors, feed him 
 with the most delicious fare, give him all 
 the pleasures his nature is capable of, he 
 soon becomes a dull, torpid, unhappy ani- 
 mal No enjoyment can supply the want 
 of that employment which nature has made 
 his chief good. Let him hunt, and neither 
 pain, nor hunger, nor fatigue seem to be 
 evils. Deprived of this exercise, he can 
 relish nothing. Life itself becomes burden- 
 some. 
 
 It is no disparagement te the human 
 kind to say, that man, as well as the dog, 
 is made for hunting, and cannot be happy 
 but in some vigorous pursuit. He has, in- 
 deed, nobler game to pursue than the dog ; 
 but he must have some pursuit, otherwise 
 life stagnates, all the faculties are benumbed, 
 the spirits flag, and his existence becomes 
 an unsupportable burden. 
 
 Even the mere foxhunter, who has no 
 
 higher pursuit than his dogs, has more en- 
 
 j^ment than he who has no pursuit at all. 
 
 He has an end in view, and this invigorates 
 
 his spirits, makes him despise pleasure ;• 
 
 and bear cold, hunger, and fatigue, as if 
 
 they were no evils. [205J 
 
 « Manet sub Jove frigido 
 Venator, tenerie conjugia immemor. 
 Sen visa est catulis cerva fidelibus, 
 Seu nipit tereles Marsus aper plagas."! 
 
 * Despise one pleasure for the sake of a higher. 
 In fact, all pleasure is the reflex or concomitant of 
 energy—spontaneous and unimpeded energy. This 
 has been best developed by Aristotle.— H. 
 
 * Horace^ 
 
 [205, 206] 
 
 PART IIL 
 
 OF THE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OP 
 ACTION. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THERE ARE RATIONAL PRINCIPLES OF ACTION 
 IN MAN. 
 
 Mechanical principles of action produce 
 their effect without any will or intention on 
 our part We may, by a voluntary effort, 
 hinder the effect ; but, if it be not hindered 
 by will and effort, it is produced without 
 them. 
 
 Animal principles of action require in- 
 tention and will in their operation, but not 
 judgment. They are, by ancient moralists, 
 very properly called cacce cupidinesj blind 
 desires. 
 
 Having treated of these two classes, I 
 proceed to the third — the Rational principles 
 of action in man ; which have that name, 
 because they can have no existence in be- 
 ings not endowed with reason, and, in all 
 their exertions, require, not only intention 
 and will, but judgment or reason. [206] 
 
 That talent which we call Reason,* by 
 which men that are adult and of a sound 
 mind are distinguished from brutes, idiots, 
 and infants, has, in all ages, among the 
 learned and unlearned, been conceived to 
 have two offices— /o regulate our belief , and 
 to regulate our actions and conduct. 
 
 Whatever we believe, we think agree- 
 able to reason, and, on that account, yield 
 our assent to it. Whatever we disbelieve, 
 we think contrary to reason, and, on that 
 account, dissent from it. Reason, there- 
 fore, is allowed to be the prmciple by which 
 our l9elief and opinions ought to be regulated. 
 
 But reason has been no less universally 
 conceived to be a principle by which our 
 actions ought to be regulated. 
 
 To act reasonably, is a phrase no less 
 common in all languages, than to judge 
 reasonably. We immediately approve of a 
 man^s conduct, when it appears that he had 
 good reason for what he did. And every 
 action we disapprove, we think unreason- 
 able, or contrary to reason. 
 
 A way of speaking so universal among 
 men, common to the learned and the un- 
 learned in all nations and in all languages, 
 must have a meaning. To suppose it to 
 be words without meaning, is to treat, with 
 undue contempt, the common sense of man- 
 kind* 
 
 Supposing this phrase tohaveameamng, 
 
 * Reatm is here used for intdligenee in general.— 
 
 H. 
 
 2 p2 
 
mo 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay in.— part m 
 
 w^nuiy oonaiier in wliat way temm may 
 itrre to regulate Imiiiaii conduct, so tliat 
 ■one aetioiM of men are to be denominated 
 inHOHilile, ani etlieni anreMMnable.. 
 
 1 'tate' M for granted,, tlial tliere can be 
 no exensiw' of Beason. without Judgment, 
 nor, on. the other hand, any judgment of 
 things, abfitiaet and general, without some 
 degroe of reason. [2117] 
 
 If, therefore, there be any prtncii>le8 of 
 action in the human constitution, which, in 
 lliehr mature, necessarily imply such judg- 
 'DMBty tibey are the principles which we ma^ 
 fill laieoal, to distinguiiili them from ani- 
 mal friwiples, which imply desire and will, 
 bit not judgment. 
 
 Every deliberate human action must be 
 done' 'eitlier as the m^eans, or as an end ; as 
 tbemeanstosome end, to which it Is subserv- 
 ient, or Its an end, for its own sake, and 
 without regard to anything beyond it. 
 
 That it is a part of the office of reason to 
 dbtermine what are the proper means to 
 any end which we desire, no man ever de- 
 nied. But some philosophers, particularly 
 Mr Hume, think that it is no part of tlie 
 oliee of reason to determine the ends we 
 ought to pursue, or the preference due to 
 me end above another. This, he thinks, 
 is not the office of reason, but of taste or 
 feeing^ 
 
 If this, be BO, leaaon cannot, with, any pro- 
 priety, be called a prindpile of action. Its 
 (Ase can only be to minister to the princi- 
 flee of action, by discovering the means of 
 tiieir graliioatiiin.. Accordingly, Mr Hume 
 maintai:nB,. that reason is no principle of ae- 
 tien i but that it is, and ought to be, the 
 servant of the passions. 
 
 I shall endeavour to shew that, among 
 Hm various ends of human actions, there 
 mm some, of which, without reason, we 
 could not even form a conception ; and that, 
 as soon as they are conceived, a regard to 
 them is, by oni constitution, not only a 
 principle of action, but a leading and go- 
 vetning principle, to which all our animal 
 principles are subordinate, and to which 
 they ought to Ijc subject. [208] 
 
 These I shall call rulional principles ; be- 
 cause they can exist only in beiiigB endowed 
 with reason, and because, to act from these 
 principles, ia wliat has always been meant 
 by acting aceovding to reason, 
 f 'The ends ^ef human, actions I have in 
 view, are two— to wit. What k gmdfm w 
 \wfOu the wMe, and, What appears i& be 
 w iliilf ; They are very strictly counected, 
 to the same course of conduct, and co- 
 opeiate with each other ; .and, on thai ac- 
 count, have commonly been comprehended 
 mder' one nam.C'-.that of rmMmk But, as 
 they may be disjoined, :an4..aie :ieaiy dis- 
 ... thMl pri.nciples of action, .1 ahaU. eon8.ider 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 or RIOARO TO OUR GOOD ON THl WHOLB. 
 
 It will not be denied that man, when he 
 comes to years of understanding, is led, by 
 his rational nature, to form the conception 
 of what is good for him upon the whole. 
 
 How eariy in life this general notion of 
 good enters into the mind, I cannot pre- 
 tend to determine. It is one of the roost 
 general and abstract notions we form. 
 
 Whatever makes a man more happy or 
 more perfect, is good, and is an object of 
 desire as soon as we are capable of forming 
 the conception of it. The contrary is ill, 
 and ia an object of aversion. 
 
 In the first part of life, we have many 
 enjoyments of various kinds ; but very si- 
 milar to those of brute-animals. [2tl9] 
 
 They consist in the exercise of our senses 
 and powers of motion, the gratification of 
 our appetites, and the exertionsof our kmd 
 affections. These are chequered with many 
 evils of pain, and fear, and disappointment, 
 and sympathy with the suft'erings of others. 
 But the goods and evils of this period of 
 life are of short duration, and soon forgot. 
 The mind, being regardless of the past, and 
 unconcerned about the future, we have 
 then no other measure of good but the pre- 
 sent desire ; no other measure of evil but 
 the present aversion. 
 
 Every animal desire has some particuhir 
 and present object, and looks not beyond 
 that object to its consequences, or to the 
 connections it may have with other things. 
 The present object, which is most at- 
 tractive, or excites the strongest desire, de- 
 termmes the choice, whatever be its con- 
 sequences. The present evil that presses 
 most, is avoided, though it should be the 
 road to a greater good to come, or the only 
 way to escape a greater evil This is the 
 way in which brutes act, and the way in 
 which men must act, till they come to the 
 use of reason. 
 
 • As we grow up to understanding, we ex- 
 tend our view both forward and backward. 
 We reflect upon what is past, and, by the 
 lamp of experience, discern what will pro- 
 bably happen in time to come. We find 
 that many things which we eagerly desired, 
 were too dearly purchased, and that things 
 grievous for the present, lilie nauseous me- 
 dicines, may be salutary in the issue. 
 
 We learn to observe the connexions of 
 things, and the consequences of our actions ; 
 and, taking an extended view of our exist- 
 ence, past, present, and future, we correct 
 our first notions of good and ill, and form 
 the conception of what is good or ill upon 
 the whole ; which must be estimated, not 
 from the present feeling, or from the pre- 
 
 [«0T-209] 
 
 CHAP. II.] OP REGARD TO OUR GOOD ON THE WHOLE. 
 
 581 
 
 sent animal desire or aversion, but from a 
 due consideration of its consequences, cer- 
 tain or probable, during the whole of our 
 existence. [210] 
 
 That which, talcen with all its discover- 
 able connections and consequences, brings 
 more good than ill, I call good upon the 
 whole. 
 
 That brute-animals have any conception 
 of this good, I see no reason to believe. 
 And it is evident that man cannot have the 
 conception of it, till reason is so far ad- 
 vanced that he can seriously reflect upon 
 the past, and take a prospect of the future 
 part of his existence. 
 
 It appears, therefore, that the very con- 
 ceptiou of what is good or ill for us upon 
 the whole, is the offspring of reason, and 
 can be only in beings endowed with reason. 
 And if this conception give rise to any 
 principle of action in man, which he had 
 not before, that principle may very jiroper- 
 ly be called a rational principle of action. 
 
 I pretend not in this to say anything 
 that is new, but what reason suggested to 
 those who first turned their attention to 
 the philosophy oi morals. I beg leave to 
 quote one passage from Cicero, in his first 
 book of " Offices ;" wherein, with his usual 
 eloquence, he expresses the substance of 
 what I have said. And there is good rea- 
 son to think that Cicero borrowed it from 
 Paneetius, a Greek philosopher whose books 
 of " Offices'* are lost. 
 
 " Sed inter hominem et belluam hoc 
 maxime interest, quod hsec tantum, quan- 
 tum sensu movetur, ad id solum, quod adest 
 quodque pnesens est se accomraodat, pau- 
 lulum admodum sentiens praeteritum aut 
 futurum. Homo autem quoniam rationis 
 est particeps, per quam consequentia ccr- 
 nit, causas rerum videt, earumque progres- 
 sus et quasi antecessiones nou ignorat, si- 
 militudines coniparut, et rebus praisenti- 
 bus adjungit atque annectit futuras ; facile 
 totius vitae cursum videt, ad eamque de- 
 gendam prscparat res necessarias." [211] 
 
 I observe, in the next place — That as soon 
 as we have the conception of what is good 
 or ill for us upon the whole, we are led, by 
 our constitution, to seek the good and avoid 
 the ill ; and this becomes not only a prin- 
 ciple of action, but a leading or governing 
 principle, to which allouranunal principles 
 ought to be subordinate. 
 
 I am very apt to think, with Dr Price, 
 that, in intelligent beings, the desire of what 
 is good, and aversion to what is ill, is neces- 
 sarily connected with the intelligent nature; 
 and that it Is a contradiction to suppose 
 such a being to have the notion of good 
 without the desire of it, or the notion of ill 
 without aversion to it. Perhaps there may 
 be other necessary connections between un- 
 derstanding and the best principles of action. 
 [210-213] 
 
 which our faculties are too weak to discern. 
 That they are necessarily connected in him 
 who is perfect in understanding, we have 
 good reason to believe. 
 
 To prefer a greater good, though distant, 
 to a less that is present ; to choose a pre- 
 sent evil, in order to avoid a greater evil, 
 or to obtain a greater good, is, in the judg- 
 ment of all men, wise and reasonable con- 
 duct ; and, when a man acts the contrary 
 part, all men will acknowledge that he acts 
 foolishly and unreasonably. Nor will it bo 
 denied, that, in innumerable cases in com- 
 mon life, our animal principles draw us one 
 way, while a regard to what is good on the 
 whole, draws us the contrary way. Thus 
 the flesh lusteth against the spirit, and the 
 spirit against the flesh, and these two are 
 contrary. That in every conflict of this 
 kind the rational principle ought to prevail, 
 and the annual to be subordinate, is too 
 evident to need, or to admit of proof. [212] 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears, that, to pursue 
 what is good upon the whole, and to avoid 
 what is ill upon the whole, is a rational prin- 
 ciple of action grounded upon our constitu- 
 tion as reasonable creatures. 
 
 It appears that it is not without just cause, 
 that this principle of action has in all ages 
 been called reason, in opposition to our 
 animal principles, which in common lan- 
 guage are called by the general name of the 
 passions. 
 
 The first not only operates in a calm and 
 cool manner, like reason, but implies real 
 judgment in all its operations. The second — 
 to wit, the passions— are blind desires of 
 some particular object, without any judg- 
 ment or consideration, whether it be good 
 for us upon the whole, or ill. 
 
 It appears also, that the fundamental 
 maxim of prudence, and of all good morals — 
 That the passions ought, in all cases, to be 
 under the dominion of reason — is not only 
 self-evident, when rightly understood, but 
 is expressed according to the common use 
 and propriety of language. 
 
 The contrary maxim maintained by Mr 
 Hume, can only be defended by a gross and 
 palpable abuse of words. For, in order to 
 defeud it, he must include under the pas- 
 siotis that very principle which has always, 
 in all languages, been called reason, and 
 never was, in any language, called a passion. 
 And from the meaning of the word reason 
 he must exclude the most important part 
 of it, by which we are able to discern and 
 to pursue what appears to be good upon the 
 whole. And thus, including the most im- 
 portant part of reason under passion, and 
 making the least important part of reason 
 to be the whole, he defends his favourite 
 paradox. That reason is, and ought to be, 
 the servant of the passions. [213] 
 
 To judge of what is true or false in specu- 
 
OM THE ACTIVE POWBES. (mmAY in.— paiit hi. 
 
 My e pointf, is tlie tMm of spMiiialive 
 
 ,NtMiii I md to jndfTO of wlisl' w §iioA or :ili 
 ,iir wm wptm Hio wiiole, is tbe oAce of prao- 
 ilml lesBon. Of true and false tliero are 
 10 dflgrees ; but of good and iU there are 
 many di^gftis, and many kinds ; and men 
 ane wmey apt to form emmeons opinions 
 «iiiioeimng them ; mMod liy tlieir passions, 
 Igr tlie antliorily of the multitadoj and by 
 
 Wise moD, 'tii al ages, bave reckoned it 
 *«biif'.piiiit'Of 'Wisdom., to make a ri^bt 
 ••tiiiiito of tlie goods and ovile of hie. 
 Their have Uboured to disooTor tlio enon 
 of the mnllitiidie on this important point, 
 mmA lo waul 'OIImiss aiBiiist' them. 
 
 'The aaeieiit 'HMnaiit^ 'though divided 
 into 1001% all agreed ia 'ihis— That opinion 
 has a waiikty influence upon ^diat we com- 
 'iiMilar MOoniit the goodk ^and :iUa of Mo, to 
 alfermto or to 'aggravate fhem. 
 
 The Stoics carried this so far, as to eon- 
 dido that they all depend on opinion, nimi 
 'IMAirl'W ^**** A &Tourite maxim with them. 
 
 We see^ indeed, that the same station or 
 eondition of life, which makes one man 
 happy, makes another miserable, and to a 
 third is perfectly mdifferent. We see men 
 'Hiioialite thioiiji^. life, from vain 'lean md 
 aiudoiiB dasbes, grounded solely upon 'wrong 
 opinions. We see men wear themselves 
 Qllt with toilsome days, and sleepless nights, 
 in pursuit of some object which they never 
 attain ; or which,, when, 'attained, gives little 
 .aa ti s f a ct i o ni perhaps real dingust. 
 
 The 'Mrili of Mfe. which overv 'nan must 
 feel, have a very diiiBrent effect upon dif- 
 ferent men. What sinks one into despair 
 and absokto misery, rouses the virtoe and 
 magnanimity of another, who bears it as 
 the lot of humanity, and as the discipline of 
 A wise and merciful Father in heaven. He 
 riseS' 'onpenor to adversity, and is made 
 
 It is therefore of the last importance, in 
 
 liie oondnet of life, to have just opinions 
 irifh mspoet to good and evil ; and, surely, 
 it is the prOvinee of reason to correct wrong 
 
 opinions, and to lead us into those that are 
 
 just and truoi 
 
 BM tme^ indeed, that' '1ii mw i\ MssioiiB Md 
 appetites too^ oHeii.' dntw then ' 'to' act 'Oon- 
 tfiaiy to their cool judgment and. opinion of 
 what is best for them. Vidm mgiiom pro- 
 hmm^ dgiermm mquor, is the case in every 
 iiiifU deviation fltom our true interest and 
 
 'When, thia 'ia the case, the man is self- 
 •oademned ; he sees thai he acted the part 
 of a brute when he ought to have acted the 
 
 'fifft 'Of a .nam. Mm m 'Oonvinoel, that 
 leasoD ought to 'have isiiialned:hia paasion, 
 and not to have given the rein to it 
 When he feels the bad effects of his con- 
 
 duct, he imputes them to himself, and would 
 be stung with remorse for his folly, thoogh 
 he had no account to make to a raperior 
 Being. He has sinned against himself, and 
 broudit upon his own head the punishment 
 whicnhia folly deserved. 
 
 From this we may see that this rational 
 principle of a regard to our good upon the 
 whole, gives us the conception of a right 
 and a wrong in human conduct, at least of 
 a wiM and a fooluh. It produces a kind of 
 self-approbation, when the passions and 
 appetites are kept in their due subjection to 
 it { and a kind of remorse and compunction 
 when it yields to them. [216] 
 
 In these respects, this principle is so 
 similar to the moral principle, or Conseienee, 
 and so interwoven with it, that both are 
 commonly comprehended under the name 
 of Reason, This simihuity led many of the 
 ancient philosophers, and some among the 
 modems, to resolve conscience, or a sense 
 of duty, entirely into a regard to what is 
 good fc>r us upon the whole. 
 
 That they are distinct principles of action, 
 though both lead to the same conduct in 
 life^ I shall have occasion to shew when I 
 come to treat of comcience. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TH« TSNDBNCT OP THIS PRINCPLB. 
 
 It has been the opinion of the wisest 
 men, in all ages, that this principle, of a 
 regard to our good upon the whole, in a 
 man duly enlightened, leads to the practice 
 of every virtue. 
 
 This was acknowledged, even by Epi- 
 curus; and the best moralists among the 
 ancients derived all tlie virtues from thia 
 principle. For, among them, the whole of 
 morak was reduced to this question ? What 
 Iff the grmtestgoodf or. What course qf 
 mndnet is best for us upon the whole $ 
 
 In order to resolve this question, ihej 
 divided goods into three classes : the goods 
 qf the Uxly — the goods of fortune or «»- 
 temal j^oodli— and the goods of the mimdf 
 meaning, by the last, wisdom and virtue. 
 
 Comparing these different classes of goods, 
 they shewed, with convincing evidence, that 
 the goods of the mind are, in many respects, 
 superior to those of the body and of for- 
 tune, not only as thOT have more dignity, 
 are more durable, and less exposed to the 
 strokes of fortune, but chiefly as they are 
 the only goods in our power, and which 
 depend wholly on our conduct. [216] 
 
 Epic^irus himself maintAined, that the 
 wise man may be happy in the tranquillity 
 of his mind, even when racked with pain 
 and struggling with adversity. 
 
 They observed very justly, that the goods 
 
 [81 4-21 6] 
 
 CHAP. III.] THE TENDENCY OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 
 
 583 
 
 of fortune, and even those of the body, de- 
 pend much on opinion ; and that, when our 
 opinion of them is duly corrected by reason, 
 we shall And them of small value in them- 
 selves. 
 
 How can he be happy who places his 
 happiness in things which it is not in his 
 power to attain, or in things from which, 
 when attained, a flt of sickness, or a stroke 
 of fortune, may tear him asunder ? 
 
 The value we put upon things, and our 
 uneasiness in the want of them, depend 
 upon the strength of our desires ; correct 
 the desire, and the uneasiness ceases. 
 
 The fear of the evils of body and of for- 
 tune, is often a greater evil than the things 
 we fear. As the wise man moderates his 
 desires by temperance, so, to real or ima- 
 ginary dangers, he opposes the shield of 
 fortitude and magnanimity, which raises 
 him above himself, and makes him happy 
 and triumphant in those moments wherein 
 others are most miserable. 
 
 These oracles of reason led the Stoics so 
 Ikr as to maintain — That all desires and 
 fears, with regard to things not in our 
 power, ought to be totally eradicated ; that 
 virtue is the only good ; that what we call 
 the goods of the body and of fortune, are 
 really things indifferent, which may, accord- 
 ing to circumstances, prove good or ill, and, 
 therefore, have no intrinsic goodness in 
 themselves; that our sole business ought 
 to be, to act our part well, and to do what 
 is right, without the least concern about 
 things, not in our power, wliich we ought, 
 with perfect acquiescence, to leave to the 
 care of Him who governs the world. [217] 
 
 This noble and elevated conception of 
 
 human wisdom and duty was taught by 
 
 Socrates, free from the extravagancies 
 
 which the Stoics afterwards joined with it. 
 
 We see it in the " Alcibiades" of Plato,* 
 
 from which Juvenal hath taken it in his 
 
 tenth satire, and adorned it with the graces 
 
 of poetry. 
 
 *' Omnibuf in tsrrii qua sunt a Gadibus usque |[l j 
 Auroram et Gangcn, pauci dignuscere possunt 
 Vera bona atque illis multum divcrsa, remota 
 Erroris nebula. Quid enim rationc timemus 
 Aut cupimus ? Quid tain dextru pede concipiii u' te 
 Gonatus non poeuiteat votique peracti ? 
 
 Nil ergo optabunt homines ? Si consilium vis, [345] 
 Permutes ipsis expendere uuminibus, quid 
 Cnnveniat nobis rebusque sit utile nostris. 
 Mam pro jucundis aptissima quaeque dabunt DI. 
 Carior est illis homo quam sibi. No« aniinorum 
 Impulsu, et csca magnaque cupidine ducti, 
 Conjugium petimus partumque uxoris ; at illis 
 Notum, qui pueri qualisque tutura sit uxor. 
 
 iOraiidum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano.3 
 ^ortem posce animum, mortis terrore carentera. 
 Qui spatium vits extremum inter muncra ponat 
 Nature, qui ferre queat quoscunque labures, 
 t^esciat irasci, cupiat nihil, et potiores 
 Herculis crumtiai crcdat stevosque labores 
 £t Venere, et coenis, et plumis, Sardanapali. 
 
 * The Second Alcibiades : which is not Plato's ; as 
 Can be shewn on grounds apart from its Inferiority 
 lo the genuine works of that philosf^her.— H. 
 
 [217-219] 
 
 Monstro, quod ipse tibi possis dare : setnita ccrte 
 Tranquillae }>er virtutem patet unica viias. 
 Nullum numcn abesl si sit prudentia ; nos te 
 Nos faciraus, Furtuna, Ucam, coeloque locamus.'* ,, 
 
 Even Horace, in his serious moments, 
 falls into this system. [218] 
 
 " Nil admirari, prope res est una, Numici, 
 Solaque quae possit facere et servare beatum." 
 
 We cannot but admire the Stoical system 
 of morals, even when we think that, in 
 some points, it went beyond the pitch of 
 human nature. The virtue, the temperance, 
 the fortitude, and magnanimity of some 
 who sincerely embraced it, amidst all the 
 flattery of sovereign power and the luxury 
 of a court, will be everlasting monuments 
 to the honour of that system, and to the 
 honour of human nature."^ 
 
 That a due regard to what is best for us 
 upon the whole, in an enlightened mind, 
 leads to the practice of every virtue, may 
 be argued from considering what we think 
 best for those for whom we have the 
 strongest affection, and whose good we 
 tender as our own. In judging for our- 
 selves, our passions and appetites are apt to 
 bias our judgment ; but when we judge for 
 others, this bias is removed, and we judge 
 impartially. 
 
 What is it, then, that a wise man would 
 wish as the greatest good to a brother, a 
 son, or a friend ? 
 
 Is it that he may spend his life in a con- 
 stant round of the pleasures of sense, and 
 fare sumptuously every day ? 
 
 No, surely ; we wish him to be a man of 
 real virtue and worth. We may wish for 
 him an honourable station in life ; but only 
 with this condition, that he acquit himself 
 honourably in it, and acquire just reputa- 
 tion, by being useful to his country and to 
 mankind. We would a thousand times 
 rather wish him honourably to undergo the 
 labours of Hercules, than to dissolve in 
 pleasure with Sardanapalus. [219] 
 
 Such would he the wish of every man of 
 understanding for the friend whom he loves 
 as his own soul. Such things, therefore, 
 he judges to be best for him upon the whole ; 
 and if he judges otherwise for himself, it is 
 only because his judgment is perverted by 
 animal passions and desires. 
 
 The sum of what has been said in these 
 three chapters amounts to this :-— 
 
 There is a principle of action in men that 
 are adult and of a sound mind, which, in 
 all ages, has been called reason, and set in 
 opposition to the animal principles which 
 we call the passions. The ultimate object* 
 of this principle is what we judge to be 
 good upon the whole. This is not the ob- 
 ject* of any of our animal principles; they 
 being all directed to particular objects, 
 
 * The word ohfrcf should not be used for aim or end, 
 but exclusively for the materia circa qiiam.— H. 
 
'WWmWmt' 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [bisay hi.— fart hi. 
 
 wiiwiit my MmiMuriMn «i<li <ytli«ra, or 
 i^j oonwlmitifiii wf Hmv hwag good or Ml 
 MMm the whole. 
 
 Wl^ is good upon the wholaomiol oven 
 lie QoaealTed wiHioiit the exercise ^of rea- 
 Mm, illi therefore cannot be an object* to 
 Iwiiip thai have not some degree of rea- 
 
 Aa ioon as we have tlw coneeption of 
 this object,* we are led, by our constitn- 
 tiii% to desire and pursue it It justly 
 dbinm a preference to all'objects of pursuit 
 that can come in competition with it. In 
 prefiicriiig it to any gratification tl»t op- 
 poses it, or in suhmittuig to any pam or 
 mortification which it requires, we act ac- 
 cording to reason ; and every such action is 
 aioeonipanM with self-approbation and the 
 approbataiin of mankind. ' ' The contrary ac* 
 tiona an accompanied with shame and self- 
 coiideiiiliation in the agent, and with con- 
 tempt in the spectator, as foolish and un- 
 
 'f Wl i>n i|iMih liii .. I jSSSO I 
 
 The right application of ihis prmciple to 
 our conduct requires an extensive prospect 
 of human hfe, and a correct judgment and 
 estimate of its goods and evils, with re- 
 spect to their intrinsic worth and dignity, 
 their constancy and dniation, and their at- 
 tainableaess. He must he a wise man in- 
 deed, if any such man there be, who can 
 neteeive, m every histance, or even in every 
 unportent instance, what is best for him 
 npon the whole, if he have no other rule to 
 direct his conduct 
 
 Bnwover, according to the bes* judgment 
 vllidi. wke 'uen have been able to form, 
 • Ihii pineiple leads to the practice of every 
 viftne. It leads directly to the virtues of 
 prndence, Tem'perance, and Fortitude* 
 And^ when, 'we^ consider ourselves^ as social 
 enatnitts, «hc«i^ hapnhiess or' misefy is very 
 ■wsh eon'neded. with, that of our fellow- 
 aen; when we consider that there are 
 IHMI^ benevolent affections phmted in our 
 eonititation, whom 'ewrtiona make a capi- 
 tal part of onr good and ai|oyinent : from 
 these considerations, this principle leads us 
 alsoy though more indirectly, to the prac- 
 tice of justice, humanity, and all the social 
 
 ¥irtiie«. 
 
 It is true, that a regard to ©ur own good 
 
 cannot, of itself, produce anv benevolent 
 affection. But, if such affJaeliom he a part 
 
 inf .ear constitution, ^aod :if tie' mmtme of 
 'theoi. 'iiialie a capital pari of ont happiness, 
 m 'fi^gaid. to onr own good ought to load^ 
 to eultivate and exercise them, •• •y^. "*®' 
 Mviteit alfeetion .makes the good of others 
 to 'be onr own. (©I 1 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DBPIGTS OP THIS PKINCIPLB. 
 
 Having exphuned the nature of this 
 principle of action, and shewn in general 
 the tenor of conduct to which it leads, I 
 shall conclude what relates to it, by point- 
 ing out some of its defects, if it be supposed, 
 as it has been by some philosophers, to be 
 the only regulating principle of human 
 conduct. 
 
 Upon that supposition, it would neither 
 be a sufficiently plain rule of conduct, nor 
 would it raise the human character to that 
 degree of perfection of which it is capable, 
 nor would it yield so much real happiness 
 as when it is joined with another rational 
 principle of action— to wit, a disinterested 
 regard to duty. 
 
 First J 1 apprehend the greater part of 
 mankind can never attain such extensive 
 views of human life, and so correct a judg- 
 ment of good and Ul, as the riuht applica- 
 tion of this principle requires. 
 
 The authority of tlie poet before quoted,* 
 is of weight in this point. ** Pauci dignos- 
 ceret possunt vera bona, remotA erroris 
 nebuli.** The ignorance of the bulk of 
 mankind concurs with the strength of their 
 passions to lead them into error in this most 
 important poinL 
 
 Every man, in his calm moments, wishes 
 to know what k best for hira on the whole, 
 and to do it. But the difficulty of discover- 
 mg it clearly, amidst such variety of opinions 
 and the unportunity of present desires, 
 tempt men to give over the search, and to 
 yield to the present inclination. [222] 
 
 Though philosophers and moralists have 
 taken much laudable pains to correct the 
 errors of mankind in this great point, their 
 bstructions are known to few ; they have 
 Utile influence upon the greater part of 
 those to whom they are known, and some- 
 times little even upon the philosopher 
 
 ri 1 vn cLOi [ 
 
 Specuktive discoveries gradually spread 
 from the knowing to the ignorant, and dif- 
 fuse themselves over all ; so that, with re- 
 gard to them, the world, it may be hoped, 
 will still be growing wiser. But the errors 
 of men, with regard to what is truly good 
 or ill, after being discovered and refuted in 
 every age, are stiU prevalent 
 
 Men stand in need of a sharper monitor 
 to their duty than a dubious view of distant 
 good. There is reason to believe, that a 
 present sense of duty has, in many cases, 
 a stronger influence than the apprehension 
 of distaut good would have of itijclf. And 
 It cannot be doubted, that a sense of guilt 
 and demerit is a more pungent reprover 
 
 •JuvenaL— H. 
 
 ["2^20-222] 
 
 OH A p. IV.] 
 
 DEFECTS OF THIS PRINCIPLE. 
 
 585 
 
 than the bare apprehension of havmg mis- 
 taken our true interest. 
 
 The brave soldier, in exposing himself to 
 danger and death, is animated, not by a 
 cold computation of the good and the ill, but 
 by a noble and elevated sense of military 
 duty. 
 
 A philosopher shews, by a copious and 
 just induction, what is our real good, and 
 what our ill. But this kind of reasoning is 
 not easily apprehended by the bulk of men. 
 It has too little force upon their minds to 
 resist the sophistry of the passions. They 
 are apt to think that, if such rules be good 
 in the general, they may admit of particu- 
 hir exceptions, and that what is good for 
 the greater part, may, to some persons, on 
 account of particular circumstances, be ill. 
 Thus, I apprehend, tliat, if we had no 
 plainer rule to direct our conduct in Hfe 
 than a regard to our greatest good, the 
 greatest part of mankind would be fatally 
 misled, even by ignorance of the road to it. 
 [223] 
 
 Secondly, Though a steady pursuit of our 
 own real good may, in an enlightened mind, 
 produce a kind of virtue which is entitled 
 to some degree of approbation, yet it can 
 never produce the noblest kind of virtue 
 which claims our highest love and esteem. 
 We account him a wise man who is wise 
 for himself ; and, if he prosecutes this end 
 through difficulties and temptations that lie 
 in his way, his character is far superior to 
 that of the man who, having the same end 
 in view, is continually starting out of the 
 road to it from an attachment to his appe- 
 tites and passions, and doing every day 
 what he knows he shall heartily repent. 
 
 Yet, after all, this wise man, whose 
 thoughts and cares are all centred ulti- 
 mately in himself, who indulges even his 
 social affections only with a view to his own 
 good, is not the man whom we cordially love 
 and esteem. 
 
 Like a cunning merchant, he carries his 
 g«)ods to the best market, and watches every 
 opportunity of putting them ofl" to the best 
 account. He does well and wisely. But 
 it is for himself. We owe him nothing upon 
 this account. Even when he does good to 
 others, he means only to serve himself; and, 
 therefore, has no just claim to their grati- 
 tude or aflection. 
 
 This surely, if it be virtue, is not the 
 noblest kind, but a low and mercenary spe- 
 cies of it. It can neither give a noble ele- 
 vation to the mind that possesses it, nor 
 attract the esteem and love of others. [224] 
 Our cordial love and esteem is due only 
 to the man whose soul is not contracted 
 within itself, but embraces a more exten- 
 sive object : who loves virtue, not for her 
 dowry only, but for her own sake i whose 
 benevolence is not selfish, but generous and 
 
 disinterested : who, forgetful of himself, has 
 the common good at lu art, not as the means 
 only, but as the end : who abhors what is 
 base, though he were to be a gainer by it ; 
 and loves that which is right, although he 
 should suffer by it. 
 
 Such a man we esteem the perfect man, 
 compared with whom he who has no other 
 aim hut good to himself is a mean and des- 
 picable character. 
 
 Disinterested goodness and rectitude is 
 the glory of the Divine Nature, without 
 whicli he might be an object of fear or hope, 
 hut not of true devotion. And it is the 
 image of this divine attribute in the human 
 character that is the glory of man. 
 
 To serve God and be useful to mankind, I 
 without any concern about our own good 
 and happiness, is, I believe, beyond the j 
 pitch of human nature. But to serve God I 
 and be useful to men, merely to obtain 
 good to ourselves, or to avoid ill, is servility, 
 and not that liberal service which true de- 
 votion and real virtue require. 
 
 Thirdly, Though one might be apt to \ 
 think that he has the best chance for hap- ' 
 piness who has no other end of his deliber- 
 ate actions but his own good, yet a little 
 consideration may satisfy us of the con- , 
 trary. 
 
 A concern for our own good is not a prin- 
 ciple that, of itself, gives any enjoyment. 
 On the contrary, it is apt to fill the mind 
 with fear, and care, and anxiety. And 
 these concomitants of this principle often 
 give pain and uneasiness, that overbalance 
 the good they have in view. [225] 
 
 We may here compare, in point of pre- 
 sent happiness, two imaginary characters : 
 The first, of the man who has no other ulti- 
 mate end of his deliberate actions but his 
 own good ; and who has no regard to virtue 
 or duty, but as the means to that end. 
 The second character is that of the man 
 who is not indifferent with regard to his 
 own good, but has another ultimate end 
 perfectly consistent with it — to wit, a dis- 
 interested love of virtue, for its own sake, 
 or a regard to duty as an end. 
 
 Comparing these two characters in point 
 of happiness, that we may give all possible 
 advantage to the selfish principle, we shall 
 suppose the man who is actuated solely by 
 it, to be so far enlightened as to see it his 
 interest to live soberly, righteously, and 
 godly in the world, and that he follows the 
 same course of conduct from the motive of 
 his own good only, which the other does, 
 in a great measure, or in some measure, 
 from a sense of duty and rectitude 
 
 We put the case so as that the difference 
 between these two persons may be, not in 
 what they do, but in the motive fi om which 
 they do it ; and, I think, there can be no 
 doubt that he who acts from the noblest 
 
ISIS 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWBRa [essay iii— piet hi. 
 
 riwytiYe^ will, ham mm^ 
 
 •ndiiiwt 
 
 nSe one ImlKiiim mly for Mm, without 
 any loiro to tlie work. The other loves the 
 work, and thinks it the noblest and moel 
 hono^ble he an be «iii|iloyed in. To 
 
 the first, tho muffliiiaiiott and self-denial 
 whieh tie mmm of irirtue requires, is a 
 
 SieTons task, which he submits to only 
 fm^ necessity. To the other it is vic- 
 tory and triumph, in the most honourable 
 warlare. [226] 
 
 It ought farther to be considered— That 
 ■UiongI wise 'men. have concluded that 
 wirtM is the only mad to happiness, this 
 Miiffilnsion is founded chiefly upon the 
 natitial respect men have for virtue, and 
 the good or happiness that is intrinsic to it 
 awl arises from the love of it. If we sup- 
 pott a man, as we now d% altogether des- 
 titato of this principle, who considered 
 'Viflix only as the means to another end, 
 there is no reason to think that he would 
 ever take it to b© the road to happiness, 
 hut would wander for ever seeking this 
 object, where it is not to be found. 
 The toad of duty is so plain that the 
 - man who seeks it with an upright heart 
 cannot greatly err from it But the road 
 i to happiness, if that be supposed the only 
 •Hi our nature leads ns to pursue, would 
 he found dark and intricate, full of snares 
 and danftiB,, and. therefore .not to be trodden 
 without :fBar, and. caie^ Mi perplexity. 
 
 The 'happy man., themfore^ is not he 
 
 whose happiness is his only care, but he 
 
 who, with perfect resignatlony leaves the 
 
 :., tait. of .his happiness to him who made 
 
 t 'liiii%' while' 'ht puiiutS' with ardour the road 
 
 '' nf hit' duty. 
 
 This gives an elevation to his mind, 
 which is real happiness. Instead of care, 
 and fear, .and anxiety, and disappoin'tment, 
 it 'brings joy .and triumph. It givei: a relish 
 to every good we enjoy, and brings good 
 out of evil. 
 
 .4nd. m w .man laan be indiffeiail about 
 Mb happiness, the good man haS' the 'Con- 
 solation to know that he consults his hap- 
 piness most effectually when, without any 
 fainfil anxiety about future events, he does 
 lis 'duty. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears—That, although 
 a regard to our good upon the whole, be a 
 rational, principle in man, yet if it be iup- 
 pottd. tho only regulating" 'principle of our 
 Modutl^ it 'irould bt' a more 'intertain rule, 
 '11 'Would givu hat 'less ptrftction to the 
 human chaiacter, and far less happiness, 
 'liiBii when johied with, aiiothtr rational prin- 
 cipit— to wit, a rtgard. to 'duly. [227] 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 or THB NOTION OF DUTV, RBCTITUDB, MORAL 
 OBLIOATION. 
 
 A BBiNO endowed with the aninml prin- 
 ciples of action only, may be capable of 
 being trained to certain purposes by dis- 
 cipline, as we see many brute-animals are, 
 but would be altogether incapable of being 
 governed by hiw. 
 
 The subject of law must have the oon-1 
 ception of a general rule of conduct, which, 
 without some degree of reason, he cannot 
 have. He must likewise have a sufficient 
 inducement to obey the law, even when his 
 strongest animal desires draw him the con- 
 trary way. 
 
 This mducement may be a sense of ia-r 
 ter€$ty or a sense of <<u<^, or both concur- 
 ring* 
 
 These are the only principles I am able 
 to conceive, which can reasonably induce a 
 man to regulate all his actions according to 
 a certain general rule or law. They may 
 therefore be justly called the rational prin- 
 ciples of action, since they can liave no 
 place but in a being endowed with reason, 
 and since it is by them only that man is 
 capable either of political or of moral go- 
 vernmenL 
 
 Without them human life would be like 
 a ship at sea without hands, left to be 
 carried by winds and tides as they happen. 
 It belongs to the rational part of our nature 
 to intend a certain pert, as the end of the 
 vovaffe of life ; to take the advantage of 
 winds and tides when they are favourable, 
 and to bear up against them when they are 
 unfavourable. [228] 
 
 A sense cif interest may induce us to do 
 this, when a suitable reward is set before 
 us. But there is a nobler principle in the 
 constitution of man, which, in many cases, 
 gives a clearer and more certain rule of 
 conduct, than a regard merely to interest 
 would give, and a principle, without which 
 man would not be a moral agent 
 
 A man is prudent when he consults his 
 real interest ; but he cannot be virtuous, if 
 he has no regard to duty. 
 
 I proceed now to consider this regard 
 to J)ut^ as a rational principle of action 
 in man, and as that principle alone by 
 which he is capable either of virtue or 
 
 'vloe^ 
 
 I shall first ofier some observations with 
 regard to the ffmeral notion of duty, and 
 ita contrary, or of right and wrong in human 
 conduct, and then consider, /*ot# we come to 
 judge and determine certain thingg in hu» 
 man conduct to be right, and others to be 
 wrong. 
 
 With regard to tho notim or conception 
 
 [226-228] 
 
 OBAP. v.] 
 
 OF THE NOTION OF DUTY, &c. 
 
 587 
 
 of Duty, I take it to be too sunple to admit 
 of a logical definition. 
 
 We can define it only by synonymous 
 
 words or phrases, or by its properties and 
 
 necessary concomitants, as when we say 
 
 that it is what we ought to do — what is fair 
 
 i onrf honest — what is approvable — what every 
 
 fflnan professes to be the rule of his conduct — 
 
 Ili/^/uz/ all men praise — and, what is i7i itself 
 
 ylaudable, though no man should praise it. 
 
 I observe, in the next place, That the 
 notion of duty cannot be resolved into that 
 of interest, or what is most for our happi- 
 ness. [229] 
 
 Every man may be satisfied of this who 
 attends to his own conceptions, and the 
 language of all mankind shews it. When 
 I say, This is my interest, I mean one thing; 
 when I say. It is my duty, I mean another 
 thing. And, though the same course of 
 action, when rightly understood, may be 
 both my duty and my interest, the concep- 
 tions are very different. Both are reason- 
 able motives to action, but quite distinct in 
 their nature. 
 
 I presume it will be granted, that, in every 
 man of real worth, there is a principle of 
 honour, a regard to what is honourable or 
 dishonourable, very distinct from a regard 
 to his interest. It is folly in a man to dis- 
 regard his interest, but to do what is dis- 
 honourable, is baseness. The first may 
 move our pity, or, in some cases, our con- 
 tempt; but the last provokes our indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 As these two principles are difierent in 
 their nature, and not resolvable into one, 
 so the principle of honour is evidently supe- 
 rior in dignity to that of interest. 
 
 No man would allow him to be a man of 
 honour who should plead his interest to 
 justify what he acknowledged to be dis- 
 honourable; but to sacrifice interest to 
 honour never costs a blush. 
 
 It likewise will be allowed b^ every man 
 of honour, that this principle is not to be 
 resolved into a regard to our reputation 
 among men, otherwise the roan of honour 
 would not deserve to be trusted in the dark. 
 He would have no aversion to lie, or cheat, 
 or play the coward, when he had no dread 
 of being discovered. [230] 
 
 I take it for granted, therefore, that every 
 man of real honour feels an abhorrence of 
 certain actions, because they are in them- 
 selves base, and feels an obligation to cer- 
 tain other actions, because they are in them- 
 selves what honour requires, and this in- 
 dependently of any consideration of interest 
 or reputation. 
 
 This is an immediate moral obligation. 
 This principle of honour, which is acknow- 
 ledged by all men who pretend to character, 
 is only another name for what we call a 
 regard to duty, to rectitude, to propriety of 
 [229-231] 
 
 conduct.* It is a moral obligation which 
 obliges a man to do certain things because 
 they are right, and not to do other things 
 because they are wrong. 
 
 Ask the man of honour why he thinks 
 himself obliged to pay a debt of honour ? 
 The very question shocks him. To sup- 
 pose that he needs any other inducement to 
 do it but the principle of honour, is to sup- 
 pose that he has no honour, no worth, and 
 deserves no esteem. 
 
 There is, therefore, a principle in man, 
 which, when he acts according to it, gives 
 him a consciousness of worth, and, when he 
 acts contrary to it, a sense of demerit. 
 
 From the varieties of education, of fashion, 
 of prejudices, and of habits, men may dif- 
 fer much in opinion with regard to the ex- 
 tent of this principle, and of what it com- 
 mands and forbids ; but the notion of it, as . 
 far as it is carried, is the same in all. It ( 
 is that which gives a man real worth, and 
 is the object of moral approbation. [23 1 ] 
 
 Men of rank call it honour, and too often 
 confine it to certain virtues that are thought 
 most essential to their rank. The vulgar 
 call it honesty, probity, virtue, conscience. 
 Philosophers have given it the names of 
 the moral sense, the moral faculty, rectitude. 
 
 The universality of this principle in men 
 that are grown up to years of understand- 
 ing and reflection, is evident. The words 
 that express it, the names of the virtues 
 which it commands, and of the vices which 
 it forbids, the ought and ought not which 
 express its dictates, make an essential part 
 of every language. The natural afi'ections 
 of respect to worthy characters, of resent- 
 ment of injuries, of gratitude for favours, 
 of indignation against the worthless, are 
 parts of the human constitution which sup- 
 pose a right and a wrong in conduct. Many 
 transactions that are found necessary in 
 the rudest societies go upon the same sup- 
 position. In all testimony, in all promises, 
 and in all contracts, there is necessarily im- 
 plied a moral obligation on one party, and 
 a trust in the other, grounded upon this 
 obligation. 
 
 The variety of opinions among men in 
 points of morality, is not greater, but, as I 
 apprehend, much less than in speculative 
 points; and this variety is as easily ac- 
 counted for, from the common causes of 
 error, in the one case as in the other ; so 
 that it is not more evident, that there is a 
 real distinction between true and false, in 
 matters of speculation, than that there is a 
 real distuiction between right and wrong in 
 human conduct. 
 
 Mr Hume's authority, if there were any 
 need of it, is of weight in this matter, be- 
 
 ♦ This would be true were ihc term Honour med 
 in Ilngiish in the same latitude as the Latin terra 
 tionestnm.—H. 
 
588 
 
 QMiee lie waa not wont to go nMj into 
 
 '1fK"Zj. H "who>*Te denied 
 the lealitv of nnwa distmctioiis, ^ °^ 
 Zm among tlie disingenuoos di.pl»ti" 
 (Xo really ^ not Wfeve the opinions they 
 defend, but engage in the controversy, from 
 affectation, from a spirit «f/PlJ'?»^«°; .°' 
 from a desire of shewmg wit and ingenuity 
 niDcrior to the rest of mankind) ; nor is it 
 conceivable, that any hnman creatnM wnld 
 ever seriously believe that al ©liaticters 
 and actions were alike entitled to the regard 
 imd affection of every one. [232] 
 
 M Lei a man's insensibility be ever so 
 jneat, he must often be touched wth the 
 gnAMi of R16HT aod WRONG ; and let his pre- 
 jliiMS be ever so obstinate, he must observe 
 Ihat others are susceptible of like impres- 
 aioiis. The only way, Aewfore, of con- 
 vincing aa antagonist «^j» *"°^;f :js^^^ 
 
 him to himself For, finding that nooooy 
 keens up the controversy with him, it i» 
 probable he will at hst, of hinMclf, froni 
 mere weariness, mm over ^^^^^^% 
 
 cumnMm seww and reason." IFnm^pm 'j 
 
 Mmmk^ § 1.] , . ,, . 
 
 What we call righi and hommraMe m 
 human conduct, was, by the* ancients, caWed 
 
 t,S^,am\ ; of whichTiily says, " Quod vere 
 iMnni, etiamsi a null© hiudetur, natu» 
 esse lawdabile." [De Officii", L- L c. w. \ 
 
 AU the ancient sects, except the Epi- 
 ciin»ii% distkguished the Imiu^ from 
 «h» wlto, m wo distinguish wliat is a man s 
 duty fitom what is his interest. . , . ^- 
 
 A« word qfficmm, »«^*«n extonded both 
 to the Amwliiiiiand the miis: so that every 
 reasonable action, proceeding either from a 
 sense of duty or a sens© of interest, was 
 called affidum, • It is defined by Cicero to 
 be—" Id quod cur factnm ail latio proba- 
 bilifl leddi potest* 't We commonly render 
 it by the mmk.4utiff but it is more extensive ; 
 for the word dul^, in the English hinguage, 
 I think, is commonly applied only to what 
 
 PaniB^us befoHi him, treatmg of offices, 
 first foint out those that are grounded upon 
 ibe hmmtum, and next those that are 
 •rounded, upon the mli/r. 
 
 Tim most ancient nhilosophical system 
 eoneetiimg the pflnciples of action in the 
 human mind, and, I think, the most agree- 
 able to nature, is that which *« »»" *" 
 •oBii ffUgments of the ancient Pythago- 
 
 111 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay iii.-part hi. 
 
 • The Stota difl«l#i •••i** r#ci«»»>' »"*» 
 
 -i-.a~ — indt jMHim— <*ii>l*<te««i *'»•« l«^/«- 
 
 ZjSfcilj, m& »•«««•• M'- (eommum, sire 
 
 f miiiteiiiittoii doui not spply **> »•««•» o ^ <jF 
 
 mmmm^ Sm C\mm m QffleU*, t* *• «■ ^ -"• 
 
 I TlMtt !•• It !•, liBiltrf «» *»»« •••¥*^ mper/ee 
 
 reans/ and which is adopted by Plato, and 
 explained in some of his dialogues. [233] 
 According to this system, there is a lead- 
 ing principle in the soul, which, like the 
 supreme power in a commonwealth, has 
 authority and right to govern. This lead- 
 ing principle they called Bemon. It is that 
 which distinguishes men that are adult from 
 brutes, idiots, and infants. The inferior 
 principles, which are under the authority of 
 the leading principle, are our passions and 
 appetites, which we have in common with 
 
 the brutes. 
 
 Cicero adopts this system, and expresses 
 it well in few words. " Duplex enira est 
 vis animoruni atque natuwe. Una pars in 
 appetitu posita est, quae est kf*^ gi^ce, 
 qu» hoiniiiem hue et illuc rapit ; altera in 
 ratione, qum docet, et expteiiat quid facien- 
 dum fugiendumve sit. Ita fit ut ratio 
 prtBsit appetitua obtemperct."— 1/>« Offi' 
 
 ctj#, L. I. c. 20.1 ... 
 
 This division of o ir active principles can 
 hardly, indeed, be accounted a discovery of 
 philosophy, because it has been common to 
 the unlearned in all a:4es of the world, and 
 seems to be dictated by the common sense 
 of mankind. 
 
 What I would now observe concerning 
 this common division of our active powers, 
 is, that the leading principle, which w called 
 Kwtoii, comprehends both a regard to what 
 is right and honourable, and a regard to 
 our happiness upon the whole. 
 
 Altiiougb these be reafly two distinct 
 principles of action, it is ery natural to 
 comprehend them niider one name, because 
 both are leading principles, both suppose 
 the use of Reason, and, when rightly under- 
 stood, both lead to the same oourte of lUe. 
 They are like two fountains, whose strearaa 
 unite and run in the same channel. 
 
 When a man, on one occasion, consults 
 his real happiness in things not inconsistent 
 with his duty, though in opposition to the 
 solicitation of appetite or passion; and 
 when, on another occasion, without any 
 selfish consideration, he does what m nght 
 and honourable, because it is so— in botn 
 these cases, he acts reasonably ; every man 
 approves of his conduct, and culls it reason- 
 able, or according to reason. 1234] 
 
 So f b f»*j when we speak of reason as a 
 principle of action in man. it includes a re- 
 gard both to tiie honestum and to the utile. 
 Both are combined under one name ; and, 
 accordingly, the dictates of both, in the 
 Latin tongue, were combined under the 
 name offieium, and in the Greek under 
 
 If we examine the abstract notion of 
 
 • Which are, howc»er. »n •puriou., and J^mm 
 Ions lutawiueiitly to PJato. The moral system of 
 thJSs'rSmenti •• aUo prtncipUly accommodated t|> 
 
 3HA1>. VI.] 
 
 OP THE SENSE OF DUTY. 
 
 589 
 
 Duty, or Moral Obligation, it appears to be 
 neither any real quality of the action con- 
 sidered by itself, nor of the agent con- 
 sidered without respect to the action, but a 
 certain relation between the one and the 
 other. 
 
 When we say a man ought to do such a 
 thing, the ougfa, which expresses the moral 
 obligation, has a respect, on the one hand, 
 to the person who ought ; and, on the other, 
 to the action which he ought to do. Those 
 two correlates are essential to every moral 
 obligation ; take away either, and it has no 
 existence. So that, if we seek the place of 
 moral obligation among the categories, it 
 belongs to the category of relation.* 
 
 There are many relations of things, of 
 which we have the most distinct conception, 
 without being able to define them logically. 
 Equality and proportion are relations be- 
 tween quantities, which every man under- 
 stands, but no man can define. 
 
 Moral obligation is a relation of its own 
 kind, which every man understands, but is, 
 perhaps, too simple to admit of logical de- 
 finition. Like all other relations, it may be 
 changed or annihilated by a change in any 
 of the two related things — I mean the agent 
 or the action. [235] 
 
 Perhaps it may not be improper to point 
 out brierty the circumstances, both in the 
 action and in the agent, which are neces- 
 sary to constitute moral obligation. The 
 universal agreement of men in these, shews 
 that they have one and the same notion of it. 
 
 With regard to the action, it must be a 
 voluntary action, or prestation of the per- 
 son obliged, and not of another. There 
 can be no moral obligation upon a man to 
 be six feet high. Nor can I be under a 
 moral obligation that another person should 
 do such a thing. His actions must be im- 
 puted to himself, and mine only to me, 
 either for praise or blame. 
 
 I need hardly mention, that a person can 
 be under a moral obligation, only to things 
 within the sphere of his natural power. 
 
 As to the party obliged, it is evident 
 there can be no nioml obligation upon an 
 inanimate thing. To speak of moral obli- 
 gation upon a stone or a tree is ridiculous, 
 because it contradicts every man's notion 
 of moral obligation. 
 
 The person obliged must have under- 
 standing and will, and some degree of active 
 power. He must not only have the natural 
 faculty of understanding, but the means of 
 knowing his obligation. An invincible 
 ignorance of this destroys all moral obligation. 
 
 The opinion of the agent in doing the 
 
 * The ancients rightly founded thextcXi* or honestum 
 on the »<{«■»» or decorum ; that i», they considered an 
 action to be virtuous which was performed in har- 
 mony with the relations necessary and accidental of 
 the agent.— H. 
 
 [235-237] 
 
 action gives it its moral denomination. If 
 he does a materially good action, without 
 any belief of its being good, but from some 
 other principle, it is no good action in him. 
 And if he does it with the belief of its beinff 
 ill, it is ill in him. [236] 
 
 Thus, if a man should give to his neigh- 
 bour a potion which he really believes will 
 poison him, but which, in the event, proves 
 salutary, and does much good; in moral 
 estimation, he is a poisoner, and not a bene- 
 factor. 
 
 These qualifications of the action and of 
 the agent, in moral obligation, are self- 
 evident ; and the agreement of all men in 
 them shews that all men have the same 
 notion, and a distinct notion of moral obli- 
 gation. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF THE SENSE OP DUTV. 
 
 We are next to consider, how we learn 
 to judge and determine, that this is right, 
 and that is wrougr. 
 
 The abstract notion of moral good and 
 ill would be of no use to direct our life, if 
 we had not the power of applying it to par- 
 ticular actions, and determining what is 
 morally good, and wliat is morally ill. 
 
 Some philosophers, with whom I agree, 
 ascribe this to an original power or faculty 
 in man, which they call the Moral Seme, 
 the Moral Faculty, Conscience. Others think 
 that our moral sentiments may be account- 
 ed for without supposing any original sense 
 or faculty appropriated to that purpose, and 
 go into very different systems to account 
 for them. 
 
 I am not, at present, to take any notice 
 of those systems, because the opinion first 
 mentioned seems to me to be the truth ; to 
 wit. That, by an original power of the mind, 
 when we come to years of understanding 
 and reflection, we not only have the notions 
 of right and wrong in conduct, but perceive 
 certain things to be right, and others to be 
 wrong. [237] 
 
 The name of the Moral Sense^ though 
 more frequently given to Conscience since 
 Lord Shaftesbury and DrHutcheson wrote, 
 is not new. The sensus recti et honestij is 
 a phrase not unfrequent among the ancients ; 
 neither is the sense of duty, among us. 
 
 It has got this name of sense, no doubt, 
 from some analogy which it is conceived to 
 bear to the external senses. And, if we 
 have just notions of the office of the exter- 
 nal senses, the analogy is very evident, and 
 I see no reason to take offence, as some 
 have done, at the name of the mora/ «^w«f'. • 
 
 * On the term Seme for Intelligence, «ee Note A. 
 
 •■■■■ini* 
 
5£0 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [essay hi.— fart hi. 
 
 The offemfle token at this name seemi t© 
 1m owing to this, That philo«ophcra have 
 degiadfid tlie HiMit too niiusliy and deprived 
 them of th© unlit Impofttot fart of their 
 offiea 
 
 We ar© taught, that, % the senses, we 
 have only certain ideal which we could not 
 ham 'Otherwise. Thoy .are represented aa 
 powem hy whieh we have sensanona and 
 ideas, not as powers hy which we judge. 
 
 This notion of the senses I take to he 
 ▼orj lame^ and/towiittadictwhat natnreand 
 •imaale Mieetion 'teach, eoneemhig them. 
 A man. who haa totally lost the sense of 
 .■•eiiigy may retain very distmct notions of 
 the various colours ; hut he cannot judge of 
 eolour% became he haa lost the sense hy 
 which alone ho could judge. By my eyes 
 I not only have the ideas of a square and a 
 circle, but I perceive this wrfiMse to be a 
 aquare, that to be a circle. [IMI 
 
 By my ear, I not only have the idea of 
 Bound% loud and soft, acute and grave, but 
 I immediately perceive and judge this sound 
 to be loud, that to he soft, this to be acute, 
 that to be grave. Two or more synchron- 
 ous sounds I perceive to be concordant, 
 others to be discordant. 
 
 These are judgments of the aenitfc' 
 They havo alwaya been called and accounted 
 Boch, hy those whoso minds are not tmc- 
 lured by philosophical theories. They are 
 the immediate testimony of nature by our 
 senses; and we are so constituted by 
 nature, that we mnal .leeeive^ their' testi- 
 mony, for no other 'veason hut 'beeniae it la 
 tpven. by our senses. 
 
 In vain do sceptics endeavour to over- 
 turn this^vidonce by metaphyaical reason- 
 ing. Though we should not be able to 
 answer their argumenla, we believe our 
 senses still, and rest our most important 
 eoncerns upon their testimony. 
 
 Hthis be m Just notion of our external 
 senses, aa I 'Conceive it is, our moral faculty 
 may, 1 thmk, without impropriety, becaUed 
 the Morai iShiJir. 
 
 In its dignity it is, without doubt, far su- 
 perior to every other power of the mind ; 
 hut there is this analogy between it and the 
 external senses. That, as by them we have 
 not only the original conceptionB of the 
 various qualties of bodies, hut the original 
 Judgment tliat this body has such a quality, 
 that such another ; so by our moral faculty, 
 we have both the origmal conceptions of 
 
 right and wrong in conduct, of merit and 
 demerit, and the original judgments that 
 this conduct is right, that is wrong ; that 
 thb character has worth, that demerit. 
 
 The testimony of our moral faculty, like 
 that of the external senses, is the testimony 
 of nature, and we have the same reason to 
 rely upon it. [239] 
 
 The truths immediately testified by the ex- 
 ternal senses are the first principles from 
 which we reason, with regard to the material 
 worid, and from which all our knowledge 
 of it is deduced. 
 
 The truths hnmediately testified by our 
 moral faculty, are the first principles of all 
 moral reasoning, from which all our know- 
 ledge of our duty must be deduced. 
 
 By moral reasoning, I understand all 
 reasoning that is brought to prove that such 
 conduct is right, and deserving of moral 
 approbation ; or that it is wrong ; or that it 
 is indifferent, and, in itself, neither morally 
 good nor ill. 
 
 I think, all we can properly call moral 
 judgments, are reducible to one or other of 
 these, as all human actions, considered in 
 a moral view, are either good, or bad, or 
 
 indifferent. . 
 
 I know the term moral retuoning is often 
 used by good writers in a more extensive 
 sense ; but, as the reasoning I now speak 
 of is of a peculiar kind, distinct from all 
 others, and, therefore, ought to have a dis- 
 tinct name, I take the liberty to limit the 
 name of moral reasntiing to this kind. 
 
 Let it he understood, therefore, that in 
 the reasoning I call moral, the conclusion 
 always is, That something in the conduct 
 of moral agents is good or bad, in a greater 
 or a less degree, or indifferent. 
 
 All reasoning must be grounded on' first 
 principles. This holds in moral reasoning, 
 as in all other kinds. There must, there- 
 fore, be in morals, as in all other sciences, 
 first or self-evident principles, on which all 
 moral reasoning is grounded, and on which 
 it ultimately rests. From such self-evident 
 principles, conclusions may be drawn syn- 
 thetically with regard to the moral conduct 
 of life; and particular duties or virtues 
 may be traced back to such principles, ana- 
 lytically. But, without such principles, we 
 can no more establish any conclusion in 
 morals, than we can build a castle in the 
 au", without any foundation. [240] 
 
 An example or two will serve to illustrate 
 this. 
 
 HAP. VI.] 
 
 ON THE SENSE OF DUTY. 
 
 501 
 
 \\ 
 
 •' .BaliMr. llMW aw Jm|pa«it». of mbkh the mm~^ 
 rfolk and tk etmem'tm are aHMM lif wnte. It !■, 
 no doubt, true that there can be no iensitive penm. 
 tina witlMHil liidlfMnt. immm there can, in fact, he 
 'HO coBfdmiMiiil without Jiidi:iiient. Hut it ii not 
 mm rea«M«We to UmUff lense with judgment, be. 
 eauM the iDtiiier cannot exist without an act of 
 the latter, than it would bo to IdenUiy the tidM 
 
 and angle! of a f »»«?«»»l*«>JS!!:.^^ •jj" 
 and angles cannot exist apart Itorai each other.— M. 
 
 It is a first principle in morals. That we 
 ought not to do to another what we should 
 think wrong to be done to us in like cir- 
 cumstances. If a man is not capable of 
 perceiving this in his cool moments, when 
 he reflects seriously, he is not a moral 
 agent, nor is he cajiable of being convinced 
 of it hy reasoning. 
 
 [SS8-840] 
 
 h^ 
 
 From what topic can you reason with 
 such a man ? You may possibly convince 
 him by reasoning, that it is his interest to 
 observe this rule ; but this is not to convince 
 him tliat it is his duty. To reason about 
 justice with a man who sees nothing to be 
 just or unjust, or about benevolence with 
 a man who sees nothing in benevolence 
 preferable to malice, is like reasoning with 
 a blind man about colour, or with a deaf 
 man about sound. 
 
 It is a question in morals that admits of 
 reasoning, Whether, by the law of nature, 
 a man ought to have only one wife ? 
 
 We reason upon this question, by bal- 
 ancing the advantages and disadvantages to 
 the family, and to society in general, that are 
 naturally consequent both upon monogamy 
 and polygamy. And, if it can be shewn 
 that the advantages are greatly upon the 
 side of monogamy, we think the point is 
 determined. 
 
 But, if a man does not perceive that he 
 ought to regard the good of society, and the 
 good of his wife and children, the reasoning 
 can have no effect upon him, because he 
 denies the first principle upon which it is 
 grounded. 
 
 Suppose, again, that we reason for mono- 
 gamy from the intention of nature, dis- 
 covered by the proportion of males and of 
 females that are born~a proportion which 
 corresponds perfectly with monogamy, but 
 by no means with polygamy— this argu- 
 ment can have no weight with a man 
 who does not perceive that he ought to 
 have a regard to the intention of nature. 
 
 [2411 
 
 f Thus we shall find that all moral reason- 
 inga rest upon one or more first principles 
 of morals, whose truth is hnmediately per- 
 ceived without reasoning, by all men come 
 to years of understanding. 
 
 And this indeed is common to every 
 branch of human knowledge that deserves 
 the name of science. There must be first 
 principles proper to that science, by which 
 the whole superstructure is supported. 
 \ The first principles of all the sciences, 
 Imust be the immediate dictates of our na- 
 I tural faculties ; nor is it possible that we 
 should have any other evidence of their 
 'truth. And m different sciences the facul- 
 ties which dictate their first principles are 
 very different. 
 
 Thus, in astronomy and in optics, m 
 which such wonderful discoveries have been 
 made, that the unlearned can hardly be- 
 lieve them to be within the reach of human 
 capacity, the first principles are phsenome- 
 na attested solely by that little organ the 
 human eye. If we disbelieve its report, 
 the whole of those two noble fabrics of sci- 
 ence, falls to pieces Uke the visions of the 
 night. 
 
 The principles of music all depend upon 
 the testimony of the ear. The principles 
 of natural philosophy, upon the facts at- 
 tested by the senses. The principles of 
 mathematics, upon the necessary relations 
 of quantities considered abstractly — such 
 as. That equal quantities added to equal 
 quantities make equal sums, and the like ; 
 whieh necessary relations are immediately 
 perceived by the understanding. [242] 
 
 The science of politics borrows its prin- 
 ciples from what we know by experience of 
 the character and conduct of man. We 
 consider not what he ought to be, but what 
 he is, and thence conclude what part he 
 will act in different situations and circum- 
 stances. From such principles we reason 
 concerning the causes and effects of differ- 
 ent forms of government, laws, customs, 
 and manners. If man were either a more 
 perfect or a more imperfect, a better or a 
 worse, creature than he is, politics would 
 be a different science from what it is. 
 
 The first principles of morals are the im- ' 
 mediate dictates of the moral faculty. They ^ 
 shew us, not what man is, but what he ' 
 ought to be. Whatever is immediately 
 perceived to be just, honest, and honour- 
 able, in human conduct, carries moral ob- 
 ligation along with it, and the contrary car- 
 ries demerit and blame ; and, from those 
 moral obligations that are immediately per- 
 ceived, all other moral obligations must be 
 deduced by reasoning. 
 
 He that will judge of the colour of an 
 object, must consult his eyes, in a good 
 light, when there is no medium or contigu- 
 ous objects that may give it a false tinge. 
 But in vain will he consult every other fa- 
 culty in this matter. 
 
 In like manner, he that will judge of the 
 first principles of morals, must consult his 
 conscience, or moral faculty, when he is 
 calm and dispassionate, unbiassed by inter- 
 est, affection, or fashion. [243] 
 
 As we rely upon the clear and distinct 
 testimony of our eyes, concerning the colours 
 and figures of the bodies about us, we have 
 the same reason to rely with security upon 
 the clear and unbiassed testimony of our 
 conscience, with regard to what we ought 
 and ought not to do. In many cases mo- 
 ral worth and demerit are discerned no less 
 clearly by the last of those natural faculties, 
 than figure and colour by the first. 
 
 The faculties which nature hath given 
 us, are the only engines we can use to find 
 out the truth. We cannot indeed prove 
 that those faculties are not fallacious, un- 
 less God should give us new faculties to sit 
 in judgment upon the old. But we are bom 
 under a necessity of trusting them. 
 
 Everyman in his senses believes his eyes, 
 his ears, and his other senses. He believes 
 his consciousness with respect to his own 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [kssay hi.- part hi. 
 
 CHAP. VII.] 
 
 OF MORAL APPROBATION, &c. 
 
 59d 
 
 lliiiilgiti' Mi purposes ; hk memory, with 
 wgui U wlist is pasi; Ma understanding, 
 iriti regsnl to al»tnet vebtions of things ; 
 mnd his taste, with regurd to what is elegant 
 and beautifiii And he has the same rea- 
 son, and, indeed, is under the same neces- 
 •ity of believing the elear and unbiassed 
 iiotatoa iif hia conaeienee^ with regard to 
 what is honourable and what is base. 
 [ The sum of what has been said in this 
 I efaapter is, That, bj an origmal power of 
 ; the mindy which we eall emmieme, or the 
 morai /i»ii%, we have the ooneeptions of 
 right and wrong in human conduct, of merit 
 and demirit, of duty and moral obligation, 
 and our nAm .moral, eonceptions ; and that, 
 by theaame iwnlty, we perceive some things 
 in human conduct to be right, and others 
 to be wrong; that the irst principles of 
 ii> .mmila: .are the dictates of this faculty i and 
 'liiat wm have tlie same reason to rely upon 
 'iiom' dietelea, as upon the determinations 
 of our senses, or of our other oaloral la- 
 eultiea.* - |M4] 
 
 CHAPTER VII,, 
 
 or ICORAIi APPROBATION ANn 
 OnAPPROBATIOIi. 
 
 OuE moral judgments are not like those 
 we form in specuktive matters, dry and 
 
 nnaffecliiig, but, from their nature, are 
 noeessarily accompanied with .affeetionsand 
 feelings ; which we are now to consider. 
 
 It was before observed, that every human 
 '■■tio% Mnsidered in a moral view, appears 
 to us, good, or bad, or indifferent. When 
 we judge the aetion to be indiffierent, neither 
 good nor bad, though this be a moral judg- 
 ment, il produces uo affection nor feeling, 
 any more than our judgments in specula- 
 tive matters. 
 
 But we approve of good aetiO'US, and dis- 
 approve of bad; and this approbation and 
 ilsaiipmlwtioD, when we analyse^ it, ap- 
 'peam tO' include, not only a moral judgmeut 
 of the aetion, butwme alfeetion, 'favourable 
 or nnfavourable, towards the agent, and 
 ^ iomo feeling in ourselves. 
 
 ,.tiw*%jL ^ f Nothing is more evident than this. That 
 1 1 ^ ^ ,^M ''"**'** worth, even in a stranger, with whom 
 l,';iT/i^*[ 1^^ ^*^® *'®* ^^ *®"*' oonnectiou, never 
 ^I'U iii#if mA44l^ fails to produce some degree of esteem mixed 
 ' j with giMMl will. 
 
 The esteem which we liavo for a m.an on 
 account of his moral worth, is different 
 from that which is grounded upon hb in- 
 tellectual aeeomplisliments, his birth, for- 
 tune, and connection with us. 
 
 • rhi« theory it virtually the ftame as that which 
 foumlf miinlitf on intelligence. 'Ihe Practical Ri-a. 
 mn ci Kantte iwl CMentially diiNireiit from (be Moral 
 
 m Smttt tlM JWimil fiaeul^ of Reid and 8tewart.~H. 
 
 Moral worth, when it is not set off by 
 eminent abilities and external advantages, 
 is like a diamond in the mine, which is 
 rough and unpolished, and perhaps crusted 
 over with some baser material that takes 
 away its bistre. [245] 
 
 But, when it is attended with these ad- 1 
 vantages, it is like a diamond cut, polished, 
 and set. Then its lustre attracts every 
 eye. Yet these things, which add so much 
 to it« appearance, add but little to its real 
 value. 
 
 We must farther observe, that esteem 
 and benevolent regard, not only accompany 
 real worth by the constitution of our nature, 
 but are perceived to be really and properly 
 due to it ; and that, on the contrary, un- 
 worthy conduct really merits dislike and in- 
 dignation. 
 
 There is no judgment of the heart of man 
 more dear, or more irresistible, than this. 
 That esteem and regard are really due to 
 good conduct, and the contrary to base and 
 unworthy conduct Nor can we conceive a 
 peater depravity in the heart of man, than 
 It would be to see and acknowledge worth 
 without feeling any respect to it ; or to see 
 and acknowledge the highest worthlessness 
 without any degree of dislike and indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 The esteem that is due to worthy con- 
 duct, is not lessened when a man is con- 
 scious of it in himself. Nor can he help 
 having some esteem for himself, when he 
 IS conscious of those qualities for which he 
 most highly esteems others. 
 
 Self esteem, grounded upon external ad- 
 vantages, or the gifts of fortune, is pride. 
 When it is grounded upon a vain conceit of 
 inward worth which we do not possess, it 
 is arrogance and self-deceit. But when a 
 man, without thinking of himself more 
 highly than he ought to think, is conscious 
 of that integrity of heart and uprightness 
 of conduct which he most highly esteems 
 in others, and values himself duly upon this 
 account, this, perhaps, may be called the 
 pride of virtue ; but it is not a vicious prida 
 It is a noble and magnanimous disposition, 
 without wliich there can be uo steady vir- 
 tue.* [2461 I 
 
 A man who has a character with himself, 
 which he values, will disdain to act in a 
 manner unworthy of iL The language of 
 his heart will be like that of Job—" My 
 righteousness I hold fast, and will not let 
 It go; my heart shall not reproach me 
 while I live." 
 
 A good man owes mnoh to his character 
 with the world, and will be concerned to 
 vindicate it from unjust imputations. But 
 he owes much more to his character with 
 
 * See the fine portraiture «f the Mignaninoui 
 Man, In Arittoti«'» " Nicomachian Kthicf."— H. 
 
 hunself. For, if his heart condemns hun 
 not, he has confidence towards God ; and he 
 ean more easily bear the lash of tongues 
 than the reproach of his own mind. 
 
 The sense of honour, so much spoken of, 
 and 80 often misapplied, is nothing else, 
 when rightly understood, but the disdain 
 which a man of worth feels to do a dis- 
 hourable action, though it should never be 
 known nor suspected. 
 
 A good man will have a much greater 
 abhorrence against doing a bad action, 
 tlian even against having it unjustly im- 
 puted to him. The last may give a wound 
 to his reputation, but the first gives a wound 
 to his conscience, which is more difficult to 
 heal, and more painful to endure. 
 
 Let us, on the other hand, consider how 
 we are affected by disapprobation, either of 
 the conduct of others, or of our own. 
 
 Everything we disapprove in the conduct 
 of a man lessens him in our esteem. There 
 are, indeed, brilliant faults, which, having 
 a mixture of good and ill in them, may have 
 a very different aspect, according to the 
 side on which we view them. [247] 
 
 In such faults of our friends, and much 
 more of ourselves, we are disposed to view 
 them on the best side, and on the contrary 
 side in those to whom we are ill affected. 
 
 This partiality, in taking things by the 
 best or by the worst handle, is the chief 
 cause of wrong judgment with regard to 
 the character of others, and of self-deceit 
 with regard to our own. 
 
 But when we take complex actions to 
 pieces, and view every part by itself, ill 
 conduct of every kind lessens our esteem 
 of a man, as much as good conduct increases 
 it. It is apt to turn love into indifference, 
 indifference into contempt, and contempt 
 into aversion and abhorrence. 
 
 When a man is conscious of immoral 
 conduct in himself, it lessens his self-esteem. 
 It depresses and humbles his spirit, and 
 makes his countenance to fall. He could 
 even punish himself for his misbehaviour, 
 if that could wipe out the stain. There 
 I IS a sense of dishonour and worthlessness 
 arising from guilt, as well as a sense of 
 honour and worth arising from worthy con- 
 duct And this is the case, even if a man 
 could conceal his guilt from all the world. 
 
 We are next to consider the agreeable or 
 uneasy feelings, in the breast of the spec- 
 tator or judge, which naturally accompany 
 moral approbation and disapprobation. 
 
 There is no affection that is not accom- 
 panied with some agreeable or uneasy emo- 
 tion. It has often been observed, that all 
 the benevolent affections give pleasure, and 
 the contrary ones pain, in one degree or 
 another. [248] 
 
 When «e contemplate a noble character, 
 though but in ancient history, or even in 
 [247-249] 
 
 fiction ; like a beautiful object, it gives a 
 lively and pleasant emotion to the spirits. 
 It warms the heart, and invigorates the 
 whole frame. Like the beams of the sun, 
 it enlivens the face of nature, and diffuses 
 heat and light all areund. 
 
 We feel a sympathy with every noble and 
 worthy character that is represented to us. 
 We rejoice in his prosperity, we are afiSicted 
 in his distress. We even catch some sparks 
 of that celestial fire that animated his con- 
 duct, and feel the glow of his virtue and 
 magnanimity. 
 
 This sympathy is the necessary effect of 
 our judgment of his conduct, and of the 
 approbation and esteem due to it ; for real 
 sympathy is always the effect of some bene- 
 volent affection, such as esteem, love, pity, 
 or humanity. 
 
 When the person whom we approve is 
 connected with us by acquaintance, friend- 
 ship, or blood, the pleasure we derive from 
 his conduct is greatly increased. We claim 
 some property in his worth, and are apt to 
 value ourselves on account of it. This 
 shews a stronger degree of sympathy, which 
 gathers strength from every social tie. 
 
 But the highest pleasure of all is, when 
 we are conscious of good conduct in our- 
 selves. This, in sacred scripture, is called 
 the testimony of a good conscience ; and it is 
 represented, not only in the sacred writings, 
 but in the writings of all moralists, of every 
 age and sect, as the purest, the most noble 
 and valuable of all human enjoyments. 
 
 Surely, were we to place the chief hap- 
 piness of this life (a thing that has been so 
 much sought after) in any one kind of 
 enjoyment, that which arises from the con- 
 sciousness of integrity, and a uniform en- 
 deavour to act the best part in our station, 
 would most justly claim the preference to 
 all other enjoyments the human mind is 
 capable of, on account of its dignity, the 
 intenseness of the happiness it affords, its 
 stability and duration, its being in our power, 
 and its being proof against all accidents of 
 time and fortune. [249] 
 
 On the other hand, the view of a vicious 
 character, like that of an ugly and deformed 
 object, is disagreeable. It gives disgust 
 and abhorrence. 
 
 If the unworthy person be nearly con- 
 nected with us, we have a very painful 
 sympathy indeed. We blush even for the 
 smaller faults of those we are connected 
 with, and feel ourselves, as it were, dis- 
 honoured by their ill conduct. 
 
 But, when there is a high degree of de- 
 pravity in any person connected with us, 
 we are deeply humbled and depressed by 
 it. The sympathetic feeling has some re- 
 semblance to that of guilt, though it be 
 free from all guilt. We are ashamed to 
 see our acquaintance ; we would, if possible, 
 
sm 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWEEa [essay iil-fabtiii. 
 
 'iiMliim all eomwctioii. iiiii. lAm fofllj pw. 
 
 ^Mii^ Wew'Uit4itMyrliiiii.:fooiiioiirIi«uti, 
 'Md to MolMm. mtk li mm wmmabnam. 
 
 Tim% liow«T«r, alkviitat thorn sjihimi. 
 tkoliis .sorrows whieli mim hma bsd beha- 
 ▼iottt in our friendi^ and. tmiiMitioiiB, if we 
 mm isfitiicio w tlial '«• "ltd no. limm in their 
 
 TlM' wisdMDB of Gody in the constitution 
 ^ mm mmu% :hath. .intended that this sym- 
 piiietie distress abonid interest ns the more 
 deeplj in the good hehavioiir, as wdi aa in 
 the good fortune of our liiendai and that 
 thereby Mendshipi relation, and eTery social 
 tie, Acmid ba aiding to virtue, and unlk- 
 vottrabb to '▼ie» 
 
 How common la it, even hi vieious pa- 
 rents, to b«' dieplr afflicted when their 
 cfaidiia. m into these courses in which, 
 |wrha|m»'fi^y here gone bdiM' them, and, 
 by their 'axamiile,. shewn, them the way. 
 mm} 
 
 If bad conduct in those .in. whom, we .are 
 intarsstod be^ nneasj and pUM, il is so^ 
 mneb more when we are conseiotts of it m 
 ourselves. This uneasy feeling has a name 
 in all hngnagee. We call it remmne, 
 
 II has been dssetibed in such frightful 
 •ohMwi, by wrlteta sacred and profime, by 
 writers 'Of every age and M every persoa- 
 sioD, even by Epicureans, that I will not 
 'Stteapt' tba d8s«ii|ilaen of it 
 
 It is nn. aMMMiii. of the wisasiness of this 
 Mkm 'that 'bad. 'men take so mnch paina to^ 
 g^ rid of it, and to hide, even from their 
 mm. ^|es|, as much as possible, the pravity 
 of their eondnst.. HeneO' 'arise: all the arts 
 ofs^.4eeeit, i^ which men varnish their 
 erimes, or endeavour to wash out the stain 
 of gilli Hence the various methods of 
 expiation whieh .suptntition has invanledi 
 to sohMe the conselenee of the crimhia], 
 and giM' nne' eooling to^ his parebed breast 
 I Hflnee aiso arise, very often, the efforts of 
 \^ men of had. hearts, to excel In some .amiable 
 qntlity, whidi may be a Und of counter- 
 poise to their vice% both in th« opinion of 
 I of others and in their own. 
 
 For no man can bear the thought of be- 
 ing absolutely destituto of all worth. The 
 ■jsussionsness 'Of this 'would make Mm detest 
 himself, hate the light of the sun, and iy, 
 if possible^ out of existence. 
 
 I havo new endeavonred. to delineato the 
 mtnial. opeiBiiinaof 'that pnnciple of aetion 
 hi mail which, we call the M&ml Smm, the 
 Mmrai Facii%, Cmuemtm, We know no- 
 thing' of our aaittna facnltiea, but by their 
 'OpsnitloBS 'witbhi 'Us. Of their opentiona 
 M mm mm mfaids 'wo' are 'Conadoos, and we 
 see the .s%ns of their opaiations hi. the;mliidi 
 'iff 'Olfaaisi Of this mieulty, the operations 
 aiipear to be, tho judging ultunately of what 
 is right, wnat is wrong, and what ia indif- 
 fMsal .!■ 'th« MMduct of moral agents i the 
 
 apfHTobafelon of good conduct, and disappro- 
 bation of bad, in oonseqnenoe of that judg- 
 ment; and the agreeable emotions which 
 attend obedience, and disagreeable, which 
 attend disobedience to ito dictates. [251] 
 The Supreme Being, who has given ns 
 eyea to discern what may be useful and 
 what hurtful to our natural life, hath also 
 given ns this light within, to direct our mo« 
 ral conduct 
 
 Moral conduct is the business of every 
 man ; and therefore the knowledge of it 
 ougjit to be within the reach of all. 
 
 Epicurus reasoned acutely and justly to 
 shew, that a regard to our present happi- 1 
 ness should induce us to the practice of' 
 temperance, justice, and humanity. But 
 the bulk of mankind cannot follow long 
 trains of reasoning. The loud voice of the 
 passions drowns the calm and still voice of i 
 reasoning. 
 
 Conscience commands and forbids with 
 more authority, and in the most common 
 and most important points of conduct, with- 
 out the labour of reasoning. Its voice is 
 heard by every man, and caunot be disi«- 
 garded with impunity. 
 
 The sense of guilt makes a man at var- 
 iance with himself. He sees that he is 
 what he ought not to be. He has fallen 
 from the dignity of his nature, and has sold 
 his real worth for a thuig of no value. He 
 ia conscious of demerit, and cannot avoid 
 the dread of meeting with its reward. 
 
 On the other hand, he who pays a sa- 
 cred regard to the dictates of his conscience, 
 cannot fail of a present reward, and a re- 
 ward proportioned to the exertion required 
 In doing hia doty. [252] 
 
 The man who, in opposition to strong 
 tomptation, by a noble effort, maintains his 
 integrity, is the happiest man on earth. 
 The more severe his conflict has been, the 
 greater is his triumph. The consciousness 
 of inward worth gives strength to his heart, 
 and makes his countenance to shine. Tem- 
 posto may beat and floods roar, but he 
 stands firm aa a rock in the joy of a good 
 conscience, and confidence of divine appro- 
 bation. 
 
 To this I shall only add, what every 
 man's conscience dictates, That he who 
 does his duty from the conviction that it ia 
 right and honoorable, and what he ought 
 to do, acta from a nobler pnnciple, and with 
 more inward satisfaction, than he who ia 
 bribed to do it merely from the considera- 
 tion of a reward present or future. 
 
 CHAPTER VlII. 
 OBSa&TlTIONS CONCXRHINO CONSaBNOI. 
 
 I svAu now condndo this essay 'with. 
 
 «HAP. VIII.] OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 596 
 
 some observations concerning this power 
 of the mind which we call Conseiencef by 
 which its nature may be better under- 
 stood. 
 
 Thefirst is. That, like all our other powers, 
 it comes to maturity by insensible degrees, 
 and may be much aided in its strength and 
 vigour by proper culture. 
 
 All the human faculties have their in- 
 fancy and their state of maturity. [253] 
 
 The faculties which we have in common 
 with the brutes, appear first, and have the 
 quickest growth. In the first period of 
 life, children are not capable of distinguish- 
 ing right from wrong in human conduct ; 
 neither are they capable of abstract reason- 
 ing in matters of science. Their judgment 
 of moral conduct, as well as their judgment 
 of truth, advances by insensible degrees, 
 like the com and the grass. 
 
 In vegetables, first the blade or the leaf 
 appears, then the flower, and last of all the 
 fruit, the noblest production of the three, 
 and that for which the others were produced. 
 These succeed one another in a regular 
 order. They require moisture, and heat, 
 and air, and shelter to bring them to matu- 
 rity, and may be much improved by culture. 
 According to the variations of soU, season, 
 and culture, some plants are brought to 
 much greater perfection than others of the 
 same species. But no variation of culture, 
 or season, or soil, can make grapes grow 
 from thorns, or figs from thistles. 
 
 We may observe a similar progress in the 
 ikculties of the mind : for there is a wonder- 
 ful analogy among all the works of God, 
 from the least even to the greatest. 
 
 The faculties of man unfold themselves 
 in a certain order, appointed by the great 
 Creator. In their gradual progress, they 
 may be greatly assisted or retarded, im- 
 proved or corrupted, by education, instruc- 
 tion, example, exercise, and by the society 
 and conversation of men, which, like soil 
 and culture in plants, may produce great 
 changes to the better or to the worse. 
 
 But these means can never produce any 
 new faculties, nor any other than were 
 originally planted in the mind by the Author 
 of nature. And what is common to the 
 whole species, in all the varieties of instruc- 
 tion and education, of improvement and 
 degeneracy, is the work of God, and not the 
 operation of second causes. [254] 
 
 Such we may justly account conscience, 
 or the faculty of distinguishing right con- 
 duct from wrong ; since it appears, and in 
 all nations and ages, has appeared, in men 
 that are come to maturity. 
 
 The seeds, as it were, of moral discern- 
 ment are planted in the mind by him that 
 I made us. They grow up in their proper 
 I season, and are at first tender and delicate, 
 and easily warped. Their progress depends 
 [253-255] 
 
 very much upon their being duly cultivated 
 and properly exercised. 
 
 It is so 'with the power of reasonings 
 which all acknowledge to be one of the most 
 eminent natural faculties of man. It ap- 
 pears not in infancy. It springs up, by in- 
 sensible degrees, as we grow to maturity. 
 But its strength and vigour depend so much 
 upon its being duly cultivated and exercised, 
 that we see many individuals, nay, many 
 nations, in which it is hardly to lae per- 
 ceived. 
 
 Our intellectual discernment is not so 
 strong and vigorous by nature as to secure 
 us from errors in speculation. On the con- 
 trary, we see a great part of mankind, in 
 every age, sunk in gross ignorance of things 
 that are obvious to the more enlightened, 
 and fettered by errors and false notions, 
 which the human understanding, duly im- 
 proved, easily throws off. 
 
 It would be extremely absurd, from the 
 errors and ignorance of mankind, to con- 
 clude that there is no such thing as truth ; 
 or that man has not a natural faculty of 
 discerning it, and dbtinguishing it from 
 error. 
 
 In like manner, our moral discernment 
 of what we ought, and what we ought not 
 to do, is not so strong and vigorous by nature 
 as to secure us from very gross mistakes 
 with regard to our duty. [255] 
 
 In matters of conduct, as well as in mat- 
 ters of speculation, we are liable to be misled 
 by prejudices of education, or by wrong in- 
 struction. But, in matters of conduct, we 
 are also very liable to have our judgment 
 warped by our appetites and passions, by 
 fashion, and by the contagion of evil ex- 
 ample. 
 
 We must not therefore think, because man 
 has the natural power of discerning what is 
 right and what is wrong, that he has no 
 need of instruction ; that this power has no 
 need of cultivation and improvement ; that 
 he may safely rely upt»n the suggestions of 
 his mind, or upon opinions he has got, he 
 knows not how. 
 
 What should we think of a man who, 
 because he has by nature the power of 
 moving all his limbs should therefore con- 
 clude that he needs not be taught to dance, 
 or to fence, to ride, or to swim ? All these 
 exercises are performed by that power of 
 moving our limbs which we have by nature ; 
 but they will be performed very awkwardly 
 and imperfectly by those who have not been 
 trained to them, and practised in them. 
 
 What should we think of the man who, 
 because he has the power by nature of dis- 
 tmguishing what is true from what is false, 
 should conclude that he has no need to be 
 taught mathematics, or natural philosophy, 
 or other sciences ? It is by the natural 
 power of human understanding that eveiy- 
 
 «q2 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS, [kssay hi.— part hi. 
 
 Hilng in thorn mkmomhmhma. diaoovoMd^ 
 and that tki trutliB tliejr eoiilsiii am ilis« 
 Mrned. But tlio underotaiidiiig, left to 
 itself, without the aid of iustniction) trainings 
 habi^ and exercise, would make rery small 
 |>iogfW% as eve^ one sees, in persons an- 
 .mstrueled. 'in those matters.. 
 
 Our natural power of discerning between 
 right and wrong, needs the aid of instruc- 
 tion, edmsatiim, axereise, and habit, as weU 
 as our other 'natural powers. [256] 
 
 There are persons who, as the Scripture 
 iqiealis, have, by reason of use, their senses 
 exercised to discern both good and evil ; by 
 that means, thij have a much quicker, 
 deafer, and 'more 'Ciflain. judgment in 
 morals than others. 
 
 The man who neglects the means of im- 
 provement in the Icnowlectoe of his duty, 
 may do very had ttilngsv while he follows 
 the light of his mind. And, though he be 
 not culpable for acting according to his 
 judgment, he may he very culpable for not 
 using tne neanS' of navmg lus judgment 
 'letter informed. 
 
 It may b« observed, That there are 
 trntlM, holli. .sMoulative and moral, which a 
 :iiiaii. ' Ml to- 'liiiistlf' 'Would never discover; 
 '«il, 'wlmi. thi^' .are Ikirly laid before him, 
 he owns and adopts them, not Imrely upon 
 the authority of his teaeher, but upon their 
 own. 'intrinsie evidence^ and perhaps won- 
 den. thai 'he oould be so blind .as not to see 
 them before. 
 
 a man whose' son 'has been long 
 I, and supposed dead. After many 
 *«■•%. 'tlie son returns, and is not known by 
 ilis Hither. He would never find that this 
 i^ his son. But, when he discovers himself, 
 the father soon finds, by many circum- 
 itanoesi that this is his son who was lost, 
 ■ai can. be no other person. 
 * Tra|h has an affinity with the human 
 nndowtandingi which error hath not. And 
 riphl' 'piiaolplMi 'Of eondud have .an. affinity 
 ilih a «aiidii 'inhd, which wrong principles 
 hmm not. When they are set before it in 
 a jisl llglil) a well disposed mind recognises 
 Ihia aSni^, feels their authority, and per- 
 mSma ^mm to be- .genuine. It was this. I 
 HipNiliiiil, 'that .led .Phito to conceive that 
 tiO' knowle^e we acquire in the present 
 ataka, Is only reminiscence of what, in a 
 fumeritftle, we were acquainted with. [257] 
 
 A man bom and brought up in a savage 
 iiation,%iay be taught to pursue injui^ with 
 unrelenting malice, to the destruction of 
 Ma enemy. .PorhiiM' when he does so, his 
 heart 'does not eonieinu him. 
 
 ¥«l| if he be fair and candid* and, when 
 the tumult of passion is over, have the vir- 
 of clemency, generosity, and forgive- 
 
 nmBpiidl'hy tlio divine Author of our 
 nligion., he wii. ■••' 'that it .is more noble 
 
 ' to overcome himself, and subdue a savage 
 passion, than to destroy his enemy. He 
 will see, that, to make a friend of an enemy, 
 and to overcome evil with good, is the 
 greatest of all victories, and gives a manly 
 and a rational delight, with which the brutish 
 pasuon of revenge deserves not to be com- 
 pared. He will see that hitherto he acted 
 like a man to his friends, but like a brute 
 to lus enemies ; now he knows how to make 
 his whole character consistent, and one 
 part of it to harmonize with another. 
 
 He must indeed be a great stranger to 
 his own heert, and to the state of human 
 nature, who does not see that he has need 
 of all the aid which his situation afford&him, 
 in order to know how. he ought to act in 
 many cases that occur. 
 
 A «fc»m/ observation is. That Conscience a 
 is peculiar to man. We see not a vestige l^ ' 
 of it in brute animals. It is one of those 
 prerogatives by which we are raised above 
 them. 
 
 Brute animals have many faculties in 
 common with us. They see, and hear, and 
 taste, and smell, and feel. They have their 
 pleasures and pains. They have various 
 mstincts and appetites. They have an 
 affection for their offspring, and some of 
 them for theur herd or flock. Dogs have a 
 wonderful attachment to their masters, and 
 give manifest signs of sympathy with them. 
 1258] 
 
 We see, in brute animals, anger and 
 emulation, pride and shame. Some of them 
 are capable of being trained, by habit, and 
 by rewardsand punishments, to many things 
 useful to man. 
 
 All this must be granted ; and, if our per- 
 ception of what we ought, and what we 
 ought not to do, could be resolved into any 
 of these principles, or into any combination 
 of them, it would follow, that some brutes 
 are moral agents, and accountable for their 
 conduct 
 
 But common sense revolts against this 
 conclusion. A man who seriously charged 
 a brute with a crime, would be laughed at. 
 They may do actions hurtful to themselves, 
 or to man. They may have qualities, or 
 acquire habits, that laid to such actions ; 
 and this is all we mean when we call them 
 vicious. But they cannot be immoral ; nor 
 can they be virtuous. They are not capable 
 of self-government; and, when they act 
 according to the passion or habit which is 
 strongest at the time, they act according to 
 the nature that God has given them, and 
 no more can be required of them. 
 
 They cannot lay down a rule to them- 
 selves, which thev are not to transgress, 
 though prompted by appetite, or ruffled by 
 passion. We see no reason to think that 
 they can form the conception of a general 
 mle, or of obligation to adhere to it 
 
 [SSe~258] 
 
 . Tin.] OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 597 
 
 3 
 
 They have no conception of a promise or 
 contract ; nor can you enter into any treaty 
 with them. They can neither affirm nor 
 deny, nor resolve, nor plight their faith. 
 If nature had made them capable of these 
 operations, we should see the signs of them 
 in their motions and gestures. 
 
 The most sagacious brutes never in- 
 vented a language, nor learned the use of 
 one before invented. They never formed 
 a plan of government, nor transmitted in- 
 veutions to theur posterity. [259] 
 
 These things, and many others that are 
 obvious to common observation, shew that 
 there is just reason why mankind have 
 always considered the brute-creation as 
 destitute of the noblest faculties with which 
 God hath endowed man, and particularly 
 of that faculty which makes us moral and 
 accountable beings. 
 
 The next [third] observation is— That 
 
 Conscience is evidently intended by nature 
 
 , to be the immediate guide and director of 
 
 our conduct, after we arrive at the years of 
 
 understanding. 
 
 There are many things which, from their 
 nature and structure, shew intuitively the 
 end for which they were made. 
 
 A man who knows the structure of a 
 watch or clock, can have no doubt in con- 
 cluding that it was made to measure time. 
 And he that knows the structure of the eye, 
 and the properties of light, can have as 
 little doubt whether it was made that we 
 might see by it. 
 
 In the fabric of the body, the intention 
 of the several parts is, in many instances, 
 80 evident as to leave no possibility of 
 doubt. Who can doubt whether the muscles 
 were intended to move the parts in which 
 they are inserted ? Whether the bones 
 were intended to give strength and support 
 to the body ; and some of them to guard 
 the (mrts which they inclose ? 
 
 When we attend to the structure of the 
 mind, the intention of its various origmal 
 powers is no less evident. Is it not evident 
 that the external senses are given, that we 
 may discern those qualities of bodies which 
 may be useful or hurtful to us ? — Memory, 
 that we may retain the knowledge we have 
 acquired — ^j udgment and understanding, that 
 we may distinguish what is true from what 
 is false ? [260] 
 
 The natural appetites of hunger and 
 thirst ; the natural affections of parents to 
 their offspring, and of relations to each 
 other ; the natural docility and credulity of 
 children ; the affections of pity and sym- | 
 pathy with the distressed ; the attachment 
 we feel to neighbours, to acquaintance, 
 and to the laws and constitution of our 
 (M>untry — these are parts of our constitu- 
 tion, which plainly point out their end, so 
 that he must be blind, or very inattentive, 
 [859-261] 
 
 who does not perceive it Even the pas- 
 sions of anger and resentment appear vefy 
 plainly to be a kind of defensive armour, 
 given by our Maker to guard us against 
 injuries, and to deter the injurious. 
 
 Thus it holds generally with regard both 
 to the intellectual and active powers of man, 
 that the intention for which they are given 
 is written in legible characters upon the 
 face of them. 
 
 Nor is this the case of any of them more 
 evidently than of conscience. Its intention 
 is manifestly implied in its office ; which is, 
 to shew us what is good, what bad, and 
 what indifferent in human conduct. 
 
 It judges of every action before it is done. 
 For we can rarely act so precipitately but 
 we have the consciousness that what we 
 are about to do is right, or wrong, or in- 
 different. Like the bodily eye, it naturally 
 looks forward, though its attention may be 
 turned back to the past. 
 
 To conceive, as some seem to have done, 
 that its office is only to reflect on past 
 actions, and to approve or disapprove, is, as 
 if a man should conceive that the office of 
 his eyes is only to look back upon the road 
 he has travelled, aud to see whether it be 
 clean or dirty; a mistake which no man 
 can make who has made the proper use of 
 his eyes. [261] 
 
 Conscience prescribes measures to every 
 appetite, affection, and passion, and says to 
 every other principle of action — So far thou 
 mayest go, but no farther. 
 
 We may indeed transgress its dictates, 
 but we cannot transgress them with inno- 
 cence, nor even with impunity. 
 
 We condemn ourselves, or, in the lan- 
 guage of scripture, our heart condemns us, 
 whenever we go beyond the rules of right 
 and wrong which conscience prescribes. 
 
 Other principles of action may have more 
 strength, but this only has authority. Its 
 sentence makes us guilty to ourselves, and 
 guilty in the eyes of our Maker, whatever 
 other principle may be set in opposition 
 to it* 
 
 It is evident, therefore, that this prmciple 
 has, from its nature, an authority to direct 
 and determine with regard to our conduct ; 
 to judge, to acquit, or to condemn, and even 
 to punish ; an authority which belongs to 
 no other principle of the human mind. 
 
 It is the candle of the Lord set up within 
 us, to guide our steps. Other principles 
 may urge and impel, but this only authorizes. 
 Other principles ought to be controlled by 
 this ; this may be, but never ought to be 
 controlled by any other, and never can be 
 with innocence. 
 
 The authority of conscience over the ether 
 active principles of the mind, I do not con- 
 sider as a point that requires proof by trgu- 
 ment, but as self-evident For it in plies 
 
ON THK ACTIVE POWKRa [■ 
 
 .BO umiw Hm. tlili— Tlmt in all 
 
 HHglil to do hi! dulj. H« only who doM 
 
 M'tM mmm what he ought to do, is thO' per^ 
 
 Oflliii:'|Mrtelionm the htunan nature, 
 
 ii» BtoiM formed the idea, and held it forth 
 
 in their writings, as the goal to which the 
 
 of life ought to be direeted. Their 
 
 was one in whom a regard to the 
 
 iwalloiwed up every other principle 
 
 ofaelion. 
 
 'TiW' wim mam of the Stoics, like tlM^^fMr* 
 
 Jimi mmim of tine ;rhetorioiana, was an ideal 
 
 «liaiMl«r, ani'Wai, in some respeols, earried 
 
 ll^ond natnre ; yet it was perhaps the most 
 
 petlMsl model of virtue that ever was ex- 
 
 t'liiilad. to the heathen world ; and some of 
 
 limifi' who Mpied after it, were ornaments 
 
 'to t wfffffw mturo* 
 
 The [fmrih and] hst observation is — 
 
 J Hat the Moral Faculty or Conscience is 
 
 iJI . botli .an Active and an. InteUeetaal power 
 
 idHUH^P' ilJk Silk, .^h, ilBtoi—li JnlHIMlii j^M 
 
 Of me mina. 
 
 it is an active power, as every tmly vir^ 
 tuous action must be more or less influenced 
 by it Other principles may concur with 
 it. and lead the same way ; but no action 
 •an. bo called, morally .good, in which a re- 
 nid to what is nght, has not some influence. 
 Thus, a^man who has no regard to }nBtic% 
 may pay his Jnst debt, ftrom no other mo* 
 five but that he may not be thrown into 
 prison. In this action there is no vurtue at 
 ■i. 
 
 The mofil. psneiple, in. particular etMs, 
 inaj bO' oMMtai by any of oqt' animal ptin- 
 eiples. FHiaion or appetito may urge to 
 wlal we know to be wrong. In every in- 
 ■ianee of thia. kind, th«. mofal principle ought 
 to pfBvaii, .and the notO' difiicnlt its oon- 
 f neat la, :it is the more glorious. 
 
 In some oases, a regard to what is right 
 ■nay be the sole motive, without the oon- 
 cnnenoe or opposition of any other principle 
 'Of aetlMii as when a judge or an. arbiter 
 dettnniMs a plea 'between two diflbrent per- 
 sons, solely from a regard to justice. [263] 
 
 ThuS' we see that eonacieuce, as an active 
 prinai|ile^.^ asunelimes 'Concurs with other 
 aflUve 'filnelples, sometimes opposes them, 
 and sometimes is the .sole prinaple 'Of 
 aetion. 
 
 I endeavoured before to shew, that a 
 regard to our own good upon the whole is 
 not only a rational principle of action, but 
 a< leadinK Piinaiple, to which all our animal 
 
 thereioro, 'two legnlating or leading prtn- 
 •ipBS in the constitution of man — a regard 
 to what is best for us upon the whole, and 
 a regard to duty^it may be ashed. Which 
 of these ong^it to yield if they happen to 
 intAriiret 
 aonia w»i4Daaiiing penona have main- 
 That all regard to onrMlves and to 
 
 m. — PAST III* 
 
 our own happiness ought to be extinguished ; 
 that we should love virtue for its own salsa 
 only, even though it were to be accom- 
 panied with eternal misery. 
 
 This seems to have been the extrava- 
 gance of some Mystics, which perhaps they 
 were led into in opposition to a contrary 
 extreme of the schoolmen of the middle 
 ages, who made the desire of good to our- 
 selves to be the sole motive to action, and 
 virtue to be approvable only on account of 
 its present or future reward. 
 
 Juster views of human nature will teach 
 us to avoid both these extremes. 
 
 On the one hand, the disinterested lovo 
 of virtue is undoubtedly the noblest prin- 
 ciple in human nature, and ought never to 
 stoop to any other. [264] 
 
 On the other band, there is no active 
 principle which God hath planted m our 
 nature that is vicious in itself, or that 
 ought to be ezadicated, even if it were in 
 our power. 
 
 They are all useful and necessary in our 
 present state. The perfection of human 
 nature consists, not in extinguishing, but 
 hi restraining them within their proper 
 bounds, and keeping them in due subordina- 
 tion to the governing principles. 
 
 As to the supposition of an opposition ; 
 between the two governing principles — that ! 
 is, between a r^ard to our liappiness upon 
 the whole, and a regard to duty— this sup- 
 position is merely imaginary. There can 
 be no such opposition. 
 
 While the world is under a wise and 
 benevolent administration, it is impossible 
 that any man should, in the issue, be a loser 
 by doing his duty. Every man, therefore,] 
 who believes in God, while he is careful to 
 do his duty, may safely leave the care of 
 his happiness to Him who made him. He 
 la conscious that he consults the last most 1 
 effectually by attending to the first. 
 
 Indeed, if we suppose a man to be an 
 atheist in his belief, and, at the same time, 
 by wrong judgment, to believe that virtue 
 is contrary to his happiness upon the whole, 
 thia ease, as Lord Shaftesbury justly ob- 
 serves, is without remedy* It will be im- 
 possible for the man to act so as not to 
 contradict a leading principle of his nature. 
 Me must either sacrifice his happiness to 
 virtue, or virtue to happiness ; and is re- 
 duced to this miserable dilemma, whether 
 it be best to be a fool or a knave. 
 
 This shews the strong connection between 
 morality and the principles of natural re- 
 ligion I as the last only can secure a man 
 from the possibility of an apprehension, 
 that he may pUy the fool by doing his duty. 
 [HHI] 
 
 Hence, oven Lord Shaftesbury, in his^ 
 graveet work, concludes, That virtue with* 
 out piety it inc<mpiete. Without piety, it 
 
 onAP. viu.] OBSERVATIONS CONCERNING CONSCIENCE. 599 
 
 and the same may be said of gratitude and 
 its contrary. When justice and gratitude 
 interfere, gratitude must give place to jus- 
 tice, and unmerited beneficence must give 
 place to both. 
 
 Many such relations between the various 
 moral qualities compared together, are im- 
 mediately discerned by our moral faculty. 
 A man needs only to consult his own heart 
 to be convinced of them. [266] 
 
 All our reasonings in morals, in natural I 
 jurisprudence, in the law of nations, as well 
 as our reasonings about the duties of natu- 
 ral religion, and about the moral govern- 
 ment of the Deity, must be grounded upon 
 the dictates of our moral &culty, as first 
 principles. 
 
 As this faculty, therefore, furnishes the 
 human mind with many of its original con- 
 ceptions or ideas, as well as with the first 
 principles of many important branches of 
 human knowledge, it may justly be ac- 
 counted an intellectual as weU as an active 
 power of the mind. [267] 
 
 I its brightest example, its noblest ob- 
 ject, and its firmest support. 
 
 I conclude with observing. That con- 
 science, or the moral faculty, is likewise an 
 tntellectual power. 
 
 By it solely we have the original concep- 
 tions or ideas of right and wrong in human 
 conduct And of right and wrong there are 
 not only many different degrees, but many 
 different species. Justice and injustice, 
 gratitude and ingratitude, benevolence and 
 malice, prudence and folly, magnanimity 
 and meanness, decency and indecency, are 
 various moral forms, all comprehended un- 
 der the general notion of right and wrong 
 in conduct, all of them objects of moral 
 approbation or disapprobation, m a greater 
 or a less degree. 
 
 The conception of these, as moral quali- 
 ties, we have by our moral faculty ; and by 
 the same faculty, when we compare them 
 together, we pereeive various moral rela- 
 tions among them. Thus, we perceive that 
 justice is entitled to a small degree of praise, 
 but injustice to a high degree of bh«ne ; 
 
 ESSAY IV. 
 
 OF THE LIBERTY OF MORAL AGENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THB NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBBRTV ANO 
 NSCBSSITT STATBO. 
 
 By the Liberty of a Moral Agent, I un- 
 deretand, a power over the deter minatimis of 
 Me own WtlL* 
 
 * That is to lay, Moral Liberty does not merely 
 consist in the power of rfoin<7 what wemU,huX (though 
 Reid, p. S?7I, infra, seems to deny it) in the power of 
 W&Ung what we ufill. For a Power over the determ- 
 inations of our Will supposes an act of Will that 
 our Will should determine so and so ; for we can 
 only fireely exert power through a rational detennin. 
 atlOD or Volition. This definitiou of Liberty is right. 
 But then que:ition upon question remains (and this 
 ad inflnitum}^HEve we a power (a will) over such 
 anterior will ?— and until this quettion be definitively 
 answered, which it never can, we must be unable to 
 conceive the potfibilUy qf the fact of Liberti^ But, 
 though inconceivable, this fact is not therefore false. 
 For there are many contradictories (and, of contradic 
 torles, cnemutt,and one only can, be true) of which 
 we are equally unable to conceive the po«wibility of 
 either. The philosophy, therelore, which 1 profess, 
 annihilates the theoretical problem -How is the 
 scheme of Liberty, or the Kcheme of Necessity, to 
 be rendered comprehensible ?— by shewing that both 
 tehemes are equally inconceivable; but it estab. 
 lishee Liberty practically as a fact, by shewing that it 
 ia either itself an immediate datum, or is involved in 
 
 [266-268] 
 
 M -in an J jMctovJlfiJw^ 
 
 what he did, or not to wiU it, m t h a t act ion 
 he is free. But if, in every vohmtaryac- 
 tion,"ih'e' defermination of his will be the 
 necessary consec[uence of something invp- 
 Tuntaiyin the stateof hismind, prbfsomi- 
 thing m his external circumstances, he is 
 not free ; he has not what I call the Libe£|jt 
 of a M oral A gentLl>ut is subject to N^fififls 
 
 ^ IIP |i"'Hbilli 'fli J'lllili™""'"'''^^'l*'''**'It|Bfl||BB^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 sity. 
 
 This Liberty supposes the agent to have 
 Understanding and Will ; for the determin- 
 ations of the will are the sole object about 
 which this power is employed ; and there 
 can be no will without such a degree of 
 understanding, at least, as gives the con- 
 ception of that which we will. 
 
 The liberty of a moral agent implies, not 
 only a conception of what he wills, but some 
 degree of practical judgment or reason. 
 [268] 
 
 an immediate datum, of consciousness. But this by 
 
 the way. See p. 743 n, 911 b. 
 
 I may notice that, among many others, the F'lato. 
 nic definition of Liberty corresponds to that by Keid ; 
 'E\iC6tec», T» «ex*» •»««' ' a"'* the same condition of 
 self-government is likewise supposed in the vanoui 
 expressions tor Uberty— « iryiftM»$Kit—^ •* flA«» 
 muniourm--mi potettas~~tuiJuri$, AR— M- 
 
600 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [nBAT I¥. 
 
 FoTi if be liafl not tlie jvilfiiieiit to dis- 
 cmn one determinfttioii to be preferable to 
 another, eitber in itaelf or for some purpose 
 Yi^lcb be iatmii, what can be the use of a 
 power to ilitotniine ? His determinations 
 must be madi perfectly in the dark, with* 
 
 out reason, motive, or end. Tbey can 
 aaither be right nor wrong, wise nor fool- 
 iak WbatOTor the consequences may be, 
 tbey cannot be imputed to the agent, who 
 bad not the enpaaty of foieaeeing them, or 
 of perceiTing any reason for acting other- 
 'wiiO' 'tban be did* 
 
 We may, peibapi, be abl«^ to eoneeive a 
 being endowed with power mm 'tbe deter- 
 miaalions of bis will, without any light in 
 his mind to direct that power to some end. 
 But sncb power would be given in vain. 
 Ho exerieiae of it could be eiiier bbuned or 
 flfliffoved. As nature gives no power in 
 vam, I see no ground to ascribe a power 
 over the determinations of the will to any 
 baiiig who baa no judgment to apply it to 
 tbO' dneetionof bis conduct, no diacerument 
 of what be ought or ought not to do. 
 
 For that reason, in this Essay, I speak 
 only of the Libotty of Moral Agents, who 
 are capable of acting well or ilU wisely or 
 fooliably, and this, for distinction's sake, I 
 shall ciill Marai Libert//. 
 
 What Mnd or what degree of liberty be- 
 longs to brute animals, or to our own spe- 
 cies, before any use of reason, I do nut 
 know. We acknowledge that they have 
 not the power of self-government. Such 
 of their actions as may be called voluntary 
 mmm to be invariably determined by tbe 
 passion, or appetite, or affection, or habit, 
 which is strongest at the time. 
 
 This seems to be the kw of their consti- 
 tatioi, to wbieb they yield, as the inani- 
 male Cf«aiim does, without any conception 
 of the bw, or any intention m obedience. 
 
 But of civil or moral govemesi, which 
 are addressed to the rational powers, and 
 require a conception of the kw and an in. 
 
 tentional obedience, they are, in the judg- 
 ment of all 'mankind, incapable. Nor do I 
 see wbal 'Ond could be served by giving 
 them a power over the determinations of 
 
 their own will, unless to make them intract- 
 able by discipline, which we tee they are 
 
 I The effect of moral liberty is, ThM U is 
 im the power of ike ageni to do weU or Ui, 
 
 I ThiS' power, like eviiy .other gift of God, 
 " maf 'be aboied. The 'right use of tins gift 
 4il''Clod m to do well and wisely, aslkrasbis 
 btit jii%ment can direct bun, and thereby 
 BMUfit 'MImiii. and approbation. The abuse 
 of 11 Is to atfl ^«Mitiaiy to what be knows or 
 soapedB to be 'Us dntyand bis wisdom, and 
 fbMFoby justly merit disapprobation and 
 Uame* 
 
 By NtmMtitff, I ondefstand tbe want of 
 that moral liberty which I have above de- 
 fined. 
 
 If there can be a better and a worse in 
 actions on the system of Necessity, let us 
 suppose a man necessarily determined in all 
 cases to will and to do what is best to be 
 done, he would surely be innocent and 
 inculpable. But, as iar as I am able to 
 judge, he would not be entitled to the esteem 
 and moral approbation of those who knew 
 and believed this necessity. What was, by 
 an ancient author, said of Cato, might, in- 
 deed, be said of him : He was good because 
 he could not be otherwise.* Bat this say- 
 ing, if understood literally and strictly, is 
 not the praise of Cato, but of bis constitu- 
 tion, which was no more the work of Cato 
 than his existence.'!* 
 
 On the other hand, if a man be neces- 
 sarily determined to do ill, this case seems 
 to me to move pity, but not disapprobation. 
 Me was ill, because he could not be other • 
 wise. Who can bhune him? Necessity 
 has no kw. [270] 
 
 If he knows that he acted under this ne- 
 oeisity, has he not just ground to exculpate 
 himself? The blame, if there be any, is 
 not in him, but in his constitution. If he 
 be charged by his Maker with doing wrong, 
 may he not expostulate with him, and say — 
 Why hast thou made me thus ? I may be 
 sacrificed at thy pleasure, for the common 
 good, like a man that has the pkgue, but 
 not for ill desert ; for thou knowest that 
 what I am charged with is thy work, and 
 not mine- 
 Such are my notions of moral liberty and 
 necessity, and of the consequences insepar- 
 ably connected with both the one and the 
 other. 
 
 This moral liberty a man may have, 
 though it do not extend to all bis actions, 
 or even to all his voluntary actions. He 
 does many things by instinct, many things 
 by the force of habit, without any thought 
 at all, and consequently without will. In 
 the first part of life, be has not the power 
 of self-government any more than the brutes. 
 That power over the determinations of his 
 own will, which belongs to him in ripe years, 
 is limited, as all his powers are ; and it is, 
 perhaps, beyond the reach of his under- 
 standing to define its limits with precision. 
 We can only say, in general, that it ex- 
 
 ♦ The ancient author is Paterrulu:). (L. II. c 35.) 
 HU words are:— <• Homo virtuti (tailhmus, et per 
 omnia tngenio diis quam iiominibui i>ropior ; ^t 
 nvnqvam recte fecit, ut facere videretur, ted quia 
 aiiter /acere non poterat; cui id solum visum est 
 rationem habere, quod haberet ju»t>tiam ; quique 
 omnibus humanis vitiis immunis* semper Ibrtunam 
 In sua potestate habuit."— H. 
 
 t But, in the same sense, God is necessarily good ; 
 for, If he became, or could become, evil, he wouki no 
 lunger be Ood. As Euripides hath it— 
 
 El 9fi ri ifSriw mlrxf** *i>» I'Viif Oi«i.— H. 
 
 [869, 2T0] 
 
 J. I.] THE NOTIONS OF MORAL LIBERTY, &c. 
 
 601 
 
 to eveiy action for which he is ac- 
 table* 
 
 is power is given by his Maker, and at 
 li^K)leasure whose gift it is it may be en- 
 larged or diminished, continued or with- 
 drawn. No power in the creature can be 
 independent of the Creator. His hook is 
 in its nose ; he can give it line as far as he 
 sees fit, and, when he pleases, can restrain 
 it, or turn it whithersoever he will. Let 
 this be always uuderstood when we as- 
 cribe liberty to man, or to any created being. 
 
 Supposing it therefore to be true, That 
 man is a free agent, it may be true, at the 
 fMune time, that his liberty may be impaired 
 ^ or lost, by disorder of body or mind, as in 
 melancholy, or in madness ; it may be im- 
 paired or lost by vicious haliits ; it may, in 
 particular cases, be restrained by divine 
 interposition. [ 2? 1 ] 
 
 We call man a free agent in the same 
 way as we call him a reasonable agent. In 
 many things he is not guided by reason, 
 but by principles similar to those of the 
 brutes. His reason is weak at best. It is 
 liable to be impaired or lost, by his own 
 fault, or by other means. In like manner, 
 he may be a free agent, though his freedom 
 of action may have many similar limita- 
 tions. 
 
 The liberty I have described has been 
 represented by some philosophers as incon- 
 ceivable, and as involving an absurdity. 
 
 " Liberty, they say, consists only in a 
 power to act as we will ; and it is impossible 
 to conceive in any lieing a greater liberty 
 than this. Hence it follows, that liberty 
 does not extend to the determinations of 
 the will, but only to the actions consequent 
 to its determination, and depending upon 
 the wilL To say that we have power to 
 will such an action, is to say, that we may 
 will it, if we will. This supposes the will 
 to be determined by a prior will ; and, for 
 the same reason, that will must be deter- 
 mined by a will prior to it, and so on in an 
 infinite series of wills, which is absurd. To 
 act freely, therefore, can mean nothing more 
 than to act voluntarily ; and this is all the 
 bberty that can be conceived in man, or in 
 any being." 
 
 This reasoning — first, I think, advanced by 
 Hobbes* — has been very generally adopted 
 by the defenders of necessity. It is grounded 
 upon a definition of liberty totally different 
 from that which I have given, and there- 
 fore does not apply to moral hberty, as 
 above defined, f 
 
 * To Hobbes is generally ascribed the honour of (irst 
 enouncing the modern doctrine of Determinism, in 
 contradistinction to the ancient doctrine of Fatalism ; 
 but most erroneously. Hobbes was not theauthnr of 
 tbisscheme of Neeessity, nor u this scheme of Neces. 
 •itr itself modern H. 
 
 f But bow does that definition avoid this ab. 
 surdity f See abov^ p. 599. note. - H. 
 
 [271-273] 
 
 But it is said that this is the omy liberty 
 that b possible, that is conceivable, that 
 does not involve an absurdity. [272] 
 
 It is strange, indeed, if the word Liberty 
 has no meaning but this one. I shall men- 
 tion three, all very common> The objection 
 applies to one of them, but to neither of 
 the other two. 
 
 Liberty is sometimes opposed to external 
 force or confinement of the body. Some- 
 times it is opposed to obligation by law, or 
 by lawful authority. Sometimes it is op- 
 posed to necessity. 
 
 1. It is opposed to confinement of the /] 
 body by superior force. So we say a pri- 
 soner is set at liberty when liis fetters are 
 knocked off, and he is discharged from con- 
 finement. This is the liberty defined in 
 the objection ; and I grant that this liberty 
 extends not to the will, neither does the 
 confinement, because the will cannot be 
 confined hy external force." 
 
 2. Liberty is opposed to obligation by law, ^ 
 or lawful authority. This liberty is a right * 
 to act one way or another, in things which 
 
 the law has neither commanded nor forbid- 
 den ; and tliis liberty is meant when we speak 
 of a man's natural liberty, his civil liberty, 
 his Christian liberty. It is evident that this 
 liberty, as well as the obligation opposed to 
 it, extends to the will : For it is the will to 
 obey that makes obedience; the will to 
 transgress that makes a transgression of 
 the law. Without will there can be neither 
 obedience nor transgression. Law supposes 
 a power to obey or to transgress ; it does 
 not take away this power, but proposes the 
 motives of duty and of interest, leaving the 
 power to yield to them, or to take the con- 
 sequence of transgression. -f* « 
 
 3. Liberty is opposed to Necessity, and *^ • 
 in this sense it extends to the determina- 
 tions of the will only, and not to what is 
 consequent to the wiil.$ [273] 
 
 * This is called the Liberty from Coaction or Vio- 
 tence— the Liberty of Spontaneity-'Spontaneity'—Ti 
 'ExeCrion, In the present question, this species of 
 Iil)erty ought to be thrown altogether out of account ; 
 it is admitted by all parties ; is common equally to 
 brutes and men ; is not a peculiar quality of the 
 will ; and is, in fact, essential to it, for the will 
 cannot possibly be forced. The greatest spontaneity 
 is, in fact, the greatest necessity. Thus, a hungry 
 horse, who turns of necessity to food, is said, on this 
 definition ofliberty, to do so with freedom, because 
 he does so spontaneously ; and, in general, the desire 
 of happiness, which is the most neces-sary tendency, 
 will, on this application of the term, be the most free. 
 
 I may observe, that, among others, the deliiiitton 
 ofliberty, given by the celebrated advocate of moral 
 freedom, I)r Samuel Clarke, is, in reality, only that 
 of the liberty of Spontaneity— viz., " The power of self- 
 motion or action, which, in all animate agents, is . 
 spontaneity, is, in moral or rational agents, what 
 we properly call liberty." (Fi/Ui Ilcply to Leibnitz^ 
 \S i. — XX. and First Ansiccr to the Gentleman (if Cam- 
 bridge.) This self motion, absolutely considered, is 
 itself necessary. See t)elow, note on p. 289. 
 
 t With this description ot liberty also, the present 
 question has no concern.— H. 
 
 X This ii variously denominated the LilM;rty from 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 c 
 
 iBAF. 11.1 OF THE WORD6 CAUSE AND EFFECT, &c. 
 
 603 
 
 In anvfj viliailii]r^.Mlli% tlio dflto'rmin- 
 of the wil b ibe fifst part 'of the 
 tetioo,. 'HOOii wiileli..alo]i« tho moral estima- 
 Hon of it depewla It Ittt beoii made a 
 fMtiMi among pMloMiplien, Wlmikmr, m 
 mmsf immnmt tkk delermimUion beihe me- 
 iSNMrf mmeqmem^ qfihe mmiiiutiam t^ifm 
 mmmtf and ike emmwutaneet in wMek kg 
 m'pkmd I #r iiA«liiir i« kmd mo/ ptwer, in 
 iMPif cauif to deiefwine Hum wojf or that f 
 
 IMm lia% by lotiie, been called the pMo- 
 mtpMetd notion of ibortjand necessity ; but 
 it ia by no means peculiar to phiioeophera. 
 Tb« lonfift of Ibe vulgar have, in all af|e8, 
 been prone to have recoorae to this neoeasity, 
 to^ftusnlpalO' tbenitdvea or tbeir Ikiends in 
 what they do wnng, though, in the general 
 tenor of their conduct, they act upon the 
 wmtiary prind^pb.* 
 
 Wbilier this notion of moral liberty be 
 mmmmih or not, every man must jud|^ 
 for himaelf* To me there appeals no dif- 
 fieolty in conceiving itf I egiMliier t] 
 det enni miiiiHJl£.iiiB: will as an e ffect. Tnia 
 
 io produM It ; and the cause piust b e eithe r 
 ii»|wwgMJimfifilf. Yi\iSm wiU it.ig.o rspme 
 oifier beii m. The ftrat is a s easibutlg nceived 
 
 Ml the luiii, If th? pf rann wa s tbo cattto 
 
 - ^^ - jjetermination of^ ^i% ' jwm will. Be 
 action, t iad it ia justly 
 
 tJUkrtih'FOrmd Mmt9~'La>erty qf It%d{f. 
 »IM€rt9<fOppommh9t^ TheternuAvn- 
 
 MMMi^ Awrmmtytm^ JliNMlMllf LUtcrum AHft- 
 piiiiii* Jlw Villi. llMildii pffflpcily Uinited to the l<i» 
 aertf from Iffreciiltf , have not always been sp(ilied 
 •0 at to liiMrriiniiiate tl trom tli« Libct ty of SfXMi' 
 
 lsiitity.—ll« 
 
 '£yw 8* ^m mrtii tlfM, 
 ma b a iivourite topic with Luciao — H. 
 
 ~*~'~*~' ^.liSiaf'aMlllii <b aoC itialf an <^tet ; in other 
 , to floiMaiveMi: ^aiaolu'te oommeoceioeiit But 
 
 I Oiilf If lie vera not determined to that determ. 
 Bat If tlie pcfMHi an original mutOermineii 
 litigiMniitoatioRorhbwillP If he be not, 
 la he not m/lfwe agent, and thescheme of Necea. 
 •itf la adinftieil if he be, in t he firat place, it is ia. 
 Ill oomdim the ijossibility of this : and, In 
 iid. If the Act. thouah inconceivable, be aL 
 . It Is impossible to see how a eatue, utuUterm' 
 iMilf Mf MMiliMt «a be a ratimud, morale ana 
 I There ii no conceivable niMlium 
 f^CSutioIifin; & thecontradictory 
 of .UlMftf 'And Meoesitty themselves are in> 
 ivaiito* Fofitfwe cannot compasa in tiiought 
 
 MMUmiliifil' m um an aUdute commeticnnent— 
 
 ikindainantal bypotbeais of the one ; so we can as 
 think an illfmke ttries of dHennined catua^-f^ 
 «0innil|iiCfwen(«~theaindameiUal hypothcaia 
 other, 'llie chamiiloiii of t he opposite doctrinea 
 at once rtsiatlcM In auauU. and iniiK>tent in 
 Bacll ia hewn down, and appears lo die under 
 frtiiffiiall of his adveiaary | but each again 
 iil fkoni the very daath of his antagonist, 
 aaC to'biinMv a .■ialia, both ate like the beroca In 
 ¥aioalla« ready In a moment to amuse tbemaelvet 
 anew la tlw ianie Moodtess and interminable con- 
 ilet lilt AieirtiMI of M oi al Liberty can not be made 
 •oaerilMlilea Ibr we can only conceive the tl«>tennin«d 
 ■ailMMiallvc. Aa already stated, all that can ha 
 iMMb kin Bhew->t*>, *rhat, for the /act of Liberty, 
 
 imputed to him, whether it be good or 
 But, if another being was the cause of j 
 determination, either by producing it| 
 mediately, or by means and instrui ^ 
 under his direction, then the determination 
 is the act and deed of that being, and ia 
 solely im|>utable to him. 
 
 But it IS said—" That nothing ia in ottr| 
 power but what depends upon the will, and 
 therefore, the will itself cannot be in our { 
 power." 
 
 I answei — ^That thia is a fiillaey arising 
 from taking a common saying in a sense 
 which it never was intended to convey, and 
 in a sense contrary to what it necessarily 
 implies. [274] 
 
 In common life, when men speak of what 
 is, or is not, in a man*s power, they attend 
 onl^ to the external and visible effects, 
 which only can be perceived, and which 
 only can affect them. Of these, it is true 
 that nothmg is in a man*s power but what 
 depends upon his will, and this is all that 
 is meant by this common saying. 
 
 But thigjs joJirfrom excli iding his wi ll 
 
 impliea \i. For tn i^ \^^^ wliRt H*>p«>n^a 
 
 upon the will ?o ?» i> «.«««*« p^»fr, 
 wnFis notia ^•ii pf'trj it tn isy 
 
 end is in his p^rfhr,! ^"! t*iir m-rans ' 
 
 iSlWt end ar^ nut in hk pnym , ^^^^1 [ ^ ,i 
 
 oontndiciaon. * 
 
 In many propositions which we expi-ess 
 universally, there is an exception neces- 
 sarily implied, and, therefore, always under- 
 stood. Thus, when we say that all things 
 depend upon Ckxi, God himself is necessarily 
 excepted. In like manner, when we aay, 
 that all that is in our power depends upon 
 the will, the will itself is necessarily ex- 
 cepted t for, if the will be not, nothing else 
 can be in our power. £«ysry effect m ust be 
 in the power of its cause. The determina- 
 ^ion of the wiD is an effect, and, therefore, 
 must be in the power of its cause, whether 
 that cause be the agent himself, or some 
 other being. 
 
 From what has been said in this chapter, 
 I hope tlie notion of moral liberty will be 
 distinctly understood, and tliat it appears 
 that this notion is neither inconceivable, 
 nor involves any absurdity or contradic- 
 tion^ [27^ 
 
 we have, immediately or mediately, the evidence of 
 coosdouanesa; and, ]^>, That there are, amonK the 
 phenomena of mind, many facts which we mutt ad> 
 mit aa actual, but of whose possibility we are wholly 
 unablo to form any notion. I may merely observe, 
 that the fact of Motion can be shewn to be impostiblv, 
 on grounds not less strong than tho>e on whch it U 
 attempted to dis|irove the fact of Liberty ; to »uy 
 nothing of many contrad>ctorie«, neither of whiro 
 can tie thought, but one of which must, on the 
 laws of Contradiction and Fxcliided Middit*. necra. 
 »arily be. This iihiiovophy— the Philosophy of tke 
 C<mditioned^h»M not, however, either in iti«clf, or in 
 relation to ita oonarqiiencai» as yet been d"*^ 
 
 loped. If. 
 
 * Sea above |i. 500, noia— H 
 
 |_874, 275] 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 or TUB womns causs ano xpfbct, actiok, 
 
 AND ACTIYB POWBR. 
 
 Tbb writings upon Liberty and Necessity 
 have been much darkened by the ambigu- 
 ity of the words used in reasoning upon that 
 subject. The words cause and effect, ac- 
 Hon and <K;ftve power, liberty and necessity^ 
 are related to each other : The meaning of 
 one determines the meaning of the rest. 
 When we attempt to define them, we can 
 only do it by synonymous words which need 
 definition as much. There is a strict sense 
 in which those words must be used, if we 
 speak and reason clearly about moral liber- 
 ty t but to keep to this strict sense is diffi- 
 cult, because, in all languages, they have, by 
 custom, got a great latitude of significa- 
 tion. 
 
 As we cannot reason about moral liberty 
 without using those ambiguous words, it is 
 proper to point out, as distinctly as possible, 
 their proper and original meaning in which 
 they ought to be understood in treating of 
 this subject, and to shew from wjliat causes 
 they have become so ambiguom in j^ lali- 
 gua^ as to darken and enbarrass our 
 reasonings upon it. 
 
 Everything that begins to exist, roust 
 have a cause of its exigence, which had 
 power to give it existeace. And everything 
 that imdergoes any ctiange, must have some 
 cause of that chajsge. 
 
 That neiih^ existence, nor any mode of 
 •*^IBM%^<wm begin without an efficient 
 MW*, is a principle that appears very early 
 I in tl(e mind of man ; and it is so universal, 
 Aod BO firmly rooted in human nature, that 
 the most determined scepticism cannot era- 
 dici^teit. [276] 
 
 is upon this principle that we groimd 
 
 rational belief of a deity. But that is 
 
 the only use to which we apply it. 
 
 ^ery man*s conduct is governed by it, 
 
 iry day, and almost every hour, of his 
 
 And if it were possible for any man 
 
 )t out this principle from his mind, he 
 
 |st give up everything that is called com- 
 
 In prudence, and be fit only to be con- 
 
 ied as insane- 
 
 From this principle it follows. That every^ 
 pWn^ which undergoes any change, must either 
 the efficient cause of that change in itself ^ 
 U must be changed by some other being. 
 In the first case, it is said to have active 
 7tfr, and to act in producing that change. 
 tn the eecond case, it is merely passive, or 
 acted upon, and the active power is in that 
 ig only which produces the change. 
 |he name of a cause and of an ayent, is 
 jrly given to that heing only, which, by 
 stive power, produces some change in 
 re, 877] 
 
 itself, or in some other being. The change, 
 whether it be of thought, of will, or of mo- 
 tion, is the effect. Active power, therefore, 
 is a quality in the cause, which enables it to 
 produce the effect. And the exertion of 
 that active power in producing the effect, is 
 called action, agency, efficiency. 
 
 In order to the production of any effect, 
 there must be in the cause, not only power, 
 but the exertion of that power ; for power 
 that is not exerted produces no effect. 
 
 All that is necessary to the production of/ 
 any effect, is power in an efficient cause to 
 produce the effect, and the exertion of that 
 power ; for it is a contradiction to say, that 
 the cause has power to produce the effect, 
 and exerts that power, and yet the effect is 
 not produced. The effect^aimot^e in his 
 power unless all the meaos necessary to \iB 
 
 product.ieft.bfi.taJjis EfiYtSEt [277 J 
 
 It is no less a contradiction to say, that 
 a cause has power to produce a certain ef- 
 fect, but that he cannot exert that power ; 
 for power which cannot be exerted is no 
 power, and is a contradiction in terms. 
 
 To prevent mistake, it is proper to ob-j 
 serve. That a being may have a power at| 
 one time which it has not at another ii{ 
 aa^ commonly have a power, whi<?&i st at 
 particufar time, it has not. Thy*, a man 
 may commonly have powtji ^> walk or to 
 run ; but he has not this power when asleep, 
 or when he is confined by superior force. 
 In common language, he may be said to 
 have a power which he cannot then exert 
 But this popular expression means only 
 that he commonly has this power, and wiU 
 have it when the cause is removed which at 
 present deprives him of it ; for, when we 
 speak strictly and philosophically, it is a 
 contradiction to say that he has this power, 
 at that moment when he is deprived of it. 
 
 These, I think, are necessary consequen- 
 ces from the principle first mentioned — 
 That every change which happens in na- 
 ture must have an efficient cause which had 
 power to produce it. 
 
 Another principle, which appears very 
 early in the mind of man, is, That we are 
 efficient causes in our deliberate and volv^ 
 tary actions. 
 
 We are conscious of making an exertion, 
 sometimes with difficulty, in order to pro- 
 duce certain effects. An exertion made de- 
 liberately and voluntarily, in order to pro- 
 duce an effect, implies a conviction that the 
 effect is in our power. No man can deli- 
 berately attempt what he does not believe 
 to be in his power. The language of all 
 mankind, and their ordinary conduct in life, 
 demonstrate that they have a conviction of 
 some active power in themselves to produce 
 certain motions in their own and in other bo- 
 dies, and to regulate and direct their own 
 thoughts. This conviction we have so 
 
 / 
 
 i^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
ON THE ACTIVB FOWER& 
 
 604 
 
 MHj In mil. tiiK iro navQ' no 
 wbai, or in wlitl wa.ir, we ac<|uired tt; [378] 
 IMt such a eoBvietion it at list the ne» 
 ■mmmtj rault of our conttHnllMi, and <hst 
 it' «Mi nofer he entirely ohlitemted, i% I 
 tUnh, neinoirMg^d by one of the most leal- 
 018^ defenders of Neoeeelty.* " Free DIs- 
 cnasioni &e.,** p 208. '* Such, m 'the in« 
 'H'ltMMi' tO' wiiioh aU mankind* without dia* 
 iinetion, are «z|Maed that they necessarily 
 refer actions (I mean refer them ultimately) 
 irst of .all. to' thsmieifes and others ; and it 
 ia a lone tinit' hifire' 'they b^gin to consider 
 themaemi' and others as instruments in. 
 the hand of a superior agent Consequently, 
 the associations which refer actions to them. 
 ■eliw ipt' iO' ■eonlnwid. that they are never 
 '•QtMy ohileisted ; and therefore the eom- 
 Bion lapgnaoei and the oonunon feelings, of 
 mankind, will be adapted to the first, the lim- 
 ited and imperfbct, or rather erroneous, 
 viow vi things..'* 
 
 It is irery probable that the very concep- 
 
 |tion or idea of active power, and of efficient 
 
 iises, is derived from our voluntary ex- 
 
 ~ ins in producing effects { ^and that, if we 
 
 not' 'Conaeioua of waik exert'ion, we 
 
 !a>Mi|M have no eaaaaplioiB at aH of a eaa ie , 
 or ot active piwer, and consequently tio 
 CMivictEon of tlie neceasily of « cause of 
 wery cha&str wlddi we observe in nature, f 
 
 It ia certain that we can conceive no kind 
 of active power but what Is similar or 
 anakfona to that which we attribute to 
 ouraaves i that is, a pwer which is exerted 
 by will aiii. with understanding. Our no-' 
 tion, even of Almighty power, is derived 
 fknm tlie notion of human power, byre* 
 moving from the 'former those imperfections 
 and limitations to which the hittor is sub- 
 jected. [2711] 
 
 It may be difficult to expkin the origin 
 of onr eoneeptionS' and belief conoeming ef- 
 'ioient eanaeS' and active power. The com- 
 mon theory, that all our ideas are ideas of 
 fiamation or Beflection, and that all our be- 
 lief ia a peroiption of the apeement or the 
 dissgieenient of those ideas, appears to' be 
 repugnant, both to the idea of an efficient 
 caus^ and to the belief of its necessity. 
 
 An attachment to that theory has led 
 :e<inio philosophers to deny that we have 
 any conception of an efficient cause, or of 
 active power, because efficseney and active 
 power are not ideas, either of sensation or 
 
 *' Frieit.lef.^li. 
 
 t If tills iraie the twe. our notkin or caiutaiittf 
 would tool am eniiMail derivation, and without ih« 
 quality of uiilvf milltf and necessity. This doctrine 
 is ain at vaciance witli llie account given or the no. 
 IfMI dllivt. (p. IM, ML et alibi.) where it is viewed 
 aa an origtiisl and native principle. See p. 3;^ and 
 note*. It ia true, however, that th« consciousnetit ur 
 our own ifletency illuminates the dark notion or 
 CMMSllto, iiiiuied. aa I conceive. In our impotence 
 toeoiMMve theposaibility of an absolute commence. 
 mml, and ra||cs It from the vague and negative Into 
 thi iirwclse and poaltire notion of pomr. — H. 
 
 L 
 
 IV. 
 
 CHAP. III.] OF THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 
 
 005 
 
 reieotion. They maintain, therefore, that 
 a Cause is only tometMng prhr to the effect, 
 tmd eomtantiy conjoined with it. This ia 
 Mr Humors notion of a cause, and seems 
 to be adopted by Dr Priestley,* who says, 
 '* That a cause cannot be defined to be any 
 thing, but tueh previous circumstancet a$ 
 am eonstantiy /Mowed bff a certain effect, 
 the constancy of the resiidt making us con- 
 dude that there must be a sufficient reason, 
 in the nature of the things, why it should 
 be produced in those circumstances.'* 
 ipocirine of PhUosoplmal Necessity, p. 1 1.1 
 
 But theory ought to stoop to £act, and 
 not fact to theory. Every man who under- 
 stands the language knows that neither 
 priority, nor constant conjunction, nor both 
 taken together, imply efficiency. Every 
 man, free from prejudice, must assent to 
 what Cicero has said : Jtaque non sic causa 
 inteUigi debet, ut quod cuique antecedat, id 
 d causa sit, sed quod cuique efficienter ante* 
 Cidat, (Do Fato, c. 15.] 
 
 The very dispute, whether we have the 
 oonception of an efficient cause, shews that 
 we have. For, though men may dispute 
 about things which have no existence, they 
 cannot. dispute about things of whioh fh&j 
 ^4ve no ooiioeptiou. [280] 
 
 What baa been said in this chapter is in- 
 * ' to sh)w — That the conception of 
 
 Of acUon and of active power, in 
 the strict and proper s s n as of these words, 
 is found in the mindS of all men very early, 
 even hi the dawn of th^ir rational life. It 
 is therefore probable, thac,-in all languagesi, 
 the wordii by which these conceptions *were 
 expressed were at first distmct all^Hfluun- 
 biguous, yet it is certain that, amon^ the 
 most enlightened nations, these words aiVsp- 
 plied to so many things of different natu^^ 
 and used in so vague a manner, that it ia 
 very difficult to reason about them distint^ly* 
 
 This pheenomenon, at first view, 
 very unaccountable. But a little refl 
 may satisfy us, that it is a natural coi 
 quence of the slow and gradual pi 
 human knowledge. 
 
 And since the ambiguity of these 
 has so great influence upon our real 
 about moral liberty, and furnishes 
 atrongest objections against it, it is 
 foreign to our subject to shew whence 
 arises. When we know the causes tl 
 have produced this ambiguity, we shall 
 less in danger of being mbled by it, a 
 the proper and strict meaning of the wo) 
 will more evidently appear. [281] 
 
 * The lame doctrine has fbund an advocate in « 
 Thomas Brown . In this theory, the phsenomenon i 
 be saved Is silently or in eScct evacuated < 
 principal quality— the quality of Necetnty i (c 
 real problem is to explain how it is thai w* < 
 b*U \h\nk that all which t^egins to be has not i 
 solute but only a relative commenceuteut. \\ 
 philosofihers do not atmtomizc but truncaU.— H] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CAVSBS OF THS AMBIGUITY OP TH08S WORDS. 
 
 When we turn our attention to external 
 objects, and begin to exercise our rational 
 faculties about them, we find that there are 
 some motions and changes in them, which 
 wo have power to produce, and that they 
 have many which must have some other 
 cause. Either the objects must have life 
 and active power, as we have, or they must 
 be moved or changed by something that 
 has life and active power, as external objects 
 are moved by us. 
 
 Our first thoughts seem to be, That the 
 objects in which we perceive such motion 
 have imderstanding and active power as we 
 have. 
 
 " Savages,** says the Abb^ Raynal, 
 ** wherever they see motion which they can- 
 not account for, there they suppose a soul.*' 
 
 All men may be considered as savages in 
 this respect, until they are capable of in- 
 struction, and of using their faculties in a 
 more perfect manner than savages do. 
 
 The rational conversations of birds and 
 beasts in ^sop*s " Fables" do not shock 
 the belief of children. They have that pro- 
 bability in them which we require in an 
 epic poem. Poets give us a great deal of 
 pleasure, by clothing every object with in- 
 tellecttial and moral attributes, in metaphor 
 and in other figures. May not the pleasure 
 which w-e take in this poetical language, 
 arise, in part, from its correspondence with 
 our earliest sentiments ? [282] 
 
 However this may be, the Abbe RaynaPs 
 observation is sufficiently confirmed, both 
 from fact, and from the structure of all 
 languages. 
 
 Rude nations do really believe sun, moon, 
 and stars, earth, sea, and air, fountains and 
 lakes, to have understanding and active 
 power. To pay homage to them and im- 
 plore their favour, is a kind of idolatry 
 natural to savages. 
 
 All languages carry in their structure the 
 marks of their being formed when this be- 
 lief prevailed. The distinction of verbs and 
 participles into active and passive, which is 
 found in all languages, must have been 
 originally intended to distinguish what is 
 really active from what is merely passive ; 
 and, in all languages, we find active verbs 
 applied to those objects, in which, accord- 
 ing to the Abb^ Raynal's observation, 
 savages suppose a/ soul. 
 
 Thus we say, the sun rises and sets, and 
 comes to the meridian ; the moon changes ; 
 the sea ebbs and flows; the winds blow. 
 
 jguages werd formed by men who be- 
 
 obj^cts to have life and active 
 
 Ives. It was therefore 
 
 proper and natural to express their motions 
 and changes by active verbs. 
 
 There is no surer way of tracing the 
 sentiments of nations before they have re- 
 cords, than by the structure of their lan- 
 guage, which, notwithstanding the changes 
 produced in it by time, will always retain 
 some signatures of the thoughts of those by 
 whom it was invented. When we find the 
 same sentiments indicated in the structure of 
 all languages, those sentiments must have 
 been common to the human species when 
 languages were invented. [ 283] 
 
 When a few of superior intellectual abili- 
 ties find leisure for speculation, they begin 
 to philosophize, and soon discover that 
 many of those objects which, at first, they 
 believed to be intelligent and active, are 
 really lifeless and passive. This is a very 
 important discovery. It elevates the mind, 
 emancipates from many vulgar supersti- 
 tions, and invites to farther discoveries of 
 the same kind. 
 
 As philosophy advances, life and activity 
 in natural objects retires, and leaves them 
 dead and inactive. Instead of moving 
 voluntarily, we find them to be moved neces- 
 sarily ; instead of acting, we find them to 
 be acted upon ; and nature appears as one 
 great machine, where one wheel is turned 
 by another, that by a third ; and how far 
 this necessary succession may reach, the 
 philosopher does not kndW. 
 
 The weakness of human reason makes 
 men prone, when they leave one extreme, 
 to rush into the opposite ; and thus philo- 
 sophy, even in its infancy, may lead men 
 from idolatry and polytheism into atheism, 
 and from ascribing active power to inani- 
 mate beings, to conclude all things to be 
 carried on by necessity. 
 
 Whatever origin we ascribe to the doc- 
 trines of atheism and of fatal necessity, it 
 is certain that both may be traced almost 
 as far back as philosophy ; and both appear 
 to be the opposites of the earliest sentiments 
 of men. 
 
 It must have been by the observation and 
 reasoning of the speculative /(?t<;, that those 
 objects were discovered to be inanimate and 
 inactive, to which the many ascribed life 
 and activity. But while the few are con- 
 vinced of tliis, they must speak the language 
 of the many, in order to be understood. So 
 we see that, when the Ptolemaic system of ' 
 astronomy, which agrees with vulgar preju- 
 dice and with vulgar language, has been 
 universally rejected by philosophers, they 
 continue to use the phraseology that is 
 grounded upon it, not only in speaking to 
 the vulgar, but in speaking to one another. 
 They say. The sun rises and sets, and moves 
 annually through all the signs of the zodiac, 
 while they beUeve that he never leaves hia 
 place. [284] 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [bIIAV IV. 
 
 Ib lii»iii«iiiiw, thow wstlwirerbji and p«i». 
 tUlllMvlitcli were applied to the iflanimate 
 mjecti of nature, when they were believed 
 to bo really active, conttnno to bo appUod to 
 tlioni; aHof ■ Ihigr are 'diaoofwod. to b© pun^®; 
 Tho fonna of langiiftg^, onoo eatabliBhed 
 by coBtom, are not bo easily changed as 
 the notions on which they were originally 
 foiiidod. While the sounds remain, their 
 ^iieation is Bradually enlafged or altered. 
 Ilii h Bonwttneo foand, even in those 
 BflionoeB in which the signifieation of words 
 is the most aceorato and predse. Thus, in 
 arithmetic, the word number among the 
 •iieiflnt% always signified so many units ; 
 and It would have been absurd to apply it 
 either to unity or to any part of an unit $ 
 tat mow we call unity, or any |part of unity, 
 a fmm^* With them, multipHcation al- 
 ways increased a number, and division 
 diminished it ; but we speak of multiplying 
 by a fraotioii, which diminiahes, and of 
 dividing by a fraction, which increases the 
 number. We speak of dividing or mulU- 
 plying by unity, which neither diminishes 
 nor increases a number. These forms of 
 expression, in the ancient language^ would 
 have been absurd. 
 
 By such changes in the meaning of words, 
 the knguage of every civilized nation re- 
 sonbles old furniture new-modeUed, in 
 whicil many things are put to uses for 
 which they were not originally intended, and 
 ft)r which they are not perfectly fitted. 
 
 This is one great cause of the imperfec- 
 tion of language, and it appoara very re- 
 tmaikaMj in those verbs and participles 
 which are activ© in their form, but are fre- 
 quently used so as to have nothing active in 
 tiwir ,aignification. [285] 
 
 Bence we are authoriaed by custom to 
 ascribe action and active power to things 
 which we believe to be passive. The pro- 
 p«r and Ofiginal signification of every word, 
 liAiish at firal signified action and causation, 
 is buried and loot under that vague mean- 
 ing which custom has affixed to it. 
 
 Thai there is a real distinction, and per- 
 feet opposition, between acting and beiiie 
 anted upon, every man may be satisfied 
 who IS capable of reflection. And that this 
 distinction is perceived by all men as soon 
 aS' they begin to reason, appears by the 
 distinction between active and passive verbs, 
 which is original in all languages, though, 
 from the causes that have been mentioned, 
 th w come to bo confounded, in the progress 
 of 'human improvement 
 
 Anotliar way in which philosophy has 
 contributed very much to the ambiguity of 
 the words under our consideration, deserves 
 to be mentbned. 
 
 The finit atop into natural philosophy, 
 and what hath commonlv been considered 
 aa ita mltlnato end, is tho infWi%alioB of 
 
 the causei of the phsenomena of nature ; 
 that is, the causes of those appearances in 
 nature which are not the effects of human 
 power. F§H» qui poiuU rerum eognmeere 
 camas, is the sentiment of every mind that 
 has a turn to speculation. 
 
 The knowledge of the causes of tlung* 
 promises no less the enlargement of human 
 power than the gratification of human 
 curiosity ; and, therefore, among the en- 
 lightened part of mankind, this knowledge 
 has been pursued in all ages with an avidity 
 proportionate to its importance. 
 
 In nothing does the difl*erenco between 
 the intellectual powers of man and those of 
 brutes appear more conspicuous than in 
 this. For in them we perceive no desire to 
 investigate the causes of things, nor indeed 
 any sign that they have the proper notion 
 of a cause. [286] 
 
 There is reason, however, to apprehend, 
 that, in this investigation, men have wan- 
 dered much in the dark, and that theur 
 success has, by no means, been equal to 
 their desire and expectation. 
 
 We easily discover an established order 
 and connection in the phsenomena of nature. 
 We learn, in many cases, from what haf 
 happened, to know what will happen. The 
 discoveries of this kind, made by common 
 observation, are many, and are the founda- 
 tion of common prudence in the conduct of 
 life. Philosophers, by more accurate ob- 
 iorvation and experiment, have made many 
 more; by which arts are improved, and 
 human power, as well aa human knowledge, 
 is enlarged. 
 
 But, as to the real oanses of the phis- 
 nomena of nature, how little do we know I 
 All our knowledge of things external, must 
 be grounded upon the informations of our 
 senses ; but causation and active power are 
 not objects of sense ; nor is that always 
 the cause of a phoenomenon which is prior 
 to it, and constantly conjoined with it; 
 otherwise night would be the cause of day, 
 and day the cause of the following night. 
 
 It is to this day problematical, whether 
 all the ph«nomena of the material system 
 be produced by the immediate operation of 
 the First Cause, according to the laws which 
 his wisdom determined, or whether subor*. 
 dinate causes are employed by him in the 
 operations of nature ; and, if they be, what 
 their nature, their number, and their dif- 
 ferent offices are ? And whether, in all 
 cases, they act by commission, or, in some, 
 acoonling to their discretion ? [287 J 
 
 When we are so much 'h\ the dark with re- 
 gard to the real canaea of the phaenomena of 
 nature, and have a strong desire to know 
 them, it is not strange that ingenious tlqr 
 should form numberless conject 
 theories, by which the soul, h 
 knowledge, is fed with chaff ' 
 
 OHAF. iH.] OP THE AMBIGUITY OF THOSE WORDS. 
 
 *, 
 
 In a very ancient system, love and strife 
 were made the causes of things. In the 
 Pythagorean* and Platonic system, Matter, 
 Ideas, and an Intelligent Mind. By Aris- 
 totle, Matter, Form, and Privation. Des 
 Cartes thought that Matter and a certain 
 quantity of Motion given at first by the 
 Alipighty, are sufficient to account for all the 
 phaenomena of the natural world. Leibnitz, 
 that the universe is made up of Monades, 
 active and percipient, which, by their active 
 power, received at first, produce all the 
 changes they undergo. 
 
 While men thus wandered in the dark in 
 search of causes, unwilling to confess their 
 disappointment, they vainly conceived every- 
 thing they stumbled upon to be a cause, 
 and the proper notion of a cause is lost, by 
 giving the name to numberless things which 
 neither are nor can be causes. 
 
 This confusion of various things under 
 the name of causes is the more easily toler- 
 ated, because, however hurtful it may be 
 to sound philosophy, it has little influence 
 upon the concerns of life. A constant an- 
 tecedent or concomitant of the phsenome- 
 non whose cause is sought, may answer the 
 purpose of the inquirer, as well as if the 
 real cause were known. Thus a sailor 
 desires to know the cause of the tides, that 
 he may know when to expect high watery 
 He is told that it is high water when the 
 moon is so many hours past the meridian : 
 and now he thinks he knows the cause of 
 the tidea What he takes for the cause 
 answere his purpose, and his mistake does 
 him no harm. [288] 
 
 Those philosophers seem to have had the 
 f justest views of nature, as well as of the 
 I weakness of human understanding, who, 
 j givmg up the pretence of discovering the 
 causes of the operations of nature, have 
 a.pplied themselves to discover, by observa- 
 tion and experiment, the rules or laws of 
 nature, according to which the phaenomena 
 jof nature are produced. 
 
 In compliance with custom, or, perhaps, 
 to gratify the avidity of knowing the causes 
 of things, we call the laws of nature causes 
 and active powers. So we speak of the 
 powers of gravitation, of magnetism, of elec- 
 tricity. 
 
 We call them causes of many of the 
 phaenomena of nature ; and such they are 
 esteemed by the ignorant, and by the half 
 learned. 
 
 But those of juster discernment see that 
 
 laws of nature are not agents. They are not 
 
 endowed with active power, and, therefore, 
 
 \ cannot be causes in the proper sense. They 
 
 1 1 are only the rules according to which the 
 
 I unknown cause acts. 
 
 I)« loit that it Mid of the Pythagorean system 
 ( kelation the better.— H. 
 
 2»9] 
 
 607 
 
 Thus it appears that our natural desire 
 to know the causes of the phaenomena of 
 nature, our inability to discover them, and 
 the vain theories of philosophers employed 
 in this search, have made the word came, 
 and the related words, so ambiguous, and 
 to signify so many things of different na- 
 tures, that they have, in a manner, lost 
 their proper and original meaning, and yet 
 we have no other words to express it. 
 
 Everything joined with the effect, and 
 prior to it, is called its cause. An instru- 
 ment, an occasion, a reason, a motive, an 
 end, are called causes* And the related 
 words pfectj ngent, power, are extended in 
 the same vague manner. [289] J 
 
 Were it not that the terms caujk and 
 agent have lost their proper meanin|(in the 
 crowd of meanings that have bedh given 
 them, we should immediately perceive a 
 contradiction in the terms necessary cause 
 and necessary agent. And, although the 
 loose meaning of those words is authorized 
 by custom, the arbiter of language, and, 
 therefore, cannot be censured, perhaps can- 
 not always be avoided, yet we ought to be 
 upon our guard, that we be not misled by 
 it to conceive things to be the same which 
 are essentially different. 
 
 To say that man is a free agent, is no 
 more than to say that, in some instances, he 
 is truly an agent-f and a cause, and is not 
 merely acted upon as a passive instrument 
 On the contrary^ to say that he acts from 
 necessity, is to say tfaej; he does not act at 
 all, that he is no agent, Sad that, for any- 
 ^thing we know, there is onlySme agent in 
 the universe, who does everythm^that is 
 dx)ne, whether it be good or ill. 
 
 if this necessity be attributed even* 
 
 N:|- — 
 
 * There is no reason why whatever is conceived as 
 necessarily ftoing lo the constitution of the phenome- 
 non called the effect— in other words, why ail and 
 each of its coefilcknU— may not be properly called 
 causes, or rather concauses,- for there miist alwayg 
 be more causes than ooe to an effect This would 
 be more corrett than lo give exclusively the name 
 of Cause to any partial constituent or coefficient, 
 even though proximate ard principal. In this view, 
 the doctrine of Aristotle, and other ancients, ig 
 more rational than that o( our modern philcwophert > 
 
 f It is proper to notice, that, as to live it to aa 
 and as man is not free to Uveor not to live, so neither, 
 absolute y speaking, is he free to act or not to act As 
 he Jives, he is necessarily determined to actor ener- 
 gize— to think and will ; and all the liberty to which 
 he can pretend, is to choose between this modeof ac- 
 tion and that. In scholastic language, man cannot 
 have trie liberty of exercise, though he may have (he 
 liberty of specification. 1 he root of his freedon' is 
 thus necessity. Nay, we cannot conceive otherwise 
 even of the Deity. As we must think Him as neces- 
 **ply existent, and necessarily living, to we must 
 think him as necessarily active. Such are thecondi- 
 t'ons of human thought. It is thus sufficiently mani- 
 rest that DrClaike's inference of the fact of moral 
 liberty, from the conditions of self.aciivity, is incom- 
 petent. And when he says " the true dt^finition qf 
 Liberty is the Power to Act," he should have recol- 
 lected that this power it, on his own hypothesis, ab. 
 •olutely fatal if it can.not but act See his «' Remarks 
 on Collins," pp. 15, 20. 27.~H. 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
 Ill 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 m» 
 
 llw Deity, t1i« MttMMiiMiiie mufit be, that 
 Cben neither is, nor can be, a cause at all ; 
 that meihing aets, but everything is anted 
 iilMiai nothing moves, but everything is 
 moved ; all is passion without aetion ; all 
 instmraeni without an l^{enl; and that 
 everything that is, or was, or ihall be, has 
 tiiat necessary existence in its eeason, 
 which we commonly consider as the pre- 
 ro|ntive of the First Causa 
 Ifhis I take to be the genuine and the 
 H tenable system of necessity. It was 
 I system of Spinoza, though h© was nc|t 
 first that advanced it ; for it is very an- 
 _ JL And if this sjirtem be true, our rea- 
 soning to prove the eidslence of a first cause 
 tf eiifyliiiiiig that begins to ejust, must 
 be giiten up as fallacious. [290] 
 
 K it be evident to the human understand- 
 ing, as I take it to be, That what begins to 
 eidst must have an efficient cause, which 
 had power to give or not to give it existence ; 
 and if it be true, that effects well and wiwly 
 fitted for the best purposes, demonstrate 
 inlailg^ee, wisdom, and goodness in the 
 eiMent cause, as well as power, the proof 
 of a Deity from these principles is very easy 
 and obvious to all men that can reason. 
 
 If, on the other hand, our belief, That 
 everything that begins to exist has a cause, 
 be got only by Bxperienc© t and if, as Mr 
 Hume maintains^ the only notion of a cause 
 tiosomethingpilBr to the effect, which expp- 
 ieiioe has iiiB il i to be constantly conjomed 
 with such an siiBetvl "wee not how, from 
 these flteaipicsJtis possible to provethe ex- 
 ist^aasof an^teUigent cau'ieof the universe^ 
 y Mr HH^seems to me to reason justly 
 [is definition of a cause, when, in the 
 of an Epicurean, he maintains that, 
 igard to a cause of the unWerse, we 
 •Ml eonclude nothing, becanae it is a singu- 
 lar effect. We have no experience that 
 •nch effects are always conjoined with such 
 a cause. Nay, the cause which we assign 
 to this effect, is a cause which no man hath 
 seen, nof 'Can, see, and therefore experience 
 cannol Mnnn us 'that it has ever been con- 
 joined with any effect He seems to me 
 to reason justly from his definition of a 
 caaso, whoi he ma i ntains, that anything 
 may be Ihe cause of anything ; since pri- 
 ority and constant conjunction is all that 
 can bo conceived m the notion of a cause. 
 
 Another zealous defender of the doctrine 
 of neoessity* ■i^y% that, " A cause cannot 
 bo'defined to be anything but moh previous 
 er'cumsimnees m are eomtantfy fuUowed by 
 m'certam efftct, the comtancy of the result 
 making us conclude that there must be a 
 mffidmi rmson, in the nature of things, 
 m-hy it should be produced in those circum- 
 stances.** 
 
 [essay iv 
 
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 
 
 (m) 
 
 This seems to me to bo Mr Hume's de- 
 finition of a cause in other words, and neither 
 more nor less; but I am far from thinking 
 that the author of it will admit the conse- 
 quences which Mr Hume draws from it, 
 however necessary they may appear to y 
 others. [291] 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF THB INFLUlNCn OF MOTIVaS. 
 
 The modem advocates for the doctrine 
 of Necessity lay the stress of their causb 
 upon the influence of motives.* 
 
 " Every deliberate action, they say, must 
 have a motive. When there is no motive 
 on the other side, this motive must deter- 
 mine the agent : When there are contrary 
 motives, the strongest must prevail. We 
 reason from men*s motives to their actions, 
 as we do from other causes to their effects. 
 If man be a tree agent, and be not governed 
 by motives, all his actions must be mere 
 caprice, rewards and punishments can have 
 no effect, and such a being must be abso- 
 lutely ungovernable." 
 
 In order, therefore, to understand dis- 
 tinctly, hi what sense we ascribe moral 
 liberty to man, it is necessary to understand 
 what influence we allow to motives. To 
 prevent misunderstanding, which has been 
 very common upon this point, I ofi^ the 
 following observations :«• 
 
 l.J[. gnmt that all rational beings are 
 in flu enced, and ou^ht to be influenced^ by 
 motives. But the mflueiice of motivgajfi, 
 of a very different nature from that of j^P- 
 cient causes. They are neither caus<^^:tj|i2f 
 agents- They suppose an efficient causfi»lfid 
 can do nothing withoutit [292 J Wecannot, 
 without absurdity, suppose a motive either 
 to act, or to be acted upon ; it is equally 
 incapable of action and of passion ; hecasm 
 it is not a thing that exists, but a thing 
 that is conceived ; it is what the schoolmen .^ 
 called an emrationis. ^Iptives, therefojSt 1 
 ga^_^g^|^tl9fl^^^ey do^not 
 
 • 'Pfkttltf— 'M. 
 
 ♦ A moUve, abiUractlycoMidered, ii called an end 
 or JInalemiM. It was well denominated in the Greek 
 ptiiloaophy, ri Ifum iZ—that for the sake t\f wAfCh. . 
 A motif e, however. In itcconcrete realitj.ic nothing/ 
 apart ftx>ro the mind ; ODiy a mental tendency.— H. | 
 
 t Not cautes ; only if the term cause be limited tol 
 the last or proximate ^cient cauae.— U. 
 
 i If Motivet •' it\/ltience to action." they muit co- 
 operate in producing a certain eflect upon the agtnt; 
 ami the detcrmiii»iion to act, and to act in a certain 
 mannei— 1» that eftecu 'Ihey arc iluiii, on Keid's 
 own view, in this tv\:xt\on, causes, and (//rciVnf c.;Uiea. 
 It ia ot no conacqufnie in the argument whether 
 motives be said tu determine a mati (o act ur to iiu 
 jliiencc (that \» tu detoiunne) hioi to determine hinu 
 self to 9CL it doe* not, therercre, teem conatatent to 
 ■ay that motive* are iwt causes, and that they Ho 
 nM act. Set Letbnjti. quoted below, under p. r*^* 
 
 [290-5 
 
 or exhortation, which leaves a man still at 
 liberty. For in vain is advice given when 
 there is not a power either to do or to for- 
 bear what it recommends. In like manner, 
 in oti ves supp^e^Jibfirt j: in the a gent, other- 
 wise thfiy-hayp. nn infliipncfi-at all* 
 
 It is a law of nature with respect to 
 matter. That every motion and change of 
 motion, is proportional to the force im- 
 pressed, and in the direction of that force. 
 The scheme of necessity supposes a similar 
 law to obtain in all the actions of intelligent 
 beings ; which, with little alteration, may 
 be expressed thus : — Every action, or 
 change of action, in an intelligent being, is 
 proportional to the force of motives im- 
 pressed, and in the direction of that force. 
 
 The iaw of nature respecting matter, is 
 grounded upon this principle : That matter 
 is an inert, inactive substance, which does 
 not act, but is acted upon ; and the law of 
 necessity must be grounded upon the sup- 
 position. That an intelligent being is an in- 
 ert, inactive substance, which does not act, 
 but is acted upon. 
 
 2. Rational beings, in proportion as they 
 are wise and good, will act according to the 
 best motives ; and every rational being who 
 does otherwise, abuses his liberty. The 
 most perfect being, in everything where 
 there is a right and a wrong, a better and a 
 worse, always infallibly acts according to 
 the best motives. This, indeed, is little 
 else than an identical proposition ; for it is 
 a contradiction to say, That a perfect being 
 does what is wrong or unreasonable. But, 
 to say that he does not act freely, because 
 he always does what is best, is to say, That 
 the proper use of liberty destroys liberty, 
 and that liberty consists only in its abuse. 
 [293] 
 
 The moral perfection of the Deity con- 
 sists, not in having no power to do ill, 
 otherwise, .as Dr Clarke justly observes, 
 there would be no ground to thank him for 
 his goodness to us, any more than for his 
 eternity or immensity ; but his moral per- 
 fection consists in this, that, when he has 
 power to do everything,* a power which 
 cannot be resisted, he exerts that power 
 only in doing what is wisest and best To 
 be subject to necessity, is to have no power 
 at all ; for power and necessity are oppo- 
 sites. We grant, therefore, that motives 
 have influence, similar to that of advice or 
 persuasion ; but this influence is perfectly 
 consistent with liberty, and, indeed, sup- 
 poses liberty. 
 
 3. Whether every deliberate action must 
 
 ♦ To do everything consistent with his perfection. 
 But here one of the insoluble contradictions in the 
 question arises; for if, on the one hand, we attribute 
 to the Ueity the power of moral evil, we detract from 
 his easenlial goodness ; and if, on the other, we -deny 
 him this power, we detract from his omnipotence.— 
 
 [?93, 294] 
 
 have a motive, depends on the meaning w* 
 put upon the word deliberate* If, by a 
 deliberate action, we mean an action wherein 
 motives are weighed, which seems to be 
 the original meaning of the word, surely 
 there must be motives, and contrary mo- 
 tives, otherwise they could not be weighed. 
 But, if a deliberate action means only, as it 
 commonly does, an action done by a cool 
 and calm determination of the mind, with 
 forethought and will, I believe there are 
 innumerable such actions done without a 
 motive.* 
 
 This must be appealed to every man's 
 consciousness. Id o many trifl ing actions 
 every day^jn whichj_iipon tlie most careful 
 reflection, I am conscious of no motive ; 
 and tp.say that I may be influenced by a 
 motive of .wliich I am not conscious^ is, in 
 the firet place, an arbitrary supposition 
 without any evidence, .[ ? ] and then, it is to 
 say, that I may be convinced by anargu- 
 inent which never entered into ray thought. 
 [294] 
 
 Cases frequently occur, in which an end 
 that is of some importance, may be an- 
 swered equally well by any one of several dif- 
 ferent means. In such cases, a man who 
 intends the end flnds not the least difiiculty 
 in taking one of these means, though he be 
 flrmly persuaded that it has no title to be 
 preferred to any of the others. * 
 
 To say that this is a case that cannot hap- 
 pen, is to contradict the experience of man- 
 kind ; for surely a man who has occasion 
 to lay out a shilling, or a guinea, may have 
 two hundred that are of equal value, both 
 to the giver and to the receiver, any one of 
 which will answer his purpose equally well. 
 To say, that, if such a case should happen, 
 the man could not execute his purpose, is 
 still more ridiculous, though it have the 
 authority of some of the schoolmen, who 
 determined that the ass, between two equal 
 btmdles of hay, would stand still till it died 
 of hunger. -j- 
 
 If a raanjjaul4not atstwitlwmfr^ motive^: 
 h e would liav ejii3[_po3ai:fii^atalL;.Jbr motivea 
 
 "!^— "^-'-""Ur pftw*^'' ; i^nti he that \i^ not | 
 
 ppwer^oyer n, nprpfisar^jnjeaJU- has not pow er 
 
 overjthfi_findi 
 
 That an action, done without any motive, i 
 can neither have merit nor demerit, is much 
 insisted on by the writers for necessity, and 
 triumphantly, as if it were the very hinge 
 
 * Mr Stewart (•• Active and Moral Powers," pp 481 
 and 495} is disposed to concede that no action is per. 
 formed without some motive ; and thinks that Keid 
 has not strengthened his argument by denying this. 
 
 f Joannes Buridanus. See above, p. 238, note,— H. 
 
 i Can we conceive any act of which there was not 
 a sufficient cause or concourse of causes, why the 
 man performed it, and no other ? If not, call this 
 cause, or these concauses, the moWve, and there u 
 no longer a dispute. See the three following notm^ 
 H. 
 
 2 R 
 
 \^ 
 
 '^'Y^^ 
 
ON THE ACTIVE P0WEE8. 
 
 [BftAT IV< 
 
 tviiknt propMiiiii* ami I know no ftnuior 
 ^ow iii«giiil««il«M!W, mmmaX eitun- 
 
 withJnt » J rooliv% *b«y we of monifi^ m 
 
 i ^lie <nifi«iion eoneoming injiiil Wwrlj. For, 
 
 \ If tlbete ever wm mj mMm of *^»«. ^^^' 
 
 I motivea aro not the iole OMwes of humwi 
 
 ! ing without a motive, that powoMomed to 
 
 a weaker motiwe* may countoibalanoo a 
 
 ""f29&1 
 4. i n T^ "ff*T f M IWiy^ Tllil„llllSP 
 Iheii;, |ia^lW^ -OM M n mm ^^^ "»**» 
 
 gmumm w— — '- - loaaoning, the 
 MiMi ia inimraihent on thoee who hold the 
 Sirniative i and I have never seen a sha- 
 dow of arpiment, which does notwf^J^J 
 
 motif ee aio^ tlio ■ola caniii' oi acnoiw. 
 
 Ift there no such tlmig as wimilne^^ 
 caprioe, or obstinacy, amotig n>™^lf,„ 
 If there h© not, it ia wonderful that they 
 ■honld have names in all hmgnagea. u 
 there be such things, a single motive, or 
 many motives, may be resisted. 
 
 tives the 
 
 meant , __^,__ 
 
 vaiwed this 
 
 — — — ^^SL^ 
 
 jT?!tYf^'^»- ^^^ 
 
 pr^i. a«» ni^ yyjth under 
 
 iW <MufiUy.«bAtJS 
 
 ^ tnnti'v ei 
 
 that' those who have M- 
 1WMWI *« - » self-evident axiom, have 
 mm attempiiid to explwn what they mean 
 by the strongest motive, or have gjven any 
 villi by which we may judge which of two 
 motives » the strongest. , , ^ . 
 
 \ How shall we know whether the strongest 
 motive always prevaUs, if we know not 
 
 »^l>» TT^U.h ^hiiir atrength MAkP tned, 
 
 ■frniiLlinm in ^^^ *^*'r "^^ ^^ weighed ; 
 flSwwi^ to say that the strongest mo- 
 tivo always prevails, is to speak without 
 airmWDW W© must therefore s«r^ 
 te this test or hahince, sine© they who nave 
 kid so much stress upon this axiom, ha»e 
 left us wholly in the dark as to its meaning. 
 1 Krant, that, when the contrary motives 
 «; of the same kind, and differ only in 
 tnpitlty, it may be easy to say which is the 
 Snngsit. Thus a hribe of a thousand 
 pounds ia a stronger motive than a hribe of 
 a hundred pounds. But when the motives 
 mo of different Mnds— as money and fame. 
 
 duty and worldly interest, health wA 
 strength, riches and honour-by what ruJ« 
 •hSl we judge which is the strongest mo- 
 
 live ? 1296] , , _*!. ^ «,« 
 
 Either we measure the strength of mo- 
 lives merely by their prevalence, or by 
 Bome other stidard distinct frem their 
 
 ^Tftr«i««re their strength merely hy 
 theirprevalence, "^d by the strong^t mo. 
 tive mean only the motive that preva^ » 
 wUl be true indeed that the ^^^S^.^?: 
 Uve prevails; but the P«>P«»fi*<»" ,^i^} .ft 
 identical, and mean no more thj^ that tiioi 
 Btrengest motive is the stron^t motive. 
 Froni this surely no conclusion can bo 
 
 ^'if ii should be said, That hy the strength \ 
 of a motive is not meant its P'ejf «°*^» ^"* ^ 
 the cause of its prevalence ; that ^^ °»^ 
 sure the cause by the effect, and / ^^ ™ | 
 superiority of the effect conclude the supo- 
 riority of the cause, as we wndude that to 
 be the heaviest weight which l^ down 
 the scale : I answer, That, accordmg to this 
 explication of the axiom, it takes for granted 
 
 that motives are thej^'^V^*^^' -^ V ♦^f^h! 
 causes, of actions. Nothing is left to the 
 agent, but to be acted upon by the motive^ 
 a^ the balance is by the weights. The 
 axiom supposes, that the agent does not 
 act, but is acted upon ; and, from this sup- 
 position, it is concluded that he does not 
 act. This is to reason m a circle, or rather 
 it ia not reasoning but begging the ques- 
 tion.* ^ ____^ 
 
 • OntliU subject, I »h«ll quote a pMwge from the 
 MHitroverev between Leibnita and Clarke ;— 
 "^mXi W (.ays the former) " co'"^ '""fg^S 
 tlon raided bere.agamst my <ompar..jg 'h^^^^'P^ "^ 
 a balance with the motives of the W ill. H »« object ea. 
 That a balance is merely pa*«ive, and moved by the 
 wSght. ■ wherea. agents intelligent and endowed 
 wUh wlfl. are active, lo this 1 answer, that the 
 
 * But »• noK tliwt all twiileiiclw, «*> tW^J'^^J- 
 iMlM. m ant Of not to act f By contraulUtingu »h- 
 
 ""■'■ St l tfll l H ff*t*f ^*'""' motive*, strictly so calleoi 
 
 OT^rational Imimlact, w« do not advance a ungte 
 gttp towaida rwMteflng ibetty comprfhenstMe. See 
 MoviOB notcfc Tbt tame way be said of aU tlie 
 •Uicr itttmiita totliiaeiuli but in regard totlMM 
 Sl^Hiiil fmitiveltiinntccMary to lay anytblng 
 
 ■ith will, are aciivc. »" im» - — --. 
 
 JriociDleot the want of a sufficient reason, i.commoij 
 Eotht? agents and parents. They want a sufficient 
 reison oAheir action, as wi U a* oi the.r P«««o«- A 
 lll«n«» does not only not act when it is equa ly 
 SldonbSh^e.. but the equal weight. l.kewUe 
 do not act when Uiey are In an equilibrium, so that 
 one S thet^cannot go down without the other rising 
 
 "^^Mt roust also be considered that, properly speaking, 
 motivesdo not act u|>on the mind a« weight* do upon a 
 SdancJ; bunt is rither the mind that acts by virtue 
 or the motives, which are ii» dispositions lo act And, 
 ?he?efo!e. trpretend. as the author dors here, that 
 thrmindprefers sometime, wiak motives to strong 
 SiesTand even that it prefers that whiclns indifferent 
 Ke motive*-ihi.. I say. is to .t»«v»de the mind 
 from the mo ives, as if «hey were with- ut the mind, 
 at the weittbt is distinct from the balance, and a» it 
 the mind had. bcides motives, other dispositions to 
 act IfV virtue of which it could reject or accept the 
 motives. Whereas, in truth, the motives compre- 
 hend all the dispositions which the mind can have 
 to act voluntarily ; for they include not only the reu. 
 BOMS, but also the inclinations arUing troro passions, 
 or other preceding imprchsiona. Wherefore, if the 
 mind should prcftr a weak inclination to a strong one, 
 ii would act .gainst it*elr. and otherwise than it is 
 disiiosed to act. Which shews that the author's 
 notions, contrary to mine, aresupeiflcial, and appear 
 toimvm tolidity in tbem, when they are well con. 
 
 CHAP. IT.] 
 
 OF THE INFLUENCE OF MOTIVES. 
 
 611 
 
 tJuiHrary motives may very prepcrly be 
 compared to advocates pleading the opposite 
 sides of a caui*e at the bar. It would be 
 Tery weak reasoning to say, that such an 
 advocate is the most powerful pleader, be- 
 cause sentence was given on his side. The 
 sentence is in the power of the judge, not 
 of the advocate. I t is equally weak reason- 
 ing^ in proof of necessity ^ to «iy^ such 
 §^_moMYe prevailed, . - Aerefoxe it, i^_ the 
 strongest ; since the defeudets .of JHfefiCty 
 ■iSa^i^^ that the detennination was. made 
 iiy fhe' miii»aadjiQt hy the motiye*! [297] 
 'vTeare therefore brought to this issue, 
 that, unless some measure of the strength of 
 motives can be found distinct from their 
 prevalence, it cannot be determined whether 
 the strongest motive always prevails or not 
 If such a measure can be found and applied, 
 we may be able to judge of the truth of this 
 maxim, but not otherwise. 
 
 Everything that can be called a motive, 
 ia addressed either to the animal or to the 
 rational part of our nature. Motives of the 
 former kind are common to us with the 
 brutes ; those of the latter are peculiar to 
 rational beings. We shall beg leave, for 
 distinction's sake, to call the former, animal 
 motives, and tlie latter, rational. 
 
 Hunger is a motive in a dog to eat ; so 
 
 " To asMTt, also, that the mind may have good rca- 
 tons to act, when it has no motives, and when things 
 are absolutely indifferent, as the author explains 
 himself here— this, 1 say, is a manifest contradiction ; 
 for, if the mind i)as Kood reason* for taking the part 
 It takes, then the things are not indlffierent to the 
 mind."— CoW^-c^on qf Papert, SfC, Leibnitz's Filth 
 Paper. U 14-16. 
 
 The death of I^bnila terminated bis controversy 
 with Clarke; but a defence of the fifth and last 
 paper of Leibnitz against the answer of Clarke, by 
 J'hummig, was published, who, in relation to the 
 point in question, says- • The simile of the balance 
 [$ very unjustly interpreted. No resemblance is In. 
 tended between scales and motives. .... It is 
 of no consequence whether, in their nciprocal reia. 
 lions, the scales are passive, while the mind is activet 
 since, in this lespert, there is no comparison aU 
 tempted. But, in so far aa the principle of Sufficient 
 Reason U concerned, that principle applies equally to 
 actions and passions, at has been noticed by Baron 
 
 l^bnid It is to philosophise very 
 
 crudely concerning mind, and to image everything 
 In a corporeal manner, lo conceive that actuating 
 reasons are something external, which make an im. 
 pression on the mind, and todistingwish motives from 
 the active principle (principio actionis) itiel£" (/» 
 KoetUer's German Translation (/these Papers.— H. 
 
 * but was the man ditermincd by no motive to 
 that determination? Was his specitic volition to 
 ihia or to that without a cause ? un the suppcsition 
 that the sum of influences (motives, dispositions, 
 tendencies) to volition A, is equal to 12, and the sum 
 of influence* to counter volition B, equal to 8— can 
 we conceive that ihe determination of volition A 
 ahoutd not be necessary ?— We can only conceive the 
 volition B to be determined by fiU|>|>o8ing that the 
 man creaUs (calls trom non-existence into existence) 
 • certain supplement of influence*. But this creation 
 aaactiial, or. in itself, is inconceivable, and even to 
 conceive the possibility of this inconceivable act, 
 we must suppose some cause by which the man is 
 determined to exert it We thus, /n ttwught, never 
 •scape determination and necessity. It will be ob- 
 •erred, that I do not consider this inability to the 
 notion, any disproof of the/a<^ of Kroe Will — H. 
 
 [297,21^] 
 
 is it in a man. Accordmg to the strength 
 of the appetite, it gives a stronger or a 
 weaker impulse to eat. And the same 
 thing may be said of every other appetite 
 and passion. Such animal motives give an 
 impulse to the agent, to which he yields 
 with ease ; and, if the unpulse be strong, it 
 cannot be resisted without an effort which . 
 ret^uires a greater or a less degree of self. ^^ 
 command. Such motives are not addressed 
 to the rational powers. Their influence is 
 immediately upon the will. ■ We feel their 
 influence, and judge of their strength, by 
 the conscious efibrt which is necessary to 
 resist them. 
 
 When a man is acted upon by contrary 
 motives of this kind, he finds it easy to yield 
 to the strongest. They are lik e two, forces 
 pushing him in coTitrary directions. To. 
 yield t(> the strongest, he iieeds only to be 
 passive. By exerting his own force, he 
 may resist ; but this requires an effort ol 
 which he is conscious,, [298] The strength 
 of motives of this kind is perceived, not by 
 our judgment, but by our feeling; and that 
 is the strongest of contrary motives, to 
 which he can yield with ease, or which it 
 requires an effort of self-command to resist ; 
 and this we may call the animal test of the 
 strength of motives. 
 
 If it be asked, whether, in motives of 
 this kind, the strongest always prevails, I 
 would answer, that in brute-animals I be- 
 lieve it does. They do not appear to have 
 any self-command ; an appetite or passion 
 in them is overcome only by a stronger 
 contrary one. On this accoimt, they are 
 not accountable for their actions, nor can 
 they be the subjects of law. \. 
 
 But in men who are able to exercise ' 
 their ratfonal powers, and have any degree 
 of self-command, the strongest animal mo- 
 tive does not always prevail. TTie flesh 
 does not always prevail against the spirit, 
 though too often it does. And if men were . 
 necessarily determined by the strongest / 
 animal motive, they could no more he ac- 
 countable, or capable of being governed by 
 law, than brutes are. 
 
 Let us next consider rational motives, to 
 which the name of motive is more commonly 
 and more properly given. Their influenco 
 is upon the judgment, by convincing us that 
 such an action ought to be done ; that it is 
 our duty, or conducive to our real good, or 
 to some end which we have determined to 
 pursue. 
 
 They do not give a blind impulse to the 
 wUl,t as animal motives do. They con- 
 vince, but they do not impel, unless, as 
 may often happen, they excite some passion 
 
 * This is virtually to identify Desire and WUl. 
 Fhich is contrary to truth and our authors own 
 doctrine.— H. / 
 
 t See the last note.— H. , 
 
 2 US 
 
iii 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay lf« 
 
 ii lope, m tmk\ m dcaiie. Such pMSions 
 my lb® ©Mited by conviction, and may 
 ©pemte in its aid as other animal motif «• 
 
 I do. But thur© may ho eonwcUon without 
 passion; and th© conviction of what w© 
 ought to do, in order to some end which we 
 I llMW© Judged fit to be pursued, is what I caU 
 via TOmmai motive, [^^1 
 
 V Brwiw, 1 think, cannot be influenced by 
 •mil motives. They have not the concep- 
 inii of might and ought not. Children ao- 
 fuire thea© conceptions as their ratiooa 
 fowen advance ; and they are found m all 
 of fipo age, who have the human faculties. 
 If there be any competition between ra- 
 tionill motives, it is evident that the strong- 
 est, in the eye of reason, is that which it is 
 Mist our duty and our real happmess to 
 Mow. Our duty and our real happmess 
 are ends which ar© inseparaW©; and they 
 are the ends which every man, endowed 
 with reason, is conscious he ought to pur* 
 sue in piefefonoo to all others. This w© 
 nay call the raUmml test of the strength of 
 nmtives. A motive which is the strongest, 
 according to the animal test, may be, and 
 iwy often is, the weakest according to tho 
 
 'fational. . . 
 
 The grand and the important competition 
 of contrary motives is between the animal, 
 on the one hand, and the rational on the 
 Other. This is the conflict between the 
 iish and the spirit, up<m the event of which 
 lie character of men depends. ^ 
 
 If it be asked. Which of these w the 
 Stmiftst motive ? the answer is. That the 
 ifeU £ commmily strongest, when they ar© 
 tfiid by the aiiliiial test. If it w©r© not so, 
 
 ( human life would be no state of tnaL Jit 
 would not be a watfiwo^ wt would virtue 
 iMiiiie any ©ibrt or self-command. No 
 mm would have any temptation to do wrong. 
 But, when we try the contrary motives by 
 the rational test, it is evident tliat th© ra- 
 tional motive is always the strongest. 
 
 » And now, IthiBi^Jt JlB»«re, that ^.e 
 
 -MtngMi ffwi*" **^*l ' T f*iii ' i i lffl^' * lnff fF t^ either oi the 
 
 '"tests" I have, meniiflittfl»^,fliMI.., Iffl Wffml 
 
 in every wiae^ and virtuous action, the 
 motive that prevais is tho eMmfft^ ac- 
 oonliiig to the rational test, but commonly 
 the W'eakest according to the animal. ^ In 
 fffOfy foolish and in every vicious action, 
 Mm moiiv© that prevails is conimonly the 
 iHMIgiSt according to th© anmial test, Dut 
 always the weakest according to the ra- 
 
 il It Is true tliat we reason from men's 
 motives to their actions, and, in many eases, 
 with great probability, but never with abso- 
 I tilt© oortainty. And to infer from this, 
 ^' W mm are necessarily determined by 
 p'otlves, U very weak reMOUPg. 
 L For let us suppose, for a moment, that 
 
 men have moral liberty, I would asl^ what 
 use may they be expected to make of this 
 liberty ? It may surely be expected, that, 
 of the various actions withhi the sphere oi 
 their power, they will choose what pleases 
 them most for the present, or what appears 
 to be most for their real, though distant 
 good. When there is a competition be- 
 tween these motives, the foolish will prefer 
 present gratification ; the wise the greater 
 and more distant good. 
 
 Now, is not this the very way in which 
 we see men act ? Is it not from the pre- 
 sumption that they act in this way, that we 
 reason from their motives to their actions ? 
 Surely it is. Is it not weak reasoning, 
 therefore, to argue, that men have not 
 liberty, because they act in that very way 
 in which they would act if they had liberty ? 
 I It would surely be more like reasoning to 
 draw the contrary conclusion from the same 
 
 premises. 
 
 7. Nor is it better reasonmg to conclud© 
 tliat, if men are not necessarily determined 
 by motives, all their actions must be capri- 
 cious. 
 
 To resist the strongest animal motives 
 when duty requires, is so far from being 
 capricious that it is, in the highest degree, 
 wiso and virtuous. And we hope this is 
 often done by good men. [301] 
 
 To act against rational motives, must 
 always be foolish, vicious, or capricious. 
 And, it cannot be denied, that there ar© 
 too many such actions done. But is it 
 reasonable to conclude, that, because liberty 
 may be abused by the foolish and the vici- 
 ous, therefor© it can never be put to ite 
 proper use, which is to act wisely and vir- 
 tuously ? 
 
 8. It is equally unreasonable to conclude 
 —That, if men are not necessarily deter- I 
 mined by motives, rewards and punish- | 
 ments would have no effect. With wis© 
 men they will have their due effect ; but 
 not always with the foolish and th© vicious. 
 Let us consider what effect rewards and 
 puniahments do really, and in fact, produce, 
 and what may be inferred from that effect 
 upon each of the opposite systems of liberty 
 and of necessity. . , ^ x. 
 
 1 take it for granted that, m fact, the 
 best and wisest laws, both human and 
 divine, are often transgressed, notwithstand- 
 ing the rewards and punishments that ar© 
 annexed to them. If any man should denv 
 this fact, I know not how to reason with 
 
 him. 
 
 From this fact, it may be inferred with 
 certainty, upon the supposition of necessity. 
 That, in every instance of transgression, 
 the motive of reward or punishment was 
 
 I not of sufficient strength to produce obe- 
 dience to the hiw. This implies a fault in 
 the lawgiver ; but there can be no fcult in 
 [!^99-30l] 
 
 
 OTAP. v.] LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 613 
 
 
 the transgressor, who acts mechanically by 
 the force of motives. We might as well 
 impute a fault to the balance when it does 
 
 ; not raise a weight of two pounds by the 
 
 * force of one pound. 
 
 Upon the supposition of necessity, there 
 ©an be neither reward nor punishment, in 
 the proper sense, as those words imply 
 good and ill desert. Reward and punish- 
 ment are only tools employed to produce a 
 mechanical effect. When the effect is not 
 produced, the tool must be unfit or wrong 
 applied. [302] 
 
 Upon the supposition of liberty, rewards 
 and punishments will have a proper effect 
 upon the wise and the good; but not so 
 upon the foolish and the vicious, when 
 opposed by their animal passions or bad 
 habits ; and this is just what we see to be 
 the fact. Upon this supposition, the trans- 
 gression of the law implies no defect in the 
 law, no fault in the lawgiver ; the fault is 
 solely in the transgressor. And it is upon 
 this supposition only, that there can be 
 either reward or punishment, in the proper 
 sense of the words, because it is only on 
 this supposition that there can be good or 
 ill desert. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LIBKRTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 
 
 Whbn it is said that liberty would make 
 us absolutely ungovernable by God or man ; 
 to miderstand the strength of this conclu- 
 sion, it is necessary to know distinctly what 
 is meant by government. There are two 
 kinds of government, very different in their 
 nature. The one we may, for distinction's 
 sake, call m^c.^a/itca/' government, the other 
 moral. The first is the government of 
 beings which have no active power, but are 
 merdy passive and acted upon ; the second, 
 of intelligent and active beings. [303] 
 
 An instance of mechanical government 
 may be that of a master or commander of 
 a diip at sea. Supposing her skilfully 
 huUt, and furnished with everything proper 
 for the destined voyage, to govern her pro- 
 perly for this purpose requires much art 
 and attention. And, as every art has its 
 rules, or laws, so has this. But by whom 
 are those laws to be obeyed, or those rules 
 observed ? Not by the ship, surely, lor 
 she is an inactive being, but by the gover- 
 nor. A sailor may say that she does not 
 obey the rudder ; and he has a distinct 
 meaning when he says so, and is perfectly 
 understood. But he means not obedience 
 in the proper, but in a metaphorical 
 sense. For, in the proper seuse, the ship can 
 no more obey the rudder than she can give 
 a command. Every motion, both of the 
 [302-30i] 
 
 ship and rudder, is exactly proportioned to 
 the force impressed, and in the direction of 
 that force. The ship never disobeys the 
 laws of motion, even in the metaphorical 
 sense : and they are the only laws she can 
 be subject to. p 
 
 The sailor, perhaps, curses her for nolr' 
 obeying the rudder ; but this is not *!>* 
 voice of reason, but of passion, like thaVof 
 the losing gamester when he curses the dice. 
 The ship is as innocent as the dice. 
 
 Whatever may happen during the voy- 
 age, whatever may be its issue, the ship, in 
 the eye of reason, is neither an object of 
 approbation nor of blame ; because she 
 does not act, but is acted upon. If the 
 material, in any part, be faulty, Who put 
 it to that use ? If the form, Who made it ? 
 If the rules of navigation were not observed, 
 Who transgressed them ? If a storm oc- 
 casioned any disaster, it was no more in the 
 power of the ship than of the master. 
 
 Another instance to illustrate the nature 
 of mechanical government may be, that of 
 the man who makes and exhibits a puppet- 
 show. The puppets, in all their diverting 
 gesticulations, do not move, but are moved 
 by an impulse secretly conveyed, which they 
 cannot resist. If they do not play their 
 parts properly, the fault is only in the 
 maker or manager of the machinery. Too 
 much or too little force was applied, or it 
 was wrong directed. No reasonable man 
 imputes either praise or blame to the pup- 
 pets, but solely to their maker or their 
 governor. [304] 
 
 If wa suppose for a moment, the puppets 
 to be endowed with understanding and will, 
 but without any degree of active power, 
 this will make no change in the nature of 
 their government; for understanding and 
 will, without some degree of active power, 
 can produce no effect. They might, upon 
 this supposition, be called intelligent mom 
 chines; but they would be machines still as 
 much subject to the laws of motion as in- 
 animate matter, and, therefore, incapable 
 of any other than mechanical government. 
 Let us next consider the nature of moral 
 government. This is the government of 
 persons who have reason and active power, 
 and have laws prescribed to them for their 
 conduct by a legislator. Their obedience 
 is obedience in the proper sense ; it must, 
 therefore, be their own act and deed, and, 
 consequently, they must have power to obey 
 or to disobey. To prescribe laws to them 
 which they have not the power to obey, or to 
 require a service beyond their power, would 
 bety ranny and inj ustice in the highest degree. 
 When the laws are equitable, and pre- 
 scribed by just authority, they produce 
 moral obligation in those that are subject 
 to them, and disobedience is a crime deserv- 
 ing punishment. But, if the obedience b© 
 
614 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [■MlAV llf 
 
 inpoisililfl^if tim immn^mtkm lie neces- j 
 
 mty-^t is aeif-«vMeBt tnil' ilMi« caii be no 
 
 moral oMigatim to wluH U ibipoMalile, thai 
 
 tliefe can tof n® ©fimo in yiaMing to neeea- 
 
 * ailyt ani lliai ilieie am be no jualiee in 
 
 V pnnialiinir a penion for what it was not in 
 
 ^M§fmmtJamoiiL• TliMf} are first nrin- 
 
 ^jUm in morals, and, to eveiy nnpiejndiced 
 
 mm^ AS aelf-evident as tbe axioms of ma* 
 
 thematim. The whole seienoe of morals 
 
 must stand or fall with then^ (aOSI 
 
 Having thus explained tlie' nature boili 'Of 
 m^eelianiiial and of .moral tovetnnMiti^.. '(lie 
 onlj Unds of govemment I am .abte' to'flai- 
 ceive, it is easy to see how far liberty or 
 necessity agrees with either. 
 
 On the one hand, I acknowledge that 
 MOissily agrees perfectly with mechanical 
 gnwfnment This kind of goyemment is 
 noet perfect when the governor is the sole 
 Hfsnt ; everything done is the doing of the 
 governor only. The praise of everything 
 well done is his solel;^ ; and his is the Uaroe 
 if then be anjthmg ill done, because he is 
 the tale aient. 
 
 It is true that, in common language, 
 piaiae or dispraise is often metaphodcally 
 giffiii. 'to 'te work i bat, in propriety, it be-' 
 liiqgS solely to the author. Every work- 
 jMm nn^dsiitaiiii: this perfectly, and takes 
 tohimselffvnr Justly 'the praise or dispraise 
 iBfhisownwoX 
 
 On the other hand, it is no lees evident, 
 iiil^ on the supposition of necessity in the 
 gmmmAtllmm can. be^ nH' .moral govern- 
 ment. There can be nelflier wie^m 'nor 
 Mliily in prescribing laws that cannot be 
 '0iif«4 Tbero can be no moral obligation 
 upon beiM that have no active power. 
 ThflTO' 'CHI w no crime in not doing what 
 it' was impoasible to dw $ nor can there be 
 justice in punishinK such omission. 
 
 If we apply these theoretical principles 
 to tiie Wndsof government which do actually 
 fxlat^ whether human or divine, we shall 
 find that, among men, evwa. meofaanical 
 
 ■PwiiKiiiiiisiii am lUipcriiTiTftM 
 
 Men do not make the matter they work 
 
 Ito various kinds, and the qualities 
 
 'beluiigiw' to each kind, are tilt' 'Work of 
 Cbd. The laws of nature, to which it is 
 
 Mhieet,. mm the wmk uf '€k>d- ' The motions 
 uf ttMi' atmosphere and of 'thO' ae% the beat 
 and ooM of the air, the rahi and wind, 
 
 iipeiBtifma). are not in our power. 80 that, 
 in all the mechanical productions of men, 
 
 • SC«Austio eloquently fSfi—'* Etiamne llbri hi 
 ebMUii mihi leratandl rrMit, vnde di«cerein, neini. 
 nem vituperatiooe tupplicluTe dirnum, qui lut id 
 «ellt quoa JuttitU velle non prohibet, aut id non 
 IMil feml facere non potest ? Nonne Ista cantant 
 •I In liiMitn^ pMtoTM, ei Id th«atrto poet«, et in. 
 
 in wbolli, el .sntlBCitai'.in Hcratk.loclii ct tn orbe 
 t«nrani. imiwliefflMUiiiBi F* — Hi'IliMiliit jlelMMAuf. 
 I I4-,H, 
 
 the work is more to be ascribed to Qui 
 than to man. [306] 
 
 Civil government among meil is a species 
 of moral government, but imperfect, as its 
 lawgivers and its judges are. Human laws 
 maybe unwise or unjust; human judges 
 may be partial or unskilful. But, in all 
 equitable civil governments, the maxims of 
 moral government above mentioned, are ac- 
 knowledged as rules which ought never to 
 be violated. Indeed the rules of justice are 
 so evident to all men, that the motst tyran- 
 nical govemmenta profess to be guided by 
 them, and endeavour to palliate what is 
 contrary to them by the plea of necessity. 
 
 That a man cannot be under an obliga- 
 tion to what is impossible ; that he cannot 
 be criminal in yielding to necessity, nor 
 justly punished for what be could not avoid, 
 are maxims admitted, in all criminal courts, 
 as fundamental rules of justice. 
 
 In opposition to this, it has been said, by 
 some of the most able defenders of neces- 
 sity. That human kws require no more to 
 constitute a crime, but that it be voluntary ; 
 whence it b inferred that the criminalitv 
 consists in the determination of the will, 
 whether that determination be free or 
 necessary. This, I think, indeed, is the 
 only possible plea by which criminality can 
 be made consistent with necessity, and, 
 therefore, it deserves to be considered. 
 
 I acknowledge that a crime must be vol- 
 untary ; for, if it be not voluntary, it is no 
 deed of the man, nor can be justly imputed 
 to him ; but it is no less necessary that the 
 criminal have moral liberty.* In men that 
 are adult and of a sound mind, this liberty 
 is presumed. But, in every case where it 
 cannot be presumed, no criminality is im- 
 puted, even to voluntary actions- [307] 
 
 This is evident from the following in- 
 stances :— JPtr«/, The actions of brutes ap- 
 pear to be voluntary ; yet they are nevei 
 conceived to be criminal, though they may 
 be noxious. Secmdiy, Children in nonaga 
 act voluntarily, but they are not charge- 
 able with crimes. Tkirdltfy Madmen have 
 both understanding and will, but they have 
 not moral liberty, and, therefore, are not 
 chargeable with crimes. Fourthly^ Even 
 in men that are adult and of a sound mind, 
 a motive that is thought irresistible by any 
 ordinary degree of self-command, such as 
 the radi, or the dread of present death, 
 either exculpates or very much alleviates a 
 voluntary action, which, in other circum- 
 cumstancee, would be highly criminal ; 
 whence it is evident that, if tlie motive 
 were absolutely irresistible, the exculpation 
 
 ♦ That i», criminality 8uppoie> not merely libertv 
 of Spontaneity, but alao Liberty from Nerestily. AU 
 imputable actions are •pontaneoiu or ? oluiitary j bin 
 all apontaneoui or f oluntary sctioiit are not imput. I 
 able.— H. f 
 
 OHAF. v.] LIBERTY CONSISTENT WITH GOVERNMENT. 
 
 %\% 
 
 
 wotdd be complete. So far is it from being 
 true in itself, or agreeable to the common 
 sense of mankmd, that tbe criminality of an 
 . action depends solely upon its being volim- 
 tory. 
 
 The government of brutes, so far as they 
 are subject to man, is a species of me- 
 chani J government, or something very 
 like to it, and has no resemblance to moral 
 government As inanimate matter is go- 
 vemed by our knowledge of the qualities 
 which God hath given to the various pro- 
 ductions of nature, and our knowledge of 
 the laws of nature which he hath established ; 
 so brute animals are governed by our know- 
 ledge of the natural instincts, appetites, 
 affections, and passions, which God hath 
 given them. By a skilful application of 
 these springs of their actions, they may be 
 trained to many habits useful to man. 
 After all, we find that, from causes un- 
 known to us, not only some species, but 
 some individuals of the same species, are 
 more tractable than others. 
 
 Children under age are governed much 
 in the same way as the most sagacious 
 brutes. The opening of their intellectual 
 and moral powers, which may be much 
 aided by proper instruction and example, is 
 that which makes them, by degrees, capable 
 of moral government [308] 
 
 Reason teaches us to ascribe to the Su- 
 preme Being a government of the inanimate 
 and inactive part of his creation, analogous 
 to that mechanical government which men 
 exercise, but infinitely more perfect. This, 
 I think, is what we call God's natural go- 
 vernment of the universe. In this part of 
 the divine government, whatever is done is 
 6od*8 doing. He is the sole cause and the 
 sole agcntf whether he act immediately 
 or by instruments subordinate to him; 
 and his will is always done: For instru- 
 ments are not causes, they are not agents, 
 though we sometimes improperly call them 
 so. 
 
 It is therefore no less agreeable to rea> 
 son, than to the language of holy writ, to 
 Impute to the Deity whatever is dc»ne in 
 the natural world. When we say of any- 
 thing, that it is the work of Nature, this is 
 laying that it is the work of God, and can 
 have no other meaning. 
 
 The natural world 'is a grand machine, 
 contrived, made, and governed by the 
 wisdom and power of the Almighty. And, 
 if there be in this natural world, beings that 
 have life, intelligence, and will, without 
 any degree of active power, they can only 
 be subject to the same kind of mechanical go- 
 vernment Then: determinations, whether 
 we call them good or ill, must be the actions 
 of the Supreme Being, as much as the pro- 
 ductions of the earth. For life, intelli- 
 gence, and will, without active power, can 
 [SOB -310] 
 
 do nothing, and therefore nothing can justly 
 be imputed to it. 
 
 This grand machine of the natural woiid, 
 displays the power and wisdom of the arti- 
 ficer. But in it, there can be no display of 
 moral attributes, which have a relation to 
 moral conduct in his creatures, such as jus- 
 tice and equity in rewarding or punishing, 
 the love of virtue and abhorrence of wicked- 
 ness: For, as everything in it is God's 
 doing, there can be no vice to be punished 
 or abhorred, no virtue in his creatures to 
 be rewarded. [309] 
 
 According to the system of necessity, the 
 whole universe of creatures is this natural 
 world ; and of everything done in ^t, God 
 is the sole agent. There can be no moral 
 government, nor moral obligation. Laws, 
 rewards, and punishments, are only mechan- 
 ical engines, and the will of the lawgiver 
 is obeyed as much when his laws are trans- 
 gressed, as when they are observed. Such 
 must be our notions of the government of 
 the world, upon the supposition of necessity. 
 It must be purely mechanical, and there 
 can be no moral government upon that hy- 
 pothesis. 
 
 Let us consider, on the other hand, what 
 notion of the divine government we are na- 
 turally led into by the supposition of li- 
 berty. 
 
 They who adopt this system conceive 
 that, in that small portion of the universe 
 which falls under our view, as a great part 
 has no active power, but moves as it is 
 moved by necessity, and therefore must be 
 subject to a mechanical government, so it 
 has pleased the Almighty to bestow upon 
 some of his creatures, particularly upon 
 man, some degree of active power, and of 
 reason, to direct him to the right use of his 
 power. 
 
 What connection there may be, in the 
 nature of things, between reason and active 
 power, we know not. But we see evidently 
 that, as reason without active power can do 
 nothing, so active power without reason has 
 no guide to direct it to any end. [310] , 
 
 These two conjoined make moral liberty, \ 
 which, in how small a degree soever it is 
 possessed, raises man to a superior rank in 
 the creation of God. He is not merely a 
 tool in the hand of the master, but a ser- 
 vant, in the proper sense, who has a certain 
 trust, and is- accountable for the discharge 
 of it. Within the sphere of his power, he 
 has a subordinate dominion or government, 
 and therefore may be said to be made after 
 the image of God, the Supreme Governor. 
 But, as his dominion is subordinate, he is 
 under a moral obligation to make a right 
 use of it, as far as the reason which God 
 hath given him can direct him. When he 
 does so, he is a just object of moral appro- 
 bation; and no less an object of disappro- 
 
mm 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWEHS. 
 
 tioii bimI Jiitl puililiiiMiit wlien lie wkmm 
 tin power witli which he isentnisted. And 
 Ihi must ioally fender an aceount of the 
 talent committed to him, to the Supreme 
 Ctovemor and righteous Judge. 
 
 Thia la the moral government of God, 
 whieh, fiir from being inconsistent with 
 liberty, suppoaea liberty in those that are 
 eiljeist to it, and can extend no farther than 
 thai liberty extends; for aecountableness 
 ^eH, oil: 'BUM, ^agree with neeeasity than light 
 
 m. miff JlL iMllMii jtffl' JHHl ,hiumiBuu|||1ihl, jgujuL^jgnl 
 
 wiiB/aaiiiiiiait 
 
 It ought, tiliewiae, to be observed, that, as 
 active pwer in man, and in every created 
 being, is the gill of God, it depends entirely 
 «ii & pleasim iir its existent, its degree, 
 ami. its contiiinaiiM'i and, therefore, can do 
 ■otlling which he does not see fit to permit. 
 
 Our power to act does not exempt us 
 iMl heing a«sted upon, and resttained or 
 iimpfllled by a superior power; and the 
 pwir of God is always superior to that of 
 
 It wimM be great folly and presumption 
 
 w la In- pretend to know aU the ways in 
 viiflh Ihe govermnent of the Supreme 
 Being is carried on, and his purposes ae- 
 •oiqpidied. by men, acting freely, and hav- 
 ing liferent or opposite purposes in their 
 view. For, aa the heavens are high above 
 the earth, so are his thoughts above our 
 thoojchts, and his ways above our ways. 
 
 fbal a man may have great inllaenee 
 nimi iie voluntary determinations of other 
 ■Ml, by means of education, example, and 
 piMiaMn, is a liet which must be eranted, 
 'wliillMr «•' .adopt iie system of liberty or 
 meiasity. How iur such determinations 
 m^t to be imputed to the person who ap- 
 plied those means, how far to the person 
 
 'ImowB, and win |udge righteously. 
 But what I would here observe is. That, 
 
 if ft man of superior talents may have so 
 
 great' infuenee over the actions of his fel- 
 mv-eieatiiiei^ 'without taking away their 
 ihetty, it h mely reasonable' to allow a 
 much neater infiuence of the same kind to 
 II.im who made man. Nor can it ever 'be 
 'proved,, 'tiiat: A* wisdom and power of the 
 Almighty are hMofficient for governing free 
 .iments, so aS' to answer his purpoaest 
 
 He who made man may have ways of 
 ,gOTepiiii|g Ilia determinations, consistent 
 wttli. IMcal Bberty, of which we have no 
 ooneeplifiiit And Me who gave this liberty 
 freely, vmy lay any restraint upon it that is 
 
 •tait .pirpoies. The justice of his govern- 
 ment requires tlmt his creatures should be 
 accountable only for what they have re- 
 ceived, and mot: |br what was never entrusted 
 to them. And we are sure that the Judge 
 ef all the earth will do what is right. 
 
 Thus, I think, it appears; that, upon tlie 
 supposition of necessity, there can be nn 
 moral government of the universe. Its 
 government must be perfectly mechanical, 
 and everything done in it, whether good or 
 ill, must be God's doing ; and that, upon 
 the supposition of liberty, there may be a 
 perfect moral government of the universe, 
 consistent with his accomplishing all his 
 purposes, in its creation and government. 
 [312] 
 
 The arguments to prove that man is en- 
 dowed with moral lil)«rty, which have the 
 greatest weight with me, are three : Jkgif 
 Because he has a natural conviction or 
 belief, that, in many cases, he acts freely ; 
 Bccmdlyy Because he is accountable; and, 
 thirdly y Because he is able to prosecute an 
 end by a long series of means adapted to it. 
 
 vnAJrl JEjiC VI. 
 rmST ABGVHBNT. 
 
 ESSAY I¥. 
 
 corn 
 
 Wf Aflw. ^ otir cm^im wn m nmiumi 
 iVicHon or imiier, Utrnt we arJ fmitiu^t 
 
 conviction so early, so universal, and so 
 necessary in most of our rational operations, 
 that it must be the result of our constitu- 
 tion, and the work of Him that made us. 
 
 Some of the most strenuous advocates for j 
 the doctrine of necessity acknowledge that/ 
 it is impossible to act upon it. They say 
 that we have a natural sense or convicti<Mi 
 that we act freely ;* but that this is a fallaci- 
 ous sense. -f- 
 
 This doctrine is dishonourable to our 
 Maker, and lays a foundation for universal 
 scepticism. It supposestheAuthorof our be- 
 ing to have given us one faculty on purpose ^ 
 to deceive us, and another bv which we o 
 may detect the fimacy, and find that he im- 
 posed upon us.$ 
 
 * Tliui, Homrael, certauily one of the ablest and 
 DKMt decided fatalists—*' 1 myself believe that I 
 have a feeling of Liberty even at the very moment 
 when I am writing against Liberty, upon grounds 
 which 1 regard as incontrovertible. Zeno was m 
 £UaU$t onl) in theory ; In practice, be did not act tn 
 conformity to that conviction."— H. 
 
 t Among others, Reid's ftriend. Lord Kamet,inthe 
 first edition of his " Essays on the Principles of 
 Morality ind Natural Religion," admitted this natu. 
 ral conviction of freedom from necessity, maintain, 
 ing it to be illusive. On this melancholy doctrine, 
 ** Man fondly dreams that he is free in act : 
 Naught is he but the powerless, worthless plaything 
 Of t lie blind force thai in iiis Will itself 
 Works out for him a dread necessity." 
 
 X All necessiurian* cto not, however, admit the re. 
 ality of tltis deceitful exi>eneiico, or tall acious feeling 
 of lii:erly. *• Dr Hartley," says Mr Stewart, "was- 
 1 bilicve, one of the first, if not the first, who denied 
 that our conscloufDcss is in favour cf free agency;^ 
 and inthis asser«ion, heobscrre^, " Hartley was fol- 
 lowed by Priestley and Re!sb;tm. Speaking of the 
 latter, •• We are io'd,"hesay8, "by Mr Itrlsham, that 
 the popular opinion that, in many cases, it was in tjie 
 power of the agent to have chosen diflcrenily, vhe 
 priff ioui cUdiraitflncci renialnlng exactly the wme, 
 
 [_31 1-312] 
 
 oaip. VI.] 
 
 FIRST ARGUMENT. 
 
 617 
 
 If any one of our natural faculties be 
 lyiacious, there can be no reason to trust 
 to any of them ; for He that made one made 
 all. 
 
 The genuine dictate of our natural facul- 
 ties is the voice of God, no less than what 
 he reveals from heaven ; and to say that it 
 is fallacious, is to impute a lie to the Qod 
 of truth.* [313] 
 
 If candour and ve racity bejjptan paapn- 
 tial part o f moral excellencej_there is-iiQ 
 s uch thing as moral excelleneej nor any 
 reason to rely on the declarations and 
 promises of the Almighty. A man may be 
 tempted to lie, but not without being con- 
 scious of guUt and of meanness. Shall we 
 impute to the Almighty what we cannot 
 impute to a man without a heinous affront ? 
 
 Passing this opinion, therefore, as shock- 
 ing to an ingenuous mind, and, in its con- 
 sequences, subversive of all religion, all 
 morals, and all knowledge, let us proceed to 
 consider the evidence of our having a natural 
 (K)nvictiou that we have some degree of 
 active power. 
 
 Th e ve ry conception or idea of active 
 pow er miistbe derived from something in our 
 own constitution. It is impossible to account 
 for it otherwise. We see events, but we 
 see not the power that produces them. We 
 perceive one event to follow another, but 
 
 •rites either from a mistake of the question, or from 
 a/orgel/ulneu qfthe motives by which our choice was 
 dftennwied."— iPhilosophy of the Active Powers. IL 
 p. 510.) 
 
 To deny, or rather to explain away, the obnoxious 
 phxnomenon of a sense of liberty, had, however, been 
 atten^tedby irany Necessitarians before Hartley, and 
 With far greater ingenuity than either he or his two fol. 
 lowers displayed. Thus Leibnitz, alter rejecting the 
 Liberty of Indifference, says, *< Quamobrem ratio ilia, 
 «|uain Cartesius adduxit, ad probandam actionum 
 nostrarum liberarum independentiara, ex jactato 
 quodam vivido scnsu intemo, vim nullam habet. A'on 
 pottutnus projrrie cjciK-7-in independent iam nostramt 
 nee causas a qttibus electio nostra pendet semper per. 
 eipimus, utpote saepe scnsum oraiiem fugientes. [He 
 here reters to his doctrine of 'latent mental moditica. 
 tloos.3 £t perinde est ac si acus magnetica versus po. 
 htm converti ketaretur ; putaret enim,se iUuccon- 
 perUindependenter a quacunque alia causa, cum non 
 perciperet molus insensibiles mater iae magncticae." 
 But, previously to Leibnitz, a similar solution and il- 
 lustration, I find, had been proposed by Haylc— his il. 
 luatration is a conscious weathercock ; but both philo. 
 lophersare, in argument and example, only followers 
 or Spinoza. Spinoza, after supposing that a certain 
 quantity of motion had been communicated to a stone, 
 proceed*^*' Porro concipe jam si placet, lapidem dum 
 moveri pergit cogitare et bcire, se quantum potest con. 
 ari ut moveri )>ergat. Hiclapissane, quandoquidem 
 •ui tantummodo conatus est coiificius et minime indif. 
 flerens, se libcrrimum esse et nulla alia de causa in mo. 
 tu perseverare crcdet quam quia vult.— ^/^m« hcechu- 
 aiana ilia libertas est qtiam omnes habere jactantj et 
 qua in hoc solo consistit—quod homines sui appetitus 
 sunt conscii, et causartwi a qttibus detemiinautur in. 
 MOri." Chrysippus's Top or Cylinder is the son rce.— H. 
 
 "^ It can easily be proved to those who are able and 
 not afraid to reason, that the doctrine o; Necessity 
 la subversive of religion, natural and revealed ; and. 
 Fatalism involving Atheism, the Necessitarian who 
 intrepidly ibllows out his scheme to its consequences, 
 however monstrous, will consistently rrject every 
 argttment which proceeds upon the supposition of a 
 Daty and divine attributes.— H. 
 
 [313-315] 
 
 we perceive not the chain that binds them 
 fogefherT The notion of power and causa- 
 tion, therefore, cannot be got from external 
 objects. 
 
 Yet the notion of causes, and the belief 
 that every event must have a cause which 
 had power to produce it, is found in every 
 human mind so firmly established, that it 
 cannot be rooted out. 
 
 This notion and this belief must have its 
 origin from something in our constitution ; 
 and that it is natural to man, appears from 
 the following observations. 
 
 !• Weare cousciQiia_o£ -many voluntary 
 exertions, some easy, others more- difficult, 
 some req^uiring a great effort.^ ^Thege are 
 exertions of_power. And, though a man 
 may be unconscious of his power when he 
 does not exert it, he must have both the 
 concfiptipii and the belief of itj, when he 
 knqwinglyand williugly exerts it, with illy 
 tention to produce some effect. [314J 
 
 2. Delibefation about an action of mo- 
 ment, whether we shall do. it ornot^^impiies a 
 gpnvictioa thatit is in_our jjower. To de- 
 liberate about an end, we must be con- 
 vinced that the means are in our power ; 
 and to deliberate about the means, we must 
 be convinced that we have power to choose 
 the most proper. 
 
 3. Suppose our deliberation, brouglit to 
 an issue, and that we resolve to do what 
 appeared proper, can we form such a reso-, 
 lution or purpose, without any conviction of 
 power to execute it ? No; it is Inipossible, 
 A man cannot resolve to lay out a sum of 
 money which he neither has nor hopes 
 ever to have. 
 
 4. Again, when I plight my faith in any 
 promise or contract, I must believe that I 
 shall have power to perform what I pro- 
 mise. Without this persuasion, a promise 
 would be downright fraud. 
 
 There is a condition implied in every 
 promise, »/ we live and •/ God continue un^ 
 us the power which he hath given us. Our 
 conviction, therefore, of this power dero- 
 gates not in the least from our dependence 
 upon God. The rudest savage is taught by 
 nature to admit this condition in all pro- 
 mises, whether it be expressed or not. For 
 it is a dictate of common sense, that we can 
 be under no obligation to do what it is im- 
 possible for us to do. 
 
 If we act upon the system of necessity, 
 there must be another condition implied iu 
 all deliberation, in every resolution, and in 
 every promise ; and that is, if we shall be 
 willing. But the will not being in our 
 power, we cannot engage for it. [315] 
 
 II this condition be understood, as it must 
 be understood if we act upon the system of 
 necessity, there can be no deliberation, or 
 resolution, nor any obligation in a promise. 
 A man might as well deUberate, resolve, and 
 
 ,*X t<f Wi*C>' • 
 
ON THB ACTIVE POWBES. 
 
 [■SSAY !▼. 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 FIRST ARGUMENT. 
 
 619 
 
 ftt^m^ m§m iek» mMam d it&m mm m 
 
 '«BiMi Ut own.. 
 
 It is no lets ««iiMillluit we }mm m^mm- 
 ¥ielion of power fa Mlier men, wliiii "'we 
 ftdviae, or persuade^ or comiiMOMly or oon- 
 •eive tliem to be under obligation by their 
 
 \ Ik Is it possible fit mj tarn to bkme 
 
 1 himself for yielding to neeeiilly f Then be 
 nmy Uiine UoBSei for dying, or for being a 
 
 ^mwronfni^ of power: 
 
 |H4, miffm m ma iliiiM iff ~^.*^-*t waa pos- 
 
 rfUg.^|ILl!ini to 4o^ w herein is^he to be 
 
 ff^ntAlp XfifiTii^ire , all conviction of wrpng 
 
 wm d oc^a B gsmowe and s^lf-condemnation, 
 
 tolj'a convictioi, of ouf,.jii«r to have 
 
 35ne better, take away thw conviction, 
 
 and there may be a iense of misery, or a 
 
 ilfiad tf evi to eome j but there can be no 
 
 Die of guilt or resolution to do better. 
 
 Many who hold the doctrine of necessity, 
 
 these consequences of it, and think 
 
 to evade them. To such, they ought not 
 
 to be imputed ; but their inseparable con* 
 
 MitiMi with that doctrine appears self-evi- 
 
 ifiit I and* tlwrefore, some lato patrons of 
 
 II* hum liai the boldness to avow them. 
 
 ** They eamiot accuse themselves of having 
 
 done anything wrong, in the ultimate sense 
 
 of the wofdfc^ In a strict tmam, they have 
 
 aoiiiiif todowiih. renentniiee, eonfession, 
 
 aai pardon— these helig adapted to a faUa- 
 
 eions view of thmgs.'* 
 
 Hmmo who can adopt these sentiments, 
 inifyfaideed, celebrate, withhigh encomiums, 
 ••^L ffval rnnd ghriom iottrim of Meet' 
 •%.** It restores them, in their own oon- 
 eeit, to the state of innocence. It delivers 
 them from all the pangs of guilt and re- 
 monei and from all fear about their future 
 eMdnet, 'though 'not' ahiiit 'their fate. They 
 may be as seeure that they shall do nothing 
 wniiig as those who have finished their 
 KPiifie. A ^dottfine m 'istterhig to the 
 iMiiid of a. BiniWi ii'f«iy^'i|*togiveilwiigth 
 to '«eak. 'afgaeata. [316] 
 
 Altar all, it is acknowledged, by thote who 
 'huMt^of thi0ilorious.doetfm% " Thateverjr 
 '■tn, M Mm use what 'illbfts he can, will 
 ■eoessarily feel the sontlnieats of shame, 
 temofse, and repentance, and, oppressed 
 with a ionso' M init, will have recourse to 
 that iiiPiyil wlich he stands in need." 
 
 The meaning of this seems to me to be, 
 That, although the doctrhie of necessity be 
 ■npportod by invincible ammenta, and 
 liiii^, it' be the most eonsoiitory doctrine 
 ii: 'lie world I yet no man, te his most 
 '■Mims momenta,. whfli;in' :8i8l8 him.Belf' be- 
 fore the throne of his Maker, can possibly 
 hilieve It, bnt^ nnit' then necessarily lay 
 iaide this glorioiia dootrine, and all its flat- 
 tering eonaeqneneea, and return to the 
 
 'PWNi -I " — "■II " *" " " «* i m mmmmmmmm ■ m i— ' n i mm mmtmmmmm ■»■ i m^^mmm 
 
 Ii ■tin niwc fxplKit^R 
 
 1 
 
 humiliating conviction of his having made a 
 bad uae of the power which God had given 
 him. 
 
 If the belief of our having active power 
 be neeessarily implied m those rational 
 operations we have mentioned, it must be 
 coeval with our reason ; it must be as uni» 
 veraal among men, and as necessary in the 
 conduct of life, as those operations are. 
 
 We cannot recoUect by memory when it 
 began. It cannot be a prejudice of educa- 
 tion, or of false philosophy. It must be a 
 part of our constitution, or the necessary 
 result of onr constitution and therefore 
 the work of God. 
 
 It resembles, in this respect, our belief of 
 the existence of a material world ; onr be* 
 lief that those we converse with are living 
 and intelligent beings ; our belief that those 
 things did really happen, which we distinctly 
 remember ; and our belief that we continue 
 the same identical persons. [317] 
 
 We find difficulty in accounting for our 
 belief of these thmgs; and some philoso- 
 phers think that they have discovered good 
 reasons for throwing it off. But it sticks 
 fast, and the greatest sceptic finds that he 
 
 miit yield to it in his practice, while hi" 
 
 — pjjjjjp ^jjj i^ in speculation. 
 
 f it be objected to this argument, That 
 the belief of our acting freely cannot be 
 unplied in the operations we have men- 
 tioned, because those operations are per- 
 formed by them who believe that we are, 
 in all our actions, governed by necessity— 
 the answer to this objection is, That men 
 in their practice may be governed by a be- 
 lief which in speculation they reject. 
 
 However strange and unaccountable this 
 may appear, there are many well-known 
 instances of it. 
 
 I knew a man who was as much convinced 
 aa any man of the folly of the popular bu- 
 lief of apparitions in the dark; yet he could 
 not sleep in a room alone, nor go alona 
 into a room in the dark. Can it be said, 
 that bis fear did not imply a belief of danger ? 
 This is impossibla Yet his philosophy 
 convinced him that he was in no more 
 danger in the dark when alone, than with 
 company. 
 
 Here an unreasonable belief, which was 
 merely a prejudice of the nursery, stuck so 
 last as to govern his conduct, in opposition 
 to his speculative belief as a philosopher and 
 a roan of sense. 
 
 There are few persons who can look down 
 tmm the battlement of a very high tower 
 without lear, whOe their reason convinces 
 them that they are in no more danger than 
 when standing upon the ground. [318] 
 
 
 * Tbii Ii hardly Implied. In this the modern Neeai. 
 ■Ilarlan, like the aacknt Fatalist, omlj admiu— 
 Mm qmqm Fatak €H, tic Iptmm efptitdare Fatum, 
 
 ""■ [S16-S181 
 
 There have been persons who professed 
 to believe that there is no distinction be- 
 tween virtue and vice, yet in their practice 
 they resented injuries, and esteemed noble 
 and virtuous actions. 
 
 There have been sceptics who professed 
 to disbelieve their senses and every human 
 &cnlty; but no sceptic was ever known, 
 who did not, in practice, pay a regard to 
 his senses and to his other faculties. 
 
 There are some points of belief so ne- 
 cessary, that, without them, a man would 
 not be the being which God made him. 
 These may be opposed in speculation, but 
 it is impossible to root them out. In a 
 speculative hour they seem to vanish, but 
 in practice they resume their authority. 
 This seems to be the case of those who hold 
 the doctrine of necessity, and yet act as if 
 they were free. 
 
 This natural conviction of some degree of 
 power in ourselves and in other men, re- 
 spects voluntary actions only. For, as all 
 our power is directed by our will, we gan 
 form no conception of power,_ jp^erJi^so 
 called, that is not und er the direction of 
 I win. • And therefore our exertions, our 
 deliberations, our purposes, our promises, 
 are only in things that depend upon our 
 wilL Our advices, exhortations, and com- 
 mands, are only in things that depend upon 
 the will of those to whom they are addressed. 
 We impute no guilt to ourselves, nor to 
 others, in things where the will is nut con- 
 eerned. 
 
 But it deserves our notice, that we do not 
 conceive everything, without exception, to 
 be in a man's power which depends upon 
 his wilL There are many exceptions to 
 this general rule. The most obvious of 
 Uioae I shall mention, because they both 
 serve to illustrate the rule, and are of im- 
 portance in the question concerning the 
 liberty of man. [319] 
 
 In the rage of madness, men are abso- 
 lutely deprived of the power of self-govern- 
 ment. They act voluntarily, but their will 
 is driven as by a tempest, which, in lucid 
 intervals, they resolve to oppose with all 
 their might, but are overcome when the fit 
 of madness returns. 
 
 Idiots are hke men walking in the dark, 
 who cannot be said to have the power of 
 choosing their way, because they cannot 
 distingiuah the good road from the bad. 
 Having no light in their understanding, they 
 must either sit still, or be carried on by 
 some blind impulse. 
 
 Between the darkness of infancy, which 
 is equal to that of idiots, and the maturity 
 of reason, there is a long twilight, which, 
 by insensible degrees, advances to the per- 
 fect day. ^_^_^^__^_ 
 
 « This mplicltly admlti what (though aeoiiiiiiily da. 
 aM) wtu italad m undeniable, ia not* at pb Wft— H. 
 
 [319, 320] 
 
 In this period of life, man has but little 
 of the power of self-government. His 
 actions, by nature, as well as by the laws 
 of society, are in the power of others more 
 than in his own. His folly and indiscretion, 
 his levity and inconstancy, are considered 
 as the fault of youth, rather than of the 
 man. We consider him as half a man and 
 half a child, and expect that each by turns 
 should play its part. He would be thought 
 a severe and unequitable censor of manners, 
 who required the same cool deliberation, 
 the same steady conduct, and the same 
 mastery over himself, in a boy of thirteen, 
 as in a man of thirty. 
 
 It is an old adage, That violent anger is 
 a short fit of madness.* If this be literally 
 true in any case, a man, in such a fit of 
 passion, cannot be said to have the com- 
 mand of himself. If real madness could 
 be proved, it must have the effect of mad- 
 ness while it lasts, whether it he for an hour 
 or for life. But the madness of a short fit 
 of passion, if it be really madness, is in- 
 capable of proof ; and therefore is not ad- 
 mitted in human tribunals as an exculpa- 
 tion. And, I believe, there is no case where 
 a man can satisfy his own mind that his 
 passion, both in its beginning and in its 
 progress, was irresistible. The Searcher of 
 hearts alone knows infallibly what allow- 
 ance is due in cases of this kind. [320] 
 
 But a violent passion, though it may not 
 be irresistible, is difficult to be resisted; 
 And a man, surely, has not the same power 
 over himself in passion, as when he is cool. 
 On this account it is allowed by all men to 
 alleviate, when it cannot exculpate; and 
 has its weight in criminal courts, as well as 
 in private judf^ment. 
 
 It ought likewise to be observed. That 
 he who has accustomed himself to restrain 
 his passions, enlarges by habit his power 
 over them, and. consequently over himself. 
 When we consider that a Canadian savage 
 can acquire the power of defying death in 
 its most dreadful forms, and of braving the 
 most exquisite torment for many long hours, 
 without losing the command of himself; 
 we may learn from this, that, in the con- 
 stitution of human nature, there is ample 
 scope for the enlargement of that power of 
 self-command without which there can be 
 no virtue nor magnanimity. 
 
 There are cases, however, in which a 
 man*s voluntary actions are thought to be 
 very little, if at all, in his power, on ac- 
 count of the Tiolence of the motive that 
 impels him. The magnanimity of a hero, 
 or of a martyr, is not expected in every 
 man, and on all occasions. 
 
 If a man trusted by the government with 
 a secret which it is high treason to disdose, 
 
 » Ira fUror brevi* Mt— H. 
 
toEU 
 
 ON THB ACTIVE POWEEa 
 
 f jMiir »*■• 
 
 %k WK&i^SEM. nwm bv a 'bribe. w% luiTe no 
 HMey l(irhiiii,ajidliaidly allow thtgimtest 
 bribo' to be any alleirmtioii of bis crime. 
 
 But, on tbe olber band, if tbe secret be 
 extorted by tbe rack, or by tbe dread of 
 present death, we pity bim more than we 
 Uaim hinii, aad would tbmk it severe and 
 OMMitable' to eondemn bim as a traitor. 
 fiSl} 
 
 What is the reason that all men agree in 
 eondemning tbla ;inan. as a traitor .in the 
 first plaee^ and. in the hist, either excul- 
 pate nim, or tbmk his fault greatly allevi- 
 ited ? If he acted necessarily in both cases, 
 compelled by an irresistible motive, I can 
 see no reason why we should not pass the 
 same judgment on both. 
 
 Bet tiW' leason of these' different jndg- 
 naenta^ Is evidently this— That the love of 
 BMBitJi. :aad 'Of what is called a man's Inte- 
 reety Is a cod motive, which leaves to a man 
 the entire power over himself; but tbe tor- 
 flMnt of the tack, or the dread of present 
 death, are so violent motives that men 
 who have not uncommon strength of mind, 
 a*i' not masters of tbemiselves in such a 
 •illation, and, therefore, what they do is 
 not Imputed, or is thought less criminaL 
 
 If a man resist such motives, we admire 
 hia fortitude, and think his conduct heroical 
 •iritartfnnimmu. If he yields, «e im- 
 pnte it to human frailty, and think him 
 lather to be pitied than severely censured. 
 
 lavelofate .habits are aiknowledged. to 
 ^imlnisli very considerably the power a man 
 has over himneE Although we may think 
 him highly hlameable in acquiring them, 
 yet, when tb^ are conirmed to a certain 
 ^dmree, we consldeff him ^as no longer master 
 nf hifii ff lfj, snd. baldly reolaiinable without 
 a miracle. 
 
 Thus we see that, tbe power which we 
 
 respects ' hiS' voluntaij actions . only, and 
 that it :iiaB 'wanous limitations even with 
 r^pid to them. Some actions that depend 
 upon our wii are easy, others very difficult, 
 and som% perhaps, beyond our power. In 
 different men, the power of self-go vernment 
 Is different, and In the eame man at dif- 
 ferent Hmes. It may be diminished, or 
 perhaps Icet, by bad habits; it may be 
 greatly inefiased by good habits. [822] 
 
 These' are facts attested by experience, 
 aai ■ipported by the common Judgment of 
 maiihini. Upon the system, of Liberty 
 'they are perfectly intelligible ; but, I tbmk, 
 irreconcileable to that of Necessity; for. 
 How can there be an easy and a difficult in 
 actioBS ef naily .subject to necessity ? — or, 
 H'OW can power- ''lie greater or lessi in- 
 ensaed or dim.inished, in those who liave 
 ni»' power' t 
 
 This natural conviction of our acting 
 
 hold t he doct rina^ -Q£_Di££esgity^ oiighi to 
 tHro w the whole b urden of proof upon that 
 side ; lor, by this, the side of liberty lias 
 what hiwyers call a jus quasitum, or a right 
 of ancient possession, which ought to stand 
 good till it be overturned. If it c annot be 
 proved that we alwaj'S act from necessity, 
 there is uo need of arguments on the other 
 side to convince us that we are free agejut^. 
 To illustrate this by a similar case: — 
 If a philosopher would persuade me that 
 my fellow-men with whom I converse are 
 not thinking, intelligent beings, but mere 
 machines, though I might be at a loss to 
 find arguments against this strange opinion, 
 I should think it reasonable to hold the 
 belief which nature gave me before I was 
 capable of weigbing evidence, until con- 
 vincing proof is brought against it. [323]. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SBCOND AROUMBNT. 
 
 That there is a real and essential distinc- 
 tion between right and wrong conduct, be- 
 tween just and unjust — That the most perfecit 
 moral rectitude is to be ascribed to the Deity 
 ~>That roan is a moral and accountable 
 being, capable of acting right and wrong, 
 and answerable for his conduct to Hun who 
 made him, and assigned him a part to act 
 upon the stage of M% ; are principles pro- 
 claimed by every man's conscience — princi- 
 ples upon which the systems of morality 
 and natural religion, as well as the system 
 of revelation, are grounded, and which 
 have been generally acknowledged by those 
 who hold contrary opinions on the subject 
 of human liberty. I shall therefore here 
 take them for granted. 
 
 These principles afford an obvious, and, 
 I think, an invincible argument, that man 
 is endowed with Moral Liberty. 
 
 Two things are implied in the notion of 
 a moral and accountable be my — Unaer ^ 
 standing o,nd Active Power. 
 
 Firsff He must understand th e law t o 
 which he is bound, and his obligation to obet/ 
 it. Moral obedience must be voluntary, and 
 must regard the authority of the law. I 
 may conunand my horse to eat when he 
 hungers, and drink when he thirsts. He 
 doee 80 ; but his doing it is no moral obedi- 
 ence. He does not understand my com- 
 mand, and therefore can have no will to 
 obey It. He has not the conception of mo« 
 ral obligation, and therefore cannot act 
 from the conviction of it, In eating and 
 drinking, he is moved by his own appetite 
 only, and not by my authority. [324] 
 
 Brute-animals are incapable of moral olh | 
 llption, because they have not that degree 
 ofiinleratanding which it Implies. They 
 
 [381-32*3 
 
 OliAP. VII.1 
 
 SECOND ARGUMENT. 
 
 621 
 
 have not the conception of a rule of conduct, 
 and of obligation to obey it, and therefore, 
 though they may be noxious, they cannot 
 be criminal. 
 
 Man, by his rational nature, is capable 
 both of understanding the law that is pre- 
 scribed to him, and of perceiving its obU- 
 gation. He knows what it is to be just and 
 honest, to injure no man, and to obey his 
 Maker. From his constitution, he has an 
 Immediate conviction of his obligation to 
 these things. He has the approbation of 
 his conscience when he acts by these rules ; 
 and he is conscious of guilt and demerit 
 when he transgresses them. And, without 
 this knowledge of his duty and his obliga- 
 tion, he would not be a moral and account- 
 able being. 
 
 5'^«m<//y, Another^ thing jmpliedJLQ_the 
 goUon oLa moral and, accountable being, is 
 yoig gr. to doijehat heJs. acr.nunlalle/or., 
 
 Tliat no man can be under a moral obli- 
 
 Sation to do what it isinipossible for him to 
 oHj^ to forbear what it iaJmpQasible foe 
 
 iim to forbear, is An ajLJom as self-evident 
 as anyln mathematics, li ca»aot_he CQp- 
 t^icted» without- overturning ajl nQtion of 
 mgyal Q hH|yj|.f.inn • nor can there be any ex- 
 ception to it, when it is rightly understood. 
 
 Some moralists have mentioned what 
 they conceived to be an exception to this 
 maxim. The exception is this. When a 
 man, by his own fault, has disabled himself 
 from doing his duty, his obligation, they 
 say, remains, though he is now unable to 
 discharge it. Thus, if a man by sumptu- 
 ous living has become bankrupt, his inabil- 
 ity to pay his debt does not take away his 
 obligation. [325] 
 
 To judge whether, in this and similar 
 cases, there be any exception to the axiom 
 above mentioned, they must be stated 
 accurately.* 
 
 No doubt a man is highly criminal in 
 living above his fortune, and his crime is 
 greatly aggravated by the circumstance of 
 his being thereby unable to pay his just 
 debt Let us suppose, therefore, that he is 
 punished for this crime as much as it de- 
 serves ; that his goods are fairly distributed 
 among his creditors, and that one half re- 
 mains unpaid. Let us suppose also, that 
 he adds no new crime to what is past, that 
 he becomes a new man, and not only sup- 
 ports himself by honest industry, but does 
 all in his power to pay what he still owes. 
 
 I would now ask. Is he further punish- 
 able, and really guilty for not paying more 
 than lie is able ? Let every man consult his 
 eonscienee, and say whether he can blame 
 this man for not doing more than he is 
 able to do. His guilt before his bank- 
 
 * Susli CMCi art eonsiderpd and solved on broader 
 grounds t^ Arlttotle. !$ee Nic. Eth. L. iil c. &-.-U. 
 
 ruptcy is out of the question, as he has 
 received the punishment due for it. But 
 that his subsequent conduct is unblameable, 
 every man must allow ; and that, iu his 
 present state, he is accountable for no more 
 than he is able to do. His obligation is nut 
 cancelled, it returns with his ability, aud 
 can go no farther. 
 
 Suppose a sailor, employed iu the navy 
 of his country, and longing for the ease of 
 a public hospital as an invalid, to cut off his 
 fingers, so as to disable him from doing the 
 duty of a sailor ; he is guilty of a great 
 crime ; but, after he has been punished 
 according to the demerit of his crime, will 
 his captain insist that he shall still do the 
 duty of a sailor ? Will he command him 
 to go aloft when it is impossible for him to 
 do it, and punish him as guilty of disobe- 
 dience ? Surely, if there be any such thing 
 as justice and injustice, this would be un- 
 just and wanton cruelty. [326] 
 
 Suppose a servant, through negligence 
 and inatteniion, mistakes the orders given 
 him by his master, and, from this mistake, 
 does wbat he was ordered not to do. It is 
 commonly said that culpable ignorance does 
 not excuse a fault. This decision b inac- 
 curate, because it does not shew where the 
 fault lies. The fault was solely in that in- 
 attention, or negligence, which was the 
 occasion of his mistake. There was no 
 subsequent fault. 
 
 This becomes evident, when we vary the 
 case so far as to suppose that he was un- 
 avoidably led into the mistake without any 
 fault on his part. His mistake is now in- 
 vincible, and, in the opinion of all moralists, 
 takes away all blame ; yet this new case 
 supposes uo change, but in the cause of his 
 mistake. His subsequent conduct was the 
 same in both cases. The fault therefore 
 lay solely in the negligence and inattention 
 which was the cause of his mistake. 
 
 The axiom. That invincible ignorance 
 takes awoy all blame, is only a particular 
 case of the general axiom, That there can 
 be no moral obligation to what is impossible ; 
 the former is grounded upon the latter, apd 
 can have no other foundation. 
 
 I shall put only one case more- Suppose 
 that a man, by excess and intemperance, 
 has entirely destroyed his rational faculties, 
 so as to have become perfectly mad or 
 idiotical ; suppose him forewarned of his 
 danger, and that, though he foresaw that 
 this must be the consequence, he went on 
 still in his criminal indulgence. A greater 
 crime can hardly be supposed, or more de- 
 serving of severe pug^^ua*^ / Suppose 
 him punished as he desw-ves ; will it be said, 
 that the duty of a man is incumbent upon 
 him now, when he has not the faculties of 
 a man, or that hemcurs new guilt when he 
 is not a moral agent ? Surely we may as 
 
 \ 
 
 A 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 c 
 
 IT 
 
 mil miiiMiBe a plant, or a clod of ■•ftti, io 
 1m a sutijeet of moral duty. [327] 
 
 Ttm #Miiiinilliav» given of ^em cams, 
 sn gfonnMl upon tlie fundamental prin- 
 •iplm of mofalB, the most immediate dio- 
 
 latea of oonscienee. If these principles are 
 given up, all moral reasoning is at an end, 
 md no distinetion is kH between what is 
 jnl and what is nnjnst. And it is evident 
 that none of these cases famishes any ex- 
 •eption to the axiom above mentioned. No 
 ■Mwal'' ohligitim ^ean be 'Oouistent with im- 
 pMslbiily in 'tlw perlbrmanee. 
 
 ji§lim ftuptr, tbetefore,. is necessarily 
 hmpled in the very notion of a moral ao- 
 flonntable being. And if man be such a 
 being, he must have a degree of active 
 power proportioned to the account he is to 
 tof^ He may have a model of perfection 
 isl before him which he is unable to reach ; 
 but, if he does to the utmost of his power, 
 {his is all he can be answerable for. To 
 *ncur guilt, by not going beyond his power, 
 % impoiBible. 
 
 What was said, in the fist argnment, of 
 lie limitation of our power, adds much 
 llrengti to the present argument. Aman*s 
 power, it was observed, extends only to his 
 voluntary actions, and has many limitations, 
 even with respect to them. 
 
 Hii mcem^tMsmm has the same extent 
 and. the same 'limitatio'ns. 
 
 In the rage of madness he has no power 
 over hinaelfi iflither is he accountable, or 
 •Bpalile of moral obligation. In ripe age, 
 '■MHI. b .afloonntable 'in a .greater degree than 
 In.'iiOB'^ge, beeaose lis power over himself 
 is greater. Violent ptisloiis and violent 
 motives alleviate what is done through 
 their iniueuee, in the same proportion as 
 th^ diminish the power of resistance. [328] 
 
 There is, ttofeiifo, •petlMl''eoiTC8pond- 
 eiee between poww, on the one hand, and 
 'UMinif oitaiHsn^ .and '«9i0sifiila:6lffi«tff, on the 
 other. 'TMf' 'Hot only eorrespond in gene- 
 ral, as they respeist voluntary actions only, 
 but every limitation of the first produces a 
 limitation of the two hut. 
 This, indeedTamounts to nothing more than 
 iial maxim of eommon sense, confirmed by 
 IlivilM: authority, *' j?bat to whom much is 
 given, of him mooli 'will be required.** 
 
 ' 'The anm of this aigmnsnt is — that a cer- 
 liitt' degree of' ^aotive 'power is the talent 
 'wildi Ood 'haili. given to every rational 
 aeoountable creature, and of which he will 
 require an account If man had no power, 
 be would have nothing to account for. All 
 wise ani' M foolish conduct, all virtue and 
 vice^ eODiitt in the right use or in the abuse 
 of that power which God hath ptven us. If 
 man had no power, he eonld neither be wise 
 nor foolish, virtuous nor vicious. 
 I If W9 ami iho' 'tmiitm ^of neceesitY, the 
 i tmrnm wmrmMgtmm and: moemtniableneis. 
 
 pram and bkum^ mmrit and demerit, juitice 
 
 and in^mikef rmmrd and punishment^ wj«- 
 d»m and /»/%, virtue and vicey ought to bo 
 disused, or to have new meanings given to 
 them when the^ are useS'in religion, in 
 morals, or in civil government ; for, upon 
 that system, there can be no such things 
 as they tiave beei^ always used to signify* { 
 (329] I 
 
 
 %jjaLAK I JBilb V M.M.Xm 
 TUI&O AROUIMNT. 
 
 That man has power over his own^ ac- 
 'tton s and volitions appears, because hejs 
 capablQ of carrying ou, wisely aud prudent- 
 Iv, a system of conduct, which be has be- 
 focfi conceived iniuajiuiid, and xeaolYed to 
 
 I talw It for granted, that, among the var- 
 ious oharaoteni of men, there have been 
 some who, after they came to years of un^ 
 dofstanding, deliberately laid down a phm 
 of conduct, which they resolve to pursuo 
 through life ; and that of these, some havo 
 steadily pursued the end they had in view, 
 by the proper means. 
 
 It is of no consequence in this argument, 
 whether one has made the best choice of 
 his main end or not ; whether his end be 
 riches, or power, or fame, or the approba- 
 tion of his Maker. I suppose only, that he 
 has prudently and steadily pursued it ; that, 
 in a long course of deliberate actions, he 
 has taken the means that appeared most 
 conducive to his end, and avoided whatever 
 might cross it. 
 
 That such conduct in a man demonstrates 
 a certain degree of wisdom and understand- 
 ing, no man ever doubted ; and I say it 
 demonstrates, with equal force, a oertain 
 degree of power over his voluntary determia- 
 ationa. 
 
 This will appear evident, if wo consider, 
 that understanding without power may pro- 
 ject, but can execute nothing. A regular 
 plan of conduct, as it cannot be contrived 
 without understanding, so it cannot be car- 
 ried into execution without power; and, 
 therefore, th© execution, as an effect, 
 demonstrates, with equal force, lioth power 
 and understanding in the cause. [330] 
 Every indication of wisdom, taken from 
 the effect, is equally an indication of power 
 to execute what wisdom planned. And, if 
 we have any evidence that the wisdom 
 which formed the phm is in the man, we 
 have the very same evidence that the power 
 whieh executed it is in him also. 
 
 In tills argument, we reason from the 
 same principles as in demonstrating the 
 
 'mPC34mU>Jk sbhuWiiS apwjs ai^^ai''WSwPWiis^^ ^pb^ 'Vh^^p jbt Mi^Pw ^«[#'^e^iBi^p%# *!#• 
 
 all things. 
 
 [S27-S301 
 
 OBAP. ▼IM.] 
 
 THIRD ARGUMENT. 
 
 623 
 
 The effects we observe in the course of 
 nature require a cause. Effects wisely ad- 
 apted to an end, require a wise cause. 
 Every indication of the wisdom of the Crea- 
 tor is equally an iudication of His power. 
 His wisdom appears only in the works done 
 by his power; for wisdom without power 
 may speculate, but it cannot act ; it may 
 plan, but it cannot execute its plans. 
 
 The same reasoning we apply to the 
 works of men. In a stately palace we see 
 the wisdom of the architect. His wisdom 
 contrived it, and wisdom could do no more. 
 The execution required both a distinct con- 
 eeption of the plan, and power to operate 
 according to that plan. 
 
 Let us apply these principles to the sup- 
 position we have made — That a man, in a 
 long course of conduct, has determined and 
 acted prudently m the prosecution of a cer- 
 tain end. If the man had both the wisdom 
 to plan this course of conduct, and that power 
 over his own actions that was necessary 
 to carry it into execution, he is a free 
 agent, and used his liberty, in this instance, 
 with understanding. [331 ] 
 
 fiut, if all his particular detenninations, 
 which concurred in the execution of this 
 plan were produced, not by himself, but by 
 some cause acting necessarily upon him, 
 then there is no evidence left that he con- 
 trived this plan, or that he ever spent a 
 thought about it 
 
 The cause that directed all the!»e determ- 
 inations so ivisely, whatever it was, must 
 be a wise and intelligent cause; it must 
 have understood the plan, and have intended 
 the execution of it. 
 
 If it be said that all this course of de- 
 termination was produced by Motives, mo- 
 tives, surely, have not understanding to 
 conceive a plan, and intend its execution.* 
 We must, therefore, go back beyond motives 
 to some intelligent being who had the power 
 of arranging those motives, and applying 
 them in their proper order and season, so 
 as to bring about tlie end. 
 
 This intelligent being must have under- 
 stood the plan, and intended to execute it. 
 If this be so, as the man had no hand in the 
 execution, we have not any evidence left 
 that he had any hand in the contrivance, or 
 even that he is a thinking being. 
 
 If we can believe that an extensive series 
 of means may conspire to promote an end 
 without a cause that intended the end, and 
 had power to choose and apply those means 
 for the purpose, we may as well believe that 
 this world was made by a fortuitous con- 
 course of atoms, without an intelligent and 
 powerful cause. 
 
 If a lucky concourse of motives could 
 
 * Chi the true tlgoiflcation of MoUvei, tee above, 
 p. 608. note *, and p. 610, note *.— H. 
 
 [331-3.^3] 
 
 produce the conduct of an Alexander or a 
 Julius Csesar, no reason can be given why 
 a lucky concourse of atoms might not pro* 
 duce the planetary system. 
 
 If, therefore, wise conduct in a man de- 
 monstrates that he has some degree of wis- 
 dom, it demonstrates, with equal force and 
 evidence, that he has some degree of power 
 over his own determinations. [332] 
 
 All the reason we can assign for believ. 
 ing that our fellow-men think and reason, 
 is grounded upon their actions and speeches. 
 If they are not the cause of these, there is 
 no reason left to conclude that they think 
 and reason. 
 
 Des Cartes thought that the human body 
 is merely an engine, and that all its motions 
 and actions are produced by mechanism. 
 If such a machine could be made to speak 
 and to act rationally, we might, indeed, 
 conclude with certainty, that the maker of 
 it had both reason and active power ; but, 
 if we once knew that all the motions of the 
 machine were purely mechanical, we should 
 have no reason to conclude that the man 
 had reason or thought. 
 
 The conclusion of this argument is — That, 
 if the actions and speeches of other men 
 give us sufiicient evidence that they are 
 reasonable beings, they give us the same 
 evidence, and the same degree of evidence, 
 that they are free agents. 
 
 There is another conclusion that may be 
 drawn from this reasoning, which it is pro- 
 per to mention. 
 
 Suppose a Fatalist, rather than give up 
 the scheme of necessity, should acknow- 
 ledge that he has no evidence that there is 
 thought and reason in any of his fellow- 
 men, and that they may be mechanical 
 engines for all that he knows, he will be 
 forced to acknowledge that there must be 
 active power, as well as understanding, in 
 the maker of those engines, and that the 
 first cause is a free agent. We have the 
 same reason to believe this as to believe 
 his existence and his wisdom. And, if the 
 the Deity acta freely, every argument 
 brought to prove that freedom of action is 
 impossible, must fall to the ground. [333\ 
 
 The First Cause gives us evidence of his 
 power by every effect that gives us evidence 
 of his wisdom. And, if he is pleased to 
 communicate to the work of his hands some 
 degree of his wisdom, no reason can be 
 assigned why he may not communciate 
 some degree of his power, as the talent 
 which wisdom is to employ. 
 
 That the first motion, or the first effect, 
 whatever it be, cannot be produced neces- 
 sarily, and, consequently, that the First 
 Cause must be a free agent, has been de- 
 monstrated so clearly and unanswerably 
 by Dr Clarke, both in his " Demonstra- 
 tion of the Being and Attributes of God,** 
 
UN lam Al/lIVJS FUWISK9, 
 
 ■ c 
 
 IV 
 
 ■nd in tlie end of hb " Remarks on Collinses 
 FMloeopMcal Baquiry concernmg Human 
 
 liilierty,*' tliat I 'Oui add notiiiiig to what he 
 .liB. said; nor ^ have I fonni. any ohjeo- 
 'tipi made to hia reaaoD'ingi. by any of the 
 Mndera of neoeasity. * 
 
 CHAFTEB IX. 
 
 OP ARGUMINTS FOB N.ECXS81TY* 
 
 Soaix of the aignments 'that have been 
 offered for 'Meeemty were ^alitady ooa- 
 aidered in this eaaay. 
 I It baa been said, Thai human Liberty 
 wmpmU onlf ihg^aeiimm ihaimsmtimqumi 
 iM Fililmi f and ikai power mwr the determ' 
 imii&m # ih& Wiii u incanceivabie, and 
 ^tmkee a eontradictiom. This argument 
 was oonsidered in the /r«l chapter. 
 
 It baa been laid, That Liberty is mMm* 
 ekieni wiik ike injiuemx qf MotimSf thai 
 it wonld make human miiam mpriciouMf 
 mad aMM m^gmemoMe bjf God or man, 
 Theae amimenta were considered in the 
 fmtrik and j^I chapters. |334] 
 
 I am now to male some remailia noon 
 aiher aiipiments that have been urged in 
 thia cause. They may, I think, be reduced 
 to threa elaaaea. The^ are intended to 
 prove, either f A] that hhertp ofdeterminO' 
 ll©i» is impossitle^or, [B] that it would be 
 Aitri/ifl— or, [C] thai, injmt, Man hat no 
 fueh Hkmtjf, 
 
 [A 1 To prove that Ube rht i>/ determina - 
 
 . . .- — . _j ii .J ■ ■ ■ -1.1 . 
 
 tion u tmpeuuae, it has aeenwid— Thst 
 
 ifiere^STa sulHcieDt reaspjij^ J|ieiy= 
 
 ^S«i -.--^flr. iTBiiK.. 'Exuilemk^.MJBmf 
 
 fi 
 
 The iHnoua German nhilosopher Leib* 
 niti boasted much of having first applied 
 
 byfliatmeana, changed metaphysics from 
 
 • It ll Mtdsil agato to say, that, in the prrc«ding 
 
 tlir-e sifitlMiilgllir Liberty, Keid haj done nothing 
 to render th e lelieine of Liberty wnceivable. But, if 
 our intellectual nature be not a lie^if our c >n» 
 
 mkmgwtm and conicience do not deceive u<« in 
 Ite'toiMilatt'ialiiliM' an Ab$olMte Law o/puty, 
 ''lo 'lay MilMiiig' of an Inniifldiatv datum of Liberty 
 laclf)--*! mtMtt Ml' we are m&na agents ; for no. 
 rality infolvet LlMrty ii iu essential condition— as 
 tis mtjo Msictuii But tills dootxioe I cannot now 
 divetofie^— tl. 
 
 f The principle of the Mfclml JBeofm, (p» ra. 
 tlmiiemmiitis,j^cail9dtlmmhm.bs Ldboitktbat 
 •IIIM m^rmining JUtucn, (p* rattans determinanm 
 t^fm^ Camenience^ (p. tmtwatkntuej— of Pfrfee. 
 Mom, (p. pa^Mmisj'-ana of the Order qf Exitt. 
 mm» fp» §afmeiUiarttmj~-i» one of the aaott exten. 
 ^vt. not to say amtriguout, rharacter. For It Is 
 ■Bfliirad ti> denote, conjunctly and seTcraUy. the 
 I«t0' 'HiaiiiplligliMl or teal principles -1% Why a 
 thing {#, fprmMum or ratio occndii/ S^. ^hya 
 thing fteeosMi or ir iwiodiieRi, (ji. orr^jliwlf /) and, 3P, 
 thm logical or ideal prindpl^ Wliy« thing is knomrn 
 m oPMceivetf, /». or r. cogmmmMj—U* 
 
 ; First he diet not.— H. 
 
 being a play of unmeaning words, to be * 
 rational and demonstrative science. On 
 this account it deserves to be considered. 
 
 A very obvious objection to this prin-) 
 ciple waa~That two or more means may be 
 equally lit for the same end ; and that, in 
 such a case, there may be a sufficient reason 
 for taking one of the number, though there 
 be no reason for preferring one to anothefi 
 of means equally fit. 
 
 To obviate this objection Leibnitz main- 
 tained, that the ease supposed could not 
 happen ; or, if it did, that none of the means 
 could be used, for want of a sufficient rea- 
 son to prefer one to the rest. Therefore he 
 determined, with some of the schoolmen — 
 That, if an ass could be placed between two 
 bundles of hay, or two fields of grass equally 
 inviting, the poor beast would certainly 
 stand still and starve ; but the case, he saya, 
 could not happen without a miracle. [335] 
 
 When it was objected to this principle, 
 That there could be no reason but the will 
 of God why the material world was placed 
 in one pari of unlimited space rather than 
 another, or created at one pomt of un- 
 limited duration rather than another, or 
 why the planets should move from west to 
 east, rather than in a contrary direction ; 
 these objections Leibnitz obviated by main- 
 taining, That there is no such thing as im- 
 occupied space or duration ; that space b 
 nothing but the order of tilings coexisting, 
 and duration is nothing but the order of 
 things successive ; that all motion is relat- 
 ive, so that, if there were only one body in 
 the universe, it would be immovable ; that 
 it is inconsistent with the perfection of the 
 Deity, that there should be any part of 
 space unoccupied by body ; and, I sup- 
 pose, he understood the same of every part 
 of duration. So that, according to this sys- 
 tem, the world, like its Author, must be 
 iufiuite, eternal, and immovable; or, at 
 least, as great in extent and duration aa il 
 is possible for it to be. 
 
 When it was objected to the principle of 
 a sufficient reason, That of two particles of 
 matter perfectly simihir, there can be no 
 reason but the will of God for placing thit 
 here and that there; this objection Leib- 
 nitz obviated by maintaining, that it is im- 
 possible that there can be two particles 
 of matter, or any two things, perfectly simi- 
 lar. And this seems to have led him to 
 another of his grand principles, which he 
 calls. The Identity of Indisceruibles,* 
 
 When the principle of a Sufficient Rea- 
 son had produced so man^ surprising dis- 
 coveries m philosophy, it is no wonder that 
 it should determine the long disputed ques- 
 tion about human liberty. Thia it does m 
 
 * This prlndnle I find enounced in ievcralaatbon 
 pior to LailMBlls.p-11. 
 
 [334, 335] 
 
 OMAP. IX. J 
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY, 
 
 625 
 
 a moment The determ inatio n of t he will 
 is an event for which therelniist be a |uffi^ 
 cient reason — that is, something previpus, 
 which was necessarily iiUa^'od hy that de- 
 tormiiiation, and couJd not be fQUowe.d by 
 any othe r dete rm i n a t i on .; ,therfiforfi it mm. 
 pec^s ary. [336] 
 
 Thus we see, that this principle of the 
 necessity of a Sufficient Reason for every- 
 thing, is very fruitful of consequences ; and 
 by its fruits we may judge of it. Those 
 who will adopt it, must adopt all the conse- 
 quences that hang upon it. To fix them 
 all beyond dispute, no more is necessary 
 but to prove the truth of the principle on 
 which they depend. 
 
 I know of no argument offered by Leib- 
 nitz in proof of this principle, but the 
 authority of Archimedes, who, he says, 
 makes use of it to prove that a balance 
 loaded with equal weights on both ends will 
 continue at rest. 
 
 I grant it to be good reasoning with re- 
 gard to a balance, or with regard to any 
 machine. That, when there is no external 
 cause of its motion, it must remain at rest, 
 because the machine has no power of moving 
 ;;itself. But to apply this reasoning to a man, 
 is to take for granted that the man is a 
 Imachine, which is the very point in question. • 
 
 Leibnitz and his followers would have us 
 to take this principle of the necessity of a 
 sufficient reason for every existence, for 
 every event, for every truth, as a first 
 principle, without proof, witliout explana- 
 tion J though it be evidently a vague pro- 
 position, capable of various meanings, as the 
 word reason is. It must have different 
 meanings when applied to things of so dif- 
 ferent nature as an event and a truth ; and 
 it may have different meanings when ap- 
 plied to the same thing. We cannot, there- 
 fore, form a distinct judgment of it in the 
 gross, but only by taking it to pieces, and 
 applying it to difi'erent things, in a precise 
 and distinct meaning. 
 
 It can have no connection with the dis- 
 pute about liberty, exeept when it b applied 
 to the determinations of the will. Let us, 
 therefore, suppose a voluntary action of u 
 man ; and that the question is put. Whether 
 was there a sufficient reason for this action 
 or not ? [337] 
 
 The fffttural and obvious mean ing of this 
 question is-— Was there a motive to the 
 iiction Bu^cient tojusti6^ it to be wige and 
 
 d>-9r> at least, Innocent? Surely, in 
 sense,, there is not a sufficient reason 
 very human action, because there are 
 that are foolish, unreasonable^ and 
 ii]UMatifiable.t 
 
 * See above, p. 610, b, note *.— H. 
 
 f Rut, in regard to «he tignification of motive*, 
 LeiUnilx s-nys:— " Non semper rcquimurjudiciuni ul- 
 timum iniellectua practici, diim nd voleudum not de- 
 
 [83«-338] 
 
 Ifthejmea!iillg.fif the.question he— Was 
 there a caiise of Jtlie. action ? Undoulitedly 
 th"ere was. Of every event there must be a 
 cause that had power sufficient to produce 
 It, and tliat exerted that power for the. pur- 
 j)ose. In the present case, either the inaa» 
 was the cause of the action,, and then, it 
 was a free action, and is justly imputed to 
 him* ; or it must have had another cause, 
 and cannot justly be imputed to the man.* 
 In this sense, therefore, it is granted that 
 there was a sufficient reason for the action ; 
 but the question about liberty is not in the 
 least affected by this concession. 
 
 If, again, the meaning^of the question be 
 — Was there something previous to the., 
 action wKcH made it to be necessarily pro- 
 duced ? — every man who believes that the ^ 
 action was free, will answer to thi§ question T 
 in the negative, "f^ 
 
 I know no other meaning that can he 
 put upon the principle of a sufficient rea- 
 son, when applied to the determinations of 
 the human will, besides the three I have 
 mentioned. In the first, it is evidently t 
 false ; in the second, it is true, but does | 
 not affect the question about liberty ; in the / 
 third, it is a mere assertion of necessity | 
 without proof. ' 
 
 Before we leave this boasted principle, 
 we may see how it applies to events of 
 another kind. When we say that a philo- 
 sopher has assigned a sufficient reason for 
 such a phsenomenon, what is the meaning 
 of this? The meaning surely is, that he 
 has accounted for it from the known laws 
 of nature. The sufficient reason of a pliae- 
 nomenou of nature must therefore be some 
 law or laws of nature, of which the phseno- 
 menon is a necessary consequence. But 
 are we sure that, in this sense, there is a 
 sufficient reason for every phsenomenon of 
 nature ? I think we are not. [338] 
 
 For, not to speak of miraculous events 
 in which the laws of nature are suspended 
 or counteracted, we know not but that, in 
 the ordinary course of God's providence, 
 there may be particular acts of his adminis- 
 tration that do not come under any general 
 law of nature- 
 Established laws of nature are necessary 
 for enabling intelligent creatures to conduct 
 their affairs with wisdom and prudence, 
 and prosecute their ends by proper means ; 
 but still it may be fit that some particular 
 events should not be fixed by general laws, 
 
 tertninamus; at ubi vo umus, semper sequimur col- 
 lectionem omnium mclinationum, tarn a parte ra. 
 tiorium, quam passioiium, profectarum ; id quod 
 sspenumero sine exprecso intellectus judicio contin. 
 git."-(27?eod. P. I. § 51. 0(). I. p. lo(>.) See also 
 above, p. «i<Te, b, note *, and p. 61 1', b, note*.— H. 
 * See above, p. 608, b, note^, and p. 61 1, a, note* 
 
 t If it had a cause, (and every effect is the product 
 of more than one cause,) then " was there something 
 previous to the action which made it to be neceasarlly 
 produced." For, posita catuot ponitur ^ectut.'—H. 
 
 28 
 
 ): 
 
ON THE ACTIVl POWlia 
 
 [B|g4Y IT* 
 
 inl be difeotad hf particulAr acts of ilie ^ 
 mwim government, that bo his nuooable 
 mmtmm imy bftve snffieiont indnflement 
 to sappiait*' liii aid, liiB prolMtioii and 
 dinctioii, and to depend upon hia lor tli» 
 ■wmetm of their honeat deaigni' 
 
 We see that, In human governments, 
 
 even those that are most legpO, it is impoe- 
 
 ■ihlo thai ovetf tmt of the administration 
 
 , ahoaM ho dfewited by established laws. 
 
 I 8o«i«i things must be hsft to the direction 
 
 of the executive power, and particularly 
 
 •eis of demen^ and bounty to petitioning 
 
 sablects. That iiew is nothing analogous 
 
 It tO' this in the Dtvin© govetimiiilt' of the 
 
 WOTld, no man is able to prove. 
 
 We have no authority to pray that God 
 wmM eountetaet or suspend the laws of 
 HKtiUA' M Mtf behalf. Prayer, therefore, 
 «i|ipoaea <h«l be may lend an ear to our 
 prayers, without transgressing the laws of 
 nature. Some have thooght that the only 
 use of piayet and devotion is, to produce a 
 proper tempor and disposition in ourselves, 
 and that it has no efficacy with the Deity. 
 But this is a hypothesis without proof. It 
 •ontiadicts our rooal natnial sentiments, as 
 nei M the plain doetrine of Scripture, and 
 tends to damp the fervour of every act of 
 
 devotion.* [3391 
 
 It was, mdeed, an article of the system 
 of Lelbnita, That the Deity, since the crea- 
 iM of the worid, never did anything, ex.- 
 
 eeptiag i& the ease of miracles i his work 
 bdng made so perfect at irat as never to 
 need Ms intefporftion. But, in this, he 
 wail oppoaii by Sir Isaae Newton, and 
 others of the ablest philosojphers, nor was 
 he ever able to give any proof of this tenet, f 
 There is no evidence, therefiofe, that there 
 is ft snffiflieiit reason for every natural 
 event i If, tar a sufficient reason, we under- 
 stand some iked law or laws of nature^ of 
 wMeh that event is a neeeisa^ry mme- 
 
 But what, iliall «« my^ is a sufficient 
 reason for a truth I For our belief of a 
 truth, I think, the sufficient reason is our 
 having good evidenee; but what may be 
 meant by a auliefaiit reason for its being a 
 truth I am not able to liess, unless the 
 iifficient reason of a eonthigent truth he. 
 
 That it t« tme $ and, of a necessary truth. 
 That it mu9t h§ true. This makes a man 
 little wiser. 
 
 From what has been said, I thmk it ap- 
 pears, that this principle of the necessity 
 of a sufficient reason for everything is very 
 indefinite in its signification. If it mean, 
 that of every event there must be a cause 
 that had sufficient power to produce it, this 
 is true, and has always been admitted as « 
 first principle in philosophy, and in common 
 life.* If it mean that every event must 
 he necessarily consequent upon something 
 (called a sufficient reason) that went before 
 it ; this is a direct assertion of universal fatal- 
 ity, and has many strange, not to say ab- 
 surd, consequences." But, in this sense, it 
 is neither self-evident, nor has any proof of 
 it been offered. And, in general, m every 
 sense in which it has evidence, it gives no 
 new information; and, in every sense m 
 which it would give new information, it 
 wants evidence. [340] 
 
 if noiAfif argument that^as_been used to 
 
 prove liberty of actioR-lft fee injPPSsiWeJsj 
 
 Thai"'U implies " an effect without a cause. * 
 
 Io_th»«i it miLy he briefly answered^ 
 
 Thilji free action is an e flect produce d Ib^ 
 
 * • ' )wer~{md will to produce 
 
 a being who had poi 
 
 it ; therefore.it.js not an. 
 
 cause. 
 
 To.suppose any other cause necessary to 
 the production of an effect thwi_a_^mg 
 who kMl the power and the will to produce . 
 it, is a contradiction ; for it is to supj^)^ 
 that beiiUE to iiaxe-power to produ ce th e 
 effe^t^iiBMel-to^ have power tapfodiic&it 
 
 But, as great stress is laid upon this 
 argument by a kte zealous advocate for 
 neee8sity,f we shall consider the light in 
 which he puts it 
 
 He introduces this argument with an ob- 
 servation to which I entirely agree. It is, 
 That* to establish this doctrine of neces- 
 sity, nothing is necessary but that, through- 
 out all nature, the same consequences 
 should invariably result from the same cir- 
 
 iKHm.i^'"! 
 
 la litailoa to the Itft it e paragraphs, and 
 jiewtaii Uniaf be obmved, lh»t, of a bypcr. 
 M w«ll as or a physical event, we mu-'t. by a 
 neiital law, alwajs suppoM a tufncient 
 
 HMM 
 tHMiJ 
 laWS' 
 
 ■a wllf It jf, and If at it it; and Reid has no 
 ini on wbkb to rtMiict the L<>tbnttsian avplk**- 
 
 of lliu principle to 
 
 1, of ■at«f*.— H. 
 
 the iphere of the ordinary 
 
 t T W# opialon of Lcilinlts itandt, hoverer, alto. 
 
 mtHif aMatiNMB hit doctrine ol the Sufficient Re*. 
 SSTlSt docttine U eoually aii>licablc in the theory 
 orllalel>r«M!lie. who Tiewetl the Deity a» the proxi- 
 wmum efficient estis> of tfery effect in nature, ami 
 ta lit theory of Leibnits tiinietr, who held that the 
 IMtf opcraftcdto the univcr conce, and once fo? all. 
 
 I know nothing more that can be desired 
 to establish universal fatality throughout the 
 univeraeb When it is proved that, through 
 all nature, the same consequences invari- 
 ably result from the same circumstances, the 
 doctrine of Uberty must be given up. 
 [341] 
 
 To prevent all ambiguity, I grant that, in 
 reasoning, the same consequences, through- 
 out all nature, will invariably follow from 
 the same premises ; because good reasoning 
 must be good reasoning in all times and 
 places. But this has nothing to do with 
 the doctrine of necessity. The thing to be 
 
 * Hmw two posit iont are. in reality, one and tlw 
 tame 8>tMcient Hfotm ^ Sttm </Cii««cv.— H. 
 t Priestley.— H. 
 
 [33!>-S411 
 
 CitAP. U.J 
 
 OF ARGUME.VTS FOR NECESSITY. 
 
 627 
 
 proved, therefore, in order to establish that 
 doctrine, is, That, through all nature, the 
 same events invariably result from the same 
 circumstances. 
 
 Of this capital point, the proof offered by 
 that author is, That an event not preceded by 
 any circumstances that determined it to be 
 what it was, would hean effect without a cause. 
 Why so ? " For,** says he, ** a cause can- 
 not be defined to be anything b^t such pre- 
 v'wut circumstances as are- constantly^ foU 
 hwe'l by a certain effect ; the constancy of 
 the result making us conclude that there 
 must be a sufficient reason, in the nature of 
 things, why it should be produced in those 
 eircuinstancea.*** — [D wtiine of Fhilosophi' 
 cal Necessity f p. 11.] 
 
 I acknowledge that, if this be the only 
 definition that can be given of a Cause, it 
 will follow that an event not preceded by 
 circumstances that determined it to be what 
 it was, would be (not an effect without a 
 cause, which is a contradiction in terms, 
 but) an event without a cause, which I hold 
 to be impossible. The matter, therefore, is 
 brought to this issue. Whether this be the 
 only definition that can be given of a cause ? 
 
 With regard to this point, we may ob- 
 serve, >V«f, That this definition of a cause, 
 bating the phraseology of putting a cause 
 under the category of circunmiances, which 
 I take to be new, is the same, in other 
 words, with that which Mr Hume gave, of 
 which he ought to be acknowledged the in- 
 ventor ; for I know of no author before Mr 
 Hume, who maintained that we have no 
 other notion of a cause but that it is some- 
 thing prior to the effect, which has been 
 found by experience to be constantly fol- 
 lowed by the effect. This is a main pillar 
 of his system ; and he has drawn very im- 
 portant consequences from this definition, 
 which I am far from thinking this author 
 will adopt. [342] 
 
 Without repeating what I have before 
 said of causes in the first of these Essays, 
 and in the second and third chapters of 
 this, I shall here mention some of the con- 
 sequences that may be justly deduced from 
 this definition of a cause, that we may 
 judge of it by its fruits. 
 
 First, It follows from this definition of a 
 cause, that night is the c^use of day, and 
 day the cause of night. For no two things 
 have more constantly followed each other 
 since the beginning of the world. 
 
 Seeondlyy It follows from this definition 
 of a cause, that, for what we know, any- 
 thing may be the cause of anything, since 
 nothing is essential to a cause but its being 
 constantly followed by the effect If this 
 be so, what is unintelligent may be the 
 oause of what is intelligent ; folly may be 
 
 * See above, p. fiOt, b, note *.— H. 
 
 the cause of wisdom, and evil of good ; all 
 reasoning fromthe nature of the effect^to 
 the nature of the cause, and all reasoning 
 from final causes, must be given up as fal- 
 laciouH. 
 
 Thirdly, From this definition of a cause, 
 it follows that we have no reason to con- 
 clude that every event must liave a cause ; 
 for innumerable events happen, when it 
 cannot be shewn that there were certain 
 previous circumstances that have constantly 
 been followed by such an event. And, 
 though it were certain that every event 
 we have had access to observe had a cause, 
 it would not follow that every event must 
 have a cause ; for itris contrary to the rules 
 of logic to conclude, that, because a thing 
 has always been, therefore it must be — to 
 reason from what is contingent to what is 
 necessary. [343] 
 
 Fourthly, From this definition of a cause, 
 it would follow that we have no reason to 
 conclude that there was any cause of the 
 creation of this world ; for there were no 
 previous circumstances that had been con- 
 stantly followed by such an effect And, 
 for the same reason, it would follow from 
 the definition, that whatever was singular 
 in its nature, or the first thing of its kind, 
 could have no cause. 
 
 Several of these consequences were fondly 
 embraced by Mr Hume, as necessarily fol- 
 lowing from his definition of a cause, and 
 as favourable to his system of absolute scep- 
 ticism. Those who adopt the definition of 
 a cause, from which they follow, may choose 
 whether they will adopt its consequences, 
 or shew that they do not follow from the 
 definition. 
 
 A second observation with regard to this 
 argument is. That a definition of a cause 
 may be given, which is not burdened with 
 such untoward consequences. 
 
 Why may not an Efficient Cause be de- 
 fined^ foTe a 'fjeing that hadpoweraud will 
 to produce' the effect f The production of 
 an effect requires active power, and active 
 power, being a quality, must be in a being 
 endowed with that power. Power without 
 will produces no effect ; but, where these 
 are conjoined, the effect must be produced. 
 
 This, I think, is the proper meaning of 
 the word cause, when it is used in meta- 
 physics ; and particularly when we affirm, 
 tliat everything that begins to exist must 
 have a cause ; and when, by reasoning, we 
 prove that there must be an eternal First 
 Cause of all things. 
 
 Was the world produced by previous 
 circumstances which are constantly followed 
 by such an effect ? or. Was it produced 
 by a Being that had power to produce it, 
 and willed its production ? [344] 
 
 In natural philosophy, the word cau^e is 
 often used in a very different sense. When 
 
 ^ r2 
 
 /•• 
 
 1 
 \ 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS 
 
 [EiSAY If. 
 
 v.. 
 
 iB «v«il ii fmimstid according to m known 
 
 hm off nmtufo, the law of natufo m eaUea 
 tlie eauw of that «*«nt Bui a law of na. 
 tore m not the dUcknt oanio of »nj ©^ent. 
 It it only the rule, tocoiding to wMdi the 
 
 eSeient cause acta. A law is a ihing con- 
 ouivecl in the mind of a rational bein|^ not 
 a t-hwg that has a real eiuateiMO | ^and, taere- 
 §m%mm amotife, il ■can neithef ■ act nor be 
 Miod iiPO% and 'Oonaeqnently cannot bC' 
 an dicMit eaoMS. If there tm no being 
 llwl aets according to thehiw,it produces 
 
 no eflk!t« 
 
 Thia aniior talea it for giantadi thai 
 mwn wimitarj action of man wia deter- 
 aiied to be what it was bj the kws of iia- 
 ture^ in the same lenae as^ .moilianical mo- 
 tiMii are determined by the laws of motion ; 
 •ni aal eieiy choice, not thnn determined, 
 '*'fia jiati il imiNMiiblc as that^ a mechanical 
 nolaiin ^shomld depend upon no certain law 
 tt mi%. or that any other effect should ex- 
 M wUhonl » canse." 
 
 it ought hero to be observed, that there 
 aft two kinds of kws, botli very properly 
 «alM kim ^mtwe, which ought not to be 
 ionfoiinded. There are mmd laws of na- 
 'tiiie,. and p^fmmd laws of natof©.' The 
 Jlraf' art' tlie'mlcs which God has prescribed 
 to his rational creatures te their conduct 
 They mpeot voluntary and free actions 
 only t iif no other actions can be subject 
 'to moral rules. These hiws of nature 
 ought to be always obeyed, but they are of- 
 ten transgnMied by men. There i§, there- 
 for% no impossibility in the vioktion of the 
 mi»al laws of nature, nor is such a vioktion 
 an ctfect without a causa The transgres- 
 sor is tho cansei and is justly unaccountable 
 for it. |S4J»] 
 
 Tho fftffiiMil iam i^'tmim» mm tho rales 
 .aocordtng' to^ which 'tho Betty eonumnly acts 
 in his natural government of the world; 
 and whatever is done according to them, is 
 'iwt:. dono^ 1^' man, but by 'God, either im- 
 ■lidiiloly or 'hy uiBtrumonts 'imdor his di- 
 fiction. These kws of nature neither ro- 
 stndn the pwer of the Author of nature, 
 nor bring him under any obligation to do no- 
 thing beyond their sphoroi lio .has some- 
 times acted 'Oontfafy toi them, te tho case of 
 ■Ifiwlfls, and, perhaps, often acts without 
 lepid to them, in the ordinary course 
 of 'his piovidence. Neither miraculous 
 events, which are contrary to the phy- 
 
 • On me amblfiMiit eatttnt in which the lefm 
 Hiliin' k emplojJ, 9m sboKc, _p. s? l_6, i»otc f. Ety- 
 
 _ jloally MoiiilimL '** phjaical l«wt o> nature 
 to tMtolQgteal--flilillM equivalent to nahmii 
 
 It wiHiltl, ptrlliii,lMW lieta belter to have dUtin- 
 
 Etohrd the «m« mm of towa simply as m&ral Uitet, m 
 m ^ Jntm§mm ihe other as physical lawt, m 
 
 d/Natrnt. Nature would thuiberstricted to 
 
 tic niAtenal univefiet •» i* t»one by the German phi- 
 |fl f » t>ft l, Bat it miiat be admitted that there i« no 
 
 iaifiniliffe tcaioo why Mature ahould uot be lued tt 
 eeinptiltiidlMKh miiMl sml matter, m. waf done by 
 
 tiM (inifi,'|ililloiii|ilittfc-H. 
 
 ncal kwa of nature, nor such ordinary 
 acts of the Divine administration as are 
 without tfieir sphere, are impossible, nor 
 are they effects mthmt a cause. God is the 
 cause of them, and to him only they are to 
 he imputed. 
 
 That the moral laws of nature are often 
 transgressed by man, is undeniable. If the 
 physical laws of nature make his obedience 
 to the moral laws to be impossible, then he 
 is, in the literal sense, ftom under one law, 
 bound unto another, which contradicts every 
 notion of a righteons government of tho 
 world. 
 
 But though this supposition were attended 
 with no such shocking consequence, it !• 
 merely a 6Ui)po8ition ; and, until it be proved, 
 tliat every choice or voluntary action of man 
 is determined by the physical laws of nature, 
 this argument for necessity is only the tak- 
 ing for granted the point to be proved. 
 
 Of the same kind is the argument for the 
 impossibility of liberty, taken from a balance, 
 which cannot move but as it is moved by 
 the weights put into it. Thb argument, 
 though urged by almost every writer in de- 
 fence of necessity, is so pitiful, and has been 
 so often answered, that it scarce deserves 
 to be mentioned. 
 
 Every argument in a dispute, which is 
 not grounded on principles granted by both 
 parties, is that kind of sopliism which lo- 
 gicians call pet'tio principii f and such, in 
 my apprehensiun, are all the arguments 
 offered to prove ttiat liberty of action k im» 
 poi-sible. [346] 
 
 It may farther be observed, that every 
 argument of thk class, if it were really con- 
 clusive, must extend to the Deity, as well 
 as to all created beings ; and necessary ex- 
 istence, which has always been considered 
 as the prerogative of the Supreme Being, 
 must belong equally to every creature and 
 to every event, even the most trifling. 
 
 Thk I take to be the system of Spinosa, 
 and of those among the ancients who carried 
 fatality to the highest pitch. 
 
 I before referred the reader to Dr Clarke's 
 argument, which professes to demonstrate 
 that the First Cause is a free agent. Until 
 that argument shall be shewn to be fallaci- 
 ous, a thing which I have not seen at- 
 tempted, such weak arguments as have 
 been brought to prove the contrary, ought 
 to have little weight* 
 
 * At I have before observed, the advocates of 
 liberty and of NeoeMity are severally »ucce»fful in 
 proving the doctrine of their antagouUia to t>r, under 
 the law ofcaiueand ellt-ct, fundamentally incompre. 
 hinsiblc. If not •elf-repugnant ; but it rcmain> to he 
 •hewn, on the very coudiiion* of human thought, 
 * hy theae counter icbcmei are, and mutt be. un. 
 Ibltiliiible.— Ii. 
 
 [345, Si«3 
 
 CUJP. X.] 
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 
 
 029 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THS SAMS SUBJECT. 
 
 [B. ] With regard to the second class of 
 arguments for necessity, which are intended 
 to prove that liberty of action would be 
 hurtful to man, I have only to observe, that 
 it is a fact too evident to be denied, whether 
 we adopt the system of Liberty or that of 
 Necessity, that men actually receive hurt 
 from their own voluntary actions, and from 
 the voluntary actions of other men ; nor 
 can it be pretended, that this fact is .incon- 
 sistent with the doctrine of liberty, or that 
 it is more unaccountable upon this system 
 than upon that of necessity. [347] 
 
 In order, therefore, to draw any solid 
 argument against liberty, from its hurtful- 
 ness, it ought to be proved — That, if man 
 were a free agent, he would do more hurt to 
 himself, or to others, than he actually does. 
 
 To this purpose, it has been said, That 
 liberty would make men's actions caprici- 
 ous J that it would destroy the influence of 
 motives ; that it would take away the effect 
 of rewards and punishments ; and that it 
 would make man absolutely ungovernable. 
 
 [C] These arguments have been al- 
 ready considered in the fourth and fifth 
 chapters of this Essay ; and, therefore, I 
 shall now proceed to the third class of ar- 
 guments for necessity, which are intended 
 to prove, that, in fact, meti are not free 
 agents. 
 
 The most formidable argument of this 
 class, and, I think, the only one that has 
 not been considered in some of the preced- 
 ing chapters, is taken from the prescience 
 ef the Deity. 
 
 God foresees every determination of the 
 human mind. It must, therefore, be what he 
 foresees it shalt be ; and, therefore, must be 
 necessary. 
 
 This argument may be understood three 
 different ways, each of which we shall con- 
 sider, that we may see all its force. 
 
 The necessity of the event may be thought 
 to be a just consequence, either barely from 
 t/« beiim certainly future — or barely from 
 its being foreseen—or from the impombility 
 cf its being foreseen if it was not neces^ I 
 sary, ' 
 
 First, It may he thought, that, as no. 
 thing can be known to be future -which is 
 not certainly future ; so, if it be certainly 
 future, it must be necessary. [348] 
 
 This opinion has no less authority in its 
 fiivour than that of Aristotle, who indeed 
 held the doctrine of liberty, but believing, 
 at the same time, that whatever is certainly 
 future njust be necessary, in order to defend 
 the liberty of human actions, maintained. 
 That contingerU events have no certain 
 [347-348] 
 
 futurity ;• but I know of no modem advo- 
 cate for liberty who has put the defence of 
 it upon that issue. 
 
 It must^be granted, that, as whatever was, 
 certainly was, and whatever is, certainly is, 
 so whatever shall be, certainly shall be. 
 These are identical propositions, and can- 
 not be doubted by those who conceive them 
 distinctly. 
 
 But I know no rule of reasoning by which 
 it can be inferred, that, because an event 
 certainly shall be, therefore its production 
 must be necessary. The manner of its pro- 
 duction, whether free or necessary, cannot 
 be concluded from the time of its produc- 
 tion, whether it be past, present, or future. 
 That it shall be, no more implies that it 
 shall be necessarily than that it shall be 
 freely produced ; for neither present, past, 
 nor future, have any more connection with 
 necessity than they have with freedom. 
 
 I grant, therefore, that, from events be- 
 ing foreseen, it may be justly concluded, 
 that they are certainly future ; but from J 
 their being certainly future, it does not fol- 1 
 low that they are necessary. |^ 
 
 Secondly, If it be meant by this argu- \ 
 ment, that an event . must be necessary^ \ 
 merely because it is foreseen, neither is this | 
 a just consequence ; for it has often been * 
 observed, That prescience and knowledge of 
 every kind, being an inmiauent act, has no 
 effect upon the thing known. Its mode of 
 existence, whether it be free or necessary, 
 is not in the least affected by its being 
 known to be future, any more than by its 
 being known to be past or present. The 
 Deity foresees his own future free actions, 
 but neither his foresight nor his purpose 
 makes them necessary. The argument, 
 therefore, taken in this view, as well as in 
 the former, is inconclusive. [349] 
 
 A third way in which this argument may 
 be understood, is this — // is impossible that 
 an event which is not necessary should be 
 foreseen ; therefore every event that is cer- \ 
 tainly foreseen must be necessary. Here | 
 the conclusion certainly follows from the 
 antecedent proposition, and therefore the 
 whole stress of the argument lies upon the 
 proof of that proposition. 
 
 Let us consider, therefore, whether it can 
 be proved — That no free action can be cer- 
 tainly foreseen. If this can be proved, it 
 will follow, either that all actions are ne- 
 cessary, or that all actions cannot be foreseen. 
 
 * See De Inlerpretatione, c. ix. ; and there the 
 commentary of Amraonius. By contingent is meant 
 what 4nay or may not happen. On this definition, 
 Aristotle, therefore, justly aigued, that, of any pro. 
 position concerning future contingents, we can only 
 say indefinitely that it may or may not be true ; nor 
 is it possible for the human mind to conceive how, 
 without contradiction, a future event can beat once 
 viewed as certain, (that is, which cannot, by not hap- 
 pening, possibly falsify .the affirmation that it will 
 happen,) and contingent, (that is, which may or m^y 
 not happen.} See Note v. - H. 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay IV. 
 
 W llh, rami U %• ,|iw«rt po|»<»*^»— 
 nmUi$ SmtmBk thaitmiffimmmfi cm 
 itmfitMlfjmmtmnf I observe^' 
 
 jFlrtl, Tkit every mau who believes the 
 Bcily to be m. free' a^ent, 'mnsl believe that 
 Ibii MiiMiitieii not onlj is incafable of 
 Iifoof, but that it ia certainly lalse. For 
 the man himaelf foweeee, that 'the Judge 
 nf all the earth will always do what is 
 lUht, and that he will fulfil whatever he 
 baa promiaed. 5 and, at the same time, be- 
 ll«ves, that, in doing what ia fight, and m 
 ihiiling baa promises, the Deity acts with 
 the moat perfect fredom. 
 
 Smmdijf, I observe, that every man who 
 biiima that it is an absurdity or contradic- 
 iioB tiiat any free action should be certainly 
 foreaeen, must beUeve, if he wEl be wn- 
 eiftent, eitbar that the Deity ia not a free 
 atenty or that be doea not foresee his own 
 actions },. nor eaa we forese* tiial h© will do 
 what is right, and will fulfil his promises. 
 
 flM%. WiiMMilMnsidaring tbe eonie-' 
 
 SBMa. wlieli tUa' g«n«ral propositioii carw 
 in ita bosom, which give it a ▼»»! l»d 
 aspect, let ua attend to the arguments offeied 
 to prove it 
 
 Dr Pfliatley liaa laboured, more in tbe 
 poof of this pvopoaltaon than any other 
 ■nthor I am aofuainted with, and main- 
 taias it to be, not only a difficulty and a 
 nyataiyy m it has been caMed, that a con- 
 tingeiit event should be the object of know- 
 lad|% but tiat, in reality, there cannot be 
 ■||.:pBaier abeurdity or contfadiction. Let 
 at. Imuf' tbe proof of this. 
 
 •* For ,»• m^B ,be, " as certainly as nothing 
 can be iiiowb to' exist but what does eiist ; 
 so certainly can nothing be known to arim 
 /hM wkat ,doe» €mMlf but what does arise 
 'imm it or depend upon it. But, according 
 to-'iie cleiniflon. M the terms, a contiu|ent 
 Meut i4MS. :B0t 'depend, npen. anyptevioua 
 known circumstances, since some other event 
 ■li^t have arisen iu tbe same ciroum'- 
 .Haiioea.*'— 1'^'^'''^^ nf PMhmpMmiMi^ 
 
 This argument, when stripped of inci- 
 dental and explanatory clauses, and affected 
 
 wiations of exptesalon, 'amounto to this : 
 H otbing can be known to arise from what 
 doea enist, but what does ariie from it 
 But a contingent event does not irise 
 hma wbat^ does exist. The ccnfllusion, 
 iiiiiali .is Ml. to be drawn by the 'leader, 
 imi,, aeeording to the rules of reason- 
 ings be— Therelbi©, a eontingent event 
 cannot be known to arise from what does 
 
 II :is^ .iMff. 'msrj obvious, 'that, a thing may 
 arisa. 'fimn what, does exist, twO' ways, freely 
 Of necessarily. A contingent event arises 
 fkoa its cause, not necessarily but freely, 
 and iov that another event might have ariaen 
 
 from tbe same cause, in the same circuin- 
 
 stances. [351] 
 
 The second proposition of the argument 
 is, that a contingent event does not depend 
 upon any previous known circumstances, 
 which 1 take to be only a variatiou of the 
 term of not mitinff from what does estate 
 Therefore, in order to make the two pro- 
 positions to correspond, we must under- 
 stand, by arisini/ from what due* esisty aris- 
 ing necessarily from what does exist. When 
 this ambiguity b removed, the argument 
 stands thus: Nothhig can be known to 
 arise necessarily from what does exist, but 
 what does necessarily arise from it : but a 
 contingent event does not arise necessarily 
 from what does exist ; therefore, a contin- 
 gent event cannot be known to arise neces- 
 sarily from what does exist 
 
 I grant the whole ; but the conclusion of 
 this argument is not what he undertook to 
 prove, and therefore the argument is that 
 kind of sophism which logicians call ^fno^ 
 raniia eleiiM* 
 
 The thing to be proved is not, that a 
 contingent event cannot be known to arise 
 necessarily from what exists; but that a 
 contingent future event cannot be the object 
 of knowledge. 
 
 To draw the argument to this conclusion, 
 it must be put thus i— Nothing can be known 
 to arise from what does exist, but what 
 arises necessarily from it : but a contingent 
 event does not arise necessarily from what 
 does exist; therefore, a contingent event 
 cannot be known to arise from what does 
 
 The conclusion here is what it ought to 
 be; but the first proposition assumes the 
 thing to be proved, and therefore the argu- 
 ment is what logicians call peiUio priiieipiu 
 
 To the same purpose he says, "That 
 nothing can be kAown at present, except 
 itself or ita necessary cause exist at pro- 
 sent*' 
 
 Tliia is affirmed, but I find no proof of it 
 
 [3521 
 
 Again, Iw aay^ "That knowledge sup- 
 poses an object which, in this case, does 
 not exist" It is true that knowledge sup- 
 poses an object; and everything that ia 
 known is an object of knowledge, whether 
 past, present, or future, whether contingent 
 or necessary. 
 
 Upon the whole, the arguments I can 
 find upon this point bear no proportion to 
 the confidence of the assertion, that there 
 cannot be a greater absurdity or contradic- 
 tion, than that a contingent event should 
 be the object of knowledge. 
 
 To those who, without pretending to 
 shew a manifest absurdity or contradiction 
 in the knowledge of future contingent events, 
 are still of opinion that it is impossible that 
 tbe future free actions of man, a being of 
 
 [350-352] 
 
 CHIP. X.1| 
 
 OF ARGUMENTS FOR NECESSITY. 
 
 631 
 
 imperfect wisdom and virtue, should be 
 certainly foreknown, I would humbly offer 
 the following considerations. 
 
 1. I grant that there is no knowledge of 
 this kind in man ; and this is the cause that 
 we find it so difficult to conceive it in any 
 other being. 
 
 All our knowledge of future events is 
 drawn either from their necessary connec- 
 tion with the present course of nature, or 
 from their connection with the character of 
 the agent that produces them. Our know- 
 ledge, even of those future events that ne- 
 cessarily result from the established laws of 
 nature, is hypothetical. It supposes the 
 continuance of those laws with which they 
 are connected. And how long those laws 
 may be continued, we have no certain 
 knowledge. God only knows when the 
 present course of nature shall be changed, 
 and therefore he only has certain know- 
 ledge evAu of events of this kind. [353] 
 
 The character of perfect wisdom and 
 perfect rectitude in the Deity, gives us 
 certain knowledge that he will always be 
 true ill all his declarations, faithful in all his 
 promises, and just in all his dispensations. 
 But when we reason from the character of 
 men to their future actions, though, in many 
 cases, we have such probability as we rest 
 upon in our most important worldly con- 
 cerns, yet we have no certainty, because 
 men are imperfect in wisdom and in virtue. 
 If we had even the most perfect knowledge 
 of the character and situation of a man, 
 this would not be sufficient to give certainty 
 to our knowledge of his future actions; 
 because, in some actions, both good and 
 bad men deviate from their general charac- 
 ter* 
 
 The prescience of the Deity, therefore, 
 must be different not only in degree, but 
 in kind, from any knowledge we can attain 
 of futurity. 
 
 2. Though we can have no conception 
 how the future free actions of men may be 
 known by the Deity, this is not a sufficient 
 reason to conclude that they cannot be 
 known. Do we know, or can we conceive, 
 how Gh>d knows the secrets of men*s hearts ? 
 Can we conceive how GU)d made this world 
 without any pre-existent matter ? All the 
 ancient philosophers believed this to be im- 
 possible : and for what reason but this, that 
 they could not conceive how it could be 
 done ? Can we give any better reason for 
 believing that the actions of men cannot be 
 certainly foreseen ? 
 
 3. Can we conceive how we ourselves 
 have certain knowledge by those faculties 
 with which God has endowed us ? If any 
 man thinks that he understands distinctly 
 how he is conscious of his own thoughts ; 
 how he perceives external objects by his 
 
 ; how he remembers past events — I 
 \54] 
 
 am afraid that he is not yet so wise as to 
 understand his own ignorance. [354] 
 
 4. There seems to me to be a great an- 
 alogy between the prescience of future con- 
 tingents, and the memory of past contin- 
 gents. • We possess the last in some degree, 
 and therefore find no difficulty in believing 
 that it may be perfect in the Deity. But 
 the first we have in no degree, and there- 
 fore are apt to think it impossible. 
 
 In both, the object of knowledge is 
 neither what presently exists, nor has any 
 necessary connection with what presently 
 exists. Every argument brought to prove 
 the impossibility of prescience, proves, with 
 equal force, the impossibility of memory. 
 If it be true that nothing can be known to 
 arise from what does exist, but what neces- 
 sarily arises from it, it must be equally true 
 tliat nothing can be known to have gone 
 before what does exist but what must 
 necessarily have gone before it. If it be 
 true that nothing future can be known un- 
 less its necessary cause exist at present, it 
 must be equally true that nothing past can 
 be known unless something consequent, 
 with which it is necessarily connected, exist 
 at present. If the fatalist should say, 
 that past events are indeed necessarily 
 connected with the present, he will not 
 surely venture to say, that it is by tracing 
 this necessary connection that we remember 
 the past 
 
 Why then should we think prescience 
 impossible in the Almighty, when he has 
 given us a faculty which bears a strong 
 analogy to it, and which is no less unac- 
 countable to the human understanding than 
 prescience is ? It is more reasonable, as 
 well as more agreeable to the sacred writ- 
 ings, to conclude, with a pious father of the 
 church — "Quocirca nullo modo cogimur, 
 aut, retenta praescientia Dei, tollere volun- 
 tatis arbitrium, aut, retento voluntatis ar- 
 
 * We have no memory </ past contingents. A put 
 contingent is a contradiction. An event is only con> 
 tingent as future; in t)econ]ing pa>t, it forthwith 
 becomes necessary— it cannot but be. "Exu ri yty 
 cuos itviyxv*, says Aristotle; and the proverb— 
 Factum iv/cctum reddere, ne Dcut quidem potest, 
 has been said and sung in a thousantt forms. Ui<t it 
 is only as past that any tiling is remembeied ; what, 
 ever, therefore, is known in memory is known as 
 necessary. 
 
 Now, so far is it from being true, as Reid soon 
 after says, that *• every argument to prove the im*. 
 possibility of prescience (as the knowledge of future 
 contingents) pioves, with equal force, the impossi- 
 bility of memory," (as the knowledge of past contin. 
 gents.) that the possibility of a memory of events a# 
 contingnit was, I believe, never imagined by any 
 philosopher— nor, in reality, is it by Keid himself; 
 and, in fact, one of the most insolubleobjectioustothe 
 possibility of a free agency, arises (on the atimission 
 that all future events are foreseen by God) from the 
 analogy of prescience to memory ; it l>eing impossible 
 foi the human mind to reconcile the sup|>osition that 
 an event may or may not occur, and the supposition 
 that one of theae alternatives has been foreseen a» cer- 
 tain. On thif 1 may My something in Note U.— H. 
 
1132 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [bmay It. 
 
 Utrio, D«iim(fiiodiiif«i est) negare prte- 
 aaiim flitaforam ; ied itmn^tie ftinpledl- 
 mm, ntnimciae Meliter et ▼©racitcr con- 
 itaiiiiurz Iliad, ut bene credamits; hoc, tit 
 Iwifivivttiiiiii." lAmvwniim,D€Ciifitat€ 
 ..Bd^ L, ▼• c. 10*] 
 
 CHAPTEtt XI« 
 
 Hr TME PBRMIBSION OP' KVII.. 
 
 AiiOT'Hn^ uie lias been miuie of Dhlm 
 •f tewsienee bj tbe adTocates for necessity, 
 wMcb it is proper to conader before we 
 Umm tbis wDJ«et 
 
 It hm been miid— *' That all tbooe conse- 
 qiieiicea follow from the Divine prescience 
 wbieb are thought most ahmning in the 
 tdienie of necessity ; and partimilariy Qod% 
 teiiig' the proper cause of moral eTil. For, 
 te tipf<Me Ood to foresee and permit what 
 it was in his power to have prevented, 
 is the very same thing as to suppose him 
 to will, and directly to cause it. He dis- 
 tiiiolly foicteee all the actions of a man*s 
 .ife^. and all. the omaefiieiiees of them. If, 
 therefore, he did not think any particular 
 nian and his eondiMt proper for his plan 
 ef eieation and piefidenoe, he certainly 
 wmH net have inHedneed him into being 
 at aa** 
 
 In this reasoning we may observe, that 
 :a sappiMition is made which seems to con- 
 tvadiet itself 
 
 That all the actions of a particular man 
 should be distinctly foreseen, and, at the 
 same tine,, 'tlist that man slmald .never be 
 biongbt into existence, seems to me to be 
 a eentradietion ; and the same contradic- 
 tion there is, in supposbg any action to be 
 distinctly foreseen, and yet prevented. 
 For, .if it be^ foreseen, it shall happen ; and, if 
 it be. jpievenlel, it sh.all not hapjfien, and 
 'tlMPenre' eonld not be foreseen. [356] 
 
 The knowledge here supposed is neither 
 fmeienfle nor seienee, but 8ometlti.n| very 
 dMMiit flroni. both. It is a kind of Inow. 
 lilge, which some metaphysical divines, in 
 iieir controversies about the order of the 
 Divine decrees, a subject far beyond the 
 Bniili of human understanding, attributed 
 to 1^ Deity, .and of which other divines 
 deniedtliepoBiibility, while they irmly main- 
 labed the Divine prescience. 
 
 II was ealled scientia media, to distin- 
 fliidl. it from prescience i and by th.is «d«ii- 
 Mm tmSm was meant, not tie "knowing 'fkom. 
 eternity all things tliat shall exist, which is 
 pesoience^ nor we knowhig all^ the connec- 
 'tiiins'aiid. lelatioiia of things that exist or 
 nay be eoneeived, which is sdence, but a 
 knowledge of tbhage contingent, that never 
 iU nor shall exist For instance, the know- 
 ing every action that would be done by a 
 
 man who is barely conceived, and shall 
 never be brought into existence.* 
 
 Against the possibility of the scientia me* 
 dia arguments may be urged, which can- 
 not be applied to prescience. Thus it may 
 be said, that nothing can be known but 
 what is true. It is true that the future ac- 
 tions of a free agent shall exist, and there- 
 fore we see no impossibility in its being 
 known that they shall exist But with re- 
 gard to the free actions of an agent that 
 never did nor shall exist, there is nothing 
 true, and therefore nothing can be known. 
 To say that the being conceived, would cer- 
 tainly act in such a way, if placed in such a 
 Situation, if it liave any meaning, is to say, 
 That his acting in that way is the conse- 
 quence of the conception ; but this contra- 
 dicts the supposition of its being a free ac- 
 tion. 
 
 Things merely conceived have no rela- 
 tions or connections but such as are implied 
 in the conception, or are consequent from 
 it Thus I conceive two circles in the same 
 pkne. If this be all I conceive, it is not 
 true that these circles are equal or unequal, 
 because neither of these relations is implied 
 in the conception ; yet, if the two circles 
 really existed, they must be either equal or 
 unequal. Again, I conceive two circles in 
 the same plane, the distance of whose cen- 
 tres is equal to the sum of their semidiame- 
 ters. It is true of these circles, that they 
 will touch one another, because this follows 
 from the conception ; but it is not true that 
 they will be equal or unequal, because nei- 
 ther of these relations b implied in the con- 
 ception, nor is consequent from it [357] 
 
 • The SdaUta MetHa (raited likewite 8c. HypoO^ 
 dka—Sc tU/itturo conditionato.) U a icheme ^'xcogi. 
 tated bjr certain Jesuiti about the end of the six. 
 teenth century, and rtrst reduced to system i>y the 
 Spaniard Molina and his learned countryman Fon. 
 •cca. It was opposed to another theory, touching 
 the divine decrees, called that of PrcnMermination^ 
 which had a little before bee i introduced among 
 the Spanish I homibts. Tiie former doctrine wai 
 generally espoused by the Franciscans and Jesuits ; 
 the latter by the Dominicans and Augustinians: a 
 keen theological controversy was the result. Mo. 
 Iina regardetl the objects of xhe divine knowUdpe as 
 threefold. H\ej ytere—X" things mssibU .- i" actual 
 events : and, 'JP conditional eventt, that i>, sucn as 
 would have exiitKl, had a certain condition been 
 realiied. Tht* knowledge o( |>osjtibilities he denomi. 
 naied the knmrUdf/e Qf timpU intdligence, f scientia 
 gimplicis intcUigcntite ;} and the knowledge of events 
 which have actually hap|«ned in the universe, he 
 called the knoteUdgt of vision, (scientia visionis.) 
 But as, besides the knowledge of the simply itossibe 
 snd the ai<«olutely actual, there was a third know. 
 ledge— that, to wit. of conditional events— Molina 
 conceived that this affi>rdcd an intermediate know, 
 ledge— /c/mtta media— beiwtreu Vuion and .simple 
 Intelligence. A celt-brated example of the scientia 
 media is that ot David consulting the Lord, 
 whether the men of K*ilah would deliver him to 
 Saul, // Saul came ilown against the city. The 
 answer was, that they would so deliver him*, upon 
 which David, who had intended retiring iiito Keu 
 lah, adopted other plans.— From this U will be seen 
 that Reid is not altogether exact in his ttatenaent 
 or lim SdmtHm M0Ma ; nor Is liis erltiosm of ' 
 exocfitionabte.— H. 
 
 '3; 
 
 CHAP. XI.J 
 
 OF THE TERMISSION OF EVIL. 
 
 633 
 
 In like manner, I can conceive a being 
 who has power to do an indifferent action 
 or not to do it. It is not true that he 
 would do it, nor is it true that he would not 
 do it, because neither is implied in my con- 
 ception, nor follows from it ; and what is 
 not true cannot be known. 
 
 Though I do not perceive any fallacy in 
 this argument against a sdenlia media, I 
 am sensible how apt we are to err in apply- 
 ing what belongs to our conceptions and 
 our knowledge, to the conceptions and 
 knowledge of the Supreme Being; and, 
 therefore, without pretending to determine 
 for or against a scientia media, I only ob- 
 serve, that, to suppose that the Deity pre- 
 vents what he foresees by his prescience, 
 is a contradiction, and that to know that a 
 contingent event which he sees fit not to 
 permit would certainly happen if permitted, 
 is not prescience, but the scientia media, 
 whose existence or possibility we are under 
 no necessity of admitting. 
 
 Waving all dispute about scientia media, 
 we acknowledge that nothing can happen 
 under the administration of the Deity, 
 which he does not see fit to permit. The 
 permission of natural and moral evil, is a 
 phienomenon which cannot be disputed. 
 To account for this phajnoraenon under the 
 government of a Being of infinite goodness, 
 justice, wisdom, and power, has. m all ages, 
 been considered as difficult to human reason, 
 whether we embrace the system of liberty 
 or that of necessity. But, if the difficulty 
 of accounting for this pheenomenon upon 
 the system of necessity, be as great as it 
 is upon the system of liberty, it can have 
 no weight when used as an argument against 
 Uberty. [358] 
 
 The defenders of necessity, to reconcile 
 it to the principles of Theism, find them- 
 selves obliged to give up all the moral at- 
 tributes of God, excepting that of goodness, 
 or a desire to produce happiness. This 
 they hold to be the sole motive of his 
 makingand governing the universe. Justice, 
 veracity, faithfulness, are only modifica- 
 tions of goodness, the means of promoting 
 its purposes, and are exercised only so far 
 as they serve that end. Vurtue is accept- 
 able to him and vice displeasing, only as 
 the first tends to produce happiness and the 
 last misery. He is the proper cause and 
 agent of all moral evil as well as good ; but 
 it is for a good end, to produce the greater 
 happiness to his dreatures. He does evil 
 that good may come, and this end sanctifies 
 the worst actions that contribute to it. All 
 the wickedness of men being the work of 
 God, he must, when he surveys it, pro- 
 nounce it, as well as all his other works, to 
 be very good. 
 
 This view of the Divine nature, the only 
 one consistent with the scheme of necessity, 
 fa58-360] 
 
 appears to me much more shocking than the 
 permission of evil upon the scheme of Uberty. 
 It is said, that it requires only strength of 
 mind to embrace it : to me it seems to re- 
 quire much strength of countenance to pro- 
 fess it 
 
 In this system, as in Cleanthes' Tabla- 
 ture of the Epicurean System, Pleasure or 
 Happiness is placed upon the throne as the 
 queen, to whom all the virtues bear the 
 humble office of menial servants.— [Cic. 
 Fin. ii. 21.] 
 
 As the end of the Deity, in all his actions, 
 is not his own good, which can receive no 
 addition, but the good of his creatures ; and, 
 as his creatures are capable of this disposi- 
 tion in some degree, is he not pleased with 
 this image of himself in his creatures, and 
 displeased with the contrary ? Why then 
 should he be the author of malice, envy, 
 revenge, tyranny, and oppression, in their 
 hearts ? Other vices that have no malevo- 
 lence in them may please such a Deity, 
 but surely malevolence cannot please him. 
 
 [359] 
 
 It we form our notions of the moral attri- 
 butes of the Deity from what we see of his 
 government of the world, from the dictates 
 of reason and conscience, or from ^he doc- 
 trine of revelation— justice, veracity, faith- 
 fulness, the love of virtue and the dislike of 
 vice, appear to be no less essential attri- 
 butes of his nature than goodness. 
 
 In man, who is made after the image of 
 God, goodness or benevolence is indeed an 
 essential part of virtue, but it is not the 
 
 whole. 
 
 I am at a loss what arguments can be 
 brought to prove goodness to be essential to 
 the Deity, which will not, with equal force, 
 prove other moral attributes to be so ; or 
 what objections can be brought against the 
 latter, which have not equal strength against 
 the former, unless it be admitted to be an 
 objection against other moral attributes 
 that they do not accord with the doctrine 
 of necessity. 
 
 If other moral evils may be attributed to 
 the Deity as the means of promoting gen- 
 eral good, why may not false declarations 
 and false promises ? And then what ground 
 have we left to believe the truth of what he 
 reveals, or to rely upon what he promises ? 
 
 Supposing this strange view of the Divine 
 nature were to be adopted in favour of the 
 doctrine of necessity, there is still a great 
 difficulty to be resolved. [360] 
 
 Since it is supposed that the Supreme 
 Being had no other end in making and 
 governing the universe but to produce the 
 greatest degree of happiness to his crea- 
 tures in general, how comes it to pass that 
 there is so much misery in a system made 
 and governed by infinite wisdom and power 
 for a contrary purpose ? 
 
Oilfll 
 
 ON THB ACTIVE POWIES. 
 
 [eSIAV IV. 
 
 ailt tiiMmi Of lUM itiliioiilty leads nt 
 'iiitHnrilj to MMilMnr liyfiotliesii— That all 
 Hie misery and vice that is in the world is 
 m aeeeaaaij ingredient in tbtl ^mulein which 
 pidiwea' tie gieateet sum <if liappiieas upon 
 'tilt' wM0» This connection betwixt the' 
 piiliat' Willi of happiness and all tlW' iiiiie;ry 
 iliat ia in the universe must he fatal and 
 neeesflaif m tlW' liluie of things, so that 
 •ven Alnliily powr cannot break it i for 
 bcMvolence eaa 'never lead to iniict miaery 
 irithont necessity. 
 
 TMb UMNiiarv connection between the 
 greatest sum of happiness upon the whole, 
 and all the natural and moial evil that 1% 
 nr has been, or shall be, being once esta> 
 'Miafaedy it Is .impossible for mortal eyes to 
 
 '^■MHiiPi^pinMi' ■' •■I '■■'wp^ "™ ■w^WW W^iWPMf ^p " iiBlilii i|HMSillSijr 'lipilSiiS^HMSlpiliSiiia ■wFja ™"iSJfc 
 
 whon it amj liappen to fall ; vhetlier this 
 fatal eooiieetion may be temporary or eter> 
 nal, or what proportion of the happiness may 
 be hdttuscd by it 
 
 A imld made by perfect wisdom and Al- 
 :ilUity piiiwrt for no other end but^to make 
 
 spit tiat ean be ima.gine4 We expect 
 .Mdiiiif but uninterrupted happiness to pre. 
 
 vail for ever. But, alas I wnen we con- 
 sider that, in this happiest system, there 
 must be necessiirily all the miserv and vice 
 we see, .and how much more we Know not, 
 how is the pnwpeet darkioed ! 
 
 These two hypothtseSk 'the mm limitlnir' 
 'the moral: diaraeter of the :iMty, the othS 
 'iniiiiiig his power, seem to me to be the 
 seeessary conasaneneeS' 'Of necessity, when 
 it is loined with Theism ; and they have, 
 fMMiilttgly, been adopted by the' ablest 
 daindsis of tint doctrine. [961] 
 
 If some defenders of liberty, by limituig 
 'too rashly the Divine pMSOMiee, in order 
 to defence that system, Lve imised high in- 
 donation in their opponents; have they 
 not equal ground of indignation apinst 
 'tiioae' who, to defend necessity, limit the 
 :iwicil. perfMstion of the Deity, and his 
 Alm%bty' power' f 
 
 Let us consider, on the other 'band, what 
 consequences may be fairly drawn from 
 eod^'pennitti^i the ahus; of .liberty in 
 «g«iita on whonilie faas^ bestowed it 
 
 It it be ^aalnd,. Why does Ood perm.tt so 
 'Vuch. sin in. his creation ? I confess, I can- 
 not ^aaswer the question, but must' ky my 
 land upon my mouth. He giveth no ac- 
 count of his conduct to the children of 
 men. It is our part tO' obey his 'Com- 
 mands, and not to say unto him, Why dost 
 thou thus ? 
 
 Hypotheses might be firamed ; but, while 
 'WIS' 'iiBV«" gmnd to be satisfied that he does 
 'nethiiig' but what is 'right, it is more be- 
 •anil^g US to aeknowledge that^ the ends and 
 isasons of his 'universal government are 
 beyond our knowledge, aiid^. ;perhapo, be- 
 
 yond the comprehension of human under- 
 standing. We caDDOt penetrate so far into 
 the counsel of the Almiglity as to know all 
 the reasons why it became him, of whom an 
 all things, and to whom are all things, to 
 create, not only inachines, whicli are sulely 
 moved by his hand, but servants and chUd- 
 ren, who, by obeying his commands, and 
 imitating his moral perfections, might rise 
 to a high degree of glory and happiness in 
 his favour; or, by perverse disobedience, 
 might incur guilt and just punishment In 
 this he appears to us awful in his justice^ as 
 well as amiable in his goodness. 
 
 But, as he disdains not to appeal to men 
 for the equity of his proceedings towards 
 them when his character is impeachecL we 
 may, with humble reverence, plead for God, 
 and vindicate that moral excellence which 
 is the glory of his nature, and of which the 
 image is the glory and the perfection of 
 man. [38t3 
 
 Let us o!>serve, first of all, that to permU 
 hath two meanings. It signifies not to for- 
 bid ; and it signities not to hinder by supe- 
 rior power. In the first of these senses, 
 God never permits sin. His law forbids 
 every moral evil. By his laws and by his 
 government, he gives every encouragement 
 to good conduct, and every discouragement 
 to bad. But he does not always, by his 
 Sttjperior power, hinder it from being com- 
 mitted. This is the ground of the accu- 
 sation ; and this, it is said, is the very same 
 tMng as directly to will and to cause it 
 
 As this ia asserted without proof, and is 
 far from being self-evident, it might be suf- 
 ficient to deny it until it be proved. But, 
 without resting barely on the defensive, we 
 may observe that the only moral attributes 
 that can be supposed inconsistent with the 
 permission of sin, are either goodness or 
 justioe. 
 
 The defenders of necessity, with whom 
 we have to do in this point, as they main- 
 tain that goodness is the only essentiaf 
 moral attribute of the Deity, and the motive 
 oi all his actions, must, if they will be con- 
 sistent, maintain. That to will, and directly 
 to cause sin, much more not to hinder it, is 
 consistent with perfect goodi>ess, nay, thai 
 goodness is a sufficient motive to justify the 
 willing, and directly causing it. 
 
 With regard to them, therefore, itissurely 
 unnecessary to attempt to reconcile the 
 permission of sin with the goodness of God, 
 since an inconsistency between that attri- 
 bute and the causing of sin would overturn 
 their whole system. 
 
 If the causing of moral evil, and being 
 the real author of it, be consistent with per- 
 fect goodness, what pretence can there be 
 to say, that not to hinder it is inconsistent 
 with perfect goodness ? [363] 
 
 Wtiat is incumbent upon them, there- 
 
 [;361-86S] 
 
 OBAP. XI.] 
 
 OF THE PERMISSION OF EVIL 
 
 635 
 
 fore, to prove, is, That the permission of 
 ■in is inconsistent with justice ; and, upon 
 this point, we are ready to join issue with 
 
 But what pretence can there be to say, 
 that the permission of sin is perfectly con- 
 sistent with goodness in the Deity, but in- 
 consistent with justice ? 
 
 Is it not as easy to conceive that he 
 should permit sin though virtue be his de- 
 light, as that he inflicts misery when his 
 sole delight is to bestow happiness ? Should 
 it appear incredible, that the permission of 
 sin may tend to promote virtue, to them 
 who believe that the infliction of misery is 
 necessary to promote liappiness ? 
 
 The justice, as well as the goodness of 
 God's moral government of mankind ap- 
 pears in this— that his kws are not arbi- 
 trary nor grievous, as it is only by the obe- 
 dience of them that our nature can be per- 
 fected and qualified for future happiness ; 
 that he is ready to aid our weakness, to 
 help our infirmities, and not to suffer us to 
 1)0 tempted above what we are able to bear ; 
 that he is not strict to mark iniquity, or to 
 execute judgment speedily against an evil 
 work, but is long-suffering, and waits to be 
 gracious ; that he is ready to receive the 
 humble penitent to his favour ; that he is 
 no respecter of persons, but in every na- 
 tion, he that fears God and works righteous- 
 ness is accepted of him ; that of every man 
 he will require an account proportioned to 
 the talents he hath received ; that he de- 
 lights in mercy, but hath no pleasure in the 
 death of the wicked; and, therefore, in 
 punishing, will never go beyond the de- 
 merit of the criminal, nor beyond what the 
 rules of his universal government require. 
 
 There were, in ancient ages, some who 
 said, the way of the Lord is not equal ; to 
 whom the Prophet, in the name of God, 
 makes this reply, which, in all ages, is 
 suflicient to repel this accusation. " Hear 
 now, O house of Israel, is not my way 
 equal, are not your ways unequal ? When 
 a righteous man turneth away from his 
 righteousness, and committeth iniquity, for 
 his iniquity which he hath done shall he 
 die. Again, When a wicked man turneth 
 »way from his wickedness that he hath 
 committed, and doth that which is lawful 
 and right, he shall save his soul alive. O 
 house of Israel, are not my ways equal, are 
 not your ways unequal ? Repent, and 
 turn from all your transgressions, so ini- 
 quity shall not be your ruin. Cast away 
 from you all your transgressions -whereby 
 you have transgressed, and make you anew 
 heart and a new spirit, for why will ye die, 
 O house of Israel ? For 1 have no pleasure 
 in the death of him that dieth, saith the 
 Lord God.*' 
 [864, 365] 
 
 Another argument for necessity has been 
 lately oft'ered, which we sliall very briefly 
 consider. « 
 
 It has been maintained tliat the power of r 
 thinking is the result of a certain modifica- 
 tion of matter, and that a certain configura- 
 tion of brain makes a soul ; and, if man be 
 wholly a material being, it is said that it 
 will not be denied that he must be a me- 
 chanical being ; that the doctrine of neces- 
 sity is a direct inference from that of ma- 
 terialism, and its undoubted consequence. 
 
 As this argument can have no weight with 
 those who do not see reason to embrace 
 this system of materialism ; so, even with 
 those wlio do, it seems to me to be a mere 
 sophism. 
 
 Philosophers have been wont to conceive 
 matter to be an inert passive being, and to 
 have certain properties inconsistent with 
 the power of thinking or of acting. But a 
 philosopher arises," who proves, we shall 
 suppose, that we were quite mistaken in our 
 notion of matter ; that it has not the pro- 
 perties we supposed, and, in fact, has no 
 properties but those of attraction and re- 
 pulsion; but still he thmks, that, being 
 matter, it will not be denied that it is a 
 mechanical being, and that the doctrine of 
 necessity is a direct inference from that of 
 materialism. [365] 
 
 Herein, however, he deceives himself. 
 If matter be what we conceived it to be, it 
 is equally uicapable of thinking and of act- 
 ing freely. But, if the properties from 
 which we drew this conclusion, have no 
 reality, as he thinks he has proved— if it 
 have the powers of attraction and repulsion, 
 and require only a certain configuration to 
 make it think rationally— it will be impos- 
 Bible to shew any good reason why the same 
 configuration may not make it act rationally 
 and freely. If its reproach of solidity, in- 
 ertness, and sluggishness be wiped off; and 
 if it be raised iu our esteem to a nearer 
 approach to the nature of what we call 
 spiritual and immaterial beings, why should 
 it still be nothing but a mechanical being ? 
 Is its solidity, inertness, and sluggishness 
 to be first removed to make it capable of 
 thinkmg, and then restored in order to make 
 it incapable of acting ? 
 
 Those, therefere, who reason justly from 
 this system of materialism, will easily per- 
 ceive that the doctrine of necessity is so 
 far from being a direct inference, that it 
 can receive no support from it. 
 
 To conclude this Essay :— Extremes ot 
 all kinds ought to be avoided ; yet men are 
 prone to run into them i and, to shun one 
 extreme, we often run into the contrary. 
 
 Of all extremes of opinion, none are more 
 dangerous than those that exalt the powers 
 
 ♦ Priestley is jnlended.—H. 
 
636 
 
 \jpi 1 Ills Av*iivjs I'vivr jSitio. |_E8bay if.-»chjif. xitj 
 
 ttf iiHa too Mgh, on tlie one Iiand, or sink 
 Hwni too low, on tlie other.* [366] 
 \ By naring tliem. 'too Ugli, we feed niide 
 ind wi^jbrjf we loee the sense of our 
 ii|wnilen4se upoii Ood, mnd engage in ttt- 
 leni|its liejond our abilities. By depressing 
 tibem too loW| we cut the sinews of action 
 
 d of obligation, and are tempted to think 
 that, as we can do nothing, we have nothing 
 to do, hut to be earried passively along by 
 'the stnam of neocssaty. 
 
 Some good meiii apprehending that to 
 MM frido and vainglory, our active powers 
 ittinot be too much depressed, have been 
 led, by zeal for religion, to deprive us of all 
 itettve power. 
 
 Other good men, by a like seal, have been 
 led to depreciate the human understanding, 
 and to put out the light of nature and rea* 
 ■ML in order to eicalt that of revelation. 
 
 Those 'weapons which were taken up in 
 support of religion, are now employed to 
 overturn it; and what was, by some^ ae- 
 ooutod the bulwark of orthodoxy, is be- 
 oome the stronghold of athdsin .and infi- 
 
 Atheists join hands with Theologians in 
 depriving man of all active power, that they 
 may destroy all moral obligation, and all 
 
 tense of right and frrong. They join hands 
 wiHi Theologians in depreciating the human 
 indnstanding, that they may lead us into 
 
 CM, in merey to the human race, has 
 made ns of suoh a frame that no specula* 
 live opinion whatsoever can root out thesense 
 of giult and demerit when we do wrong, 
 
 ■or the peace and Joy^ of a good conscienoe 
 'vbtn we dO' what is right* No speculative 
 opinion ean root out a regard to the testi- 
 mony of our senses, of our memory, and of 
 our mtional faculties. But we have reason 
 to be jealotts of opinions which run counter 
 to those natuml sentiments of the human 
 mind, and tend to shake though they never 
 eau eradicate them. [367] 
 
 There is little reason to fear that the 
 eoadnet of men, with regard to the concerns 
 •I the present life, will ever be much affect- 
 'Od, 'Oiiher by the doctrine of necessity, or 
 liy seeptieisk II were to be wished that 
 nen*s eouduei, with regard to the concerns 
 of another life, were in as Ittle danger from 
 thoae opinions. 
 
 *' OmiM Held have hail th* tliaiif lit of tlte grett 
 
 Wmmi In lilt view r— ** 'II est. (kmnfftun de trop fkire 
 voir i llMiniiie cemMiii il tat %■] max b^iet, mm liti 
 
 'iilM Ifop 'vnir m granlisur Miit mi baaetMs. Il- «ft 
 mmm flm ttangmMX d« lui laiwer Ignorer I'uti 'Ct 
 
 Klmlie.. If els II ett tm avantafeus dt lul MfritMi> 
 ler run e t fMme..** iPeimmt L Partle, Ait. iv. f 7.) 
 
 In the present state, we see some who 
 zealously maintain the doctrine of necessity, 
 others who as zealously maintain that of 
 liberty. One would be apt to think, that a 
 practical belief of these contrary systems 
 should produce very different conduct in 
 them that hold them ; yet we see no such 
 difference in the affairs of common life. 
 
 The Fatalist deliberates, and resolves, 
 and plights his faith. He lays down a plan 
 of conduct, and prosecutes it with vigour 
 and industry. He exhorts and commands, 
 and holds those to be answerable for their 
 conduct to whom he hath committed any 
 charge. He blames those that are false or I 
 unfaithful to him, as other men do. Ho I 
 perceives dignity and worth in some cha- 
 racters and actions, and in others demerit 
 and turpitude. He resents injuries, and is 
 grateful for good offices. \ 
 
 If any man should plead the doctrine of 
 necessity to exculpate murder, theft, or 
 robbery, or even wilful negligence in the 
 discharge of his duty, his judge, though a 
 Fatalist, if he had common sense, would 
 laugh at such a plea, and would not allow 
 it even to alleviate the crime. 
 
 In all such cases, he sees that it would 
 be absurd not to act and to judge as those 
 ought to do who believe themselves and 
 other men to be free agents, just as the 
 Sceptic, to avoid* absurdity, must, when he 
 goes into the world, act and judge like other 
 men who are not Sceptics. [368 J 
 
 If the Fatalist be as little influenced by 
 the opinion of necessity in his moral and 
 religious concerns, and in his expectations 
 concerning another world, as he is an tho 
 common affairs of life, his speculative opi- 
 nion will probably do him little hurt. But, 
 if he trust so far to the doctrine of neces- 
 sity, as to indulge sloth and inactivity in 
 his duty, and hope to exculpate himself to 
 his Maker by that doctrine, let him con- 
 sider whether he sustains this excuse from 
 his servants and dependants, when they are 
 negligent or unfaithful iu what is committed 
 to their charge. 
 
 Bishop Butler, in his «* Analogy," has an 
 excellent chapter upon the opinion of ne* 
 cetsity cnnsidered as influencing praeiice^ 
 which I think highly deserving the consi- 
 deration of those who are inclined to that 
 opinion.* [369] 
 
 • Suctoniua of Tiberius obfcnres:— " Circa Deoc 
 et rdigionet ncgllgentior crat, quippe addictus ma. 
 tbematlcas, penuaaionisque pienut, omnia Tato agi." 
 (c 09.) And, among othcn, Eutebius hat aliewn, 
 in general, that the optnioa of Nece**itv opi-ratei 
 practically as a powerful incentive to profligacy, in. 
 hiatlot aiMl every vice by which the private and pub. 
 lie welfare of mankind uaubverted. (^Praep, Evang., 
 I*vL&6.}— H. 
 
 [366-3691 
 
 [EstAY v.— €HAP. 1.] OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 63? 
 
 ESSAY V- 
 
 OF MORALS. 
 
 CilAPT£Iv I* 
 
 OF THl PmST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 
 
 Morals, like all other sciences, must 
 have flrst principles, on which all moral 
 reasoning is grounded. 
 
 In every branch of knowledge where dis- 
 putes have been raised, it is useful to dis- 
 tinguish the first principles from the super- 
 structure. They are the foundation on 
 which the whole fabric of the science leans ; 
 and whatever is not supported by this 
 I foundation can have no stability. 
 
 In all rational belief, the thing believed 
 is either itself a first principle, or it is by 
 just reasoning deduced from first principles. 
 When men differ about deductions of rea- 
 soning, the appeal must be to the rules of 
 reasoning, which have been very unani- 
 mously fixed from the days of Aristotle. 
 [But when they differ about a first principle, 
 [the appeal is made to another tribunal — to 
 tthat of Common Sense. [370] 
 
 How the genuine decisions of Common 
 Sense may be distinguished from the coun- 
 terfeit, has been considered in Essay Sixth, 
 on the Intellectual Powers^ of Man, chapter 
 fourth, to which the reader is referred. 
 What I would here observe is, That, as 
 first principles differ from deductions oi 
 reasoning in the nature of their evidence, 
 and must be tried by a different standard 
 when they are called in question, it is of 
 importance to know to which of these two 
 classes a truth which we would examine, 
 belongs. When they are not distinguished, 
 men are apt to demand proof for everything 
 they think fit to deny. And when we 
 attempt to prove, by direct argument, what 
 is really self-evident, the reasoning will 
 always be inconclusive; for it will either 
 take for granted the thing to be proved, or 
 something not more evident ; and so, in- 
 stead of giving stength to the conclusion, 
 will rather tempt those to doubt of it who 
 never did so before. 
 
 I propose, therefore, in this chapter, to 
 point out some of the first principles oi 
 morals, without pretending to a complete 
 enumeration. 
 
 The principles I am to mention, relate 
 either J A} to virtue in general, or [B] to 
 the difierent particular branchea of virtue, 
 [370, 371] 
 
 I or [C] to the comparisoti of virtues where 
 they seem to interfere. l 
 
 [A] 1. There are some things in human "f 
 conduct thai merit approbation and praise, 
 others that merit blame and punishment f 
 and different degrees either of approbation 
 or of blame, are due to different actions, 
 
 2. What is in no degree voluntary, can 
 neither deserve jnoral approbation nor blame, 
 
 3. What is done from unavoidable neces- 
 sity may be agreeable or disagreeable, useful 
 or hurtful, but cannot be the object either qf 
 blame or of moral approbation, 
 
 4. Men may be highly culpable in omit' 
 ting what they ought to have done, as well 
 as in doing what they ought not, [371] 
 
 5. We ought to use the bist means we 
 can to be well informed of our duty — by ser- 
 ious attention to moral instruction ; by ob- 
 serving what we approve, and what we dis- 
 approve, in other men, whether our acquaint- 
 ance, or those whose actions are recorded 
 in history ; by reflecting often, in a calm 
 and dispassionate hour, on our own past 
 conduct, that we may discern what was 
 wrong, what was right, and what might 
 have been better; by deliberating coolly 
 and impartially upon our future conduct, 
 as far as we can foresee the opportunities 
 we may have of doing good, or the tempta- 
 
 , tions to do wrong; and by having this 
 j principle deeply fixed in our minds, that, as 
 moral excellence is the true worth and 
 glory of a man, so the knowledge of our 
 duty is to every man, in every station of 
 life, the most important of all knowledge. . 
 
 6. It ought to be our most serious con- 1 
 cern to do our duty as far as we knowj 
 it, and to fortify our minds against every 
 temptation to deviate from it — by main- 
 taining a lively sense of the beauty of right 
 conduct, and of its present and future reward, 
 of the turpitude of vice, and of its bad conse- 
 quences here and hereafter ; by having al- 
 ways in our eye the noblest examples ; by 
 the habit of subjecting our passions to the 
 government of reason; by firm purposes 
 and resolutions with regard to our conduct ; 
 by avoiding occasions of temptation when 
 we can ; and by imploring the aid of Him 
 who made us, in every hour of temptation. 
 
 These principles concerning virtue and 
 vice in general, must appear self-evident 
 to every man who hath a conscience, and 
 who hath taken pains to exercise this na- 
 
' 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 V. 
 
 tuial |Miiftr <if liif mind. I poceed to 
 ulllii* 'thai utt m&m partUmlan * 
 
 [B] 1. W§ mghi l0 pr^tr a j,firiil»r 
 ' ,fiio /y ikmti^ **<>*v tiiitani, In a km i antl' a 
 i§m 'mH iif a §fmter, [372] 
 
 A regard to our own good, though we 
 liad no eonaeienoe, dictates this principle } 
 and we osnaot help disapproving the man 
 that acta eontrarj to ily aS' deserving to lose 
 the good whieh ho: nsmlonly threw awav, 
 and to suffer the evil which he knowiugiv 
 hiMpht upon hb own head. 
 
 Wm obaerved before, that the ancient 
 'inonillWs,^ and 'many among the modem, 
 have deduced the whole of morale from this 
 principle, and that, when we make a right 
 •stimate of goods and evils according to 
 Hieir degree, their dignity, their duration, 
 ind. accoirding as they are more or less in 
 our power, it leads to the practice of every 
 virtue. More directly, indeed, to the vir- 
 tues of idf-govemment, to prudence, to 
 tvoperaaee^ and to fortitude ; and, though 
 more indiraetly, even to justice, humanity, 
 and all the social virtues, when their influ- 
 ence upon our happiness is well understood. 
 
 Though it be not the noblest principle of 
 mnduet, it has this peculiar advantage, that 
 its force is felt by the moat ignorau^ and 
 even by the most abandoned. 
 
 Let a man*s moral judgment be ever so 
 tlttln improved by exercise, or ever so much 
 eormptoi by bad habits, he cannot be in- 
 different to his own happiness or misery. 
 When he is become insensible to every no- 
 blar motive to right conduct, he cannot be 
 insensible' to 'thin. And 'though to act from 
 this motive solely may be called prudenm 
 'iiaiher than mrtue^ yet this prudence de- 
 
 flMPWiitti lyFiiviiii' iWMiiifniifl iiiiMiiiii 'fitii nvvii •a.j itfiii'iii'ii'lii: 
 
 ana Bmen. more as it is tne fnenn and ally 
 of virtue, and the enemy of all vice ; and 
 as it gives a favourable testimony of virtue 
 to those who are 'deaf to every other reeom'- 
 mendation. 
 
 If a man can te induced to do hh duty 
 eren from a regard to hi. own h.ppme«, 
 he will soon find reason to love virtue for 
 her own sake, and to act from motives less 
 mercenary. [373] 
 
 I cannot therefore approve of those 
 moralists who would banish all persuasives 
 In virtue taken from the couideration of 
 private good. In the present state of human 
 nature these are not useless to the best, 
 and they are the only means left of reclaim- 
 ing 'tin ^ahandmed. 
 
 '31. A§,fi» m ik§ lalifilioii' qf mttimrs nn- 
 fMMft 'ijt iks iwiMlllkilioa Iff imm, w€ ouffki 
 i^ dminljf with that inieniion^ mid io uei 
 lifffif ot/^ io it. 
 
 The Author of' our being hath givon us 
 noinnljr 'ihe'power of acting within a limited 
 bmt varioua principles or springs of 
 I, of 'different nature ^and dignity, to 
 
 direct ua in the exercise of our active 
 power. 
 
 From the constitution of every species of 
 tile inferior animals, and especially from 
 the aetive principles which nature has given 
 them, we easily perceive the manner of life 
 for which nature intended them ; and they 
 uniformly act the part to which they are 
 led by their constitution, without any reflec- 
 tion upon it, or intention of obeying its dic- 
 tates. Man only, of the inhabitants of this 
 world, is made capable of observing his own 
 constitution, what kind of life it is made for, 
 and of acting according to that intention, or 
 contrary to it. He only is capable of yield- 
 ing an intentional obedience to the dictates 
 of nk nature, or of rebellin;^ against them. 
 
 In treating of the principles of action in 
 man, it has been BhewTi, that, as his natural 
 instincts and bodily appetites are well 
 adapted to the preservation of his natural 
 life, and to the continuance of the species ; 
 80 his natural desires, affections, and pas- 
 sions, when uncorru|ited by vicious habits, 
 and under the government of the leading 
 principles of reason and conscience, are ex- 
 cellently fitted for the rational and social 
 life. Every vicious action shews an excess, . 
 or defect, or wrong direction of some natural 
 spring of action, and therefore may, very 
 justly, be said to be unnatural. Every 
 virtuous action agrees with the uncorruptea 
 principles of human nature. [^74] 
 
 The Stoics defined Virtue to be a Ife ae» 
 cmiUng io nature. Some of them more ac- 
 curately, a life act'ording to the nature of 
 mam, tit m far a$ it is superior io thai of 
 6rfff««. The life of a brute is according to 
 the nature of the brute ; but it is neither 
 virtuous nor vicious. The life of a moral 
 agent cannot be according to his nature, 
 unless it be virtuous. That conscience 
 which is in every man*s breast, is the law 
 of God written in his heart, which he can 
 not disobey without acting unnaturally, and 
 being self-condemned. 
 
 The intention of nature, in the various 
 active principles of man — in the desires of 
 power, of knowledge, and of esteem, in the 
 affection to children, to near relations, and 
 to the communities to which we belong, in 
 gratitude, in compassion, and even in re- 
 sentment and emulation-is very obvious, 
 and has been pointed out in treating of those 
 principles. Nor is it less evident, that 
 reason and conscience are given us to regu- 
 late the inferior principles, so that they may 
 conspire, in a regular and consistent plan 
 of life, in pursuit of some worthy end. 
 
 8. iVio man i» horn for himself oniy. 
 Every man, therefore, ought to consider 
 himself as a member of the common society 
 of mankind, and of those subordinate socie- 
 ties to which he belongs, such as family, 
 friends, neighbourhood, conntrj, and to do 
 
 [372-374] 
 
 CHAP. I.] OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF MORALS. 
 
 639 
 
 as much good as he can, and as little hurt 
 to the societies of which he is a part. 
 
 This axiom leads directly to the practice 
 of every social virtue, and indirectly to the 
 virtues of self-government, by which only 
 we can be qualified for discharging the duty 
 we owe to society. [37o] 
 
 4. In every ease, we ought to act that 
 pisrt towards another^ which we would judge 
 io be right in him to act toward us, if we 
 were in his circumstances and he in ours ; 
 or, more generally — What we approve in 
 I others, that we ought to practise in like cir^ 
 cumatances, and what we condemn in others 
 \W§ ought not to do. 
 
 If there be any such thing as right and 
 wrong in the conduct of moral agents, it 
 must be the same to all in the same circum- 
 stances. 
 
 We stand all in the same relation to Him 
 who made us, and will call us to account 
 for our conduct ; for with Him there is no 
 respect of persons. We stand in the same 
 relation to one another as members of the 
 great community of mankind. The duties 
 consequent upon the different ranks and 
 offices and relations of men are the same 
 to all in the same circumstances. 
 
 It is not want of judgment, but want of 
 candour and impartiality, that hinders men 
 from discerning what they owe to others. 
 They are quicksighted enough in discerning 
 What is due to themselves. When they are 
 injured, or ill-treated, they see it, and feel 
 resentment. It is the want of candour that 
 makes men use one measure for the duty 
 they owe to others, and another measure 
 for the duty that others owe to them in like 
 circumstances. That men ought to judge 
 with candour, as in all other cases, so espe- 
 cially ia what concerns their moral conduct, 
 is surely self-evident to every intelligent 
 being. The man who takes offence when 
 he is injured in his person, in his property, in 
 his good name, pronouncesjudgment against 
 himself if he act so toward his neighbour. 
 
 As the equity and obligation of this rule 
 of conduct is self-evident to every man who 
 hath a conscience ; so it is, of all the rules 
 of morality, the most comprehensive, and 
 truly deserves the encomium given it by 
 the highest authority, that ** it is the law 
 and the prophets,** [376] 
 
 It comprehends every rule of justice 
 without exception. It comprehends all the 
 relative duties, arising either from the more 
 permanent relations of parent and child, of 
 master and servant, of magistrate and sub- 
 ject, of husband and wife, or from the more 
 
 Nay, I thmk, that, without any force or 
 straining, it extends even to the duties of 
 self-government. For, as every man ap- 
 proves in others the virtues of prudence, 
 temperance, self-command, and fortituae, 
 he must perceive that what is right in 
 others must be right in himself in like cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 To sura up all, he who acts invariably 
 by this rule will never deviate from the 
 path of his duty, but from an error of judg- 
 ment. And, as he feels the obligation that 
 he and all men are under to use the best 
 means in his power to have his judgment 
 well-informed in matters of duty, his errors 
 will only be such as are invincible. 
 
 It may be observed, that this axiom sup- 
 poses a faculty in man by which he can 
 distinguish right conduct from wrong. It 
 supposes also, that, by this faculty, we easily 
 perceive the right and the wrong in other 
 men that are indifferent to us ; but are very 
 apt to be blinded by the partiality of selfish 
 passions when the case concerns ourselves. 
 Every claim we have against others is apt 
 to be magnified by self-love, when viewed 
 directly. A change of persons removes this 
 prejudice, and brings the claim to appear 
 in its just magnitude. [377] 
 
 5. To every man who br-lteves the exist' \ 
 ence, the perfection'^, and the providence ofl 
 God, the veneration and submission we owe t 
 io him is self-evident. Right sentiments of j 
 the Deity and of his works, not only make 
 the duty we owe to him obvious to every 
 intelligent being, but likewise add the au- 
 thority of a Divine law to every rule of right 
 conduct. 
 
 [C] There is another class of axioms in ' 
 morals, by which, when there seems to be i 
 an ono'jsition Iwtween the actions that dif- i 
 
 transient relations of rich and poor, of 
 buyer and seller, of debtor and creditor, of 
 benefactor and beneficiary, of friend and 
 enemy. It comprehends every duty of 
 charity and humanity, and even of courtesy 
 %nd good manners. 
 375-377] 
 
 an opposition between the actions that dif- 
 ferent virtues lead to, we determine to 
 which the preference is due. 
 
 Between the several virtues, as they are 
 dispositions of mind, or determinations of 
 will, to act according to a certain general 
 rule, there can be no opposition. They 
 dwell together most amicably, and give 
 mutual aid and ornament, without the pos- 
 sibility of hostility or opposition, and, taken 
 altogether, make one uniform and consist- 
 ent rule of conduct. But, between par- 
 ticular external actions, which different 
 virtues would lead to, there may be an oppo- 
 sition. Thus, the same man may be in 
 his heart, generous, grateful, and just. 
 These dispositions strengthen, but never 
 can weaken one another. Yet it may 
 happen, that an external action which 
 generosity or gratitude solicits, justice may 
 forbid. . 
 
 That in all such cases, unmerited gene- | 
 rosity should yield to gratitude^ and both to 
 justice, is self-evident. Nor is it less so, 
 that unmerited beneficence to those who are 
 
640 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay 
 
 mi mm JtomM^ f IcW to .iN»ai}NMiiiiii' io ihs 
 wdmnM§, and mlmnmi mA ^fM^ to wmlm 
 
 igf 'flMniy, becMM' 0fMl. \mm mercy moro 
 
 4t the same time, we peraeiTe, that those 
 _!• of virtw which ouglil to yioM in the 
 eaiie of a emifctitioii, have most intrinsic 
 worth when theie is no competition. Thus, 
 it is evident that there is more worth in 
 pile ajd unmerited benevolence than in 
 wmpnibn, more' .hi empasion than in 
 [tilde, wd more hi gwtitude than, in 
 Justice.. [S78] 
 
 I call these jfffl prindplm, because they 
 -aplMar to me to have in themselves _an 
 'intnitiw evidence' which I cannot resist 
 I ind I can express them in other words. 
 I can iUustrat© them by examples and 
 authorities, and perhaps can deduce one of 
 them from another i bnt I am not able to 
 deduce them from other prindplefl that are 
 more evident And I find the best moral 
 reasonings of authors I am acquainted with, 
 ancient and modem, Hoathio and Christian, 
 to be gnmnded npon. on*' m more of them. 
 
 The evidence of msthcostical axioms is 
 not discerned tiM men come to a certain 
 di^gree of maturity of understandung. A boy 
 Inst' .liave franned the' general conception of 
 fminiiilp,: and 'Of'inoM and kMM and §quai, of 
 •will and Sjference ; and he must have 
 been accustomed to judge of these relations 
 in mallm of common life, before he can 
 penelvt the evidence of the niathematiGal 
 .axlon^thal equal quantities, .added to 
 equal ^tianti.tie8,. make equal sums.. 
 
 In like m.&nner, oar Moral Ju%ilwnt..or 
 CSonsdence,, .grows to maturity from an un- 
 Mrocptible: wed, planted by our Creator. 
 When we are capable of contemplatmg the 
 actions of other men, or of leiecting upon 
 Mf own calmly and dispassionately, we 
 bfgii^, to pefteivt in. them the qualities of 
 licweBt and dishimesl, of honourable and 
 bane, of right and wrong, and to feel the 
 sentiments of moral approbation and disap- 
 probation. 
 
 Th:efle sentiments are at first feeble, 
 easily warped by passions and prejudices, 
 and apt to yield to authority. By use and 
 time, the judgment in morals, as in other 
 Battem, pitbers strength, and feels more 
 vigour, we begin to distinguish the die- 
 tiies of passion from those of cool reason, 
 and to perceive that it is not always safe 
 to rely upon the judgment of others. By 
 an impulse of nature, we venture to judge 
 for ourselves, as we venture to walk by our- 
 
 I 'There la a stmog analogy between the 
 progfeea of the 'body 'from infancy to matur- 
 ity, and the progress of aU the powers of 
 the mind. This progression in both is the 
 woili of nature, and in both may be greatly 
 aided or hurt by proper education. It is 
 
 natural to a man to be able to walk, or mn» 
 or leap ; but, if his limbs had been kept in 
 fetters from his birth, he would have none 
 of those powers. It is no less natural to m 
 man trained in society, and accustomed to 
 judge of his own actions and those of other 
 men, to perceive a right and a wrong, an 
 honourable and a base, in human conduct ; 
 and to such a man, I think, the principles 
 of morak I have above mentioned will ap- 
 pear self-evident Yet there may be indi- 
 viduals of the human species so little accus- 
 tomed to think or judge of anything but 
 of gratifying theu" animal appetites, as to 
 have hardly any conception of right Of 
 wrong in conduct, or any moral judgment ; 
 as there certainly are some who have not 
 the conceptions and the judgment necessary 
 to understand the axioms of geometry. 
 
 From the principles above mentioned, 
 the whole system of moral conduct follows 
 so easily, and with so little aid of reason- 
 ing, that every man of common understand- 
 ing, who wishes to know his duty, may 
 know it The path of duty is a plain path, 
 which the upright in heart can rarely mis- 
 take. Such it must be, since every man is 
 bound to walk in it There are some intri- 
 cate cases in morals which admit of disputa- 
 tion; but these seldom occur in practice v 
 and, when they do, the learned disputant 
 has no great advantage : for the unlearned I 
 man, who uses the b^t means in his power i 
 to know his duty, and acts according to his I 
 knowledge, is inculpable in the sight of God 
 and man. He may err, but he ia not guilty ) 
 of immorality. |380] t 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 OP SYSTEMS OP MORALS. ' 
 
 If the knowledge of onr duty be so level 
 to the apprehension of all men as has been 
 represented in the last chapter, it may seem 
 hardly to deserve the name of a Science. 
 It may seem that there is no need for in 
 struction in morals. 
 
 From what cause then has it happened, 
 that we have many large and learned sys- 
 tems of Moral Philosophy, and systems of 
 Natural Jurisprudence, or the Law of Na^ 
 ture and Nations; and that, in modern 
 times, public professions* have been insti- 
 tuted in most places of education for in- 
 structing youth in these branches of know- 
 ledge ? 
 
 This event, I thmk, may be accounted 
 for, and the utility of such systems and 
 professions* justified, without supposing 
 any difficulty or intricacy m the knowledge 
 of our duty. 
 
 OlIAP. II. J 
 
 OF SYSTEMS OF MORALS. 
 
 641 
 
 « FrofiMtoriliiFt.— U. 
 
 [ST8-380] 
 
 I am far from thinking instruction in 
 morals unnecessary. Men may, to the end 
 of life, be ignorant of self-evident truths. 
 They may, to the end of life, entertain 
 gross absurdities. Experience shews that 
 this happens often in matters that are indif- 
 ferent. Much more may it happen in mat- 
 ters where interest, passion, prejudice, and 
 fiishion, are so apt to pervert the judgment. 
 
 The most obvious truths are not per- 
 ceived without some ripeness of judgment 
 For we see that children may be made to 
 believe anythuig, though ever so absurd. 
 Our judgment of things is ripened, not by 
 time only, but chiefly by being exercised 
 about things of the same or of a similar 
 kind. [381] 
 
 Judgment, even in things self-evident, re- 
 quires a clear, distinct, and steady concep- 
 tion of the things about which we judge. 
 Our conceptions are at first obscure and 
 wavering. The habit of attending to them is 
 necessary to make them distinct and steady ; 
 and this habit requires an exertion of mind 
 to which many of our animal principles are 
 unfriendly. The love of truth calls for 
 it ; but its still voice is often drowned by 
 the louder call of some passion, or we are 
 hindered from listening to it by laziness and 
 desultoriness. Thus men often remain 
 through life ignorant of things which they 
 needed but to open their eyes to see, and 
 which they would have seen if their atten- 
 tion had been turned to them. 
 
 The most knowing derive the greatest 
 part of their knowledge, even in things ob- 
 vious, from instruction and information, 
 and from being taught to exercise their 
 natural faculties, which, without instruc- 
 tion, would lie dormant 
 
 I am very apt to thinlc, that, if a man 
 could be reared from infancy, without 
 any society of hia fellow-creatures, he 
 would hardly ever shew any sign, either of 
 moral judgment, or of the power of reason- 
 ing. His own actions would be directed by 
 his animal appetites and passions, without 
 cool ref lee lion, and he would have no access 
 to improve, by observing the conduct of 
 other behigs like liimself. 
 
 The power of vegetation in the seed of a 
 plant, without heat and moisture, would for 
 ever lie dormant The rational and moral 
 powers of man would perhaps lie dormant 
 without instruction and example. Yet 
 these powers are a part, and the noblest 
 part, of his constitution ; as the power of 
 vegetation is of the seed. [382] 
 
 Our first moral conceptions* are proba- 
 bly got by attending coolly to the conduct 
 of others, and observing what moves our 
 approbation, what our indignation. These 
 J sentiments* spring from our moral faculty 
 
 * Moral Concejitims wnA Moral Senthnentttihough 
 WlAtedi ought not tt» be u-cd convt rtii'ly.— H. 
 
 [881-Sf»3J 
 
 as naturally as the sensations of sweet and 
 bitter from the faculty of taste. They have 
 their natural objects. But most human 
 actions are of a mixed nature, and have 
 various colours, according as they are 
 viewed on diflFereut sides. Prejudice against 
 or in favour of the person, ia apt to warp 
 our opinion. It requires attention and 
 candour to distinguish the good from the 
 ill, and, withoutfavourorprejudice, to form 
 a clear and impartial judgment. In this 
 we may be greatly aided by instruction. 
 
 He must be very ignorant of human 
 nature, who does not perceive that the seed 
 of virtue in the mind of man, like that of a 
 tender plant in an unkindly soil, requires 
 care and culture in the first period of life, 
 as well as our own exertion when we come 
 to maturity. 
 
 If the irregularities of passion and appe- 
 tite be timely checked, and good habits 
 planted ; if we be excited by good examples, 
 and bad examples be shewn in their proper 
 colour ; if the attention be prudently di- 
 rected to the precepts of wisdom and virtue, 
 as the mind is capable of receiving them— 
 a man thus trained will rarely be at a loss 
 to distinguish good from ill in his own con- 
 duct, without the labour of reasoning. 
 
 The bulk of mankind have but little of 
 this culture in the proper season ; and what 
 they have is often unskilfully applied ; by 
 which means bad habits gather strength, 
 and false notions of pleasure, of honour, 
 and of interest occupy the mind. They give 
 little attention to what is right and honest 
 Conscience is seldom consulted, and so little 
 exercised that its decisions are weak and 
 wavering. Although, therefore, to a ripe 
 understanding, free from prejudice, and 
 accustomed to judge of the morality of 
 actions, most truths in morals will appear 
 self-evident, it does not follow that moral 
 instruction is unnecessary in the first part 
 of life, or that it may not be very profitable 
 in its more advanced period. [383] 
 
 The history of past ages shews that na- 
 tions, highly civilized and greatly enlight- 
 ened in many arts and sciences, may, for 
 ages, not only hold the grossest absurdities 
 with regard to the Deity and his worship, 
 but with regard to the duty we owe to our 
 fellow-men, particularly to children, to ser- 
 vants, to strangers, to enemies, and to 
 those who differ from us in religious opin- 
 
 ions. 
 
 Such corruptions in religion and in mor- 
 als had spread so wide among mankind, and 
 were so confirmed by custom, as to require 
 a light from heaven to correct them- Re- 
 velation was not intended to supersede, but 
 to aid the use of our natural faculties ; and 
 I doubt not but the attention given to moral 
 truths, in such systems as we have men- 
 tioned, has contributed much to correct the 
 
 2t 
 
 
BJlaJftil. 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE TOWERS. 
 
 [essay V, 
 
 wmm mA pMJidieea of former »g«s, wid 
 my contbuo to liave the same good effeot 
 in time to oome. 
 
 It seeds not seem strange tbal ^jstems 
 off moials mny swoH to great magnitude, if 
 we consider tlial, altliougli the general 
 f rineiples he few and simple, their applica- 
 tion extends to every part of human con- 
 dnct, in every condition, every relation, and 
 ««ry tiansaction of life. They are the 
 rile of life to the magistrate and to the suh- 
 jeet, to the master and to the servant, to 
 the parent and to the child, to the fellow- 
 eitiian and to the aUen, to the friend and to 
 the enemy, to the hoyer and to the seller, 
 to the borrower and to the lender. Every 
 human creature is subject to their authority 
 in his actions and words, and even in his 
 thoughts. Th^y may, in this respect, be 
 eomparod to tlio laws of motion m the natu- 
 ral world, which, though few and simple, serve 
 to regulate an infinite variety of operations 
 thioiighottt the universe. [384] 
 
 And as the beauty of the laws of motion 
 is dispkyed in the most striking manner, 
 when we trace them through all the variety 
 of their effects ; so the divine beauty and 
 Mnetity of tie principles of morals appear 
 nost august when we take a comprehen- 
 livo view of their application to every con- 
 flition and relation, and to every transaction 
 of human society. 
 
 This is, or ought to be, the design of sys- 
 tenis of morals. They may be made more 
 or less extensive, having no limits fixed by 
 nature, but the wide circle of human trans- 
 actions. When the principles are applied 
 to theie in detail, the detail is pleasant and 
 profitable. It reciuirea no profound reason- 
 ing, (excepting, perhaps, in a few disput- 
 able points.) It admits of the most agree- 
 able illustration from examples and autho. 
 rities? it serves to exercise, and thereby to 
 strengthen, moral ju»!gmeut. And one who 
 has given much attention to the duty of 
 man, in all the various relations and cir- 
 emistances of life, will probably be more 
 enlightened in his own duty, and more able 
 to enlighten others. 
 The first writers in morals^ we are ac- 
 i fuainted with, delivered their moral instruc- 
 tions, not in systems, but in shwrt uncon- 
 nected sentences, or aphorisms. They saw 
 -110 seed, for deductions of .reasonmgi beca^use 
 '"the 'truths they delivered ■emM not but be 
 admitted by the candid and attentive. 
 
 Subsequent writers, to improve the way 
 of tieatiQg this subject, gave method and 
 arfang^iiient to moral truths, by redudng 
 than under certain divisifiiis ^and subdivi- 
 saons, as parts of one whole. By these 
 means the whole is more easily compre- 
 hMded and remembered, and from thia 
 ■nnjiiMiient gets the name of a system 
 and of a science. 
 
 A system of morals is not like a system 
 of geometry, where the subsequent parts 
 derive their evidence from the preceding, 
 and one chain of reasoning is carried on 
 from the beginning ; so that, if the arrange- 
 ment is changed, the chain is broken, and , 
 the evidence in lost. It resembles more a I 
 system of botany, or mineralogy, wliei-e the 
 subsequent parts depend not for their evi- 
 dence upon the preceding, and the arrange- 
 ment is made to facilitate apprehension 
 and memory, and not to give evidence. 
 
 Morals have been methodised in difier-N*^ 
 ent ways. The ancients commonly ar- 
 ranged them under the four cardinal vir- 
 tues of Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude, 
 and Justice;* Christian writers, I think 
 more properly, under the three heads of 
 the Duty we owe to God— to Ourselves — 
 and to our Neighbour. One division may 
 be more comprehensive, or more natural, 
 than another ; but the truths arranged are 
 the same, and their evidence the same in ^ 
 all. 
 
 I shall only farther observe, with regard 
 to systems of morals, that they have been 
 made more voluminous and more intricate, 
 partly by mixing political questions with 
 morals, which I think improper, because 
 they belong to a different science, and are 
 grounded on different principles ; partly by 
 making what is comnjonly, but I think ira- 
 properiy, called the Thetoy if Morals, a 
 part of the system- 
 
 By the Theory of Morals is meant a'just 
 account of the structure of our moral 
 powers^that is, of those powers of the 
 mind by which we have our moral concep- 
 tions, and distinguish right from wrong in 
 human actions. This, indeed, is an intri- 
 cate subject, and there have been various 
 theories and much controversy about it in 
 ancient and in modem times. But it has 
 little connection with the knowledge of our 
 duty ; and those who differ most in the 
 theory of our moral powers, agree in the 
 practical rules of morals which they dictate. 
 As a man may be a good ju(lg«K)f colours, 
 and of the other visible qualities of objects, 
 without any knowledge of the anatomy of 
 the eye, and of the theory of vision ; so a 
 man may have a very clear and compre- 
 hensive knowledge of what is right and 
 what is wrong in human conduct, who never 
 studied the structure of our moral powers. 
 [386] 
 
 * This partiruUr di«tribulion was introduced by 
 the Stoics, and adopted froan thtm by Cicero. But 
 A doctrine of four fundamental virtues is «o be traced 
 to Wato, and even to Socrate», 1 he«e, according 
 to the latter, are— Piety {vjriCtim.) Self- restraint y^ 
 (iy,<«Tii«), Fortitude (i»3^«). -nd Justice {h 
 mmt^ft) I according to the former— Wisdom ( r#^/«;. 
 Temperance (•■•i^<«*^*t). Fortitude («»«<<«), and! 
 Justice (J*««J*«»»>- ) AriitoUe did not countenance \ 
 inch a reduction.— H 
 
 [384 3661 
 
 CHAF. Ill] OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 6*43 
 
 A good ear in music may be much im- 
 proved by attention and practice in that 
 art ; but very little by studying the ana- 
 tomy of the ear, and the theory of sound. 
 In order to acquire a good eye or a good 
 ear in the arts that require them, the theory 
 of vision and the theory of sounti are by no 
 means necessary, and indeed of very Httle 
 use. Of as little necessity or use is what 
 we call the theory of morals, in order to 
 improve our moral judgment. 
 
 I mean not to depreciate this branch of 
 knowledge. It is a very important part of 
 the philosophy of the human mind, and 
 ought to be considered as such, but not as 
 any part of morals. By the name we give 
 to it, and by the custom of making it a 
 part of every system of morals, men may 
 be led into this gross mistake, which I wish 
 to obviate. That, in order to understand his 
 duty, a man must needs be a philosopher 
 and a metaphysician. [387] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OF 8VSTKMS OP NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. 
 
 Systems of Natural Jurisprudence, of the 
 Rights of Peace and War, or of the Law of 
 Nature and Nations, are a modern inven- 
 tion, which soon acquired such reputation 
 as gave occasion to many puMic establish- 
 ments for teaching it along with the other 
 sciences. It has so close a relation to 
 morals, that it may answer the purpose of a 
 system of morals, and is commonly put in 
 the place of it, as far, at least, as concerns 
 our duty to our fellow-men. They differ in 
 the name and form, but agree in substance. 
 This will appear from a sUght attention to 
 the nature of both. 
 
 The direct intention of Morals is to teach 
 the duty of men : that of Natural Jurispru- 
 dence to teach the rights of men. Right 
 and Duty are things very different, and 
 have even a kind of opposition ; yet they are 
 so related that the one cannot even be 
 conceived without the other ; and he that 
 understands the one must imderstand the 
 other. 
 
 They have the same relation which credit 
 has to debt. As all credit supposes an 
 equivalent debt, so all right supposes a cor- 
 responding duty. There can be no credit 
 in one party without an equivalent debt in 
 another party ; and there can be no right 
 in one party, without a corresponding duty 
 in another party. The sum of credit shews 
 the siun of debt ; and the sum of men's 
 rights shews, in like manner, the sum of 
 their duty to one another. [388] 
 
 The Word Bight has a very different 
 meaning, according as it is applied to actions 
 or to persons. A right action is an action 
 [387-389] 
 
 agreeable to our duty. But, when we speak 
 of the rights of men, the word has a very 
 different and a more artificial meaning. It 
 is a term of art in law, and signifies all that 
 a man may lawfully do, all that he may 
 lawfully possess and use, and all that he 
 he may lawfully claim of any other person. 
 
 This comprehensive meaning of the word 
 right, and of the Latin word jfu*-, which cor- 
 responds to it, though long adopted into 
 common language, is too artificial to be the 
 birth of common language. It is a term of 
 art, contrived by Civilians when the Civil 
 Law became a profession. 
 
 The whole end and object of Law is to 
 protect the subjects in all that they may 
 lawfully do, or possess, or demand. This 
 threefold object of law. Civilians have com- 
 prehended under the word jus or right, 
 which they define, " Facultas aliquid agendi, 
 vel possidendi, vel ah alio consequendi .*'* 
 " A lawful claim to do anything, to possess 
 anything, or to dematid some prestation 
 from some other person/^ The first of these 
 may be called the right oi liberty ; the second 
 that of property, which is also called a real 
 right ; the third is called personal right, be- 
 cause it respects some particular person or 
 persons of whom the prestation may be de- 
 manded. 
 
 We can be at no loss to perceive the 
 Duties corresponding to the several kinds of 
 Rights. What I have a right to do, it is 
 the duty of all men not to hinder me from 
 doing. What is my property or real right, 
 no man ought to take from me ; or to molest 
 me in the use and enjoyment of it. And 
 what I have a right to demand of any man, 
 it is his duty to perform. Between the right, 
 on the one hand, and the duty, on the other, 
 there is not only a necessary connection, 
 but, in reality, they are only different ex- 
 pressions of the same meaning ; just as it is 
 the same thing to say, I am your debtor, 
 and to say. You are my creditor ; or as it is 
 the same thing to say, I am your father, and 
 to say. You are my son. [389] 
 
 Thus we see, that there is such a corre- 
 spondence between the rights of men and 
 the duties of men, that the one points out 
 the other ; and a system of the one may be 
 substituted for a system of the other. 
 
 But here an objection occurs. It may 
 be said, That, although every right implies 
 a duty, yet every duty does not imply a right. 
 Thus, it may be my duty to do a humane 
 or kind office to a man who has no claim of 
 right to it ; and therefore a system of the 
 rights of men, though it teach all the duties 
 of strict justice, yet it leaves out all the 
 duties of charity and humanity, without 
 which the system of morals must be very 
 lame. 
 
 In answer to this objection, it may be 
 observed. That, as there is a strict notion 
 
 2t3 
 
V|i|Pr"'|IF*9E 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [ksuav V 
 
 ©f justice, in which it is dbtinguished from 
 huiiwiiity ami diwity, so there is a more 
 
 extensive algniicalion of it, in which it in- 
 elate those virtues. The ancient moralists, 
 botli Greek and Roman, under the cardinal 
 virtue of Justice, included beneficence; 
 and, in this extensive sense, it is often used 
 in common language. The like may he 
 fluiii of right, which, in a sense not un- 
 common, is extended to every proper claim 
 of Innanity and charity, as well as to the 
 dMim of strict justice. But, as it is proper 
 to diatiiigiiiBll. these two kinds of ckims by 
 
 Iilffpffenl names, writers in natural jurispru- 
 ilenee have given the name of perfect rights 
 to the claims of strict justice, and that of 
 i%mpe9pBi figlits to the claims of charity and 
 imnanity. Thus, all the duties of humanity 
 have imperfect rights corresponding to 
 them, as those of strict justiee have perfect 
 rights* 
 
 Another objection 'may 'he, That there U 
 ffiH m ciau ttfdutie* io which m righi, per- 
 fect or impmfieif eorreepmde, [390] 
 
 We are hound irf duty to pay due respect, 
 not only to what is truly the right of an- 
 ofiiory but to what, through ignorance or 
 mistake, we believe to be his right Thus, 
 if my neighbour is possessed of a horse 
 which he 8tol% and to which he has no 
 right, while I believe the horse to be really 
 lis, and am ignorant of the theft, it is my 
 duty to pay the same respect to this con- 
 ceived right ^as if it were real. Here, theuj 
 is^ ft'iionil. obUgation m one party without 
 Mj aofffispondtiig right on the other. 
 
 To supply this defect in the system of 
 rights, so as to make right and duty corre- 
 spond in every instance, writers in Juris- 
 pnidanM' have bad lecowno to something 
 Bkie what is called a fiction of law. They 
 give the name of rif/fii to the claim which 
 even the tbiel' hath to the goods he has 
 stolen, while the theft is unknown, and to 
 all simikr ckims grounded on the ignor- 
 aaee or mistake of the parties concerned. 
 And to distinguish this kind of right from 
 gsnnine right% perfect or imperfect, they 
 eaU it an. ejttemm right. 
 
 Thus it appears, Aat, although a system 
 'tf the. "fOifMt' rights of men, or the rights 
 Hf atfieljiiifletj would be a kme subsMtute 
 'iBtm^igplBin of human duty, yet, when we 
 ■Ad to it the imperfect and the external 
 'l|ghl% it comprehends th0 whole duty we 
 owe tO' our fellow-men. 
 
 But it may he asked, Wkf lAoiild men be 
 ttmght thetr duty in thie iiMin*! way, bp 
 fij^frlMMi, m it wtref from tk§ rightM of 
 ^kf'r mem f 
 
 Feduips it may bs' tfaoi^hl 'that thu in- 
 
 ihreet way may be mofo agweabk to the 
 
 pride of man, as we see that men of rank 
 
 like better to hear of obligations of honour 
 
 of obligations of duty (although the 
 
 dictates of true honour and of duty be the 
 same ;) for thb reason that honour puts a 
 man in mind of what he ONves to himself, 
 whereas duty is a more humiliating idea. 
 For a like reason, men may attend more 
 willingly to their rights which put them in 
 mind of their dignity, than to their duties, 
 which suggest their dependence. And we 
 see that men may give great attention to 
 thehr rights who give but little to their 
 duty. [301] 
 
 Whatever truth there may be in this, I 
 believe better reasons can be given why 
 systems of natural jurisprudence iiave been 
 contrived and put in the place of systems 
 of morals. 
 
 Systems of Civil Law were invented 
 many ages before we had any system of 
 Natural Jurisprudence; and the former 
 seem to have suggested the idea of the 
 ktter. 
 
 Such k the weakness of human under- 
 sknding, that no large body of knowledge 
 can be easily apprehended and remembered, 
 unless it be arranged and methodised— that 
 k, reduced into a system. When the kws 
 of the Roman people were multiplied to a 
 great degree, and the study of them became 
 an honourable and lucrative profession, it 
 became necessary that they should be meth- 
 odised into a system. And the most natu- 
 ral and obvious way of methodising law, was 
 found to be according to the divisions and 
 subdivisions of men's rights, which it k the 
 intention of law to protect 
 
 The study of law produced not only sys- 
 tems of law, but a language proper for ex- 
 pressing them. Every art has its terms of 
 art for expressing the conceptions that be- 
 long to it ; and the civilian must have terms 
 for expressing accurately the divisions and 
 subdivisions of rights, and the various ways 
 whereby they may be acquired, transferred, 
 or extinguished, in the various transactions 
 of civil society. He must have terms accu- 
 rately defined, for the various crimes by 
 which men's rights are viokted, not to speak 
 of the terms which express the different 
 forms of actions at law, and the various 
 stepsof the procedure of judicatories. [392] / 
 
 Those who have been bred to any pro- 
 fession are very prone to use the terms of 
 their profession in speaking or writing on 
 subjects that have any analogy to it And 
 they may do so with advantage, as terms of 
 art are commonly more precise in their sig- 
 nification, and better define<l, than the words 
 of common language. To such persons, it 
 is ako very natural to model and arrange 
 other subjects, as far as their nature admits, 
 into a method similar to that of the system 
 which fills their minds. 
 
 It might, therefore, be expected that a 
 civilian, intending to give a detailed system 
 of morals, would use many of the terms of 
 
 [390-392] 
 
 OTAF.m.] OF SYSTEMS OF NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE, 645 
 
 civil kw, and mould it, as far as it can be | 
 done, into the form of a system of kw, or 
 of the rights of mankind. 
 
 The necessary and close relation of right 
 to duty, which we before observed, justified 
 this. And Moral Duty had long been con- 
 sidered as a law of nature ; a kw, not 
 wrote on tables of stone or brass, but on 
 the heart of man ; a law of greater anti- 
 quity and higher authority than the laws of 
 particular states ; a kw which k binding 
 upon all men of all nations, and, therefore, 
 is called by Cicero the law of nature and of 
 natiofvt. 
 
 The idea of a system of thk kw was 
 worthy of the genius of the immortal Hugo 
 Grotius, and he was the first who executed 
 it in such a manner as to draw the attention 
 \ of the learned in all the European nations ; 
 and to give occasion to several princes and 
 states to establish public professions for the 
 teacliing of this law. 
 
 The multitude of commentators and an- 
 notators upon this work of Grotius, and the 
 public establishments to which it gave occa- 
 sion, are sufficient vouchers of its merit. 
 
 It k, indeed, a work so well designed, 
 and so skilfully executed ; so free from the 
 scholastic jargon which infected the learned 
 at that time; so much addressed to the 
 common sense and moral judgment of man- 
 kind; and so agreeably illustrated by ex- 
 amples from ancient history, and authorities 
 from the sentiments of ancient autlrors, 
 heathen and Christian, that it must always 
 be esteemed as the capital work of a great 
 genius upon a most important subject. 
 
 L393] 
 
 The utility of a just system of natural 
 jurisprudence appears -1. As it is a system 
 of the moral duty we owe to men, which, 
 by the aid they have taken from the terms 
 and divisions of the civil kw, has been 
 given more in detail and more systematic- 
 ally by writers in natural jurisprudence 
 than it was formerly. 2. As it is the best 
 preparation for the study of law, being, as 
 It were, cast in the mould, and using and 
 explaining many of the terms of the civil 
 kw, on which the law of most of the Euro- 
 pean nations is grounded. 3. It is of use 
 to lawgivers, who ought to make their laws 
 as agreeable as possible to the law of nature. 
 And as laws made by men, like all human 
 works, must be imperfect, it points out the 
 errors and imperfections of human laws. 
 4. To judges and interpreters of the law it 
 k of use, because that interpretation ought 
 to be preferred which is founded in the kw 
 of nature. 6. It k of use in civil contro- 
 versies between states, or between indivi- 
 duals who have no common superior. In 
 such controversies, the appeal must be made 
 to the law of nature ; and the standard sys- 
 tems of it, particularly that of Grotius, have 
 [393-395] 
 
 great authority. And, 6, To say no more 
 upon this point, it is of great use to sove- 
 reigns and states who are above all human 
 kws, to be solemnly admonished of the 
 conduct they are bound to observe to their 
 own subjects, to the subjects of other states, 
 and to one another, in peace and in war. 
 The better and the more generally the kw 
 of nature is understood, the greater dis- 
 honour, in public estimation, will follow 
 every violation of it. [394] 
 
 Some authors have imagined that sys- 
 tems of natural jurisprudence ought to be 
 confined to the perfect rights of men, be- 
 cause the duties which correspond to the 
 imperfect rights, the duties of charity and 
 humanity, cannot be enforced by human 
 laws, but must be left to the judgment and 
 conscience of men, free from compulsion. 
 But the systems which have had the great- 
 est applause of the public, have not followed 
 this plan, and, I conceive, for good reasons. 
 First, Because a system of perfect rights 
 could by no means serve the purpose of a 
 system of morals, which surely k an ina- 
 portant purpose. Secondly, Because, in 
 many cases, it is hardly possible to fix the 
 precise limit between justice and humanity, 
 between perfect and imperfect right. Like 
 the colours in a prismatic image, they run 
 into each other, so that the best eye cannot 
 fix the precise boundary between them. 
 Thirdly, As wise legislators and magistrates 
 ought to have it as their end to make the 
 citizens good as well as just, we find, in all 
 civilized nations, laws that are intended to 
 encourage the duties of humanity. Where 
 human laws cannot enforce them by punish- 
 ments, they may encourage them by re- 
 wards. Of this the wisest legislators have 
 given examples ; and how far this branch 
 of legislation may be carried, no man can 
 foresee. 
 
 The substance of the four followmg chap- .-ffr^ 
 
 ters was wrote long ago, and read in a late- -^^rtViAfi^r^ 
 rary society,'*" with a view to justify some 
 points of morals from metaphysical objec- 
 tions urged against them in the writings of 
 David Hume, Esq. If they answer that 
 end, and, at the same time, serve to illus- 
 trate the account I have given of our rooial 
 powers, it is hoped that the reader will not 
 think them improperly placed here; and 
 that he will forgive some repetitions, and 
 perhaps anachronisms, occasioned by their 
 being wrote at different times, and on dif- 
 ferent occasions. [395] 
 
 rV(|#P|~^^"' , C/; 
 
 * Probably the Philosophical Society in Aberdeen i 
 and, if so, these i hapters weie wr.ltcii before 1 .6|. 
 See above, pp. 7, a, 41, b.-.H. 
 

 C 
 
 V. 
 
 WB'nram am action DssimviNO moeal ap- 
 probation, MUIT BB DON! WITH TBI Bl- 
 HBP' Of RB BBtNe MOBALIT O'OOm 
 
 Tkbrb is no pBrt of philosophy more sub- 
 tile aod infcricmte tiuui that «M«h m called. 
 Tk§ Tkearp (f Morals* Nor is there any 
 mim^ niain ^and loTel to the apprehension of 
 Ban 'iliaii tliO' piactical part' ot morals. 
 
 In the former, the Epicurean, the Peri- 
 pitettc, and the Stoic, had each his different 
 system of old ; and almost every modern 
 author of reputation has a system of his own. 
 At the same time there is no branch of hu- 
 bmh. kmovledse, in whkh there is so sen- 
 Biw. ait agfieiiiiiis 'among .ancients and mo- 
 ■ cbff iMi L 'iiiiniid and unlearned, as in the 
 pncnoal rules of morals. 
 
 From this discord in the theory, and har- 
 mony in the practical. JpBrt, we may judge 
 that the rules of 'mfnaily' stand upon an- 
 other and a firmer foundation than the 
 theory. And of this it is easy to perceiTo 
 the reason* 
 
 For, in order to know what is right and 
 what is wrong in human conduct, we need 
 nly listen to the dictates of our conscience 
 when the mind is calm and unruffled, or at* 
 temi to the judgment we form of others in 
 
 'faaous theories of' morals, we must be able 
 tn analyze and dissect, as it were, the ac- 
 tive powers of the human mind, and espe- 
 eially to analyn aceniately that conscience 
 or moral power by 'Whieh 've discern .right 
 from wrong. [30§] 
 
 The conscience may be compared to the 
 eye in this as in many other respects. The 
 leanied and the unlearned see objects with 
 b^hbI distisetneis* The former have uo 
 title to dictate to the latter, as far as the 
 eye is judge, nor is there any disagreement 
 ilMMt such matters. But, to dissect the 
 •y% and to explain the theory of vision, is 
 a dilieult point, wherein the most skilfiil 
 'have' diiered. 
 
 Ftain IUb :MniaiUble dii^arity between. 
 our dediioDS In tie theory of morals and 
 'la the: rules of morality, we may, I. think, 
 
 . draw this conclusion. That wherever we 
 % ind any disagreement between the practi- 
 ittl rules of morality, whieh Jibvo been re- 
 Helved in all ages, and the prpiciples of any 
 of the theories advanced upon this sub- 
 ject, the practical rules ought to be the 
 Blaudard by which the theory is to be cor- 
 reeied, and that it is both unsafe and un- 
 |ihihM»phical to warp' 'the practical rules, 
 
 r m order to make them taUy with a favour- 
 
 The H'leBtion to be considered in th.is 
 'Chapter lelongii to the practical part of mo- 
 
 fili, and therefore is eapable of a more eas^ 
 and more certain determination. And, if 
 it be determined in the affirmative, I con- 
 ceive that it may serve as a touchstone to 
 try some celebrated theories which are in- 
 consistent with that determination, and 
 which have led the theorists to oppose it by 
 very subtile metaphysical arguments. 
 
 Every question about what is or is not 
 the proper object of moral approbation, be- 
 longs to practical morals, and such is the J 
 question now under consideration : — HrA*-| 
 ther actions deserving moral approbation] 
 must be done with the belief of their being 
 morally good f or. Whether an action^ done i 
 tcithout any regard to duty or to the dictates] 
 of conscience^ can be entitled to moral ap* 
 probation f [397] 
 
 In every action of a moral agent, his 
 conscience is either altogether silent, or it 
 pronounces the action to be good, or bad, or 
 indifferent. This, I think, is a complete 
 enumeration. If it be perfectly silent, the 
 action must be very trifling, or appear so. 
 For conscience, in those who have exer- 
 cised it, is a very pragmatical faculty, and 
 meddles with every part of our conduct, 
 whether we desire its counsel or not. And 
 what a man does in perfect simplicity, 
 without the least suspicion of its being ba^ 
 his heart cannot condemn him for, nor will 
 He that knows the heart condemn him. 
 If there was any previous culpable negli- 
 gence or inattention which led him to a 
 wrong judgment, or hindered his forming a 
 right one, that I do not exculpate. I only 
 consider the action done, and the disposi- 
 tion with which it was done, without its 
 previous circumstances. And in this there 
 appears nothing that merits disapproba- 
 tion. As little can it merit any degree of 
 moralapprobation, because there was neither 
 good nor ill intended. And the same may 
 be said when conscience pronounces the 
 action to be indifferent. 
 
 If, in the second place, I do what my 
 conscience pronounce to be bad or dubi- 
 ous, I am guUty to myself, and justly de- 
 serve the disapprobation of others. Nor 
 am I less guilty in this case, though what 
 I judged to be bad should happen to be 
 good or indifferent. 1 did it believing it 
 to be bad, and this is an immorality. 
 
 Lastly f If I do wlmt my conscience pro* 
 nounces to be right and my duty, either I 
 have some regard to duty, or I have none. 
 The last is not supposable ; for I believe 
 there is no man so abandoned but that ho 
 does what he believes to be his doty, with 
 more assurance and alacrity upon that ac- 
 count. The more weight the rectitude of 
 the action has in determining me to do it, 
 the more I approve of my own conduct. 
 And if my worldly interest, my appetites, 
 or inclinations draw me strongly the con- 
 
 [3D(i, 3»7] 
 
 CHAP. IV.] 
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 
 
 647 
 
 trary way, my following the dictates of my 
 conscience, iu opposition to these motives, 
 adds to the moral worth of the action. 
 
 1398] 
 
 When a man acts from an erroneous 
 judgment, if his error be invincible, all 
 agree that he is inculpable. But if his 
 error be owing to some previous negligence 
 or inattention, there seems to be some dif- 
 ference among moralists. This difference, 
 however, b only seeming, and not reaL 
 For wherein lies the fault in this case ? It 
 must be granted by all, that the fault lies 
 in thb and solely in this, that he was not 
 at due pams to have his judgment well in- 
 formed. Those moralists, therefore, who 
 consider the action and the previous conduct 
 that led to it as one whole, find something 
 to blame in the whole; and they do so 
 most justly. But those who take this whole 
 to pieces, and consider what is blameable 
 and what is right in each part, find all that 
 is blameable in what preceded this wrong 
 judgment, and nothing but what is ap- 
 provable in what followed it. 
 
 Let us suppose, for instance, that a man 
 believes that God has indispensably re- 
 quired him to observe a very rigorous fast 
 in Lent ; and that, from a regard to this 
 supposed divine command, he fasts in such 
 manner as is not only a great mortification 
 to his appetite, but even hurtful to his 
 health. 
 
 His superstitious opinion may be the 
 effect of a culpable negligence, for which 
 he can by no means be justified. Let him, 
 therefore, bear all the blame upon this ac- 
 count that he deserves. But now, having 
 this opinion fixed in his mind, shall he act 
 according to it or against it ? Surely we 
 cannot hesitate a moment in this case. It 
 is evident that, in following the light of 
 his judgment, he acts the part of a good 
 and pious man ; whereas, in acting contrary 
 to his judgment, he would be guilty of wil- 
 ful disobedience to his Maker. 
 
 If my servant, by mistaking my orders, 
 does the contrary of what I commanded, 
 believing, at the same time, that he obeys 
 my orders, there may be some fault iu his 
 mistake, but to charge him with the crime 
 of disobedience, would be inhuman and un- 
 just. [399] 
 
 These determmations appear to me to 
 have intuitive evidence, no less than that 
 of mathematical axioms. A man who is 
 come to years of understanding, and who 
 has exercised his faculties in judging of 
 right and wrong, sees their truth as he sees 
 daylight. Metaphysical arguments brought 
 against them have the same effect as when 
 brought against the evidence of sense : they 
 may puzzle and confound, but they do not 
 einvince. It appears, evident, therefore, 
 that those actions only can truly be called 
 [398-400] 
 
 virtuous, or deserving of moral approba- 
 tion, which the agent believed to be right, 
 and to which he was influenced, more or 
 less, by that belief. 
 
 If it should be objected, That this prin- 
 ciple makes it to be of no consequence to a 
 man*s morals, what his opinions may be, 
 providing he acts agreeably to them, the 
 answer is easy. 
 
 Morality requires, not only that a man 
 should act according to his judgment, but 
 that he should use the best means in his 
 power that his judgment be according to 
 truth. If he fail in either of these points, he 
 is worthy of blame ; but, if he fail in neither, 
 I see not wherein he can be blamed. 
 
 When a man must act, and has no longer 
 time to deliberate, he ought to act accord- 
 ing to the light of his conscience, even when 
 he is in an error. But, when he has time 
 to deliberate, he ought surely to use all the 
 means in his power to be rightly informed. 
 When he has done so, he may still be in 
 an error ; but it is an invincible error, and 
 and cannot justly be imputed to him as a 
 
 fault. [400J 
 
 A second objection is. That we imme- 
 diately approve of benevolence, gratitude, 
 and other prunary virtues, without inquiring 
 whether they are practised from a per- 
 suasion that they are our duty. And the 
 laws of God place the sum of virtue in 
 loving God and our neighbour, without any 
 provision that we do it from a persuasion 
 that we ought to do so. 
 
 The answer to this objection is, That the 
 love of God, the love of our neighbour, 
 justice, gratitude, and other primary vir- 
 tues, are, by the constitution of human 
 nature, necessarily accompanied with a con- 
 viction of their being morally good. We 
 may, therefore, safely presume, that these 
 things are never disjoined, and that every 
 man who practises these virtues does it 
 with a good conscience. In judging of 
 men's conduct, we do not suppose things 
 which cannot happen, nor do the laws of 
 God give decisions upon impossible cases, 
 as they must have dune if they supposed 
 the case of a man who thought it contrary 
 to his duty to love God or to love mankind. 
 
 But if we wish to know how the laws of 
 God determine the point in question, we 
 ought to observe their decision with regard 
 to such actions as may appear good to one 
 man and ill to another. And here the 
 decisions of scripture are clear : " Let every 
 man be persuaded in his own mind ;"~" IJe 
 that doubtelh is condemned if he eat, because 
 he eaUth not of faifh, for whatsoever ts noj 
 offuithissinr—" To him that esteeniem 
 ani,thing to be unclean, it is unclean,^ The 
 Scripture often placeth the sum of virtue in 
 " iiVlnif in all good conscience,'* m acting 
 so " that our hearts condemn mv not. ' 
 
nm 
 
 ON THB ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [^KSSAY 
 
 His laal objection I shall mention is a 
 ni«ta|llljPiical on© urged by Mr Hume. 
 
 Il k a litTourite point in bia system of 
 monils, naijmHu k mi a natural but an 
 mrii0d«i wMue. To prove this, he has ex- 
 erted the whole strength of his reason and 
 eloquence. And as the principle we are 
 considering stood in his way, he talces pains 
 to refute it [401 ] 
 
 *• Snppoee,'* says he, " a person to have 
 lent me a sum of money, on condition that it 
 bo restored in a few days. After the expira- 
 Hoii nf tbe term, he demanii the sum. I ask, 
 viat reason or motive have I to restore the 
 ■Miwy ? It will perhaps be said, That my 
 regard to justice and abhorrence of villany 
 aiM knavery are sufficient reasons for me." 
 And this, he acknowledges, would be a 
 ■atisfactory answer to a man bi his civilized 
 Itete, and when trained up according to a 
 eertain discipline and education. ^' But, 
 in bis rude and more mtuml condition," 
 mjn he, " if you are pleased to call sueh a 
 eondition mtnfsl, tliii answer' would be re- 
 jeeted as perfectly unintelligible and sophis- 
 tieaL 
 
 « For wherein eonaisis this honesty tmd 
 lustioe ? Not Btifely hi 'the extC'rual action. 
 It must, therefore, consist in the motive 
 from which the external action is derived. 
 Hiis motive can never be a regard to the 
 bunesty of the action. For it is a plain 
 Wlacy to say, That a virtuous motive is 
 requisite to render an action honest, and, at 
 the same time, that a regard to tlie honesty 
 Il the motive to the aetionr We can never 
 bftve a regard to the irirtue of an action 
 unless the action be antecedently virtuous.** 
 
 And, in another pkce— ** To suppose 
 that the jhoto rmrd to the virtue of the 
 ■etinn ia that wbwb rendered it virtuous, m 
 to reioon in a circle. An action must be 
 virtuous before we can have a regard to its 
 ▼irtue. Some virtuous motive, therefore, 
 muBl be anieeedent to that regard. Nor 
 is thianerely a metaphysical aubtilty,** &o. 
 (TretiiiM of Buman JValtirt, Book III. 
 Wmi ii Sect 1.) 
 
 I am not to eonsider, at this time, how 
 this reaaoniiw is applied to support the 
 author's opinm. That justice is not a na- 
 tural but an artificial virtue. I consider it 
 only as lar as it opposes the principle I 
 have 'bean endeavouring to eatablish, That, 
 to^ 'rmdor' an 'action truly virtnmis, the agent 
 must have some regard to its rectitude. 
 And I conceive the whole force of the rea- 
 ■OMM amounts to this :— [402] 
 
 Wien we judge an action to be good or 
 bad, il must have been so in its own nature 
 aateoedent to that judgment, otherwise the 
 jaitaiMnt is erroneous. If, therefore, the 
 action bO' good, in ita nature, the judgment 
 of the agent eamot make it bad, nor can 
 bia J«|pient make it good if, in its nature, 
 
 it be bad. For this would be to ascribe to 
 our judgment a strange magical power to 
 transform the nature of things, and to say, 
 that my judging a thing to I.e what it ii 
 not, makes it really to be what I erron- 
 eously judge it to be. This, I think, is the 
 objection in its full strength. And, in an- 
 swer to it- 
 
 [1.] Firsi, If we could not loose this 
 metaphysical knot, I think we might fairly 
 and honestly cut it, because it fixes au ab- 
 surdity upon the clearest and most indis- 
 putable principles of morals and of common 
 sense. For I appeal to any man whether 
 there be any principle of morality, or any 
 principle of common sense, more clear ana 
 indisputable than that which we just now 
 quoted from the Apostle Paul, That, al- 
 though a thing be not unclean in itself, yet 
 to him that esteemeth it to be unclean, to 
 him it is unclean. But the metaphysical 
 argument makes this absurd. For, says 
 the metaphysician. If the thing was not un- 
 clean in itself, you judged wrong in esteem- 
 ing it to be unclean ; and what can be more 
 absurd than that your esteeming a thing to 
 be what it is not, should make it what you 
 erroneously esteem it to be ? [403] 
 
 Let us try the edge of this argument in 
 another instance. Nothing is more evident 
 than that an action does not merit the name 
 of benevolent, unless it be done from a be- 
 lief that it tends to promote the good of our 
 neighbour. But this is absurd, says the 
 metaphysician. For, if it be not a bene- 
 volent action in itself, your belief of its 
 tendency cannot change its nature. It is 
 absurd that your erroneous belief should 
 make the action to be what you believe it 
 to be. Nothing is more evident than that 
 a man who tells the truth, believing it to 
 be a lie, is guilty of falsehood ; but the 
 metaphysician would make this to be ab- 
 surd. 
 
 In a word, if there be any strength in 
 this argument, it would follow. That a man 
 might be, in the highest degree, virtuous, 
 without the least regard to virtue ; that be 
 might be very benevolent, without ever in- 
 tending to do a good office ; very malicious, 
 without ever intending any hurt ; very re- 
 vengeful, without ever intending to retaliate 
 an injury ; very grateful, without ever in- 
 tending to return a benefit ; and a man of 
 strict veracity, with an intention to lie. 
 We might, therefore, reject this reasoning, 
 as repugnant to self-evident truths, though 
 we were not able to point out the fallacy of 
 it 
 
 2. But let ua try, in the «<rconil place, 
 whether the fallacy of this argument may 
 not be discovered. 
 
 We ascribe moral goodness to actions 
 considered abstractly, without any relation 
 to the agent. We likewise ascribe moral 
 
 [401-403] 
 
 CHAP. IV ] 
 
 OBJECT OF MORAL APPROBATION. 
 
 649 
 
 rdness to an agent on account of an action 
 has done; we call it a good action, 
 though, in this case, the goodness is properly 
 in the man, and is only by a figure ascribed 
 to the action. Now, it is to be considered, 
 whether moral goodness , when applied to an 
 action considered abstractly, has the same 
 meaning as when we apply it to a man on 
 account of that action ; or whether we do 
 not unawares change the meaning of the 
 word, according as we apply it to the one 
 or to the other. [404] 
 
 The action, considered abstractly, has 
 neither understanding nor will; it is not 
 accountable, nor can it be under any moral 
 obligation. But all these things are essen- 
 tial to that moral goodness which belongs 
 to a man ; for, if a man had not under- 
 standing and will, he could have no moral 
 goodness. Hence it follows necessarily, 
 that the moral goodness which we ascribe 
 to an action considered abstractly, and that 
 which we ascribe to a person for doing that 
 action, are not the sartie. Tlie meaning of 
 the word is changed when it is applied to 
 these different subjects. 
 
 This will be more evident, when we con- 
 sider what is meant by the moral goodness 
 which we ascribe to a man for doing an 
 action, and what by the goodness which be- 
 longs to the action considered abstractly. 
 A good action in a man is that in which he 
 applied his intellectual powers properly, 
 in order to judge what he ought to do, and 
 acted according to his best judgment This 
 is all that can be required of a moral agent ; 
 and in this his moral goodness, in any good 
 action, consists. But is this the goodness 
 which we ascribe to an action considered 
 abstractly ? No, surely. For the action, 
 considered abstractly, is neither endowed 
 with judgment nor with active power ; and, 
 therefore, can have none of that goodness 
 which we ascribe to the man for doing it. 
 
 But what do we mean by goodness in an 
 action considered abstractly ? To me it 
 appears to lie in this, and in this only. 
 That it is an action which ought to be done 
 by those who have the power and oppor- 
 tunity, and the capacity of perceiving their 
 obligation to do it I would gladly know 
 of any man, what other moral goodness can 
 be in an action considered abstractly. And 
 this goodness is inherent in its nature, and 
 inseparable from it No opinion or judg- 
 ment of an agent can in the least alter its 
 nature. 
 
 Suppose the action to be that of reliev- 
 ing an innocent person out of great distress. 
 This surely has all the moral goodness that 
 an action, considered abstractly, can have. 
 Yet, it is evident that an agent, in relieving 
 a person in distress, may have no moral 
 
 S9odnes8, may have creat merit, or may 
 ave great demerit. [406] 
 [404-406] 
 
 Suppose, /r«/, That mice cut the cords 
 which bound the distressed person, and so 
 bring him relief. Is there moral goodness 
 in this act of the mice ? 
 
 Suppose, secondly, That a man maliciously 
 relieves the distressed person, in order to 
 plunge him into greater distress. In this 
 action, there is surely no moral goodness, 
 but much malice and inhumanity. 
 
 If, in the last place, we suppose a person, 
 from real sympathy and humanity, to bring 
 relief to the distressed person, with consider- 
 able expense or danger to himself — here is 
 an action of real worth, which every heart 
 approves and every tongue praises. But 
 wherein lies the worth ? Not in the action 
 considered by itself, which was common to 
 all the three) but in the man who, on this 
 occasion, acted the part which became a 
 good man. He did what his heart approved, 
 and therefore he is approved by God and 
 man. 
 
 Upon the whole, if we distinguish between 
 that goodness which may be ascribed to an 
 action considered by itself, and that good- 
 ness which we ascribe to a man when he 
 puts it in execution, we shall find a key to 
 this metaphysical lock. We admit that 
 the goodness of an action, considered ab- 
 stractly, can have no dependence upon the 
 opinion or belief of an agent, any more than 
 the truth of a proposition depends upon our 
 believing it to be true. But, when a man 
 exerts his active power well or ill, there is 
 a moral goodness or turpitude which we 
 figuratively impute to the action, but which 
 is truly and properly imputable to the man 
 only ; and this goodness or turpitude de- 
 pends very much* upon the intention of the 
 agent, and the opinion he had of hisactiou. 
 
 [406] 
 
 This distinction has been understood in 
 all ages by those who gave any attention to 
 morals, though it has been variously ex- 
 pressed. The Greek moralists gave the 
 name of *«^^««» to an action good in itself; 
 such an action might be done by the most 
 worthless. But an action done with a right 
 intention, which implies real worth in the 
 agent, they called »«T0{3^«/tM6. The distinc- 
 tion is explained by Cicero in his " Offices.'* 
 He calls the first officium medium, and the 
 second officinm pe>fectumy or 7€ctuni.-f In 
 the scholastic ages, an action good in itself 
 was said to be muteriuly good, and an action 
 done with a right intention was called /oAm- 
 
 * It «hould have been said—" depends altogether,"* 
 &c.— H. 
 
 t The . x»^7toM (Jkiffcv or officium medium^ wa« 
 never called simply either *«a^K«ev ox officium ; ihouf li 
 frequently mc rely /*£Vov . Rei.l was probably led into 
 !he mistake by an erroneous 'e«'*"'e; ("''^f""*^, 
 nancedby any M.-., and coMrary to the umver.-a^ 
 analogy of the Stoical language), which I'farce. in 
 his edition, introduced into the third chapter of the 
 first book of Cicero's Offices.— H. 
 
650 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay ▼. 
 
 CHAP. ¥.] 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 651 
 
 mttg gmA TUm hmk wsy of exprwrimr tlie 
 dliiiiiotuiii is itii funiluu' smong Th«o- 
 logiaiii I but Mr Hiime teenis not to have 
 attended to it» or to liave thoiigiit it to be 
 
 wurti 'liitlMMit Mif 'inttuimg. 
 
 Mr Hume,, fa mm iwetion .already quoted, 
 tells^ na witli great aiiiiniiee— <* In ehort, 
 it naj be efltablkbed as an undoubted 
 maxim, that no action can i*e virtuous or 
 iniinilly good, unless there be in human 
 atllira ioiiie motive to produce it, distinct 
 imn A* wofie of its morality." And upon 
 manim he founds many of his reason- 
 
 ings ^on the Bubjeet of morale. 
 
 IVhether it be consistent with Mr Hume's 
 own system, that an action may be pro- 
 
 iueed merely from the sense of its morality, 
 without any motive of agreeableness or 
 utiity, I shaM. not now inquire. But, if it 
 Im tiie, and, I think it evident to every man 
 of common understanding, that a judge or 
 an arbiter acta the most virtuous part when 
 his sentence is produced by no other motive 
 but a legMd to justice and a g«_)od cou- 
 Mienee— my, when all' other motives dis- 
 tinct from this are on the other side :— if 
 thii^ I say, be true, then that undoubted 
 ■uaxim^'iif Mr Hume must be false, and all 
 liM eoneloslfins Wit upwii must fall to the 
 'grimnd. [4i7| 
 
 From the principle I have endeavoured 
 to establish, I think scmie consequences may 
 be drawn with regard to the theory of 
 morals., 
 
 First, If there be no virtue without the 
 baieff that what we do is right, it follows, 
 'thai a moral/ :iM»lty— that, is, a power of 
 ^disimniltig Moral goodness and turpitude in 
 bipiian conduct — is essential to every being 
 isapable of virtue or vice. A being who has 
 no more conception of moral goodness and 
 baseness, of right and wrong, than a blind 
 imaa. iaiil. rf colours, ean. have no regard to 
 it in bis conduct, and therefore can neither 
 be virtuous nor vicious. 
 
 He may have qualities that are agreeable 
 or disigrssabie,, 'useiiii or hurtful i so^ may 
 a plant or a machine. And we sometimes 
 use the word virtue in such a latitude as to 
 signify any agreeable or useful quality, as 
 when we speak of the virtues of ]^lants. 
 But we are now speaking of virtue m the 
 strict and proper sense, as it signifies that 
 quality in a man which is the object of 
 moral approbation. 
 
 This virtue a man could not have, if be 
 had not apewer of discerning a right and a 
 wrong in human cenduct, and of being in- 
 iuenced by that discernment. For in so 
 far only he is virtuous as he is guided in his 
 conduct by that part of his constitution. 
 Brutes do not appear to have anv such 
 fower, ud therefore are' not moral or ac- 
 countable agents. They are ca:pable of 
 culture and discipline, but not of virtuous 
 
 or criminal conduct. Even human crea- iyiMA 
 tures, in infancy and non-age, are not mora* i 
 agents, because their moral faculty is notJv«'***^| 
 yet unfolded. These sentiments are ^"P"^ JL,^ 
 ported by the common sense of mankind/yY*^ 
 wfaidi has always determined that neither Xl^vi/j 
 brutes nor infants can be indicted for crimes/ ] { 
 
 [4081 
 
 It 18 of small consequence what name we 
 give to thb moral power of the human 
 mind ; but it is so important a part of our 
 constitution as to deserve an appropriated 
 name. The name of c<mseienee, as it is the 
 most common, seeras to me as proper as 
 any that has been given it. I find no fault 
 with the name moral tetmey although I con- 
 ceive this name has given occasion to some 
 mistakes concerning the nature of our moral 
 power. Modem philosophers have conceived 
 of the external senses as having no other 
 office but to give* us certain sensations, or 
 simple conceptions, which we could not have 
 without them. And this notion has been 
 applied to the moral sense. But it seems 
 to me a mistaken notion in both. By the 
 sense of seeing, I not only have the con- 
 ception of the different colours, but I per- 
 ceive one body to be of this colour, another 
 of that. In like manner, by my moral 
 sense, I not only have the conceptions of 
 right and wrong in conduct, but I perceive 
 this conduct to be right, that to be wrong, 
 and that indifferent. All our senses are 
 judging faculties,* so also is conscience. 
 Nor is this power only a judge of our own 
 actions and those of others — it is likewise a 
 principle of action in all good men ; and so 
 far only can our conduct be denominated 
 virtuous as it is influenced by this prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 A tecond consequence from the principle 
 laid down in this chapter is, that the fornml 
 nature and essence of that virtue which is 
 the object of moral approbation consists 
 neither in a prudent prosecution of our pri- 
 vate interest, nor in benevolent aft'ections 
 towards others, nor in qualities useful or 
 agreeable to ourselves or to others, nor in 
 sympathizing with the passions and affec- 
 tions of others, and in attuning our own 
 conduct to the tone of other men's pas- 
 sions ; but it consists ui living m all good 
 conscience— that is, ui using the best means 
 in our power to know our duty, and acting 
 accordingly. 
 
 Prudence is a virtue. Benevolence is a 
 virtue. Fortitude is a virtue ; but the essence 
 and formal nature of Virtue must lie in 
 something that is common to all these, andx 
 to every other virtue. And this I conceive 
 can be nothing else but the rectitude of such 
 conduct and turjntude €f the contrary ^ which 
 is discerned by a good man. And so far 
 
 • See •bote. p. m, •, nol«; etaUbL^H, 
 
 [407.408] 
 
 only he is virtuous as he pursues the former 
 ana avoids the httter. [409] 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHETHBR JUSTICE BB A NATUBAL OR AN 
 ARTIFICIAL VIRTUE. 
 
 Mr H UMB^s philosophy concerning morals 
 was first presented to the world in the third 
 volume of his " Treatise of Human Nature," 
 in the year 1740; afterwards in his " In- 
 quiry concerning the Principles of Morals,*' 
 which was first published by itself, and then 
 in several editions of his " Essays and Trea- 
 tises." 
 
 In these two works on morals, the system 
 is the same. A more popular arrangement, 
 great embellishment, and the omission of 
 some metaphysical reasonings, have given a 
 preference in the public esteem to the last ; 
 but I find neither any new principles in it, 
 nor any new arguments in support of the 
 system common to both. 
 
 In this system, the proper object of Moral 
 Approbation is not actions or any voluntary 
 exertion, but qualities of mind — that is, 
 natural affections or passions, which are in- 
 (roluntary, a part of the constitution of the 
 man, and common to us with many brute 
 aniinals. When we praise or blame any 
 voluntary action, it is only considered as a 
 sign of the natural affection from which it 
 flows, and from which all its merit or demerit 
 is derived. 
 
 moral Approbation or Disapprobation^ is 
 not an Act of the Judgment, which, like all 
 acts of judgment, must be true or false ; 
 it is only a certain Feeling, which, from 
 the constitution of human nature, arises 
 upon contemplating certain characters, or 
 
 ?uaUties of mind, coolly and impartially. 
 4101 
 
 This feeling, when agreeable, is moral 
 approbation ; when disagreeable, disappro- 
 bation. The qualities of mind which pro- 
 duce this agreeable feeling, are the moral 
 virtues ; and those that produce the disa- 
 greeable, the vices. 
 
 These preluuinaries being granted, the 
 question about the foundation of morals is 
 mluced to a simple question of fact — to wit. 
 What are the qualities of mind which pro- 
 duce, in the disinterested observer, the feel- 
 ing of approbation, or the contrary feel- 
 ing? 
 
 In answer to this question, the author 
 endeavours to prove, by a very copious in- 
 duction, That all personal merit, all virtue, 
 all that is the object of moral approbation, 
 consists in the qualities of mind which are 
 agreeable or useful to the person who pos- 
 sesses them, or to others. 
 
 The dulce and the uUle m the whole sum 
 [409-411] 
 
 of merit in every character, in every quality 
 of mind, and in every action of life. There 
 is no room left for that honestum which 
 Cicero thus defines : — Honestum igitur id 
 inlelligimus, quod tale est, ut delracta omni 
 utiiitaie^ sine ullis previiis fructibusve, per 
 seipsum jure possit laudari* — [Db Finibus, 
 ii. 14.] 
 
 Among the ancient moralists, the Epicu- 
 reans were the only sect who denied that 
 there is any such thing as honestum, or 
 moral worth, distinct from pleasure. In 
 this, Mr Hume's system agrees v»^ith theirs. 
 For the addition of utility to pleasure, as a 
 foundation of morals, makes only a verbal, 
 but no real difference. What is useful only 
 has no value in itself ; but derives all its 
 merit from the end for which it is useful. 
 That end, in this system, is agreeableness, 
 or pleasure ; so that, in both systems, plea- 
 sure is the only end, the only tiling that is 
 good in itself, and desirable for its own sake ; 
 and virtue derives all its merit from its 
 tendency to produce pleasure. [411] 
 
 Agreeableness and utility are not moral ) 
 conceptions, nor have they any connection 
 with morality. What a man does, merely 
 because it is agreeable, or useful to pro- 
 cure what is agreeable, is not virtue. There- } 
 fore the Epicurean system was justly thought, | 
 by Cicero, and the best moralists among 
 the ancients, to subvert morality, and to 
 substitute another principle in its room , 
 and this system is liable to the same cen- 
 sure. 
 
 In one thing, however, it differs remark- 
 ably from that of Epicurus. It allows that 
 there are disinterested affections in human 
 nature ; that the love of children and rela- 
 tions, friendship, gratitude, compassion, and 
 humanity, are not, as Epicurus maintained, 
 different niodificationsof self-love, butsimple 
 and original parts of the human constitu- 
 tion ; that, when interest, or envy, or re- 
 venge, pervert not our disposition, we are 
 inclined, from natural philanthropy, to de- 
 sire, and to be pleased with the happiness 
 of the human kind. 
 
 All this, in opposition to the Epicurean 
 system, Mr Hume maintains with great 
 strength of reason and eloquence, and, in 
 this respect, his system is more liberal and 
 disinterested than that of the Greek phi- 
 losopher. According to Epicurus, virtue is 
 whatever is agreeable to ourselves — accord- 
 ing to Mr Hume, every quality of mmd 
 that is agreeable or useful to ourselves or 
 to others. 
 
 This theory of the nature of virtue, it 
 must be acknowledged, enlarges greatly the 
 catalogue of moral virtues, by bringing inta 
 that catalogue every quaUty of mind thav 
 is useful or agreeable. Nor does there 
 appear any good reason why the useful and 
 agreeable qualities of body and of fortuiwin 
 
652 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [E18AY W. 
 
 w ««ll M tlioio of tlie miiid, should not 
 Ittve a plftce among moral virtues in this 
 ^jstem. They have the essence of vir- 
 tue s that iSj agreeableneas .and utility- 
 why then should they not have the name ? 
 
 But, to eompensate this addition to the 
 moral virtues, one class of them seems to 
 
 he gNally di«»ded and denrived of all 
 inlnnsiit' nerit* The useM virtues, as was 
 above observed, are only ministering ser- 
 vants of the agreeable, and purveyors for 
 them ; they must, therefore, be so far in- 
 fiiior In dignity as hardly to deserve the 
 ■amename. 
 
 Mr Hume, however, gives the name of 
 •irliKto both; and, to ''distinguish them, 
 «d:b the ingrecable uualitifi8Jiiil»r«il virtues, 
 Md.. 'the' ttseflil mtUfiml, 
 
 'The natural virtues are those natural 
 affections of the human constitution which 
 give immediate pleasure in their exercise. 
 Sueh are all the benevolent affections. 
 Matnitt disposes to thera, and from their 
 own nature they are agreeable, both when 
 we exercise them ourselves, and when we 
 eonleupiite^ their oxereise in others. 
 
 The artiieial virtues are such m wm 
 [esteemed solely on account of their utility, 
 either to promote the good of society— as 
 justice, fidelity, honour, veracity, allegiance, 
 cliastity j or on account of their utility to 
 j the possessor— as industry, discretion, fru- 
 gality, secrecy, order, perseverance, fore- 
 thought, judgment, and others, of which, he 
 say% many pages could not contain the 
 aaialoguiek' 
 
 This gp»ne»l view .of Mr Hume!j8^ system 
 concerning the foundation of morals, seemed 
 SMMBsaiy, in. order to understand distinctly 
 the meaning of that prineipleof his, wliicU 
 is to be the subject of this chapter, and on 
 which he has bestowed much labour— to 
 wit, that justice is not a natural but an 
 artificial virtue. [413] 
 
 This system of the foundation of virtue is 
 so contradictory in many of its essential 
 points to the account we have before given 
 of the active powers of human nature, that, 
 if the on© lie true, the other must be 
 
 If Go*! has given to man a power which 
 ■W«. call rO'.'i«ci>fi.«, the marai fmuliy, the 
 ■mmm qf dnty^ by which, when he conies to 
 yenrs of understanding, he perceives certain 
 things that depend on his will to be hi«* 
 duty, and other things to tie base and un- 
 worthy I if the notion of duty be a simjile 
 oonception, of its own kind, and of a differ- 
 ent nature from the conceptions of utility 
 andagreeableness, of interest or reputation ; 
 if this moral faeuUy be the prerogative of 
 man, and no vestige of it be found in brute 
 animals ; if it be given us by God to regu- 
 kle all our animal affections and passions t 
 
 if to be governed by it, b© the glory of man 
 and the image of God in his soul, and to 
 disregard its dictates be his dishonour and 
 depravity — I say, if these things be so, to 
 seek the foundation of morality in the affec- 
 tions which we have in common with the 
 brutes, is to seek the living among the 
 dead, and to change the glory of man, and 
 the image of God in his soul, into the simi- 
 litude of an ox that eateth grass. 
 
 If virtue and vice be a matter of choice, 
 they must consist in voluntary actions, or 
 in fixed purposes of aciing according to a 
 certain rule when there is opj»ortunity, and 
 not in qualities of mind which are involun- 
 
 It is true that every virtue is both agree- 
 able and useful in the highest degree ; and 
 that every quality that is agreeable or use- 
 ful, has a merit upon that account But 
 virtue has a merit peculiar to itself, a merit 
 which does not arise from its being useful 
 or agreeable, but from its lieing virtue. 
 This merit is discerned by the same faculty 
 by wliich we discern it to b© virtue, and 
 by no other. [414] 
 
 We give the name of esteem both to the 
 regard w© have for things useful and agree- 
 able, and to the regard we have for virtue ; 
 but these are different kinds of esteem. I 
 esteem a man for his ingenuity and learn- 
 ing— I esteem him for his moral worth. The 
 sound of €$teem in both these speeches is 
 the same, but its meaning is very dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 Good breeding is a very amiable quality ; 
 and even if I knew that the man had no 
 motive to it but its pleasure and utility to 
 himself and others, 1 should hke it still ; 
 but I would not in that case call it a moral 
 
 virtue. 
 
 A dog has a tender concern for her pup- 
 pies ; so has a man for his children. The 
 natural affection is the same in lioth, and 
 is amiable in both. But why do we impute 
 moral virtue to the man on account of this 
 concern, and not to the dog ? The reason 
 surely is. That, in the man, the natural 
 affection is accompanied with a sense of 
 duty ; but in the dog it is not The same 
 thing may be said of all the kind affections 
 common to us with the brutes. They 
 are amiable qualities; but they are not 
 moral virtues* 
 
 What has been said relates to Mr 1 1 ome»s 
 system in general. \\*<...' :«re iio^v t<^ t.'*»ii- 
 sider his nwti.m of the lulrlicuhir virtue of 
 justice— Tliiit its merit consists wliolly in its 
 utility to society. 
 
 That justice is highly useful and neces- 
 sary in society, and, on that account, ought 
 to be loved and esteemed by all that love 
 mankind, will rt?adily be granted. And as 
 justice is a social virtue, it is true also, that 
 there could be no exercise of it, and, per- 
 
 [^♦12-414] 
 
 €BAP v.] 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 653 
 
 liaps, we should have no conception of it, 
 without society. But this is equally true 
 of the natural affections of benevolence, 
 gratitude, friendship, and compassion, which 
 Mr Hume makes to be the natural virtues. 
 
 [415] 
 
 It may be granted to Mr Hume, that 
 men have no conception of the virtue of jus- 
 tice till they have lived some time in so- 
 ciety. It is purely a moral conception, and 
 our moral conceptions and moral judgments 
 are not born with us. Tliey grow up by 
 degrees, as our reason does. Nor do I pre- 
 tend to know how early, or in what order, 
 we acquire the conception of the several vir- 
 tues. The conception of justice supposes 
 some exercise of the moral faculty, which, 
 being the noblest part of the human con- 
 stitution, and that to which all its other 
 parts are subservient, appears hitest. 
 
 It may likewise be granted, that there is 
 no animal affection in human nature that 
 prompts us immediately to acts of justice, 
 as such. We have natural affections of the 
 animal kind, which immediately prompt us 
 to acts of kindness ; but none, that I know, 
 that has the same relation to justice. The 
 very conception of justice supposes a moral 
 faculty ; but our natural kind affections do 
 not ; otherwise we must allow that brutes 
 have this faculty. 
 
 What I maintain \s, first, That when men 
 come to the exercise of their moral faculty, 
 they perceive a turpitude in injustice, as 
 they do in other crimes, and consequently 
 an obligation to justice, abstracting from the 
 consideration of its utility. And, secondly, 
 That, as soon as men have any rational con- 
 ception of a favour, and of an injury, they 
 must have the conception of justice, and 
 perceive its obligation distinct from its util- 
 ity. 
 
 The first of these points hardly admits of 
 any other proof but an appeal to the sent- 
 iments of every honest man and every 
 man of honour, Whether his indignation is 
 not immediately inflamed against an atro- 
 cious act of villany, without the cool consi- 
 deration of its distant consequences upon 
 the good of society ? [41(>] 
 
 We might appeal even to robbers and pi- 
 rates, whether they have not had great strug- 
 gles with their conscience, when they first 
 resolved to break through all the rules of 
 justice ; and whether, in a solitary and ser- 
 ious hour, they have not frequently felt the 
 ngs of guilt. They have very often con- 
 ed this at a time when all disguise is laid 
 aside. 
 
 The common good of society, though a 
 pleasing object to all men, when presented 
 to their view, hardly ever enters into the 
 thoughts of the far greatest part of mankind ; 
 and, if a regard to it were the sole motive to 
 justice, the number of honest men must be 
 [415-417] 
 
 small indeed. It would be confined to 
 the higher ranks, who, by their educa- 
 tion or by their office, are led to make 
 the public good an object ; but that it is so 
 confined, I believe no man will venture to 
 afhrm. 
 
 The temptations to injustice are strong- 
 est in the lowest class of men ; and, if na- 
 ture had provided no motive to oppose those 
 temptations, but a sense of public good, 
 there would not be found an honest man 
 in that class. 
 
 To all men that are not greatly corrupt- 
 ed, injustice, as well as cruelty and ingra- 
 titude, Is an object of disapprobation on its 
 own account. There is a voice within us 
 that proclaims it to be base, unworthy, and 
 deserving of punishment. 
 
 That there is, in all ingenuous natures, 
 an antipathy to ro<;uery and treachery, a 
 reluctance to the thoughts of villany and 
 baseness, we have the testimony of Mr 
 Hume himself; who, as I doubt not but he 
 felt it, has expressed it very strongly in the 
 conclusion to his " Enquiry," and acknow- 
 ledged that, in some cases, without this re- 
 luctance and antipathy to dishonesty, a sen- 
 sible knave would find no sufficient motive 
 from public good to be honest. [417] 
 
 I shall give the pasisage at large from the 
 " Enquiry concerning the Principles of 
 Morals," Section 9, near the end. 
 
 "Treating vice with the greatest can- 
 dour, and makmg it all possible concessions, 
 we must acknowledge that there is not, in 
 any instance, the smallest pretext for giv- 
 ing it the preference above virtue, with a 
 view to self-interest; except, perhaps, in 
 the case of justice, where a man, taking 
 things in a certain light, may often seem to 
 be a loser by his integrity. And, though it 
 is allowed that, without a regard to property, 
 no society could subsist ; yet, according 
 to the imperfect way in which human a,f- 
 fairs are conducted, a sensible knave, in 
 particular incidents, may think that an act 
 of iniquity or infidelity will make a consider- 
 able addition to his fortune, without causing 
 any considerable breach in the social union 
 and confederacy. That honesty is the best 
 policy, may be a good general rule, but it 
 is liable to many exceptions : and he, it may 
 perhaps be thought, conducts himself with 
 most wisdom, who observes the general 
 rule, and takes advantage of all the excep- 
 
 " i must confess that, if a man think that 
 this reasoning much requires an answer, it 
 will be a little difficult to find any which 
 will to him appear satisfactory and con- 
 vincing. If his heart rebel not against such 
 pernicious maxims, if he feel no reluctance 
 to the thoughts of villany and baseness, he 
 has indeed lost a considerable motive to vir- 
 tue, and we may expect that his practice 
 
ti'4 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS 
 
 [essay v. 
 
 wil beantweiBlilQ to Us speculation. But, 
 in aU ingenuous natures, tlie antipathy to 
 tfeadiery and rogueiy is too strong to he 
 Mnnterbalaneed by any views of profit or 
 peenniary advantage. Inward peace of 
 mind, consciousness of integrity, a satisfac- 
 tory review of our own conduct— these are 
 eimiiiistances very requisite to happiness, 
 ■ni. vii \» cherished and onltivated by 
 OToiy Imest man who feels At impoftanee 
 ofllieiii.** [418] 
 
 The reasoning of the tmsitde knave in 
 ^m pnsniiei .seems to me to be justly 
 HmmdMl opon the principles of the ** En- 
 quiry** and of the " Treatise of Human Na- 
 tar%*' and therefore it is no wonder that 
 At Mtbor slioald find it a little diffieult to 
 ■ive any answer which would appear satis- 
 lacloffy and convincing to such a man. To 
 counterbalance this reasoning, he puts in 
 the other scale a reluctancoi an antipathy, 
 m rebellion of 'the heart against such pemi- 
 'dons maxinuy vhieh h felt by ingenuous 
 natureSi. 
 
 Let us consider a little the force of Mr 
 HmiM'saniwer to this sensible knave, who 
 reasons upon his own principles. I think 
 it is either an acknowledgment that there 
 is a natural judgment of conscience in man, 
 that injustice and treachery is a base and 
 nnworthy practice— which is the point I 
 would establish; or it has no force to 
 'Con^vince dllier tliA knave or an honest 
 
 A elear and intuitive judgment resulting 
 froiii. tiM' oonstittttioii of human nature, is 
 tufiliiieiit to O'verbabnce a train of subtile 
 wiasoning on the other side. Thus the test- 
 imony of our senses is sufficient to over- 
 balan'Ce all the subtile afgomaits brought 
 aininst their testimony. And, if there be 
 •like testimony of conscience in favour of 
 honesty, all the subtile reasoning of the 
 knave against it ought to be rejected with- 
 Mt ejcamitnation, as fallaeionS' and sophist- 
 ical, beemae it concludes 'against, a self-evi- 
 dent principle i just as we reject the subtile 
 reasoning of the metapbysician against the 
 evidflnee'OfaeBse. 
 
 % therefore, the telmtnnce, the nniipa^ 
 ihff, the retielihn a/the heart against injust- 
 ice, which Mr Hume sets against the rea- 
 soning of the knave, include in their mean- 
 m^ • .natural intuitive judgment of con- 
 sci«ce, that injustice is base .and. ui worth v, 
 the reasoning of the knave is convincingly 
 answered ; but the principle, That justice 
 it oil artifieiai mrtmt approved mlely far its 
 «<ilt%,. is fiven up. [4191 
 
 If, on fie other hand, the antipathy, re- 
 ludance, and rebelion of heart, imply no 
 Judgment, but barely an uneasy feeling, and 
 ^^ not' :iiiitiinil, bat' ■Mplsed.and artificial, 
 'ti« aaiaip«r''iB indeed very aseeable to the 
 piiii|i|isa of the " Enquiry,** but has no 
 
 force to oonvhioe the knave> or any other 
 
 The knave is here supposed by Mr Hume 
 to have no such feelings, and therefore the 
 answer does not touch his case in the least, 
 but leaves him in the full possession of his 
 reasoning. And ingmuom natures, who 
 have these feelings, are left to deliberate 
 whether they will yield to acquired and 
 artificial feelings, in opposition to rules of 
 conduct, which, to their best judgment, 
 appear wise and prudent. 
 
 The second thing I proposed to shew was. 
 That, as soon as men have any rational 
 conception of a favour and of an injury, 
 they must have the conception of justice, 
 and perceive its obligation. 
 
 The power with which the Author of 
 nature hath endowed us, may be employed 
 either to do good to our fellow-men, or to 
 hurt them. When we employ our power 
 to promote the good and happiness of others, 
 this is a benefit or favour ; when we employ 
 it to hurt them, it is an injury. Justice 
 fills up the middle between these two. It 
 is such a conduct as does' no injury to 
 others; but it does not imply the doing 
 them any favour. [420] 
 
 The notions of a /aoour and of an injurff, 
 appear as early in the mmd of man as any 
 rational notion whatever. They are dis- 
 covered, not by language only, but by cer- 
 tain affections of mind, of which they are 
 the natural objects. A favour naturally 
 produces gratitude. An injury done to our* 
 selves produces resentment ; and even when 
 done to another, it produces indignation. 
 
 I take it for granted that gratitude and 
 resentment are no less natural to the human 
 mind than hunger and thirst; and that 
 those aff'ections are no less naturally ex- 
 cited by their proper objects and occasions 
 tlian these appetites. % 
 
 It is no less evident, that the proper and 
 formal object of gratitude is a person who 
 has done us a favour ; that of resentment^ 
 a person who has done us an injury. 
 
 Before the use of reason, the distinction 
 between a favour and an agreeable office is 
 not perceived. Every action of another 
 person which gives [jresent pleasure pro- 
 duces love and good will towards the agent. 
 Every action that gives pain or uneasiness 
 prmluces resentment This is common to 
 man before the use of reason, and to the 
 more sagacious brutes; and it shews no 
 conception of justice in either. 
 
 But, as we grow up to the use of reason, 
 the notion, both of a favour and of an in- 
 jury, grows more distinct and better de- 
 fined. It is not enough that a good ofiice 
 be done ; it must be done from good will, 
 and with a good intention, otherwise it is 
 no fiivour, nor does it produce gratitude. 
 
 I have heard of a physician who gave 
 
 [418-420] 
 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 655 
 
 spiders m a medicine to a dropsical patient, 
 with an intention to poison him, and that 
 this medicme cured the patient, contrary 
 to the intention of the physician. Surely 
 no gratitude, but resentment, was due by 
 the patient, when he knew the real state of 
 the case. It is evident to every man, that 
 a benefit arising from the action of another, 
 either without or against his intention, is 
 not a motive to gratitude ; that is, is no 
 favour. [421] 
 
 Another thing implied in the nature of a 
 favour is, that it be not due. A man may 
 save my credit by paying what he owes me. 
 In this case, what he does tends to my 
 benefit, and perhaps is done with that in- 
 tention ; but it is not a fa vour— it is no more 
 than he was bound to do. 
 
 If a servant do his work and receive his 
 wages, there is no favour done on either 
 part, nor any object of gratitude ; because, 
 though each party has benefited the other, 
 yet neither has done more than he was 
 bound to do. 
 
 What I infer from this is. That the con- 
 ception of a favour in every man come to 
 years of understanding, implies the concep- 
 tion of things not due, and consequently the 
 conception of things that are due. 
 
 A negative cannot be conceived by one 
 who has no conception of the correspondent 
 positive. Not to be due is the negative of 
 being due ; and he who conceives one of 
 them must conceive both. The conception 
 of things due and not due must therefore be 
 found in every mind which has any rational 
 conception of a favour, or any rational senti- 
 ment of gratitude. 
 
 If we consider, on the other hand, what 
 an injury is which is the object of the na- 
 tural passion of resentment, every man, 
 capable of reflection, perceives, that an in- 
 jury implies more than being hurt. If I 
 be hurt by a stone falling out of the wall, 
 or by a flash of lightning, or by a convul- 
 sive and involuntary motion of another 
 man^s arm, no injury is done, no resent- 
 ment raised in a man that has reason. In 
 this, as in all moral actions, there mufit be 
 the will and intention of the agent to do the 
 hurt. [422] 
 
 Nor is this sufficient to constitute an in- 
 jury. The man who breaks my fences, or 
 treads down my corn, when he cannot 
 otherwise preserve himself from destruc- 
 tion, who has no injurious intention, and is 
 willing to indemnify me for the hurt which 
 necessity, and not ill will, led him to do, is 
 not injurious, nor is an object of resentment. 
 
 The executioner who does his duty in 
 cutting off* the head of a condemned crim- 
 inal, is not an object of resentment. He 
 does nothing unjust, and therefore nothing 
 injurious. 
 
 From this it is evident, that an injury, 
 [421-4241 
 
 the object of the natural passion of resent- 
 ment, implies in it the notion of injustice. 
 And it is no less evident that no man can 
 have a notion of injustice without having 
 the notion of justice. 
 
 To sum up what has been said upon this 
 point, a favour, an act of justice, and an 
 uijury, are so related to one another that 
 he who conceives one must conceive the 
 other two. They lie, as it were, in one 
 line, and resemble the relations of greater, 
 less, and equal. If one understands what is 
 meant by one line being greater or less than 
 another, he can be at no loss to understand 
 what is meant by its being equal to the 
 other ; for, if it be neither greater nor less, 
 it must be equal. 
 
 In like manner, of those actions by which 
 we profit or hurt other men, a favour is 
 more than justice, an injury is less ; and 
 that which is neither a favour nor an in- 
 jury is a just action. 
 
 As soon, therefore, as men come to have 
 any proper notion of a favour and of an in- 
 jury ; as soon as they have any rational 
 exercise of gratitude and of resentment — so 
 soon they must have the conception of just- 
 ice and of injustice ; and, if gratitude and 
 resentment be natural to man, which Mr 
 Hume allows, the notion of justice must be 
 no less natural. [423J 
 
 The notion of justice carries inseparably 
 along with it a perception of its moral obli- 
 gation. For, to say that such an action is 
 an act of justice, that it is due, that it ought 
 to be done, that we are under a moral obli- 
 gation to do it, are only different ways of 
 expressing the same thing. It is true, that 
 we perceive no high degree of moral worth 
 in a merely just action, when it is not op- 
 posed by interest or passion ; but we per- 
 ceive a high degree of turpitude and demerit 
 in unjust actions, or in the omission of what 
 justice requires. 
 
 Indeed, if there were no other argument 
 to prove that tlie obligation of justice is 
 not solely derived from its utility to procure 
 what is agreeable either to ourselves or to 
 society, this would be sufficient, that the 
 very conception of justice implies its obli- 
 gation. The morality of justice is included 
 in the very idea of it : nor is it possible that 
 the conception of justice can enter into the 
 human mind, without carrying along with 
 it the conception of duty and moral obliga- 
 tion. Its obligation, therefore, is insepar- 
 able from its nature, and is not derived 
 solely from its utility, either to ourselves or 
 to society. 
 
 We may farther observe, that, as in all 
 moral estimation, every action takes its 
 denomination from the motive that pro- 
 duces it ; so no action can properly be de- 
 nominated an act of justice, unless it be 
 done from a regard to justice. [424] 
 
€5'6 
 
 ON TQB ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay v. 
 
 OBAP. v.] 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 657 
 
 If « miMi piplili debt, <iiily tlmt lie may 
 mel lie cast bio prison, he is not a just maii, 
 iMCMise prudence, and not justice, is his 
 nmtavfr And if a man, from benevolence 
 and charity, gives tO'-anolher what is really 
 dne to him, but what he believes not to be 
 due, this is not an aot of justice in him, but 
 oCeharity m benevoleneo, b^Msause it m not 
 done from a motive of iwitiee. These are 
 self-evident truths ; nor is it leas evident, 
 Hiatwlial a man does, merely to procure 
 •fUMlthing agreeable, either to himself or 
 t# others, is not an aet of justioe, nor 1ms 
 the merit of jwtiM. 
 
 CkNid music and good cookery have the 
 merit of utility, in procuring what is agree- 
 ftUe both to ourselves and to society : but 
 they never obtained among mankind the 
 denominattun of moral virtues. Indeed, if 
 thk antbor's system be well founded, great 
 ll^iistiee has been done them on that ac- 
 count 
 
 I shall now make some observations upon 
 the roaaoniiig of this author, in proof of his 
 itvourite principle, That justice is not a 
 '■atira! but an arti^cial virtue ; or, as it is 
 expressed in the *' Enquiry," That public 
 utility is the sole origin of justice, and that 
 reflections on the beneficial consequences of 
 this virtue, are the sole foundation of its 
 merit. 
 
 1. It mnst be acknowledged that this 
 principle has a necessary connection with 
 bis system concerning the foundation of all 
 ▼irtnci and, therefore, it is no wonder that 
 he hatb taken so much pains to support it ; 
 for the whole system must stand or fall with 
 
 If the drnks and the tittle— thai is, plea- 
 siiie, and what is useful to procure pleasure 
 — .he the whole merit of virtue, justice can 
 have no merit beyond its utility to procure 
 pli^asure. If, on the other hand, an intrin- 
 aic worth in justice, and demerit in injust- 
 ice, be discerned by every man that hath 
 a conscience ; if there be a natunl principle 
 in the constitution of roan by which justice 
 is appinved, and injustice disapproved and 
 «kilfMiinc4~then the whole of this laboured 
 ■ystam mnt fall to the ground. 1425] 
 
 % We may observe, That, as justice is 
 dinetly opposed to iniury, and as there are 
 larious ways in which a man may be in- 
 lumi, so there must he various branches of 
 lustice opposed to the different kinds of 
 injury. 
 
 A man may be imjufid, /i«<, in his per- 
 '«!%: to/ woandtpg., mMning, or killing him ; 
 memm^ im Ms 'iuniy, b^' robbing him. of 
 his childreE, or any way mjuring those he 
 is bound to protect ; thirdii/, in his liberty, 
 M ooninement i /oiir/%, in his reputation ; 
 JpUf, in bis goods, or property ; and, 
 ka^t k the violation of contracts or eii- 
 .ppoMilS' made with him. This enumera- 
 
 tion, whether complete or not, is sufficient 
 for the present purpose. 
 
 The different brandies of justice, opposed 
 to these different kinds of injury, are com- 
 monly expressed by saying, that an innocent 
 man has a right to the safety of his person 
 and family, a right to his liberty and reput- 
 ation, a rij^ht to his goods, and to fideUty 
 to engagements made with him. To say 
 that he has a right to these things, has pre- 
 cisely tlie same meaning as to say tlmt 
 justice requires that lie should be permitted 
 to enjoy them, or that it is unjust to violate 
 them ; for injustice is the violation of right, 
 and justice is to yield to every man what is 
 his right. 
 
 These tilings being understood as the 
 simplest and most common ways of express- 
 ing the various branches of justice, we ara 
 to consider how far Mr Hume's reasoning 
 proves any or all of tliem to be artificial, or 
 grounded solely upon public utility. The 
 last of them, fidelity to engagements, is to 
 he the subject of the next chapter, and, 
 therefore, 1 shall say nothing of it in this. 
 [426] 
 
 The four first named— to wit, the right ofj 
 an innocent man to the safety of his personl 
 and family, to hia liberty and reputation,! 
 are, by the writers on jurisprudence, called I 
 natural rights of man, because they are 
 grounded in the nature of man as a rational 
 and moral agent, and are by his Creator 
 committed to his care and keeping. By 
 being called natuial or iunatfy they, are 
 distinguished from acquired rights, which 
 suppose some previous act or deed of man 
 by which they are acquired ; whereas natu- 
 ral rights suppose nothing of this kind. 
 
 When a man's natural rights are violated, 
 he perceives intuitively, and he feels that he 
 is injured. The feeling of his heart arises 
 from the judgment of his understimding ; 
 for, if lie did not believe that the liurt was 
 intended, and unjustly intended, lie wouM 
 not have that feeling. He perceives that 
 injury is dtme to hinihelf, and that he has a 
 right to redress. The natural principle of 
 resentment is roused by the view of its pro- 
 per object, and excites hun to defend his 
 right. Even the injurious person is con- 
 scious of his doing injury ; he dreads a just 
 retaliation ; and, if it be in the power of the 
 injured person, he expects it as due and de- 
 served. 
 
 That these sentiments spring up in the 
 mind of man as naturally as his body grows 
 to its proper stature ; that they are not the 
 birth of instruction, either of parents, 
 priests, philosophers, or politicians, but the 
 pure growth of nature— cannot, I think, 
 without effrtmtcry, be denied. We find 
 them equally strong in the most savage and 
 in the most civilized tribes of mankind; 
 and nothing can weaken them but an invcte- 
 
 [425. 4«6"1 
 
 rate habit of rapine and bloo IsheJ, %vhioh 
 benumbs the conscience, and turns men into 
 wild beasts. 
 
 The public good is very properly con- 
 sidered by the judge who punishes a private 
 injury, but seldom enters into the thought 
 of the injured person. In all criminal law, 
 the redress due to the private sufferer is 
 distinguished from that which is due to the 
 public ; a distinction which could have no 
 foundation, if the demerit of injustice arose 
 solely from its hurting the public. And 
 every man is conscious of a specific differ- 
 ence between the resentment he feels for an 
 injury done to himself, and his indignation 
 against a wrong done to the public. [427] 
 
 I think, therefore, it is evident that, of 
 the six branches of justice we mentioned, 
 four are natural, in the strictest sense, being 
 founded upon the constitution of man, and 
 antecedent to all deeds and conventions of 
 society ; so that, if there were but two men 
 npon the earth, one might be unjust and 
 Injurious, and the other injured. 
 
 But does Mr Hume maintain the con- 
 trary ? 
 
 To this question I answer. That his doc- 
 trine seems to imply it ; but I hope he meant 
 
 it not. 
 
 He aflfirms, in general, that justice is not 
 A natural virtue ; that it derives its origin 
 solely from public utility ; and that reflec- 
 tions on the beneficial consequences of this 
 virtue, are the sole foundation of its merit. 
 He mentions no particular branch of just- 
 ice as an exception to this general rule ; 
 yet justice, in common language, and in all 
 the writers on jurisprudence I am acquainted 
 with, comprehends the four branches above 
 mentioned. His doctrine, therefore, ac- 
 cording to the common construction of 
 words, extends to these four, as well as to 
 the two other branches of justice. 
 
 On the other hand, if we attend to his 
 long and laboured proof of this doctrine, it 
 appears evident that he had in his eye only 
 two particular branches of justice. No 
 part of his reasoning applies to the other 
 four. He seems, I know not why, to have 
 taken up a confined notion of justice, and 
 to have restricted it to a regard to property 
 and fidelity in contracts. As to other 
 branches he is silent. He nowhere says, 
 that it is not naturally criminal to rob an 
 innocent man of his life, of his children, of 
 his liberty, or of his reputation ; and I am 
 apt to think he<never meant it. [428] 
 
 The only philosopher I know who has 
 bad the assurance to maintain this, is Mr 
 Hobbes, who makes the state of nature to 
 be a state of war, of every man against 
 every man ; and of such a war in which 
 every man has a right to do and to acquire 
 whatever his power can, by any means, ac- 
 eompUsh— that is, a state wherein neither 
 
 [427-429] 
 
 right nor injury, justice nor injustice, can 
 possibly exist. 
 
 Mr Hume mentions this system of 
 Hobbes, but without adopting it, though he 
 allows it the authority of Cicero in its favour. 
 
 He says, in a note, " This fiction of a 
 state of nature as a state of war was not 
 first started by Mr Hobbes, as is commonly 
 imagined. Plato endeavours to refute an 
 hypothesis very like it, in the 2d, 3d. and 
 4th books, * De Republica.' Cicero, o» 
 the contrary, supposes it certain and uni- 
 versally acknowledged, in the following pas- 
 sage," &c — Pro Sexlio, § 42. 
 
 The passage, which he quotes at large 
 from one of Cicero's orations, seems to mo 
 to require some straining to make it tally 
 with the system of Mr Hobbes. Be this as 
 it may, Mr Hume might have added, Thati 
 Cicero, in his orations, ^like many other i 
 pleaders, sometimes says not what he be- 1 
 lieved, but what was fit to support the cause 
 of his client. That Cicero's opinion, with 
 regard to the natural obligation of justice, 
 was very different from that of Mr Jlobbes, 
 and even from Mr Hume's, is very well 
 known. [429] 
 
 3. As Mr Hume, therefore, has said 
 nothmg to prove the four branches of just- 
 ice which relate to the innate rights of 
 men, to be artificial, or to derive their ori- 
 gin solely from public utility, I proceed to 
 the fifth branch, which requures us not to 
 invade another man's property. 
 
 The right of property is not innate, but 
 acquired. It is not grounded upon the con- 
 stitution of man ; but upon his actions. 
 Writers on jurisprudence have explained 
 its origin in a manner that may satisfy every 
 man of common understanding. 
 
 The earth is given to men in common 
 for the purposes of life, by the bounty of 
 Heaven. But, to divide it, and appropruite 
 one part of its produce to one, another part 
 to another, must be the work of men who 
 have power and understanding given them, 
 by which every man may accommodate him> 
 self without hurt to any other. 
 
 This common right of every man to what 
 the earth produces, before it be occupied 
 and appropriated by others, was, by ancient 
 moralists, very properly compared to the 
 right which every citizen had to the public 
 theatre, where every man that came might 
 occupy an empty seat, and thereby acquire 
 a right to it while the entertainment lasted , 
 but no man had a right to dispossess an- 
 
 The earth is a great theatre, furnished by 
 the Almighty, with perfect wisdom and 
 goodness, for the entertainment and employ- 
 ment of all mankind. Here every man has 
 a right to accommodate himself as a spec- 
 tator, and to perform his part as an actor, 
 but without hurt to others. 
 
 20 
 
658 
 
 ON THK ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [E88A¥ 
 
 ▼. 
 
 CHAP, v.] 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 (^m 
 
 He who lioes eo is * just man, and thereby 
 •ntitled to some degree of moral approtta- 
 tion ; and he who not only does no hurt, 
 Imt employs hia power to do good, is a good 
 man, and is thereby entitled to a higher de- 
 gree of moral approbation. But he who 
 fosdiis and molests his neighbour, who de- 
 prives Mra of any accommodation which 
 his industry has provided without hurt to 
 others, is unjust, and a proper object of 
 mentment. [49111 
 
 It is true, thefeme, 'thai, property has a 
 beginning from the actions of men, occupy- 
 ing, and, perhaps, improving by their in- 
 dustry, what was common by nature. It is 
 trie, also, that, before property exists, that 
 tomnch of justice and injustice wliich re- 
 gards property cannot exist. But it is also 
 tnie, that, where there are men, there will 
 ▼try soon be property of one kind or an- 
 0(h«*, and, conse4|uently, there will hm that 
 iMUMii of justice wMeh attends pffmerty m 
 itojMirdimn. 
 
 ftere are iwo kmis iffpr^pmrip which we 
 may distinguish. 
 
 The Jfrtl is wkai mtiMi pre§eniijf he eo/n- 
 Mumed to sttBiain life ; the menmt, which is 
 mora permanent, is, what map be laid up 
 mmd stored fttr the supply of future wants. 
 
 Some of the gifts of nature must be used 
 and oonsnnied by individuals for the daily 
 anpporl of life ; but they cannot be used 
 till they be occupied and appropriated. If 
 •aolher person may, without injustice, rob 
 .mi ivf wmb I liave knoeently occupied for 
 pnnml ntbaistemse, 'th« necasary conse- 
 quence must be, that he may, without in- 
 jUice, take awaV my life. 
 
 A fight to life implies a rijjht to the neces- 
 iuy means of lilk And that justice which 
 fnffWii'the' taking away the life of an inno- 
 cent nun, forbids no less the taking from 
 him^ the necessary means of liln Me has 
 the same right to defend the one as the 
 <ither; and nature inspires him with the 
 ■ame just resentment of the one injury as 
 of the other. [431] 
 
 The natural rigit' of liberty implies a 
 t%hl to sneh lanoeenl kbour as^ a man 
 clieeae% and to' tte init of that kbour. To 
 Under another roan*8 innocent labour, or to 
 'deprive him of the fruit of it, is an usjust- 
 .lee 'Of the tame kind, and has the same 
 eiSiet, as to put him in fettors or in prison, 
 and ii equally a just object of resentment. 
 
 This it appears, that some kind, or some 
 degree, of property must exist wherever 
 men exist, 'and that the right to such pro- 
 perty is the necessary consequence of the 
 natural right of men to life and liberty. 
 
 It has been further observed, that God 
 has made man a sagacious and provident 
 animal, led by his constitution not only to 
 oeeufy and use what nature has provided 
 for the supply of' his present wants and 
 
 necessities, but to foresee future wants, and 
 to provide for them ; and that not only for 
 himself, but for his family, his friends, and 
 connections. 
 
 He therefore acts in perfect conformity 
 to his nature, when he stores, of the fruit 
 of his labour, what may afterwards be use- 
 ful to himself or to others ; when he invents 
 and fabricates utensils or machines by which 
 his kbour may be facilitated, and its pro- 
 duce increased ; and when, by exchanging 
 with Ilia fellow-men coinraodities or labour, 
 he accommodates both hinjself and them. 
 These are the natural and innocent exer- 
 tions of that understanding wherewith his 
 Maker has endowed him. He has there- 
 fore a right to exercise them, and to enjoy 
 the fruit of them. Every man who impedes 
 him in making such exertions, or deprives 
 him of the fruit of them, is injurious and 
 unjust, and an object of just resentment. 
 
 Many brute-animals are led by instinct 
 to provide for futurity, and to defend their 
 store, and their store-house, against all in- 
 vaders. There seems to be in man, before 
 the use of reason, an instinct of the same 
 kind. When reason and conscience grow 
 up, they approve and justify this provident 
 care, and condemn, as unjust, every inva- 
 sion of others, that may frustrate it. [432] y. 
 
 Two instances of this provident sagacity Jpf", 
 seem to be peculiar to man: I mean the •7^. i 
 inTention of utensils and machines for facili- •*" ' 
 tating labour, and the making exchanges 4f^ , 
 with his fellow-men for nmtual beueht. No 
 tribe of men has been found so rude as not 
 to practise these things in some degree. 
 And I know no tribe of brutes that was ever 
 observed to practLne them. They neither 
 invent nor use utensils or machines, nor do 
 they traffic by exchanges. 
 
 From these observations, I think it evi- 
 dent that man, even in the state of nature, 
 by his powers of body and mind, may ac- 
 quire permanent property, or what we call 
 fiohes, by which his own and his family's 
 wants are more liberally supplied, and his 
 power eidar^ed to requite his benefactors, 
 to relieve objects of compassion, to make 
 friends, and to defend his property against 
 unjust invaders. And we know from history, 
 that men, who had no superior on earth, 
 no connection with any public beyond their 
 own family, have acquired property, and 
 had distinct notions of that justice and in- 
 justice of which it is the object. 
 
 Every man, as a reasonable creature, has 
 a right to gratify his natural and innocent 
 desires, without hurt to others. No desire 
 is more natuml, or more reasonable, than 
 that of supplying his wants. When this is 
 done without hurt to ai)y man, to hinder or 
 frustrate his innocent labour, is an unjust 
 violation of his natural liberty. Private 
 utility leads a man to desire property, and 
 
 [i30-43«J 
 
 m 
 
 to labour for it ; and his right to it is only 
 a right to labour for his own benefit. [433] 
 
 That public utility is the sole origin, even 
 of that branch of justice which regards pro- 
 perty, is so far from being true, that, when 
 men confederate and constitute a public, 
 under laws and government, the right of 
 each individual to his property is, by that 
 confederation, abridged and limited. In the 
 state i)f nature every man's property was 
 solely at his own disposal, because he had 
 no superior. In civil society it must be 
 subject to the laws of the society. He gives 
 up to the public part of that right which he 
 had in the state of nature, as the price of 
 that protection and security which he re- 
 ceives from civil society. In the state of 
 nature, he was sole judge in his own cause, 
 and had right to defend his property, his 
 liberty, and life, as far as his power reached. 
 In the state of civil society, he must sub- 
 mit to the judgment of the society, and ac- 
 quiesce in its sentence, though he should 
 conceive it to be unjust. 
 
 What was said above, of the natural right 
 every man has to acquire permanent pro- 
 perty, and to dispose of it, must be under- 
 stood with this condition. That no other 
 man be thereby deprived of the necessary 
 means of life. The right of an innocent 
 man to the necessaries of life, is, in its 
 nature, superior to that which the rich man 
 has to his riches, even though they be 
 honestly acquired. The use of riches, or 
 permanent property, is to supply future and 
 casual wants, which ought to yield to pre- 
 sent and certain necessity. 
 
 As, in a family, justice requires that the 
 children who are unable to labour, and 
 those who, by sickness, are disabled, should 
 have their necessities supplied out of the 
 common stock, so, in the great family of 
 God, of which all mankind are the children. 
 Justice, I think, as well as charity, requires, 
 that the necessities of those who, by the 
 providence of God, are disabled from sup- 
 plying themselves, should be supplied from 
 wnat might otherwise be stored for future 
 wants. [434] 
 
 From this it appears, That the right of 
 acquiring and that of disposing of property, 
 may be subject to limitations and restric- 
 tions, even in the state of nature, and much 
 more in the state of civil society, in which 
 the public has what writers in jurisprudence 
 call an eminent dominion over the property, 
 as well as over the lives of the subjects, as 
 far as the public good requires. 
 
 If these principles be well founded, Mr 
 Hume*s arguments to prove that justice is 
 an artificial virtue, or that its public utility 
 is the sole foundation of its merit, may be 
 easily answered. 
 
 He supposes, /Irst, a state in which nature 
 has bestowed on the human race, such 
 [433-4351 
 
 abundance of external goods, that every man, 
 without care or industry, finds himself pro- 
 vided of whatever he can wish or desire. It 
 is evident, says he, that, in such a state, 
 the cautious, jealous virtue of justice would 
 never once have been dreamed of. 
 
 It may be observed, Jirst, 1 nat this argu- 
 ment applies only to one of the six branches 
 of justice before mentioned. The other 
 five are not in the least affected by it ; and 
 the reader will easily perceive that this 
 observation applies to almost all his argu- 
 ments, so that it needs not be repeated. 
 
 Secondly, All that this argument proves 
 is, That a state of the human race may be 
 conceived wherein no property exists, and 
 where, of consequence, there can be no 
 exercise of that branch of justice which re- 
 spects property. But does it follow from 
 this, that where property exists, and must 
 exist, that no regard ought to be had to it ? 
 
 He next supposes that the necessities of 
 the human race continuing the same as at 
 present, the mind is so enlarged with friend- 
 ship and generosity, that every man feels as 
 much tenderness and concern for the interest 
 of every man, as for his own. It seems 
 evident, he says, that the use of justice 
 would be suspended by such an extensive 
 benevolence, nor would the divisions and 
 barriers of property and obligation have ever 
 been thought of. [435] 
 
 I answer. The conduct which thisextensive 
 benevolence leads to, is either perfectly con- 
 sistent with justice, or it is not. First, If 
 there be any case where this benevolence 
 would lead us to do injustice, the use of just- 
 ice is not suspended. Its obhgation is super- 
 ior to that of benevolence ; and, to shew be- 
 nevolence to one, at the expense of injustice 
 to another, is immoral. Secondly, Supposing 
 no such case could happen, the use of just- 
 ice would not be suspended, because by it 
 we must distinguish good offices to which 
 we had a right, from those to which he 
 had no right, and which therefore require 
 a return of gratitude. Thirdly, Suppos- 
 ing the use of justice to be suspended, aa 
 it must be in every case where it cannot 
 be exercised, Will it follow, that its obliga- 
 tion is susjieuded, where there is access to 
 exercise it ? 
 
 A third supposition ia, the reverse of the 
 first. That a society falls into extreme want 
 of the necessaries of life : The question is 
 put. Whether, in such a case, an equal part- 
 ition of bread, without regard to private 
 property, though effected by power, and 
 even by violence, would be regarded as cri- 
 minal and injurious ? And the author con- 
 ceives that this would be a suspension of 
 the strict laws of justice. 
 
 I answer, That such an equal partition 
 as Mr Hume mentions, is so far from be- 
 ing criminal or injurious, that justice re- 
 
 S v9 
 
ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay ▼. 
 
 f vins it ; anil sirelj iluit ^cMiiiot hB m sus- 
 IMiiaion of the kws of jnstiue which is an 
 aet of justice. All that the strictest justice 
 nqnires in each a case, is, That the man 
 wImmmi life is preserved at the expense of 
 annther, and without his consent, should 
 iad«mnify him when he is aUe. His case 
 is similar to that of a debtor who is insolv- 
 ent, withont any Iknli on his part. Justice 
 fcquires that he should be forborne till he is 
 able to pay. It is strange that Mr Hume 
 should think that an action, neither crim- 
 inal nor injurious, should be a suspension 
 of the laws of justice. This seems to me a 
 contradiction ; for Jmtim and injuria are 
 contradictory terms. [436] 
 
 The next argument is thus expressed 3<— 
 *' When any man, even in political societ}', 
 tendera himself, by ciwies, obnoxious to 
 the pnblic, he is punished in his goods and 
 |»erson — that is, the ordinary rules of just- 
 ice arot with regard to him, suspended for a 
 BMHimit, and il booomes equitable to inflict 
 .9m ^hin what otherwise he could not suffer 
 wilhonl wrong or injury.'* 
 
 This argument, like the former, refutes 
 itself. For that an action should be a sus- 
 fcnsion of the rules of justice, and at the 
 same time equitable, seems to me a contra- 
 diction* It is possible that equity may in- 
 terfere with the letter of human laws, be- 
 CMise all the cases that may fall under them, 
 •■inot be forcfleen ; but that equity should 
 .iaterfere' willi Justice is impossible. It is 
 strange that Mr Hume should think that 
 justice requires that a criminal should be 
 ..tnatcd in 'the wamm way ^as an innocent 
 
 Another argument is taken from public 
 What is it, says he, but a suspension 
 of justice among the warring parties ? Tlie 
 laws of war, which tlien succeed to those 
 of equity and Justice, are rules calculated 
 for the advantiige and utility of that parti- 
 cular state in which men are now plaoed, 
 
 I answer, when war is undertaken for self • 
 isfence, or for reparation of Intolerable in- 
 jiifie% Justice authorises it The laws of 
 war, which have been described by many 
 lldieioua moralists, are all drawn from the 
 Ibmitain' of Justioo and '«iaity ; and every- 
 fMng QOraiiaiy lo Justice, is contrary to the 
 hms of war. That justice which prescribes 
 one rule of conduct to a master, another to 
 a servant ; mm to a parent, another to a 
 chJld^pmsfihes also one rule of conduct 
 Icpntids a friend, another towards an enemy. 
 I do not understand what Mr Hume means 
 If'tlie «iMMilar.oand uHlii$ of a state of 
 war, for wUeh he says the kws of war are 
 ealculated and succeed to Ihose of justice 
 and equitv. I know no laws of war that 
 are not caknltted for Justice and equity. 
 
 TlieMXI Mgiinent is 'tills— Were there a 
 
 species of creatures intermingled with men, 
 which, though rational, were possessed of 
 such inferior strength, both of body and 
 mind, that they were incapable of all re- 
 sistance, and could never, upon the highest 
 provocation, make us feel the efi'ects of 
 their resentment; the necessary conse- 
 quence, I think, is, tliat we should be bound, 
 by the laws of humanity, to give gentle 
 usage to these creatures, but should not, 
 properly speaking, lie under any restraint 
 of justice with regard to them, nor could 
 they possess any right or property, exclu- 
 sive of such arbitrary lords. 
 
 If Mr Hume had not owned this senti- 
 ment as a consequence of his Theory of 
 Morals, I should have thought it very un- 
 charitable to impute it to him. However, 
 we may judge of the Theory by its avowed 
 consequence. For there cannot be better 
 evidence that a theory of morals, or of any 
 particular virtue, is false, than when it 
 subverts the practical rules of morals. 
 This defenceless species of rational crea- 
 tures, is doomed by Mr Hume to have no 
 rights. Why? Because they have no 
 power to defend themselvea Is not this 
 
 to say That right has its origin from 
 
 power ; which, indeed, was the doctrine of 
 Mr Hobbes. And to illustrate this doc- 
 trine, Mr Hume adds— That, as no incon- 
 venience ever results from the exercise of 
 a power so firmly establijshed in nature, the 
 restraints of justice and property beiug 
 totally useless, could never have place in 
 80 unequal a confederacy ; and, to the same 
 purpose, he says, that the female part of 
 our own species owe the share they have 
 in the rights of society^ to the power which 
 their address and thevt charms give them. 
 If this be sound morals, Mr Hume*s Theory 
 of Justice may be true. [438] 
 
 We may here observe, that, though, in 
 other places, Mr Hume founds the obliga- 
 tion of justice upon its utility to ourselvcM 
 or to otherSf it is here founded solely upon 
 utility to ourselves. For surely to be treated 
 with justice would be highly useful to the 
 defenceless species he here supposes to ex- 
 ist. But, as no inconvenience to ourselves 
 can ever result from our treatment of 
 them, he concludes, that justice would be 
 useless, and therefore can have no plac^ 
 Mr Hobbes could have said no more. 
 
 He supposes, in the last place, a state 
 of human nature wherein all society and 
 intercourse is cut off between man and 
 man. It is evident, he says, that so so- 
 litary a being would be as much incapable 
 of justice as of social discourse and convers- 
 ation. 
 
 And would not so solitary a being bo as 
 incapable of friendship, generosity, and com- 
 passion, as of justice ? If this argument 
 prove justice to be an artificial virtue, it 
 
 CBAP. v.*! 
 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 661 
 
 will, with equal force, prove every social 
 virtue to be artificial. 
 
 These are the arguments which Mr Hume 
 has advanced in his " Enquiry," in the 
 first part of a long section upon justice. 
 
 In the second part, the arguments are 
 not so clearly distinguished, nor can they 
 be easily collected. I shall offer some re- 
 marks upon what seems most specious in 
 this second part. 
 
 He begins with observing — "That, if 
 we examine the particular laws by which 
 Justice is directed and property determined, 
 they present us with the same conclusion. 
 The good of mankind is the only object of 
 all those laws and regulations.*' [439] 
 
 It is not easy to perceive where the stress 
 of this argument lies. The good of man- 
 kind is the object of all the laws and regular 
 Hons by which justice is directed and pro. 
 perty determined ; therefore, justice is not a 
 natural virtue, but has its origin solely from 
 pubHc utility, and its beneficial consequences 
 are the sole foundation of its merit. 
 
 Some step seems to be wanting to connect 
 the antecedent proposition with the conclu- 
 sion, which, I think, must be one or other 
 of these two propositions— first. All, the 
 rules of justice tend to public utility * or, 
 secondly, Public utility is the only standard 
 qf JHsthcCy from which alone all its rules 
 must Ite deduced. 
 
 If the argument be, That justice must 
 have its origin solely from public utility, 
 because all its rules tend to public utility, I 
 cannot admit the consequence ; nor can Mr 
 Hume admit it without overturning his own 
 system ; for the rules of benevolence and 
 humanity do all tend to the public utility ; 
 and yet, in his system, they have another 
 foundation in human nature; so likewise 
 may the rules of justice. 
 
 I am apt to think, therefore, that the 
 argument is to be taken in the last sense, 
 That public utility is the only standard of 
 Justice, from which all its rules must be 
 deduced ; and therefore justice has its origin 
 solely from public utility. 
 
 This seems to be Mr Hume's meaning, 
 because, in what follows, he observes, That, 
 in order to establish laws for the regulation 
 of property, we must be acquainted with 
 the nature and situation of man ; must re- 
 ject appearances which may be false though 
 specious; and must search for those rules 
 which nre, on the whole, most useful and 
 beneficial ; and endeavours to shew, that the 
 established rules which regard property are 
 more for the public good than the system, 
 either of those religious fanatics of the last 
 age who held that saints only should in- 
 herit the earth, or of those political fanatics 
 who claimed an equal division of property. 
 We see here, as before, that, though Mr 
 Hume's conclusion respects justice in gene- 
 [439-441] 
 
 ral, his argument is confined to one branch 
 of justice— to wit, the right of property ; and 
 it is well known that, to conclude from a 
 part to the whole is not good reasoning. [440] 
 Besides, the proposition from which his 
 conclusion is drawn cannot be granted, 
 either with regard to property, or with re- 
 gard to the other branches of justice. 
 
 We endeavoured before to shew that 
 property, though not an innate but an ac- 
 quired right, may be acquired in the state 
 of nature, and agreeably to the laws of na- 
 ture ; and that this right has not its origin 
 from human laws, made for the public 
 good, though, Mheu men enter into political 
 society, it may and ought to be regulated 
 by those laws. 
 
 If there were but two men upon the face 
 of the earth, of ripe faculties, each might 
 have his own property, and might know his 
 right to defend it, and his obligation not to 
 invade the property of the other. He would 
 have no need to have recourse to reasoning 
 frona public good, in order to know when he 
 was injured, either in his property or in any 
 of his natural rights, or to know what rules 
 of justice he ought to observe towards his 
 neighbour. 
 
 The simple rule, of not doing to his neigh- 
 bour what he would think wrong to be done 
 to himself, would lead him to the knowledge 
 of every branch of justice, without the con- 
 sideration of public good, or of laws and 
 statutes made to promote it. [^441] 
 
 It is not true, therefore, that public utility 
 is the only standard of justice, and that the 
 rules of justice can be deduced only from 
 their public utility. 
 
 Aristides, and the people of Athens, had 
 surely another notion of justice, when ho 
 pronounced the counsel of Themistocles, 
 which was communicated to him only, to 
 be highly useful, but unjust ; and the as- 
 sembly, upon this authority, rejected the 
 proposal unheard. * These honest citizens, 
 though subject to no laws but of their own 
 making, far from making utility the stand- 
 ard of justice, made justice to be the stand- 
 ard of utility. 
 
 *' What is a man''s property 9 Anything 
 which it is lawful for him, and for him alone, 
 to use. But what rule have we by which 
 we can distinguish these objects 9 Here w© 
 must have recourse to statutes, customs, 
 precedents, analogies, &c." 
 
 Does not this imply that, in the state of 
 nature, there can be no distinction of pro- 
 perty ? If so, Mr Hume's state of nature 
 is the same with that of Mr Hobbes. 
 
 It is true that, when men become mem- 
 bers of a political society, they subject their 
 
 * Had they heard it, there would not probably 
 have been found the same unanimity. The rejection 
 of'n- vague abstraction is very difll rent from that of 
 a 8[ieciflc reality.— H 
 
ps 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [EISAy ▼• 
 
 CHAP. VI.] 
 
 OF FHK NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 
 
 663 
 
 pmMNiriy, m woll bm themmlvm, to the laws, 
 kd nmit either aoqukiCt in what the laws 
 4«tiiiiilMi, or lw« the iociety. But just- 
 lm.mA mm that particiikr branch of it 
 iMeh our author always supposes to be the 
 wholiiy 'm anteeedeiit to ipolitical societw 
 iliHitiielrhiws; andthemteiitioaofthew 
 
 him 1% to lie the giMurdiw* of Jutic©, md 
 to fodfese Injufies. . 
 
 Aa all the worbi of men are imperfect, 
 ^'■wmaw laws may be mnjust t which could 
 ■wmtg U, II JMtice had iti origin from hiw. 
 asthe author seems here to Insinuate. i442 j 
 
 Justice i«%ilfes that a member of a 
 state should submit to the kws of the state, 
 wheu they require notMiif unjust or im- 
 piotti. There may, therefore, be statutory 
 'rights and .statutory crimen A statute 
 may create a right which did not before exist, 
 or make that to be criminal which was not 
 so before. But this could never be, if 
 there were not an antecedent obligation 
 upon the subjects to obey the statutes. In 
 like manner, the command of a mister^ay 
 Malio that to be the 8e:rTant*s duty 'Vhioh, 
 heiini, mm not his duty, and the servant 
 nay 'he ehargeable with injostiee if he dis- 
 obeys, because he was under an antecedent 
 thlgation to obey his master in lawful 
 
 Wegwnt, therefore, that particuhir laws 
 may direct justice and determine property, 
 and sometimes, even, upon very' slight rea- 
 sons and analogies, or even for no other 
 Mson but that It is better tliat such a point 
 dwuld he determined by hiw than that it 
 sliould l»e left a dubious subject of conten- 
 tion. But this, far from presenting us with 
 the eondusion which the author would 
 wtaUish, piesents us with a contrary con- 
 dttsion. For all these particular laws and 
 statutes derive their whole obligation and 
 iitee from a gonoial rule of justice antece- 
 iMit to thom— to wit, That subjects ought 
 to lAey the 'taws, of their country. 
 
 The author compares the rules of justice 
 with the most frivolous superstitions, and 
 on ind no foundation for moral sentiment 
 In the one more than in the other, ©xcept- 
 ine that iustio© is requisite to the well-being 
 and existence of society. 
 
 It is very true that, if we eiaaiine mine 
 and tkme by the senses of $i§ki, mdi, or 
 tmekf or scrutinize them by the sciences of 
 mmiicinef ehemittry. orphyths^ we perceive 
 no difference. But the reason is, that none 
 Of these senses or sciences are the judges 
 of right or wrong, or can give any conception 
 of them any more than the ear of colour, or 
 the eye of sound. Every man of common 
 uudentanding, and every savag.*, when he 
 ■fplles his moral faculty to those objects, 
 Miwives a difference as clearly as he per- 
 ceives day-light When that sense or fa- 
 culty 18 not consulted, in vain do we con- 
 
 sult every other, m a question of right and 
 wrong. [443] 
 
 To perceive that justice tonds to the good 
 of mankind, would lay no moral obligation 
 upon us to be just, unless we be conscious 
 of a moral obligation to do what tends to 
 the good of maukiud. If such a moral obli- 
 gation be admitted, why may we not admit a 
 stronger obligation to do injury to no man ? 
 The kst obUgation is as easily conceived as 
 the first, and there is as clear evidence of 
 its existence in human nature. ^ 
 
 The kst argument is a dilemma, and is 
 thus expressed :—" The dilemoia seems 
 obvious. As justice evidently tends to pro- 
 mote public utUity, and to support ovil 
 society, the sentiment of justice is either 
 derived from our reflecting on that tend- 
 ency, or, like hunger, tliirst, and other ap- 
 petites, resentment, love of life, attachment 
 to offspring, and other passions, arises from 
 a simple original instinct in the human 
 breast, which nature has implanted for like 
 salutary purposes, I f the latter be tlie case, 
 it follows, That property, which is the ob- 
 ject of justice, is also distinguished by a 
 simple original instinct, and is not as^r- 
 tained by any argument or reflection. Bm 
 who is there that ever heard of such an 
 
 instinct,*' Ac . . j * 
 
 I doubt not but Mr Hume has heard of 
 a principle called conscience, which nature 
 has implanted in the human breast. 
 Whether he will call it a simple original 
 instmct I know not, as he gives that name 
 to all our appetites, and to all our passions. 
 From this principle, I think, we derive the 
 sentunent of justice. [444] 
 
 As the eye not only gives us the concep- 
 tion of colours, but makes us perceive one 
 body to liave one colour, and another body 
 another; and as our reason not only gives 
 us the conception of true and false, but 
 makes us perceive one proposition to be 
 true and another to be false ; so our con- 
 science, or moral faculty, not only gives iw 
 the conception of lionest and dishonest, 
 but makes us perceive one kind of conduct 
 to be honest, another to le dishonest. By 
 this faculty we perceive a merit in hon^t 
 conduct, and a demerit in dishonest, with- 
 out regard to public utility. 
 
 That these sentiments are not tbe etiect 
 of education or of acquired habits, we have 
 the same reason to concluoe as that our 
 perception of what is true and what false^ 
 not the effect of education or of acquired 
 habits. There have been men who pro- 
 fessed to believe that there is no ground to 
 assent to any one proposition rather than 
 its contrary ; but I never yet heard of a 
 man who had the eflrontery to profess him- 
 self to be under no obligation of honour or 
 honesty, of truth or justice, ui his deahngs 
 
 *^*** """• [442^444] 
 
 Nor does this faculty of conscience re- 
 quire innate ideat of proper ty, and of the 
 various ways of acquiring and transferring 
 iii or innate ideas of kings and senators, rf 
 prators, and chancellors, and juries, any 
 more than the faculty of seeing requires in- 
 nate ideas of colours, or than the faculty of 
 reasoning requires innate ideas of cones, 
 cylindeis, and spheres. [445] 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 OP THS NATORX ANO OBLIGATION OP A 
 CONTRACT. 
 
 Tub obligation of Contracts and Promises 
 is a matter so sacred, and of such conse- 
 quence to human society, that speculations 
 which have a tendency to weaken that obli- 
 gation, and to perplex men's notions on a 
 subject so plain and so important, ought to 
 meet with the disapprobation of all honest 
 men. 
 
 Some such speculations, I think, we have 
 in the third volume of Mr Hume's " Trea- 
 tise of Human Nature," and in his " En- 
 quiry into the Principles of Morals ;" and 
 my design in this chapter is, to offer some 
 observations on tbe nature of a contract or 
 promise, and on two passages of that author 
 on this subject. 
 
 I am far from saying or thinking that 
 Mr Hume meant to weaken men's obliga- 
 tions to honesty and fair dealing, or that he 
 had not a sense of these obligations himself. 
 It is not the man I impeach, but his writ- 
 ings. Let us think of the first as charitably 
 as we can, while we freely examine the im- 
 port and tendency of the last. 
 
 Although the nature of a contract and of 
 a promise is perfectly understood by all men 
 of common understanding ; yet, l>y atten- 
 tion to the operations of mind signified by 
 these words, we sliall be better enabled to 
 judge of the metaphysical subtilties which 
 have been raised about them. A promise 
 and a contract differ so little in what con- 
 cerns the present disquisition, that the same 
 reasoning (as Mr Hume justly observes) 
 extends to both. In a promise, one party 
 only comes under the obligation, the other 
 acquires a right to the prestation promised. 
 But we give the name of a contract to a 
 transaction in which each party comes under 
 an obUgation to the other, and each recipro- 
 cally acquires a right to what is promised 
 by the other. [446] 
 
 The Latin word Pactum seems to extend 
 to both : and the definition given of it in 
 the Civil Law, and borrowed from Ulpian, 
 is, DuoTUm pluriumve in idem placitum 
 consensus. Titius, a modern Civilian, has 
 endeavoured to make this definition more 
 complete, by adding the words, obligationis I 
 [445-447] 
 
 licitt constituen-tts vel ivUendee causa datus. 
 With this addition, the definition is, that 
 a Contract is the consent of two or more pcr^ 
 sons in the same thing, given with the inten* 
 tion of constitutit^ or dissolving lawfully 
 some obligation. 
 
 This definition is, perhaps, as good as any 
 other that can be given ; yet, I believe, 
 every* man will aclmowledge that it gives 
 him no clearer or more distinct notion of a 
 contract than he had before. If it is con- 
 sidered as a strictly logical definition, I be- 
 lieve some objections might be made to it ; 
 but I forbear to mention them, because I 
 believe that similar objections might be made 
 to any definition of a contract that can be 
 given. 
 
 Nor can it be inferred from this, that the 
 notion of a contract is not perfectly clear 
 in every man come to years of understand- 
 ing. For this is common to many opera- 
 tions of the mind, that, although we under- 
 stand them perfectly, and are in no danger 
 of confounding them with anything else; 
 yet we cannot define them according to the 
 rules of logic, by a genus and a specific dif- 
 ference. And when we attempt it, we 
 rather darken than give light to them. 
 
 Is there anything more distinctly under- 
 stood by all men, tliau what it is to see, to 
 hear, to remember, to judge ? Yet it is tho 
 most difficult thing in the world to define 
 these operations according to the rules of 
 logical definition. ' But it is not more diffi- 
 cult than it is useless. [447] 
 
 Sometimes philosophers attempt to de- 
 fine them ; but, if we examine their defin- 
 itions, we shall find that they amount to no 
 more than giving one synonymous word for 
 another, and commonly a worse for a better. 
 So, when we define a contract, by calling it 
 a consent, a convention, an agreement, what 
 is this but giving a synonymous word for it, 
 and a word that is neither more expressive 
 nor better understood ? 
 
 One boy has a top, another a scourge ; 
 says the first to the other. If you will lend 
 me your scourge as h)ng as I can keep up 
 my top with it, you shall next have the top 
 as long as you can keep it up. Agreed, 
 says the other. This is a contract jierfectly 
 understood by both parties, though they 
 never heard of the definition given by 
 Ulpian or by Titius. And each of them 
 knows that he is injured if the other breaks 
 the barpin, and that he does wrong if h© 
 breaks it himself. 
 
 The operations of the human mind may 
 be divided into tico classes, the Solitary and 
 the Social. As promises and contracts be- 
 long to the last class, it may be proper to 
 explain this division. 
 
 I call those operations solitary which may 
 he performed by a man in solitude, without 
 intercourse with any other intelligent being. 
 
■6i4 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 [essay v. 
 
 I mM tliOM opemlioiifl mtdal which neoes- 
 
 ■trily implf wM iiil«rcoiti«e with eome 
 other inttllifleal b«iiii who bears a purt in 
 them. [448] 
 
 A mil. may em, ^aml heari and rameniber, 
 sni juiigv, :aiid 'veaton t 1m niair deliberate 
 and lomi purpoaea, and execute them, with- 
 out the interrention of any other intelligent 
 being. The? are solitary aeta But, when 
 he a^ aoiieition for information, when he 
 teatiiee a fist, when he gives a command to 
 Ma servant, when he makes a promise, or 
 •ntoia 'into a 'Oiiiitiafst, these are social acts 
 of'Mhid, and. eaii have no existence without 
 the intefTontioD of some other intelligent 
 being, who acts a part in them. Between 
 the operations of the mind, which, for want 
 of a mom poper name, I have called soil' 
 teif , aiii tiiose I have called Moeial, there 
 la this veiy remarkable distinction, that, in 
 the solitaiy, theexpression of them by words, 
 or any other sensible sign, is accidental. 
 They may exist, and be complete, without 
 beinf expressed, without l>eing known to 
 any other person. But, in the sooial opera* 
 tiou, the expresmon ia esaentiai They 
 cannot exist without being expressed by 
 words or signs, and knoi^ to the other 
 party. 
 
 If nature bad not made man capable of 
 meh social operations of mind, and fur- 
 nished him with a language to expren 
 them, he might think, and reason, and de- 
 liberate, and will ; he might have desires 
 and aversions^ joy and sorrow ; in a word, 
 he might exert all those operations of mind 
 vMdi the writers hi logic and pneumatology 
 have so copiously described i but, at the 
 lame time, he would still be a solitary being, 
 oven when in a crowd ; it would l« impos- 
 aible for him to put a question, or give a 
 eoBmaod, to ask a favour, or testify a fact, 
 to make a promise, or a bargain. 
 
 I take it to be the common opinion of 
 iilli]oM|iher% That the social operations of 
 mm human mkd are not specii'Cally differ- 
 •at ipom the solitary, and that they are 
 only various roodifioations or compositions 
 of our ioitaiy operations, and may ha le- 
 
 flili'V'ifiia lUlitiil 'italilViri 
 
 It is tm this reason, probably, that, in 
 anmnemiinf the operations of the mmd, 
 the milaiy only are mentioned,, and no 
 notice at all taken of the social, though they 
 an famiiar to every man, and have names 
 in all langn^gea. [449] 
 
 I apprehend, however, it will be found 
 •ziremely difficult, if not impossible, to 
 ffliolve our social operations into any modi- 
 ication or compoMtion of the solitaiy ; and 
 that an attempt to do this would prove as 
 ineffectual as the attempts that have been 
 made to rwM^lve aU our social affections into 
 iia itilih. The social operations appear 
 to he aa simple in their nature m the soli- 
 
 tary. They are found in every individual 
 of the species, even before the use of rea- 
 son. 
 
 The power which man has of holding so- 
 cial intercourse with his kind, by asking 
 and refusing, threatening and supplicating, 
 commanding and obeying, testifying and 
 promising, must either be a distinct faculty 
 given by our Itfaker, and a part of our con- 
 stitution, like the powers of seeing and hear- 
 ing, or it must be a human invention. If 
 men have invented this art of social inter- 
 course, it must follow, that every individual 
 of the species must have invented it for 
 himself. It cannot, be taught ; for, though, 
 when once carried to a certain pitch, it may 
 be improved by teaching ; yet it is impossi- 
 ble it can begin in that way, because all 
 teaching supposes a social intercourse and 
 language already established between the 
 teacher and the learner. This intercourse 
 must, from the very first, be carried on by 
 sensible signs ; for the thoughts of other 
 men can be discovered in no other way. I 
 think it is likewise evident, that this inter- 
 course, in its beginning at least, must be 
 carried on by natural signs, whose meaning 
 is understood by both parties, previous to all 
 compact or agreement. For there can be 
 no compact without signs, nor without so- 
 cial intercourse. 
 
 I apprehend, therefore, that the social 
 intercourse of mankind, consisting of those 
 social operations which I have mentioned, 
 is the exercise of a faculty appropriated to 
 that purpose, which is the gift of God, no 
 less than the powers of seeing and hearing. 
 And that, in order to carry on this inter- 
 course, God has given to man a natural 
 language, by which his social operations are 
 expressed, and without which, the artificial 
 huiguages of articulate sounds, and of writ- 
 ing, could never have been invented by hu- 
 man art [440] 
 
 The signs in this natural language are 
 looks, changes of the features, modulations 
 of the voice, and gestures of the body. All 
 men understand this language without in- 
 struction, and all men can use it in some 
 degree. But they are most expert in it 
 who use it most It makes a great part of 
 the language of savages, and therefore they 
 are more expert in the use of natural signs 
 than the civilised. 
 
 The language of dumb persons is mostly 
 formed of natural signs ; and they are all 
 great adepts in this language of nature. 
 All that we call action and pronunciation, 
 in the most perfect orator, and the most 
 admired actor, is nothing else but superadd- 
 ing the language of nature to the language 
 of articulate sounds. The pantomimes 
 among the Romans carried it to the high- 
 est pitch of perfection. For they could act 
 parts of comedies and tragedies in dumb- 
 
 [♦♦8-450J 
 
 CHAP. VI.] OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 
 
 605 
 
 
 show, so as to be understood, not only by 
 those who were accustomed to this enter- 
 tainment, but by all the strangers that 
 came to Rome, from all the corners of the 
 earth. 
 
 For it may be observed of this natural 
 language, (and nothing more clearly de- 
 monstrates it to be a part of the human con- 
 stitution,) that, although it require practice 
 and study to enable a man to express his 
 sentiments by it in the most perfect man- 
 ner ; yet it requires neither study nor prac- 
 tice in the spectator to understand it. The 
 knowledge of it was before latent in the 
 mind, and we no sooner see it than we im- 
 liediately recognise it, as we do an acquaint- 
 ance whom we had long forgot, and could 
 not have described ; but no sooner do we 
 see him, than we know for certain that he 
 is the very man. [451] 
 
 This knowledge, in all mankind, of the 
 natural signs of men*s thoughts and senti- 
 ments, is indeed so like to reminiscence 
 that it seems to have led Plato to conceive 
 all human knowledge to be of that kind. 
 
 It is not by reasoning that all mankind 
 know that an open countenance and a 
 placid eye is a sign of amity ; that a con- 
 tracted brow and a fierce look is the sign 
 of anger. It is not from reason that we 
 learn to know the natural signs of consent- 
 ing and refusing, of affirming and denying, 
 of threatening and supplicating. 
 
 No man can perceive any necessary con- 
 nection between the signs of such opera- 
 tions, and the things signified by them. 
 But we are so formed by the Author of our 
 nature, that the operations themselves be- 
 come visible, as it were, by their natural 
 signs* This knowledge resembles reminis- 
 cence, in this respect, that it is immediate. 
 We form the conclusion with great assur- 
 ance, without knowing any premises from 
 which it may be drawn by reasoning- 
 It would lead us too far from the inten- 
 tion of the present inquiry, to consider, 
 more particularly, in what degree the social 
 intercourse is natural, and a part of our 
 constitution; how far it is of human inven- 
 tion. 
 
 It is sufficient to observe, that this in- 
 tercourse of human minds, by which their 
 thoughts and sentiments are exchanged, 
 and their souls mingle together, as it were, is 
 common to the whole species from infancy. 
 
 Like our other powers, its first beginnings 
 are weak, and scarcely perceptible. But 
 it is a certain fact, that we can perceive 
 some communication of sentiments between 
 the nuf se and her nursling, before it is a 
 month old. And I doubt not but that, if 
 both had grown out of the earth, and had 
 never seen another human face, they would 
 be able in a few years to converse together. 
 1462] 
 [451-453] 
 
 There appears, indeed, to be some degree 
 of social intercourse among brute-animals, 
 and between some of them and man. A 
 dog exults in the caresses of his master, 
 and is humbled at his displeasure. But 
 there are two operations of the social kind, 
 of which the brute-animals seem to be alto- 
 gether incapable. They can neither plight 
 their veracity by testimony, nor their fide- 
 lity by any engagement or promise If 
 nature had made them capable of these 
 operations, they would have had a language 
 to express them by, as man has : But of 
 this we see no appearance. 
 
 A fox is said to use stratagems, but he 
 cannot lie ; because he cannot give his test- 
 imony, or plight his veracity. A dog is 
 said to be faithful to his master; but no 
 more is meant but that he is affectionate, 
 for he never came under any engagement. 
 I see no evidence that any brute-animal is 
 capable of either giving testimony, or mak* 
 ing a promise. 
 
 A dumb man cannot speak any more 
 than a fox or a dog ; but he can give his 
 testimony by signs as early in life as other 
 men can do by words. He knows what a 
 lie is as early as other men, and hates it as 
 much. He can plight his faith, and is sen- 
 sible of the obligation of a promise or con- 
 tract. 
 
 It is therefore a prerogative of man, that 
 he can communicate his knowledge of facts 
 by testimony, and enter into engagements 
 by promise or contract. God has given 
 him these powers by a part of his constitu- 
 tion, which distinguishes him from all Lrute- 
 animals. And whether they are original 
 powers, or resolvable into other original 
 powers, it is evident that they spring up in 
 the human mind at an early period of life, 
 and are found in every individual of the 
 species, whether savage or civilized. 
 
 These prerogative powers of man, like aU 
 his other powers, must be given for some 
 end, and for a good end. And if we con- 
 sider a little farther the economy of nature, 
 in relation to this part of the human con- 
 stitution, we shall perceive the wisdom of 
 nature in tha Btructure of it, and discover 
 clearly our duty in consequence of it. [453] 
 
 It is evident, in i\\e first place, that, if no 
 credit was given to testimony, if there was 
 no reliance upon promises, they would 
 answer no end at all, not even that of de- 
 ceiving. 
 
 Secondly, Suppoaing men disposed by 
 some principle in their nature to rely on 
 declarations and promises; yet, if men found 
 in experience that there was no fidelity on 
 the other part in making and in keeping 
 them, no man of common understandmg 
 would trust to them, and so they would be- 
 come useless. 
 
 Hence it appears, thirdly^ That this 
 
r 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERa 
 
 £bssay ▼• 
 
 p4iir«r of glTiifflMiiiiioiiyf sod of piomiflbK, 
 Ma wwnwr no end in womtyf unless there 
 be a eonsidemlito dofrae, boih of fidelity 
 m 'tlM on* fMtf Mid of to** on tho other 
 TImm lifii 'Btnit stand or lUl tofellier, and 
 MM of Umi iwinot possibly subsist without 
 ■i Hm ^ other. 
 
 #«wlikff , It may 'be ohsenred thtt fidelity 
 iO' 'detiiifttiiins «nd proniiMi|. and its oonn- 
 toipot,, tntst Hid relunoe«|iiiii them, form 
 • tyalom of mtM intercoarse^ the most 
 amiftUS} the most useful, that can be among 
 men. WiAont fideUty and trust, there can 
 lie no hiimMi society. Ther© never was a so- 
 ciety, OTen of savages— nay, even of robbers 
 or piimtes— in which there was not a great 
 .<iif|ppee of veracity and of fidelity among 
 tliMiselve** Wttbont it man would be the 
 •Mai diaioaial Mlnal that Ood has made. 
 His state would be In reality what Hobbes 
 Mneeived the state of nature to^ 'be— a state 
 of war of every man agatnsl every man; 
 nor could this war ever terminate in peaces 
 It may be observed, in the fifth place, 
 that man is evidently made for living in 
 Boeiety . His social afieetiona shew this as 
 evidently as that the eye was made for see- 
 ing. His social operations, particularly 
 those of testifying and promising, make it 
 Ml less evident. [464| 
 
 From these observations It follows, that, 
 If no piovisiott were made by nature, to en- 
 gage men to fidelity in declarations and 
 promises, human nature would be a con- 
 tiadietion to itself, made for an end, yet 
 ^^wiilOBl the necessary means^ of attainiii;^ it.. 
 * As if ihe species had been furnished with 
 good eyes, but without the power of open- 
 ing their eyelids. There are no blunders 
 of this hind in the works of God. Where- 
 ever there is an end intended, the means 
 are admirably fitted for the attainment of 
 Its and so «e find it to be in the case be- 
 fore us. 
 
 For we see that cUldren, as soon as they 
 aie capable of undtestaiidiiig declarations 
 and promises, are led by their constitution 
 to i»ly upon thmn. They are no less led 
 bf cwatitntiiin. to veracity and candour, on 
 tWr own part Wor do they ever deviate 
 from this road of truth and sincerity, until 
 corrupted by bad example and bad company. 
 Tills disposition to sincerity in themeelves, 
 and to give credit to others, whether we call 
 it lii*li«l, or whatever name we give it, 
 must be considered as the effect of their 
 constitiition* 
 
 So thai the things essential to human 
 mdt^y^I mean good faith on the one part, 
 and trust on the other— are fonned by nature 
 In the minck of children, before thev are 
 eapabeo of knowing their ntillty, or being 
 iniulened by coosldemtions either of duty 
 
 or interest* , , 
 
 When we grow up so fiir as to have the 
 
 conception of a right and a wrong in con- 
 duct, the turpitude of lying, falsehood, and 
 dishonesty, is discerned, not by any train 
 of reasoning, but by an immediate percep- 
 tion. For we see that every man disap- 
 proves it in others, even those who are con- 
 scious of it in themselves. 
 
 Every man thinks himself injured and ill 
 used, and feels resentment, when he is im- 
 posed upon by it. Every man takes it as a 
 reproach when falsehood Is imputed to him. 
 These are the clearest evidences, that all 
 men disapprove of falsehood, when their 
 judgment is not biassed. [456] 
 
 1 know of no evidence that has been 
 given of any nation so rude as not to have 
 these sentiments. It is certain that dumb 
 people have them, and discover them about 
 the same period of life in which they ap- 
 pear in those who speak. And it may rea- 
 sonably be thought, that dumb persons, at 
 that time of life, have had as little ad- 
 vantage, with regard to morals, from their 
 education, as the greatest savages. 
 
 Every man, come to years of reflection, 
 when he pledges his veracity or fidelity, 
 thinks he has a right to be credited, and is 
 affronted if he is not. But there cannot be 
 a shadow of right to be credited, unless 
 there be an obligation to good faith. For 
 right on one hand, necessarily implies ob- 
 ligation on the other. 
 
 When we see that, hi the most savage 
 state that ever was known of the hiiman 
 race, men have ahvays lived in societies 
 greater or less, this of itself is a proof from 
 fact, that they have had that sense of their 
 obligation to fidelity without which no 
 human society can subsist. 
 
 From these observations, I tliink, it ap- 
 pears very evident, that, as fidelity on one 
 part, and trust on the other, are essential 
 to that intercourse of men which we call 
 human society ; so the Author of our nature 
 has made wise provision for perpetuating 
 them among men, in that degree that is ne- 
 cessary to human society, in all the different 
 periods of human life, and in all the stage* 
 of human improvement and degeneracy. 
 
 In early years, we have an innate dis- 
 position to them. In riper years, we feel 
 our obligation to fidelity as much as to any 
 moral duty whatsoever. [456] 
 
 Nor is it necessary to mention the col- 
 lateral inducements to this virtue, from 
 considerations of prudence, which are obvi- 
 ous to every man that reflects. Such as, 
 that it creates trust, the most effectual 
 engine of human power ; that it requires no 
 artifice or concealment; dreads no detec- 
 tion; that it inspires cotirage and mag- 
 naninuty, and is the natural ally of every 
 virtue ; so that there is no virtue whatso- 
 ever, to which our natural obligation ap- 
 pears more stroni? or more apparent. 
 
 [^454r-4AtfJ 
 
 UHAP. VI.] 
 
 OF THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT, 
 
 667 
 
 An observation or two, with regard to 
 the nature of a contract, will be sufficient 
 for the present purpose. 
 
 It is obvious that the prestation pro- 
 mised must be understood by both parties. 
 One party engages to do such a thing, an- 
 other accepts of this engagement. An en- 
 gagement to do, one does not know what, 
 can neither be made nor accepted. It is no 
 less obvious, that a contract is a voluntary 
 transaction. 
 
 But it ought to be observed, that the 
 will, which is essential to a contract, is 
 only a will to engage, or to become bound. 
 We must beware of confounding this will 
 with a will to perform what we have en- 
 gaged. The last can signify nothing else 
 than an intention and fixed purpose to do 
 what we have engaged to do. The will to 
 become bound, and tu confer a right upon 
 the other party, is indeed the very essence 
 of a contract ; but the purpose of fulfilling 
 our engagement, is no part of the contract 
 at all 
 
 A purpose is a solitary act of mind, whicli 
 lays no obligation on the person, nor con- 
 fers any right on another. A fraudulent 
 person may contract with a fixed purpose 
 sf not performing his engagement But 
 this purpose makes no change with regard 
 to his obligation. He is as much bound as 
 the honest man, who contracts with a fixed 
 purpose of performing. [467] 
 
 As the contract is binding without any 
 regard to the purpose, so there may be a 
 purpose without any contract. A purpose 
 is no contract, even when it is declared to 
 the person for whose benefit it is intended. 
 I may say to a man, I intend to do such a 
 thing for your benefit, but I come under 
 no engagement. Every man understands 
 the meaning of this speech, and sees no 
 contradiction in it ; whereas, if a purpose 
 declared were the same thing with a con- 
 tract, such a speech would be a contradic- 
 tion, and would be the same as if one 
 should say, I promise to do such a thing, 
 but I do noc promise. 
 
 All this is 80 plain to every man of com- 
 mon sense, that it would have been unne- 
 cessary to be mentioned, had not so acute 
 a man as Mr Hume grounded some of the 
 contradictions he finds in a contract, upon 
 confounding a will to engage in a contract 
 with a will or purpose to perform the en- 
 gagement. 
 
 I come now to consider the speculations 
 of that author with regard to contracts. 
 
 In order to support a favourite notion of 
 hb own. That justice is not a natural but 
 an artificial virtue, and that it derives its 
 whole merit from its utility, he has laid 
 down some principles which, I think, have 
 a tendency to subvert all faith and fair- 
 dealing among mankind. 
 [447-459] 
 
 In the third volume of the ** Treatise of 
 Human Nature,** p. 40, he lays it down as 
 an undoubted maxim, That no action can 
 be virtuous or morally good, unless there 
 be in human nature, some motive to pro- 
 duce it, distinct from its morality. Let us 
 apply this undoubted maxim in an instance 
 or two. If a man keeps his word, from this 
 sole motive, that he ought to do so, this is 
 no virtuous or morally good action. If a 
 man pays his debt from this motive, that 
 justice requires this of him, this is no vir- 
 tuous or morally good action. If a judgo 
 or an arbiter gives a sentence in a cause, 
 from no other motive but regard to justice, 
 this is no virtuous or morally good action. 
 These appear to me to be shocking absurd- 
 ities, which no metaphysical subtilty can 
 ever justify. [468] 
 
 Nothing is more evident than that every 
 human action takes its denominaticm and 
 its moral nature from the motive from which 
 it is performed. That is a benevolent ac- 
 tion which is done from benevolence. That 
 is an act of gratitude which is done from a 
 sentiment of gratitude. That is an act of 
 obedience to God, which is done from a 
 regard to his command. And, in general, 
 that is an act of virtue which is done from 
 a regard to virtue. 
 
 Virtuous actions are so far from needing 
 other motives, besides their being virtuous, 
 to give them merit, that their merit is then 
 greatest and most conspicuous, when every 
 motive that can be put in the opposite scale 
 is outweighed by the sole consideration of 
 their being our duty. 
 
 This maxim, therefore, of Mr Hume, 
 That no action can be virtuous or morally 
 good, unless there be some motive to produce 
 it distinct from its morality, is so far from 
 being undoubtedly true, that it is undoubt- 
 edly false. It was never, so far as I know, 
 maintained by any moralist, but by the 
 Epicureans; and it savours of the very dregs 
 of that sect. It agrees well with the prin- 
 cijjles of those who maintained, that virtue 
 is an empty name, and that it is entitled to 
 no regard but in as far as it ministers to 
 pleasure or profit. 
 
 I believe the author of this maxim acted 
 upon better moral principles than lie wrote ; 
 and that what Cicero says of Epicurus, may 
 be applied to him : — Hedarguitur ipse a 
 sese, vincunturque scripta ejus probitate 
 ipsius et moribus ; et ut alii esclstimanlnr 
 diceie melius quam fucerey sic ilfe mihi 
 vidfturfacere melius quam dicei-e. [459] 
 
 But let us see how he applies this maxim 
 to contracts. I give you his words from 
 the place formerly cited :— " I suppose,** 
 says he, " a person to have lent me a sura 
 of money, on condition that it be restored 
 in a few days ; and, after the expiration of 
 the term agreed on, he demands the sumb 
 
mm 
 
 ON THE ACTIVB POWERS. 
 
 [■MAT IT. 
 
 OaAP. VI.] 
 
 OP THE NATURE OF A CONTRACT. 
 
 669 
 
 I. aiki, vial: miiia or nmlive hxm I to 
 'itil«i» 'tli9 moDigrP It will, perliaim, be 
 ■■M, tliat my rojpurd to justice, and abhor- 
 lenee ef villany and knavery, are sufficient 
 leMniB for me, if I have the least grain of 
 ioneaty, or sense of duty and obligation. 
 Anil tills answer, no doubt, is just and satis- 
 tetoiy to man in his civilized state, and 
 vlien trained up according to a Isertain dis- 
 •i|iiiie and education. But, in his rude 
 aiM. 'move nalnial condition, if you are 
 pteaaed to call such a oondilion natural, 
 iys answer would be rejected as perfectly 
 'Unintelligible and. sopbbticaL'* 
 
 The doetfine we are taught in this pass- 
 ■fe is this, That, though a man, in a civil- 
 iied state, and when trained np acooi *.Iiif 
 to a certain dtselpline and education, may 
 have a isgpwd to justice and an abhorrence 
 of irflhwiy and knavery, and some sense of 
 duty and obligation ; yet, to a man in his 
 nde and more natural condition, the consi- 
 derations of honesty, justice, duty, and ob- 
 ligation, will be perfectly unintelligible and 
 sophistical And this is biooglit as an aiga- 
 iiMDt 'to shew that justice h not a natural. 
 bat an artificial virtue. 
 
 I shall offer some observations on this 
 argument. 
 
 1. Although it may be true that what is 
 mintelligible to man in his rude state may 
 bo Intelligible to him in his civilized state, 
 I omnol conceive that wliat is sophistical 
 in the mdo state should change its nature, 
 and become just reasoning when man is 
 more improved. What is a sophism, will 
 always he so ; nor can any ohauKe in the 
 state of the person who judges make that to 
 be just reasoning which before was sophist- 
 IcaL [4TO1 Mr Hume's argument re- 
 f Hires that to man, in his rude state, the 
 motives to justice and honesty should not 
 only appear to be sophistical, but should 
 really be sa If the motives were Just in 
 tiieinaelves, then justice would be a natural 
 virtue^ although the rude man, by an error 
 of his judgment, thought otherwise. But 
 if justice be not a natural virtue, which is 
 the point Mr Hume intends to prove, then 
 mwmj argnment, by which man in his na- 
 Imi state may be urged to it, must be a 
 BOpllism in reality, and not in appearance 
 onlv' ; and 'the effect of diseipline and edu- 
 cation in the civiliied state can only be to 
 .make those motives 'to iwtaee appear just 
 .■ad satisfSMstory, 'wbiek 'tit their own nature, 
 are sophistical. 
 
 f . It were to be wished that this ingen- 
 ious author bad shewn us why that state of 
 man. In whieh the obligation to honesty, 
 and an abhorrence of vilhiny, appear per- 
 feetiy unintelligible and sophistical, should 
 be .has mor€ naimmi ti&te. 
 
 It Is the nature of human society to be 
 live, as much as It Is the nature of 
 
 the individoal. In the hidlvidnal, the siato 
 of infancy leads to that of childhood, child- 
 hood to youth, youth to manhood, manhood 
 to old age. If one should say that the state 
 of infancy is a more natural state than that 
 of manhood or of old age, I am apt to think 
 that this would be words without any mean- 
 ing. In like manner, in human society, there 
 is a natural progress from rudeness to civil- 
 ization, from ignorance to knowledge. What 
 period of this progress shall we call man*s 
 natural state? To me they appear all 
 equally natural. Every state of society is 
 equally natural, wherein men have access 
 to exert their natural powers about theur 
 proper objects, and to improve those powers 
 by the means which their situation affords. 
 [461] 
 
 Mr Hume, indeed, shews some timidity 
 in affirming the rude state to be the more 
 natural state of man ; and, therefore, adds 
 this qualifying parenthesis. If you are 
 pleased to call such a condition natural. 
 
 But it ouglit to be observed, That, if the 
 premises of his argument be weakened by 
 this clause, the same weakness must be 
 communicated to the conclusion ; and the 
 conclusion, according to the rules of good 
 reasoning, ought to be, That justice is an 
 artificial virtue, i^you be pleased to call it 
 artificinl. 
 
 3, It were likewise to be wished, that Mr 
 Hume had shewn, from fact, that there 
 ever did exist such a state of man as that 
 which he calls his more natural state. It 
 is a state wherein a man borrows a sum of 
 money, on the condition that he is to re- 
 store it in a few days ; yet, when the time 
 of payment comes, his obligation to repay 
 what he borrowed is perfectly unintelligible 
 and sophistical. It would have been pro- 
 per to have given, at least, a single instance 
 of some tribe of the human race that was 
 found to be in this natural state. If no 
 such instance can be given, it. is, prcbably, 
 a state merely imaginary ; like that state, 
 which some have imagined, wherein men 
 were mtran. outangi, or wherein they were 
 fishes with tails. 
 
 Indeed, such a state seems impossible. 
 That a man should lend without any con- 
 ception of his having a right to be repaid ; 
 or that a man should borrow on the condi- 
 tion of paying in a few days, and yet have 
 no conception of his obligation — seems to 
 me to involve a contradiction. 
 
 I grant that a humane man may lend 
 without any expectation of being repaid ; 
 but that he should lend without any concep- 
 tion of a right to be repaid, is a contradic- 
 tion. In like manner, a fraudulent man 
 may borrow without an intention of paying 
 back ; but that he could borrow, while an 
 obligation to repay is perfectly unintelligible 
 to him, this is a contradiction. [462] 
 
 [460-462] 
 
 ll 
 
 The same author, in his " Enquiry into 
 the Principles of Morals," § 3, treating 
 of the same subject, has the following 
 note : — 
 
 " 'Tis evident that the will or consent 
 alone, never transfers property, nor causes 
 the obligation of a promise ; (for the same 
 reasoning extends to both ;) but the will 
 must be expressed by words or signs, in 
 order to impose a tie upon any man. The 
 expression being once brought in as subser- 
 vient to the will, soon becomes the princi- 
 pal part of the promise ; nor will a man be 
 less bound by his word, though he secretly 
 give a different direction to his intention, 
 and withhold the assent of his mind. But, 
 though the expression makes, on most occa- 
 sions, the whole of the promise ; yet it does 
 not always so ; and one who should make 
 use of any expression of which he knows 
 not the meaning, and which he uses with- 
 out any sense of the consequences, would 
 not certainly be bound by it. Nay, though 
 he know its meaning, yet, if he uses it in 
 jest only, and with such signs as shew 
 evidently he has no serious intention of 
 binding himself, he would not be under any 
 obligation of performance ; but it is neces- 
 sary that the words be a perfect expression 
 of the will, without any contrary signs ; 
 nay, even this we must not carry so far 
 as to imagine that one whom, from our 
 quickness of understanding, we conjectured 
 to have an intention of deceiving us, is not 
 bound by his expression or verbal promise, 
 if we accept (tf it ; but must limit this con- 
 clusion to those eases where the signs are 
 of a different nature from those of deceit. 
 All these contradictions are easily accounted 
 for, if justice arises entirely from its useful- 
 ness to society, but will never be explained 
 on any other hypothesis.** [463] 
 
 Here we have the opinion of this grave 
 moralist and acute metaphysician, that the 
 principles of honesty and fidelity are at 
 bottom a bundle of contradictions. This is 
 one part of his moral system which, I can- 
 not help thinking, borders upon licentious- 
 ness. It surely tends to give a very un- 
 favourable notion of that cardinal virtue 
 without which no man has a title to be 
 called an honest man. What regard can a 
 man pay to the virtue of fidelity, who be- 
 lieves that its essential rules contradict each 
 other ? Can a man be bound by contra- 
 dictory rules of conduct ? No more, surely, 
 than he can be bound to believe contradict- 
 ory principles. 
 
 He tellia us, '' that all these contradic- 
 tions are easily accounted for, if justice 
 arises entirely from its usefulness to society, 
 but will never be explained upon any other 
 hypothesis.** 
 
 I know not, indeed, what is meant by 
 accounting for contradictions, or explaining 
 '463, 464] 
 
 them. I apprehend that no hypothesis 
 can make that which is a contradiction to be 
 no contradiction. However, without attempt- 
 ing to account for these contradictions upon 
 his own hypothesis, he pronounces, in a 
 decisive tone, that they will never be ex- 
 plained upon any other hypothesis. 
 
 What if it shall appear that the contra- 
 dictions mentioned in this paragraph do all 
 take their rise from two capital mistakes 
 the author has made with regard to the 
 nature of promises and contracts; and if, 
 when these are corrected, there shall not 
 appear a shadow of contradiction in the 
 cases put by him ? 
 
 The first mistake is, That a promise is 
 some kind of will, consent, or intention, 
 which may be expressed, or may not be 
 expressed. This is to mistake the nature 
 of a promise. For no will, no consent, or 
 intention, that is not expressed, is a pro- 
 mise. A promise, being a social transac- 
 tion between two parties, without being ex- 
 pressed can have no existence. [464] 
 
 Another capital mistake that runs through 
 the passage cited is. That this will, consent, 
 or intention, which makes a promise, is a 
 will or intention to perform what we pro- 
 mise. Every man knows that there may 
 be a fraudulent promise, made without in- 
 tention of performing. But the intention 
 to perform the promise, or not to perform 
 it, whether the intention be known to the 
 other party or not, makes no part of the 
 promise — it is a solitary act of the mind, and 
 can neither constitute nor dissolve an obli- 
 gation. What makes a promise is, that it 
 be expressed to the other party with under- 
 standing, and with an intention to become 
 bound, and that it be accepted by him. 
 
 Carrying these remarks along with us, 
 let us review the passage cited. 
 
 First, He observes, that the will or con- 
 sent alone does not cause the obligation of 
 a promise, but it must be expressed. 
 
 I answer, The will not expressed is not 
 a promise ; and is it a contradiction that 
 that which is not a promise should not 
 cause the obligation of a promise ? He 
 goes on. The expression being once brought 
 in as subservient to the will, soon becomes 
 a principal part of the promise. Here it 
 is supposed, that the expression was 
 not originally a constituent part of the 
 promise, but it soon becomes such. It is 
 brought in to aid and be subservient to the 
 promise which was made before by the will. 
 If Mr Hume had considered that it is the 
 expression accompanied with understanding 
 and will to become liound, that constitutes 
 a promise, he would never have said, that 
 the expression soon becomes a part, and is 
 brought in as subservient. 
 
 He adds. Nor will a man be Jess hound 
 by his word, though he secretly gives a dif- 
 
'0711 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERa 
 
 [rssav 
 
 CHAF. VII.] APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 
 
 671 
 
 fomil ctifcffiliiiii io lik intentioii, and with, 
 kilds the aaamt of Us minii [465 ] 
 
 Tht oae hen put needs some explication. 
 Bitier it means, that the man knowingly 
 ■ni voluntarily gives his word, without any 
 intention (if giving his word ; or that he 
 gives it without tlie intention of keeping it, 
 and perforakf what he pramiset. The 
 last of these is uideed a poisible ease, and 
 ia, I apprehend, what Mr Hume means. 
 But the intention of keeping hb promise is 
 no part of the promise, nor does it in the 
 l«Ht rftct the obligiition of it, as w© have 
 
 If the author meant that the man may 
 knowingly and voluntarily give his word, 
 
 witliout the intention of givitig his word, 
 thbiilinpMsible: For such is the nature 
 i>rall soeU aets of the muid, that, as they 
 cannot be without being expressed, so they 
 canml be expressed knowingly and will- 
 in^j, but tliey must be. If a man puts a 
 f tiestion knowingly and willingly, it is im- 
 peeiiile that he iliiwld at the same time 
 will not to put It, If he givea a command 
 knowingly and willingly, it is impossible 
 that he should at the same time will not 
 to give it. We cannot have contrary wills 
 at the same time. And, in like manner, if 
 a man knowingly and willingly becomes 
 honnd by a promise, it is imp«>s8ible that 
 h§ OmM at the same tune wil not to be 
 hound* 
 
 To suppose, therefore, that, when a man 
 knowingly and willingly gives his word, he 
 withhtlda that will and intention which 
 makes a pfoimist, is indeed a contradiction ; 
 but the contcaiiiition is not in the nature 
 of the promise, but in the case supposed by 
 Mr Hume* 
 
 He a^dsy thnng h the expression, for the 
 most part, naket' Urn whole of the promise, 
 it does not. always so. 
 
 I answer, That the expiMiion, if it is 
 not acoMipanied with understanding and 
 wiE tH' engage, never makes a promise. 
 The authnr here assumes ii postulate, which 
 nobody ever granted, and which can only 
 be grounded on the impossible supposi- 
 tion made In the foramr sentence And 
 M theie can be no pramiie' without know- 
 Mge and will to engage, Is It marvellous 
 that words which are not understood, or 
 words spoken m jest, and without any in- 
 tention to become bound, should not have 
 HkB ttteti of a 'fiMMiiBe ? H^] 
 
 The hwt ease put by Mr Hume, is that 
 of a man who proniseB fiaudulently with 
 .an. intintiiMi not to perform, and whose 
 :ilnndnieni :istiintion is discovered by the 
 ©ther party, who, notwithstanding, accepts 
 the pmuiie. He is bound, says Mr Mume, 
 by hla veibal promise. Undoubtedly ho is 
 'iMNmd*. beeMise an intention not to perform 
 tha pnmh e ^ whethet known to the other 
 
 party or not, makes no part of the promise, 
 nor affects its obligation, as has been le* 
 peatedly observed. 
 
 From what has been said, I think it 
 evident, that to one who attends to the 
 imtnro of a promise or contract, there is 
 not the least appearance of contradiction 
 in the principles of morality relating to 
 contracts. 
 
 It would, indeed, appear wonderful that 
 such a man as Mr Hume should have im- 
 posed upon liimself in so pkiu a matter, if 
 we did not see frequent instances of inge- 
 nious men, whose zeal in supporting a fa- 
 vourite hypothesis darkens their under- 
 standing, and hinders them from seeing 
 what is before their eyes. [467] 
 
 C/HAPXER Vll* 
 
 THAT MORAL aPPROBATION IMPLIBS A BBAL 
 JUOGMBNT. 
 
 Thb approbation of good actions, and 
 disapprobation of bad, are so familiar to 
 eveiy man come to years of understandmg, 
 that it seems strange there should be any 
 dispute about their nature. 
 
 Whether we reflect upon our own con- 
 duct, or attend to the conduct of others 
 with whom we live, or of whom we hear or 
 read, we cannot help approving of some 
 things, disapproving of others, and regard- 
 ing many with perfect indifference. 
 
 These operations of our minds we aro 
 conscious of every day and almost every 
 hour we live. Men of ripe underBtanding 
 are capable of reflecting upon them, and 
 of attending to what passes in their own 
 thoughts on such occasions ; yet, for half 
 a century, it has been a serious dispute 
 among philosophers, what this approbation 
 and disapprobation is. Whether there be a 
 real judgment included in it, whicht Itke ail 
 othf-r judgments, must be true or false ; or. 
 Whether it include no more but tome agrees 
 able or vneasif feeling^ <fi the person who 
 approves or dieapproves. 
 
 Mr Hume observes very justly, that this 
 Is a controversy started of late. Before 
 the modern system of Ideas and Impressions 
 was introduced, nothing would have ap- 
 peared more absurd than to say, that when 
 I condemn a man for what he has done, I 
 paas no judgment at all about the man, but 
 only express some uneasy feeling in my* 
 self. [468 J 
 
 Nor did the new system produce this dis- 
 covery at once^ but gradually, by several 
 steps, according as its consequences were 
 more accurately traced, and its spirit more 
 thoroughly imbibed by successive philoso* 
 phers. 
 
 Des Cartes and Mr Locke went no Ikr- 
 
 [4e5-468] 
 
 ther than to mamtain that the Secondary 
 Qualities of body — Heat and Cold, Sound, 
 Colour, Taste, and Smell — which we per- 
 ceive and judge to be in the external ob- 
 ject, are mere feelings or sensations in our 
 minds, there being nothing in bodies them- 
 selves to which these names can be applied ; 
 and that the office of the external senses is 
 not to judge of external things, but only to 
 give us ideas of sensations, from which we 
 are by reasoning to deduce the existence of 
 a material world without us, as wdl as we 
 can. 
 
 Arthur Collier and Bishop Berkeley dis- 
 covered, from the same principles, that the 
 Prinmry, as well as the Secondary, Quali- 
 ties of bodies, such as Extension, Figure, 
 Solidity, Motion, are only sensations in our 
 minds ; and, therefore, that there is no ma- 
 terial world without us at all. 
 
 The same philosophy, when it came to 
 be applied to matters of taste, discovered 
 that beauty and deformity are not anything 
 in the objects, to which men, from the be- 
 giiming of the world, ascribed them, but 
 certain feelings in the mind of the spec- 
 tator. 
 
 The next step was an easy consequence 
 from all the preceding, that Moral Appro- 
 bation and Disapprobation are not Judg- 
 ments, which must be true or false, but 
 barely agreeable and uneasy FeeUngs or 
 Sensations. 
 
 Mr Hume made the last step in this pro- 
 gress, and crowned the system by what he 
 calls liia hypothesis — to wit, Tliat Belief is 
 more properly an act of the Sensitive than 
 of the Cogitative jjart of our nature. [409] 
 Beyond this I think no man can go in 
 this track ; sensation or feeling is all, and 
 what is left to the c<»gitative part of our na- 
 ture, I am not able to comprehend. 
 
 I have had occasion to consider each of 
 these paradoxes, excepting that which re- 
 lates to morals, in " Essays on the Intel- 
 lectual Powers of Man ;*' and, though they 
 be strictly connected with each other, and 
 with the system which has produced them, 
 I have attempted to shew that they are in- 
 consistent with just notions of our intellec- 
 tual powers, no less than they are with the 
 common sense and common language of 
 mankind. And this, I think, will likewise ap- 
 pear with regard to the conclusion relating 
 to morals— to wit. That moral approbation is 
 only an agreeable feeling, and not a real 
 judgment 
 
 To prevent ambiguity as much as possi« 
 hie, let us attend to the meaning of Feeling 
 and of Judgment, These operations of the 
 mind, perhaps, cannot be logically defined ; 
 but they are well anderstood, and easily 
 dbtinguished, by their properties and ad- 
 juncts. 
 
 Feeling, or sensation, seems to be the 
 t4ll»-4Tl] 
 
 lowest degree of animation we can conceive. 
 We give the name of animal to every be- 
 ing that feels pain and pleasure ; and this 
 seems to be the boundary between the in- 
 animate and animal creation. 
 
 Wo know no being of so low a rank in 
 the creation of God as to possess this ani- 
 mal power only without any other. 
 
 We commonly distinguish Feeling from 
 Thinking, because it hardly deserves the 
 name ; and though it be, in a more general 
 sense, a species of thought, is least removed 
 from the passive and inert state of things 
 inanimate. [470 J 
 
 A feeling must be agreeable, or uneasy, 
 or indifferent. It may be weak or strong. 
 It is expressed in language either by a sin- 
 gle word, or by such a contexture of words 
 as may be the subject or predicate of a pro- 
 position, but such as cannot by themselves 
 make a proposition. For it implies neither 
 affirmation nor negation; and therefore 
 cannot have the qualities of true or false, 
 which distinguish propositions from all other 
 forms of speech, and judgments from all 
 other acts of the mind. 
 
 That I have such a feeling, is indeed an 
 affirmative proposition, and expresses tes- 
 timony grounded upon an intuitive judg- 
 ment. But the feeling is only one term of 
 this proposition ; and it can only make a 
 l)roposition when joined with another term, 
 by a verb affirming or denying. 
 
 As feeling distinguishes the animal na- 
 ture from the inanimate ; so judging seems 
 to distinguish the rational nature from the 
 merely aninuil. 
 
 Though judgment in general is express- 
 ed by one word in language, as the most 
 complex operations of the mind may be ; 
 yet a particular judgment can only be ex- 
 pressed by a sentence, and by that kind of 
 sentence which logicians call a proposition, 
 in which there must necessarily be a verb 
 in the indicative mood, either expressed or 
 understood. 
 
 Every judgment must necessarily be true 
 or false, and the same may be said of the 
 proposition which expresses it. It is a de- 
 termination of the understanding, with re- 
 gard to what is true, or false, or dubious. 
 
 In judgment, we can distinguish the ob- 
 ject about which we judge, from the act of 
 the mind in judging of that object. In mere 
 feeling there is no such distinction. The 
 object of judgment must be expressed by a 
 proposition ; and belief, disbelief, or doubt, 
 always accompanies the judgment we form. 
 If we judge the proposition to be true, we 
 must believe it ; if we judge it to be false, we 
 must disbelieve it ; and if we be uncertain 
 whether it be true or false, we must doubt. 
 
 [47 1 J 
 
 The toothache, the headache, are words 
 which express uneasy feelings ; but to 9ay 
 
iVT^I 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERS. 
 
 I B88A « V# 
 
 CHAP, m.] APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 
 
 
 tlittl llMsy cicpfCM » jiidgiiwiit would b« ridi^ 
 cnbos. 
 
 Tkmt iks *m h^frmier than the mrihf is 
 ft proposition, and therefore the object of 
 judgment ; and, when affinned or denied, 
 iMlMved or dlsbelieyed, or doubted, it ex- 
 f feiBes judgment t but to say that it ex- 
 presses only a feeling in the mind of him 
 tlist Wieves it, would be ridiculous. 
 
 These two operations of mind, when we 
 consider them separately, are very differ- 
 ent, and easily distinguished. When we 
 feel without judging, or judge witliout feel- 
 ing, it ia impossible, without very gross in- 
 attention, to mistake the one for the other. 
 
 But in many operations of the mind, 
 Iwth an maeparably conjoined under ono 
 name ; and when we are not aware that 
 At operation is complex, we may take one 
 iigreSent to be the whole, and overlook 
 the other. 
 
 In former ages,* that moral power by 
 which himail actions ought to be regulated, 
 was oalM M§a»m^ and considered, both by 
 pliikMiophers and by the vulgar, as the power 
 rf judging what w© ought and what wo 
 mtm not lo do» 
 
 This la very fully expicssed hy Mr Hume, 
 in his " Treatise of Human Nature,'* Book 
 11. Part iii. § ». " Nothing ia more usual 
 in philosophy, and even in common life, 
 than to talk of the combat of passion and 
 reason, to give the prefaimoe to reason, 
 and assert tliat men are only so fiur virtuous 
 as they conform themselves to its^ dictates. 
 Every la^nal creature, His said, b obliged 
 to f^kle Ms actions by reason ; and, if 
 any other motive or principle challenge the 
 direction of his conduct, he ought to oppose 
 it, till it be entirely subdued, or, at least, 
 hranght to a conformity to that superior 
 principle. On this method of thinking, the 
 ffeatest part of moral philosophy, ancient 
 and modem, seems to be founded." [472] 
 
 That those philosophers attended chiefly 
 to the judgiuf power of our moral faculty, 
 appears from the names they gave to its 
 operations, and from the whole of their 
 liiii|mi|« cticeming it. 
 
 Ilie modem philosophy has led men to 
 attend chiefly to their sensationfl and feel- 
 ingly and thereby to resolve into mere feel- 
 ing, complex acts of the mind, of which 
 'iMiing ia 'Only one 'ingredient 
 
 I 'had occasion, k the preceding Essays, 
 to ©hserve, that several operations of the 
 mini, to which w» give one name, and con- 
 ■Idar as one aist, are oonpnonded of more 
 Bunple acta insmrably mlted in our con- 
 stitution, and liat, In these, sensation or 
 IWiiif oflen makes one ingredient 
 
 Thu% the appetites of hunger and thhfst 
 ■vecomponndedof an uneasy sensation, and 
 
 • And by mmj gMMOftlieti ^nm Rcid.^H. 
 
 the desire of food or drinL In our bene- 
 volent affections, there is both an agreeable 
 feeling, and a desire of happiness to the 
 object of our affection ; and malevolent 
 affections have ingredients of a contrary 
 
 nature. 
 
 In these instances, sensation or feeling is 
 inseparably conjoined with desire. In other 
 instances, we find sensation inseparably 
 conjoined with judgment or belief, and that 
 in two different ways. In some instances, 
 the judgment or belief seems to be the con- 
 sequence of the sensation, and to be regu- 
 lated by it. In other instances, the sensa- 
 tion is the conseciuence of the judgment. 
 
 [473] 
 
 When we perceive an external object by 
 our senses, we have a sensation conjoined 
 with a firm belief of the existence and 
 sensible qualities of the external object. 
 Nor has all the subtilty of metaphysics 
 been able to disjoin what nature has con- 
 joined in our constitution. Des Cartes and 
 Locke endeavoured, by reasoning, to deduce 
 the existence of external objects from our 
 sensations, but in vain. Subsequent philo- 
 sophers, finding -:o reason for this connec- 
 tion, endeavoured to throw off the belief of 
 external objects as being unreasonable; 
 but this attempt is no less vain. Nature 
 has doomed us to believe the testimony of 
 our senses, whether we can give a good 
 reason for doing so or not 
 
 In this instance, the belief or judgment 
 is the consequence of the sensation,^ as the 
 sensation is the consequence of the impres- 
 sion made on the organ of sense. 
 
 But in most of the operations of mind in 
 which judgment or belief is combined with 
 feeling, the feeling is the consequence of the 
 judgment, and is regulated by it. 
 
 Thus, an account of the good conduct of 
 a friend at a distance gives me a very agree- 
 able feeling, and a contrary account would 
 give me a very uneasy feeling ; but these feel- 
 mgs depend entirely upon my belief of the 
 report. 
 
 In hope, there is an agreeable feeling, de- 
 pending upon the belief or expectation of 
 good to come : fear is made up of contrary 
 mgredients; in both, the feeling is regu- 
 lated by the degree of belief. 
 
 In the respect we bear to the worthy, and 
 in our contempt of the worthless, there is 
 both judgment and feeling, and the last de- 
 pends entirely upon the first 
 
 The same may be said of gratitude for 
 good offices and resentment of injuries. [474] 
 
 Let me now consider how I am affected 
 when I see a man exerting himself nobly in 
 a good cause. I am conscious that the 
 effect of his conduct on my mind is com- 
 plex, though it may be called by one name. 
 I look up to his virtue, I approve, I admire 
 it In doing so, I have pleasure indeed, or 
 
 [472-4741 
 
 an agreeable feeling ; this is granted. But 
 I find myself interested in his success and 
 in his fame. This is affection ; it is love 
 and esteem, which is more than mere feel- 
 ing. The man is the object of this esteem ; 
 but in mere feeling there is no object. 
 
 I am likewise conscious that this agree- 
 able feeling in me, and this esteem of him, 
 depend entirely upon the judgment I form 
 of his conduct. I judge that this conduct 
 merits esteem ; and, while I thus judge, I 
 cannot but esteem him, and contemplate 
 his conduct with pleasure. Persuade me 
 that he was bribed, or that he acted from 
 some mercenary or bad motive, immediately 
 my esteem and my agreeable feeling vanish. 
 
 In the approbation of a good action, there- 
 fore, there is feeling indeed, but there is also 
 esteem of the agent ; and both the feeling 
 and the esteem depend upon the judgment 
 we form of his conduct. 
 
 When I exercise my moral faculty about 
 my own actions or those of other men, 
 I am conscious that I judge as well as 
 feeL I accuse and excuse, I acquit and 
 condemn, I assent and dissent, I believe and 
 disbelieve, and doubt. These are acts of 
 judgment, and not feelings. 
 
 Every determination of the understanding, 
 with regard to what is true or false, is iud^- 
 ment. That I ought not to steal, or to kill, or 
 to bear false witness, are propositions, of the 
 truth of which I am as well convinced as of 
 any proposition in Euclid. I am conscious 
 that I judge them to be true propositions ; 
 and my consciousness makes all other argu- 
 ments unnecessary, with regard to the 
 operations of my own mind [475] 
 
 That other men judge, as well as feel, in 
 such cases, I am convinced, because they 
 understand me when I express my moral 
 judgment, and express theirs by the same 
 terms and phrases. 
 
 Suppose that, in a case well known to 
 both, my friend says — Such a man did well 
 and toorthily^ his conduct is highly approv- 
 able* This speech, according to all rules 
 of interpretation, expresses my friend*s 
 judgment of the man*s conduct. This 
 judgment may be true or false, and I may 
 agree in opinion with him, or I may dissent 
 from him without offence, as we may differ 
 in other matters of judgment 
 
 Suppose, again, that, in relation to the 
 same case, my friend says — The man's con- 
 duct gave me a very agreeable feeling. 
 
 This speech, if approbation be nothing 
 but an agreeable feeling, must have the 
 very same meaning with the first, and ex- 
 press neither more nor less. But this can- 
 not be, for two reasons. 
 
 First, Because there is no rale in gram- 
 mar or rhetoric, nor any usage in language, 
 by which these two speeches can be con- 
 strued so as to have the same meaning. 
 * [475-477] 
 
 The^r*^ expresses plainly an opinion or 
 judgment of the conduct of the man, but 
 says nothing of the speaker. The seeona 
 only testifies a fact concerning the speaker 
 — to wit, that he had such a feeling. 
 
 Another reason why these two speeches 
 cannot mean the same thing is, that the 
 first maybe contradicted without any ground 
 of offence, such contradiction being only a 
 difference of opinion, which, to a reason- 
 able man, gives no offence. But the second 
 speech cannot be contradicted without an 
 affront : for, as every man must know hia 
 own feelings, to deny that a man had a 
 feeling which he affirms he had, is to charge 
 him with falsehood. [476] 
 
 If moral approbation be a real judgment, 
 which produces an agreeable feeling in the 
 mind of him who judges, both speeches 
 are perfectly intelligible, in the most obvi- 
 ous and literal seust-. Their 'meaning is 
 different, but they are related, so that the 
 one may be inferred from the other, as we 
 infer the effect from the cause, or the cause 
 from the effect. I know, that what a man 
 judges to be a very worthy action, he con- 
 templates with pleasure ; and what he con- 
 templates with pleasure must, in his judg- 
 ment, have worth. But the judgment and 
 the feeling are different acts of his mind, 
 though connected as cause and effect He 
 can express either the one or the other 
 with perfect propriety ; but the speech, 
 which expresses his feeling, is altogether 
 improper and inept to express his judgment, 
 for this evident reason, that judgment and 
 feeling, though in some cases connected, 
 are things in their nature different. 
 
 If we suppose, on the other hand, that 
 moral approbation is nothing more than an 
 agreeable feeling, occasioned by the con- 
 templation of an action, the second speech, 
 above mentioned, has a distinct meaning, 
 and expresses all that is meant by moral 
 approbation. But the first speech either 
 means the very same thing, (which cannot 
 be, for the reasons already mentioned,) or 
 it has no meaning. 
 
 Now, we may appeal to the reader, 
 whether, in conversation upon human cha- 
 racters, such speeches as the first are not 
 as frequent, as familiar, and as well under- 
 stood, as anything in language; and whether 
 they have not been common in all ages 
 that we can trace, and in all languages ? 
 
 [477] 
 
 This doctrine, therefore. That moral ap- 
 probation is merely a feeling without judg- 
 ment, necessarily carries along with it this 
 consequence, that a form of speech, upon 
 one of the most common topics of discourse, 
 which either has no meaning, or a meaning 
 irreconcilable to all rules of grammar or 
 rhetoric, is found to be common and familiar 
 in all languages and in all ages of the worl^ 
 
 2x 
 
■mm 
 
 ON THE ACTIVB POWERS. 
 
 [ 
 
 'Uliiit tftij iDMilaifiwi how to mprnm tiw 
 ■MMii^, if il IiftTO any, in pWn Mid pffopor 
 
 B, eotmqnmm I Mak ■uffident to 
 
 ■lak any pliUoMiplikal ^g§Mm on which it 
 hangia 
 
 A partiotikr laagnago may have wnne 
 ^m^t or ©Ten ahimdity, introduced by 
 iome man of cmlnciioe, from caprice or 
 wrong judgment, and followed by servile 
 ilriiatoiB, for a time, till it be detected, and, 
 of eoDieqnenee, diacountenanced and dropt ; 
 hul that th« tame absurdity should penrade 
 al kngaage% through all ages, and that, 
 9$m hmm deteetod and aspoeed, it should 
 stil keep Its coontenaiioe and its phuse in 
 
 iguace as much as before, this can never 
 
 I wUli man. havo understanding. 
 
 II my It ohaafwd, by the way, that the 
 
 ffiiii Hgiment may be applied., with equal 
 iine^ against those other paradoxieal opi- 
 ■ions of modem philosophy, which wo be- 
 fbn mentioned aa connected with this; 
 such aa, tint beauty and deformity are not 
 at all in tbo objects to which knguage uni- 
 ▼ersally ascribes them, but are merely feel- 
 ings in tiw mind of «ho spectator ; that, tho 
 laaeondaiy qnaities aro not in axtomal ob-' 
 j«st% 'hm .an: awvsly "iMlinii of ^ Mmalions 
 in him that perceives them ; and, in gene- 
 ral, that our oxtcmal and internal senses 
 aro IheiitlM bj which we have sensations 
 m feaHnga 'Oniy, but by which we do not 
 Judgo. 1478] 
 
 Thatevery form of speech which langtia^ 
 affords to express our Judgment, shotiid, m 
 all ages and m all languages, be used to 
 •xpress what is no judgment ; and that 
 -iMiiigl. which are easily expressed in pro- 
 per huguage, should as universally bo ez- 
 proised by kngnage jOtogether in»P««P« 
 and absurd, I cannot beUeve ; and, there- 
 §m% must conclude, that, if htnguage be the 
 tiiiression of thought, men judge of the 
 primary and seoondary qualities of body hy 
 their emtemal senses, of beauty and deform- 
 % by their taste, and of virtue and vice by 
 'ttMUT' moral faculty. 
 
 A truth so evident aa thli is, can hardly 
 bt obscured and bron^l fntn doubt, but by 
 tho abnse of worda. And much abuse of 
 words there has been upon this subject To 
 •Mid thiS' as> mnish as possible, 1 have used 
 liie word judgment on one sidsi and mum- 
 'Hm or feeling upon the other t because 
 these words have been least liable to abuse 
 nv ambisuity. But it may be proper to 
 nJTsJL Observations upon other words 
 
 that havo been used in this controversy. 
 Mr Hume, in his " Treatise of Human 
 
 Natnro," has employed two sections upon 
 il, iio titles of which are, " 31oral Dts- 
 
 nol dmimd from Rmion^** and 
 
 «"" ifera/ BiiMmctimB Omti^mi fiom a Moml 
 
 When he is not, by custom, led unawares 
 to speak of Reason like other men, he 
 Holts that word to signify only the power 
 of judging in matters merely specuUtiva 
 Hence be concludes, ** That reason of it- 
 self is inactive and perfectly inert ;" that 
 ''actions may be laudable or bUunable, 
 but cannot tie reasonable or unreasonable ;** 
 that ** it is not contrary to reason to pre- 
 fer the destruction of the whole world to the 
 scratching ol my finger ;" that *' it is not 
 contrary to reason for me to chuse my total 
 ruin to prevent the least uneasiness of an 
 Indian, or of a person wholly unknown to 
 me;" that " reason is, and ought only to 
 be, the skve of the passions, and can never 
 protend to any other office than to serve 
 and obey them.** [479] 
 
 If we take the word reasm to mean what 
 common use, both of philosophers and of 
 the vulgar, hath made it to mean, these 
 maxims are not only false, but licentious. 
 It is only his abuse of the words reason and 
 fMtMton that can justify tliem from this 
 censure. 
 
 The meaning of a common word is not to 
 be ascertained by philosophical theory, but 
 by common usage ; and, if a man will take 
 the liberty of limiting or extending the 
 meaning of common words at his pleasure, 
 he may, like Mandeville, insinuate the most 
 licentious paradoxes with the appearance of 
 plausibility. I have before made some ob- 
 servations upon the meaning of this word, 
 (Essay I L, chap. 2, and Essay III., part iiL 
 chap. I,) to which the reader is referred. 
 
 When Mr Hume derives moral distino- 
 tions from a Moral Sense, I agree with him 
 in words, but we differ about the meaning 
 of the word sense. Every power to which 
 the name of a Sense has been given, is a 
 power of judging of the objects of that 
 Sense,* and has l^n accounted such in all 
 ages; the moral sense, therefore, is the 
 power of judging in morals. But Mr Hume 
 will have the Moral Sense to be only a power 
 of feeling without judging— this I take to be 
 an abnse of a word. 
 
 Authors who place moral approbation hi 
 feeling only, very often use the word Sent" 
 imenif to express feeling without judgment. 
 This I take likewise to be an abuse of a 
 word. Our moral detenminations may, with 
 propriety, be called moral sentiments. For 
 the word wntimenty in the English lan- 
 guage, never, as I conceive, signifies mere 
 feeling, but judgmmU accompanied with 
 ftelinff.f It was wont to signify opinion or 
 judgment of any kmd, but, of late, is appro- 
 priated to signify an opinion or judgment, 
 that strikes, and produces some agreeable 
 
 * See above, p. S90, note.— H. 
 t ThU U too unqualified an aiMttlon. The term 
 Stniiment U in English applied to the Ms^JMinift. 
 
 [478, 47§1 
 
 CHAP. VU.T APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 
 
 675 
 
 or uneasy emotion. So we speak of senti- 
 ments of respect, of esteem, of gratitude ; 
 but I never heard the pain of the gout, or 
 any other mere feeling, called a sentiment. 
 
 (480] 
 
 Even the word jitdgment has been used 
 by Mr Hume to express what he maintains 
 to be only a feeling. " Treatise of Human 
 Nature, part iii., page 3 :— " The term per- 
 Mpiim is no less applicable to those juiff- 
 ments by which we distinguish moral good 
 and evil than to every other operation of 
 the mind.'* Perhaps he used this word 
 inadvertently ; for I think there cannot be 
 a greater abuse of words than to put judg- 
 ment for what he held to be mere feel- 
 ing. • 
 
 All the words most commonly used, both 
 by philosophers and by the vulgar, to ex- 
 press the operations of our moral faculty- 
 such as, decision^ determinaiion, sentence, 
 approbation^ disopprobationy applause, cen- 
 gurey praise, ft/a///*— necessarily imply judg- 
 ment in their meaning. When, therefore, 
 they are used by Mr Hume, and otkers who 
 hold his opinion, to signify feelings only, 
 this is an abuse of words. If these philo- 
 sophers wish to speak plainly and properly, 
 they must, in discoursing of morals, discard 
 these words altogether, because their esta- 
 blished signification in the language is con- 
 trary to what they would express by them. 
 
 They must likewise discard from morals 
 the worils ouyht and ou;iht not, which very 
 properly express judgment, but cannot be 
 applieil to mere feelings. Upon these words 
 Mr liumehas made a particular observa- 
 tion in the conclusion of his first section 
 above mentioned. I shall give it in his 
 own words, and make some remarks upon 
 
 it. 
 
 " I cannot forbear adding to these rea- 
 sonings an observation whicli may, perhaps, 
 be found of some importance. In every 
 system of morality which I have hitherto 
 met with, 1 have always remarked that the 
 author proceeds for some time in the ordin- 
 ary way of reasoning, and establishes the 
 being of a God, or makes observations con- 
 cerning human affairs ; when, of a sud- 
 den, I am surprised to find that, instead of 
 the usual copulations of propositions, «», and 
 it noi, I meet with no proposition that is 
 not connected with an ought or aii ought not. 
 [481] This change is imperceptible, but 
 is, however, of the last consequence. For, 
 as this oitfiht or ouyht not expresses some 
 new relation or affirmation, His necessary 
 that it should be observed and explained ; 
 and, at the same time, that a reason should 
 be given for what seems altogether incon- 
 ceivable — how this new relation can be a 
 deduction from others which are entirely 
 
 ♦ Mr Hume could emXy bf deltende«». - 11. 
 [4«M>-48«2] 
 
 different from it. But, as authors do not 
 commonly use this precaution, I shall pre- 
 sume to recommend it to the readers ; and 
 am persuaded that this small attention would 
 subvert all the vulgar systems of morality, 
 and let us see that the distinction of vice 
 and virtue is not founded merely on tho 
 relations of objects, nor is perceived by rea- 
 
 »» 
 
 son. 
 
 We may here observe, that it is acknow- 
 ledged that the words ought and ought not 
 express some relation or affirmation ; but a 
 relation or affirmation which Mr Hume 
 thought inexplicable, or, at least, inconsist- 
 ent with his system of morals. He must, 
 therefore, have thought that they ought not 
 to be used in treating of that subject. 
 
 He likewise makes two demands, and, 
 taking it for granted that they cannot be 
 satisfied, is persuaded that an attention to 
 this is sufficient to subvert all the vulgar 
 systems of morals. 
 
 * The Jirst demand is, that ought smd ought 
 not be explained. 
 
 To a man that understands English, there 
 are surely no words that require explana- 
 tion less. Are not all men taught, from 
 their early years, that they ought not to 
 lie, nor steal, nor swear falsely ? But Mr 
 Hume thinks, that men never understood 
 what these precepts mean, or rather that 
 they are unintelligible. If this be so, I 
 think indeed it will follow, that all the 
 vulgar systems of morals are subverted. 
 
 [482] 
 
 Dr Johnson, in his Dictionary, explains 
 the word ourjht to signify, f^einff obliged by 
 dutt/i and i know no better explication that 
 can be given of it. The reader wUl see 
 what I thought necessary to say concerning 
 the moral relation expressed by this word 
 in Essay III., part iii., chap. 5. 
 
 The second demand is, Tliat a reason 
 should be given why this relation should be 
 a deduction from others which are entirely 
 different from it. 
 
 This is to demand a reason for what does 
 not exist The first principles of morals 
 are not deductions. They are self-evident ; 
 and their truth, like that of other axioms, 
 is perceived without reasoning or deduction. 
 And moral truths that are not self-evident 
 are deduced, not from relations quite differ- 
 ent from them, but from the first principles 
 
 of morals. 
 
 In a matter so interesting to mankmd, 
 and 80 frequently the subject of conversa- 
 tion among the learned aud the unlearned 
 as morals is, it may surely be expected that 
 men wiU express both their judgments and 
 their feelings with propriety, and consist- 
 ently with the rules of language. Aa opi- 
 nion, therefore, which makes the language 
 of all ages and nations, upon this subject, 
 to bo improper, contrary to all rules of Un- 
 
 S X * 
 
§76 
 
 ON THE ACTIVE POWERa 
 
 [18SAV 
 
 gmge^ ftwl'ii to be iiactrdid, needs no 
 oHier itittstion. 
 
 As maiildiid bftve, in &U ages, understood 
 iviM#n to meui the power by which not 
 only «0f ifieenktive optaions, b«t our ac- 
 tions ought to be regulated, we maf say, 
 with perfect propriety, that all vice is con- 
 trary to reason ; that, by reason, we are to 
 judffB of what we ought to do, as well as of 
 WM we oqght to believe. [483] 
 
 But, though all vice be contrary to rea^ 
 son, I conceive that it would not be a pro- 
 'MT definition of vice to say that it is a con- 
 duct contrary to reason, because this dein- 
 ilion would apply Bqmtdly to folly, which all 
 men dtstinguisli from vice. 
 
 Then w other phrases which have been 
 wed. on ths' saoMi side of the question, which 
 I'See no :i«aBon. for adopting, such as^ - acting 
 emttmrp tatkw reiaiwns qfthinffM—mnirarp 
 io the remmt' qf lAiaj?*— /o the fitnesa ijf 
 iMn§9^^o ihs imtk tf lMfif«-*'o absoiute 
 Jlltmss, These phrases have not the autho- 
 rity of common use, which, in matters of 
 iangnage, is great They seem to have 
 been invented by some ^antliors, with a 
 ▼lew to 'Oiplain the nature of irice ; but I 
 in Mt thmit tliey answer that end. If in- 
 tended as definitions of vice, they are im- 
 proper 1 hewnse, in the most favourable 
 sense they can bear, they extond to every 
 hind of foolish and absurd conduct, as well 
 M to that which is vicious. 
 
 I shall conclude this chapter with some 
 nbeervationa upon the live arguments which 
 Xr Hnne hts offered upon this point in his 
 ** Enquiry." 
 
 The/r«l ie. That it is impossible that the 
 %pilthe«is^ hf opposes, 'Can, in any particu- 
 lar iimlan fii ii be so much as rendered in- 
 tdliglbte, whatever specious figura it may 
 male in general discourse. " Examine," 
 savs he, ^ the crime of ingratLwk, anato- 
 mtw al ito' einsunstances, and examine, by 
 your reason alone, in what consists the 
 demerit or blame, you will never come to 
 any issue or conclusion.** 
 
 I think it unnecessary to follow him 
 through al the accoontsof ingratitude which 
 Im' 'QODceites may be given by th'Ose whom 
 he opposes, because I agree with him in 
 lluit",. wMA he himself adopts— to wit, 
 ^ That thiS' erime arises, from a complica- 
 'tion of cimumslnnees, which, being pre- 
 sented to tbo ^speetator, exdtes the senti- 
 ment of ^bbime^ by the partifloiar stracture 
 .and ttrie of his nind.** {4841 
 
 'TUs he 'thoUglit a trye .and intelligible 
 mmmmi of the criminali^ of ingratitude. 
 80 do I. And therefore I think the hypo- 
 thesis be opposes is intelligtble, when ap* 
 plied to a particular instance. 
 
 Mr Hune, no doubt, thought thai the 
 acGoniit he gives of ingratitude is incon- 
 it with tlie hypothesis he opposes, and 
 
 could not be adopted by those who hold 
 that hypothesis. He could be led to think 
 so, only by taking for granted one of these 
 two things. Either, firsf, That the senti'- 
 ment of blame is a feeling only, without 
 judgment ; or, tecondly^ That whatever is 
 excited by the particular fabric and struc- 
 ture of the mind must be feeling only, and 
 not judgment. But I cannot grant either 
 the one or the other. 
 
 For, as to the first, it seems evident to 
 me, that both sentment and blame unply 
 judgment ; and, therefore, that the sentu 
 ment of blame is a judgment accompanied 
 with feeling, and not mere feeling without 
 judgment 
 
 The second can as little be granted ; for 
 no operation of mind, whether judgment or 
 feeling, can be excited but by that parti- 
 cular structure and fabric of the mind which 
 makes us capable of that operation. 
 
 By that part of our fabric which we call 
 the facttifjf of seeing, we judge of visible 
 objects;* by tas'e, another part of our fabric, 
 we judge of beauty and deformity ; by that 
 part of our fabric which enables us tu form 
 abstract conceptions, to compare thera, and 
 perceive their relations, we judge of abstract 
 truths ; and by that part of our fabric which 
 we call the moral facult'/, we judge of vir- 
 tue and vice. If we suppose a being with- 
 out any moral faculty in his fabric, 1 grant 
 that he could not have the sentiments of 
 blame and moral approltatton. [485] 
 
 There are, therefore, judgments, as well 
 as feelings, that are excited by the particu- 
 lar structure and fabric of the mind. But 
 there is this remarkable difference between 
 them, That every judgment is, in its own 
 nature, true or false ; and, though it de- 
 pends upon the fabric of a mind, whether it 
 have such a judgment or not, it depends 
 not upon that fabric whether the judg- 
 ment be true or not. A true judgment 
 will be true, whatever be the fabric of 
 the mind ; but a particular structure and 
 fabric is necessary, in order to our per- 
 ceiving that truth. Nothing like this can 
 be said of mere feelings, because the at- 
 tributes of true or false do not belong to 
 them* 
 
 Thus I think it appears, that the hy- 
 pothesis which Mr Hume opposes is not 
 unintelligible, when applied tu the partic- 
 ular instance of ingratitude ; because the 
 account of ingratitude which he himself 
 thinks true and intelligible, is perfectly 
 agreeable to it 
 
 The second argument amounts to this : 
 That, in moral deliberation, we must be 
 acquainted before-hand with all the ob- 
 jects and all their relatione After these 
 things are known, the understanding has 
 
 mmmmmmmmmmm'immmmmmmmm m nh mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmi^mmmmm 
 
 ♦ See aHwfc, p. 500, note— H. 
 
 [♦83-4S5] 
 
 CHAP. VII.] APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENT. 
 
 no farther room to operate. Nothing re- 
 mains but to feel, on our part, some sen- 
 timent of blame or approbation. 
 
 Let us apply this reasoning to the of- 
 fice of a judge. In a cause that comes 
 before him, he must be made acquainted 
 with all the objects, and all their rela- 
 lations. After this, his understanding has 
 no farther room to operate. Nothing re- 
 mains, on his part, but to feel the right or 
 the wrong : and mankind have, very ab- 
 surdly, called him a judge — he ought to be 
 caWed & feeler. [486 J 
 
 To answer this ar^iraent more directly : 
 The man who deliberates, after all the 
 objects and relations mentioned by Mr 
 Hume are known to him, has a point to 
 determine ; and that is, whether the action 
 under his deliberation ought to be done or 
 ought not. In most cases, this point will 
 appear self-evident to a man who has been 
 accustomed to exercise his moral judg- 
 ment ; in some cases it may require reason- 
 
 ^ In Hke manner, the judge, after all the 
 circumstances of the cause are known, has 
 to judge whether the plaintiff has a just 
 plea or not. 
 
 The third argument is taken from the 
 analogy between moral beauty and natural, 
 between moral sentiment and taste. As 
 beauty is not a quality of the object, but a 
 certain feeling of the spectator, so virtue 
 and vice are not qualities in the persons to 
 whom language ascribes them, but feelings 
 of the spectator. 
 
 But is it certain that beauty is not any 
 quality of the object ? This is indeed a 
 paradox of modern philosophy, built upon a 
 philosophical theory • but a paradox so 
 contrary to the common language and com- 
 mon sense of mankind, that it ought rather 
 to overturn the theory on which it stands, 
 than receive any support from it. And if 
 beauty be really a quality of the object, 
 and not merely a feeling of the spectator, 
 the whole force of this argument goes over 
 to the other side of the question. 
 
 "Euclid," he says, « has fully explained 
 
 all the qualities of the circle, but has not, 
 
 m any proposition, said a word of its beauty. 
 
 The reason is evident. The beauty is not 
 
 A quality of the circle.** [487] 
 
 By the qualities of the circle, he must 
 
 mean its properties j aud there are here two 
 
 mistakes. 
 
 First, Euclid has not fully explained all 
 
 the properties of the circle. Many have 
 
 been discovered and demonstrated which he 
 
 never dreamt of. 
 
 Secondly, The reason why Euclid has not 
 
 said a word of the beauty of the circle, is 
 
 not, that beauty is not a quality of the circle ; 
 
 the rea^n is, that Euclid never digresses 
 
 from his subject His purpose was to de- 
 
 [486-488] 
 
 677 
 
 monstrate the mathematical properties of 
 the circle. Beauty is a quality of the circle, 
 not demonstrable by mathematical reason- 
 ing, but immediately perceived I y a L'o..d 
 taste. Tospe.ak of it wouM h.iv'e l,r .; a 
 digression from his su'jrct; aid jJ . ; 
 fault ho is never giiiltA of. 
 
 The /owr/A argument is, That ii :.trnM:-i, 
 objects may hear t<» each other ull the s.;.: . 
 relations which we ol>serveih moral jijrentK. 
 
 If this were true, it would be verylimdi 
 to the purpose; but it soems to i e thrown 
 out rashly, witht.ut any attention t(. its 
 evidence. Had Mr Hume reflected hut a 
 very little upon this dogmatical assertion, 
 a thousand instances would have occurred 
 to him in direct contradiction to it. 
 
 May not one animal be more tame, or 
 more docile, or more cunning, or more fierce 
 or more ravenous, than another? Are 
 these relations to l.e f m:id in inanimate ob- 
 jects ? May not one man he a better painter, 
 or sculptor, or ship.bnilder, or tailor, or 
 shoemaker, than another ? Are these re- 
 lations to be found in inanimate objects, or 
 even in brute ;!ninials ? May not one moral 
 agent be more just, more pious, moreatten- 
 tive to any moral duty, or more eminent in 
 any moral virtue, than another? Are not 
 these reiatirms peculiar to moral agents ? 
 But to come to the relations most esseutiai 
 to morality. [488] 
 
 When I say that / nw,ht t> do such an 
 action, that if is my dutv, do not these words 
 express a relation I etween me and a certain 
 action in my power ; a relation which can- 
 not be between inanimate objects, or be- 
 tween any other objects but a moral agent 
 and his moral actions ; a relation which is 
 well understood ly all men come to years of 
 understanding, and expressed in all lan- 
 guages ? 
 
 Again, when in deliberating about two 
 actions in my power, which cannot both be 
 done, I say this ought to be preferred to the 
 other — that justice, for instance, ought to 
 be preferred to generosity — I express a 
 moral relation between two actions of a 
 moral agent, whi< h is well understood, and 
 which cannot exist between objects of any 
 other kind. 
 
 There are, therefore, moral relations 
 which can have no existence but between 
 moral agents and their voluntary actions. 
 To determine these relations is the object of 
 morals ; and to determine relations is the 
 province of judgment, not of mere feeling. 
 
 The last argument is a chain of several 
 propositions, which deserve distinct con- 
 sideration. They may, I think, be summed 
 up in these four:— 1. There must be ulti- 
 mate ends of action^ beyond which it is 
 absurd to ask a reason of acting. 2. The 
 ultimate ends of human actions can never 
 be accounted for by reason j 3. but recom* 
 
ON THE ACT IVB P0WBR8. 
 
 QnSSAf V. 
 
 CHAP, vii] APPROBATION IMPLIES JUDGMENf. 
 
 679 
 
 mend tlioniMilf «• mtMiy to iltt eentiments 
 mid iiffectloiia of mankiiMi, without any do- 
 
 pudtMOon tlie intellectual facultifii. 4 
 As virtue is an end, and ia deaurabl© on its 
 
 own MMMWiit, witlioat fee or reward, merely 
 for tlw immtdiito iatiafaction it convoys j 
 il is itqnisit© tlmt there should bo some 
 MBtinMot which it touches, some internal 
 iMto or fMliof , or whatever you please to 
 oOl it, whWh distinguishes moral good and 
 ovil, and which embraces the one and rejects 
 the other. [489] 
 
 TothojBr«l of these piopniitions I cn- 
 'tiietf agree. The ulthaoatO' ends of action 
 .MV' whal I have called ih§ prindptea qfmiian^ 
 which I have endeavoured, in the third 
 essay, to enumerate, and to class under 
 tiiee heads of mechanicali. anhnal, and 
 
 futiftttaii 
 
 The mumd prmsition needs some expli- 
 eatioii* I take ita meaning to he, That 
 there cannot be another end, for the sake 
 of which an ultimate end is pursued. For 
 the reason of an action means Mthing hut 
 the end for which the action is none i and 
 the leason of an end of action can mean 
 nothing but another end»"for the sake of 
 whieh. 'that end h pursued, wid to which it 
 iSi the means. 
 
 That this is the author's meaning is 
 evident from h» meaaoning m ■coniramtion 
 of it " Ask a man, liif he ii«et ejmtue )* 
 he will answer, lmcm«e h« desires l* keep his 
 health, I f you then inquire, »Ay /i# deMues 
 kmiikf he willVeadily reply, kxause sick. 
 Heff u pmnful. If jou push your inquiries 
 lllliher, and desire a reason why he hateq 
 pain, it is .impossiMe he can ever give any. 
 This is an ultimate end, and is never re- 
 ferred to any other object." To account 
 by reason for an end, therefore, is to shew 
 another end, for the sake of which tliat end 
 is desired and pursued. And that, in this 
 sense, an ultimate end can never be ac- 
 Qomnled for by reason, is certain, because 
 that 'Cann'Ot' be^ an •Itimate end which is 
 pniaied only for the sake of another end. ^ 
 
 I auree therefore with Mr Hume in this 
 NOonSf ropoinlion, which indeed is hnplied 
 ill. 'the first 1490] 
 
 The liW proposition is, That ultimate 
 ends reoommend themselves entirely to the 
 sentiments and affections of mankind, with- 
 out any dependence on the intoUectual fa- 
 
 By ffiiltiiimit he must here mean feel- 
 inp Without judgment, and hf ajfecHone^ 
 such affeetions as imply no judgment For 
 ■nrely any operation thai implies judgment, 
 eannoi be independeil nf tie intellectual 
 faculties. 
 
 This being understood, I cannot assent 
 
 The ^wmm ieemi to think it imphed m 
 iie fipeeding, or a oeoessary oomequenoe 
 
 from It, thai because ftu ultbnato end can. 
 not bo accounted for by reason — ^that is, 
 cannot be pursued merely for the sake of 
 another end— therefore it can have no 
 dependence on the intoUectual faculties. I 
 deny this consequence, and can see no force 
 
 in it • 
 
 I think it not only does not follow from 
 the preceding proposition, but that it is 
 contrary to truth. 
 
 A man may act from gratitude as an 
 ultunate end j but gratitude implies a judg- 
 ment and belief of favours received, and 
 therefore is dependent on tlie intellectual 
 faculties. A man may act from respect to 
 a worthy charaetor as an ultimate end; 
 but this respect necessarily implies a judg- 
 ment of worth in the person, aud therefore 
 is dependent on the intellectual faculties. 
 
 I have endeavoured, in the third Essay 
 before mentioned, to shew that, beside the 
 animal principles of our nature, which 
 requ'ure wUl and intention, but not judg- 
 ment, there are also in human nature ra- 
 tional principles of action,' or ultimate enda^ 
 which have, in all ages, been called rational 
 and have a just title to that name, not only 
 from the authority of language, but because 
 they can have no existence but in beings 
 endowed with reason, and because, in all 
 their exertions, they require not only inten- 
 tion aud will, but judgment or reason. 
 
 [4(»ll 
 
 Therefore, until it can be proved that an 
 ultimate end cannot be dependent on the 
 intellectual faculties, this third proposition, 
 and all that hangs upon it, must fall to the 
 ground* 
 
 The tmi proposition assumes, with very 
 good reason, That virtue is an ultimato 
 end, and desirable on ita own account 
 From which, if the third proposition were 
 true, the conclusion would undoubtedly fol- 
 low, That virtue has no dependence on the 
 intellectual faculties. But, as that proposi- 
 tion is not granted, nor proved, this conclu- 
 sion is left without any support from the 
 whole of the argument! 
 
 I should not have thought it worth while 
 to insist so long upon this controversy, if I 
 did not conceive that the consequences 
 which the contrary opinions draw after 
 them are imptirtant 
 
 If what we call moral judgment be no real 
 judgment, but merely a feeling, it follows 
 that the principles of morab which we liave 
 been tanght to consider as an immutable 
 law to all intelligent beings, have no other 
 foondalion but an arbitrary structure and 
 fabric in the constitution of the human 
 mind. So that, by a change in our struct- 
 nre, what is immoral might become moral, 
 virtue might be turned into vice, and vice 
 into ▼hrtue. And beings of a di£ferent 
 structure, according to the ▼ariety of their 
 
 f489->401] 
 
 fedings, may have different, nay opposite 
 measures of moral good and evlL [492] 
 
 It follows that, from our notions of 
 morals, we can conclude nothing concern- 
 ing a moral character in the Deity, which 
 is the foundation of all religion, and the 
 strongest support of virtue. 
 
 Nay, this opinion seems to conclude 
 strongly against a moral character in the 
 Deity, since nothing arbitrary or mutable 
 can be conceived to enter into the descrip- 
 tion of a nature eternal, immutable, and 
 necessarily existent Mr Hume seems per- 
 fectly consistent with himself, in allowing 
 of no evidence for the moral attributes of 
 the Supreme Being, whatever there may be 
 for his natural attributes. 
 
 On the other hand, if moral judgment be 
 a true and real judgment, the principles of 
 morals stand upon the immutable founda- 
 tion of truth, and can undergo no change 
 by any difference of fabric, or structure of 
 those who judge of them. There may be, 
 and there are, beings, who have not the 
 faculty of conceiving moral truths, or per- 
 ceiving the excellence of moral worth, as 
 there are beings incapable of perceiving 
 mathematical truths ; but no defect, no error 
 of understanding, can make what is true to 
 be false. 
 [492, 493] 
 
 If it be true that piety, justice, benevo- 
 lence, wisdom, temperance, fortitude, are, 
 in their own nature, the most excellent and 
 most amiable qualities of a human creature ; 
 that vice has an inherent turpitude, which 
 merits disapprobation and dislike ; these 
 truths cannot be hid from Him whose under- 
 standing is infinite, whose judgment is 
 always according to truth, and who must 
 esteem everything accor^ng to its real 
 value. 
 
 The Judge of all the earth, we are sure, 
 will do right. He has given to men the 
 faculty of perceiving the right and the wrong 
 in conduct, as far as is necessary to our pre- 
 sent state, and of perceiving the dignity of 
 the one, and the demerit of the other ; and 
 surely there can be no real knowledge or 
 real excellence in man, which is not in his 
 Maker. [493] 
 
 We may therefore justly conclude, That 
 what we know in part, and see in part, of 
 right and wrong, he sees perfectly ; that the 
 moral excellence, which we see and admire 
 in some of our fellow-creatures is a faint 
 but true copy of that moral excellence which 
 is essential to his nature ; and that to tread 
 the path of virtue, is the true dignity of 
 our nature, an imitation of God, and the 
 way to obtam his favour. 
 
\ 
 
 ■? 
 
 BRIEF ACCOUNT 
 
 or 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC,* 
 
 WITH REMARKS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 or THR FIRST THREE TREATISES. 
 
 Section I. 
 
 OF TUB AUTHOR. 
 
 Aristotle had very uncommon advan- 
 tages : born in an age when the philoso- 
 phical spirit in Greece had long flourished, 
 and was in its greatest vigour ; brought up 
 in the court of Macedon, where his father 
 was the king's physician ; twenty years a 
 favourite scholar of Plato; and tutor to 
 Alexander the Great, who both honoured 
 him with his friendship, and supplied hun 
 with everything necessary for the prosecu- 
 tion of his inquiries. 
 
 * Thif treatise originally appeared in the second 
 volume of Lord Karnes's •♦ Sketches of the History 
 of Man," published In the year 1774. It was written 
 at the earnest solicitation of his Lordship, and forms 
 an appendix to the sketch which he has entitled 
 •• Principles and Progress of Reason." From Reid's 
 Correspondence, (supra, p. 49, b,) it would appear 
 that he had begun the execution of his task towards 
 the close of the year 1767. Since Reid's death, this 
 work has been once and again published, apart and 
 In the series of the author's philosophical writings, 
 under the title," Analysis of Aristotle's Logic." But, 
 u the term Analysis was applied to it only by the fiat 
 0f the bookseller, and may lend to convey an erro. 
 Dfous conception of its purport, 1 have adhered to 
 the original title, which, not only, good or bad, has a 
 right of occupancy, but is, in fact, far more appro, 
 priate to the real character of the work, which is at 
 once more and less than an analysis of the Organcn. 
 
 From the number of errors, especially in the pro- 
 per names and terms of art, with which this treatise 
 la deformed, as well in the original as in ail the sub- 
 sequent editions, it is probable that the first impres- 
 sion was not reviseil by the author, who was, how- 
 tver, it must be owned, at all times rather negligent 
 in this respect. Ihese I shall, in this treatise, silently 
 correct. This I have, indeed, frequently taken the 
 liberty of doing in the other works; but I need not 
 •ay that such corrections are, in all cases, only of 
 palpable inaccuracies or oversights, and do not extend 
 to a change of even the smallest peculiarity of ex. 
 prculon.— H. 
 
 These advantages he improved by inde- 
 fatigable study, and immense reading. •He 
 was the first we know,f says Strabo, who 
 composed a library ; and in this the Egyp- 
 tian and Pergamenian kings copied his ex- 
 ample. As to his genius, it would be dis- 
 respectful to mankind not to allow an un- 
 common share to a man who governed the 
 opinions of the most enlightened part of 
 the species near two thousand years.* 
 
 If his talents had been laid out solely for 
 the discovery of truth and the good of 
 mankind, his laurels would have remained 
 for ever fresh ; but he seems to have had a 
 greater passion for fame than for truth, and 
 to have wanted rather to be admired as the 
 prince of philosophers than to be useful; 
 so that it is dubious whether there be in his 
 character most of the philosopher or of the 
 sophist.^ The opinion of Lord Bacon is 
 
 * If we take circumstances into account, his acti- 
 vity and research, his erudition and universality, have 
 never been equalled. •* For the master of the 
 learned," says Hegel, himself a kindred genius, " the 
 criminal j urisprudence of the Oscan Cums or a my. 
 thical fable of the foundmg of a city, were not less 
 attractive than speculations regarding first causes 
 and supreme ends, than discussions on the laws of 
 animal life or the principles of poetry."— H. 
 
 t Strabo says, " As far as we know" (S» JV/asv:) 
 but even this qualification does not render the asser. 
 tion correct.— H. 
 
 I This is a very scanty allowance. Others have 
 not been so niggardly. As a specimen :—*' Aristotle," 
 saysJohann von Mueller, "was the clearest intellect 
 that ever illuminated Out world," his own rival, 
 Campanella, styles him ** Naturce Genius,' and 
 the Christian rigour of St Jerome confesses him 
 Miraculum Mundit and Humani Intellectus Finis.-^ 
 H 
 
 \ In reference to this antithesis, 1 have great plea- 
 sure in quoting a passage Irom an excellent intro- 
 ductory lecture to a first course of Greek and l-atin 
 Philosophy in the College Royal de France, by M, 
 Barth^lemy Saint- Hilaire, to whom we owe an ad- 
 mirable edition, translation, and criticism of the 
 Politics of Aristotle. M. Saint. Hilaire and M. 
 Kavaisson are remarkable manifestations of the 
 spirit of phUosophical scholarship, now auspiciously 
 awakened in France by the ditcipline, example, and 
 
f 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [chap. 1. 
 
 ■SOTS. II., III.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC: 
 
 683 
 
 nol witlMnil f roWtfity, That his imMtipii 
 
 VM M IwiinilMii as that oC Us royal pupil ; 
 di0 mm a»iriiig al univwial moBarcliy 
 mm tlM 'IwiiM wd fortunes of men, the 
 other over their opinions.* If this was the 
 ease, it cannot he said that the philosopher 
 pnrsoed his aim with less industry, less 
 •hilty, or leas sneuess tljan the hero.+ 
 His writings carry too evident marks of 
 
 ,_._„. ...^ nit of 'the ■owiwiiliilifil tbiiilwr to whom 
 
 Uiii filitioii of' MmA ua»A>mtaA. 
 
 *' Depuii Banoii'tl Bm Cmm^ 11 awilt *l* wg" 
 com i,e I M opsinii lie hm foltt fit yif |i««»eii«- 
 
 mn apmif^ mt r«utorit6 de eft d«ia f wj "- 
 ■nnift. m fortune eii France et « Angleterie. 
 ili&ote flirt yt en airtit m Va^^ i «« c'«»3 i.pe'I»«» 
 
 •niv a qiie!«|»«i •mAs* <!«(.«•' WJ.bc n^^P"? " • 
 
 avatetit pw M M drfciidre *'«t|ii*f# etdecet 
 •vwatleiMtit de riaolMM nuMltriM. Reki. It caw 
 de l¥cote teoroali*, tout cifconipwtqti'il c«t, Mr lit 
 habitudet de mn ciirtctfere ei par IVtprit niwie de •« 
 doctrine, Beid m emit e cow ieiiud*liiatilt.r Ari^ 
 
 ip*a fiwOBll ne aait •!, daiw le pr<Scepteur d AleK- 
 - •,kifliifl»i«l%m|»<«ep»*«"' '«l'hUo50|.he, 
 Lll f m tiait ana i peine, ruiusire M. ite 
 , Jnadt, mm t^lamation eamnin, que 
 Jamit Ommm^ m'mm mum aiilfweedle d Aria- 
 
 de la plit&nilil% ii%tl,pa« plus Equitable que Kcid 
 at M.d« 'tteef. 'Qiiaiid to phUosophe. eox-m^niM 
 m aaHlit. .anltiiil ee point, mi peut imigircr sant 
 MlM ce ouedeialt «re le ■eniiment de la toule qui. 
 
 ■ ■•■•E «■ .,xi.. n i,.T' .. __w_ r '— - 'POtle 
 
 •nirttuiii et »rai«, quand il lea faiiail»p»ce qu alora 
 lb jioiifaienl «tre danpefeux pour lui it uUleai la 
 
 ■oeiMi. itatoim. aiula deni«if&, dam un ritele ou 
 
 ••peiidaiitili^ a* staiiMl plw n* kI a* m&mede signl. 
 Bcatloiii'* 
 
 ITiii to MttiM' place In tatit ■lato a jiidtoation of 
 UW' .fdeotiie. Iniif rttf of ' Atirtotl*. I aliall tinplr 
 oiccrte, that, iii weifca aitoi no »aijd ground on 
 mVm to eondiide that be waa ef cr actuated by any 
 uflMr than the generout •■Mliaanl which he pro. 
 ||gM»-<«that a philoMiilier, m Imtr^ wisdom, i« 
 totted, in the cmamWrmth, to [e*^***^' "'«^. 
 to It the emir of hiUMcIf or of hi* Mend*; for. 
 Itowfl IWendi he dear, it Is sliU his haliowed 
 duty to give the higher reverence to I'tuth t mf*f«i9 
 
 ^•* Ftac4litaeclle«tiiif«», Ailrtotle, 1 win th nk 
 of bin. tbsl be learned that humour of hiMcholar. 
 
 with wheal, It leemeth, he did emulate-ihe one to 
 eonqiier all o|Mttlen«, as tto other to a>nquer all 
 
 'nations. Wherata, metetthd** Itmaj be. he may, 
 
 m mmm netfa hamla. that art-tf a bHier disposition, 
 
 gat a like title aa bto ^icbeiar iii. i*-' 
 FiMjt l ii'i'af tl i t' wnt4o 
 
 Ji ••'■■■I aUrlr l« liaHf UllWW Jf* iiBir^^^ 
 
 Afflw cMMSfiliiiii, 4e.. 
 
 JkitedoeMMtimedoi: 
 •• Advanoement of I^csmlng; 
 
 II. 
 
 •« 
 
 iMAiipoeiitii8eientiaruin;'*lJli.lIl.o.4 
 
 t In mk<mm audi hk alin, to aeeompllshfd It 
 
 witb tv ■auMMir anesasa. Tto mooaichy of Alex. 
 ■adaff linntnated with hit death t wbarcas of Aria. 
 loUciilMriwcminently "ur. what tatowi, not JBOW 
 
 tostttifiilly than iu«ly, aald of Itoanrtenta In ge. 
 
 •«3niifrasl#<l«f/ 
 fit dMMt ftiil mplmii mmrmm mMMOIimli 
 
 Aiiileito ■Pfema tto opinions of more thwi are 
 .mmmmm w^ ^ngi^j^Se to the SUgirlte His 
 acSl la upon al tto sciences, and his speculatkma 
 tovemeliitely or Immediately determined t(oatof 
 iP aiibaequcnt thinkers. Aristotle and Plato are as 
 Ito two wilaa of human inteUlgenee. between which 
 Ito TailMB ipMM of philoiophy si 
 
 ML 
 
 philoiophy still continue te 
 
 that phflosophkal pride, vanity, and envy, 
 which have often sullied the character of 
 the learned. He determines boldly things 
 above all human knowledge; and enter* 
 upon the most difiBcult questions, as his 
 pupil entered on a battle, with full assur- 
 ance of success. He delivers his decisions 
 oracularly, and without any fear of mis- 
 take.* Rather than confess his ignorance, 
 he hides it under hard words and ambiguous 
 expressions, of which his interpreters can 
 make what pleases them. There is even 
 reason to suspect that he wrote often with 
 affected obscurity ; either that the air of 
 mystery might procure greater veneration,t 
 or that his books might be understood only 
 by the adepts who had been initiated m his 
 philosophy. . 
 
 His conduct towards the writers that 
 went before hun has been much censured. 
 After the manner of the Ottoman princes, 
 says Lord Verulam, he thought his throne 
 could not be secure unless he killed all his 
 brethren. :J: Ludovicus Vives charges him 
 with detracting from all philosophers, that 
 he might derive that glory to himself of 
 which he robbed them.§ He rarely quot^i 
 an author but with a view to censure, and 
 is not very fair in representing the opinions 
 which he censures. 
 
 The faults we have mentioned are such 
 as might be expected in a man who had the 
 daring ambition to be transmitted to all 
 future ages as the Prince of Philosophers, 
 as one who had carried every branch of 
 human knowledge to its utmost limit, and 
 who was not very scrupulous about the 
 means he took to obtain his end. 
 
 We ought, however, to do him the just- 
 ice to observe, that, although the pride and 
 vanity of the Sophist appear too much in 
 his writings in abstract philosophy, yet, in 
 natural history, the fidelity of his narrations 
 seems to be equal to his industry ; and he 
 always distinguishes between what he knew 
 
 • This assertion it curiously incorrect. On the 
 contrary. AitatoUe rardy^propounds a cat««pilcal de- 
 dtion J hii oonoluaioos being uaually qualified wlUi 
 an t^mtt • ^^X** • ^ht<u, ftc.— H. 
 
 t "Socratw, Aristotle. Galen, were men fliflof 
 ostentation."— Bacon, E*tay on Yarn Gtorp. itm 
 iiiection it singular.— H. - ,.._ »i, > j 
 
 ± •• De A uj mentis ScienUarum," lAlk III., «.«• 
 •• Jidvaaeenient of Learning," Book II. 
 
 I Tto pastsgn of Vivct, to which, I presume, iteM 
 nfers, l« in hit Commeniary on it Austin { and It 
 Is tot fair to quote it at large.— l/oi^ia et admum* 
 bilit tfiTt quique ingenio dUigentuujuf vinceret pmru 
 MOS.nemMcaMlsectmdus; variarwnrerum ccffnU 
 UonePlatanemigUtromverior; ort|/Wo, vero,omttt$, 
 am ex <mmi memoria Mmumat traetavtrwU aria, 
 ImMHUervaaopottserdi^Htit. 2r<m »mt prmimrm 
 dSu SMtoiM ed cktavemda wd kiUrpretanda. 
 FtOmmvUUortm olorke, aMierm earpmh aUoi, 
 /atmdume$t; at BexUriUitm Hf^tradmStmriibui 
 nondum at aiUptU ab avo condU& eoimeutm. m 
 CiT. Del, L.»iLc. 12. 
 
 The accusation of unfairnea In his representatlott 
 of tto opinions of others, which owed its origin to tto 
 lovMT Plitfonists. has now been very gencraJlv ahan. 
 
 J|,juHajiuJI ■Ja 
 
 ooiieii.""*!. 
 
 and what he had by report.* And, even m 
 abstract phUosophy, it would be unfair to 
 impute to Aristotle all the faults, all the 
 obscurities, and all the controdictions that 
 are to befound in his writings. The greatest 
 part, and perhaps the best part, of his writ- 
 ings is lo8t.t There is reason to doubt 
 whether some of those we ascribe to him 
 be really his ; and whether what are his be 
 not much vitiated and interpolated. These 
 suspicions are justified by the fate of Aris- 
 totle's writings, which is judiciously re- 
 Uted, from the best authorities, m Bayle s 
 Dictionary, under the article Tyranmon, to 
 
 which I refer.$ 
 
 His books in Logic, which remain, are, 
 1. One book of the Categories. 2. One of 
 Interpretation. 3. First Analytics, two 
 books. 4. Last Analytics, two books. 
 6. Topics, eight books. 6. Of Sophisms, 
 one book. Diogenes Laertius mentions 
 many others that are lost.§ Those J have 
 mentioned have commonly been piiblished 
 together, under the name of Aristotle s 
 Onranon, or his Logic ; and, for many 
 ag^. Porphyry's II Introduction to the Cate- 
 gories has been prefixed to them. 
 
 Section IL 
 
 OF porphyry's INTROnUCTION. 
 
 In this introduction, which is addressed 
 to Chrysaorius, the author observes, That, 
 in order to understand Aristotle's doctrine 
 concerning the Categories, it is necessary 
 to know what a Genus is, what a Species, 
 what a Specific Difference, what a Priipcrty, 
 and what an Accident ; that the knowledge 
 of these is also very useful in Definition, in 
 Division, and even in Demonstration; 
 therefore, he proposes, in this little tract, 
 to deliver shortly and simply the doctrine 
 of the ancients, and chiefly of the Peripate- 
 tics, concerning these five Predicubles, 
 
 * To this, far more than this, ample testimony is 
 borne, among othem. by Bacon BufTon, and Cuv.er. 
 But. if soiiisinterested and "">efatigable a worshipper 
 of I ruth in ihe lower walks of science, is it probable 
 that he would sacrifice Truth to Vanity in the higher? 
 
 ♦ This is incorrect.— H. » .t * « 
 1 Tlie recent critical examination of tne lesn- 
 
 monies of Strabo, Plutarch. Athenaeut, Suidas.&c, 
 S regard to the fortune of the Aristolelic writings, 
 by Schneider, Brands, Kopp. and Stabr. has thrown 
 a new liKht upon this question. It is now pioved 
 tiiat various of his most important works were pub- 
 lithed by Aristotle during his liletime ; and that, at 
 least the gieaier i.umt.er of tlinse now extani were 
 oreteVved and patent dunng the two centuries and a 
 half intervening between the death of Ari»totle and 
 their pretended publication by '^ yf«»"'0''-7-"v .^,,„ 
 4 We are not, however, to suppwe that Anstotle 
 was the author of all the writings under his name in 
 the lists of Laettius. Suidat. tlje, A.io.iymus Men- 
 aSii &c, oribal these were all m reality distinct 
 
 * I PoTIihyry ftourithed from the middle of the third 
 •entury.— H. 
 
 avoicKng the more intricate questions con- 
 cerning them ; such as, Whether genera 
 and species do really exist in nature ? or. 
 Whether, they are only conceptions of the 
 human mind? If they exist in nature, 
 Whether they are corporeal or incorporeal ? 
 and. Whether they are inherent in the ob- 
 jects of sense, or disjoined from them? 
 These, he says, are very difficult questions, 
 and require accurate discussion ; but that 
 he is not to meddle with them. 
 
 After this preface, he expkins very 
 minutely each of the "/re words'" above 
 mentioned, divides and subdivides each of 
 them, and then pursues all the agreements 
 and differences between one and another 
 through sixteen [seventeen] chapters.* 
 
 Section Iff. 
 
 OP THE CATEGOBIBa.t 
 
 The book begins with an explication of 
 what is meant by [synonymousX or] untvo- 
 cal words, what by {homonymous, or] equu 
 vocal, and what by {paronymous, or] de- 
 nominative. Then it is observed, that what 
 we say is either simple, without composition 
 or structure, as man, horse, {fights, runs ; J 
 or it has composition and structure, as a 
 man fights, the horse runs. Next comes a 
 distinction between Si subject of p.edication ; 
 that is, a subject of which anything is 
 affirmed or denied, and a subject oj mhe:>ion. 
 These things are said to be inherent in a 
 subject, which, although they are not a part 
 of the subject, § cannot possibly exist with- 
 out it, as figure in the thing figured. Of 
 things that are, says Aristotle, [V] some 
 maybe predicated of a subject, but are in 
 no subject ;\\ as man may be predicated of 
 James or John, but is not in any subject. 
 [2°] Some again are in a subject, but can 
 be predicated of no subject.% Thus my 
 knowledge in grammar is in me as its sub- 
 ject, but it can be predicated of no subject; 
 because it is an individual thing. [3 ]^ome 
 are both in a subject, and may be predicated 
 of a subject,** as science, which is in the 
 mind as its subject, and may be predicated 
 of geometry. [4°] -La^iXy, Some tlitngs can 
 neither be in a subject nor be predicated qf 
 any subject.\^ Such are all individual sub- 
 stances, which cannot be predicated, because 
 
 ♦ Reid follows the Padan distribution of the Ou 
 
 ganon into chapters. There are »?;° o"^";-"- ical 
 
 + Ihe book of Categories is rather a metapnysicai 
 thin a loiTcal treatise? and has therefore improperly 
 been introduced into the OTg&xion.--n. 
 
 X Synoi.ymes in Logic and bynonymes in Oram- 
 mer are not the same.— H. ♦hina hut 
 
 % It should have been. •• which are In a thing, uut 
 not in it at a part."— H. 
 
 II Universal substances.- H. 
 
 f Individual or Singular Accidents.— m. 
 
 *♦ Universal Accidents.— H. 
 
 tt Individual or Singular Subttancet.— H. 
 
A BRIEF ACCOUNT OP 
 
 I l/oJkP« I« 
 
 'tliey AM MMAialB s tncl cfuinot be in a 
 mbjeet, beamae tbey are substances. After 
 sonw other subtleties about Pfediealea and 
 .SiibJMla, we isome to the Categories tbem- 
 wmm $ the ibings above mentioned being 
 ealled by the schoolmen the anisprmdica' 
 mnemia, 1 1 may be observed, however, that, 
 notwU b sta n d ing the distinction now ex> 
 
 C' inei, (be Mng in a mtStjm, and the 
 uff prediemied truiff ofm std^mi, are, in the 
 Analytics, used as synonymous phrases;* 
 and thia vaiiatett. of style has led some per- 
 
 ♦ fbr tliif •Mmtnt, Rcid hm been bitterly re. 
 pffMidMdlif tte'lMrmd Dr Giltici, and various Eng. 
 litli writciB In fall wake, wtiile Mr Stewart only at. 
 tempts to paifate the error, Imt not to vindicate the 
 aocuracf, of hb Mends 
 
 '* The suDwt,** 'OliJiervct the fbniicr In hto ** New 
 Amalvaia of Aristotle's Workt*" ** has been strangely 
 p»r|ileseil by mistaking Arlitotl^i languafe. which 
 la itieif highly perfplcuotia. T« U Jt tJJ» iTmi, &c 
 •Tifmm&iMmmttfm iicmOmimd In another, is the 
 mmte m iiplNf IM lie second can be predicated qf 
 &mjbid 'immJIMeTient (if its sifmification ,• and one 
 itriilr fffiMlifMiM ^another in the full extent of its 
 ii|p|taliM» Wken there is no particular denoted by 
 Wm$*M^ lo iflHieA the predicate does not apply,' 'I hit 
 remari, which la the foundation of all Aristotle's 
 logic, has been .ladlf mlitakeii by many. Among 
 others, the liaraed anil truly mpectable Or Reid 
 writes at Miows :— « The being In a subject, and the 
 bdnif tnily predicated of a subject, are used by Aris. 
 lolte in his Analytict as synonymous phrases.' But 
 Him two phrasea of • hemg in a sut^ct,' and • being 
 firailiMM#li.* are so far from being used as syno. 
 ayiMtts, that lie hmmiiIm # file 'OIM # direct/y the 
 tmmm # tk§ wimmiatf <rOlt oUlcr.'^-*!*. '63, Uo edi. 
 tiiiii. 
 
 On tfali Mr Stewart, tn the leeoml volume of his 
 **fhilOM^y c»f the Human Mind." remsrk*:— 
 •* While 1 readily admit the ju-tness of this criticism 
 on Or Held. I niwil take the liberty of adding, that I 
 eouaider Belifk error as a mere civer«iKht, or slip of 
 fhc jpfln. That' h« ailghC have accused Aristotle of 
 oonmiidiiif two thlnpwilchs although different tn 
 flett 'had' lel' a ^ccrtaln degree of resemblance or 
 aihiitv. Is by ao means impossible ; but it is scarcely 
 conoeivible that he could be so careless as to accuse 
 him of oonfbunding two things which he invariably 
 states la direet oppo«ition tn each other. I hive not 
 a doidt, tbettlbre, that Keid's idea was, that Ari». 
 tolie used as .iiyiioiiymotts phrases, the bdn<j in a 
 lllt^, and the 'mm « mIIM i/«rAtcA that Uihuj can 
 M^mt^pradieatmi waam especially as either state. 
 mint wotdd equally wfi have answered his purpobe.** 
 
 Fvlttfs. 
 
 But even this extemiation Br Oillics will not ad. 
 
 mit. Ill his <* latndnotion to Aristotle's Khetoric," 
 after soaie preiitory comments on the importance of 
 lh« point, and. theheiuousnessof " this radical error^ 
 — •« I eon«ieMl."tes«ys, ** Mr ilewart for i)ig zeal in 
 thedciBncenf his adopted guide to philosophy, and of 
 so wise and good a man as, man petsnoal acquaintance. 
 I knew Dr Reid to be. But the defence is rendered 
 altogether Inetectual by the words of Dr Reid him. 
 self, who sui]|biiis— ^ Aristotle'^ distinction b( tween 
 the phraies bm§ in a aiiAJfct. and beinotaid of a tub. 
 jMa. In the Csteiories, have led some writers to con. 
 «iud*'that llwCatMOrloi wtfe iMil/«rltten by Aris. 
 totle.' Dr leidlB mistake. tiicrclbi«,/lieing a matrer 
 of deliberation* could: not proceed. Irom a mere slip 
 of llMipen ; it mnslhtongh therest of his work, and 
 sometimes beromaa the cause of his speaking wirh 
 miieildlsreipcct Ot the author whose work he professes 
 to Illustrate. Forthittask Ur Reid po^sesscii many re. 
 oiiisiies^patience, candour, learning, and science. 
 what he wanted was a dewier and m'tv intimate ac. 
 fBaintanoe With ArlstolM writings," &c., &c. p »i. 
 Nowi tne simple but unsuspectai tact is, That 
 JWd It r^ai ami GiMies terontj. *• The bein{} in a 
 milnfed, ami the being predicated qf a suttfect^ are, in 
 the Analvtios. used as synonymous phrases"— this 
 ] Of Rdd is literally true. For example, the 
 
 iona to think that the Categories were not 
 written by Aristotle. 
 
 Thin^ which may be expressed without 
 composition or stracture are, says the 
 author, reducible to the following heads : — 
 They are either Substancey or Quantiii/, 
 or Quality, or Relatives [or Posture], 
 or Place [where], or Time [trhen]^ or 
 Having, or Doing, or Suffering. These 
 are the Predicaments or Categories. The 
 irst four are largely treated of in four chap- 
 ters ; the others are sliglitly passed over, as 
 sufficiently clear of themselves. As a speci- 
 men, I shall give a summary of wliat he 
 says on the category of Substance. 
 
 Substances are either primory—to wit, 
 individual substances; or, secondary— to 
 wit, the genera and species of substances. 
 Primary substances neither are tn a sub- 
 ject, nor can be predicated o/a subject; 
 but all other things that exist, either are in 
 primary substances, or may be predicated 
 of them. For whatever can be predicated 
 of that which is in a subject, may also be 
 predicated of the subject itself. Primary 
 substances are more substances than the 
 secondary ; and of the secondary, the spe- 
 cies is more a substance than the genus. 
 If there were no primary, there could be no 
 secondary substances. 
 
 The properties of Substance are these: — 
 1. No sul]^tance is capable of intention or 
 remission. 2. No substance can be in any 
 other thing as its subject of inhesion. 3^ 
 No substance has a contrary ; for one sub- 
 stance cannot be contrary to another ; nor 
 can there be contrariety between a sub- 
 stance and that which is no substance. 4. 
 
 two fbllowing propositloiu are, in Aristotle's language, 
 convertible :.— Ts A xstrm, wettris B x»Ty,y6^t7a-6eti 
 
 or XiytfSiti, and si A a-avr* B vTcifx^* 5 l-^ '^ 7^^- 
 dicated q,f all B i A is. or inheres, in all B.) The latter 
 li Aristotle's usual form of expression. What Dr 
 Gillies was thinking of when he said. ♦• the meaning 
 of the. one is directly the reverse qf the meaning of 
 the oUierf" was the inverse relation of an attributive 
 whole and subject part to each other. T<> this, and not 
 to the subject of |<re<)itation, and subject of in he. 
 lion, does the quotation he makes trom Aristotle 
 apply; and he raubi, by some inconceivable confu. 
 ston or oversight, have imagined that Keid's st le. 
 ment was lant;imount tothcabsurdiy of leaving, that 
 a species being in a genus, ami a species iK'ing predi- 
 cated qf a genus, were used by Aristotle as "synony. 
 mous phrases. To vindicate A ristotle's consistency in 
 this matter, the present is not the occasion. 
 
 The exposition of this elementary blunder, is a 
 good illustration of the maxim — To take nothing 
 upon trust .• nothing upon authoritij. Mr btewart 
 was one ot the mo<st acute and cautio s ot reasoners ; 
 yet we here find him painfully admitting one eiro. 
 neous statement, in reliance on the learned accuracy 
 of I>r Gillies ; and it mny he added, that in the note 
 immediately preceding the one in which the present ia 
 contained, we And him accepting another, in defer, 
 mce to the authority of Lord Monboddo. The prin. 
 ciple on which his Lordihip supposes the whole truth 
 of the syllogixm to depend, and the discovery of 
 which he marvellously aitriliutes to a then living 
 author, is one that may he found stated as a common 
 doctrine in almost every system of logic, worthy of 
 the name, fbr the last fifteen centuries.— H. 
 
 
 SECT. IV.l 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 685 
 
 The most remarkable property of substance 
 is, that one and the same substance may, 
 by some change in itself, become the sub- 
 ject of things that are contrary. Thus the 
 same tiody may be at one time hot, at 
 anf)ther cold." 
 
 Let this serve as a specimen of Aristotle's 
 manner of treating the categories- After 
 them, we have some chapters, which tlie 
 schoolmen ca\\ postprasdicamentn ; wlierein, 
 first, the four kinds of oppos tion ot terms 
 are explained ; to wit, relative, priiative of 
 contrariety, and of contradiction. This is 
 • repeated in all systems of logic. -f- Last of 
 all, we have distinctions of the four Greek 
 words which answer to the Latin ones — 
 prius, simul, motus, and habere. 
 
 Section IV. 
 
 OF TUB BOOK CONCERNING INTERPRETA- 
 TION.$ 
 
 We are to consider, says Aristotle, what 
 a Noun is, what a Verb, what Affirmation, 
 what Negation, [what Enumintion,] what 
 Speech. fVo'ds are the signs of what pass- 
 eth in the mind; Writing is the sign of 
 words. § Tlie signs both of writing and of 
 words are dift'erent in different nations, but 
 the operations of mind signified by them 
 are the same. There are some operations 
 of thought which are neither true nor false. 
 These are expressed by nouns or verbs 
 singly, and without composition. 
 
 A Noun is a sound, which, by compact, 
 signifies something without respect to time, 
 and of which no part has signification by 
 itself. The cries of beasts may have a 
 natural signification, but they are not nouns : 
 we give that name only to sounds which 
 have their signification by compact. The 
 cases of a noun, as the genitive, dative, are 
 not nouns. Non homo is not a noun, but, 
 for distinction's sake, may be called a Nomen 
 Jnfinitum.W 
 
 A Verb signifies something by compact 
 with relation to time. Thus, valet is a verb ; 
 but valetndo is a noun, because its signifi- 
 cation has no relati(m to time. It is only 
 the present tense of the indicative that is 
 properly called a verb ; the other tenses 
 
 * These are not all the properties enumerated by 
 Aristotle. Two others are omitted.— H. 
 t This Is hardly correct.— H 
 
 % The bO' k Ot^/ 'E^^tj*-*''*? is absurdly translated 
 Be Interprctatione. It should be styled in Latin, 
 Be Envnciandi ratione. In i-nglish, we might ren. 
 derit— 0« the doctritie qf Enouncement—Enuncicu 
 tion— or the like.— H. 
 
 ^ " Hecle Ar'iatoteles'-Cogitaaonum tesseraeVerbat 
 Verborum Litterae," Baco Be Auynu Scient. L. VJ. 
 Ot I.— H. 
 
 n More properly, Nomen Ind^mlum— *»•/*» i«'{i- 
 
 rsv. I'hia mistranslation of Boethius has been the 
 cause of error, among others, to Kant.— H. 
 
 and moods are variations* of the verb. 
 Non valet may be called a verbum injiui- 
 tuni.-\ 
 
 Speech is sound significant by compact, 
 of which some part is also significant. And 
 it is either enunciative, or not enunciative. 
 Enunciative speech is that which affirms or 
 denies. As t» speech which is not enuncia^ 
 live, such as a prayer or wish, the consi- 
 deration of it belongs to oratory or poetry. 
 Every enunciative speech must have a verb, 
 or some variation of a verb. Affirmation 
 is the enunciation of one thing concerning 
 another. Negation is the enunciation of 
 one thing from another. Contradiction is 
 an affirmation and negation that are oppo- 
 site. This is a summary of the first six 
 chapters. 
 
 The seventh and eighth treat of the vari- 
 ous kinds of enunciations or propositions, 
 nnivenal, particular, indefinite, and singu- 
 lar ; and of the various kinds f/ opptsition 
 in propositions, and the axicms concerning 
 them. These things are repeated in every 
 system of logic. In the ninth chapter, he 
 endeavours to prove, by a long metaphysi- 
 cal reasoning, that propositions respecting 
 future contingencies are not, determinately, 
 either true or false ; and that, if they were, 
 it would follow that all things happen neces- 
 sarily, and could not have been otherwise 
 than as they are. The remaining [five] 
 chapters contain many minute observations 
 concerning the eequipullency of propositions 
 both pure and modaU 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 REMARKS. 
 
 Section /. 
 
 ON THE FIVE PREDICAhLKH. 
 
 • The writers on logic have borrowed their 
 materials almost entirely from Aristotle's 
 Organoii, and Porphyry's Introduction. 
 The Organon, however, was not written by 
 Aristotle as one work. It comprehends 
 various tracts, written without the view of 
 niaking them parts of one whole, and after- 
 wards thrown together by his editors under 
 one name, on account of their affinity. 
 Many of his books that are lost would have 
 made a part of the Organon, if tliey had 
 been saved. 
 
 The three treatises, of which we have 
 given a brief account, are unconnected with 
 each other, and with those that follow. 
 And although the first was undoubtedly 
 compiled by Porphyry, and the two last 
 
 * Urtisttf: cases, flexions.- H. 
 f See penillt not&^ll. 
 
fsm 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [chap, il 
 
 'polmblj hj Amtiiile, ml. I floneider tli«ni 
 ■am tiM v«ii0imlil0 'fenitne of » philosopby 
 more ancienl tiian Ariitotle. Archytas of 
 '^IlNWitiiiii, Ml. 'tiiiiiinil mstlifliiMitMiAi and 
 BlAMoplier of' Ab PjUmpmmi 'idHMily is 
 '■■ii. to have wrote upon 'iiie^ ten. cst^giertoB;* 
 and the five predicahles probably had their 
 erigin in the same school. Aristotle, though 
 .atendaiitlj 'eanfnl to do justice to himself, 
 doee molouiiili the inventioii of either. And 
 Porphyry, without aseribrnf the latter to 
 Aristotle, professes only to deliirer the doc- 
 Itine of the ancients, and chiefly of the 
 Peripateticii, concerning them. 
 
 The writers on logic have divided tliat 
 'Wieiiee into three parts i the first treating 
 nf Mmpk Jpprekmdon and of Terms ; the 
 ■eeood, of Judgmeni and of PmpomH&n% ; 
 Mid tlie third, of Rmtmin§ and of A>//o. 
 $ismMm The materials of the first part are 
 taken from Porphyry'a Introduction and 
 the Categories; and those of the second 
 from, 'thtt' hoolc. ol InterpietatioiL 
 
 A PmetkMe^ aMoraing to the gramma- 
 tical form of the word, might seem to sig- 
 nify whatever might lie predicated, that is, 
 affirmed or denied, of a subjeet • and in this 
 .MUM every predicate would be a predicable. 
 .Bttt 'the logifliMlS' give a different nieanin^g to 
 the word. They divide propositions into 
 eertaiii cImms,. .aeconiiiig' tii the relation 
 wMoh 'the preiicate^ of the propoeition bears 
 to the .subject.' The first cIms. is that 
 wherein the predicate is the genuM of the 
 subjeet, as when we say, «< This is a triangle,** 
 *• Jupiter is a planet." In the second class, 
 the predicate is a species of the subject ; as 
 when we say, ' ' This triangle is right-angled." 
 A third class is when the predicate is the 
 Mpe* pic difference of the subject ; as when 
 we say, " Every triangle has three sides and 
 three angles." Afuurth,when the predicate 
 is a property of the sulaject ; as when we 
 eay, « The angles of every trianj;k are equal 
 to two right angles.** And a fifth class is 
 when the predicate is Bomething aeeitientai 
 to the subject ; as when we say, ** This tri- 
 angle is neatly drawn.** 
 
 Eaeh of these eksses empnhendi a 
 great variety of propositions, having difler- 
 •iit subjects and diff*ereiit predicates ; but 
 In each class the relation between the pre- 
 dicate and the subjeet is the same. Now, 
 it is to this rehttion that logicians have given 
 
 » Arehyiai ii onlf fotf to .taff* wriHtfi i%j»tm the 
 trri cntegni ien, becaufe there ig bb eit:|K»fltk>n nf thcf e 
 in the treatise oii the ** Nature of the Univcnf*,** 
 miHler hi» nmite, from wli'eb oo|iifiUB extrarig are 
 
 SMCrved bj .Hinpllcim, in his Comnu-iitarlet on 
 •CMegflriei.ai»dihe Phyiiciof Arihtoiie.. *l hrae ex- 
 tract*, ttowever, ot themselves, afford Mifficirnt evi. 
 deuce tlial. tlilt 'tneHi* i%. like the r«sl. of 1 1 > e r> t ha. 
 gnrean Pirapiwiiti, tlw fUiricatK» of some sophist 
 long sultseqiirnt to Arlttotla llie umus|)ecting 
 adtuJsiioD of these Fraftments at genuine remains, is 
 •11 error, or rather ignorance, of which all British 
 wntmna Log^and t bilosoohy. who bav« had occa. 
 :ii«|. 10: 'Mteff to then, are guUtf .~ H. 
 
 the name of m predieabie. Hence it is, that, 
 although the number of predicates be infin- 
 ite, yet the number of predicables can be 
 no greater than that of the difierent rela- 
 tions which may be in propositions between 
 the predicate and the subject And if all 
 propositions belong to one or other of the 
 five classes above mentioned, there can be 
 but five predicables — to wit, ffenuM, species, 
 differentia, pro/iriumj and accidens. These 
 might, with more propriety perhaps, have 
 been called the Jive claxscs (/ predtcafen ; 
 but use has determined them to be called 
 the Jive prfdieabies. 
 
 It may also be observed, that, as some ob- 
 jects of thought are individuals, such as. Jit- 
 Hum CaeaTf the cUg of Rome ; so others are 
 common to many individuals, as good, greafy 
 virtuousy vicious. Of this last kind are all 
 things that are expressed by adjectives. 
 Things common to many individuals were 
 by the ancients called universais. All predi- 
 cates are universais, for they all have the 
 nature of adjectives; and, on the other hand, 
 all universais may be predicates. On this ac- 
 count, universais ma V bedivided intothesame 
 classesaspredicates; and asthefiveclassesof 
 predicates above mentioned liave been called 
 the five predicables, so, by the same kind of 
 phnseolegy, they have been called the fim 
 universah; although they may more pro- 
 perly be called Wie Jim classes of un%ver.saU. 
 
 The doctrine of the Five Universais, or 
 Predicables, makes an essential part of 
 every system of logic, and has been handed 
 down without any change to this day. The 
 very name of predicates shews, that the 
 author of this division, whoever he was, in- 
 tended it as a complete enumeration of all 
 the kinds of things thatcim be afiirmed of any 
 subject; and so it has always been under-, 
 stood. It is accordingly implied in this 
 division, that all that can be afiirmed of 
 anything whatsoever, is either the genus of 
 the thing, or its species, or its sped fie differ' 
 ence, or some properig or accident belong- 
 ing to it. 
 
 Burgersdyk, a verj- acuto writer in logic, 
 seems to have been aware that strong ob- 
 jections might be made to the five predica- 
 bles, considered as a complete enumera- 
 tion t But, nnwUling to allow any imperfec- 
 tion in this ancient division, he endeavours 
 to restrain the meaning of tlie wor^predica- 
 hie, so as to obviate objections. Those things 
 only, says he, are to be accounted predica- 
 bles, which may be affirmed— at mang indi- 
 V'diu Is — trulif — properly — ( naturally^ — . 
 and immcdiatelg. The consequence of put- 
 ting such liniitatbns upon the word predim 
 cable is, that, in many propositions, perhaps 
 in most, the |)redicate is not a predicable. 
 But, admitting all his limitations, the enu- 
 meration uill still be very incomplete; for 
 of many things we may afiirm, truly, pro< 
 
 iCOT. IT.l 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 687 
 
 perly, and immediately, their existence, 
 their end, their cause, their effect, and var- 
 ious relations which they bear to other 
 things. These, and perhaps many more, 
 are predicables in the strict sense of the 
 word, no less than the five which have been 
 so long famous.* 
 
 Although Porphyry, and all subsequent 
 writers make the predicables to be in num- 
 ber five, yet Aristotle himself, in the begin- 
 ning of the. topics, reduces them to four, 
 and demonstrates that there can be no 
 more.+ We shall give his demonstration 
 when we come to the topic8,$ and shall only 
 here observe, that, as Burgersdyk justifies 
 the fivefold division, by restraining the 
 meaning of the word predicable, so Aristo- 
 tle justifies the fourfold division^ by enlarg- 
 ing the meaning of the words propertg and 
 imsifient. 
 
 After all, I apprehend that this ancient 
 division of predicables, with all its imper- 
 fections, will bear a comparison with those 
 which have been substituted in its stead by 
 the most celebrated modern philosophers. 
 
 Locke, in his " Essay on the Human 
 Understanding," having laid it dovim as a 
 principle. That all our knowledge consists 
 in perceiving certain agreements and dis- 
 agreements between our ideas, reduces these 
 agreements and disagreements to four heads 
 — to wit, 1, Idenlity and Diversity ; 2, Jiela- 
 tion ; 3, Co^ejeistence ; 4, Ben I Existence. % 
 Here are four predicables given as a com- 
 plete enumeration, and yet not one of the an- 
 cient predicables is included in the number- 1| 
 
 The author of the " Treatise of Human 
 Nature,*' proceeding upon the same prin- 
 ciple, that all our knowledge is only a per- 
 ception of the relations of our ideas, ob- 
 serves, " That it may perhaps be esteemed 
 an endless task to enumerate all those qua- 
 lities which admit of comparison, and by 
 which the ideas of philosophical relation are 
 produced ; but, if we diligently consider 
 them, we shall find, that, without difiiculty, 
 they may be comprised under seven general 
 
 • All these, however, (all under one or of her of 
 the five words which, it should beobcerved, are/orms 
 or mocks of pirdicaVon, and not tttitujs predicated, 
 Reid seems to have taken f e objecti. n from Bur- 
 gersdvk : h** should not have overio<ikod hi8.«-olution. 
 — " Qund quidam aiunt, etiam jmrUin prawiicnri de 
 toto, causam de effcctOf adjimctum extc7mnn de sub- 
 jecto ; ac proinde plura Mse priBdicabJIla quam 
 quinque, nullius prorsus momenti est. Nam pars 
 non prspdiratur de toto in casu recto, neque causa 
 de eftecto, ncqiie adjunctum ( xternum de subjecto ; 
 led tsntum in rasu <)t><iquo. Nequc enim dicimus, 
 Animal est cajmt, sed. fgt aifntatum, aut fale qu'd : 
 non dicimus etiam. Eelipsis est iuterpositio terra 
 (nisi improprie) sed, ^ft ob interpositionem tcrrce ; 
 neque. Miles est i/ladlus, sed est pladiatus. Et ejus- 
 modi picdicaiiiiiies revi cari dcbeiit ad diffeientiam, 
 ptoprium aut accidens."— InstituL Log., 1. i- c 10. — H. 
 
 t Not absolutely ; but only in a certain point of 
 view.— H. % 
 
 ± Chanter iv. S 2.— H. 
 
 i Book iv. cha|v 1. 
 
 II See note next but one.— II. 
 
 heads : — 1, Resemblance ; 2, Identity ; 3, 
 Relations of Space and Time ; 4, Relations 
 of Quantity and Number ; 5, Degrees of 
 Quality ; 6, Contrariety ; ^, Causation,'*** 
 Here again are seven predicables given as 
 a complete enumeration, wherein all the 
 predicables of the ancients, as well as two 
 of Locke's, are left out-i* 
 
 The ancients, in their division, attended 
 only to categorical propositions which have 
 one subject and one predicate ; and of these 
 to such only as have a general term for their 
 subject. The moderns, by their definition 
 of knowledge, have been led to attend only 
 to relative propositions, which express a 
 relation between two subjects, and these 
 subjecls they suppose to be always ideas. $ 
 
 Section II, 
 
 ON THE TBM CATEGORIES, AND ON DI VISIONS 
 IN GENERAL. 
 
 The intention of the Categwies or Predic* 
 aments is, to muster every object of huiqan 
 apprehension under ten heads ; for the 
 categories are given as a complete enumer. 
 ation of everything which can be expressed 
 without composition and structure — that is, 
 of everything which can be either the subject 
 or the predicate of a proposition. § So that, 
 as every soldier belongs to some company, 
 and every company to some regiment, in 
 like manner everything that can be the 
 object of human thought has its place in 
 one or other of the ten categories ; and, by 
 dividing and subdividing properly the se- 
 veral categories, all the notions that enter 
 into the human muid may be mustered in 
 rank and file, like an army in the day of 
 battle. II 
 
 * Vol. i. pp. 33 and 125 . 
 
 t 'J hese two paragraphs, independently of the 
 general tenor of the treatise, shew that Keid, like 
 our Britibh philosophers in general, was unaware of 
 the difference between the Logical or Formai, and 
 the Metaphysical or RcaL He diil not consider that 
 the Predicables are forms or modes of predication, 
 and not things predicated ,- in the laii^iuage of the 
 schools, second notions, uot first. These real gener. 
 alisations of L(M-ke and Hume map be brought into 
 comparisinn with the Categories oi Aristotle, witith 
 are, in truth, a Metaphysical, and not a Logical 
 reduction ; but they cannot be brought into com- 
 parison with the Five V^ords, which ronstitute a 
 purely formal generalisation. \\ hy, in nnet, was 
 it not objected that the predicables do not contain 
 the predicaments, or the predicaments the prtdic 
 abie>.?-H. 
 
 I This observation is out of place.— H. 
 
 ^ I his is incorrect ; for Irom the Categories are ex- 
 cluded many things that form the subj* ci and piPdl- 
 cate of a proposition, as entia rationis ai.d notiones 
 secundir : while others transcei d the classification 
 altogether, as beiua, one, whole, the infinite, ac IV 
 fact, as a ready noticed, the ciasj-ificacion is ot a me- 
 taphysical, not a logical, purport.— H. 
 
 II The ten Aristotelic Categories may be thut 
 met hotlirally deduced j-nd simplified :— They are all 
 divisions of Being—Ens. Being \s divided into Ensper 
 se and Ens per accidens. En* per se, correspondi to 
 Substance-'tV^c first of the Aristotelic CategoriM | 
 
"V/ 
 
 "JOO 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [chap, ii; 
 
 Tkt {wrfMstion of the divisioii ...of cato- 
 forifls into ten heads has been streniiouayl 
 ieiBiiieil hy the followers of Aristotle, as 
 well as llutt of the five predicables. They 
 are, indeed, of kin to each other; they 
 hnaihe the same spuit, and probably had 
 the same origin. By the one we are taught 
 to marshal every term that can enter into 
 a proposition, either as subject or predicate ; 
 and, by the other, we are taught all the 
 poasible relations which the subject can 
 have to the predieate. Thus the whole fur- 
 niture of the human mind is presented to 
 lis at one view, and contracted, as it were, 
 into a nutshell. To attempt, in so early a 
 period, a methodical delineation of the vast 
 region of human knowledge, actu&l and 
 possible, and to point out the limits of 
 every district, was indeed magnanimous in 
 a high degreeiand deserves our admiration, 
 while we kment that the human powers 
 are unef ual to so bold a flight 
 
 A regular distribution of things under 
 proper classes or heads iS) without doubt, a 
 great help both to memory and judgment. 
 And as tlie philosopher's province includes 
 ai: things, human and divine, that can be ob- 
 iects of inquiry, he is naturally led to attempt 
 «,me general division like that of the cate- 
 gories. And the invention of a division of 
 this kind, whicli the speculative part of 
 mankind acquiesced in for two thousand 
 years, marks a superiority of genius in 
 the inventor, whoever he was. Nor does 
 it appear that the general divisions which, 
 ■in'Oe the deeiue of the Feripatetic philoso- 
 phy, have been substituted in place of the 
 ten categories are more perfect. 
 
 Locke has reduced all things to three ca- 
 tegories—viz,, gmltstances, modes, and rela^ 
 Itaitf. In this division, time, spm-e, and nuirt' 
 tter, three great objects of human thought, 
 are omitted.* 
 
 The author of the " Treatise of Human 
 Mature^'t ^»» reduced all things to tm * 
 
 EMpermeMmtf coinprisei tlie other nine. For it 
 
 'Ciltior dtfiotiM^ wmt tiilnf mbmMg or Mnnetliiiig rcfa. 
 Hw.^ If iMiitfliiiiK alMoluCe, il 'titliar originate* in 
 tbe matter o{ tlie cubstance. iind is diviaibte— QMa.iif. 
 i(jf, Ari«t«il«f*i -ecund Category ; or in xbe/wm, and 
 It iculivitiiLiIe— Qtut/%, Aristotk'» Ihiitl Category. If 
 ■onmliiDg relative, it con*tituiesJtdMtOFi»Ute lourib 
 Ciitagory; andtti Kelatton tlie otiMr »ix may easily 
 lie reduced. I«'or the fit h, W'ktm, Omotvs the relit- 
 twn Iwtween dilterent objects In itMce. or the rela- 
 tion Iwtweeii place and tlie thing place*!. The »i xih. 
 Wkm, deooini the relation hetwecn objects in suc- 
 'C«Mton, or the lelatiou lietwcen time und a thing 
 III time. The wtenth, Pmture, it t he relation of the 
 
 erit of a body to each ott>er. The eighth. JIavintf, 
 the relation of the thing having, and the thing had ; 
 while the ninth and tenth, Acthn and Passion, are 
 Ihe f iclprncal relattuns between the agent and the 
 Wticiil. 'Ihere are, on thittcbeme, one tupreme 
 CalefiMrf«-JWM; iwo at tlM irtt descent— .Krut pe/ 
 l*».BwjMr'«idim«'/ tatr'aithehr>t and second—' 
 SoMmmt limnii^, QiuUitpt ReUUim ,- and to the 
 lilpiflf of Citegory, the>e four are. ot Aristotle't ten, 
 piMialiitiilly, if not excluvively entitkd.-.H. 
 
 t' ttniiglitlieciMi'leiidMl. tliat 'tlw three latter are 
 'Coniaineii. uiMiir me mree' .ioffimf* .p. 
 
 categories — ^viz., i<kag and impreMmonMi a 
 division which is very well adapted to his 
 system, and which puts me in mind of 
 another made by an excellent mathema- 
 tician* in a printed thesis I have seen. In 
 it the author, after a severe censure of the 
 ten categories of the Peripatetics, maintains 
 that there neither are nor can be more than 
 two categories of things^viz., tUUa and 
 qumsiia» 
 
 There are two ends that may be proposed 
 by such divisions. The first is, to method- 
 ise or digest in order what a man actually 
 knows. This is neither unimportant- nor 
 impracticable; and, in proportion to the 
 solidity and accuracy of a man's judgment, 
 his divisions of the things he knows will be 
 elegant and useful. The same subject may 
 admit, and even require, various divisions, 
 according to the different points of view 
 from which we contemplate it ; nor does it 
 follow, that, because one division is good, 
 therefore another is naught. To be ac- 
 quainted with the divisions of the logicians 
 and metaphysicians, without a superstitious 
 attachment to them, may le of use in divid- 
 ing the same subjects, or even those of a 
 different nature Thus Quintilian borrows 
 from the ten categories his division of the 
 topics of rhetorical argumentation. Of all 
 methods of arrangement, the most anti- 
 philosophical seems to be the invention of 
 this age ;f I mean the arranging the arts 
 and sciences by the letters of the alphabet, 
 in dictionaries and encyclopaedias. With 
 these authors the categories are, A, B, C, 
 &c 
 
 Another end commonly proposed by such 
 divisions, but very rarely attained, is to ex- 
 haust the subject divided, so that nothing 
 that belongs to it shall be omitted. It is 
 one of the general rules of division, in all 
 tiystems of logic. That the division should be 
 adequate to the subject divided : a good rule 
 without doubt, but very often beyond the 
 reach of human power. To make a perfect 
 div'ision, a man must have a perfect com- 
 prehension of the whole subject at one view. 
 When our knowledge of the subject is im- 
 perfect, any division we can make must be 
 like the first sketch of a painter, to be ex- 
 tended, contracted, or mended, as the sub- 
 ject elmll be found to require. Yet nothing 
 is more conmion, not only among the ancient, 
 but even among modern philosophers, than 
 to draw, from their uicomplete divisions, 
 conclusions which suppose them to be per- 
 fect. 
 
 A division is a repository which the phi- 
 losopher frames for holding his ware in con- 
 venient order. The philosofiher maintains, 
 
 * Beld'k uncle, Jamet Oiegory. See above, p. (Q» 
 
 t Not the jtisimlfon of Reid'i age. though in that 
 It was moie genetaliy and extenaively applied.— 1 1. 
 
 MSCT. III.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 689 
 
 that such or such a thing is not good ware, 
 because there is no place in his wareroom 
 that fits it. We are apt to yield to this 
 argument in philosophy, but it would appear 
 ridiculous in any other traffic. 
 
 Peter Ramus, who had the spirit of a 
 reformer in philosophy, and who had a force 
 of genius sufficient to shake the Aristotelian 
 fabric in many parts, but insufficient to 
 erect anything more solid in its place, tried 
 to remedy the imperfection of philosophical 
 divisions, by introducing a new manner of 
 dividing.* His divisions always consisted 
 of two members, one of which was contra- 
 dictory of the other, as if one should divide 
 England into Middlesex and what is not 
 Middlesex. It is evident that these two 
 members comprehend all England ; for the 
 Logicians observe, that a term along with 
 its contradictory comprehend all things. 
 In the same manner, we may divide what 
 is not Middlesex into Kent and what is not 
 Kent. Tims one may go on by divisions and 
 subdivisions that are absolutely complete. 
 This example may serve to give an idea of 
 the spirit of Haniean divisions, which were 
 in no small reputation about two hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 Arbtotle was not ignorant of this kind of 
 division. But he used it only as a touch- 
 stone to prove liy induction the perfection 
 of some other division, which indeed is the 
 best use that can be made of it. When 
 ap|ilied to the common purpose of division, it 
 is both inelegant and burdensome to the me- 
 mory; and, after it has put one out of breath 
 by endless subdivisions, there is still a nega- 
 tive term left behind, which shews that you 
 are no nearer the end of your journey than 
 when you began. 
 
 Until some more efTectual remedy be 
 found for the imperfection of divisions, I 
 beg leave to propose one more simple than 
 that of Ramus. It is this — When you meet 
 with a division of any subject imperfectly 
 oompreliended, add to the last member an 
 et ccetera. That this et ccetera makes the 
 division complete, is undeniable ; and there- 
 fore it ought to hold its place as a member, 
 and to be always understood, whether ex- 
 pressed or not, until clear and positive 
 proof be brought that the division is com- 
 plete without tt. And this same et ccetera 
 si tall be the repository of all members that 
 may in any future time shew a good and 
 valid right to a property in the subject -j* 
 
 * There Is nothing new whatever in Ramus's 
 Dichotomy by contradiction. It was, in particu. 
 lar, a favourite with Mate. Among others, see 
 Ammonius on the Categories, f. iiU, a. ed. Aid. 1546. 
 M. 
 
 t It thit <* protestation to add and eke" lerioui or 
 injoker^H. 
 
 Section III, 
 
 ON niSTINCTIONS. 
 
 Having said so much of logical divisions, 
 we shall next make some remarks upon 
 distinctions. 
 
 Since the philosophy of Aristotle fell into 
 disrepute, it has been a common topic of 
 wit and raillery to inveigh against meta- 
 physical distinctions. Indeed the abuse of 
 them, in the scholastic ages, seems to justify 
 a general prejudice against them ; ami 
 shallow thinkers and writers have good 
 reason to be jealous of distinctions, because 
 they make sad work when applied to their 
 flimsy compositions. But every man of true 
 judgment, while he condemns distinctions 
 that have no foundation in the nature of 
 things, must perceive, that indiscriminately 
 to decry distinctions, is to renounce all 
 pretensions to just reasoning : for, as false 
 reasoning commonly proceeds from con- 
 founding things that are different, so, with- 
 out distinguishing such things, it is impos- 
 sible to avoid error or detect sophistry. The 
 authority of Aquinas, or Suarez, or even of 
 Aristotle, can neither stamp a real value upon 
 distinctions of base metal, nor hinder the 
 currency of those that have intrinsic value. 
 
 Some distinctions are verbal, others are 
 real. The first kind distinguish the various 
 meanings of a word, whether proper or me- 
 taphorical. Distinctions of this kind make 
 a part of the grammar of a language, and 
 are often absurd when translated into 
 another language. Real distinctions are 
 equally good in all languages, and suffer 
 no hurt liy translation. They distinguish 
 the different species contained under some 
 general notion, or the different parts con- 
 tained in one whole. 
 
 Many of Aristotle's distinctions are verbal 
 merely, and therefore more proper mate- 
 rials for a dictionary of the Greek language, 
 than for a philosophical treatise. At least, 
 they ought never to have been translated 
 into other languages, when the idiom of the 
 language will not justify them : for this is 
 to adulterate the language, to introduce fo- 
 reign idioms into it without necessity or 
 use, and to make it ambiguous where it was 
 not. The distinctions in the end of the 
 categories of the four words, prius, simul^ 
 motuSf and habere, are all verbal.* 
 
 The modes or species of Prius, accord- 
 ing to Aristotle, are five. One thing may 
 be prior to another — first, in point of time ; 
 secondly, in point of dignity ; thirdly, in 
 point of order ; and so forth, f The modes 
 
 * These distinctions are all founded on the analo- 
 gies of real exist nee, and are all equally valid in 
 other lang' ages as in Greek.— H. 
 
 t More accurately : One tWng is pnor to another 
 
 2 Y 
 
Vnfw 
 
 A BRIBP ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [OHAPA 
 
 iJBCT. V.J 
 
 .RISTOTLlfiS LOGIC. 
 
 691 
 
 of simiil lilt onlj thro®. It sisema tliis word 
 WHS not ufied in tbe Greek witli so great 
 totitads m tlie other, altliough they are 
 'lelatiTw loEina* 
 
 The mmles or species ofMeiwn. he makes 
 to lie six— Tix, generatiomf corruptionf •»- 
 mrmm^ i§crm$e, aUeraiwm^ ancl ekarngt of 
 
 The modes or spft^es of ffavinff are 
 Iprimeipij] eight 1. Having a qualiiif 
 «r habityf as having wisdom. 2. Having 
 'fiMil^' or nii^ffliiilift. 3% Having thinffs 
 adlfumni, m liaving a sword. 4. Having 
 Ulinf t m |Mrff, as having hands or feet 
 ®. Having In a pari or oit mpari, as having 
 a ring on one's finger. 6. Ctmiaininff, m a 
 ^eask ia said tO' hsve wine. 7. Poumdmgy 
 '•■ having hndt. or hoiises. 8. Having a 
 w^e [or lualffiiiil ] * 
 
 Another distinction of this kind is Aris- 
 'tiiilt*a 'dWinitlion of Cmmt i of which he 
 iimkes Ibcur kinds,. 4|M«iil, wui^inai, formai^ 
 'and Jinal, These dasliniitimii' may deserve 
 a place in a dictionary of the Oreek Ian- 
 gnafe ; hut, in English or Latin, they adul- 
 '■Wte' the kiiigiaage.f Yet so fond were 
 fti !i<9liooIiiMii of distinctions of this kind, 
 that they added to Aristotle's enumeration 
 maimpuldm cause, § an ejwmjD/ar^ cause, || 
 ai^ I don't know how many more. We 
 '■ecni.. to have adopted into English a JiWo/ 
 CHmse ; 'hut It w merdy a term of art, bor- 
 rowed from the Peripatetic philoMphy, 
 without necessity or use ; for the English 
 word. fiHf' is as good as. Jimti mum, though 
 not so long nor so feamed. 
 
 im llwioiidtr of Amp-oT Matmn-of Arrmmmm^ 
 ef .iN|Gfii%— of Cmmikm* lliit lut, wiM wu 
 siMM 'lif .ArfitoCle* may be well roo'iiceil. to tbe 
 
 '* Tlie penult note applki to tliei&— H 
 
 LUtlloiiM have been— " liablt, DifWotltlMt or 
 r fiiiii%.** Tbe 01 hen are. In like nanneri 
 witbcr aceuratety nor a«teqitalcily itatcd : sed non 
 
 iA|B|gy|ljjl'' ^^^ 'LI 
 i||P||pMPW'w# a ffW' 
 
 I Ihta ■tatementt that Aristotle*! quadruple dis. 
 
 IliiftkMi or catiset was one not cstaUished on the 
 ■n of things, but founded on a verbal 
 
 Siction 1 V, 
 
 ON DinNlTIOKS. 
 
 putilittlty ortiie Oieck. .taaiiiage, Reid has >n bit 
 
 ^"■'*"'^ ' **" ■■ " i,0li«etni «|ain repealed. (See 
 
 iMfi|i. 7&. a, aai'lllib} Activt 
 Pt p. vm, a) It Is not,, howeftr, eorrcct. Tbe 
 dtatinctlon ii not found aartfi oul In ihe Greek 
 tau^pMHt mm than In any oilier ; tlioiif h, Irotn the 
 mliml 'ttallility and analdfiet of that tongue, it 
 'Waa'lMtltff mtlad. to eximiwltbout i-ffbrt this and 
 oIlMff '|^:li«i|ililnl' tfttcftniliiatloDs. In iiseir the 
 iivWiM. ;la aoC' mcitly vetbil, bnl prooeeda on the 
 ■iattt.ia| 'illfeicmiig ot leti Hiingi. Tbia, however. 
 Is not: tbe 'liace to iliew that Arlttoile bad taken a 
 i» JurttvaMl 'iHin'Conipr«lien«iTt view of thta tub. 
 .Jtet than ttepiil' midofftiy, it not tbe whole^ of our 
 'lecent phlloaii|ilMii««>H. 
 
 I This is a mistake. Ihe scboolnien added no 
 tspwiite mm* distinct iniB tbt Jlml and rpdcnJ 
 ipatnii of AflUdl'Ifti'**' .H i 
 
 IiTImi 'iMMpliifV' mum was lalMdueed by Pmo: 
 awl «••' IMC .aclcipMl by' Ibo idimMm as a ifth 
 mmm ia 'Siiltion to Aristotle's fbur.— H. 
 
 It remains that we mske some remarks 
 on Aristotle^s Defiiiitions, which have ex- 
 posed him to much censure and ridicule. 
 Yet I think it must be allowed, that, in 
 things which need definition, and admit of 
 it, his definitions are commonly judicious 
 and accurate ; and, had he attempted to 
 define such things only, his enemies had 
 wanted great matter of triumph. I believe 
 it may likewise be said in his favour, that, 
 until Locke*s essay was wrote, there was 
 nothing of importance delivered by philo- 
 sophers with regard to definition,* beyond 
 what Aristotle has said upon that subject. 
 
 He considers a Definition as a speech 
 dtcifttinff what a thing is. Every thing 
 essential to the thing defined, and notliing 
 more, must be contained in the definition. 
 Now, the essence of a thing consists of 
 these two parts i first, What is common to 
 it with other things of the same kind; and, 
 secondly, What distinguishes it from other 
 things of ihe same kind. The first is called 
 the Genii« of the thing, the second its Spe- 
 cific Difference, The definition, therefore, 
 consists of these two })arts. And, for find- 
 ing them, we must have recourse to the 
 ten categories ;+ in one or other of which 
 everything in nature is to be found. Each 
 category is a genus, and is divided into so 
 many species, which are distinguished by 
 their specific differences. Each of these 
 species is again subdivided into so many 
 species, with regard to which it is a genus. 
 This division and subdivision continues 
 until we come to the lowest species, which 
 can only be divided into individuals distin- 
 guished from one another, not by any spe- 
 cific difference, but by accidental difference* 
 of time, place, and other circumstances. 
 
 The category itself, being the highest 
 genus, is in no respect a species, and the 
 lowest species is in no respect a genus ; but 
 every intermediate order is a genus com- 
 pared with those that are below it, and a 
 species compared with those above it. To 
 find the definition of anything, therefore, 
 
 *Tbla is commonly but erroneciusly asserted. 
 IjOCke says little or iiuthtriK on the mbji-cl of Defiii. 
 itinn which had not been previously said by philoso- 
 phers bcfoie htm, and with whose works he can be 
 proved to have been acquainted. See above, p. 820| 
 a,no(et.— H. 
 
 f From this and what follows, ft would seem that 
 Reidthought that the Aristot«Uc doc rlneof Defini- 
 tion U necessarily relative to the ten Categories ; and 
 that, to find the definition of a thing, we must de. 
 icendUom the category to the geru'^ and specific dif. 
 fcrence sought This however, is not the case. For, 
 according to Aristotle, there are two methods of 
 •• hunting up" the required definition: li.e one by 
 division and descent, the other by indudim and 
 ascent.«>H. 
 
 you must take the genus which is imme- 
 diately above its place in the category, and 
 the specific difference by which it is distin- 
 guished from other species of the same 
 genus. These two make a perfect defini- 
 tion. This I take to be the substance of 
 Aristotle's system, and probably the system 
 of the Pythagorean school,* before Aristotle, 
 concerning definition. 
 
 But, notwithstanding the specious appear- 
 ance of this system, it has its defects. Not 
 to repeat what was before said of the im- 
 perfection of the division of things into ten 
 categories, the subdivisions of each category 
 are no less imperfect. Aristotle has given 
 some subdivisions of a few of them ; and, 
 as far as ho goes, his followers pretty unani- 
 mously take the same road. But, when 
 they attempt to go farther, they take very 
 different roads. It is evident, that, if the 
 series of each category could be completed, 
 and the division of things into categories 
 could be made perfect, still the highest genus 
 in each category could not be defined, be- 
 cause it is not a species ; nor could indivi- 
 duals be defined, because they have no 
 specific difference. f There are also many 
 species of things, whose specific difference 
 cannot be expressed in language, even when 
 it is evident to sense, or to the understand- 
 ing. Thus, green, red, and blue, are very 
 distinct species of colour ; but who can ex- 
 press in words wherein green differs from 
 red or blue ?% 
 
 Without borrowing light from the ancient 
 system, we may perceive that every defini- 
 tion must consist of words that need no 
 definition ; and that to define the common 
 words of a language tlmt have no ambiguity 
 is triflmg, if it could be done ; the only use 
 of a definition being to give a clear and 
 adequate conception of thenieaningof a word. 
 
 The logicians indeed distinguish between 
 the definition (fa tt'orti and (he definition of 
 a thing ; considering the former as the mean 
 ofiBce of a lexicographer, but the last as the 
 grand work of a philosopher. But what they 
 nave said about the definition of a thing, if 
 it has a meaning, is beyond my compre- 
 hension. All the rules of definition agree 
 to the definition of a word : and if they 
 mean, by the definition of a thing, the giv- 
 ing an adeijuate conception of the nature 
 and essence of anything that exists, this is 
 impossible, and is the vain boast of men 
 unconscious of the weakness of human un- 
 derstanding. § 
 
 * Sec at)ove, p. 686, note.— H. 
 
 f This, of course, is stated by Arit-totl© himself and 
 other logicians: and it <loes not affect his doctrine of 
 Definition, but marlcs the necessary limits of Defini- 
 tion in general.— H. 
 
 t Hence it was expressly stated by the old logicians 
 —OMnis intuitiva notilia est di^initio.'^H. 
 
 ^ Ky a recU,\n contrast to a verbal or nominal de- 
 finition, the logicians do not intend " (he giving an 
 adf^uUc conception qf the nature and essence qfa 
 
 The works of God are all imperfectly 
 known by us. We see their outside, or 
 perhaps we discover some of their qualities 
 and relations, by observation and experi- 
 ment, assisted by reasoning : but we can 
 give no definition of the meanest of them 
 which comprehends its real essence. It 
 is justly observed by Locke, that nominal 
 essences only, which are the creatures of our 
 own minds, are perfectly comprehended by 
 us, or can be properly defined ;* and even 
 of these there are many too simple in their 
 nature to admit of definition. When we 
 cannot give precision to our notions by a 
 definition, we must endeavour to do it by 
 attentive reflection upon them, by observing 
 minutely their agreements and differences, 
 and especially by a right understanding of 
 the powers of our own minds by which such 
 notions are formed. 
 
 The principles laid down by Locke, with 
 regard to definition, and with regard to the 
 abuse of words, carry conviction along with 
 them : and I take them to be one of the mos 
 important improvements made in logi<^ 
 since the days of Aristotle ; not so much be- 
 cause they enlarge our knowledge, as be- 
 cause they make us sensible of our igno- 
 rance, and shew that a great part of what 
 speculative men have admired as profoimd 
 philosophy, is only a darkening of know- 
 ledge by words without understanding.*!* 
 
 Section V. 
 
 ON THE STRUCTURE OP SPEECH. 
 
 The few hints contained in the beginning 
 of the book concerning Interpretation rei. 
 lating to the structure of speech, have been 
 left out in treatises of logic, as belonging 
 rather to grammar ; yet I apprehend this is 
 a rich field of philosophical speculation. 
 Language being the express image of human 
 
 thing^—XtizX. is, of a thing consida-cd in itself, and 
 apart from the conceptions qf it already possessed. 
 By verljal definition, is meant the more accurate 
 determination of the signification of a word; by rca/, 
 the more accurate determination of the contents of 
 a notion. The one clears up the relation ot words to 
 notions; the other ot notions to tilings. The^ubstitu. 
 tionof«<;</OA/«ZforrttiZ would, perhaps remove the 
 ambiguity. But, if we retain the term real, the aim 
 of a verbal definition being to specify the thought 
 denoted by the word, such definition ought to l)e 
 called notional, on the principle on which the defini. 
 tion of a nofw/i is called real; for this definition is 
 the exposition of what tilings are comprehended in a 
 
 thought— ti. , „ . .. ^ 
 
 ♦ Locke gives the title Nominal Essence to the 
 abstract notion marked out by a general term ; and 
 JUal Essence to that (probably unknown) constitution, 
 whereby a thing is as it is. On this definitiou as the 
 Nominal Essence comprehends all that is conceived 
 it must, of course, comprehend all that can be de- 
 fined. Ihe Nominal Essence of Locke is, in tact, 
 only a new name lor the Logical Essence ot other 
 philosophers.- H. ^ ^ , __,. 
 
 t i^ee above, p. 690, b, note ♦.-Fee also, a para, 
 graph here ( mittei>, at the end of this treatise— H. 
 
 2 Y 2 
 
A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [CBAP. IT. 
 
 tie antfysis of the one must cor- 
 iwfOif to'timl' m tlie otiier. Nount ad- 
 jeetiTO ani MliitMitive, Terlis active and 
 passive, villi tlniir irarioiis moods, tenses, 
 and peisona, must be expressive of a like 
 variety in the modes of thought Things 
 Hiat aro' diatingiiiahed ia^ all knguagcs, soch 
 at'iubetanoe and quality, aetion and passion, 
 oanae and effect, must be distinguished by 
 the natural powers of the human mind. Tht 
 lUtoeophy of gianmar, and that i^' the 
 nnian und«iiiiiiidiii|,. ^tum wmm nearly 
 alUliid thAu IS' eonunonf V {miintfiM iii.. 
 
 The structure of language was pursued 
 to a considMEsble extent by the ancient com- 
 iiMiitatonviNiii this book of Aristotle. Their 
 ■poeulatiiMS 'Upon this subject, which are 
 iieither the least Ingeuioua nor the least 
 useful part of the Peripatetic philosophy, 
 were Delected for many ages, and lay buried 
 in. ancient manuscripts, or in books little 
 ksoin, til they were 'lately broueht to light 
 by the learned Mr Harris, in his **Herme8.'* 
 
 The definitions given by Aristotle of a 
 'Wmmf of a werb, and of spcechj will hardly 
 tear ejuyaiination. It is easy in practice to 
 distinguish the various parts of speech j but 
 very difficult, if at all possible, to gi%*e ae« 
 eurate definitiMiS' of them. 
 
 He observes justly, that, besides that 
 kind of speech called a pnpmiiionf which is 
 always either true or false, there are other 
 kinds which are neither true nor false, such 
 as a payer or wish ; to whidi we may add, 
 a question, a command, a promise, a con- 
 tract, and many others. These Aristotle 
 pronounees to have nothing to do with his 
 subject, and remits them to oratory or 
 'ioeiry ; and so they have remained banished 
 mm tlie regions of philosophy to this day : 
 jet I apprehend that an analysis of such 
 speeches, and of the operations of mind 
 which they express, would be of real use, 
 and 'perhaps would discover how imperfect 
 an enumeration the kigicians have given of 
 the powers of human understanding, when 
 thev leducO' them to .Simple Apprehension, 
 Judgment, and Seasoning.* 
 
 Seeiim FI, 
 
 tm pBOFosunoxs. 
 
 Matlieniaticians use the word Propoti^ 
 .Mm hk a larger sense than Iii^gwians. A 
 f fobfem. is called a pmpodihm in mathema- 
 HoRf but in logic it is not a proposition ; it 
 ii mm of those speeches, which are not enun- 
 •iativ% and which Aristotle lemitS' to 
 oratory or poetry. [?] 
 
 * Thlt CRimerntion wm narerinteiMled by logiciani 
 fbr ■ g^iifial ptydMlogicai analyti*, but merely for a 
 tfiei'ml iBUineration ot those faculties the law» of 
 •tokh wtffe i^ropoied to kigic, as iti object matter.-. H. 
 
 A FmposiHm, according to Aristotle, is 
 a ipeech wherein one thing it i^ffirmedor 
 denied of another. Hence, it is easy to 
 distinguish the thing affirmed or denied, 
 which is called the Predicat-^y from the 
 thing of which it is affirmed or denied, which 
 is called the Subject ; and tliese two are 
 called //i^ Terms of the proposition. Henc^ 
 likewise, it appears that propositions are 
 either affirmahoe or negative ; and Uiis is 
 called their Quality. All affirmative propo- 
 sitions have the same quality, so likewise 
 have all negative ; but an affirmative and a 
 negative are contrary in their quality. 
 
 When the subject of a proposition is s 
 general term, the predicate is affirmed or 
 denied either of the whole, or of a part. 
 Hence propositions are distinguished into 
 Mniocrmt and particular, " All men are 
 mortal,*' is an universal proposition ; " Some 
 men are learned," is a particular ; and this 
 is called the Quantity of the proposition. 
 All universal propositions agree in quantity, 
 as also all particular ; while an universal and 
 a particular are said to differ in quantity. 
 A proposition is called indefinite when there 
 is no mark either of universality or particu- 
 krlty annexed to the subject : thus, " Man 
 is of few days," is an indefinite proposition ; 
 but it must be understood either as univer- 
 sal or as particular, and therefore is not a 
 third species, but, by interpretation, is 
 brought under one of the other two.* 
 
 There arealso«tiij7t</ar propositions, which 
 have not a general term, but an individual, 
 for their subject ; as, " Alexander was a 
 great conqueror." These are considered 
 by Logicians as universal, because the sub- 
 ject being indivisible, the predicate is 
 affirmed or denied of the whole, and not of 
 a part only. Thus, all propositions, with 
 regard to quality, are either affirmative or 
 ne^tive { and, with regard to quantity, are 
 universal or particular ; and, taking in both 
 quantity and quality, they are universal 
 affirmatives, or universal negatives, or paf- 
 ticular affirmatives or particular negatives. 
 These four kinds, after the days of Aristotle, 
 came to be named by the names of the foiur 
 first vowels. A, E, I, O, according to the 
 following distich ; — 
 
 Assent /%, negat E, sed univenaliter ambs ; 
 Asaerit I, negat O, ted pariiculariter anibo.f 
 
 When the young Logician is thus far in- 
 structed in the nature of propositions, he is 
 apt to think there is no difficulty in analyz- 
 ing any proposition, and shewing its subject 
 and predicate, its quantity and quality ; 
 and, mdeed, imless he can do this, he will 
 be unable to apply the rules of logic to use. 
 Yet he will find there are some difficulties 
 
 * The term ind^nite ought to be discardwl in this 
 relation, and replaced by indesignaU, — H. 
 
 t The history of the>e and the other logical verses 
 iscuriou*, but, I may say, to Logicians unknown.— H. 
 
 SECT. VI.] 
 
 AltlSrOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 693 
 
 in this analysis, which are overlooked by 
 Aristotle altogether ; and although they are 
 sometimes touched, they are not removed 
 by his followers.* For, 1. There are propo- 
 sitions in which it is difficult to find a sub- 
 ject and a predicate ; as in these, " It rains," 
 **It snows.'* 2. In some propositions, either 
 term may be made the subject or the predi- 
 cate, as you like best ; as in this, " Virtue is 
 the road to happiness.'* 3. The same ex- 
 ample may serve to shew that it is some- 
 times difficult to say, whether a proposition 
 be imiversal or particular. 4. The quality 
 of some propositions is so dubious that 
 Logicians have never been able to agree 
 whether they be affirmative or negative ; as 
 in this proposition, " Whatever is insentient 
 is not an animal.** 5. As there is one class 
 of propositions which have only two terms, 
 viz., one subject and one predicate, which 
 are called Cfitegorical-\- propositions, so there 
 are many classes that have more than two 
 terms. What Aristotle delivers in this 
 book is applicable only to categorical propo- 
 sitions ; and to them only the rules con- 
 cerning the conversion of propositions, and 
 concerning the figures and modes of syllo- 
 gisms, are accommodated. The subsequent 
 writers of logic have taken notice of some 
 of the many cksses of complex propositions, 
 and have given rules adapted to them ; but, 
 finding this work endless, they have left us to 
 manage tlie rest by the rules olconmion sense. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THB FIRST ANALYTICS. 
 
 Section L 
 
 OF THB CONVXBSION OF PROPOSITIONS. 
 
 In attempting to give some account of 
 the Analytics and of the Topics of Aristotle, 
 ingenuity requires me to confess, that, 
 though I have often purposed to read the 
 p with care, and to understand what is 
 intelligible, yet my courage and patience 
 alwa>8 failed before I had done. Why 
 should I throw away so much tune and 
 painful attention upon a thing of so little 
 real use ? If I had lived in those ages 
 when the knowledge of Aristotle's Or- 
 ganon entitled a man to the highest 
 rank in philosophy, ambition might have 
 induced me to employ upon it some years 
 of painful study; and less, I conceive, 
 would not be sufficient. [?] Such reflections 
 as these always got the better of my resolu- 
 
 * The difficulties that follow admit of a very easy 
 ■olution H. 
 
 t 1 WAS the firit, as far as I am aware, who ob. 
 served that the tsrm xxTtiy^mof |g, by Aristotle, 
 used may in the sense ol uJirtrntivc^U. 
 
 tion, when the first ardour began to cool. 
 All I can say is, that I have read some 
 parts of the different books with care, some 
 slightly, and some, perhaps, not at all. I 
 have glanced over the whole often, and, 
 when anything attracted my attention, have 
 dipped into it till my appetite was satisfied. 
 Of all reading, it is the most dry and the 
 most painful, employing an infinite labour 
 of demonstration, about things of the most 
 abstract nature, delivered in a laconic style, 
 and often, I think, with affected obscurity ; 
 and all to prove general propositions, which, 
 when applied to particular instances, appear 
 self-evident.* 
 
 There is probably but little in the Cate- 
 gories, or in the book of Interpretation, that 
 Aristotle could claim as his own inven- 
 tion [?] ; but the whole theory of syllo- 
 gisms he claims as his own, and as the 
 fruit of much time and labour. And indeed 
 it is a stately fabric, a monument of a great 
 genius, which we could wish to have been 
 more usefully employed. There must be 
 something, however, adapted to please the 
 human understanding, or to flatter human 
 pride, in a work which occupied men of 
 speculation for more than a thousand years. 
 These books are called Analytics, because 
 the intention of them is to resolve all rea- 
 soning into its simple ingredients. 
 
 The first book of the First Analytics'^ con- 
 sisting oifurty-six chapters^ may be divided 
 into four parts ; the first f A] treating of 
 the conversion of propositions ; the second, 
 [ B,l of the structure of syllogisms, in all the 
 different figures and modes; the thu-d, [C,] 
 of the invention of a mid lie term ; and the 
 last, [D,] of the resolution of syllogisms. 
 We shall give a brief account of each. 
 
 [A] To convert a proposition is to infer 
 frtjm it another proposition, whose subject is 
 the predicate of the firsts and whose predi- 
 cate i* the subject of the first, f This is re- 
 duced by Aristotle to three rules : — 1. An 
 universal negative may be converted into 
 an universal negative : thus, " No man is a 
 quadruped ;" therefore, " No quadruped is a 
 man.'* 2. An universal affirmative can be 
 converted only into a particular affirmative : 
 thus, " All men are mortal ;" therefore, 
 "Some mortal beings are men." 3. A particu- 
 lar affirmative may be converted into a par- 
 ticular affirmative: as, ** Some men are 
 just;" therefore, " Some just persons are 
 men'* When a proposition may be con- 
 verted without changing its quantity, this is 
 called simple conversion ; but when the quan- 
 tity is diminished, as in the imiversal af- 
 firmative, it is called conversion per accidens. 
 There is another Itind of conversion 
 
 * This is unjust. Aristotle attempts rw proof ot 
 these general propositions, ; he only shews that their 
 denial involves a contradiction.— H. 
 
 t It might t>e added, " the quality remaiiiing al. 
 ways the samc."->H. 
 
JM 
 
 A BRIEF ACCiOUNT OF 
 
 [chap. iir. 
 
 •EOTg. iir. — v.] 
 
 AEISIOTLB'S LOGIC. 
 
 095 
 
 In this place by Aristotle, but Bop- ' 
 
 'pied by bw fniiiwers, called mmer9hn % 
 ioiilr«jMftli<iti, in wliich the term that is 
 Mntadktory to the predieate is put for the 
 ■iliieol, and the quality of the proposition 
 itobanged ;* as, ^ All animals are sentient t** 
 iMreforo, *' What is insemtHiit is not an 
 ■nlmal." A fourth rule of eontenion there- 
 iiteis. That an nniTersal afiinnative, and a 
 fnrtioabur negative, may be eooTerted by 
 
 ion. 
 
 BW 'THB FI6I;RB8 AnB M0DB8 OF PURE 
 SVUOIilSlft* 
 
 A sviLooisM t« nil mrgumeni, or 
 rmiomngyf emtkUMff [aliM|yff| ggpHeitlp or 
 
 iiiifilM%,] qfArm pngmMom, ike ia$i qf 
 9M§k^ mUmi A$ coNCLVSiOif, it [meeimri- 
 %] iti^tfrmi from the [vorp ataimmnt of the] 
 iimpreeeSn^f whiohmre called ihe pbsmisbs. 
 'Hm^ 'OoneluBioii hafing' Ivo tonn% a subject 
 mM m iiraiiflal% ito pmHoaie h oalled the 
 WM^' ierm^ and its snbjeet' Ae minor term. 
 In (nder to prove the conclusion, each of 
 its terms is, in the premises, compared with 
 the third term, called the middle term. By 
 this means one of the premises will have for 
 ili tmi teimfl' the major term and the mid- 
 dle term; and this premise is called the 
 mmnim^f or the major proposition of 
 
 the ■yllogism. The other premise must 
 have for its two terms the mmor term and 
 
 (he middle term, and it is called the minor 
 ,fiPejMfilJiM. Thus the syllefiim consists 
 <if Hiiee'propoBitioiis, dislli^lehed by the 
 of the major, the mliior, and the 
 ion I and, although each of these has 
 tire terms, a subject aiids predicate, yet 
 there are only three diiSmst terms m all. 
 Hie major term is alwap the predicate of 
 the conelnslon. and is also either the snb- 
 jeet or predicate of the major proposition. 
 The minor term li always the subject of the 
 eeDflluaion, and is also either the subject or 
 pedlcale' of the minor preposition. The 
 middle term never enten^ Into the conclu- 
 sion, but stands in both premises, either m 
 the petitaon of subject or of predicate. 
 
 AmmMnff f# m§ mmm pontiom wMeh 
 lie Middk Tmm map kme in tkepremi$e»f 
 ikiloffimm mm said to betf vaHous Figures^ 
 Mew, all the possible positions of the mid- 
 dle term are only /oiir ; for, first, it may be 
 the subject of the major proposition, and 
 the predieate of the minor, and then the 
 syllogism is of the first figure ; or it may 
 
 * In tliif conversion, consider Subject and PredU 
 
 Mie M Cbanged Into their contradictoriea, and thus 
 
 ttwrnialltf inbothpropoeitinn!} remains idcntKal.~H. 
 f HiMtlMl fcniit ihould be (iw Aristotle hat it) a 
 %weci' or MmmdtiMm : for all"** ■■gtiment or reuon. 
 Itig" li ■ ftyllogitiii or icric* of itylltigisiiii.— ii. 
 
 be the predicate of both premises, and then 
 the syllogism is of the second figure ; or it 
 may be the subject of both, which makes a 
 syllogism of the third figure ; or it may be 
 the predicate of the major proposition, and 
 the subject of the minor, which makes the 
 fourth figure* Aristotle takes no notice of 
 the fourth figure. It was added by the fa» 
 mous Galen,* and is often called the Galen' 
 ieal Figure, 
 
 There is another division of syllogisms 
 according to their Modes. The Mode of a 
 epilogism is determined by the Quality and 
 Quantity of the propositions of which it con^ 
 sists, £ach of the three propositions must 
 be either an universal affirmative, or an 
 universal negative, or a particular affirm- 
 ative, or a particular negative. These four 
 kiniia of propositions, as was before ob- 
 served, have been named by the four 
 vowels, A, E, I, O ; by which means the 
 mode of a syllogism ia marked by any three 
 of those four vowels. Thus, A, A, A, de- 
 notes that mode in which the major, minor, 
 and conclusion, are all universal afiirma- 
 tives ; E, A, E, denotes that mode in which 
 the major and conclusion are universal ne- 
 gatives and the minor is an universal affirm- 
 ative. 
 
 To know all the possible modes of syl- 
 logism, we must find how many difTerent 
 combinations may be made of three out of 
 the four vowels ; and from the art of com- 
 bination the number is found to be sixty- 
 four. So many possible modes there are 
 in every figure, consequently in the three 
 figures of Aristotle there are one hundred 
 and ninety-two, and in all the four figures 
 two hundred and fifty-six. 
 
 Now, the theory of syllogism requires 
 that we shew what are the particular modes 
 in eeeh figure, which do or do not form a 
 
 {'uat and conclusive syllogism, that so the 
 egitimate may be adopted, and the spuri- 
 ous rejeeted. This Aristotle has shewn in 
 the first three figures, examining all the 
 modes one by one, and passing sentence 
 upon each; and from this examination he 
 collects some rules which may aid the 
 memory in distinguishing the false froni 
 the true, and point out the properties ot 
 each figure. 
 
 The JirM figure has only four legitimate 
 modes. The major proposition in this figure 
 must be universal, and the minor affirm- 
 ative 5 and it has this property, that it yields 
 conclusions of all kinds, affirmative and 
 negative, universal and particular. 
 
 The second figure has also four legiti- 
 mate modes. Its major proposition must 
 be universal, and one of the premises must 
 be negative It yields conclusions both 
 uuivereal and particular, but all negative. 
 
 * Inil«re*-iil>le, ihotigh unifertslljr i>elicved-.[L 
 
 The third figurehsia six legitimate modes. 
 Its minor must always be affirmative ; and 
 it yields conclusions both affirmative and 
 negative, but all particular. 
 
 Besides the rules that are proper to each 
 figure, Aristotle has given some that are 
 common to all, by which the legitimacy of 
 syllogisms may be tried. These may, I 
 think, be reduced to five. 1. There must 
 be only three terms in a syllogism. As 
 each term occurs in two of tho propositions, 
 it must be precisely the same in both : If 
 it be not, the syllogism is said to have four 
 terms, which makes a vitious syllogism. 
 2. The middle term must be taken uni- 
 versally in one of the premises. 3. Both 
 premises must not be particular proposi- 
 tions, nor both negative. 4. The conclu- 
 sion must be particular, if either of the 
 premises be particular; and negative, if 
 either of the premises be negative. 6. No 
 term can be taken universally in the con- 
 clusion, if it be not taken universally in the 
 premises. 
 
 For understanding the second and fifth of 
 these rules, it is necessary to observe, that 
 a term is said to be taken universally, not 
 only when it is the subject of an universal 
 proposition, but when it is the predicate of 
 a negative proposition ; on the other hand, 
 a terra is said to be taken particularly, when 
 it is either the subject of a particular, or 
 the predicate of an affirmative proposition. 
 
 Section III, 
 
 OF TUB INVBNTION OP A MmOLE TERM. 
 
 [C] The third part of this book contains 
 rules, general and special, for the invention 
 [discovery] of a middle term ; and this the 
 author conceives to be of great utility. The 
 general rules amount to this — That you are 
 to consider well both terms of the proposi- 
 tion to be proved; their definition, their 
 properties, the things which may be affirmed 
 or denied of them, and those of which they 
 may be affirmed or denied ; these things, 
 collected together, are the materials from 
 which your middle term is to be taken. 
 
 The special rules require you to consider 
 the quantity and quality of the proposition 
 to be proved, that you may discover in what 
 mode and figure of syllogism the proof is to 
 proceed. Then, from the materials before 
 collected, you must seek a middle term 
 which has that relation to the subject and 
 predicate of the proposition to be proved, 
 which the nature of the syllogism requires. 
 Thus, suppose the proposition I would prove 
 is an universal affirmative, I know, by the 
 rules of syllogisms, that tliere is only one 
 legitimate mode iu which an universal 
 affirmative proposition can be proved ; and | 
 
 that is the first mode of the first figure. I 
 know likewise that, in this mode, both the 
 premises must be universal affirmatives; 
 and that the middle term must be the sub- 
 ject of the major, and the predicate of the 
 minor. Therefore, of the terms collected 
 according to the general rule, I seek out 
 one or more which have these two proper- 
 ties ; first, That the predicate of the pro- 
 position to be proved can be universally 
 affirmed of it ; and, secondly. That it can 
 be universally affirmed of the subject of the 
 proposition to be proved. Every term you 
 can find, which has those two properties, 
 will serve you as a middle term, but no 
 other. In this way, the author gives spe- 
 cial rules for all the various kinds of pro- 
 positions to be proved ; points out the vari- 
 ous modes in which they may be proved, 
 and the properties which the middle term 
 must have to make it fit for answering that 
 end. And the rules are illustrated, or ra- 
 ther, in my opinion, purposely darkened, 
 by putting letters of the alphabet for the 
 several terms.* 
 
 Section I V. 
 
 OM THB REMAINING PART OF THE FIRST 
 BUUK. 
 
 The resolution of syllogisms requires no 
 other principles but those before laid down 
 for constructing them. However, it ia 
 treated of largely, and rules laid down for 
 reducing reasoning to syllogisms, by sup- 
 plying one of the premises when it is under- 
 stood, by rectifying inversions, and putting 
 the propositions in the proper order. 
 
 Here he speaks also of hypothetical syl- 
 logisms ;"t* which he acknowledges cannot 
 be resolved into any of the figures, although 
 there be many kinds of them that ought 
 diligently to be observed, and which he 
 promises to handle afterwards. But this 
 promise is not fulfilled, as far as I know, 
 iu any of his works that are extant. 
 
 Section V, 
 
 . OF TUB SECOND BOOK OF THE FIRST 
 ANALYTICS. 
 
 The second book treats of the powers of 
 
 * The purely /orma; character of lo^ic requires an 
 alistraction from all determinate mailer ; which is 
 best shewn through the application of universal and 
 otherwise unmeaning symbols. This is admirably 
 stated by tlie Aphrodisian. < It would, indeed, have 
 been well had Aristotle always rigidly excluded 
 everything not fornuil from his logical treatises.— H. 
 
 t The hypothetical syllogisms of Aristotle were 
 diffierent from our hypothetical syllogisms~which, 
 with the term CuUvori'-nl in its ptrwnt sense, are an 
 inheritance from 'i*heo|«hra>tu« and Euderaus.— H, 
 

 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 fcUAP. IV, 
 
 •yUogisms, and ahews, in iwmtp^imen chapm 
 tersj how we mjiy perform many leata by 
 them, and what figures and modes are 
 
 adapted to eaeh. Thus, in some syllogisms, 
 aeireral disclniit conoliiaiimB may be drawn 
 imm the same premises; in some, true 
 eonelusions may be drawn from false pre- 
 mises ; in some, by assuming the conclu- 
 abn and one premise, yon may prove the 
 otlwr; you may turn a direct syllogism 
 into one leading to an absurdity. 
 
 We have likewise precepts given in this 
 hook, 'both, to th® assailant in a syllogistical 
 dispute, how to eany on his attack, with 
 art, ao as to obtain the victory, and to the 
 JfllBiidant, how to keep the enemy at such 
 %■ diatanee' aa 'that he shall never be obliged. 
 to yield. Wmm which we learn, that Aris- 
 totle introduced in his own school the prac- 
 tice of syllogistical disputation, instead of the 
 rhetorical disputations which the Sophists 
 wont to Hi® k more ancient times.* 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 mpiAEKa*' 
 Seciim f. 
 
 Of THE CONVBESIOJI OP PBOPOSITIONS. 
 
 W« ha¥e given a summary view of the 
 theory of pur© syllogisms as delivered by 
 Aristotle, a theory of which he claims the 
 sole invention. Aitd I believe it will be 
 difficult, in any science, to find so krge a 
 system of truths of so Tory abstract and so 
 general a nature, all fortified bjdsmonstra- 
 tion, and all invented and perfected by one 
 man. It shews a force of genin«, and la- 
 honr of investigation, equal to the most 
 arduous uttempts. I shall now make some 
 remarks upon it. 
 
 As to the conversion of propooitions, the 
 writers on logic commonly satisfy them- 
 selves with illustrating each of the rules by 
 an example, conceiving them to be self- 
 evident, when applifsd to particular cases. 
 But Aristotle has given dMionstrations of 
 the rules he mentions. As a specimen, I 
 shall give his demonstration of the first 
 rule. '* Let A B be an universal negative 
 proposition ; I say, that if A is in no B, 
 It wUl follow that B is in no A. If you 
 deny this consequence, let B bein some 
 A, for ejumple, in C ; then the first sup- 
 poaition will not be true ; for € is of the 
 Bs.** In this dMiiiinatration, if I under- 
 ■tand it, the third rule of conversion is as- 
 aumed, thai, ifS U in mmm J, I/im A mmt 
 b§ m mmm M^ which indeed is contrary to 
 
 • IiMKMSitrat*: Me below, under the If antlstkNi at 
 
 ibt eonclmion «rclui|iteff iv. § S.— H. 
 
 the first supposition. If the third rule be 
 assumed for proof of the first, the proof of 
 all the three goes round in a circle ; for the 
 second and third rules are proved by the 
 first. This is a fault in reasoning which 
 Aristotle condemns, and which I would be 
 very unwilling to charge him with, if I 
 could find any better meaning in his de- 
 monstration. But it is indeed a fault very 
 difficult to be avoided, when men attempt 
 to prove things that are self>evident.* 
 
 i '"""" ""'"" "" ""' 
 
 * Thit objection doe§ credit to Reid's acutenets* 
 If just, it materially afitect* the logical iippeccabilitj 
 of Aristotle; and, what is remarkable, it is one 
 taken by some of the oldest of the (ireek logicians 
 tlltiDsclves. It is not. however, valid. Alexander 
 of Aphrodiaias. the oldest of Aristotle's expositors 
 now extant, tells us, in his commentary oh this text, 
 (it is in the I'rior Analytics, Book 1. ch. \\). that 
 some doubted, in regard to this demonstration of the 
 first rule of conversion, whether Aristotle ha«l not 
 employed in it the third rule — that by which particti^ 
 tor aflirmativc propositions are declared simply con. 
 vertme: thus committing a twofold violation of the 
 Isws of reasoning — 1", In using as a medium of proof 
 what had not yet itself been proved ; and, 'J9, In thus 
 employing what was itself subsequently proved 
 through the very canon which it is here applied to esta- 
 Mifh. Besides these charges of un(c» w^ort^ot and 
 h^XXtlXtt, Philoponus records also another; but, aa 
 this is, in it-telf, of little weight, and not relevant to 
 the matter in hand, I will simply translate (with 
 occasional abridgment and emendation, fur the text 
 Is very corrupt,) the satisfactory answer which Alex- 
 ander gives to the objection stated. It is aa fol- 
 lows T— 
 
 " This mode of procedure is confestedly vicious. 
 But Aristotle has not been guilty of it, as they be. 
 lieve. In the sequel, he will undoubtedly manifest 
 iitl^u) the convertibility of particular affirmatives 
 through that of universal negatives ; hut he does not, 
 at present, evince the convertibility of universal ne- 
 gatives, by assuming that of particular affirmatives. 
 He fairly demonstrates (SiUvun) his thesis, and doea 
 not employ It as a concession ; lor, on principles aU 
 ready settled, he shews it manifested and esta- 
 blished. These principles are vs ««r« wettros and ri 
 xKToc uriii*is, [the dictum de omni and the dictum 
 de nnllo.2 anil to in «Am and to fy fjtxitu, [the dictum 
 in toto and dictum in uuUo;'} and, by the application of 
 these, does he evince the convertibility of pureunivcr. 
 sal negatives. ♦ It being supposed,' h says, • that A 
 is in Tor is pretlicalile of] no B, it follows from this 
 that B is in [or is pte«licable of] no A j for, if B is in 
 some A, let it be in C. Now, C is contained under 
 the logical whole, A, (I» oX«, in toto, A ;) A will, 
 therefore, be universally predicated of it, (*«t« 
 ir«*T«f, de omni,) But C la a lart of B ; A, iheie- 
 fore, will I'e predicated of a part of B. But the prim- 
 ary hy|>othesis wns that A is predicable of nr> B {de 
 nuUo B ;) and the dictum de uullo is, that there is no 
 part of B of which A can be predicated. 
 
 •« Farther, from the very form of the expression, 
 it Is manifest that the demonstration does not pro. 
 ceed on the convertibility of particular affirmatives. 
 For he does not say—// B is in some A, A will Ijc in 
 someB; for this would have been to demonstrate 
 through the rule of particular affirmatives. But, in 
 the sequel, when he demonstrates the convertibility 
 of particular affirmatives, he employs to that eml the 
 convertibility of univi-rsaJ negatives, l-orhesays— •// 
 B U in tio A. A is in no B.' thus employing the first 
 rule aa eatabli»hed and confessed; whereas, in now 
 demonstrating that rule it«elf, he docs noi assume as 
 established the convertibility of particular affirmatives. 
 But, there being held out in a concrete individual ex. 
 ample, (i«W/tM»o(,) C as a part of A, he ground* on 
 this his demonstration— B not being prtdiccted of C 
 as a particular, but aR a singular. It cannot, there- 
 fore, be maintained that he employed the reciproca- 
 tion of particular affirmatives, but the dictum dc omni 
 
 ■EOT. II.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC, 
 
 697 
 
 The rules of conversion cannot be applied 
 to all propositions, but only to those that 
 are categorical, and we are left to the di- 
 rection of common sense in the conversion 
 of other* propositions. To give an ex- 
 ample : " Alexander was the sou of Philip ;'* 
 therefore, " Philip was the father of Alex- 
 ander:** '* A is greater than B ;*' therefore, " B 
 is less than A.-|-*' These are conversions 
 which, as far as I know, do not fall within 
 any rule in logic ;!{: nor do we find any loss 
 for want of a rule in such cases. 
 
 Even in the conversion of categorical 
 propositions, it is not enough to transpose 
 the subject and predicate. Both must un- 
 dergo some change, in order to fit them 
 for their new station ; for, in every propo- 
 sition, the subject must be a substantive, 
 or have the force of a substantive ; and the 
 predicate must be an adjective, or have the 
 force of an adjective. Hence it follows, 
 that when the subject is an individual, the 
 proposition admits not of conversion. § How, 
 for instance, shall we convert this proposi- 
 tion, " God is omniscient" ?|| 
 
 These observations shew, [?] that the 
 
 and the dictum in toto, as his medium of demonstra. 
 tion. 
 
 •« It is, however, better perhaps, and more agreeable 
 to the context, to hold, that Aristotle made his de. 
 monstration to sense through the holding up or ejcpo- 
 
 tiiion of an individual {IkQio-is, expositio — hence, sin- 
 gular propositions and syllogisms are called exposi- 
 tory'}} and not in the manner previously stated, nor 
 syliogistically. For the eapository mode of demon- 
 stration is brought to bear through flense, and not 
 syllogistic.:lly. Fur C is taken as %oxy\e exitoscd &nA 
 sensible part of A, and aliio as an individual pari of 
 B. C is thus a part at once of A and of B ; is con- 
 lained under both these logical wholes ; and when 
 A is predicated of C, as its own |>ar[, it will also be 
 
 predicated of a part of B 
 
 Thus, if it be agreed that 
 
 Man is in no Horse, [that no Horse is a Man'] ; and 
 if it be not admitted, e convcrso, that Horse is in no 
 Man, ^that no Man is a Horse] ; let us supjiose that 
 Horse is in some Man, [that some Man is a Horse], 
 and let this Man he Thenn. Man will therefore he 
 in some Horse, [some Horse will be a Man], for 
 Theon is, ex hpitothesi, both a Man and a horse. 
 But this is, as contradictory, imposAible ; for it was 
 originally agretd, that Man is in no Horse, [that no 
 Horse is a Man]," &c. 
 
 It is to be noticed, that the terms which I have 
 iBually translated denwnstrate and demonstration, 
 are only itlxt'VfM and hu^ts, and never itwtiuxnfu 
 and ««ro3i<|if . 
 
 1 may notice, before concluding this note, the 
 simpler process by which Theophrastus and Kudemus 
 formally evinced the first rule of conversion ; this 
 also is recorded iiy Alexander. *' Let it be 8upi>o$ed 
 that A can be predicated o» no B. Now, if not pre- 
 dicable of, it is disjoined from, B. B, therefore, is 
 also disjoined from A ; and if disjoined from, is not 
 pndicauleof. A."— H. 
 
 * Tiiis is incorrect. Hypothetical 'pro\yof\i'\OTti can 
 be converted per contrapositionetn ,- and Di^nctivc, 
 per contrapositionem and per accidcns. — H. 
 
 t These propositions are categorical ; they cannot 
 the>efore be given as examples of propositions, 
 •* other" than categorical. — H. 
 
 ? But this himply because they are beyond the 
 sohere of logic, being nmterial not formal convcr- 
 sions.— H. 
 
 i This is erroi)eou8.->H. 
 
 )• By saying—" An, or the, omniscient; is God." 
 
 doctrine of the conversion of propositions 
 is not so complete as it appears. The rules 
 are laid down without any limitation ; yet 
 they are fitted only to one class of propo- 
 sitions — viz., the categorical ; and of these 
 only to such as have a general term for 
 their subject. 
 
 Section II, 
 
 ON ADDITIONS MADE TO AR1ST0TLK*S 
 THEORY. 
 
 Although the logicians have enlarged the 
 first and second parts of logic, by explain- 
 ing some technical words and distinctions 
 which Aristotle had omitted, and by giving 
 names to some kinds of propositions wliich 
 he overlooks, yet, in what concerns the 
 theory of categorical syllogisms, he is more 
 full, more minute and particular, than any 
 of them ; so that they seem to have thouglit 
 this capital part of the Organon rather 
 redundant than deficient. 
 
 It is true that Galen [?] added a fourth 
 figure to the three mentioned by Aristotle. 
 But there is reason to think that Aristotle 
 omitted the fourth figure, not through ig- 
 norance or inattention, but of design, as 
 containing only some indirect modes, which, 
 when properly expressed, fall into the first 
 figure. 
 
 It is true also that Peter Ramus, a pro- 
 fessed enemy of Aristotle, introduced some 
 new modes that are adapted to singular 
 propositions ; and that Aristotle takes no 
 notice of singular propositions, either in his 
 rules of conversion, or in the modes of syl- 
 logism. But the friends of Aristotle have 
 shewn that this improvement of Ramus is 
 more specious than useful. Singular pro- 
 positions have the force of universal propo- 
 sitions, and are subject to the same rules. 
 The definition given by Aristotle of an 
 universal proposition applies to them ; and 
 therefore he might think, that there was no 
 occasion to multiply the modes of syllogism 
 upon their account.* 
 
 These attempts, therefore, shew rather 
 inclination than power to discover any ma- 
 terial defect in Aristotle's theory. 
 
 The most valuable addition made to the 
 theory of categorical s} Uogisnis seems to be 
 the invention of those technical names given 
 to the legitimate modes, by which they w.ay 
 be easily remembered, and which have been 
 comprised in these barbarous verses : — 
 
 Barbara, Celarent,Xkirii, Fmo.dato prime j 
 Cesare, Camestres, Festino, Baroco, secund» ; 
 Tertia grandesonans recitat Darapti, Fdapton, 
 Adjuitgens Dtsamis, Datisi, Bocardo, Fcrison.-\ 
 
 * There are other and better reasons forthcomis. 
 sion : but they are not unnoticed by Aristotle.— H. 
 
 t This is one of the many variations of these verses 
 but not the original edition.— H. 
 
A BRIEF ACCX)UNT OF 
 
 [OMAP. IV. 
 
 In these ireraefy mmj legitimnto mode be- 
 longing to the three: igtms hm m name 
 given to it, hj whidi. it mmy he diatinguiflhed 
 awl. .nmemlieied. And this name is so 
 MOlriired as to denote its nature ; for the 
 name has three vowels, which denote the 
 Mnd of each of its propositions. 
 
 Thus, a Sjvilogism in Bocardo must be 
 made up of the propositions denoted by the 
 llmo vowels, O, A, O ; that is, its major 
 and conclusion must be particular negative 
 popositioiWy and its minor an universal 
 sfirniative ; and, being in the third figure, 
 the middle term must be the subject of both 
 
 This is the mystery contained in the 
 'Voweb of those harbaiOQi words* But there 
 an other mysteries, eontsiiied 'in their con- 
 sonants ; for, by their moans, a child may 
 bo taught to reduce an7»jnogism of the 
 second or third figure to one of the first 
 io thai the four modes of the first figure 
 'heiqg dl:r«ctly proved to lie conclusive, all 
 ihe modes of the other two are proved at 
 the same time, by means of this operation 
 HI .rewieiioii. r or tiie mieS' tam maimer of 
 this :ndiwtlon, and the different siMciea of 
 it, 'Oaied. l<iimet orl offtfMtw, and Undifeei 
 or] p«- impoMIe, I refer to the LogieUns, 
 that I may not disclose all their mysteriea 
 
 The invention contained, in these verses 
 is so ingenious, and so great an adminicle 
 to the dexterous management of syllogisms, 
 tliat I think it very probable that Aristotle 
 iai mam wmtflvaiiee of this kind, which 
 «■■ :|bs|iI' aa one 'Of ' the^ secret doetrines^ of 
 .lliS' .sehool, and 'handed down by tradition, 
 ■Biil some person brought it to light This 
 is oflbred only as a conjecture, leaving it to 
 those who are better acquainted with the 
 most ancient commentators on the Ana* 
 |grtic%. either to .nlnle or confirm it* 
 
 SMWM III* 
 
 ON miukmrhm usxn tO' ullustuatb this 
 
 'TIV'Rfllt.V 
 
 We may observe, that Aristotle liard.ly 
 •ver gives examples of real sylli^gisms to 
 illu8trato his rules. In demonstrating the 
 Iflgitimato modes, he takes A, B, C, for the 
 tems of the syllogism. Thus, the first 
 niode of the irst figure is dem.onstfated by 
 Umin this manner : — ** For,** says he, " if 
 A is attributed to every B, md § to every 
 C, it follows necessarily, that A may be 
 attributed to every C.** For disproving 
 the aiegitimate modea, he uses the same 
 manner ; with this difference, that he com- 
 monly, for an example, gives three real 
 
 •Tliiii floii|«ctaK. I tegm to my, U imH borne out. 
 
 terms, such as bonumf habitus^ prudentia : 
 of which three terms you are to make up a 
 syllogism of the figure and mode in question, 
 which will appear to be inconclusive* 
 
 The commentators and systematical 
 writers in logic have supplied this defect, 
 and given us real examples of every legiti- 
 mate mode in all the figures. We ackuow- 
 lodged this to be charitably done, in order 
 to assist the conception in matters so very 
 abstract ; but whether it was prudently done 
 for the honour of the art, may be doubted. 
 I am afraid this was to uncover the naked- 
 ness of the theory. It has undoubtedly 
 contributed to bring it into contempt ; foi 
 when one considers the silly and uninstruc- 
 tive reasonings* that have been brought 
 forth by this grand organ of science, he can 
 hardly forbear crying out — 
 " FariuriufU montaj natcdur rfdieulut mm.** 
 
 Many of the writers of logic are acute 
 and ingenious, and much practised in the 
 syllogistical art; and there must be some 
 r^aso^n why the examples they have given 
 of syllogisms are so lean.-f- 
 
 We sliall speak of the reason afterwards ; 
 
 ♦ Thii muit refer to the concrete examples given 
 hf LoKiciann, in iiluftratioii of their rules. Had they 
 
 given, or attempted to give instruct ion beyond the 
 are significance of these rules, they would have been 
 indeed very "Silly." See next note. Lopic also, it may 
 be oljseivcd, is no '• orfjtm qf science^" memiing by 
 this, an insiniment of discovery. — H. 
 
 t Why, these examples, instead of being merely 
 Ihxni riught to have been bare Itonvg ,- and the I.ogi- 
 ctans merit the reproach of having failed in making 
 their xkeletons fat, for attempting to give them a 
 garniture o' flesh at all. To the symbols of Aristotle 
 they should have stuck. Logic is the xcience of the 
 laws (if ihoHftht oji thowjht— that is, of the necessary 
 conditions to which thought, considered hi itself, is 
 iubject. This is technically called its Form. Logic, 
 therefore, suppuses an abstraction from ail consiiler. 
 ation of the /;j<i««-rof thought— that istheinHnitudc 
 of determinate olyec s in relation to one or oihcr ol 
 which it Is actually raaniiestod Now, the principal 
 reproach which can be fairly urged against logical 
 authors, is, that they have never realized to the 
 science its ideal beauty, by reducing it to a f)urely 
 formal system ; that they have never yet fully dis. 
 engaged it from the material gliine out of which it 
 has so painfully been working its way, and with 
 which it still continues to be soiled. Reid's reproich, 
 on the other hand, and that of many others, is, that 
 Logic is not wholly a mat<'ria( science; that it is 
 not an instrumeni of objective discovery ; that its 
 instances are uninstructive— are not an epitome, or 
 comolement of the omne scibiU\ He thus reproaches 
 Logic for not being something other than what it is j 
 for not performing what it never professed ; nay, 
 for not performing what no single science can ef- 
 fect.— Again, if it be said that l.ogic, as a formal 
 science, is a lean and barren doctrine — be it so. But 
 this reproach onlv afll-cts the science through its 
 object. Now, this object is ti.e legislation of thought ; 
 and, if the laws and prrcesses which it displays be 
 unimportant and uninteresting, they are the laws 
 and processes by and through which, and which alone, 
 what is nearest to us and noblest in creation executes 
 its marvels *• On earth, there is nothing great but 
 Man ; in Man, there is nothing great but Mind." 
 It is not, surely, imagined that there arc other laws 
 and proce sesof thought competent to the human 
 intellect, besides those of which Logic is the exposl. 
 tion. All "discourse of reason" is and must be 
 syllogistic ; what is beyond the syibgism is beyond 
 us.— H. 
 
 SECT. IV.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 m9 
 
 and shall now give a syllogism in each 
 figure as an example. 
 
 No work of God is bad ; 
 
 The natural passions and appetites of 
 
 men are the work of God ; 
 Therefore, none of them is bad* 
 In this syllogism, the middle term, 
 " work of God,*' is the subject of the major, 
 and the predicate of the minor ; so that the 
 syllogism is of the first figure. The mode 
 is that called Celarent ; the major and con- 
 clusion being both universal negatives, and 
 the minor an universal atfirmative. It 
 agrees to the rules of the figure, as the 
 major is universal, and the minor affirma- 
 tive ; it is also agreeable to all the general 
 rules ; so that it maintains its character in 
 every trial. And to shew of what ductile 
 materials syllogisms are made, we may, by 
 converting simply the major proposition, 
 reduce it to a good syllogism of the second 
 figure, and of the mode Cesare, thus :— 
 Whatever is bad is not the work of God; 
 All the natural passions and appetites 
 
 of men are the work of God ; 
 Therefore, they are not bad. 
 Another example : 
 
 Every thing virtuous is praiseworthy ; 
 Some pleasures are not praiseworthy ; 
 Therefore, some pleasures are not vir- 
 tuous. 
 Here the middle term, " praiseworthy," 
 being the predicate of both premises, the 
 syllogism is of the second figure ; and see- 
 ing it is made up of the propositions, A, O, 
 O, the mode is Baroco, It will be found to 
 agree both with the general and special 
 rules ; and it may be reduced into a good 
 syllogism of the first figure, upon convert- 
 ing the major by contraposition, thus : — 
 What [ever] is not praiseworthy is not 
 
 virtuous ; 
 Some pleasures are not praiseworthy ; 
 Therefore, some pleasures are not vir- 
 tuous. 
 That this syllogism is conclusive, common 
 sense pronounces, and all Logicians must 
 allow; but it la somewhat unpliable to 
 rules, and requires a little straining to make 
 it tally with them. 
 
 That it is of the first figure is beyond dis- 
 pute ; but to what mode of that figure shall 
 we refer it ? 
 
 This is a question of some difficulty ; for, 
 in tlie first place, the premises seem to be 
 both negative, which contradicts the third 
 general rule ; and, moreover, it is contrary 
 to a special rule of the first figure, That 
 the minor should be negative. These are 
 the difficulties to be removed. 
 
 Some Logicians think that the two nega- 
 tive particles in the major are equivalent to 
 an affirmative; and that, therefore, the 
 major proposition, " What[ever] is not 
 praiseworthy is not virtuous," is to be ac- 
 
 counted an affirmative proposition. This, 
 if granted, solves one difficulty; but the 
 other remains. The most ingenious solu- 
 tion, therefore, is this. Let the middle term 
 be " not-praiseworthy." Thus, making the 
 negative particle a part of the middle term, 
 the syllogism stands thus : — 
 
 Whatever is not-praiseworthy is not 
 
 virtuous ; 
 Some pleasures are not-praiseworthy ; 
 Therefore, some pleasures are not vir- 
 tuous. 
 By this analysis, the major becomes an 
 universal negative, the minor a particular 
 affirmative, and the conclusion a particular 
 negative, and so we have a just syllogism 
 in Ferio. 
 
 We see, by this example, that the quality 
 of propositions is not so invariable, but that, 
 when occasion requires, an affirmative may 
 be degraded into a negative, or a negative 
 exalted to an affirmative. * 
 Another example : 
 
 All Africans are black ; 
 All Africans are men ; 
 Therefore, some men are black. 
 This is of the third figure, and of the 
 mode Darapti ; and it may be reduced to 
 Darii m the first figure, by converting the 
 
 minor. 
 
 All Africans are black ; 
 
 Some men are Africans ; 
 
 Therefore, some men are black. 
 By this time I apprehend the reader has 
 got as many examples of syllogisms as will 
 stay his appetite for that kind of entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 Section IV, 
 
 ON THE DEMONSTRATION OF THE THEORV. 
 
 Aristotle and all his followers have thought 
 it necessary, in order to bring this theory 
 of categorical syllogisms to a science, to de- 
 monstrate both that the fourteen authorised 
 modes conclude justly, and that none of the 
 rest do. Let us now see how this has been 
 
 executed. 
 
 As to the legitimate modes, Aristotle and 
 those who follow him the most closely, de- 
 monstrate the four modes of the first figure 
 directly from an axiom called the Dictum 
 de om ni et nullo. The amount of the axiom 
 is, That what is affirmed of a whole genus 
 mat/ be affirmed of all the species and tndt' 
 viduals bdonqing to that genus ; and thai 
 what is denied of the whole genus may bede^ 
 nied of [all] its species a nd individuals. I he 
 four modes of the first figure are evidently 
 included in this axiom. And as to the le- 
 gitimate modes of the other figures, they 
 are proved by reducing them to some mode 
 
 * This is net, in reality, the case— H. 
 
A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 t/>u A n tv 
 
 of the int Nor is tlieve any other principle 
 ■asimifid. 'm thmo i»iii«li<iiM. hnl the axioms 
 eoMMrBinf the oonversioti. nf propositions, 
 mod, in some cases^ the axioms concerning 
 the opposition of propositions. 
 
 As to the iUegitimite modes,. Aristotle has 
 taken the hihonr to try 'and oondenm them 
 one by one in all the three ignies : But this 
 is done in snch a manner ^mt it is very 
 fainful to follow him. * To give a specimen : 
 III order to prove that those modes of the 
 inl figure, tu which the mauor is particular, 
 do not coneludtti he prooecothus :~" If A 
 is, or IS not, in some B, and B in every C, 
 no eonelnsion follows. Take for the terms 
 "la the affirmative 'flaa% .jmnmIi kaidt^ pru- 
 dmm i in the negative, .fWNf. koMt^ %iior. 
 unctf.** This laeonie style, the use of sym- 
 bols not familiarjf and, in place of giving 
 an example^, his .kavii^ us to form one 
 ffom. three aaaigned terms, give such em- 
 'banrasBDMat to a reader, 'that he is like one 
 reading a book of riddles. 
 
 Having thus ascertained the true and 
 lUse modes of a figuroi he subjoins the par- 
 iieohr rules of that figure,, which seem to 
 be deduced from the particular oases before 
 determined. The general rules come last 
 of aU, aa a general coroUary fhnu what goes 
 before. 
 
 I know not whether it is from a diffidence 
 of AristoCle^s demonstrations, or from an 
 apprehension of their ohscurity, or from a 
 d^ of improving upon his method, that 
 ahnost all the writers in logic I have met 
 with have inverted his orfer, beginning 
 where he ends, and ending where he begins. 
 n^y fint demonstrate the general rules, 
 whim, 'belong to all the figures, from three 
 laiioms; then, from the ge&enl rules and 
 the nature of each figure, they demonstrate 
 the special rules of each figure. When this 
 is done, nothing remains but to apply these 
 general .and special rules, and to reject every 
 mode which contradicts them.^ 
 
 This method has a very scientific appear- 
 'anco} and when we consider that, by a few 
 rules once: demoMtiated, an hundred and 
 scventj.eigbt falio modes are destroyed at 
 
 * It Biiitt be ncoliectcd tliat AriOotle was the 
 ilwiMir or lilt mMme : ami. tlist it «m tequitlte foi 
 .MBi tO' timw aiticitlaulf wiMt,. la MMMtquciice o( 
 iliat nuniifestatinn, bit nioceiaon bsve mm wtr. 
 ffibCid in aitMnntng.— H. 
 
 f Fmni the nature anditximi of Atprsfiotllive ar. 
 tide in Greeit. tuch ■ymbola » re fkr ItM vague than in 
 mir lanffiMtge or in Latin t at the »aine time, itahoutd 
 be KSMNiilieml, llial tlioae to whom Aristotle addrea. 
 a* d btflMilf|iftn alfmdy familiar with the aiiplication 
 of MMtb mnbelf— 'Wathematica beiag the iist brancii 
 Of Jufwlle iiMtiuetion Mmong the Oiacfci. It ia liltely, 
 lUO,. ilist: tbtte letlm were relative Co diagnuna, the 
 Im «C viMl iii later comroeDtaton bavecndavoured 
 io mmtf* Clf the intriniic propriety of using a sym. 
 bolieu DdatiiNi in Li«ic, I bave elaewhere apoken. 
 
 I l.aeli onier la proper in itt filMmt tbc Analytic 
 iir 'llM' ^eatabliilinciii | tbe ifiitMliciir lie teaching 
 
 •fa. iciiiiea^~li« 
 
 one blow, which Aristotle had the trouble 
 to put to death one by one, it seems to be a 
 great improvement I have only one oh- 
 jection to the three «ioms.« 
 
 The three axioms are these : I. Things 
 which agree with the same third agree 
 with one another. 2. When one agrees 
 with the third, and the other does not, 
 they do not agree with one another. 3» 
 When neither agrees with the third, you 
 cannot thence conclude, either that tney 
 do, or do not agree witli one another. If 
 these axioms are applied to mathematical 
 quantities, to which tliey seem to relate 
 when taken literally, they have all the evi- 
 dence that an axiom ought to have ; but 
 the Logicians apply them in an analogical 
 sense to things of another nature. 1 n order, 
 therefore, to judge whether they are truly 
 axioms, we ought to strip them of their 
 figurative dress, and to set them down in 
 plain English, as the Logicians understand 
 them. They amount, therefore, to this : — 
 1. If two things be affirmed of a third, or 
 the third be affirmed of them ; or if one be 
 affirmed of the third, and the tliurd affirmed 
 of the other; then they may be affirmed 
 one of the other. 2. If one is affirmed of 
 the third, or the third of it, and the other 
 denied of the third, or the third of it, they 
 may be denied one of the other. 3. If both 
 are denied of the third, or the third of them, 
 or if one is denied of the third, and the 
 third denied of the other, nothing can he 
 inferred. 
 
 When the three axioms are thtis put in 
 pUin English, they seem not to have that 
 degree of evidence which axioms ought to 
 have ; and, if there is any defect of evidence 
 in the axioms, this defect will be communi- 
 cated to the whole edifice raised upon them. 
 
 It may even be suspected, that an at- 
 tempt, by any method, to demonstrate tliat 
 a syllogism is conclusive, is an impropriety 
 somewhat like that of attempting to demon- 
 strate an axiom. In a just syllogism, the 
 connection between the premises and the 
 conclusion is not only real, but immediate ; 
 so that no proposition can come between 
 them to make their connection more appar- 
 ent. The very intention of a syllogism is 
 to leave nothing to be supplied that is neces- 
 sary to a complete demoustration. There- 
 fore, a inac of common understanding, who 
 has a perfect comprehension of the pre- 
 mises, finds himself under a necessity of 
 admittmg the conclusion, supposing the 
 premises to be true ; and the conclusion is 
 connected with the premises with all the 
 force of intuitive evidence. In a word, an 
 immediate conclusion is seen in the pre- 
 
 * These three axioma are not thus employed by 
 Logiciana in neneral i and they have bcsn oDen, 
 Juatiy, and severely criticised, as a faulty application 
 of Matbcmatical language to Logical notions.— H. 
 
 •HOT. v.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 701 
 
 mises by the light of conmion sense ; and, 
 where that is wanting, no kind of reasoning 
 will supply its place. * 
 
 Section V, 
 
 ON THIS THEORY, CONSinERKn AS AN BNGINB 
 OF SCIENCE. j* 
 
 The slow progress of useful knowledge, 
 during the many ages in which the syllo- 
 gistic art was most highly cultivated as the 
 only guide to science, and its quick progress 
 since that art was disused, suggest a pre- 
 sumption against it ; and this presumption 
 is strengthened by the puerility of the ex- 
 amples which have always been brought to 
 illustrate its rules. :{: 
 
 The ancients seem to have had too high 
 notions, both of the force of the reasoning 
 power in man, and of the art of syllogism as 
 its guide. Mere reasoning can carry us 
 but a very little way in most sulijects.§ 
 By observation, and experiments properly 
 conducted, the stock of human knowledge 
 may be enlarged without end ; but the 
 power of reasoning alone, applied with vig- 
 our through a long life, would only carry a 
 man round like a horse in a mill, who la- 
 bours hard but makes no progress. There 
 is indeed an exception to this observation in 
 
 *The observations contained in this paragraph, 
 which have been adopted and expanded by Mr Sew- 
 art, are, in my opinion, without application .There 
 is no Logician I am aware of who has attempted to 
 demonstrate that a spUogism is conclusive ; though 
 many have taken difflrent modes of scientifically 
 stating the principles which constitute its native evi. 
 deuce and neces^ity Aristotle's definition of the 
 airllogism, which has been generally adopted, of itself 
 anews how superfluous are these remarks. As this 
 definition is not given by Reid, I (>hall quote it :->** A 
 syllogism is a speech, in which certain things [the pre. 
 mists] t)eing supposed, something different Horn what 
 is >'Upp«Jsed nhe conclusion] follows of necessity, 
 and this solely in virtue of (he suppositions them, 
 selves." And Aicxantlcr, in his commentary on this 
 definition, thus expianis— what no logician ever 
 dreamt of doubting— the/omki; necessity q? the con- 
 sequaice in all spllof/isms : — " But when .v ristotle 
 says, 'follows of necessity,' this docs not mean that the 
 cut>cluMon, as a pmposiiion in itself, should neces. 
 sarily be true ; for this ii the case only in syllogisms 
 of necessary matter ; but that tlie conclusion, be its 
 matter what it mat/— actual, conlinf/ent, or necessary 
 ^ must follow of necessity from Vie premises; for, 
 even if the conclusion be (materially considered) con. 
 tingent, hiill it cannot but result from prop sitions 
 standing in sylloijistical connection. His words do 
 not, therefore, denote that the conclusion should Ih; 
 a necessary proposition ; but the nature of the rela- 
 tion in which the coiclusion stands, tu the pre- 
 mltes."— (0?i First Doi>k ofUie Prior Analytics, t. 8, 
 a. ed. Aid.}— Into Logic ought oever to have been 
 introduced a consideration of the differences of 
 Matter at all ; it should- have been limited exclu. 
 sively to the Form ; and t!ius would have been avoided 
 the mistakes so prevalent in regard to its object and 
 end — U. 
 
 t As an etujinc'<if science, an instrument'^ of *di$- 
 wvery, logic never, even by the schoolmen, was pro. 
 posed.-H. 
 
 I See above, p. 699, b, notes.— H. 
 
 _ Does " mere 'reasoning" mean. reasoning apart 
 IVom the conditions of an object matter?— H. 
 
 the mathematical sciences. The relations 
 of qtmntity are so various, and so suscep- 
 tible of exact mensuration, that long trains 
 of accurate reasoning on that subject may 
 be formed, and conclusions drawn, very 
 remote from the first principles. It is in 
 this science, and those which depend upon 
 it, that the power of reasoning triumphs ;* 
 in other matters, its trophies are inconsider- 
 able. If any man doubt tliis, let him pro- 
 duce, in any subject unconnected with ma- 
 thematics, a train of reasoning of some 
 length, leading to a conclusion which, with- 
 out this train of reasoning, would never 
 have been brought within human sight. 
 Every man acquainted with mathematics 
 can produce thousands of such trains of 
 reasoning. I do not say that none such can 
 be produced in other sciences ; but I be- 
 lieve they are few, and not easily found , 
 and that, if they are found, it will not be in 
 subjects that can be expressed by categori- 
 cal propositions, to which alone the theory 
 of figure and mode extends. 
 
 In matters to which that theory extends, 
 a man of good sense, who can distinguish 
 things that differ, who can avoid the snares 
 of ambiguous words, and who is moderately 
 practised in such matters, sees at once all 
 that can be inferred from the premises, or 
 finds that there is but a very short step to 
 the conclusion. 
 
 When the power of reasoning is so feeble 
 by nature, especially in subjects to which 
 this theory can be applied, it would be un- 
 reasonable to expect great effects from it. 
 And hence we see the reason why the ex- 
 amples brought to illustrate it by the most 
 ingenious Logicians have rather tended to 
 bring it into contempt. 
 
 If it should be thought that the syllo- 
 gistic art may be an useful engine in mathe- 
 matics, in which pure reasoning has ample 
 scope : First, it may be observed. That 
 facts are unfavourable to this opinion : For 
 it does not appear that Euclid, or Apol- 
 lonius, or Archimedes, or Huygens, or New- 
 ton, ever made the least use of this art ; 
 and I am even of opinion that no use can 
 be made of it in mathematics. -j- I would 
 not wish to advance this rashly, since Ari- 
 
 * If, by "power of reasoning," be understood 
 mental force, that u less exerted in mathematics than 
 in any other intellectual putsuit. As Warburton 
 truly says, " Mathematical demonstration is thceasii.t 
 exercise of reason." In another sense, Reid's observ- 
 ation is correct.— H. 
 
 t Mathematical, like all other reasoning, i<;sylIo. 
 gislic ; but, h( re, the perspicuous necessity of the mat- 
 ter necessitates the correctness qf the form : we cannot 
 reason wrong. Logic, whether natural or acquired, 
 is thus less exercised in mathematics than in any 
 other department oi science ; ai d on this account it 
 is that mathematical study is the very worst gymnas- 
 tic of the intellect— the very worst preparative tOr 
 reasoning correctly on miitters (and these are only 
 not all the ohjects of human concernment) in which 
 the mind must actively precede, and not passively 
 follow the evolution of its object*. — H. 
 
ii! 
 
 im 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [crap, vn 
 
 'iif'a»iiifi#'Mfl'iiil1i«inl.iiiif4ii What 
 M 'Mm 'to ftliik.10' was, tlist'tlw"iMt''igii:i» 
 only yields conclusions that are universal 
 ■od affirmative, and the oonaliiaioiw of ma- 
 HwimiliM. afe •commonly of that Mwd.^ But 
 il is to U olwefved, that the ptopositions of 
 nailiemiitlca aw not categorical proposi- 
 tions, consisting of on© suhject and one 
 ffudicftte. They express some relation 
 which on© fuantity bears to another, and 
 on that attsoont must have tliree terms. 
 The quantities compared make two, and the 
 relation between them is a third. Now, to 
 such propositioni w© can neitlier apply the 
 rales concerning tli© conwsMion of propo- 
 aitions, nor can they enter into a •jjlogim 
 of any of the igures or modes. We ob- 
 served before, that this conversion, A t« 
 greaier ihtm ii, therefore B is less than A, 
 does not fall within the rules of conversion 
 given by Aristotle or the Logicians ;• and 
 v© now add, that this simple reasoning, 
 J is eqml to B, mid B to C, therefore A is 
 wqmi Id t\ cannot be brought into any syl- 
 logiam in fgnre and mode.+ There are 
 indeed syllogisms into which mathematical 
 proMimtions may enter, and of such w© 
 flhil alorwardii ai^ak x but they have no- 
 thing' to do 'wiHi 'tho Byitmi of figure and 
 
 When we go without th© circle of the 
 
 msthenatieal. isciences, I know nothing in 
 whieh there seems to be so much demon- 
 ■lailion as in that part of logic which treats 
 of the figures and modes of syllogism ; but 
 
 the few remarks w© have made, shew that 
 it has some weak j^lmm [f J ; and, besides, 
 ibis system caniiot. bo lied af^ an aigino to 
 rear ittelf.:!^ 
 
 The compass of the syllogiatio system, § 
 ■8 an engine of science, may be discerned 
 
 • See above, p. (¥7* a, note t.— H. 
 t Not as it rtands ; for, 8» cxpreated, thii reason- 
 tagji tlliptiGaL Kxplicitly •tated. it is as follows :— 
 inWrt mt ttmi to the same, amc eqmi to amA 
 
 '•Ola*',* 
 
 by a eompendions and goneral view of tha 
 conclusion drawn, and the argument used, 
 to prove it,* in each of the three figures. 
 
 In the first figure, the conclusion affirms 
 or denies something of a certain species or 
 individual; and the argument to prove* 
 this conclusion is, That the same thinff map 
 &e affirmmi or denkd nf the whole genus to 
 which that .f pedes or inflimdual belongs. 
 
 In th© second figure, the conclusion is, 
 That some species or individual does not 
 belong to such a genus ; and the argument* 
 is. Thai some attribute common to the whole 
 ffitiit dofs not belong to that species or indi- 
 
 In the third fi|ure, the conclusion is, 
 That such an attnbute belongs to part of 
 a genus ; and the argument* is. That the 
 atiribuie in qi*estion belongs to a species or 
 individual which ie part of that genus. 
 
 I apprehend that, in this short view, 
 every conclusion that falls within the com- 
 pass of the three figures, as well as the mean 
 of proof, is comprehended. The rules of 
 all the figures might be easily deduced from 
 it; and it appears that there is only one 
 principle of reasoning in all the three ; so 
 that it is not strange that a syllogism of 
 one figure should be reduced to one of an- 
 other figure. 
 
 The general principle in which the whole 
 terminates, and of which every cate;;orical 
 syllogism is only a particular application, 
 is this, That what is affirmed or denied qf 
 the whole genua may be affirmed or denied 
 of eoerp epedes and individual belonging 
 to it. This is a principle of undoubted 
 certainty indeed, but of no great depth. 
 Aristotle and all the Logicians assume it as 
 an axiom, or first principle, from which 
 the syllogistic system, as it were, takes its 
 departure ; and, after a tedious voyage, and 
 great expense of demonstration, it lands at 
 last in this principle, as its ultimate conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 Omrmkominwmi Oquamum est inrdmsinamn 
 
 A <ifMlCawifi«iltol*««>»«Ws 
 Wmdbm, A. oM C'Om emai to muM 
 
 •• 
 
 Or li«W.epilil liawe iniiii a rate wmk In the Col- 
 taff!' Librarf of Olasgow, which it mliht hate been 
 profitatile for Wm to consult— vii., an edition of tm 
 ftrtt six bonks of Euclid, by Herlinus ai^d Dasypo- 
 dltm, in which ewery dcniouat ration is developed in 
 iwular sit'lotisitts. Bat this developeneot did not 
 :nMletMytiogtsilc what. WM not syllogistic irnm the 
 lM|fnislat->lt only sbtiis tha* it was alwayn so. 
 .AJtaiMaiiiig la not. tie tew tyllitflsiic, because not 
 iimtally enoanccd In two otdeily prenitiM and a 
 condiwion. 'This, howevix, is the notion Ibat 'nuMf 
 if those who have written aiiout and against loflCi 
 aaiiQ to have entertained. "^H. 
 
 i Wbich ifl not atteiniit«d.—H. 
 
 I ••^'Hio CoMMii of tbo Sfllnfisttc System" la 'the 
 mSapm .of the reasootof facutty of nun. I may no. 
 tUmT^wmm, that Logidans hate aetua ly over. 
 tooled the better half of Ixjaic: excliiiifel| consi. 
 daring the reasoning in the Whole of Extetmon, and 
 tacept in one aceldental variety of SyliogUro, and 
 tbe iiecttbar matiiw of tbia ahw "»«y dW not under. 
 slaaitf} alogBtlier miiobifrf:aaiof that in the Whole 
 of OoiipnficfifliM. But tbls bj Ibe way.— fi. 
 
 SeetioH VI, 
 
 ON MOOAL SYLLOGISMS. 
 
 Categorical propositions, besides their 
 quantity and quality, have another affec. 
 tion, by which they are divided mto pure 
 and modal-t In a pure proposition, tho 
 
 * For •« argument to prove," &c . read, •• |»«wi". 
 meOe principle lehich legitimates."— it. 
 
 f '/he end of all science is the reduction of the 
 msnv to the one. I« Logic, then, to be derided for 
 accornulislnnK t his end t Astronomy is not an empty, 
 beacujo a simple, science ; nor is La FImc unhoH. 
 ourod lor hating shewn the universal sufficiency ror 
 its phtenomena of tl>e single principle ot gravitation. 
 Butsteabove, p. (W, b, notci— H. 
 
 t The Modality of proj»o»ilions and syllogisms is a 
 real cr MetaphMsieal, and not a fhrmal or L4Mf,mi 
 
 Ii 
 
 ■HOT. TI.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 703 
 
 predicate is barely affirmed or denied of the 
 subject ; but, in a modal proposition, the 
 affirmation or negation is modified, by being 
 declared to be necessary^ or contingent^ or 
 possible, or impossible. These are the four 
 modes observed by Aristotle,* from which 
 he denominates a proposition modaL His 
 genuine disciples maintain, that these are 
 all the modes that can affect an affirmation 
 or negation, and that the enumeration is 
 complete. Others maintain, that this enu- 
 meration is incomplete ; and that, when an 
 affirmation or negation is said to be certain 
 or uncertain, probable or improbable, this 
 malces a modal proposition, no less than the 
 four mode? of Aristotle. We shall not 
 enter into this dispute, but proceed to ob- 
 serve, that the epithets of pure and modal 
 are applied to syllogisms as well as to pro- 
 positions. A pure syllogism is that in which 
 both premises are pure propositions. A 
 modal syllogism is that in which either of 
 the premises is a modal proposition. 
 
 The syllogisms of which we have already 
 said so much, are those only which are pure 
 as well as categorical. But, when we con- 
 sider, that, through all the figures and modes, 
 a syllogism may have one premise modal of 
 any of the four modes, while the other is 
 pure, or it may have both premises modal, 
 and that they may be either of the same 
 mode, or of different modes, what prodigious 
 variety arises from all these combinations ? 
 Now, it is the business of a Logician to 
 shew how the conclusion is affected in all 
 this variety of cases. Aristotle has done 
 this in his first Analytics with immense 
 labour ; and it will not be thought strange 
 that, when he had employed only four 
 chapters in discussing one hundred and 
 ninety-two modes, true and false, of pure 
 syllogisms, he should employ fifteen upon 
 modal syllogisms. 
 
 I am very willing to excuse myself from 
 entering upon this great branch of logic, 
 by the judgment and example of those who 
 cannot be charged either with want of re- 
 spect to Aristotle, or with a low esteem of 
 tlie syllogistic art. 
 
 Keckennanu, a famous Dantiscan pro- 
 fessor, who spent his life in teaching and 
 writing logic,t in his huge folio system of 
 that science, published anno 1600, calls the 
 doctrine of the modals the cruo" Logicorum. 
 
 affteiion. It ought, therefore, as I have shewn, on 
 priruii)le, to he wholly excludoil from Logic. See 
 Edinburgh liericw, vol. Ivii. p. 315, sq.— H. 
 
 * Aristotle has two enumerations of the Modes ; — 
 the one now mentioned, and another in the same 
 chapter, cofnprehendmg, besides the four stated, also 
 the true and the/alse. Modes are indefinite in num. 
 ber; and his Oreeli expositors contend that Aristotle 
 did not mean to enumerate all, but only to signalize 
 the more importanL-~H. 
 
 t Keckerinann died at the age of thirty seven, 
 and, be>ides Systems of Logic, a greater and less, 
 leltSj/ttemt of thirteen other sciences, with various 
 bulky treatises en faiiiiular sulijcits.— 1 . 
 
 With regard to the scholastic doctors, 
 among whom this was a proverb, De modali 
 nan gustabit asinus, he thinks it very dubi- 
 ous whether they tortured most the modal 
 syllogisms, or were most tortured by them. 
 But those crabbed geniuses, says he, made 
 this doctrine so very thorny that it is fitter 
 to tear a man's wits in pieces than to give 
 them solidity. He desires it to be ob- 
 served, that the doctrine of the modals is 
 adapted to the Greek language. The 
 modal terms were frequently used by the 
 Greeks in their disputations, and, on that 
 account, are so fully handled by Aristotle ; 
 but, in [disputations in] the Latin tongue, 
 you shall hardly ever meet with them. Nor 
 do I remember, in all my experience, says 
 he, to have obs'jrved any man in danger of 
 being foiled in a dispute, through his ignor- 
 ance of the modals.* 
 
 This author, however, out of respect to 
 Aristotle, treats pretty fully of modal pro- 
 positions, shewing how to distinguish their 
 subject and predicate, their quantity and 
 quality. But the modal syllogisms he 
 passes over altogether. 
 
 Ludovicus Vivos, whom I mention, not 
 as a devotee of Aristotle, but on account of 
 his own judgment and learning, thinks that 
 the doctrine of modals ought to be banished 
 out of logic, and remitted to grammar ; and 
 that, if the grammar of the Greek tongue 
 had been brought to a system in the time 
 of Aristotle, that most acute philosopher 
 would have saved the great labour he has 
 bestowed on this subject.^ 
 
 Burgersdy k, after enumerating five classes 
 of modal syllogisms, observes, that they re- 
 quire many rules and cautions, which Aris- 
 totle hath handled diligently ; but that, as 
 the use of them is not great, and their rules 
 difficult, he thinks it not worth while to 
 enter into the discussion of them ; recom- 
 mending to those who would understand 
 them, the most learned paraphrase of Jo- 
 annes Monlorius upon the first book of the 
 First Analytics. :J: 
 
 All the writers of logic for two hundred 
 years back, that have fallen into my hands, 
 have passed over the rules of modal syllo- 
 gisms with as little ceremony. § So that 
 this great branch of the doctrine of syllo- 
 gism, so diligently handled by Aristotle, 
 fell into neglect, if not contempt, even 
 while the doctrine of pure syllogisms con- 
 tinued in the highest esteem. Moved by 
 these authorities, I shall let this doctrine 
 rest in peace, without giving the least dis- 
 turbance to its ashes. 
 
 H. 
 
 * Si/stema Plenivs, L. L c. 3. Opera, i. p. 7'!- 
 
 t Vives De Causis Corrupt. Ariium, h. iii.^H. 
 
 i Kiirgerfidicii, Imtitut. Log. L. ii. c. 14 —M. 
 
 \ Modals iiave, indeed, been frequently treated 
 with neglect by Logical writers, but never, at le«« 
 till lately, formally exjjelled from the science.— H. 
 
701 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [chap. IV.] 
 
 [cflJkP. ^ —SECT. I.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 705 
 
 JSicH&n Fli, 
 
 0:M' STLI.0QISM8 THAT DO MOT BKLONQ TO 
 FIOURB AND' MODI.. 
 
 Aristotle gives some observations upon 
 imperfect syllogisms ; sucli as* the Enihjjf- 
 ■Mimr, in which one of the premises is not 
 
 dXpressecl, but understood.;* Indmeiiim, 
 wherein we 'Oollect an univerHil from a full 
 enumeration of particulars ; and Esampie, 
 whkh ii an imperfect induction. The 
 Logieiaas have copied Aristotle, upon these 
 lEindfi of reaaoMngi without any consider- 
 able improvenMDt. But, to corapeosate 
 the modal syllogisms, which they have laid 
 aside, they have given rules for several 
 kinds of syllogism, of which Aristotle takes 
 no notice. These may be reduced to ^wo 
 ektsaetm 
 
 The fimi ekss comprehends the syllo- 
 gisms into which mijtmdmdmf r£»tnctive,f 
 mteeptim, or redupHmMmf proposition 
 enters. Such propositions aro by some 
 called Ejtpmdbkf by others Imperfectly [or 
 Ammlari/f ] Modal, The rules given with 
 regard to these are obvioii% from a just in- 
 terpretation of the propositions. 
 
 The second class is that of Mifpothetieal 
 syllogisms, which take that denomination 
 from having a hypothetical proposition for 
 one or both premises. Most Logicians give 
 the name of kifpoihelkal to all complex 
 propositions which have more terms than 
 one subject and one predicate.^ I use the 
 word in this hirge sense, and mean, by hy- 
 'poihetical syiogiMU, all those in which 
 oilher of the premises consists of more terms 
 than two. How many various kinds there 
 maf be of such syllogiama, has never been 
 .MMitMn.ed. The Logi«iMia have given 
 namea^ to some ; such m 11m cofwlnltoe, the 
 mmdiimmif (by some called htfpalkeikai,) 
 and the di^'itmMw, 
 
 Such syllogiims cannot be tried by the 
 rules of ignro and mode. Every kind 
 would require rules peculiar to itself. Lo- 
 gicians have given niles for some kinds ; 
 but there are many that have not so much 
 aS' f ifie naniOa 
 
 The BMmtmm is considered by most Lo- 
 gicians as a species of the disjunctive syllo- 
 eism.S A remarkable property of this kind 
 
 * Tlili is tkft viiliar oiiliilfwi. rtgmdiuf Arittotlt'i 
 Biitlifnitiiif » tat, •• I Mf c •hevii, 'iwc the corrtct. 
 nm mmmi^ Review, va. Ivii, p. 881, iq— H, 
 
 f HediijplfMflv^. and SinemmUm, are two afieclct of 
 AnfrMitW prcipositions.— H. 
 
 I lliii abutlve e»i»ioyiiient of the term HppomeH. 
 mI, !■ not iwictiMiM 't/f the iMt iMkiaii*. nor even 
 by IliefMIISi Mtnber. ffypmetkaiMBd Conditional 
 oufhl iO' lie Moi. m conveitiblt tmtm, See Juiin. 
 
 iiityi: Mmim, vol. wt ^ Jf Ja-H. 
 
 I mta U !li«illf iccuraie. Itie .pttttr number of 
 
 lJMie.i«Di floudder It as an hfpolliiiical rcoi»litian.al) 
 Sflloglsn.; »iat. In tet. It Is Mb iffMCbetkal and 
 
 Is, that it may sometimes be happily re- 
 torted : it is, it 8eera8, like a hand-greuade, 
 which, by dextrous management, may be 
 thrown back, so as to spend its force upon 
 the assailant.* We shall conclude this 
 tedious account of syllogisms with a di- 
 lemma mentioned by Aulus Gellius, and 
 from him by many Logicians, as insoluble 
 in any other way.+ 
 
 " Euatblus, a rich young man, desirous 
 of learning the art of pleading, applied to 
 Protagoras, a celebrated sophist, to instruct 
 him, promising a great sum of money as his 
 reward ; one half of which was paid down j 
 the other half he bound himself to pay as 
 soon as he should plead a cause before the 
 judges, and gain it. Protagoras found him 
 a very apt scholar ; but, after he had made 
 good progress, he was in no haste to plead 
 causes. The master, conceiving that he 
 intended by this means to shift ofi'his second 
 payment, took, as he thought, a sure method 
 to get the better of his delay. He sued 
 Euathlus before the judges; and, having 
 opened his cause at the bar, he pleaded to 
 this purpose : — * O most foolish young man, 
 do you not see that, in any event, I must 
 gain my point ?— for, if the judges give sent- 
 ence for me, you must pay by their sent- 
 ence ; if against me, the condition of our 
 bargain is fulfilled, and you have no plea 
 left for your delay, after having pleaded and 
 gained a cause.' To which Euathlus an- 
 swered:~<0 most wise master, I might 
 have avoided the force of your argument, 
 by not pleading my own cause. But, giv- 
 ing up this advantage, do you not see that, 
 whatever sentence the judges puss, I am 
 safe ? If they give sentence for me, I am 
 acquitted by their sentence ; if against me, 
 the condition of our bargain is not fulfilled, 
 by my pleading a cause, and losing it.* The 
 judges, thinking the ai^uments unanswer* 
 able on both sides, put off the cause to a 
 long day.'*! 
 
 di»juncUve, and ought, therefore, to be styled the 
 Hypothetico- DUjunctive >ynogigm.— H. 
 
 » We must not confound the Dilcmira, or Hypotb- 
 e^(uDi&}ut\ci\ve Si/Uogism, and the Sophigm called 
 the Djleimna.— H. 
 
 t 1h tliw not an erratum ftr " any way ?" — H. 
 
 $ This »tt»ry is, by the Greek authors, generally 
 told of the Khetorician Curax (Ciow) and his ) U|iil 
 Tlskas. I'hc puzzled judges, in lieu of a decision on 
 the case, ai grily pronounccvl of plahitifTatid defend, 
 ant— K«xou xe(**oi ««*•» tic* (plaguy egg <if a 
 plagti]/ crow !J Hence the proverts.— H. 
 
 i 
 
 nHAPTER V. 
 AcanrKT ur thk rbmaikikg books of the 
 
 ORG ANON. 
 
 Section I, 
 
 OF the last analytics. 
 
 In the First Analytics, syllogisms are 
 considered in respect of their form ; they 
 are now to be considered in respect of their 
 matter. The form lies in the necessary 
 connection between the premises and the 
 conclusion ; and, where such a connection 
 is wanting, they are said to be informal, or 
 vicious in point of form. 
 
 But, where there is no fault in the form, 
 there may be in the matter — that is, in the 
 propositions of which they are composed, 
 which may be true ot falset probaUe or tm- 
 probnble. 
 
 When the premises are certain," and the 
 conclusion drawn from them in due form, 
 this is demonstration^ and produces science. 
 Such syllogisms are called apodictical, and 
 are handled in the two books of the Last 
 Analytics. When the premises are not cer- 
 tain, but probable only, such syllogisms are 
 called dialectical ; and of them he treats in 
 the eight books of the Topics. But there 
 are some syllogisms which seem to be per- 
 fect both in matter and form, when they 
 are not really so; as, a face may seem 
 beautiful which is but painted. These 
 being apt to deceive, and produce a false 
 opinion, are called sophistical; and they 
 are the subject of the book concerning 
 Sophisms. 
 
 To return to the Last Analytics, which 
 treat of demonstration and of science : We 
 shall not pretend to abridge those books, 
 for Aristotle's writings do not admit of 
 abridgement ; no man, in fewer words, can 
 say what he says ; and he is not often guilty 
 of repetition. We shall only give some of 
 his capital conclusions, omitting his long 
 reasonings and nice distinctions, of which 
 his genius was wonderfully productive. 
 
 All demonstration must be built upon 
 principles already known, and these upon 
 others of the same kind ; until we come at 
 last to first principles, which neither can 
 be demonstrated, nor need to be, being 
 evident of themselves. 
 
 We cannot demonstrate things in a circle, 
 supporting the conclusion by the premises, 
 and the premises by the conclusion. Nor 
 can there be an infinite number of middle 
 terms between the first principle and the 
 conelosion. 
 
 * In DemonttratiODi the pretnites mutt not only 
 bcfnic and eertaing but neceuarHy hx->I1. 
 
 In all demonstration, the first principles, 
 the conclusion, and all the intermediate 
 propositions, must be necessary, general, 
 and eternal truths ; for, of things fortuitous, 
 contingent, or mutable, or of individual 
 things, there is no demonstration. 
 
 Some demonstrations prove only, that 
 the thing is thus affected ; others prove, 
 why it is thus affected. The former may 
 be drawn from a remote cause, or from an 
 effect ; but the latter must be drawn from 
 an immediate cause, and are the most per- 
 fect. 
 
 The first figure is best adapted to demon- 
 stration, because it affords conclusions uni- 
 versally affirmative ; and this figure is com- 
 monly used by the mathematicians. 
 
 The demonstration of an affirmative pro- 
 position is preferable to that of a negative ; 
 the demonstration of an universal to that 
 of a particular; and direct demonstration 
 to that ad absurdum. 
 
 The principles are more certain than the 
 conclusion. 
 
 There cannot be opinion and science of 
 the same thing at the same time. 
 
 In the second book, we are taught, that 
 the questions that may be put with regard 
 to any thing are four : 1. Whether the thing 
 be thus affected, 2. Why it is thus affected. 
 3. Whether it exists. 4. What it is.* 
 
 The last of these questions, Aristotle, in 
 good Greek, calls the What is it of a thing 
 The schoolmen, in very barbarous Latin, 
 called this the quiddity of a thing. This 
 quiddity, he proves by many arguments, 
 cannot be demonstrated, but must be fixed 
 by a definition. This gives occasion to treat 
 of definition, and how a right definition 
 should be formed. As an example, he gives 
 a definition of the number three, and de- 
 fines it to be the first odd number. 
 
 In this book he treats also of the four 
 kinds of causes— efficient, material, formal, 
 B.nA final. 
 
 Another thing treated of in this book is, 
 the manner in which we acquire first prin- 
 ciples, which are the foundation of aU de- 
 monstration. These are not innate, be- 
 cause we may be, for a great part of life, 
 ignorant of them : nor can they be deduced 
 demonstratively from any antecedent know- 
 ledge, otherwise they would not be first 
 principles. Therefore he concludes, that 
 first principles are got by induction, from 
 the informations of sense. The senses give 
 us informations of individual things, and 
 from these by induction we draw general 
 conclusions ; for it is a maxim with Aris- 
 totle, That there is nothing in the under" 
 standinp which was not before in some sensed 
 
 * The natural order of the four queetioos, and as 
 they arecommonly enounced, it:— An sit— Quid Ht 
 —Quale tit— Cur sit.— H. 
 
 t Whether Aristotle admitted the Tirtual or po. 
 tentiai existence of an v a priori or native judg. 
 
706 
 
 A BEIBF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 COKAf^ V 
 
 iECT. III.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 707 
 
 ne hmmMgi'^ tot principles, as it k 
 not aoqiiind hj diUoiHtmtioiu ought not 
 to lie emUed science ; and therefore he calk 
 it itMMffmm itmk,} 
 
 Sieiion MI, 
 
 OF THB TOPica 
 
 Tlio pfofeiaed design of tlie Topics is, to 
 a method by which a man may be 
 able to reason with probability and con- 
 
 ■iitaiwj upon every question that can. 
 'Ocenr. 
 
 Every question is either about the gmm 
 of the subject, or its Mimeific Mff^renee, or 
 something proper to it, or something ocrl- 
 
 Tb fiiive tliat this division » complete, 
 Aristotle reasons thus ; Whatever is attri- 
 bnied to a subject, it must either be, that 
 the MiMeiitflsii be reciprocally attributed to 
 it, or tinal it cannot If the subject and 
 •ttriblite can be reciprocated, the attribute 
 either deebies what the subject is, and 
 then it is a definition ; or it does not de- 
 elafO' what the suMeet. is. and then it is a 
 inpenf . If the attribute cannot be re. 
 elpioeated, it must be something contained 
 in the definition, or not If it be contained 
 in the dainltion of the subject, it must 
 be the .oenit of the .mMeeL. or its spe- 
 'iiie diiimMe ; for the deinltiim. cons»ts 
 of these twok If it be not contained in the 
 doiiilioii of the subject, it must be an ac- 
 
 I'IIm' hratruinents by which we may sup. 
 fij ourselves with] the furniture proper 
 to fit a man for arguing dialectically may 
 be lednced. to these four heads: 1. [To 
 mabeeheieeef] probable propositions of all 
 sorts, whieb may on occasion be assumed 
 la an argument 2. [To take] dktine* 
 tinma of words which arenearlf of the same 
 ■knifieation. 3. [To mark the] distinctions 
 m things which are not so far asunder 
 but that they may be taken for one and the 
 ■■■la 4. [To consider] similitudes. 
 
 Hue Mcorad and the' ive following books 
 are taken. ii|i' in en'umerating the itfpkt or 
 .heads of aigoient that may be uwd in 
 
 SItioni about the genus, the definition, 
 ' pvopetties, and the aocidaita of a thing ; 
 .and. eeanionaJly he introduces the topies 
 '§n pnving 'things to be the same or diner^ 
 ent, and the topics for proving one thing 
 tn be better or worse than another. 
 ; In ihls' enumefation of topics, Aristotle 
 
 lit ImM that all principlet are 
 
 if' induction from rzpt. 
 'fii iiit f».iimg''te foilowen; and 
 luQCU on boCi' lidsi of n«aily equal 
 
 SMnita or 
 
 
 wwiiiBiiiieF 
 
 than the accuracy of method. The writers 
 of logic seem to be of this opinion ; for I 
 know none of them that has followed him 
 closely upon this subject. They have con- 
 sidered the topics of argumentation as re- 
 ducible to certain axioms. For instance, 
 when the question is about the genus of a 
 thing, it must be detennined by some axiom 
 about genus and species ; when it is about 
 a definition, it must be determined by some 
 axiom relating to definition, and thin<;s de- 
 fined ; and so of other questions. They 
 have therefore reduced the doctrine of the 
 topics to certain axioms or canons, and dis- 
 posed these axioms in order under certain 
 heads. 
 
 This method seems to be more commod- 
 ious and elegant than that of Aristotle. Yet 
 it must be acknowledged that Aristotle has 
 furnished the materials from which all the 
 logicians have borrowed their doctrine of 
 topics; and even Cicero, QuintilUn, and 
 other rhetorical writers, have been much 
 indebted to the topics of Aristotle. 
 
 He was the first, as far as I know, who 
 made an attempt of this kind ; and in this 
 he acted up to the magnanimity of his own 
 geniuB, and that of ancient philosopby. 
 Every subject of human thought had been 
 reduced to ton categories ; everything that 
 can be attributed to any subject, to five 
 
 ftredicables ; he attempted to reduce all the 
 brms of reasoning to fixed rules of figure 
 and mode, and to reduce all the topics of 
 argumentation under certain heads; and 
 by that means to collect, as it were, into 
 one store, all that can be said on one side 
 or the other of every question, and to pro- 
 vide a grand arsenal, from which all future 
 combatants might be furnished with arms, 
 offensive and defensive, in every cause, so 
 as to leave no room to future generations 
 to invent anything new. 
 
 The last book of the Topics is a code 
 of the laws according to which a syllogist- 
 ical disputation ought to be managed, both 
 on the part of the assailant and defendant. 
 From which it is evident, that this philoso- 
 pher trained his disciples to contend, not 
 for truth merely, but for victory.* 
 
 * The implication here is unfounded, and could 
 easily Ix; shewn tobeunjuat.— Imay notice that there 
 U nothing in regard to which, notions cruder, nar. 
 rower, or more crroneoui prevail, than in regard to 
 Disputation, it* nature, it« objects, and its ends; 
 nay, 1 make bold to say, that by no academical de- 
 generacy has the intellectual vigour of youth loat 
 more, than through the de«ui-tudc into which, during 
 these latter ages. Disputation, as a regular and daily 
 exercise in our univer»ittc<, has fallen. Before the 
 Invention of printing, when universities could vin. 
 dicate their necessity as orgaiu qfpublicati<m, Kxer- 
 eias, fud Di»))utation in particular, was ftiU teeof. 
 nised as their grand iiistrumeut of education ; whereas 
 now, when books arc but a drug, our protessors too 
 often content thcin«elve« with reciting in their class, 
 rooms, what can, with equal profit and far more con. 
 venience* be read at home 1 cannot, of ooiirst, 
 hera ■dditc* nj reasnni, historical and psycbologi. 
 
 Section III. 
 
 OF THE BOOK CONCERNING SOPHISMS. 
 
 A syllogism which leads to a false con- 
 clusion must be vicious, either in matter or 
 form; for, from true principles, nothing 
 but truth can be justly deduced. If the 
 matter be faulty— that is, if either of the 
 premises be false, that premise must be de- 
 nied by the defendant. If the form be faulty, 
 some rule of syllogism is transgressed ; and 
 it is the part of the defendant to shew what 
 general or special rule it is that is trans- 
 gressed ; so that, if he be an able logician, 
 he will be impregnable in the defence of 
 truth, and may resist all the attacks of the 
 sophist. But, as there are syllogisms which 
 may seem to be perfect both in matter and 
 form, when they are not really so, as a 
 piece of money may seem to be good coin 
 when it is adulterate, such fallacious syllo- 
 gisms are considered in this treatise, in or- 
 der to make a defendant more expert in the 
 use of his defensive weapons. 
 
 And here the author, with his usual mag- 
 nanimity, attempts to bring all the Fallacies 
 that can enter into a syllogism under thir- 
 teen heads ; of which sir lie in t/ie diction 
 or language^ and seven not in the diction. 
 
 The Fallacies in diction are, 1. When an 
 
 ambiguous word is taken at one time in 
 
 miT^e sense, and at another time in another. 
 
 5. When an ambiguous phrase is taken in 
 the same manner. 3. and 4, are ambigui- 
 ties in syntax ; when words are conjoined 
 In syntax that ought to be disjoined, or 
 disjoined when they ought to be conjoined. 
 
 6. is an ambiguity in prosody, accent, or 
 pronunciation. 6. An ambiguity arising 
 from some figure of speech. 
 
 Wlien a sophism of any of these kinds is 
 translated into another language, or even 
 rendered into unambiguous expressions in 
 the same language, the fallacy is evident, 
 and the syllogism appears to havefour terms. 
 
 The seven fallacies which are said not to 
 be in the diction, but in the thing [the 
 thought], have their proper names in Greek 
 and in Latin, by which they are distinguished. 
 Without minding their names, we shall 
 give a brief account of their nature. 
 
 1. The first is, Taking an accidental con- 
 junction of things for a natural or necessary 
 
 cal, shewing the superior utility of Disputation as an 
 exercise, and the superior u-ility of Exercis-e in gen. 
 eral as a mean of intellectual devclopement ; bit I 
 am tempted to quote, in favour of the principle, the 
 testimony of a gre.it philosopher, and great scholar :— 
 *' Jacitis mcditationibufl maKis proficere nos, quam 
 altercatioi ihus, vorum non est. Etcnim sicuti lapi. 
 dum coUisione ignis ; ita ex disceptationibus elicitur 
 Veritas. Quin egmet mecum ss'ie, diu, multum 
 meditatus— sed inca.'^sum ,- nisi pugnem, infcliciter 
 cdetmihi. A Magi»tro ptusexcitamur ; at Adver- 
 sariU4, sua.vel pertinacia, vel amentia, mihi duplex 
 •nagibtcrcjit."— H J 
 
 connection : as, when from an accident we 
 infer a property ; when from an example 
 we infer a rule ; when from a single act 
 we infer a habit. 
 
 2. Taking that absohitely which ought 
 to be taken comparatively, or with a cer- 
 tain limitation. The construction of lan- 
 guage often leads into this fallacy ; for, in 
 all languages it is common to use absolute 
 terms to signify things that carry in them 
 some secret comparison ; or, to use unlim- 
 ited terms, to signify what from its nature 
 must be limited. 
 
 3. Taking that for the cause of a thing 
 which is only an occasion, or concomitant. 
 
 4. Begging the question. This is done 
 when the thing to be proved, or something 
 equivalent, is assumed in the premises. 
 
 5. Mistaking the question. When the 
 conclusion of the syllogism is not the thing 
 that ought to be proved, but something else 
 that is mistaken for it. 
 
 6. When that which is not a consequence 
 is mistaken for a constiqueuce ; as if, be- 
 cause all Africans are black, it were taken 
 for granted that all blacks are Africans. 
 
 7. The last fallacy lies in propositions 
 that are complex and imply two affirma- 
 tions, whereof one may be true, and the 
 other false ; so that, whether you grant the 
 proposition or deny it, you are entangled ; 
 as when it is affirmed that such a man has 
 left off" playing the fool. If it be granted, it 
 implies that he did play the fool formerly -, 
 if it be denied, it implies, or seems to imply, 
 that he plays the fool still. 
 
 In this enumeration, we ought, in justice 
 to Aristotle, to expect only the fallacies 
 incident to categorical syllogisms. And I 
 do not find that the Logicians have made 
 any additions to it when taken in this view, 
 although they have given some other falla- 
 cies that are incident to syllogisms of the 
 hypothetical [non-categorical] kind, partic- 
 ularly the fallacy of an incomplete enumera- 
 tion in disjunctive syllogisms and dilemmas. 
 
 The different species of sophisms abov« 
 mentioned are not so precisely defined by 
 Aristotle, or by subsequent Logicians, but 
 that they allow of great latitude in the ap- 
 plication ; and it is often dubious under 
 what particular species a sophistical syllo- 
 gism ought to be classed. We even find 
 the same example brought under one species 
 by one author, and under another species by 
 another. Nay, what is more strange, Ari.s- 
 totle himself employs a long chapter in 
 proving, by a particular induction, that all 
 the seven may be brought under that which 
 we have called mistaking the question^ and 
 which is commonly called ifjnoratio elenchi. 
 And, indeed, the proof of this is easy, with- 
 out that laborious detail which Aristotle 
 uses for the purpose ; for if you lop off from 
 the conclusion of a sophistical syllogism all 
 
 2z2 
 
jm 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [chap. VI. 
 
 imt ia not iiiiiiiorM hj tlw puiiiiees, tlie 
 eoncliision in that case will &\^p he found 
 different from that which oaght to have 
 lieen f roTed ; and so it falls under the iffnor- 
 aliii eknchi. 
 
 It waa^ prohably Ariatfitlie*s aim to Mdme 
 mil the pomihle variety of sophisms, at he 
 .liad attenfted to do of just syllogiams, to 
 Mrtain definite species ; but he seems to i>e 
 •cnaiUe that he had faUen short in this last 
 sttampt. When m genus is properly di- 
 vided Into^ its speeiea, the specifls should not 
 only, when taken together, exhaust the 
 whole genus, but every species should have 
 its own precinct so accurately deined that 
 mm shall not encroach upon another. And 
 vlien an individual can be said to belong to 
 two or three different species, the division 
 .ia im^perfectf yet thk is the case of Aris- 
 tntialt diviiion ^of the sophisms^ by his own 
 ^admnvMlEttcnt.^ It ought not, therefore, 
 to be taken for a division strictly logical. 
 It may rather be compared to the several 
 •peeies or forms of action invented in kw 
 for the redress of wrongs.. For every wrong 
 there is a remedy in law by one action or 
 another ; but sometimes a man may take 
 his choice among seimal. different actions. 
 .80' every sopbistaoal syUogism may, by a 
 lilie art,. 'lO' bniii||hl under one or otli.er of 
 the species mentioned by Aristotle, and 
 very cAen you 'may take your choice of two 
 or threes 
 
 Besides the^ enumeration of the various 
 kinds of sophisms, there are many other 
 ttlngs in this treatise concerning the art of 
 :iiiaiiaginf a ayllognitical dispute with an 
 antaffiuist. .And mdeed, if the passion for 
 this Mnd of litigation, which reigned for so 
 many ages, should ever again lift up its head, 
 we may i>redict, that the Organon of 
 Aristotle will then become a fashionable 
 study ; fur it contahv ineh adnnrable mate- 
 rials and documents for this art, that it may 
 he said to have brought it to a science. 
 
 The conclusion of this treatise ought not 
 to be overlooked ; it manifestly relates, not 
 to the present treatise only, but also to the 
 whole analytics and topics of the author. I 
 ■inil therefore give the substance of it .-- 
 
 •* Of those who may be called inventors, 
 •one have made important additions to 
 tbinp long before begun and carried on 
 through a course of ages; others have given 
 a small beginning to things which, in sue- 
 eeeding tunes, will be famnght to greater per- 
 fection* The beginning of a thing, though 
 ■nail ia the chief part of it, and requires the 
 gmtesi degree of invention ; for it is easy 
 to make additions to inventions once begun. 
 
 <* Now, with regard to the dialectical 
 art,* there was not somethmg done, and 
 
 • Mmm% to toto 
 
 tBCT. I.] 
 
 AEIhTOTLE'S LOGIC, 
 
 Mitlcii.isr' psMiiei ilocf nctl kl. 
 Hi tuilogitm imgmm n a^ whirh 
 
 something remaining to be done. There 
 was absolutely nothing done ; for those 
 who professed the art of disputation had 
 only a set of orations composed,* and of 
 argumentsi and of captious questions, 
 which might suit many occasions. These, 
 their scholars soon learned, and fitted to the 
 occasion. This was not to teach you the art, 
 but to furnish you with the materials pro- 
 duced by the art ; as if a man professing to 
 teach yuu the art of making shoes should 
 bring you a parcel of shoes of various sizes 
 and shapes, from which you may provide 
 those who want This may have its use ; 
 hut it is not to teach the art of making 
 shoes. And indeed, with regard to rhetori- 
 cal declamation, there are many precepts 
 handed down from ancient times ; but, with 
 regard to the construction of syllogisms, 
 not one.*!* 
 
 " We have, therefore, employed much 
 time and labour upon thm subject ; and if 
 our system appear to you notj to be in the 
 number of those things which, being before 
 carried a certain length, were left to be per- 
 fected, we hope for your favourable accept- 
 ance of what is done, and your indulgence 
 in what is left imperfect. § 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BKrLECTIONS ON THB UTILITY OF LOGIC, AN© 
 TUB MKANS OF ITS IMPROVBllEyT. 
 
 Section /. 
 
 or THB UTIMTV OF I.0I3IC 
 
 MiN rarely leave one extreme without 
 running into the contrary. It is no wonder, 
 therefore, that the excessive admiration of 
 Aristotle, which continued for so many 
 ages, should end in an undue contempt; 
 and that the high esteem of logic, as the 
 grant? engine of science, || should at last 
 make way for too unfavourable an opinion, 
 which seems now prevalent, of its being 
 unworthy of a place in a liberal education. 
 Those who think according to the fashion, 
 as the greatest part of men do, will be as 
 prone to go into this extreme as their grand- 
 fathers were to go into the contrary. 
 
 he does not call Dialectic, but to dialectic proper, as 
 contained in his book* of Topics and Sophism«.— H. 
 • Thia appears to be rather iniorr<ct.— H. 
 
 «ii \" •'^.'* Jf^r'^^ii*' P**"g«' ^^c in genma li 
 plainly intended.— H. 
 
 ± KeiiJ i» here led into error bjr a false retdina In 
 the common editions.— H. 
 
 $ I had meant to have here given a full transla. 
 tion or this remarkable stalement of Aristofle in re^ 
 gard to what L^gicowed to him when firtt developed, 
 with a parallel te»timony of Kant, to what the 
 science now owe* him after an ussiduous cultivation 
 of two thousand years , but the press is urgent I 
 shall (bcrcfinre aiijourn these to Note V.— H. 
 
 Sef>alMfe, p^lOl, a, note f.— H. 
 
 709 
 
 Laying aside prejudice, whether fashion- 
 able or unfashionable, let us consider whether 
 logic is, or may be made, sul>servient to any 
 good purpose. Its professed end is, to 
 teach men to think, to judge, and to reason, 
 with precision and accuracy. No man will 
 say that this is a matter of no importance ; 
 the only thing, therefore, that admits of 
 doubt is, whether it can be taught. 
 
 To resolve this doubt, it may be ob- 
 served, that our rational faculty is the gift 
 of God, given to men in very different 
 measure. Some have a larger portion, some 
 a less ; and where there is a remarkable 
 defect of the natural power, it cannot be 
 supplied by any culture. But this natural 
 power, even where it is the strongest, may 
 lie dead for want of the means of improve- 
 ment : a savage may have been born with 
 as good faculties as a Bacon or a Newton : 
 but his talent was buried, being never put 
 to use ; while theirs was cultivated to the 
 best advantage. 
 
 It may likewise be observed, that the 
 chief mean of improving our rational power, 
 is the vigorous exercise of it, in various 
 ways and in different subjects, by which the 
 habit is acquired of exercising it properly. 
 Without such exercise, and good sense over 
 and above, a man who has studied logic all 
 his life may, after all, be only a petulant 
 wrangler, without true judgment or skill of 
 reasoning in any science. 
 
 I take this to be Locke*s meaning, when, 
 in his " Thoughts on Education," he says, 
 ** If you would have your son to reason 
 well, let him read Chillingworth." The 
 ttate of things is much altered since Locke 
 wrote. Logic has been much improved, 
 chiefly by his writings ; and yet much less 
 stress is laid upon it, and less time con- 
 sumed in it. His counsel, therefore, was 
 |udicious and seasonable — to wit. That the 
 improvement of our reasoning power is to 
 be expected much more from an intimate 
 acquaintance with the authors who reason 
 the best, than from studying voluminous 
 systems of logic But if he had meant that 
 the study of logic was of no use, nor de- 
 served any attention, he surely would not 
 have taken the pains to have made so con- 
 siderable an addition to it by his " Essay 
 on the Human Understanding ** and by his 
 ** Thoughts on the Conduct of the Under- 
 standing.** Nor would he have remitted 
 hb pupil to Chillingworth, the acutest 
 logician as well as the best reasoner of his 
 age ; and one who, in innumerable places 
 of his excellent book, without pedantry even 
 in that pedantic age, makes the happiest 
 application of the rules of logic, for unravel- 
 ling tile sophistical reasoning of his anta- 
 gonist. 
 
 Our reasoning power makes no appear- 
 ance in infancy ; but as we grow up, it 
 
 unfolds itself by degrees, like the bud of a 
 tree. When a child first draws an infer- 
 enee, or perceives the force of an inference 
 drawn by another, we may call this the 
 birth of his reason', but it is yet like a new- 
 born babe, weak and tender ; it nmst be 
 cherished, carried in arms, and have food 
 of easy digestion, till it gathers strength. 
 
 I believe no man remembers the birth of 
 his reason : but it is probable that his de- 
 cisions are at first weak and wavering ; 
 and, compared with that steady conviction 
 which he acquires in ripe years, are like 
 tlie dawn of the morning compared with 
 noon-day. We see that the reason of 
 children yields to authority, as a reed to 
 the wind; nay, that it clings to it, and 
 leans upon it, as if conscious of its own 
 weakness. 
 
 When reason acquires such strength as 
 to stand on its own bottom, without the aid 
 of authority, or even in opposition to au- 
 thority, this may be called its manly age. 
 But, in most men, it hardly ever arrives at 
 this period. Many, by their situation in 
 life, have not the opportunity of cultivating 
 their rational powers. Many, from the 
 habit they have acquired of submitting their 
 opinions to the authority of others, or from 
 some other principle which operates more 
 powerfully than the love of truth, suffer 
 their judgment to be carried along to the 
 end of their days, either by the authority 
 of a leader, or of a party, or of the multi- 
 tude, or by their own passions. Such per- 
 sons, however learned, however acute, may 
 be said to be all their days children in un- 
 derstanding. They reason, they dispute, 
 and perhaps write ; but it is not that they 
 may find the truth, but that they may de- 
 fend opinions which have descended to 
 them by inheritance, or into which they 
 have fallen by accident, or been led by af- 
 fection. 
 
 I agree with Mr Locke, that there is no 
 study better fitted to exercise and strengthen 
 the reasoning powers, than that of the ma- 
 thematical sciences — for two reasons : first^ 
 Because there is no other branch of science 
 which gives such scope to long and accu- 
 rate trains of reasoning ;• and, secondly, 
 
 * It is not " the length and accuracy of its trains 
 of reasoning" that makes a science a profitable gym. 
 nastic of the mind— for this is only the result of 
 the nature and necessity of its matter — but the 
 amount of iniellec'uitl effort which it determines in 
 the student. Nowmafheraa'ics are, as is universally 
 confessed, the easiest of all sciences ; their perspicuity 
 is excessive; and thus they only conduce to exercise 
 the patience and attention. Mr Stewart, who was an 
 eminent mathematician t>efore he was a distinguished 
 philosopher, in Vr.e admirable chapter of his •• Philo. 
 sophy of the Human Mind," entitled " The Mathe- 
 matician," limits the benefit to be derived from the 
 study of mathematics, in the cultivation of the men. 
 tal faculties, to the |>ower of continuous attention 
 which it contributes to exercise ; and this to the ex- 
 press exclusion of the mechanical process of the al. 
 gebraic calculus. •• Ihu command of attention," 
 
710 
 
 A BEIBF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [^CHAP. VI. 
 
 ■B€T. II.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 711 
 
 Beesme^ in mmtliamliis% tliero is 110 :VfMMii 
 for antliotity, nor for {mjudico of any Mnd, 
 wliieli iil» mm m Mm bias to the judg> 
 nent* 
 
 When a youth of moteale parta begins 
 to study Eueliii, «fOfylhing at first is 
 new 'to hiin. HisamelMnBaon is unsteady ; 
 his judgment is feeble, and rests partly upon 
 the evidence of the thing, and partly upon 
 the authority 'Of 'hii^ teaowr. But, every 
 time he $f$m mm^ dflinltioiiB, the axioms, 
 the elenoniary 'fni|NNliMmi, more light 
 breaks m upon him ; the language becomes 
 inlliar, and conveys clear and steady con- 
 .eeptioiui'l the judgment is wnfirmed; he 
 'beghis tO' see what' demonslcation is ; and 
 it is impoestble to see it without being 
 ibsrmed with it H© perceives it to be a 
 'Und of evidence 'that .has no need of au- 
 IkmtJ to slMnglhen it. He finds himself 
 <«iHnei|«lad irom that bondage, and exults 
 ■0 much in this new state of independence, 
 fiat h« sfmnM at authority, and would 
 tow^'demonstnition for everything, until ex- 
 .pcience' 'teaches him 'that ih.is is a kmd of 
 tvidence which cannot be had in most things; 
 and that, in his most important concerns, 
 he must rest 'Contented, with probability. 
 
 As he goei' on in mathematics, the road 
 1^ demonstration becomes smooth and easy ; 
 he can walk in it firmly, and take wider 
 •t^ps; and at bat ha acquires the habit, 
 'not only of nndorstawliiu a demonstration, 
 'biff, of diseovering and 'MMmtfatuig ma- 
 thematical truths. 
 
 Thus a man, without rules of logic, may 
 acquire a habit of reasoning justly in ma^ 
 theinaic8it-and I believe he may, by Eke 
 ineans, acquire a habit of reasoning justly 
 In mechanics, in jurisprudence, in politics, 
 or in. ^any other i«ien«e.. 'Cbod .sense, .good 
 exain]il^. and aaaidnois 'Oxereise, may hripg 
 
 It UMf IwimiiMf to .add* it to be acqtii'red, 
 
 V pfirttet' of 'IM' hmh" 
 
 |MIM% 
 'Mil If I 
 
 methods, but by the 
 
 I more particularly, by 
 In fMiiiie long train* or de. 
 gMMl%rattorr, without avallillR ourselves of the aid of 
 jny •emible diwinuM: tlM thoughts being directed 
 •oleiy 10 thoie wmi dnacsHiNW which the powers of 
 conception and of memory enilie us to form.'* 
 
 Keid tiltewMet tn what he now says In favour of 
 Mattanailai' at .an liitellectiiali ot^ercife, contem.. 
 'plalMciuiiMlfely'tlie o«eii«ti« or georoetric method. 
 This i» manllM, ool mlf .Horn the neoesMrv mean, 
 ing of his woMt. Iutt alio fhm his «« Enay on 
 Quantity,'* ia wblcb lie aayi : ** Long deductions in 
 i^tvbra m% §m the moit. part, made, not so touch 
 by a train ofifeamiiiig in 'UW' mind, as by a k.mi of 
 aitlfteial laitclianlcal f3 operation which is built on 
 a inr fviitcipiei,*' He; On the pernicious Influence 
 of flM modern analysis, in an educational point of 
 viefft many pbikM(^>her8 and practical Instruciori 
 liave laoorded their empbatio tcalimoniet. On this 
 ■aliftflet. MO Edinburgh Bmfkm, Na Itf, art 7.~H. 
 
 * Tbeto: H In tmt, no room lot Aitfisnce of opin. 
 iaB. .Btit.|l ta dllPcult to ••• 'bow wt' can be traiu'cd 
 to' iietMiB fipil. by a tcience in which there ia 00 
 
 t A mm it made ** to reason Justly in matbematiost" 
 
 'bi tlie same laaBnor'in 'wbJcb a man la mad« tO' walk, 
 ■tiaigbt In a .dilCb '■* .is* 
 
 a man to reason justly and acutely in his 
 own profession, without rules. 
 
 But if any man think, that, from this 
 concession, he may infer the inutility of lo- 
 gic, he betrays a great want of that art by 
 this inference ; for it is no better reasoning 
 than this, That because a man may go 
 from Edinburgh to London by the way of 
 Paris, therefore any other road is useless. 
 
 Iliere is perhaps no practical art which 
 may not be acquired, in a very considerable 
 degree, by example and practice, without re- 
 ducing it to rules. But practice, joined 
 with rules, may carry a man on in his art 
 farther, and more quickly, than practice 
 without rules. Every ingenious artist 
 knows the utility of having his art reduced 
 to rules, and by that means made a science. 
 He is thereby enlightened in hb practice, 
 and works with more a&surance. By rules, 
 he sometimes corrects his own errors, and 
 often detects the errors of others ; he finds 
 them of great use to confirm his judgment* 
 to justify what is right, and to condemn 
 what is wrong. 
 
 Is it of no use in reasoning to be well 
 acquainted with the various powers of the 
 human understanding, by which we reason ? 
 Is it of no use to resolve the various kinds 
 of reasonmg into their simple elements, and 
 to discover, as far as we are able, the rules 
 by which these elements are combined in 
 judging and in reasoning ? Is it of no use 
 to mark the various falkcies in reasoning, 
 by which even the most ingenious men 
 have been led into error ? It must surely 
 betray great want of understanding, to think 
 these things useless or unimportant These 
 are the things which Logicians have at- 
 tempted, and which they have executed; 
 not, indeed, so completely as to leave no 
 room for improvement, but in such a man- 
 ner as to give very considerable aid to our 
 reasoning powers. That the principles laid 
 down with regard to definition and division, 
 with regard to the conversion and opposi- 
 tion of propositions, and the general rules 
 of reasoning, are not without use, is suffi- 
 ciently apparent from the blunders com- 
 mitted by those who disdain any acquaint* 
 ance with them.* 
 
 • I am aware/* says Baron Degerando, *« that in 
 
 Sireseiiting the sylloglim as the primary and essential 
 bmii of rcawining, I run counter to the opinions of 
 modern lneta|•hv^ician8. 1 am aware that the very 
 name of SifUooiim is enough, at the present day, to 
 throw a sort of ridicule on any philosophical work in 
 which It ventures to api>ear. Men have reasoned 
 frequently so ill in mood and figure, that syllogism 
 seems to have for ever lost it* credit Nevertheless 
 I am not aCraid to oppose mycolf to these preposset. 
 iinns^ and I make tmld lo niaintain that, on this 
 occasion, our jiritifcextors have analysed better than 
 we. llie moderns have considereil icasoiiiug only 
 at clothed in the external and sensible torros of 
 speech ; the ancients have obcerved it as it exists 
 In the mind. Vh« abuse that has been roa<le of 
 syllogism, proves nothing against its necessity 
 bccauif the connection ol signs ia not enough to 
 
 Although the art of categorical syllogism 
 is better fitted for scholastfc litigation than 
 for real improvement in knowledge, it is a 
 venerable piece of antiquity, and a great 
 efibrt of human genius. We admire the 
 pyramids of Egypt, and the wall of China, 
 though useless burdens upon the earth ; 
 we can bear the most minute description of 
 them, and travel hundreds of leagues to 
 see them : if any person should, with sac- 
 rilegious hands, destroy or deface them, his 
 memory would be had in abhorrence. The 
 predicaments and predicables, the rules of 
 syllogism, and the topics, have a like title 
 to our veneration as antiquities ; they are 
 imcommon efforts, not of human power, 
 but of human genius; and they make a 
 remarkable period in the progress of human 
 reason. 
 
 The prejudice against logic has probably 
 been strengthened by its being taught too 
 early in life. Boys are often taught logic 
 as they are taught their creed, when it is 
 an exercise of memory ouly, without under- 
 standing. One may as well expect to un- 
 derstand grammar before he can speak, as 
 to understand logic before he can reason. 
 It must even be acknowledged, that com- 
 monly we are capable of reasoning in mathe- 
 matics more early than in logic. The 
 objects presented to the mind in this science 
 are of a very abstract nature, and can be 
 distinctly conceived only when we are capa- 
 ble of attentive reflection upon the opera- 
 tions of our own understanding, and after 
 we have been accustomed to reason. There 
 may be an elementary logic, level to the 
 capacity of those who have been but little 
 exercised in reasoning ; but the most im- 
 portant parts of this science require a ripe 
 understanding, capable of reflecting upon 
 its own operations. Therefore, to make 
 logic the first branch of science that is to 
 be taught, is an old error that ought to be 
 corrected." 
 
 guarantee the concatenation of'ldeas, and thus, as 
 we are about to see, the mind may err in a reasoning 
 the be&t conformed to rule, 'i Lough it may be use- 
 lets to enounce, in terms, a proposition in itself 
 evident and simple, this doe6 not prove that such pro- 
 position ought not to be presented to the mind when 
 reasonir^g, in order to establish the connection of the 
 notions which it compares. Let those who would 
 reduce all reasoning to the Enthymeme, ask them. 
 selves how a first proposition could conduct them to 
 a second, if the understanding did not, by a secret 
 operation, apprehend the nexus of their terms. L«t 
 them propose their entti>meme to a child, or a map 
 of limited understanding, and they will soon, by 
 being compelled to restore, in their discourse, the 
 omitted proposition, be made to see that its presence in 
 the iritelieci was necessary all along, and that, though 
 not exprchsed by them, it was always understood." 
 
 I quote this acknowledgment as valuable from a 
 philosopher of the school of Condillac. lo adduce 
 testimonies from the followers ol Leibnitz or Kant, 
 would be tuperfluous. In Germany, Logic has al. 
 ways been estimated at its proper value.— H. 
 
 * On the absurdity of entering on the study of the 
 sciences of refln'tion before concluding the study of 
 those ot observation, see above, p. 45iO, a, note \. To 
 
 Section II. 
 
 OF THS IMPROVEMENT OF LOGIC. 
 
 In compositions of human thought, ex- 
 pressed by speech or by writing, whatever 
 is excellent and whatever is faulty fall with- 
 in the province, either of grammar, or of 
 rhetoric, or of logic. Propriety of expres- 
 sion is the province of grammar ; grace, 
 elegance, and force, in thought and in ex- 
 pression, are the province of rhetoric ; just- 
 ness and accuracy of thought are the pro- 
 vince of logic. 
 
 The faults in composition, therefore, 
 which fall under the censure of logic, are 
 obscure and indistinct conceptions, false 
 judgment, inconclusive reasoning, and all 
 improprieties in distinctions, definitions, 
 division, or method. To aid our rational 
 powers in avoiding these fatilts, and in at- 
 taining the opposite excellencies, is the end 
 of logic ; and whatever there is in it that 
 has no tendency to promote this end, ought 
 to be thrown out 
 
 The rules of logic being of a very abstract 
 nature, ought to be illustrated by a variety 
 of real and striking examples taken from 
 the writings of good authors. It is both 
 instructive and entertaining to observe the 
 virtues of accurate composition in writers 
 of fame : we cannot see them without being 
 drawn to the imitation of them, in a more 
 powerful manner than we can be by dry 
 rules. Nor are the faults of such writers 
 less instructive or less powerful monitors. 
 A wreck left upon a shoal, or upon a rock, 
 is not more useful to the sailor than the 
 faults of good writers, when set up to view, 
 are to those who come after them. It was 
 a happy thought in a late ingenious writer 
 of English grammar, to collect under the 
 several rules examples of bad English found 
 in the most approved authors. It were to 
 be wished that the rules of logic were illus- 
 trated in the same manner. By this means, 
 a system of logic would become a reposi- 
 tory, wherein whatever is most acute in 
 judging and in reasoning, whatever is most 
 accurate in dividing, distinguishing, and 
 defining, should be laid up and disposed in 
 order for our imitation, and wherein the 
 false steps of eminent authors should be 
 recorded for our admonition. 
 
 After men had laboured in the search of 
 truth near two thousand years by the help 
 of syllogisms. Lord Bacon proposed the 
 method of induction, as a more effectual 
 engine for that purpose. His " Novum 
 Organum" gave a new turn to the thoughts 
 
 Mr Stewart's testimony there quoted, might be added 
 that of almost every competent authority in educa* 
 tlon. See Note W.-H 
 
/lis 
 
 niiii Iftboara of the in:qitiailimy mora 
 'murkable and more meM. tlian. tlimft whfoli 
 the " Organon" of Aristotlo bill given be- 
 fore, and may lie oonai^eved as a second 
 
 gnuid era in the ffogrets of human reason. * 
 The art of ejOog&m produced number- 
 dispitee, and numberless sects who 
 
 A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF 
 
 [chap Vf. 
 
 fmght against each other with much ani- 
 
 iWMity, without gaining or Inauig ground, 
 Imt did nothing eonsiderahlefor tie benefit 
 of hanan Iif& The art of induction, fiiat 
 delineated by Lord Bacon, produced num- 
 berless laboratories and observatories, in 
 Wfcieh nature has been put to the question 
 if ihoowiids of experiments, and forced to 
 iMMiiBSB many of her secrets that before were 
 hid from mortals : and, by these, arts have 
 bflini. ini|iiO¥ed,.Wid human knowledge wou- 
 ierftillj inefOBsed. 
 
 In reMonmg by syllogism from general 
 principles, we descend to a conclusion vir- 
 tnally contained in them. The process of 
 indnotion is move arduous, being an ascent 
 front pariienhyr premises to a general con- 
 clusion-t The evidence of such general 
 conclusions is probable only, not demon- 
 strative ! tout when the induction ia suffi- 
 eiently copious, and carried on according 
 to the rules of art, it forces conviction no 
 leiB than demonstration itself does. 
 
 The greatest part of human knowledge 
 nsts n^n evidence of this kind. Indeed 
 we can have no other for general truths 
 which are contingent in their nature, and 
 depend upon the will and ordination of the 
 Maker of the world. He governs the world 
 he has made toy general b«n x The effects 
 nf these laws in particular phmnomena are 
 open to our observation ; and, by observing 
 » tmitt nf nnilbrm effects with due caution, 
 'we may at last^ ieeipher the law of 'nature 
 by which they are rej^kted. 
 
 Lord Bacon has displayed no less force 
 of genius In reducing to rakis this method 
 if feasoniiM, than Aristotle did in the me- 
 ^kod off' sylfi^iiilam. [?] Hw '*' Novum Or- 
 ganum** ought therefore to be held as a 
 'BiMtte|Mirlaataddition to the ancient lo^&| 
 'Thoit: 'lAO' understand it, and enter into 
 'it* inirit, will be able to distinguish the 
 ehan from the wheat in philosophical dis- 
 quisitions into the works of God. They 
 will learn to hold m due contempt all hy- 
 
 '* Th« OipoMNi of Arlitotto wmI th* Organum 
 
 of Baoon. ataiid In relai:i<]n» Imt 'tlM lolatliNi. of con. 
 trorietyi: lb* mm etmMma tte Imm unter which 
 ilfipwcl thinks} theothw tbe Iswi under which 
 mimom 'la lo 'be kfi««n. 'To comiiara them together 
 ti^tlMPlflifft, in reaiitv, 10 isiinpm together quanti. 
 tte^'OT'dliftofcmtmiwiM. fiaob pffoiMMM a dlfTerent 
 tnd . botU, in alPmiit. warn .an wtetul i and both 
 wagm. to IM aaliiioiiilf iliiidlad.' M. 
 
 f iMtaOlllMi: U .alwafa a tyDogum. But wn mutt 
 ilitinguith twolttdiaijtioiii— a/bniMiiaiidatniilerUC. 
 me confiMMM of 'tlMte, haa led to pcat^contoion. 
 Bet of this ^not i|ien.'^i1« 
 
 I It !• not 'Of a tflgleal: afRunMntat all. If we limit 
 tlie doinatii of logic to tlit>iiii #IA<?iijiAI.— II. 
 
 potheses and theories, the creatures of hu- 
 man imagination, and to respect nothing but 
 facts sufficiently vouched, or conclusions 
 drawn from them by a fair and chaste in- 
 terpretation of nature. 
 
 Most arts have been reduced to rules, 
 after they had been brought to a consider- 
 able degree of perfection by the natural sa- 
 gacity of artists ; and the rules have been 
 drawn from the best examples of the art 
 that had been before exhibited; but the 
 art of philosophical induction was delineated 
 by Lord Bacon in a very ample manner, 
 before the world had seen any tolerable 
 example of it,* This, although it adds 
 greatly to the merit of the author, must 
 have produced some obscurity in the work, 
 and a defect of proper examples for illus- 
 tration. This defect may now toe easily 
 supplied from those authors who, in their 
 philosophical disquisitions, have the most 
 strictly pursued the path pointed out in the 
 " Novum Organum.'* Among these, Sir 
 Isaac Newton appears to hold the first 
 rank? havuig, in the third book of his 
 « Principia,'' and m his " Optics," had the 
 rules of the " Novum Organum" constantly 
 in his eye. 
 
 I thmk Lord Bacon was also the first 
 who endeavoured to reduce to a system the 
 prejudices or biasses of the mind, which 
 are the causes of false judgment, and which 
 he calls the idoia of the human understand- 
 ing. Some late writers of logic have very 
 properly introduced this into their system ; 
 but it deserves to be more copiously hand- 
 led, and to be illustrated by real examples. 
 
 It is of great consequence to accurate 
 reasoning to distinguish first principles 
 which are to be taken for granted, from 
 propositions which require proof. AH the 
 real knowledge of mankind may be divided 
 into two parts : The first consisting of self- 
 evident propositions ; the second, of those 
 which are deduced by just reasoning from 
 self-evident propositions. The line that 
 divides these two parts ought to be marked 
 as distinctly as possible ; and the principles 
 that are self-evident reduced, as far as can 
 be done, to general axioms. This has been 
 done in mathematics from the beginning, 
 and has tended greatly to the emolument 
 of that science. It has lately been done in 
 natural philosophy : and by this means 
 that science has advanced more in an hun- 
 dred and fifty years, than it had done be- 
 fore in two thousand. Every science is in 
 an unformed state until its first principles 
 are ascertained ; after which, it advances 
 reguUrly, and ixMsures the ground it has 
 gained. 
 
 « One of the roott pcrfeet examplet of a genulnr 
 Induction it that aflbrded by Baconli contemporary, 
 Dalileo; but (Galileo's practice was anterior to Ba- 
 con'* prerqit.— H. 
 
 lecT. II.] 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 713 
 
 Although first principles do not admit of 
 direct proof, yet there must be certain marks 
 and characters by which those that are 
 truly such may be distinguished from coun- 
 terfeits. These marks ought to be described 
 and applied to distingubh the genuine from 
 the spurious. 
 
 In the ancient philosophy, there is a 
 redundance, rather than a defect, of first 
 principles. Many things were assumed 
 under that character without a just title. 
 That nature abhors a vacuum ; that bodies 
 do not gravitate in their proper place ; that 
 the heavenly bodies undergo no change ; 
 that they move in perfect circles, and with 
 an equable motion : such principles as these 
 were assumed in the Peripatetic philosophy 
 without proof, as if they were self-evident. 
 
 Des Cartes, sensible of this weakness in 
 the ancient philosophy, and desirous to 
 guard against it in his own system, resolved 
 to admit nothing until his assent was forced 
 by irresistible evidence. The first thing 
 which he found to be certain and evident 
 was, that he thought, and reasoned, and 
 doubted. He found himself under a ne- 
 cessity of believing the existence of those 
 mental operations of which he was con- 
 scious ; and having thus found sure footing 
 In this one principle of consciousness, he 
 rested satisfied with it, hoping to be able to 
 build the whole fabric of his, knowledge 
 upon it ; like Archimedes, who wanted but 
 one fixed point to move the whole earth. 
 But the foundation was too narrow ; and 
 in his progress he unawares assumes many 
 things less evident than those which he 
 attempts to prove. Although he was not 
 able to suspect the testimony of conscious- 
 ness, yet he thought the testimony of sense, 
 of memory, and of every other faculty, 
 might be suspected, and ought not to be 
 received until proof was brought that they 
 are not falUicious. Therefore he applies 
 these faculties, whose character is yet in 
 question, to prove, That there is an infinitely 
 perfect Being, who made bun, and who 
 made his senses, his memory, hte reason, 
 and all his faculties ; that this Being is no 
 deceiver, and therefore could not give him 
 faculties that are fallacious ; and that on 
 this account they deserve credit. 
 
 It is strange that this philosopher, who 
 found himself under a necessity of yielding 
 to the testimony of consciousness, did not 
 find the same necessity of yielding to the 
 testimony of his senses, his memory, and 
 his understanding ; and that, while he was 
 certain that he doubted and reasoned, he 
 was uncertain w hether two and three made 
 
 five, and whether he was dreaming or awake. 
 It is more strange that so acute a reasoner 
 should not perceive that his whole train of 
 reasoning, to prove that his faculties were 
 not fallacious, was mere sophistry ; for, if 
 his faculties were fallacious, they might 
 deceive him in this train of reasoning ; and 
 so the conclusion. That they were not fal- 
 lacious, was only the testimony of his faculties 
 in their own favour, and might be a fallacy. 
 
 It is difficult to give any reason for dis- 
 trusting our other faculties, that will not 
 reach consciousness itself.* And he who 
 distrusts the faculties of judging and reason- 
 ing which God hath given him, must even 
 rest in his scepticism till he come to a sound 
 mind, or until God give him new faculties 
 to sit in judgment upon the old. If it be not 
 a first principle, that our faculties are not fal- 
 lacious, we must be absolute sceptics ; for 
 this principle is incapable of a proof; and if 
 it is not certain, nothing else can be certain. 
 
 Since the time of Des Cartes, it has been 
 fashionable with those who dealt in abstract 
 philosophy, to employ their invention in 
 finding philosophical arguments, either to 
 prove those truths which ought to be re- 
 ceived as first principles, or to overturn 
 them : and it is not easy to say, whether 
 the authority of first principles is more hurt 
 by the first of these attempts, or by the 
 last ; for such principles can stand secure 
 only upon their own bottom ; and to place 
 them upon any other foundation than that 
 of their intrinsic evidence, is in effect to 
 overturn them. 
 
 I have lately f met with a very sensible 
 and judicious treatise, wrote by Father 
 Buffier about fifty years ago, concerning 
 first principles and the source of human 
 judgments, which, with great propriety, he 
 prefixed to his treatise of logic. And in- 
 deed I apprehend it is a subject of such 
 consequence, that, if inquisitive men can be 
 brought to the same unanimity in the first 
 principles of the other sciences as in those 
 of mathematics and natural philosophy, (and 
 why should we despair of a general agree- 
 ment in things that are self-evident ?) this 
 might be considered as a third grand era in 
 the progress of human reason 
 
 * Two things must be distinguished in Consciou*. 
 ness— the realitv of the ph«nonienou, and the truth 
 of what the phaennmenon vouches. Of the lormer, 
 scepticism is impossible, because the doubt irophes a 
 contradiction. 0( thelatter, scepticism is always pos. 
 bible, because it does not immediately subvert itself. 
 
 f This would seem to prove that Rcid was not 
 aware of Buttier's treatise on First Truths, when he 
 wrote hU " Inquiry j" as indeed, from internal evi- 
 dence, is probable.— H. 
 
714 
 
 ARISTOTLE'S LOGIC. 
 
 OMISSION. 
 
 NofTm-^The following paragraph should have formed the conclusion of Chapter 11,^ 
 Section 4 — On Definitions. It had been omitted in the editions of this treatise published 
 apart from Lord Kames's " Sketches." One of these was the copy given to the printer s 
 the proqf was, however, always collated with the two authentic editions, and the various 
 unauthoristed changes which had been subsequently introduced into the test carefully ex* 
 punged. Jt was found impossible, however, to restore this passage to its connection, with* 
 mtt deranging several sheets which had been set up together, — H. 
 
 If Aristotle had understood those principles, many of his definitions, which furnish 
 matter of triumph to his enemies, had never seen the light ; let us impute them to the 
 times rather than to the man. The sublime Plato, it is said, thought it necessary to 
 have the definition of a man, and could find none better than Animal implume bipes ; 
 upon which Diogenes sent to his school a cock with hia feathers plucked off, desiring to 
 know whether it was a man or not. 
 
 AN 
 
 ESSAY 
 
 ON 
 
 QUANTITY;* 
 
 OCCASIONED BY READING A TREATISE 
 
 IN WHICH 
 
 SIMPLE AND COMPOUND RATIOS 
 
 AHK APPLIUD TO 
 
 VIRTUE AND MERIT. 
 
 Since it is thought that mathematical 
 demonstration carries a peculiar evidence 
 along with it, which leaves no room for 
 further dispute, it may be of some use, or 
 entertainment at least, to inquire to what 
 subjects this kind of proof may be applied. 
 
 Mathematics contain properly the doc- 
 trine of measure ; and the object of this 
 science is commonly said to be Quantity; 
 therefore, quantity ought to be defined, what 
 may be measured. Those who have de- 
 fined quantity to be whatever is capable of 
 more or less, have given too wide a notion 
 of it, which, it is apprehended, has led some 
 persons to apply mathematical reasoning to 
 subjects that do not admit of it. Pain and 
 pleasure admit of various degrees, but who 
 can pretend to measure them ? 
 
 Whatever has quantity, or is measurable, 
 must be made up of parts, which bear pro- 
 portion to each other, and to the whole ; so 
 
 that it may be increased by addition of like 
 parts, and diminished by subtraction, may 
 be multiplied and divided, and, in short, 
 may bear any proportion to another quan- 
 tity of the same kind, that one line or num- 
 ber can bear to another. That this is es- 
 sential to all mathematical quantity, is evi- 
 dent from the first elements of algebra, 
 which treats of quantity in general, or of 
 those relations and properties which are 
 common to all kinds of quantity. Every 
 algebraical quantity is supposed capable, 
 not only of being increased and diminished, 
 but of being exactly doubled, tripled, halved, 
 or of bearing any assignable proportion to 
 another quantity of the same kind. This, 
 then, is the characteristic of quantity; 
 whatever has this property may be adopted 
 into mathematics ; and its quantity and re- 
 lations may be measured with mathematical 
 accuracy and certainty. 
 
 ♦ This E.say was originally published in the Transactions of the Royal Society of London, vol. xlv.. 
 anno 1748 On the occasion of the paoer, see above, p. b ; and Stewart s Elements, ll. ajw. 
 "tSU i'slieid^Varlirrublication r'tnd It is curiou^tha ^ant should in the preced.ng^^^^^^^^ 
 ushered into the world his first regular work, and on a "^'la^^ubject ; that work, too conU^^^^^ refut^ 
 lion of the Leibnitzian estimate of velocity. I refer to his " Thoughts on the True Measure ot l^iving 
 
 *^Thu'is not the only parallel between thetwo philosophers, who, with sundry striking contrasts, presented stlU 
 mie remSrkSleSiKes! The doctrines o^f both,*^bowever different '" e'^*;^"^' ^.^ff^ScUm of Hume ^ 
 lar opinions, were of a kindred spirit : they had a common origin, as recoils against the scepticism of "ume , 
 the iSme dominant result, in the establishment of certain ultimate laws of speculaUon «f P/f '^'^iLVh i^*"! 
 ;!m"t^ndency. in restraining the intellectual pride, and elevating the ^.^^ ^^^'^^^f^^i^^^^Ske^f^x 
 diffferent sphere, was at the head «f a great scientific determination ; both were d stmguisned ratner lor 
 JhlSSJhical orl'ginaHty and independence, than for the extent of their PhiJ'f'P'^al »f ^"^"{"K J «nd. finally. 
 (miyTadd ?) both were Scotchmln-Rcid by birth, Kant (Cant) by proximate de«:ent.-H. 
 
716 
 
 AN ESSAY ON QUANTITY. 
 
 Them aro^ wtrnm qosnlities whieh tomyj*^ 
 mUed pmpmr, and othen improper* Thig 
 diatinctaora is taken notice of by Aristotle ; 
 tout it deterrei Home explanation. Tliat 
 |ir«|ifrlf is quantity which is mmsmred % 
 ^ mon kinti; or whicli, of its own nature, 
 ia capable of being doubled or tripled, with- 
 Wlt taking in any quantity of a different 
 kind aa a measiiM of it. 
 
 improper quantity is^ that which mniwt 
 h9 meamred by its own kimdi but to which 
 we assign a measure by the means of some 
 proper quantifej that is related to it. Thus 
 veloeity of motion, when we consider it by 
 ilaelf, cannot be measured. We may per> 
 eeive one body to move 'faster, another 
 ■lower ; but we can have no distinct idea of 
 a proportion or ratio between tlieir veloci- 
 'As%. without 'lidcing in some qiUBttiy of' an- 
 other kind to measure them by. Having, 
 therefore, observed, that by a greater velo- 
 dly a greater apace ia^ paaMl. over in the 
 ■ame time, by a less velocity a less space, 
 ■nd by an equal velocity an equal space ; 
 we hence learn to measure voliicity by the 
 ■pacO' passed over in a given time, and to 
 nekon it to be in exact projportion to that 
 space : and having once assigned this mea- 
 sure to it, we can then, and not till then, 
 Donceive one velocity to he exactly double, 
 or half, or in any otlier proportion to 
 ■mtber; we may then introduce it into 
 naiieniatical reasoning without danger of 
 mfiisioii or error, and may also use It as a 
 measim' 'Of other imviOMr Qianttties. 
 
 An the kinds m proper quantity we 
 kioir, may perhaps be reduced to these 
 four, €MmMim, dmaimm, mumkfr, and pro- 
 porikmm Though proportion be measurable 
 111 its own nature^ and, therefore, has pro- 
 pr quantity, vet' m things 'Cannot have 
 fpoportion wliicli have not qnantity of some 
 other kind, it follows, that whatever has 
 
 Sianlity m^ust have it in one or other of 
 leaO' tnree: kinds, emtsmion, t/wroimi, or 
 number. Tbeie^ the measures of them- 
 selves, and of all things else that are mea- 
 amhle*' 
 
 Mmmbir is appieable to some things, to 
 which it is not commonly applied by the 
 vulgar. This, by attentive consideration, 
 lots and ehances of variO'Us kinds appear to 
 be made up of a dcteminate number of 
 cban'Oes that aro' allowied' to be equal ; and 
 by nnmbering these, the values and propor- 
 tions of those which are componnded of 
 'them may be demonstrated*^ 
 
 W$iociijf, the ^atiiiif f/moljoii, imtmi^y 
 eimgiieiip, the w htsita and imftresga^ the 
 various kinds of cetit*ipeiai/ones, and dif- 
 ferent orders of /«j i mi , are all improper 
 quantities ; whieb, therefore, ought not to 
 be admitted into matlieniatics, witlwut hav- 
 iiig: a meaaure of them assigned. 'The 
 of an improper quantity ought 
 
 always to be included in the definition of 
 it ; for it is the givinjg it a measure tl.at 
 makes it a proper subject of mathematical 
 reasoning. If all mathematicians had con- 
 sidered this as careftilly as Sir Isaac New- 
 ton appears to have done, some labour had 
 been saved both to themselves aud to 
 their readers. That great man, whose clear 
 and comprehensive understanding appears 
 even in his definitions, having frequent oc- 
 casion to treat of such improper quantities, 
 never fails to define them so as to give 
 a measure of them, either in proper quan- 
 tities, or in such as had a known measure 
 This may be seen in the definitions prefixed 
 to his " Principia Philosophiee Naturalia 
 Mathematica.** 
 
 It ia not easy to say bow many kinds of 
 improper quantity may, in time, be intro- 
 duced into mathematics, or to what new 
 subjects measures may be applied; but 
 this, I think, we may conclude, that there 
 is no foundation in nature for, nor can any 
 valuable end be served, by applying measure 
 to anything hut what has these two proper- 
 <;«:— First, /* must admit of degrees of 
 grrattw and less ; Secondly, // must lie asso^ 
 dated with or related to mmethiitg that hat 
 ptoper qwmtilti^ so as thai when one is im- 
 creased, the other is iutremed ; when one is 
 dimimsheiiy the other it diminished ulsn ; 
 and eiwry degree of the one must ham a «/#• 
 terminate magnititde &r quantity of the other 
 mrtmpondiny to ii. 
 
 It sometimes happens, that we have occa- 
 sion to apply different measures to the same 
 thing. Centripetal force, as defined by 
 Newton, may be measured in various ways ; 
 he himself gives different measures of it, 
 and distinguishes them by different names, 
 as may be seen in the above-mentioned 
 definitions. 
 
 In reality. Br M.* conceii-es, that the 
 applying of measures to thin^ that properly 
 have not quantity, is only a fiction or arti- 
 fice of the mind, for enabling us to conceive 
 more easily, and more distmctly to express 
 and demonstrate, the properties and rela- 
 tions of those things that have real quantity. 
 The propositions ccmtained in tlie fiffet two 
 books of Newton's " Principia" might per- 
 haim bo expressed and demonstrated with- 
 out those various measures of motion, and 
 of centripetal and impressed forces which 
 he uses; but this wouM occasion such in- 
 tricate and perplexed circumlocutions, and 
 such a tedious length of demonstrations, as 
 would frighten any sober person from at- 
 tempting to read them. 
 
 From the nature of quantity, we may see 
 what it is that gives mathematics such ad- 
 vantage over other sciences, in cleameea 
 and certainty; namely, that quantity ad- 
 
 • llieauihnr. ReM hiaiieir.^li. 
 
 AN ESSAY ON QUANTITY. 
 
 717 
 
 mits of a much greater variety of relations 
 than any other subject of human reasoning ; 
 and, at the same time, every relation or 
 proportion of quantities may, by the help of 
 lines and numbers, be so distinctly defined 
 as to be easily distinguished from all others, 
 without any danger of mistake. Hence it is 
 that we are able to trace its relations through 
 a long process of reasoning, and with a 
 perspicuity and accuracy which we in vain 
 expect in subjects not capable of mensura- 
 tion. 
 
 Extended quantities, such as lines, sur- 
 faces, and solids, besides what they have in 
 common with all other quantities, have this 
 peculiar, that their parts have a particular 
 place and disposition among themselves : a 
 line may not only bear any assignable pro- 
 portion to another, in length or magnitude, 
 but lines of the same length may vary in 
 the disposition of their parts ; one may be 
 straight, another may be part of a curve 
 of any kind or dimension, of which there is 
 an endless variety. The like may be said 
 of surfaces and solids. So that extended 
 quantities admit of no less variety with re- 
 gard to their form, than with regard to their 
 magnitude ; and as their various forms may 
 be exactly defined and measured, no less 
 than their magnitudes, hence it is that geo- 
 metry, which treats of extended quantity, 
 leads us into a much greater compass and 
 variety of reasoning than any other branch 
 of mathematics. Long deductions in alge- 
 bra, for the most part, are made, not so 
 much by a train of reasoning in the mind, 
 as by an artificial kind of operation, which 
 is built on a few very sunple principles ; 
 but in geometry we may build one proposi- 
 tion on another, a third upon that, and so 
 on, without ever coming to a limit which 
 we cannot exceed. The properties of the 
 more simple figures can hardly be exhausted, 
 much less those of the more complex ones. 
 
 It may be deduced from what has been 
 said above, that mathematical evidence is 
 an evidence sui generis, not competent to 
 any proposition which does not express a 
 relation of things measurable by lines or 
 numbers. All proper quantity may be 
 measured by these, and improper quantities 
 must be measured by those that are proper. 
 
 There are many things capable of more 
 and less, which, perhaps, are not capable of 
 mensuration. Tastes, smells, the sensa- 
 tions of heat and cold, beauty, pleasure, all 
 the affections and appetites of the mind, 
 wisdom, folly, and most kinds of proba- 
 bility, with many other things too tedious 
 to enumerate, admit of degrees, but have 
 not yet been reduced to measure, nor, per- 
 haps, ever can be.* I say, most kinds of 
 probability, because one kind of it — viz., the 
 
 * What would Reid now lay to the Herbartian 
 Piycholcfy f— H. 
 
 probability of chances — is properly measur- 
 able by number, as observed above. 
 
 Though attempts have been made to 
 apply mathematical reasoning to some of 
 these things, and the quantity of virtue 
 and merit in actions has been measured by 
 simple and compound ratios ; yet Dr M. 
 does not think that any real knowledge has 
 been struck out this way ; it may, perhaps, 
 if discreetly used, be a help to discourse on 
 these subjects, liy pleasing the imagination, 
 and illustrating what is already known ; but 
 till our affections and appetites shall them- 
 selves be reduced to quantity, and exact 
 measures of their various degrees be as- 
 signed, in vain shall we essay to measure vir- 
 tue and merit by them. This is only to ring 
 changes on words, and to make a show of 
 mathematical reasoning, without advancing 
 one step in real knowledgCr 
 
 Dr M. apprehends that the account given 
 of the nature of proper and improper quan- 
 tity, may also throw some light on the 
 controversy about the force of moving 
 bodies, which long exercised the pens of 
 many mathematicians, and, perhaps, is 
 rather dropped than ended, to the no small 
 scandal of mathematics, which has always 
 boasted of a degree of evidence inconsistent 
 with debates that can be brought to no 
 
 issue. 
 
 Though philosophers on both sides agree 
 with each other and with the vulgar in this, 
 that the force of a moving body is the same 
 while its velocity is the same, is increased 
 when its velocity is increased, and dimi- 
 nished when that is diminished : but this 
 vague notion of force, in which both sides 
 agree, though perhaps sufficient for com- 
 mon discourse, yet is not sufficient to make 
 it a subject of mathematical reasoning : in 
 order to that, it must be more accurately 
 defined, and so defined as to give us a 
 measure of it, that we may understand what 
 is meant by a double or a triple force. The 
 ratio of one force to another cannot be per- 
 ceived but by a measure ; and that measure 
 must be settled, not by mathematical reason- 
 ing, but by a definition. Let any one con- 
 sider force without relation to any other 
 quantity, and see whether he can conceive 
 one force exactly double to another ; I am 
 sure I cannot, says he, nor shall, till I shall 
 be endowed with some new faculty ; for I 
 know nothing of force but by its effects, and 
 therefore can measure it only by its effects. 
 Till force then is defined, and by that de- 
 finition a measure of it assigned, we fight in 
 the dark about a vague idea, which is not 
 sufficiently determined to be admitted into 
 any mathematical proposition. And when 
 such a definition is given, the controversy 
 will presently be ended. 
 
 Of the Newtonian Measure of Force. — 
 You say, the force of a body in motion is as 
 
AN ESSAY ON QUANTITY. 
 
 its Telocity: either you meAn to laytMi 
 down as a definition, as If 0911111 Mnself has 
 'dniie'i or you mean to afflrm it as a pro'po- 
 .aiitlon ^eapable of proof. If you mean to lay 
 It down as a definition, it is no more than 
 if you should say, I call that a double foree 
 vhich gives a double Telocity to the same 
 iMMiy, a triple force whidi |ives a triple 
 Tdodly, and so on in proportion* This he 
 entirely agrees to ; no matheniattcal defini- 
 tion of force^ can he given that is more clear' 
 and simple, none that is more agreeable to 
 the conmion use of the word in knguage. 
 For, since all men agree that the force of 
 the body being the same, the velocity must 
 'tikm he the smm } tlie fone being increased 
 orAaiiiiifhed, the velocity most he so also— 
 wbal cm be more natural or proper than to 
 take the Telocity for the meaamre of the 
 iiree? 
 
 Several other things 'might be .adTan^ced 
 tO' shew thai Ihis definition agrees 'best with 
 the common popular notion of the word 
 force. If two bodies meet directly with a 
 ■hoelc,wMeh mntnaiy destroys' their motion, 
 without producing any other ^seiiiible effect, 
 the Tnlgar would pronounce, without hesi- 
 tation, that they met with equal force i and 
 m they do, according to the measure of 
 Ibree mme laid down ; for we find by ex- 
 pemnce, that in this case their velocities 
 ^aae leoipiocaiy as their' quantities of matter. 
 In mechanics, where by a oaohine two 
 powerS' or weights are kept i» nftiJ/IMoi 
 the Tulgar would reekon that these powers 
 act with equal force, and so by this 'defini- 
 tion 'they 'do. The power of gravity beine 
 
 'that if should give ^eq nal degrees of force to 
 » body in equal times, and so by this defini- 
 tion it does. So that this deinition is not 
 'On|ir ekwr and ainple, hut it agrees best 
 with the use of the' word foiee in common 
 language, and this is aU thai' 'Can be desired 
 in a d^nition. 
 
 But if you are not latiified with laying it 
 ^hivtt aS' a 'definition, that the force' of & body 
 m WB its Telocity, but will needs proTe it by 
 denonstratbn or experiment, I must beg 
 of you, before you take one step in the proo^ 
 to let me know what you mean by force, 
 and what by 'a doable or m triple force. 
 This .you; 'inuil do by a dcfinitioa 'Which con- 
 tains a measure of force. Some primarv 
 BMUure of force :nust bO' taken for , granted, 
 m 'Mi. down %' vi^ of defini'tion s other- 
 win wt can never retaon about its quantity. 
 And why then may you not take the velocity 
 fur the primaiy miMRire m 'well, as any 
 other ? I ou will find 'none that is more 
 •hnpfe, more diatinct, or mote agreeable to 
 the 'Common, uae of the word force : and he 
 'that rejects one deHnition that has these 
 properties, has equrf right to reject any 
 other. I aiiy 'then, that tt i§ impossible, by 
 
 mathenmtical reasoning or experiment, to 
 prove that the force of a body is as its ve- 
 locity, without taking for granted the thing 
 you would prove, or something else that is 
 no more evident than the thing to be proved. 
 
 Of the LeilmiiMian .Measure of Font.-^ 
 Let us next hear the Leibnitzian, who says, 
 that the force of a body is as the square of 
 its velocity. If he lays this down as a 
 definition, I shall rather agree to it than 
 quarrel about words, and for the future shall 
 understand him, by a quadruple force to 
 mean that which gives a double velocity ; by 
 nine times the force, that which gives three 
 times the velocity ; and so on in duplicate 
 proportion. While he keeps by hLs defini- 
 tion, it will not necessarily lead him into 
 any error in mathematics or mechanics. 
 For, however paradoxical his conclusions 
 may appear, however different in words 
 from theirs who measure force by the simple 
 ratio of the velocity, they will in their 
 meaning be the same : just as he who would 
 call a foot twenty-four inches, withoutchang- 
 ing other measures of length, when he says 
 a yard contains a foot and a half, means the 
 very same as you do, when you say a yard 
 contains three feet. 
 
 But, though 1 allow this measure of force 
 to be distinct, and cannot charge it with 
 falsehood, for no definition can be false, yet 
 I say, In the ^Mt pUce, It is less simple 
 than the other : for why should a duplicate 
 ratio be used where the simple ratio will 
 do as well ? In the next place. This mea- 
 sure of force is less agreeable to the com- 
 mon use of the word force, as has been 
 shewn above; and this indeed is all that 
 the many laboured arguments and experi- 
 ments, brought to overturn it, do prove. 
 This also is evident, from the panidoxea 
 into which it has led its defenders. 
 
 We are next to consider the pretences of 
 the Leibnitzian, who will undertake to prove 
 by demonstration, or experiment, that force 
 is as the square of the velocity. I ask him 
 first, what he lays down for the first mea- 
 fure of force ? The only measure I re- 
 member to have been given by the phi- 
 losophers of that side, and which seems 
 first of all to have led Leibnitz into his 
 notion of force, is this : the height to which 
 a body is impelled by any imi)rcs8ed force, 
 is, savs he, the whole effect of that force, 
 and therefore must be proportional to the 
 cause : but this height is found to be as the 
 square of the velocity which the body had 
 at the beginning of its motion. 
 
 In this argument I apprehend that great 
 man has been extremely unfortunate. For, 
 ^r»i, whereas all proof should be taken from 
 principles that are common to both sides, 
 in order to prove a thing we deny, he as- 
 sumes a principle which we think farther 
 from the truth ; namely, that the height to 
 
 AN ESSAY ON QUANTITY. 
 
 719 
 
 which thebody rises is the whole effect of 
 the impulse, and ought to be the whole 
 measure of it. Secondly, His reasoning 
 serves as well against him as for him : for 
 may I not plead with as good reason at 
 least thus ? The velocity given by an im- 
 pressed force is the whole effect of that 
 impressed force; and therefore the force 
 must be as the velocity. Thirdly, Sup- 
 posing the height to which the body is 
 raised to be the measure of the force, this 
 principle overturns the conclusion he would 
 establish by it, as well as that which he 
 opposes. For, supposing the first velocity 
 of the body to be still the same ; the height 
 to which it rises will be increased, if the 
 power of gravity is diminished; and di- 
 minished, if the power of gravity is increased. 
 Bodies descend slower at the equator, and 
 faster towards the poles, as is found by 
 experiments made on pendulums. If then 
 a body is driven upwards at the equator 
 with a given velocity, and the same body is 
 afterwards driven upwards at Leipsic with 
 the same velocity, the height to which it 
 rises in the former case will be greater than 
 in the latter ; and therefore, according to 
 his reasoning, its force was greater in the 
 former case ; but the velocity in both was 
 the same; consequently the force is not 
 as the square of the velocity any more than 
 as the velocity. 
 
 Befleetions on thu Controversy. — On the 
 whole, I cannot but think the controvertists 
 on both sides have had a very hard task ; 
 the one to prove, by mathematical reason- 
 ing and experiment, what ought to be taken 
 for granted ; the other by the same means to 
 prove what might be granted, making some 
 allowance for impropriety of expression, 
 but can never be proved. 
 
 If some mathematician should take it in 
 his head to affirm that the velocity of a 
 body is not as the space it passes over in a 
 given time, but as the square of that space ; 
 you might bring mathematical arguments 
 and experiments to confute him, but you 
 would never by these force him to yield, if 
 he was ingenious in his way ; because you 
 have no common principles left you to 
 argue from, and you differ from each other 
 not in a mathematical proposition, but iu a 
 mathematical definition. 
 
 Suppose a philosopher has considered 
 only that measure of centripetal force which 
 is proportional to the velocity generated by 
 it in a given time, and from this measure 
 deduces several propositions Another phi- 
 losopher in a distant country, who has the 
 same general notion of centripetal force, 
 takas the velocity generated by it, and 
 the quantity of matter together, as the 
 measure of it. From this he deduces several 
 conclusions, that seem directly contrary to 
 those of the other. Thereupon a serious 
 controvery is begun, whether centripetal 
 force be as the velocity, or as the velocity 
 and quantity of matter taken together. 
 Much mathematical and experimental dust 
 is raised, and yet neither party can ever be 
 brought to yield ; for they are both in the 
 right, only they have been unlucky in giv- 
 ing the same name to different mathema- 
 tical conceptions. Had they distinguished 
 these measures of centripetal force as New- 
 ton has done, calling the one vis centripeta 
 quantitatis acceleratrix, the other, quanti- 
 taiis motrix; all appearance of contradic- 
 tion » had ceased, and their propositions, 
 which seem so contrary, had exactly tal- 
 lied. 
 
STATISTICAL ACCOUNT 
 
 OF THB 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW.* 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To give a distinct account of the Uni- 
 versity of Glasgow, it is necessary to dis- 
 tinguish two periods of its existence, in 
 which its constitution and appearance were 
 extremely different — the period before the 
 reformation from Popery, and that which 
 followed it; to which may be subjoined, 
 the present state of the University, with 
 such alterations in the mode of conducting 
 education as the improvements in litera- 
 ture, and the state of society, have sug- 
 gested. 
 
 I. HISTORY OP THE UNIVKRSITY BEFORE THB 
 REFORMATION. 
 
 Origin — At the request of King James 
 II., Pope Nicolas V. granted a Bull, con- 
 stituting a " studium yenerale, tarn in fheo' 
 logia, acjuie cammico et civiH, quam in arti- 
 
 w^ ... — .— ..i- - ■ - i " 
 
 * This Account was published in the lant or 21st 
 volume uf the •• Statistical Account of ScotUnd," in 
 17U9, three years alter the drath of Reid. It was not 
 cominunirated by the author himself to Sir John 
 Sinclair, nor probably duiing his life, but, as the 
 title bears, was*' 1 ransniitted by Pro essor Jirdine 
 ill Name of the Principal and Professors of the Uni- 
 versity." In the "Srat'stical Account," there is no 
 indication aff'orded in regard to the writer : but it has 
 always been attributed to our author. Itexhibits his 
 character of thougl<t and style, and even various of 
 his peculiarities of expression {r& pi'qfeuiom for pro- 
 fusorships) ; and, as I am informed by my learned 
 friend, ur I.ee, was produced and f unded on as the 
 work of licid, in an action maintained, some thirty 
 years ago, by sundry of hi8ColleaKue>, (Mr Jardine 
 among the nu>) ber,) in regard to their collegiate pri. 
 vileges. From internal evidence, it appears that the 
 Account itself was drawn up in 1*791, two years be. 
 fore Keid's death ; liut the •* Additions and Correc- 
 tion!)" are of A more recent date, and probal)lybya 
 different hand 
 
 Hefore I became aware that this Account was the 
 work of Reid, I had t-ecn struck by the singular cor. 
 rectness of the view that is here taken of the consti. 
 tution of the ancient University, and thip, as it ap. 
 pears, not from any analogical knowUnlge of the his. 
 tory of the Eurujiean universities in general, but 
 abhtractid from the records of the (uasgow Faculty 
 of Art> a one.— H. 
 
 bus, et quavis aha licita facttUate,'"* to 
 continue in all time to come in the city of 
 Glasgow, as being a notable place, and fit 
 for the purpose, by the temperature of the 
 air, and the plenty of all kinds of provisions 
 for human life; and, by his apostolical 
 authority, ordained, That its doctors, mas- 
 ters, readers, and students, shall enjoy all 
 the privileges, liberties, honours, exemp- 
 tions, and immunities granted to the shi^ 
 dium generate of his city of Bononia [Bo- 
 logna.] He likewise appointed William 
 Turnbull, then Bishop of Glasgow, and his 
 successors in that see, to be the Rector8,t 
 called Chancellors, of the said .studium ,- 
 and to have the same authority over the 
 doctors, masters, and scholars, as the Rec- 
 tors [of the schools] have in the Studium 
 Bononiense.X This Bull is dated at Rome 
 the 7th of the month of January 1450, and 
 the fourth year of his pontificate. 
 
 Establishment. — By the care of the bishop 
 and his chapter, a body of statutes was pre- 
 pared, and an university established in the 
 year 1451 : consisting, besides the Chancel- 
 lor, of a Rector, Doctors, and Masters of the 
 four faculties, who had taken their degrees 
 in other universities ; and students, who, 
 after a course of study and examination, 
 prescribed by their several faculties, might 
 
 be promoted to academical degrees. 
 
 That this institution might open with the 
 greater celebrity, the bishop had procured 
 and published a Bull from the Pope, grant- 
 ing an universal indulgence to all faithful 
 
 * 'I'his quotation has been corrected from the 
 
 Bull—H. . .. ^ 
 
 t The term Rector is here used generically. Tm 
 Rector^ the proper head of the University, was by the 
 Univprsity elected. — H. 
 
 X The origin and nature of the office of Chancellor, 
 in elation to the ancient universities, is a very curt- 
 ous8ubject,andonenotatail kn wn ; but, as it can. 
 not be explained in a few words, I must not sj«ak of 
 i at present —I may observe, in genera!, that there 
 is nothing in the privilegps and legulations of the 
 University ot • lasgow but what is common, I may 
 sav, to til the older Universities.- H. 
 
 3 A 
 
M jSum 
 
 A STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Clirislump, wlio should visit the mthedral 
 ehufch of GlifcBgo «r, in the yea r 1 45 1 . We 
 hm0 no Mcouiit of the Bolemnity and cere- 
 mony of the first estahlishiBent ; but it ap- 
 fmm that David Cadzow, tiiseiiiiiite in '01.11- 
 ]iMl*bw,. and canon of G-lanf^w, was the 
 ifiit rector, (probably appointed by the 
 hWiop;) and that he wan, by election, 
 Cfmliii'iied in 1452. Thew^ are mor©' than 
 1W members mentioned, as incorporated 
 by him in tliese two years; and most of 
 thera n-'t young men; but secular or regular 
 Mclesiastici, canons, rectors, vicars, and 
 ffisbyters, abbots, priors, and monks* 
 Andfew Stewart, brother to Kinp James 
 II., was incorporated in 1456, bemg then 
 •ub-dean of Olai^w. 
 
 MmmpHom — The clergy would perhaps 
 be the more disposed to attend the Univer- 
 sity, as, while they were incorporated mem- 
 h«m they were, by r#yal charters and acts 
 of Parliament, exempted from all taxes 
 and public hufdena. And Bishop Turn- 
 Imll, in the year 1463, ordained, That the 
 iMBeieed clergy in his diocese, who were 
 regents or students in his university, or 
 wiling to study while they were teachable, 
 •hmili upon asking his lioenw, be exempted 
 'inini residenoe in their cafes, providing 
 they took care to have the religbus offices 
 duly performed 
 
 Mi^al CAarlur.— King James XL, in the 
 mm 14iS, at the request of Bishop Turn- 
 liull, granted a charter in favour of the 
 University of Glasgow ; by which the Rec- 
 tor, the Beans of the Faculties, the Procura- 
 ton. of the^ fmr aiiliom, the Masters, Be- 
 gents, an4 Scholiirs, studying in the said 
 university, providing they be not prelates, 
 as well as the Beadals, Writers, Stationers, 
 m»A Pacchment-makf9i%t are^^ exempted ii6 
 ;«fiifiiliiff iriktik^ mimerihus, tjeactmatbtm, 
 mmtmdkmf €&iieeiu, vigiim, «l jMtfiifiit, 
 mM^m modo infra regimm nmi^mm ti4timti' 
 Si §i hmmd^ 
 
 FtwUeges m'i Pmers.^The mxm p ri^ 
 ¥ilege was. renewed by subsequent sove» 
 feigns, and confirmed by acts of Parliament 
 And even in taxes of an eighth part of all 
 ceele8iast.ical livings, for the defence of the 
 .Qaiinn •gpu:nst an invasion of the English, 
 tha clergy in the University of Ohiigow, 
 
 ♦ This circuinitaitoe wm probsbly the ciusc whj 
 the election of Rector w.w conceded to all the mein.. 
 her* of the Untver4iy, and not hmiled to thepa- 
 d'Uated atone. In thto 'iwrtiealar, ttiecimtom of the 
 Italian ichools wis preOtitred to that of Paris, by the 
 cxamiile of which moat of the tr«iisal|iine tiniver- 
 •Ities were ref ulaleA Iliia, with the circumttance 
 tiMt only one enlkge ariiie within the Univertttf , 
 ■nahled the regtnta of that college more easily to 
 imirp from the fraduates at large ihe right* of aca. 
 ienieal tcaehini and legtalation— to alnlt the puWic 
 ml^enitjr ia. Ito 'ptivate psdap'Ofium.— H. 
 
 t ThiM iiewaiihecMiinion .upparta (aubpoaitl) 
 •f a untMntf t a**! iheWiow.nR are only the la. 
 '"■ittaiiMa' aad'' 'prMhget Ip ibe uaiaal fann paiiM to 
 tf'Cfff ' MhOT liMiliition of' tiM kind 'Ottr Europe— H. 
 
 on pleading their privilege, were exempted. 
 Tliia right of exemption from taxation, was 
 pleaded by thisUniversity before the Lords 
 of Council and Session, on the 20th of No- 
 vember 1633, and was sustained. 
 
 To these privileges, which the bishops of 
 Glasgow obtained from the Crown and 
 Parliiiraent, they added others which were 
 in their own power, in consequence of the 
 ample civil and criminal jurisdiction which 
 tiiey possessed within their own diocese — 
 to wit, The privilege of buying, selling, and 
 transporting provisions, within the jurisdic- 
 tion of the bishop, free of tolls and cus- 
 toms ; the fixing the rent of houses or lod- 
 gings, possessed by persons belonging to 
 the university, by a jury, the one half citi- 
 zens, the other half persona liclonging to 
 the university ; the obliging the magistrates 
 of Glasgow, upon their election, to swear 
 that they shall observe, and cause to be 
 observed, the immimities, liberties, and sta- 
 tutes of the university ; the granting the 
 rector the next place, in precedence to the 
 bishop, in all ceremonies and processions ; 
 the granting the privileges of incorporated 
 members to all the servants of the univer- 
 sity ; the mlf'flenying clause in the chancel- 
 lor's oath, [?] and which still makes a clause 
 in it — " S€ nihil in aeademia negotiis sitic 
 mderatarum et magislrorum aasentione ten- 
 ttOuTunC — and particularly, the granting to 
 the Rector, at first, the jurisdiction in all 
 civil and pecuniary questions, respecting 
 members of the university, and in crimes 
 less atrocious ; and afterwards, the extend- 
 ing it to all causes and crimes whatsoever ; 
 the power also, of infiicting ecclesiastical 
 censure, even that of excommunication. 
 
 Capiial TWtf/— There is, however, only 
 one instance on record of a capital trial 
 before the rector*s court, and that so late 
 as the year 1670. That year, Robert Bar- 
 touue, a student, was indicted for murder, 
 before Sir William Fleming, rector ; but 
 was acquitted by the jury. 
 
 II. AWCIKNT CONSTITUTION. 
 
 The constitution of this learned l»ody wiH 
 ap|>ear, by taking a view of the parts into 
 which it was divided, and the powers and 
 obligations of each. 
 
 1. Eiection of Office- Bearer»^ <^c — The 
 whole incorporated members, students, as 
 well as doctors and masters, were divided 
 into four parts, called the Quatuor Xationes, 
 according to the place of their nativity. The 
 whole realm of Scotland, and the Isles, was 
 distinguished into four districts, under the 
 names of Clydesdalf, Teviotdaht Albany^ 
 and Rtdhemy* A meeting of the whole 
 University was annually called, on the day 
 next after St Crbpin*s day. This meeting 
 
 THE I^NIVERSITY OF GLASGO\F. 
 
 723 
 
 was called the dngregatio ITniversitafis : 
 and, being divided into the four Nations, 
 each nation, by itself, chose a Procurator 
 and an Intrant ; and the intrants, meeting 
 by themselves, made choice of a Rector 
 and a De/tutatus of each nation, who were 
 assistants and Assessors to the Rector.* 
 
 Functions. — ^The Rector and Deputiti 
 had several functions. 
 
 1st, They were judges in all civil and 
 criminal causes, wherein any member of 
 the University was a party. Every mem- 
 who either sued or answered before any 
 other court, was guilty of perjury, and in- 
 curred the penalty of expulsion The eccle- 
 siastics in the University, to whatever dio- 
 cese they belonged, could not be called be- 
 fore their rural deans. 
 
 2dly, All members were incorporated by 
 the rector and deputafi, after taking an 
 oath to obey the rector and his successors, 
 to observe the statutes, and preserve the 
 privileges of the University, and not to 
 reveal its secrets to its prejudice, to what- 
 ever station they should arive. 
 
 3dly, The rector and deputali were the 
 council of the University ; who deliberated 
 upon, and digested all matters to be brought 
 before the congregation of doctors and nias- 
 ters. And the determinations of the doctors 
 and masters, in such cases, were accounted, 
 in respect of authority, next to the statutes 
 Sometimes the congre;/ntio univers tatis was 
 called occasionally for weighty matters ; 
 such as the making or repealing of statutes, 
 or for an embassy to the higher powers, in 
 name of the University. In such cases, 
 each nation chose three or four deputati, 
 who were joined with the rector and his 
 depntatif to transact the business committed 
 to them. 
 
 Two other office-liearers were chosen 
 annually, on the morrow after St Crispin's 
 day; a Burxanm, who kept the university 
 purse, and accounted for what he received 
 and expended ; and a Promutor, whose office 
 was to see that the statutes were observed, 
 and to bring delinquents before the Rector's 
 oourt, which had power to enforce the sta- 
 tutes, or to dispense with them in cases 
 that were not declared to be indispensihle. 
 
 II. Faculies^A second division of the 
 University was into its different Faculties. 
 The Pope's Bull mentions four by name— to 
 wit, Theohggy Oinon Law, Civil Law, and 
 the Arts. All others are comprehended 
 in a general clause, et in guavis a/iu licita 
 ficuUate. In the dark ages, the profes- 
 sions of theology, canon, and civil law, were 
 called the three learned professions ; as 
 being the only professions in which learning 
 was expected or thought necessary. They 
 fitted men for the most honourable and lu- 
 
 crative employments ; for the highest digni- 
 ties in the church ; for the councils of kings ; 
 for the offices of judges at home ; and of 
 ambassadors to foreign courts. To train 
 men to eminence in these professions, was 
 the first intention of universities. The 
 Arts, under which was comprehended logic, 
 physics, and morals, were considered as a 
 necessary introduction to the learned pro- 
 fessions, and, therefore, a necessary part of 
 study in every university. 
 
 Their Plan — The plan upon which uni- 
 versities were incorporated by the Popes, 
 was very like to that of incorporated towns 
 and boroughs, and perhaps was borrowed 
 from it. The university corresponds to the 
 whole incorporation of the borough ; the 
 different faculties to the different companies 
 of the trades or crafts into which the 
 borough is divided. A company is a smaller 
 incorporation, subordinate to that of the 
 borough ; has the power of chooising its own 
 head, or deacon ; and an authority over 
 those who are in the course of being trained 
 to the same craft. The companies in the 
 incorporated towns were anciently called 
 collegia, or colleges ; and the whole incor- 
 poration, comprehending all the companies, 
 was called the univer.'iittif of that town. 
 These names were, by analogy, applied to 
 corporations of the learned professions, and 
 at last appropriated to them. The word 
 used in Pope Nicolas' Bull is not univerd- 
 tas but studium general- ; and the univer- 
 sity of Bononia he calls Sturfium Bonon" 
 iense : but, in the charter of King James 
 II. in 1453, we have — Afmn universitas 
 Gla^gumsis, Jifia nostra dilecla.* 
 
 Gover/iment. — The government of a fa- 
 culty was very similar to that of the Uni- 
 versity. Each faculty had its own statutes, 
 determining the time of study, and the ex- 
 ercises and examinations requisite for at- 
 taining degrees in that faculty. Each 
 chose annually its own dean, its own fmr- 
 mrius, and sometimes four deputali as a 
 council to the dean. We know very little 
 of the three higher faculties in this Uni- 
 versity, as there is no record extant, either 
 of their statutes or of their transactions. 
 There are only two memorandums relating 
 to them in the University record. In the 
 first, we are told, that, on the 29th of July 
 146*0, the venerable David Cadzow, then 
 rector of the University, began, in the 
 chapter house of the predicant friars, the 
 clergy and masters being there convened, 
 to read the rubric in the canon law, de vita 
 et honestate clrrirornm ; and that he ton- 
 
 • See above, note, 121, b.— H. 
 
 
 * UniiHTsitas, as originally used, is simply a woril 
 for an incorporated generality. It has nothing to (lo 
 with any coniplemcnt of studies. Collegium is am. 
 biguous in its aca^lcmical employment; sometimes 
 being applied to denote the putilic sub-incorporatiun 
 of a faculty ; sometimea a private incorporation ul 
 certain individuals of the university.— H. 
 
 3 A 2 
 
724 
 
 A SFATISTiCAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 tinned aoiifirtlinf to t1i« pleaBum of tlic 
 hearen : and that, on the same day, and in 
 tlie eaine plaee, William de Levenax began 
 m title in tlie civil law. But we are not 
 told liow long it pleased the hearers that 
 these lectures should be continued.— —lu 
 another nieinorandum we are told, that, on 
 the m of March, in the year 11121, Robert 
 Lile, bachelor in theology, and prior of the 
 convent of predicant ffria» in Olasgow, 
 began, pro/wiiKi, to read a lecture on the 
 fourth book of the sentences, in the monas- 
 tery; in presence of the rector, dean of 
 faculty, and the rest of the masters ; John 
 Ade, professor of theology, and provincial of 
 the order in Scotland, presiding at the time. 
 
 III, Deffress, — A third division was ac- 
 cording to the aoademioil degree of every 
 ■MMiiber. The highest degree in theology, 
 caoon) and civil law, was that of Dmtor ; 
 and in the arts, that of Master. In some 
 universities, Aimlert of Ark are called i>0£-- 
 tm$ of Pkiifmphjf ; but in most they are 
 distinguished by the name of Master^ from 
 those wlio have the highest degree in any 
 of the higher faculties.* A master, however, 
 might be chosen to be rector, or a depuiw 
 ius, as well as doctor. In all the faculties, 
 there were two degrees by which a man 
 rose to the highest : these were Bachelor 
 and Licentiatcf The degree of Licentiate, 
 as well as that of Doctor or Master, was 
 conferred only by the chancellor or vice- 
 chancellor. The requisites to all the de- 
 
 Smes was a certain tune of study, and the 
 •vimg heard certain books prelected upon, 
 and certain exercises and examinations : in 
 Bachelors of the Arts fifteen years of age, and 
 ill Masters twenty. It was forbidden, under a 
 ,Il«i»y penalty, to give any man the title of 
 Matter, by word or writing, who had not 
 attained that degree; and the penalty was 
 stUl more heavy if any man took it to him- 
 lelf beffHf he had kwfuUy obtained it 
 Academical degrees were considered as of 
 Jwliitf institution, (probably because insti- 
 .litdl by Popes, who were thought to be 
 nspired by the Holy Ohost) ; and, there- 
 fore^ the chanceUor or vice-cliancellor con- 
 'iuMd. them. aiflAorila:f« dMnm, €i iu mmine 
 Patru, FUi% ei Spiritus Sancii. 
 
 IV. Teaching. ^The last division wo 
 ihaU mention^ is into teacherit^ and those 
 who wers tmmffkt. On this part of the 
 constitution, the records that are extant 
 leave ua much in the dark. We know 
 that four faculties were established; be- 
 
 * Orifiiuillf Magiitar, Doctor* aad Profctaor wore 
 convertible temis.-»H. 
 t The liemm was originally properly granted by 
 
 tiM 'Cliancellor, an<l luuallw preceded the highe>.t 
 Otpcc, or adiiiiiaiim m a Faniltj, by a year, llm 
 toeCMO oftlie Ctuineetloihi^wlio,,iBlbe older imivrr. 
 -ttiift wai alwap tile 'Etelatlaitical^ Urdinanr or hi« 
 Mandatory— was the continuance of « right exerci8i<d 
 prior to 'he origin of univerattitf, la IlicekTeiiiliand 
 tareinh centuries.— M. 
 
 cause, in the oath taken by masters of 
 arts, they swore to promote peace among 
 the four faculties, especially with the faculty 
 of theology. A school of canon law is 
 mentioned as being in disrepair, and to be 
 repaired out of the university purse ; and 
 it appears that degrees were conferred both 
 in that faculty and iu theology. Andreas 
 de Garlies, Doctor in .Met/iciniSj was incor- 
 porated in 1169; but his name is never 
 mentioned again, nor anything else thai 
 relates to medicine. It is probable, there- 
 fore that there was no faculty of medicine, 
 nor any teaching in that science. Of the 
 teaching in the faculty of arts we have more 
 full information, from two manuscripts in 
 parchment; — one of which contains the 
 statutes of that faculty, and its conclusions ; 
 and the other the minutes of its meetings, 
 and transactions, from 14dl to 1509, and 
 from 1535 to 1555. These manuscripts 
 were transcribed by order of the University 
 in 1769. 
 
 Padagogium. — Some years after the Uni- 
 versity was founded, many of the students 
 were young men, to whom tuition, as well 
 as teaching, was necessary ; and, therefore, 
 provision was made that they should live 
 and eat in one house, which was called 
 Pmiaiioginm^ or the College of Arts; where 
 they were taught and governed by certain 
 masters, who were called lieyente.s tn Ani- 
 buM,* This college was at iirst on the south 
 side of the Botten-row, and probably was a 
 part of the property of the bishop and 
 chapter; but afterwards a tenement was 
 bequeathed by Lord Hamilton, for the Col- 
 lege of Arts, where the college now stands. 
 
 Regents. — At first there were three re- 
 gents in the arts ; to wit, Alexander Ged- 
 des, a Cistertian monk; Duncan Bunch; 
 and William Arthurlie. Afterwards, we 
 find sometimes two, and sometimes but one. 
 It seems to have been the most laborious 
 and least coveted office in the University. 
 Besides teaching and presiding in disputa- 
 tions omnt die legibiti, they lived within the 
 College, eat at a conmion table with the 
 students of arts, visited the rooms of the 
 students before nine at night, when the 
 gates were shut, and at five in the morning, 
 and assisted in all examinations for degrees 
 in arts. In the beginning of every session, 
 they proposed to the faculty the books they 
 intended to prelect upon, and had their 
 
 * A Raien$ in Ariihut was not a title appropri. 
 ated to a teacher in the piedagogium or college. 1 his 
 was only a house into wliich cettain members of the 
 university were ailmittod, and where they were 
 mai"tain«l ; and among those certain graduatos, un- 
 der tht* condition of there teaching in their (acuity. 
 hiyere, or ro/ere *rhi)/aj!, meant simply and in een- 
 eral, to teach | and Mm/isUi- It<^e»t, or Doctor He. 
 /;«i», denoted a -graduate uhr( actually exercised hit 
 duty or his privilege of Ucturmg, &c. '1 here were, 
 at least there might have t)een, many other graduates 
 •• rtgmling" betides those who had appointmenu n 
 the fMBdagiigium.— H. 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OK GLASGOW. 
 
 725 
 
 permission. There was no salary for this 
 office for many years ; and the fees paid by 
 the hearers were very small. Twice we 
 find a regent presented by the chancellor, 
 and one of these he turned ofi" for insuffi- 
 ciency in two or three years. Once, the 
 faculty turned one out for insufficiency, and 
 put two in his place, with power to choose 
 a third, with the consent of the faculty, if 
 they found it proper. All that had this 
 office, excepting two, continued in it but a 
 few years ; and very often one who was not 
 a member of the faculty was called to this 
 office, and made a regent immediately upon 
 being incorporated. From these parti ju- 
 lars, it is probable that there was no c ni- 
 petition either for this office or for the pa- 
 tronage of it ; but rather some difficulty to 
 find persons qualified who were wiliifig to 
 take it. 
 
 Books. — ^The books which students were 
 obliged to hear read, before taking the de- 
 gree of Bachelor, were prescribed by sta- 
 tute. They were, " Porphirie's Introduc- 
 tion to certain books of Aristotle," and 
 " Petrus Hispanus " The fee to be paid 
 for hearing each was also fixed* When 
 
 * This fee was called the Pastut It was exigible 
 by all unsalaried graduates for their prelections. But 
 when the custom of giving salaries to certain gradu- 
 Jtes, ue. of endowing certain chairs, was introduced, 
 no fee could be legally demanded; the endowment 
 was in lieu of the pastus, a boon to the public and 
 the poor; and it was only after these salaried gradu- 
 ates, who in time came to be called pro/essorg, had, by 
 their gratuitous instruction, rendered the leer, les of 
 the graduates at large a ppihtless vocation — 1 say 
 it was only when other lectures were discontinued, 
 competition thus removed, and the whole instrur. 
 tion, and often even the whole regulation, of the 
 university allowed to fall into their hands, that, 
 by slow and imperceptible deKrees, fees were again 
 introduced, and in diHisrent schools and coun. 
 tries, hy different means, sometimes legally, more 
 frequently illegall>, raised to the footing of compuU 
 •orv exactions. '1 he records ot the University of 
 (ilasgow shew the progress ul the innovation in that 
 institution. In the earlier ages, and when the sal. 
 aried graduates— the regents of the peedagogium— 
 were very inadequately provided for, honoraria, or 
 voluntary offerings, t>y the richer Ktudents, were 
 naturally made. These gradually oi came customary ; 
 were, m lime, looked upon as a due ; and, by sanction 
 of the Moderators, (not I'rolessors,) a graduated stale 
 was, from time to time, fixed, accorditig to which stu. 
 dents of didbrent ranks were cxpectetl to contribute. 
 1 he poorer scholars were always declared free, and 
 those educated for the church bving generally of that 
 description, no custom of honoraries was ever intro. 
 duced into the theological cla^ses. The city of Cilas- 
 gnw had been a considerable ! enefactor of the col- 
 lege ; and the corfxiration, till a late period, took 
 care that its citizens should enjoy their original priv. 
 ilege of gratuitous instruction, or, at least, pay only 
 •uch fees as they themselves deemed reasonable; for, 
 at every new regulation touching •• scholUujcs" or 
 ** honoraria,^' it is stated, either that the children 
 nf the citize:i8 shall be entitled to gratuitous educa- 
 tion, or that they shall be liable in paymei.t only ** in 
 •uch protiortions and rates as the I own Co incil and 
 Moderators, after conference, stiall «gree upon." At 
 length, since the commencement of the present 
 century,theProfessorsseein to have taken upon them, 
 •elves, lo double and treble the previous rate of fees 
 without the sanction of the Modera ors, far lesd the 
 content of the city. 'I'he C oramissionera of Inquiry 
 uito the state of the Universities of Scotland anim. 
 adwri severely njwn the impropriety of the high 
 
 they had these, and tlie other requisites, 
 tliey were presented by their regent to a 
 meetmg of the Faculty, which, by statute, 
 was appointed to be held annually the day 
 after All'Saints. 
 
 Examinations. — When they were found 
 to have all the reginsita, or wanted only 
 such as the faculty saw cause to dispense 
 with, four examinators, called temptatores^ 
 were elected, to examine them, within ten 
 days. Of the four temptatoreSy two were 
 regents, (when there were two,) and the 
 other two non-regents. The examinators, 
 after examination, wrote, signed, and sealed 
 their report ; which contained not only the 
 name of those whom they found worthy, 
 but their order, according to their merit ; 
 and, in this order, the dean conferred the 
 degree of Bachelor of Jits. The examin« 
 ators, when they were chosen, took an oath 
 to make a faithful report, and not to reveal 
 the secrets of the examination. The can- 
 didates were also sworn not to reveal the 
 secrets of the examination ; nor to shew 
 any resentment, by word or deed, against 
 any fellow-candidate, by whom they hiid 
 been refuted in the course of the examina- 
 tion. The exammation for the degrees of 
 Licentiate and of Master was carried on in 
 the same way. 
 
 Ohl'tgntiort, — In the oath taken by one 
 who took the degree of IMaster, he came 
 under an obligation de lectura ad biennium ; 
 but this, which implied not only his conti- 
 nuing his studies in the College for two 
 years, but his giving lectures during that 
 time, was very often dispensed with upon 
 paying a fine.' 
 
 amount of fees thus exacted ; whereby, in the fac 
 ulty of arts, the poor student is obliged to pay as 
 high (and in one class even hiKhcr) to the well 
 endowed professors of a provincial university, as he 
 does to those of the metropolitan university, who 
 enjoy no salaries worth taking into account But, 
 while commenting on the impropriety of the pro. 
 ceeding, it is singular that the Commissioners have 
 not adverted to its palpable illegality. If the city of 
 Glasgow should vindicate its right of control, this 
 might be exerted not merely as a salutary check on 
 the irregular imposition of fees, but indirectly be 
 em(>loyed as a mean of raising the character of the 
 univer)<ity itself, by extorting a reform in the present 
 mode oi its academical patronage— that by selt-elee- 
 tion. See above, p. 43, a, note *. — H. 
 
 * This statement i» quite correct. This interval 
 was the period of what, in the older universities, was 
 called the necessary reqency. I see that this matter is 
 mistaken in the able Report relative to the Univers- 
 ity of (ilasgow, by the Commissioners on the Uni- 
 versities and Colleges of Scotland. The phrase is 
 there supposed to mean, only a continuation ot study 
 in the !• acuity for two years subsequent to the de- 
 gree of A.M. In the English universities the d •- 
 pensation is still in use; and, on the supposition that 
 they are then actually teaching, Masters, during thif 
 interval, have certain privileges in ihe university 
 which they may not aftet wards enjoy. < he practice 
 was originally universal. In the first place, it was 
 necessary to en>ure instruction in thedepaitment of 
 the faculty; and, in the second place, our amestom 
 knew, it seem-. t>eiter than we the value of intellect, 
 ual exercise, and, in particular, th.it ihe^ most ef. 
 fective means of learning is to teach. 
 
7M 
 
 A STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 Lgmmrm'^TIm Utttites of tlik fftoulty 
 mmom tlmt mmj wmaim m to pve pre- 
 Ifwtioiii; for tlifly emjiiiiiy tlisi,. im Ae ^aj 
 'in wlii«;Ii tlie dean m chostn, the nrnfitere,. 
 Mcoi4ing to their seniority, shall name the 
 twok: mjwn wMeli. they are to preleut ; and 
 'tfuH, if' two maaten ehoose the 'Wiiie book, 
 Hm! eenior be prafemd, unleaa there be so 
 many hearers that both may prelect on the 
 same book, at the same time, in different 
 ■ehools. But, in the minutes of faculty, 
 %imm m no mention of any such lectures 
 being proposed or given by any master but 
 the maffisin re,jenieit,* 
 
 The manner of teaching and of hearing 
 is,, by the statutes, ordained to be the :sanie 
 aS' in JfMWfiw and in Fitm. In many other 
 tilings, the praeliee of some one of the fo- 
 reign nniTersities is made the rule ; but 
 tliose' of England are never mentioned 
 
 Bhdpiim — Corporeal punishment was 
 Bometimea inflicted upon students in the 
 College of Arts. For some faults, the sta- 
 tutes order tlie punishment to be inflicted 
 raiigiM kueatk, 
 
 Fnpetly,— It may appear strange that 
 this University was foupded without any 
 property in lands, houses, or rents. It 
 eome into the world m waJtmI aS' every in- 
 dividual does. The mtiffregtiim midveraiia* 
 tk was always held at the cathedral. Some- 
 times the doctors and masters met at the 
 eonvent of the Dominicans, or Predieators, 
 as they were called. AU the lectures we 
 ind mentioned in theology, canon or civil 
 law, were read there. There was an uni- 
 versity purse, into which some perquisites, 
 paid at incorporation, and at examinations, 
 and promotions to degrees, were put. From 
 this purse, cajw of ceremony were furnished. 
 after some vears^ : but, to defray the expense 
 of a silver mi or niaee, to be »rried before 
 the rector at certain aolemnilies, it was 
 found necessary to tax all the imeorporated 
 members; and, on that occasion, we are 
 told that David Cadiow, who was then 
 rector, gave twenty nobles. 
 
 Two or three chaplaiiiriea were be- 
 queathed, under the patronage' of the uni- 
 versity, by «rtiie of its first members. Tho 
 duty of tlie chaplain was to i>erfomi certain 
 masses, at such an altar, for the souls of the 
 
 Ai is wai proverbially sMiid— 
 IH$mvM qmtrris. ilmmtt meipm^bmrttt 
 Mmm itudfo Mi m f»r#el« tmm mOalt. 
 
 *Ebnm f raduatw who not roewy iwrtormed iheir 
 lM%uiJwi tJuriitg the *ea« «l" iirc«iary regency, 
 iMt 'CTtfCisctl thetr prwUfSfe of tmchiiig whrn thai 
 'piilml, '•« .it an rnit, wew;caIJ«l volaniary irge..ti, 
 litpwlii 'td placitum. 1— H. 
 
 ♦ la fnpiwl to rhc tefw. MuffMri wmmim, letafcovs 
 n. Trt, b, *, tn w praetie* m .mrwiniiiiit ibr book* to 
 be prdectcd oo, im Gniinmjt (ordinarlc) by Ihc teiwnt 
 .mia^terit win general in the iMiropisan iciiool*.. We 
 ' bave mnm oiritm* U»t« of the books, ami of the vnr. 
 loin^ ral« M pmtm m wfcich tho Iwture* 'On ihem 
 wm'Hiateil, in tbe bhtofies of the ui»lver«iti«ol 
 Vienna ami fngolataili-*!!. 
 
 founder and his friends : for which he had 
 a small annuity. These chaplainries were 
 commonly given to some of the regents of 
 the college of arts ; perhaps because they 
 were the poorest of the sacerdotal order in 
 the university. This patronage and this 
 purse, as far as appears, were all the pro- 
 perty which the imiversity ever possessed. 
 Nor does it appear that the faculties of 
 theology, canon or civil law, ever had any 
 property. The individuals had rich livings 
 through all parts of the nation— abbacies, 
 priories, prebends, rectories, and vicarages : 
 but the community had nothing. ' Its privi- 
 leges were the inducement to bring rich 
 ecelesiastics into a society, in which they 
 lived at ease, free of all taxes, and subject 
 to no authority but that of their own rector. 
 The Cd/effe of Arts, however, being per- 
 haps thought the most useful jmrt of the 
 whole, and entitled to public favour, as en- 
 trusted with the education of youth, loon 
 came to have some property. In the year 
 1459, James Lord Hamilton bequeathed 
 to Mr Duncan Bunch, principal regent of 
 the College of Arts, and his successors, 
 regents, for the use of the said College— a 
 tenement, with tlie pertinents, lying on the 
 north side of the church and convent of the 
 Predicatorst together with four acres of land 
 ill the Dow hill." From this time we find 
 the purse of the faculty of arts, which ap- 
 jK«ars, to have been heavier than that of the 
 University, employed in repairing and add- 
 uig to the buildings of the College ; lurnish- 
 ing rooms for the regents and students ; 
 and things n( cessary for the kitchen, and a 
 common table. 
 
 In the year 1466, another tenement, ad- 
 joiuiiig to the College, was bequeathed by 
 Mr Thomas Arthurlie. By this time, 
 many of the students of arts were the youth 
 of the nation, whose good education was a 
 matter of importance to the public. They 
 were distinguished, according to their rank, 
 into sons of noblemen, of gentlemen, and of 
 those of meaner rank ; and, in the expense 
 of their education, were taxed accordingly. 
 Such, m far as we can learn, was the 
 constitution of the University of Glasgow 
 before the Reformation. There is reason to 
 think, that, when the zeal in favour of a 
 new institution began to cool, the three 
 higher faculties gradually declined into in- 
 activitv. 
 
 I>^^(/«.— From the year 1490, we find 
 frequent complaints, of masters not attend* 
 ing university meetings ; of statutes having 
 fallen into disuse ; of bachelors and licenti- 
 
 * In thlf deed, the regent* and students are re- 
 quired, every day after dinner and after supper, to 
 »tand up and pray for the *ouls «>f Janics Lord Ham. 
 ilton, liiunder of the college ; of F.uphemia hi« spnu»e. 
 Counter of Dougiaa-; ; ofhi»aiiCf$tor«aiid»ucce8«ofii 
 and of nil from whom he han received anyl)cneflt, for 
 wr.lcb he liju not nmde a proper return. 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 m 
 
 atea not proceeding in their degrees ; of the 
 jurisdiction of the University not being re- 
 spected. Sometimes, at the election of a 
 rector, not one of the nationr of Albany was 
 present ; and once, none either of Albanif 
 or of Teviotdale. There seems only to have 
 been one dean in the University for some 
 time before the Reformation, to wit, the 
 dean of the faculty of arts ; and, therefore, 
 it is probable the other faculties had no 
 meetings. In the later minutes of the Uni- 
 versity he is called Decanus Facultalis, 
 without addition ; whereas, more early, he 
 is always Decanus FacuUatis Artiuni* This 
 style, of Dean of Faculty (f the University, 
 which we see was a considerable time be- 
 fore the Reformation, continues to be used 
 to this day ; there being only one dean of 
 faculty in that University, who is considered 
 not as the head of one particular faculty, 
 but in the light of an university officer, as 
 the rector is. 
 
 There seem to have been two obvious 
 defects in the ancient constitution of the 
 University. The first, that no salaries were 
 provided for regular lectures in the high 
 faculties. It was not to be expected, that 
 the laborious work of teaching should he 
 performed by those who could not live by it ; 
 and who could not, by their industry and 
 eminence in their profession, rise to some 
 degree of respect proportioned to what their 
 talents and learning might have raised them 
 in another line of life. The second defect — 
 That there was not sufficient power over 
 the University to remedy disorders, when 
 these became general, and infected the 
 whole body. The chancellor had, by his 
 oath already mentioned, divested himself 
 of the power which the Pope's Bull gave 
 him ; and neither royal nor parliamentary 
 visitations, so frequent afterwards, were 
 then introduced. + 
 
 * This conjecture is confirmed by a notarial in- 
 strument of the foundation of a chaplainry, by Mr 
 Thomas Leiss, while he was on a sick-bed, l)ut sound 
 in his mind. , This instrument was taken, the 8th 
 day of March, in the year 15^9, before respectable 
 witnes es. five of whom signed it with the notary. 
 In it the notary says— Cotistitnit domlnum rectorcm 
 Univertritatis GhMiuensis et (kcnmim faadtatis ejm- 
 eU'in, itutuhiUitos 'patronos. From this, it appears, 
 that only one dean existed at that time in the Uni- 
 versity, or was expected to exist ; and we know that 
 a dean of the faculty of arts was chosen annually, nil 
 the year 1555. [<ee p. 7j?», note.— H.] 
 
 t Whatever were the causes of declension in this 
 University be'ore the Itpfurmation, the annals of 
 literature ment'on very few of its members who 
 mad« any considerable ( gure in the learned world. 
 One, however, deserves to be mentioned. William 
 Elphinston, who had been a canon ol t'lasgow, and 
 bad lK»rne the otBcos Imrh of rector of the Universiiv, 
 and dean of the faculty of arts, was eminent in the 
 knowledge both of the ranon and civil law. He was 
 nuule Bishop of Aberdeen, and Chanceli r of Scot. 
 land ; and was emi>loye<t in several embassies to 
 foreign courts. He founded the University of Old 
 Aberdeen, in the year 1496; and, either from the 
 c>x{ierience of what he had seen in the University of 
 Cilasgow, or Irom a deeper knowledge of human 
 nature, he supplied, in his university, both the defect* 
 
 III. HISTORY AFTKR THE REFORMATION. 
 
 The reformation in religion, established 
 by act of Parliament in the year 1560, 
 brought the University of Glasgow almost 
 to annihilation. The dignitaries of the 
 church and convents, of whom its doctors 
 and masters were composed, were of) more. 
 The Chancellor, James Beaton, fled to 
 France, and carried with him the plate of 
 the cathedral, with the bulls, charter, and 
 rights both of the see and of the University, 
 which he deposited partly in the Convent 
 of the Carthusians, and partly in the Scotch 
 College at Paris, (where they lately were,) 
 to be restored when Popery should be re- 
 established. It ought to be observed, to 
 the honour of that college, that they have 
 always been ready to give extracts from the 
 originals deposited with them, as well as to 
 gratify the curious by the inspection of 
 them. Tlie late Principal Gordon, of that 
 college, made a present to the University 
 of Glasgow of a copy of the chartulary of 
 the Chaptei- of Glasgow, iiotorially attested. 
 
 All that was now to be seen of the Uni- 
 versity was that small part, called the Co/- 
 Icffe of Arts, or Peedayogium ;* the least in 
 dignity, though perhaps not the least useful. 
 This small part, with its small property — 
 probably ranch impaired by the confusion 
 of the times, and the loss of rights — re- 
 mained as a relic of the ancient University, 
 and a seed of a reformed University, de- 
 pendent for its subsistence and growth on 
 future benefactions. The rich fabric of the 
 Popish hierarchy, in Scotland, was pulled 
 down with more zeal than prudence, by a 
 fierce nation, long oppressed, and little 
 accustomed to regular government. All 
 who had power or interest scrambled for 
 
 we have otraerved in that of Glasgow ; fur he gave 
 salaries (not illiberal for the times) to those who were 
 to teach theology, canon and civil law, medicine, 
 languages, and philosophy, and pensions to a certain 
 number of poor i>tudents; and likewise appointed a 
 visitnrial powr, reserving to himself, as chancellor, 
 and to his successors in that office, a dictatorial power, 
 to be exercised occasionally according to the re|>ort of 
 the visiters. 
 
 James Beaton, the last Popish Archbishop of (> las. 
 gow, deserves also to i e mentioned with honour. His 
 fidelity in dejwsiting everything he cairied away, 
 that belongetl to the Archbishopric or to the Univer- 
 sity, in the Convent ot the Carthusians, or in the 
 Sco'ch College at Paris, was never questioned. His 
 political abiliiy appears by his having been appointed 
 <»ne of the Scottish ambassadors, at the court <if 
 France, for settling the articles of the Queen s mar- 
 riage with the Dauphin ; his having been again ap- 
 pointed her ami assador at that court, and rontiiiuing 
 in that office from the time of the Reformation till 
 her death: and, after that tragical event, his being 
 appointed King James's amlKissador at the same court, 
 and holding that office till the time of hix own death 
 in 160.3, when King James came to be King ot 
 England, 'i'his archbishop left several monuments of 
 his learning in manuscript, which are preserved in 
 ihcScofcli College at Paris, to which he bequeathed 
 the greatt st part of »iis effects at his death. 
 
 * Not synonymous. See atiove, p. "itti, h, note ♦ 
 — H. 
 
'728 
 
 B J ii 1131 lL#Aii ilUi/l/UM I HIT 
 
 Hie wpek. Thm erown, the nobility, and 
 tit eiii% van enriched lij it$ Minie crumbs 
 
 ikmm Mmffg' Charier,— -Tim '§nit who 
 laii ^emnpuiiion on tbe Univonitj of Olas* 
 goWy in Its depresaod state, was the fam- 
 ous and the unfortunate Queen Mary. In 
 a eharter .gnnted by her,, and to whieb 
 ber pri^' 'mI. ii appended, dated the 13th 
 of July ism^ lb«fe b the following narra* 
 tive : — " Forasmuch as, within the citie of 
 dliiqgow, ane ooUedge and universitie was 
 dovysit to be hade, &«., of tbe wbilke eol- 
 ledfe ane part of the seeles .and obalmers 
 being Mffgei, tbe rest thairof, alsweil dwel- 
 liugs as provision for the* poor bursan and 
 maiatefs^ toteadi.,;eiiaait, sm that the saniyn 
 «ppcM|:red rather tO' 'be the decay of ane uni- 
 »«frity, nor onieways to be reckonit ane 
 eslabiiflbt foundation.** Therefore, for the 
 seal she bore to letters, &», she founds five 
 iMMir cMMren bursars within the said eol- 
 Hfe, to be ealkd, hi all times to come, bur- 
 mr» of km' fmmdaiion ; and for their f «*- 
 tmiaium, she gives to the Masters of the 
 wM eoilege ud 'uniTetsity the manae ^and 
 kifl. rf'the FfianPrediealoti, withlblrteen 
 acma^ ^of ground adjacent, and sefetal other 
 rents and annuities therein named, which 
 bad. belonged to the said friars.*' 
 
 Bmtgh rAurl^.— The next beoefaction 
 niade to this college is contained in a char- 
 ter, granted by Sir John Stewart of Mynto, 
 proTost, with the baUies, council, and eom- 
 mnnlty of the eity of Glangnw, in the year 
 1672, and ratiied by tbe Byrliafient the 
 tame year. They, considering tliat» 'bendei 
 other detruiient their town sustained, their 
 ■clioola and colleges were utterly ruined ; 
 and their youth, who were wont to te trained 
 to probity and good morals, left to be cor- 
 nipted by idleness and wantonness; and, 
 being earnestly desirous to remedy so great 
 an e¥il, by the exborlation, counMel, and 
 aid of the most respectable Master Andrew 
 Hay, Rector of the church of Benfrew, and 
 Vice-Superintendent, and Hector for the 
 time, of their University of Glasgow — re- 
 •olved, to restore, renew,, and give a new 
 iiaidation to the Prnhg^irm Glmffueme^ 
 f aurf pro iumpiumm ittopia pene corrueratf 
 #1 in 9110, |iro nimln pmupertate, </wtp/i«- 
 «mi» siudifi eM'meia Jacebant. For this 
 purpose, they annex to the said college, 
 ^and to the regents and students after- 
 named, residing within it, being fifteen per- 
 sons in all, **for tlieir honest and oommo- 
 
 • The nameof taraor, or Imrmrim, was anciently 
 livtn In tlM ti«Miirer or an univcn>ity or of a culk>i;«>, 
 wIm ksid tlieotitiitnnti |iur e of t he community. We 
 ■•• AM, In Quten Maiy't tine, lliui name had cotne 
 
 tn iw given to pi>or Miiclfiita, praWliljrtiecaiiM; they 
 vertiMRilMeis on '^Mammmfmm, Hrr gift u the 
 tirtl.«wha:*t inct. villi* tiMt vaidesttneci particularly 
 fur tiM anniort of a certain number of tuch |>oor 
 
 ••udenta, mtmm alie ■i^'potnta to l:e called tmrsan ^f 
 
 dious Bustentation, all and sundry the hinds, 
 tenements, houses, biggings, kirks, chapels, 
 yards, orchards, crofts, annual-rents, fruitSi 
 duties, profits and emoluments, mails, 
 obit-silver, and anniversaries whatsoever, 
 which pertained to whatsoever chappels, 
 altarages, prebendaries, founded in what- 
 ever kirk or college within the said city ; or 
 of the places of all the friars of the same 
 city, according to the gift made to them by 
 the Queen, under the Great Seal, the 26th 
 March 1566.** They likewise will and de- 
 clare, that the said College, the fifteen per- 
 sons before mentioned, and all others who 
 shall be students in the same, and their ser- 
 vants, shall be exempted ab omnijurutW' 
 ti me ordinarid ; necn&n at cmnihtis ciis* 
 tumis, et exacUonibus pedatih, intra civUa* 
 tern tmsiram imposiiisy vel imponetulia. It 
 is understood to be in consequence of this 
 charter, that the magistrates of Gla^^gow, 
 or a deputation from them, still continue 
 annually to inspect the accompts of the old 
 revenue of the College in which the parti- 
 culars of this donation were comprehended, • 
 though the greatest part of it, which con- 
 sisted of small ground annuals, is now 
 lost. 
 
 One might think, that, when to the for- 
 mer revenue of the College were added 
 these donations of Queen Mary, and of the 
 city of Glasgow, it must have been com- 
 pletely endowed for the maintenance of 
 fifteen persons ; yet it was soon found ne- 
 cessary to increase the revenue, and to 
 diniinish the number of persons to be main- 
 tained by it For, altliough the property of 
 the Dominican Friars in Glasgow was cer- 
 tainly very considerable before the Reform- 
 ation, yet all th^t the College could make 
 effectual of that, and all their funds taken 
 together, amounted only, by their rental, to 
 i:300 Scotch money, f 
 
 A more efTectual benefaction was made 
 to this poor society, in the year 1577^ by 
 King James VI., in his minority, with the 
 advice and consent of the Earl of Morton, 
 
 • Hence, loo. the privileite of tbecitixena of Glai. 
 gow, to which 1 have alhidnl in a previous note.— H, 
 
 t The reaiion wriv donation*, in appearance liberMl, 
 turned out to <>o umall acco-int, wa)>, panly, th»t the 
 POpiah ecclesiastics, st^ular and regular, thuuKh 
 their torin of worship was totally abnli.>'hed throufsb 
 the wholf nation, continued to enjoy their tcmpomli. 
 ties for life, subject to a taxation of a third part tn 
 the Crown, out of whirh the clergy or the reformed 
 church were to he maintainrd ; p rtly. that tho«e in- 
 CUinb«>nts. during their life, piactiaed rrmny arts to 
 alienate their revenues to laymen, either from 
 friendthip or for their own profit, by pretended feu. 
 contracts, iHrrpetual or long leasts, and mn.iy oih»'r 
 mptins, which their private interest, their regird 
 to ri'latioiif, or their batred of the new religion, sug. 
 gested. 
 
 Some of these pretended alienations, made to the 
 hurt of the college, were aHerwards reduced and 
 annulle<> by the courts of law. some by arbitiation. 
 Probably muny more mij:ht hare been reduced ; but 
 that very orttn the tuhject was U^o snuiU to bear the 
 expense of a lawsuit, or the roan in poasessiou to» 
 jmrtrfui to be sued b) the college. 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 729 
 
 Regent of the kingdom. That was the rec- 
 tory and vicarage of the parish of Grovan, 
 of which the incumbent was lately dead, 
 and the value reckoned about twenty-four 
 chalders. It was found, however, that the 
 late incumbent had, before his death, given 
 a nineteen years' lease of the temporality to 
 a friend, and that friend had transferred his 
 right to a man in power. By this, and 
 some other incumbrances, all that the Col- 
 lege could draw from it, for about twenty 
 years, was only 300 merles yearly. 
 
 IV. MODERN CONSTITUTION. 
 
 New Royal Charter.^W\t\i this gift, 
 King James gave a charter of foundation to 
 the College, which, in its most essential 
 articles, has continued in force to this day. 
 It is commonly called the nova eredio : all 
 subsequent changes being superstructures 
 upon this foundation. The charter ()roceed8 
 upon this narrative . — Iiitelli^entes quod 
 annua proficua et redit'is colk^uiij seu P^sedu. 
 gogil GlasguensiSj tarn exigua sunt, ut hac 
 Wtttra cetate minime sufficientia sint ad 
 itvstentandtim principaiemy magistros re- 
 gentPSy burtarioSj et officiarios necessarios in 
 quovia collegio ; nee ad adminicu^andum 
 mutentationi et repatatumi ejusdem. And 
 afterwards — Dum animum nostrum adjecer- 
 imus ad collu;endas reliquias amdemim 
 Glasgvensis ,• quam p'te inopia languiscen- 
 tern, ac jam pene confectam reperimus. — 
 The persons founded by this charter are 
 twelve ; a Principal, three Regents, four 
 Bursars, an (Economus or Steward, a Oook, 
 a Porter, and a Servant to the Principal. 
 
 Estahlishment^ — The Principal was to 
 teach Theology one day, and Hebrew and 
 Syriac the next alternately, through the 
 week; and to preach in the church of 
 Govan on Sunday. Of the Regents, one was 
 to teach Greek and Rhetoric ; another, 
 Dialectics, Morals, and Politics, with the 
 elements of Arithmetic and Geometry ; and 
 the third, who was also Sub-Principal, was to 
 toach all the branches of Physiology and 
 Geography, Chronology and Antrology. 
 The Principal to be presented by the 
 Crown ; the Regents to be elected by the 
 Hector, Dean of Faculty, and the Prin- 
 cipal. The Regents were not, as was the 
 custom of other Scottish universities, to 
 carry on their students through the three 
 years' course ; but to keep by one profes- 
 sion ; 80 that the student had a new Regent 
 every year. The Bur^^rs were to be main- 
 tained for three, years and a half within the 
 College; that being the time required in 
 the Scottish universities for acquiring the 
 degree of Master of Arts. The Steward 
 was to collect the whole revenues, and to 
 provide all necessaries for the College table ; 
 
 and to give an account, every day, to the 
 Principal and Regents, of his disburse- 
 ments. The Rector, the Dean of Faculty, 
 and the Minister of Glasgow, are author- 
 ized to visit the College four times in the 
 year, to examine and authenticate the pub- 
 lic accounts, and to see that all things be 
 carried on according to the intention oi' this 
 foundation, and to correct what was not. 
 
 Privileges and Exempli ns. — All dona- 
 tions formerly made to the College, by what- 
 soever person or persons, of whatsoever 
 rank, are ratified. And the whole revenue 
 formerly belonging to, or now granted, the 
 King declares and ordains, for him and his 
 successors, shall be enjoyed by the said 
 College, free from any taxation of a third 
 part, or any other taxation whatsoever; 
 any law, custom, act, or ordinance of Par- 
 liament, notwithstanding. Finally, he wills 
 and declares, That the College and Uni- 
 versity of Glasgow shall enjoy all the pri- 
 vileges and immunities, hy his ancestors, 
 by him, or any other way, granted to any 
 university in his kingdom, as freely, peace- 
 ably, and quietly as if it had enjoyed them 
 from ancient times before the memory of 
 men. This charter was ratified by the 
 King, after he came to the years of major- 
 ity, and confirmed by act of Parliament, in 
 the year 1587. 
 
 Gorernment. — In Glasgow, the whole 
 property and revenue pertaining to the 
 University, is vested in the college, and is 
 administrated by a meeting of the Principal 
 and Professors, commonly called the College 
 Meeting, and very often, though perhaps 
 with less propriety, the Faculti/ Meeting. 
 The record of this meeting is visited and 
 authenticated by the Rector, Dean of 
 Faculty, and the Minister of the High 
 Church of Glasgow. Other business of 
 the University, besides matters of revenue, 
 and the discipline of the students, is 
 managed in what is called an Utiwersitg* 
 Meeting, or Senate ; in which the Rector 
 and Dean of Faculty sit, along with the 
 Pruicipal and Professors. Indeed, besides 
 the College, all that remains of the Univer- 
 sity is a Chancellor, Rector, and Dean. 
 We see that the Nova Ereclio supposes 
 their existence ; but makes no change with 
 regard to their powers, except in giving to 
 the two last, together with the Minister of 
 Glasgow, a visitorial power over the College. 
 The Rector and Dean are chosen annually ■ 
 much in the same manner as they wert, 
 from the first foundation of the University.* 
 The Rector always names the Principal and 
 
 * The Dean— the Dean of the Faculty of Arts, he 
 is not. He was originally, and, on the constitutional 
 pririciple of the University, he c.upht now, to b« 
 elect I'd by the whole body of graduates of this Fa. 
 culty of Arts, (lor they constitute that (acuity which 
 is ari universitf/, not a' oott/^« incorporation.) atid "ot 
 by the Trolcsors only, i. e.', the collegiate or salaried 
 
730 
 
 A STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 W'mhmom I© 'tot- ^M» Mtmmmm ; and, with 
 tlMm, 'OeouiioiiiilljfiinM A'liourt of law, for 
 jii.%bg' in peeumiry f|ieetion.s, and less, 
 atrocious crimes, wherein aiij memher of 
 lie University waa party. The University 
 lias always maintained Its ememption from 
 all jurisdiction of the City MaRistrates, but 
 not of tlie Sheriff or Court of Session. 
 
 This may sufEce for a general view of 
 ilia tm^uiion of the university, since the 
 refoffinatiiin from Popery. As to the state 
 of ita remmtm dunng that period, it has 
 been much indebted both to our princes and 
 to subjects* Its declension before the reign 
 f>jf Jam^ YI. was not more remarkable than 
 its progress since that period From the 
 U bepnning derived from the bounty of 
 prince, it continued to prosper to the 
 
 . of the Sestoration i having, at that 
 
 :iiiii% busifles a Principal, eight Professors, 
 m libiMian, with a tolerable Library, the 
 number of i:s Bursars inoreaKed, and an 
 additional number of other Students of all 
 lanfak A renewal of the fabric (which 
 hail been ruinous) was begun and carried 
 on, with great enlargement, in an elegant 
 manner for the time ; but not finiahed 
 
 ▼• DONATlOIMii 
 
 Soon after the new foundation, in the 
 
 J rear IdBl, the AiehbiilMip gave to the Col- 
 9gt the customs of tlw eityof Glasgow, by 
 which it was enabM to found a fourth 
 f^nt A mew body of statutes was formed 
 about this time, which are extant By 
 ihani, tt appaan thai the Priuct|Mil and four 
 l^fBSla Wire put to very 'hard and constant 
 labour ; and the students kept under very 
 strict discipline. Of the Regents, the first 
 and highest was PnifeiM>r of PhyBiology, 
 and Sub-Principal ; the second was Profes- 
 aor of Moral Philosophy ; the third of Logic 
 and Ehetorie; and the fourth of Greek. 
 Their salaries rose in gradation ; and, when 
 any of the higher offices became vacant, 
 
 , wImi mm only mcmlicra of' it ma Masten ; 
 
 for. on principle, no one is eligible to a ProrcMorihip 
 imIio is not a graduate in the iwlatlve faculty. In 
 Ike manner, the other facuUiet ought severally to 
 bave their own Deans elected in the same way by 
 tiifir graduates at large ; a 2)mn of Facuitks is an 
 scademteal solecim. Each Facultf also fthould con. 
 iHr its prapat ilegrees apart flmn: etrry other ; and 
 6»labiiaii Its own by.laws and ftaiutes. The cvAp' 
 la not the iiiiliwf%, though they are now so con- 
 HiMdlf mixed up together. As to the rinht of 
 tlie graduates at large t«» constitute the university, 
 aiul to latify its l^ws ; this was recognised in G\m. 
 gOW» so late as the year 17/7, when, as I remeinlMr 
 ■otlfiiiig In the academical records, which I had uc- 
 'CaAin some fean ago lo^ «amliie,it wai found neces- 
 •atf . in cnntbrnilty to principle and pracilce, (not then 
 forgotieii,) toaoromon a fongregatiou oi (Graduates, 
 in order to legalise the s'atuien proi>o«>d by « he Vl» iia- 
 tloti of thai date. A ll a>n«tilui ional principle* have, 
 imwevar, in this as in our other BrUi»h unlverit- 
 llifii, lieen so long violstfii. with impunity, that they 
 we now ooniKieiitiously i};nore(l — 11. 
 
 those who were in the lower were commonly 
 advanced a step ; and the new chosen Re- 
 gent had the profession of Greek for his 
 department. 
 
 In this state, the College continued for a 
 long time; excepting t^t, in the year 
 1621, by a meetuig of the visiters, in which 
 the Archbishop was present, the principal 
 was freed from the duty of preaching in the 
 church of Govan. A minister was appointed 
 to have the pastoral charge of that parish, 
 to whom a stipend was provided out of the 
 teinds of the parish ; the patronage of the 
 cliureh being reserved to the University, 
 and the minister being obliged " to read 
 some public lecture in the cuninion schools 
 of the college, as shall be prescribed to him 
 by the officers of the University, and Mas- 
 ters of the College." This ciiange they 
 were enabled to make, from liaving, by an 
 act of Parliament, in the year 1616, been 
 vested in the tithes of the parishes of Kil- 
 bride and Renfrew ; burdened u ith the 
 payment of stipends to the ministers of 
 these two parishes, which are modified by 
 the act ; and likewise burdened with the 
 Ufe-rent of the persons who were at that 
 time titulars of these tithes. In the year 
 1637, it appears that a Master or Professor, 
 Humaniorum Literamm, commonly called 
 Professor of Humanity, had been founded.* 
 
 In the year 1641, Charles I., by his sig- 
 nature, gave to the College the temporality 
 of the bishopric of Galloway ; ^e^e^ving to 
 himself the power of burdening it with tlie 
 sum of £100 sterling, to any person he 
 should name. This gift was confirmed by 
 an act of Parliament the same year. The 
 office of Chancellor of the University be- 
 oommg vacant by the abolition of Episco- 
 pal government in the church, James Mar- 
 quis of Hamilton was chosen chancellor, 
 and waa the first bynian who bore that of- 
 fice. After him, William Earl of Gleu- 
 oaam was chosen, in the year 1660. 
 
 Though the greatest part of the Masters 
 submitted with reluctance to the govern- 
 ment of Ohver Cromwell, and wished a re- 
 storation of the monarchy, under proper lim- 
 itations, the Principal, Mr Patrick Gillespie, 
 was a zealous republican ; and, by the in- 
 terest he had with Oliver, obtained great 
 favours for the University. The Protector 
 and his counsel renewed all its immunities 
 and privileges ; adding that of printing bi- 
 bles, and all sorts of books belonging to the 
 liberal sciences, and licensed by the Uni- 
 versity. He confirmed all former fouuda- 
 
 # In the year 1637, a meeting of the Visiters, the 
 Archbishop b»-lng present, appointed Mr Kobert 
 M;tyne, then Frotessor or Logic, lo be Professor of 
 Mtdiciiie, and to give lecture* in that bcieiice. At 
 the same time, the Professor of Oieelc was advanced 
 to the |»rofe«sion of Ijogio ; the Professor of Human- 
 ity to the profwxion of Greek; and a new ProfHMt 
 of 1 1 uman ii y was chosen . 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 731 
 
 ttons, mortifications, and donations made 
 in its favour, particularly that of the bishop- 
 ric of Gralloway ; to which he added the va- 
 cant stipends of the parishes which had 
 been in the patronage of the bishop of Gal- 
 loway, for seven years to come ; and also, 
 in perpetuity, the revenues of the deanery 
 and sub-deanery of Glasgow. This last gift, 
 however, was accompanied with several lim- 
 itations and restrictions, by which the Col- 
 lege had not the possession of the subjects 
 while his power lasted ; and, his acts being 
 rescinded at the Restoration, it fell, of 
 course, and had no efiect. 
 
 The re-establishment of Episcopal gov- 
 ernment in the church after the restoration 
 of Charles II. gave a severe check to the 
 prosperity of the University ; by depriving 
 it at once of the best part of its revenue — 
 to wit, that of the bishopric of Galloway. 
 Before arrangements could be made, suited 
 to this impoverished state, a great debt was 
 contracted. Of the eight professions which 
 bad been established, three were sunk ; and 
 those that remained were reduced to a very 
 short allowance. The College now consist- 
 ed of a Principal, a Professor of Theology, 
 and four Regents ; a very scanty revenue, 
 sunk in debt ; and a large fabric unfinished. 
 
 A visitation of the universities was ap- 
 pointed by Parliament, in the year 1664. 
 The noblemen, gentlemen, and clergy, who 
 visited the College of Glasgow, after a 
 strict examination of their revenue, report — 
 " That the sum of three thousand nine hun- 
 dred and forty-one pounds Scotch, yearly, 
 will be necessar to be speedily provided for 
 unto the University, or otherways it must 
 quickly decay and ruine "* Besides this, 
 they found it had a great load of debt ; and 
 that many professions were wanting which 
 it ought to have, but cannot for the pre- 
 sent possibly have for want of revenue. In 
 this report the visiters were unanimous. 
 
 In this state the University remained till 
 after the Revolution. It is true that, in 
 this interval, it received several consider- 
 able donations and mortifications ; but 
 these were all appropriated, by the donors, 
 either to the carrying on of the building, or 
 to the foundation of bursars ; and were 
 faithfully applied to these purposes. So 
 that it must have required great economy 
 in the professors, as well as great lenity in 
 their creditors, to preserve them from bank- 
 ruptcy, during this long interval. 
 
 In the year 161i3, each of the Scottish 
 universities obtained a gift of £300 a-year 
 out of the bishops* rents in Scotland. The 
 sura payable to the University of Glasgow, 
 was allocated upon the income of the arch- 
 
 * The visiters of the college ot Glasgow were, the 
 Archbi&hopof (•laagow, the Bishop of Callow av : of 
 the nobility, Hamilton, Montrose, Argyle, Kilmar- 
 nock, Cochran j bcsUIci gentlemen and clergy. | 
 
 bishopric of Glasgow ; and soon after, still 
 better to secure the payment, the College 
 obtained a lease of the whole rent of the 
 archbishopric for nineteen years, which 
 lease has from time to time been renewed 
 by the Crown. 
 
 The University began now to raise her 
 head, after a long period of depression, by 
 debt and poverty, and by the diminution of 
 her professors. The exertions which were 
 made about this time were encouraged by 
 the great number of her students. Princi- 
 pal Stirling, in his diary, says, that in the 
 year 1702 the students of Theology, Greek, 
 and Philosophy, amounted to upwards of 
 four hundred and two. The great demand 
 for clergymen, to fill the vacant benefices, 
 immediately after the establishment of the 
 Presbyterian government, occasioned the 
 attendance of a greater number of students 
 about the beginning of this century, than 
 at any tornier period. 
 
 In the year 1706, the profession of Hu- 
 manity was revived ; and 31 r Andrew Ross 
 was appointed professor. 
 
 In the year 1708, her Majesty Queen 
 Anne was pleased to grant the Univers- 
 ity £210 sterling yearly, payable out of 
 the Exchequer; one part of which was 
 appropriated for salaries to a Professor 
 of Anatomy and Botany, and to a Pro- 
 fessor of Oriental Languages ; and an- 
 other part of it for augmenting the salaries 
 of the Principal and Professors, according 
 to a scheme of division mentioned in the 
 deed. This gift has been renewed by all 
 the subsequent sovereigns. 
 
 The gift of £300 per annum, by King 
 William, wjis for some time directed to be 
 applied for extinguishing the college debts, 
 and supporting four Bursars. By a subse- 
 quent deed of Queen Anne, in the year 
 1713, part of it was continued for the said 
 purposes; and the remainder appropriated 
 for salaries to a Professor of Civil Law, and 
 a Professor of Medicine. 
 
 His Majesty King George I. was pleased 
 to grant, out of the rents of the archbishop- 
 ric, a new gift of i. 170 per annum; which 
 was appropriated for a salary to a Professor of 
 Ecclesiastical History, and for augmenting 
 the smaller salaries of the other professors. 
 By these royal donations, the whole of the 
 rent paid by the College, for the lease of 
 the archbishopric, is exhausted ; and regu- 
 lar accompts thereof are transmitted to the 
 Exchequer. 
 
 Since that time, there has been one pro- 
 fession added to this University, by the 
 bounty of King George II. 
 
 Alexander Macfarlane, Esq., of Jamaica, 
 had erected an astronomical observatory in 
 that island for his own use. At his death, 
 he bequeathed his astronomical apparatus to 
 the College of Glasgow, on condition that 
 
f32 
 
 A STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 m 
 
 lliiff sImiiiM huM an olMtrvatory, and ap- 
 
 ;|Mitil an #liMrver. Tlie Oillege very readUy 
 aoeeptdl ilio efmdition, and built an. obsenr- 
 atory ; and, in the year HOiy-kis Majesty 
 WM {leased to grant a presentation to Dr 
 Alexander Wilson, to he Professor of Prac- 
 tioal Aatronooij and ObnrTet, willi. a salary 
 nf ^ .£§0 y«Arly ont of the Bsdiaf ii«r. 
 
 It will not be expected that we should 
 enumerate the donations made by nabjects : 
 of boolca or printS' to the public library, or 
 noney to purchase books->of noney for 
 priaseS' to the more deaeinring students in 
 the several claBses— of money for carrying 
 on the buildingS'-of money, or land, for the 
 foundation of bursars in philosophy, in the- 
 ology, and in. medicine. The 'names of 
 'Uanj «if IlietO' beneiwton mm now little 
 known but in the annals of the University 
 of Gla^w, where they 'wiU atinya be pre- 
 served. Some may be nmifimi^ed,. whose 
 attention to the interest of thia aoclety does 
 them honour. Among these are, Anne 
 Duchess of Hamilton ; Rabina, Countess 
 of Forltr; William Earl of Bundonald; 
 the Bukeof Chandosf the Duke of Mon- 
 trose ; Dr :]loliert Leigiton, Archbishop of 
 Oiatgow ; and Boulter, Archbishop of Ar- 
 mi^h. Of commoners — Mr Snell, Dr Wil- 
 liantfli, Dr Walton, and the late Dr WiUiam 
 Hunter, are distinguished by the largeness 
 of thoir donations. 
 
 'A niflBNT STATm 
 
 From the Iwsgioing statement, it appears 
 that the ancient constitution of the Univers- 
 ity of GhkSffow, in the distribution of 
 s&enees and modes of teaching, as well as 
 in the form of its government, was very 
 similar to that of mil the other universities 
 of Europe. The alterations which it has 
 undergone, in later times, are such as might 
 be expected from the chiiifes of opinion 
 with respect to literary objects, and from 
 other varying circumstances. The pro- 
 gress of knowledge, and the increasing de- 
 mand for liteiatme, have produced many 
 additional departmeits of science, to those 
 which were originally thought worthy of a 
 particular teacher. Wiiat ia called the 
 mmtmdim, or ordinary course of public 
 education, comprehends at present five 
 branches— the Latin and Greek languages, 
 Logic, Moral Philosophy, and Natural Pbil- 
 ii80|Aj. These branches are understood to 
 reouin)' the Mudy of ive aeparate sessions. 
 
 Bunng their' attendance upon these 
 courses of languages and philosophy, and 
 particularly Wore they enter the class of na- 
 tural phioMwhy, the atudents are expected 
 to acquire a 'knowledge of' Mathematics and 
 Algebra, for which there ia a separate Pro- 
 fessor, and which is understood to be sub- | 
 
 servient to natural philosophy, and to many 
 of the practical arts. There is also a Pro- 
 fessor of Practical Astronomy, whose busi- 
 ness is to make observations, for the im- 
 provement of that great branch of physics. 
 
 After the course of general education, 
 above-mentioned, a provision is made for 
 what are called the three learned profes- 
 sions — Divinity, Law, and Medicine. For 
 the peculiar education of Churchmen, 
 there are four Professors : the Principal, 
 who is Frimarius Professor of Theology, 
 and has, besides, the superintendence of the 
 whole University; and the respective Pro- 
 fessors of Theology, of Oriental Languages, 
 and of Church History. This hist is alsa 
 lecturer in Civil History. 
 
 In Law there is only one professor. 
 
 There are, by the constitution, no more 
 than two professors allotted to the faculty 
 of Medicine'^io wit, a professor of the 
 Theory and Practice of Medicine, and a 
 professor of Anatomy and Botany. But 
 the University, out of its funds, and with 
 the assistance of private donations, has made 
 an annual provision for three additional 
 lecturers— in Chemistry, in Materia Mediea, 
 and in Midwifery. 
 
 The University has now the prospect of 
 a great and important addition being soon 
 made to the faculty of Medicine. The late 
 Rev. Dr Walton, of Upton, in Hunting- 
 donshire, about twenty years ago, in a tour 
 to Scotland, visited the University of Glas- 
 gow ; and, approving of its constitution and 
 mode of conducting education, gave to the 
 University £400 sterling ; the interest of 
 which, at his death, he appropriated for the 
 support of a medical student during the 
 course of his education. About five years 
 ago, the same generous benefactor mortified 
 the additional sum of £1000 sterling, at his 
 death, to the University, for the purpose of 
 supporting a lecturer in any branch of me- 
 dicine, or of science connected with medi- 
 cine, which the University should judge 
 most expedient or necessary. By the Doc- 
 tor's death , which happened about tli ree years 
 ago, both these donations now take eflect. 
 
 Miss Christian Brisbane, sister of the 
 late Dr Brisbane, Professor of Medicine 
 in this University, mortified the sum of 
 £1000 sterling ; the interest of which she 
 appropriated for the support of a medical 
 student, two years at this University, and 
 other two years at any other celebrated 
 school of medicine in Britain, or on the 
 Continent, as the University shall direct, 
 
 The late celebrated Dr William Hunter, 
 of London, formerly an alumnus of this 
 University, and, during the whole of his 
 life, warmly attached to its interests, be- 
 queathed to tlie University, at his death, 
 the whole of his Musieum, one of the most 
 valuable collections in Europe, of Natural 
 
 History, Medals, Anatomical Preparations, 
 Books, &c. When this collection has con- 
 tinued a certain number of years at Lon- 
 don, he has, by his will, directed it to be 
 carried to the University of Glasgow. And, 
 for the purpose of building a house for the 
 reception of this noble donation, and esta- 
 blishing suph new professions in medicine as 
 the University should Judge expedient, he 
 bequeathed £8000 sterling, bearing interest 
 from his death ; the one-half of which he 
 directed to be applied for the support of the 
 said Museeum, while it continues in London 
 — the other, to increase the principal sum, 
 till the period arrive when both principal 
 and interest shall be appropriated, by the 
 University, for the above-mentioned pur- 
 poses specified in the deed of donation. 
 
 Infirmary. — The progress of a medical 
 school, in this University, has been hitherto 
 much retarded by the want of an infirmary 
 in Glasgow. But there is at present a 
 prospect of that obstacle being immediately 
 removed. A very considerable sum of 
 money has been lately raised, by voluntary 
 subscription, for the purpose of erecting 
 and supporting an infirmary in Glasgow. 
 A royal charter has been obtained, and a 
 grant from the Crown, of the site of the 
 Archbishop's Castle, for the buildings ; 
 which, according to a beautiful design, given 
 by the late Robert Adam, Esq., are now 
 finished. 
 
 Appointments of the Professors. — The 
 Principal, and the Professors of Church 
 History, Law, Medicine, Anatomy and 
 Botany, and Astronomy, are nominated by 
 the King. The Professors of Theology, 
 Oriental Languages, Humanity, Greek, 
 Logic, Moral Philosophy, Natural Philoso- 
 phy, and Mathematics, and the Lecturers 
 on Chemistry, Materia Medica, and Mid- 
 wifery, are nominated by the College. The 
 average number of students, of all deno- 
 minations, attending the different classes, 
 is considerably above six hundred. 
 
 iiolaries^ S^c — From the state of the uni- 
 versity funds, the professors are allowed 
 very moderate salaries; so as to depend 
 chiefly for subsistence upon the honorariums^ 
 or fees of their students. This, it is be- 
 lieved, has greatly promoted their zeal and 
 their diligence in their several professions. 
 In seminaries of literature, possessed of 
 rich endowments, and where there is access 
 to large ecclesiastical benefices, by seniority, 
 the business of lecturing has generally gone 
 into disuse, or been reduced to a mere mat- 
 ter of form ; as few persons are willing to 
 labour, who, by doing little, or by following 
 their amusement, find themselves in easy 
 and comfortable circumstances. The de- 
 partment of teaching is likely, in such a 
 case, to be devolved upon the junior mem- 
 bers of the society, who dischaige the office 
 
 of private tutors ; and who, from the mo- 
 ment they enter upon their office, are ready 
 to consider it as a passing state, and to 
 look forward to that period when they shall, 
 in their turn, be freed from the drudgery of 
 teaching. In such circumstances, when 
 neither the tutor nor pupil is under the im- 
 mediate eye of the public, instead of strug- 
 gling for distinction and superiority in their 
 respective stations, they will be too apt to 
 indulge the laziness, and to gratify the pe- 
 culiar humour of each other. In the Scot- 
 tish universities, and particularly that of 
 Glasgow, where the professors have no be- 
 nefices in the church, nor any emoluments 
 of any kind independent of their labour, 
 nor anything that can be called preferment 
 within their reach, that radical defect in 
 the conduct of education is altogether re- 
 moved. There is likely to grow up with 
 them, in these circumstances, a habitual 
 liking to their objects and occupations, and 
 that interest and zeal in the discharge of 
 their duty, which are most likely to call forth 
 the activity and industry of their pupils. 
 
 It may be thought, perhaps, that, as ne- 
 cessity is the parent of labour, it would be 
 a still greater improvement, that professors 
 in colleges should have no salaries at all. 
 This would be indisputable, if all other em- 
 ployments were left to the natural profit 
 which they can produce, and were not pe- 
 culiarly rewarded by fixed appointments 
 from the public. But if one trade, or art, 
 is allowed a bounty, another must, upon 
 this account, have also some compensation. 
 The peculiar premiums given by Govern- 
 ment to other professions, particularly to 
 the church and the law, seem to require, 
 that, for maintaining some kind of balance, 
 a degree of ^similar encouragement should 
 be given to the teaching of the liberal arts 
 and sciences. Without this, a private aca- 
 demy can seldom collect a sufficient number 
 of well qualified teachers, so as to prevent 
 a single individual from undertaking too 
 many branches, and becoming what is vul« 
 garly called a Jack (f all trades. 
 
 Time of Lecturing^ S^c, — The unifornk 
 assiduity of the professors in the University 
 of Glasgow, and the length of time which 
 they employ in lecturing, will afford an 
 illustration of these remarks. The annual 
 session for teaching, in the university, be- 
 gins, in the ordinary curriculum^ on the 
 tenth of October ; and ends, in some of the 
 classes, about the middle of May, and in 
 others continues to the tenth of June. The 
 lectures, in all the other branches, com- 
 mence on the first of November, and end 
 about the beginning of May. The class of 
 Botany begins on the first of May. 
 
 During this period, the business of the 
 College continues without interruption. The 
 Professors of Humanity, or Latin, and of 
 
A STATISTICAL AC(X)UNT OF 
 
 OpeeiL iMtim' And eiamiiiA their' istudeiits, 
 tmmm and mmet mmmmm, ^tm hmm 
 ovorj diij, and four hoiira for two days 
 every week : the professors of Logic, Moral 
 Pl>ila»|.h,. «d Nia.>nl Philosophy, two 
 lourS' every day, and tnree hours during a 
 part of the session ; exeepting on Saturdays, 
 when, on aeoount of a general meeting of 
 the pahMis students, there is only one lecture 
 givenk Tlie other professors lecture, in 
 feneral, one hour every day ; the Professor 
 of Mathematics, two hours every day, ex- 
 cept on Sarardtiys ; the Professor of Law, 
 .ia. hia pitMic department, two hours. The 
 Pftfefleor of Praetieal .Astronomy gives no 
 pnMic lecture. 
 
 A4wuit'i§es df Fubiie Lecturing. — In 
 those universities where the professors are 
 uniformly employed In lecturing, it may be 
 •xpeetod that the matter of their lectures 
 wiU correspond, in some measure, to the 
 peneral progieea of science and literature 
 m their eeveral departmenta. A professor 
 whoie eoDieqiieiiee. and livelihood de;pend 
 'npfn. the apiiviihiliiiii given hy the public 
 to his lectures, will find it necessary to 
 •tudy the prineipal authors upon the sub- 
 ject t he wM imbibe^ in some degree, the 
 taste of the age In which he lives, and avail 
 himself of the increase of knowledge and 
 mew discovery i he will find it expedient to 
 model hia inetnietions in the manner most 
 likely to Miit the purposes and to promote 
 the initerest ef his^ atudents. By going fre- 
 quently over the same subject, he tuts a 
 ebanee to correct the erroneous opinions 
 ivUflh he m%ht formerly have admitted ; 
 ^md,' ^aeeording to the scale of his under- 
 ■liDding, to attain the most liberal and 
 emiprehensive views of his science. If he 
 m 'poeaeaied, at the same time, of taste and 
 ..'•haBlioii he ean hardly avoid acquiring an 
 wthuaiiiatie attadnnent to the objects of 
 his profession, and an ardent doure of pro- 
 .pigiiting those improvemenia in It which 
 'Wear tO' him ^nf unpertance. 
 
 Is oellegee where' an leeturaa .are given, 
 and where the readhi|' and preheting on 
 certain books, in a private manner, make 
 the chief object of the teacher, the same 
 dispositions and views will seldom occur. 
 The professor, having little temptation to 
 ■tudy, in any particular manner, that science 
 'With which he is fioiiiiiiii% connected, will 
 Im' apt tO' possess but a supetieial know- 
 .Mffi of It, and to have littto aeal. in com- 
 munieating new Ideas or diMScnwriee coii- 
 49eming it In such a situation, the preju- 
 dices and contracted views of litemture, 
 wliioh formerly prevailed, and which were 
 M^tnral upon the immediate revival of let- 
 ters, may remain to the present day ; and 
 .llie name oimk&imr be restricted to a mere 
 ppoMiiDt in the Greek and Roman lan- 
 tlie ViM4skM only of taste and know- 
 
 ledge : the pursuits of philosophy may be 
 regarded as idle and chimerical ; and every 
 attempt to dissipate the clouds of ancient 
 ignorance, or to correct the errors and pre- 
 judices of a former period, may be repro- 
 bated as a dangerous innovation. 
 
 The distribution of science, and the course 
 of lectures, formerly established in all the 
 universities of Europe, were almost exclu- 
 sively adapted to the education of church- 
 men, and proceeded upon a much more 
 limited state of knowledge than that whicU 
 obtains at present. To accommodate in- 
 struction- therefore, to the purposes and 
 views of the nation at large, and to render 
 the academical course useful in every situ- 
 ation, it is frequently necessary, in those 
 universities where any part of the old plan 
 is retained, that the professors should now 
 treat their respective subjects in a different 
 manner, and that what is comprehended 
 under particular branches should be greatly 
 varied and extended. 
 
 i.a/t«.— In the University of Glasgow, 
 the students, who attend the Humanity 
 lectures, are supposed to have acquired the 
 elements of the Latin tongue, in public or 
 private schools ; and the Professor is em- 
 ployed in reading, explaining, and prelect- 
 ing upon such Roman authoi-s as are most 
 suited to carry on their progress in that 
 huiguage. To a class of more advanced 
 students, the Professor reads a course of 
 lectures on the peculiarities and beauties of 
 the Roman language, on the principles of 
 cUssical composition, and on Roman anti- 
 quities. 
 
 Greek, — In the ancient state of the Uni- 
 versity, it was probably not usual for any 
 person to study under the professor of 
 Greek, until he had acquired some previous 
 knowledge of the Greek language. But, as 
 Greek is now seldom regularly taught in 
 public schools, the Professor is under the ne- 
 oeastyof instructing a great number in the 
 very elements of that language. To a second 
 set, who have made some proficiency in 
 that respect, he is employed in reading, ex« 
 plaiuing, and prelecting upon those classical 
 authors from an acquaintance with whom 
 hia hearers are most likely to imbibe a 
 knowledge of Greek, and, at the same time, 
 to improve their taste in literary composi- 
 tion. To a still more advanced set of stu- 
 dents, he also delivers a course of lectures 
 on the higher branches of Greek literature, 
 introducing a variety of disquisitions on the 
 general principles of grammar, of which the 
 regular structure of that language afibrds 
 such copious illustration. 
 
 Fhilnsophy. — ln the threefold distribu- 
 tion of Philosophy, in the academical course, 
 
 Logic has, in general, preceded the other 
 two in the order of teaehing, and has been 
 considered as a neeeeeary preparation fot 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 735 
 
 them. Before the student entered upon 
 the subjects of moral and natural philoso- 
 phy, it was thought proper to instruct hun 
 in the art of reasoning and disputation; 
 and the syllogsitic art, taken from the Ana- 
 lytics of Aristotle, was, for many ages, con- 
 sidered as the most effectual and infallible 
 instrument for that purpose. It was sup- 
 posed to afford a mechanical mode of rea- 
 soning, by which, in all eases, truth and 
 falsehood might be accurately distinguish- 
 ed. [?] But the change of opinions on the 
 subjects of literature, and on the means of 
 comprehending them, has occasioned a 
 correspondent alteration in the manner of 
 treating this part of the academical course. 
 The present Professor, after a short analysis 
 of the powers of the understanding, and an 
 explanation of the terms necessary to com- 
 prehend the subjects of his course, gives a 
 hbtorical view of the rise and progress of 
 the art of reasoning, and particularly of the 
 syllogistic method, which is rendered a 
 matter of curiosity by the universal influence 
 which for a long time it obtained over the 
 learned world ; and then dedicates the 
 greater part of his time to an illustration 
 of the various mental operations, as they 
 are expressed by the several modifications 
 of speech and writing; which leads him 
 to deliver a system of lectures on general 
 grammar, rhetoric, and l>elles lettres. This 
 course, accompanied with suitable exercises 
 and specimens, on the part of the students, 
 is properly placed at the entrance to phi- 
 losophy : no subjects are likely to be more 
 interesting to young minds, at a time when 
 their taste and feelings are beginning to 
 open, and have naturally disposed them to 
 the reading of such authors as are neces- 
 sary to supply them with facts and mate- 
 rials for beginning and carrying on the im- 
 portant habits of reflection and investiga- 
 tion. 
 
 Moral PhUosnpht/. - The lectures in the 
 Moral P/tUosopfiy class consist of three 
 principal divisions. The first comprehends 
 natural theology ; or the knowledge, con- 
 firmed by human reason, concerning the 
 being, perfections, and operations of God. 
 The second comprehends ethics; or in- 
 quiries concerning the active powers of 
 man, and the regulation of them, both in 
 the pursuit of happiness, and iii the prac- 
 tice of virtue ; and, consequently, those 
 questions that have been agitated concern- 
 ing good and evil, right and wrong. Tlie 
 third comprehends natural jurisprudence, 
 or the general rules of justice, which are 
 founded upon the rights and the condition 
 of man ; whether considered as an indivi- 
 dual, or as.a member of a family, or as a 
 member of some of those various forms of 
 government which have arisen from the 
 social combiimtions of mankind. 
 
 Natural Philosophy ^The lectures in 
 Natural Philosophy comprehend a gene- 
 ral system oi physics ; and are calculated, in 
 like manner, to keep pace with those lead- 
 ing iniprovements and discoveries, in that 
 branch of science, by which the present 
 age is so much distinguished. The theo- 
 retical and experimental parts make the 
 subjects of two separate courses. The ap- 
 paratus for conducting the latter is believed 
 not to be inferior to any in Europe. 
 
 M.ithematks — The Professor of Mathe^ 
 mattes has three separate courses. The 
 first comprehends the elements of geometry 
 and algebra ; the second, the higher parts 
 of those sciences; the third, the general 
 principles of geometry and astronomy. To 
 teach the a})plieation of the speculative doc- 
 trines to the various practical arts, makes 
 a very important object in this useful de- 
 partment of education. 
 
 Theology — In the faculty of Theology, 
 the respective Professors of Theoloi4y, 
 Church History^ and Oriental Languages, 
 deliver a system of lectures on natural and 
 revealed religion, on the history of the 
 church, and on the Hebrew language. In 
 this faculty, no honorarium or fee is paid 
 by the students.* if this regulation had 
 been extended to all the sciences, it would 
 probably have been fatal to academical ac- 
 tivity ; but, being limited to a single branch, 
 it has been counteracted by the influence 
 of the general industry and exertion which 
 pervade the society. No deficiency, there- 
 fore, is imputable to the professors in this 
 department, ehher with respect to their 
 zeal in teaching, or with respect to those 
 liberal and tolerating principles which are 
 so conformable to the spirit and genius of 
 Christianity. 
 
 Law — The improvement of Law in this 
 university, seems to have excited less at- 
 tention from government than that of the 
 other sciences, jis this profession was not 
 established till a late period, and as no pro- 
 vision has hitherto been made for dividing 
 this branch of education among separate 
 professors. The want of competition ap- 
 pears to have had the usual effects ; and the 
 custom of lecturing in Latin was longer re- 
 tained in this than in the other sciences. 
 The predecessor of the present professor 
 was the first who prelected on Justinian's 
 *' Institutes," in English ; and this example 
 has, for many years, been followed in the 
 prelections upon the pandects. It may lie 
 mentioned, as a strong instance of pre- 
 possession in favour of ancient usages, that, 
 upon this last innovation, the Faculty of 
 Advocates made application to the Univer- 
 sity of Glasgow, requesting " that the old 
 practice of teaching the civil law in Latin 
 
 * Why, see above, p. 725, a, note*.— H. 
 
A STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 mlglit be t»ilii»4*' The Profeuior of Law, 
 Inesides iecttifiiig regularly upon the In- 
 stitutes and Pandects of Justinian, delivers 
 annuatly a courae of lectures on the prin- 
 
 dftes of civil goveritmenti indudini a par- 
 tiottlar account of the Britisli oonititutioii ; 
 and, every seeitti year, a comM'Cif'lMtiins 
 on the law of Scotland. 
 
 Medieim^—The professors and lecturers 
 in the meilieal depwtmenti il would appear, 
 have heen hm lii^U Hwn those in some 
 of the other parts of literature, by the effect 
 of old institutions and prejudices. They 
 have thus been enabled to aMonmodate 
 ^ir lectures to the progress of knowledge 
 and discovery, and to those high improve- 
 ments which have of hite years been intro- 
 duced into all the sciences connected with 
 the art of medicine. Th# pnifiress of bo- 
 "tany and natofal histoijy, and the wonder 
 ful diseoveriet' .in ehcmistry, have now ex* 
 tended the sphere of these useful branches 
 beyond the mere purposes of the physician, 
 and have rendered a competent knowledge 
 of them higMj interesting to every man of 
 liberal education. 
 
 Impr&mmeniM,~^The University of Glas- 
 gow, as has been already observed, was 
 anciently possessed of a jurisdiction similar 
 to thai of the other universities of Europe, 
 and exercised a similar diaciplme and autho- 
 rity over its members. A great part of the 
 stufientB were accomnmdated. with lodgings 
 in. 'the wllege, and dined aim common table, 
 under the inspection of their teachers. 
 While this mode of living continued, almost 
 everything was the subject of restrictions 
 and regnbtiotts. But, for a long time, this 
 practice has been discontinned, and the 
 severity of the ancient discipline has been a 
 good deal relaxed. The lodgings in the 
 eollegO' niora8,.alter the disnse of the com- 
 mon table, became leas convenient; and, 
 at present, no students live within the 
 college, but a few of considerable standing, 
 whose regularity of conduct is perfectly 
 known .and .ascertained. 
 
 These divialions from the ancient usage 
 were introduced from the experience of 
 many inconveniences attending it. The 
 'Common table, by collecting a multitude of 
 atadenis so frequently tci^her, afforded 
 encouragement and temptations to idleness 
 and dissipation; and, though the masters 
 sat at table along with the students, yet few 
 .ad'Vantages of eonveesatlonwuld be attained. 
 Contrivances were fallen npon to remedy 
 that defect, by appointing one of the stu- 
 dents (generally a bursar, or servitor) to 
 read a portion of Scripture, or of some use- 
 ful book, while the rest of the students were 
 at table. But this praetloe, it la obvious, 
 in such eircunitance, was more likely to 
 bring ridicule upon the subjects, or at least 
 to oflcasion indifferenee or contempt, than 
 
 to be productive of im provement. Besides, 
 from a general alteration in the habits and 
 manners of the people, the academical rules, 
 in these matters, were found trouljlesonie 
 both to the teachers and the students. 
 Hence, attendance at the common table be- 
 came a kind of drudgery to the masters, 
 from which they endeavoured to escape, or 
 to which they submitted in their turns with 
 reluctance ; while the students procured 
 dispensations, or permissions to have their 
 commons in their own apartments. This 
 latter was found to be a source of ex- 
 pense and dissipation, not more unfriendly 
 to literature than to morals. The common 
 table, it is said, became a source of mis- 
 management and imposition, which could 
 not eaBily be remedied. 
 
 This change in the mode of living has 
 been attend^ with much comfort and satis- 
 faction to all the members of the University, 
 by supersedmg many strict regulations, and 
 of course rigorous penalties, which, in the 
 former situation, had been thought neces- 
 sary : neither has it produced any bad effect 
 upon the manners and behaviour of the 
 students. When teachers are attentive to 
 perform their duty, and discover an anxiety 
 to promote the interests of their scholars, 
 who are above the age of mere boys, it re- 
 quires very little authority to enforce respect 
 and projwiety of behaviour. The most 
 certain and effectual mode of discipline, or 
 rather the best method of rendering discip- 
 line in a great measure useless, is by filling 
 up regularly and properly the time of the 
 student, by interesting him in the objects of 
 his studies and pursuits, and by demand- 
 ing, regularly and daily, an account of his 
 kbours. 
 
 Baardinff.— In the present state of the 
 University of Ghisgow, such of the students 
 as can afford the expense, frequently live in 
 the families of the Principal and Professors ; 
 where they have, together with the oppor- 
 tunity of prosecuting their studies, the ad- 
 vantages of proper society and private tui- 
 tion. It is, at the same time, iu the powel 
 of every Professor, to be acquainted with 
 the behaviour, the application, and the 
 abilities of almost every one of his students. 
 And the knowledge of this is likely to be 
 much more effectual in exciting their exer- 
 tions, and producing regukr attention to 
 their studies, than the endless penalties 
 which may be contrived for every species 
 of misdemeanour. A complicated and 
 rigorous discipline, extending to innumer- 
 able frivolous observances, can hardly fail, 
 in this age, to become contemptible ; and, 
 if students are treated like child ren^ it is 
 not to be expected that they will behave 
 hke nmrtm 
 
 Weskfy Meeting — Every Saturday thera 
 is a genaral meeting of all the public or 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 737 
 
 gowned students, which is attended by the 
 Principal and their respective Professors. A 
 Latin oration is delivered by the higher 
 students, in their turns : after which, all 
 smaller matters of discipline are discussed. 
 By this weekly meeting, the whole of the 
 students are brought, in a more particu- 
 lar manner, under the inspection of the 
 teachers ; and a good opportunity is regu- 
 larly afforded of mutual information, re- 
 specting the studies and deportment of tlieir 
 scholars. 
 
 Tests not rrquired — No oatlis, or sub- 
 scriptions, or tests of any kind, are required 
 of students, at their admission to the Uni- 
 versity; as it is deemed highly improper 
 that young persons, in prosecuting a general 
 course of academical education, should bind 
 themselves to any particular system of 
 tenets or opinions. 
 
 Bu snries Besides the salaries be- 
 stowed upon professors, additional encour- 
 agement has been often given to universi- 
 ties, by the mortification of certain funds 
 for the maintenance of students ; as also by 
 requiring that a certain attendance shall be 
 given, iu those seminaries, by such as ob- 
 tain academical degrees, .accompanied with 
 various exclusive privileges. 
 
 It has of late been remarked, that such 
 institutions and regulations, though intended 
 to promote the interest of those incorpora- 
 ted societies, have proved, iu some degree, 
 hurtful to them, by forcing an attendance 
 from a greater number of students, and 
 consequently tending to supersede the 
 industry and a''ilities of the respective 
 teachers. But the number of this descrip- 
 tion of students, commonly called bursars, 
 at the University of Glasgow, cannot have 
 any considerable tendency of this nature, as 
 their hnnnrai turns make but a small part of 
 the professor's income; and, it must not be 
 overlooked, that the payment of fees to the 
 professors supposes that lectures are to be 
 given : so that this establishment encour- 
 ages, at least, the practice of lecturinj?, 
 however it may tend to produce careless- 
 ness iu the performance. One good effect 
 of it is obvious. Several of these bursaries 
 are in the gift of the college ; so that the 
 principal and professors have it in their 
 power to bestow them upon students of 
 superior genius and industry, but who have 
 not the means of prosecuting tlieir studies. 
 The character of a bursar does not, in the 
 University of Glasgow, carry with it any 
 external marks of servility, or degradation 
 of any kind. Several names might be here 
 mentioned, that would do great honour to 
 the University, who were supported, during 
 the course of their studies, by funds appro- 
 priated for that purpose. 
 
 The foundation by Mr Snell deserves par- 
 ticularly to be mentioned, as perhaps one of 
 
 the largest and most liberal in Britain. That 
 gentleman, in the year 1688, bequeathed a 
 considerable estate in Warwickshire for the 
 support of Scotch students at Baliol College. 
 Oxford, who had studied for some years at 
 the University of Glasgow. By the rLse in 
 the value of lands, and the improvements 
 which have, from time to time, I een made 
 on that estate, that fund now affords £7t> 
 per annum, for ten years, to each of ten 
 exhibitioners. Another foundation, at the 
 same college, of £20 per annum, to each of 
 four Scotch students, though under a dif- 
 ferent patronage, is generally given to the 
 Glasgow exhibitioners ; so that four of them 
 have a stipend of £90 per annum, con- 
 tinuing for ten years. The University have 
 the sole nomination or appointment of these 
 exhibitioners. 
 
 Rules for obtaininfj Degrees — The can- 
 didates for degrees in arts, are, by express 
 regulations, obliged to attend the hours of 
 lecture, and the separate hours of examina- 
 tion, in the curriculum, or jiublic course 
 already mentioned ; and the laws of the 
 church oblige all students to pass the same 
 curriculum before they can be enrolled 
 students of theology. But no such quali- 
 fication is requisite for entering upon the 
 study of law or medicine. Such students, 
 in short, as are not upon any public founda- 
 tion, or who do not intend to qualify them- 
 selves for the church, may attend any of the 
 lectures which they think most suited to 
 their views; though, in case of their de- 
 viating from the cnriichlum, they have not 
 the benefit of the regular examinations and 
 exercises of the public studtjnts. 
 
 The rules, for conferring degrees, were 
 formerly much the same in the University 
 of Glasgow as in the other ancient univer- 
 sities. In those days, when the art of dis- 
 putation was considered as the ultimate 
 object of academical education, the can- 
 didates were obliged, after a certain stand- 
 ing, or residence at the University, to coin- 
 pose and print a thesis, and to defend it in 
 a public syllogistic disputation. But ex- 
 perience discovered that mode of trial to be 
 inadequate to the purpose for which it was 
 intended. It, by degrees, degenerated into 
 a mere matter of form and ceremony. The 
 same subjects of disputation, the same 
 arguments of attack and defence, were pre- 
 served and handed down among tlie stu- 
 dents; the public disputations were not 
 attended :— so that degrees became not the 
 rewards of abilities and diligence, but merely 
 the marks of standing, or residence at the 
 University. These circumstances gave oc • 
 casion for a material change, in tlie rules 
 for conferring degrees, in the University of 
 Glasgow. The composing and defending a 
 thesis have now become optional on the 
 part of the candidate. The same standing 
 
A STATISTICAL ACCOUNT OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. 
 
 739 
 
 is utill Inquired; and the candidates for 
 
 degrees in arts are obliged lo undergo a 
 minute examination, in tbe Greek and 
 Roman classics, in the different branches 
 of phttosophy which compose th© curriOM- 
 lum, and by each of the professors in their 
 respective hranches t an examination which, 
 in the manner it is conducted, gives the 
 best opportunity of judging of th© proficiency 
 and literature of th© mndidates. 
 
 Begreen in TW/o/zf and Law. — Degrees 
 in theology, having no privileges in the 
 church attuched to them, under the Pres- 
 byterian form of government, are, without 
 any regard to standing in the University, 
 isonferred on clergymen respectable for their 
 abilities and literature — Degrees in law are 
 either liestowed upon eminent men as marks 
 of respect ; or upon students of a certain 
 ■tending, after a regular examination of the 
 
 flftodidate Tlie University of Gla8g(»w 
 
 admits students who have passed a part of 
 their academical course in oilier universi- 
 ties, ad eunkm, as it is commonly called : 
 that is, whatever part of their aiaiidemical 
 Miirse iS' finished at any other university, 
 iipon proper certificates, is admitted, as a 
 pitrt m their standing, in the University of 
 Gla«gow ; so that, without again beginning 
 their course, tliej mn pass forward to de« 
 and te enrolled students of theology. 
 
 Medical Begrees, — Degrees in medicine 
 are conferred, after having finished th© 
 medical course, at the Uiiiversitry ; or, upon 
 proper certificates of having fiuislied it at 
 sorao emiuent school of pliysic : but the 
 candidates are obliged to undergo both a 
 private and public examination, on all the 
 diicrent branches of medicine, before they 
 can receive that honour. It is very com- 
 mon also for them, though not absolutely 
 required, to defend a thesis in the common 
 hall 
 
 Prtaes — The institution of PHaffM^ or 
 rewards of literary merit, either in books 
 or medals, to students, during the course of 
 their eduoitioii, has now been tried for 
 many years in the University of Gksgow, 
 and has been attended with the best effects. 
 Every effort has been made to correct the 
 common defects and irregularities in the 
 distribution of prizes, and to render the 
 competition fair and equal. Subjects of 
 competition are prescribed, calculated to 
 give scope to every kind of genius, and ac- 
 eommodiited to th© standing of the different 
 ■tiidents. 
 
 i^jAmry.— The University Librarif^ to 
 which all the students have easy access, is 
 a large and valuable collection of books, 
 among which are many now become very 
 Bcansa As it was founded about two cen- 
 turies ago, it is enriched with many early 
 editions; and proper attention has been 
 piid, from tim« to time, to supply it with 
 
 the morn elegant and improved productions 
 of the press; particularly in the classical 
 departments. The funds which are des- 
 tined for its support and increase, are con* 
 siderable ; and many private donations of 
 books have been made to it from time to 
 time. It was of late greatly enriched, in 
 the mathemutical department, by the lib- 
 I rary of tlie late celebrated Dr Robert Sim- 
 son, professor of mathematics. By the 
 ingenuity of the late Dr Wilson & Sons, 
 type-founders, and the care and accuracy 
 of the late Messrs Foul is, printers to the 
 University, the Library contains some of 
 the most elegant editions of many valuable 
 books. It will soon receive an important 
 addition, by a collection of many rare and 
 splendid editions of hooks, in all the differ- 
 ent departments of science, but particuUrly 
 in the medical department, bequeathed by 
 the late Dr William Hunter. 
 
 jtnliqmiieM,- In an adjoining apartment, 
 the college has placed a number of tnile- 
 itmegf aUarg, and other remains of anti- 
 qtiitth which have been discovered in th© 
 ancient Roman wall between the Forth and 
 the Clyde. 
 
 IForMJ/)._During the session, there is 
 public worship every Sunday in the college 
 chapel. Three or four preachers are au- 
 iiually appointed out of the number ol 
 those students who continue at the univer- 
 sity after they Imve received their license. 
 The Principal, and such of the Professors 
 as have been ordained, or have received 
 licenses, occasionally preach in the college 
 chapel during the session. 
 
 Landed Property, ^r. — The college, 
 though in some measure surrounded by the 
 houses of the town, is possessed of more 
 than twenty acres of ground adjacent to its 
 buildings. Upon the most distant part of 
 this ground, and upon a small eminence, is 
 erected the Observatory, properly fitted up, 
 and supplied with the most improved ui- 
 struments for the purposes of the Professor 
 of Practical Astronomy. The college build- 
 ings, though not splendid, are neat and 
 commodious. The Principal and all the 
 Professors possess convenient houses con- 
 tiguous to the other public buildings. These 
 buildings are surrounded by a parden of 
 about ten acres, appropriated to the use of 
 the members of the University, and some 
 part of it for exercise to th© younger cksses 
 of students. 
 
 VII. CXINCLUSION. 
 
 Upon the whole, this University, after 
 experiencing many revolutions and turns of 
 fortune, has, by favourable conjunctures, 
 and by the bounty of the sovereign and of 
 the public, been raised to prosperous cir- 
 
 
 etmistances; and has, as an academical 
 foundation, become possessed of some con- 
 spicuous advantages. //* local situation, 
 in the neighbourliood of an industrious 
 city, and at some distance from the capital ; 
 by which it is not exposed to the dissipa- 
 tion arising from a number of amusements ; 
 nor too remote from the topics of specula- 
 tion, suggested by the progress of philoso- 
 phy, and the interesting business of society. 
 The state of its revenue, sufficient, with 
 economy, in the management of the society, 
 to promote useful improvements ; but not 
 so large as to be productive of idleness, and 
 the luxury of learned indolence. Its insH^ 
 tutions and government, by which no sort 
 of monopoly is created in favour of particu- 
 lar sects, or particular branches of science ; 
 but persons of all persuasions are at liberty 
 to follow that course of study which they 
 find suited to their various pursuits and 
 prospects. Lastly, //* moderate discipline, 
 endeavouring to regulate the behaviour of 
 the students by a regard to interest and 
 reputation, more than by authority ; and 
 substituting the anxious watchfulness of a 
 parent, in place of the troublesome and 
 vexatious interpositions of a prying and, 
 perhaps, unpopular magistrate. 
 
 AOOITIONS.* 
 
 InHrmarp — The medical school in this 
 University was long retarded by the want 
 of an infirmary at Glasgow. But that ob- 
 stacle is now completely removed. In the 
 year 1790, a voluntary subscription was 
 opened, for the purpose of erecting and 
 
 * Notby Reid.-H 
 
 supporting an infirmary, in this place, for 
 the western districts of Scotland. This 
 scheme met with the most liberal encourage- 
 ment, from the charitable and well-disposed 
 in the city of Glasgo *, and in the adjoin- 
 ing counties, and was, in particular, much 
 promoted by the activity and influence of 
 the members of the University. In the 
 year 1791, upon the petition of the sub- 
 scribers, a royal charter was obtained from 
 the ,Crown, together with a grant of the 
 site of the Archbishop's castle and garden, 
 for the purpose of erecting the buildings. 
 During the years 1792 and 1793, the build- 
 ings were erected, according to a most 
 leautiful design given by the late Robert 
 Adam, Esq., architect, at an expense of 
 about £8000; and it is believed, that, in 
 point of situation, good air, abundance of 
 water, and convenient accommodation for 
 the patients, this infirmary is not excelled 
 by any other establishment of the same kind 
 in Britain. The infirmary was opened for 
 the reception of patients on the 8th Decem- 
 ler 1794 ; and since that time, the bene- 
 ficial and salutary effects of it have been so 
 much felt that it is now considered as a 
 public benefit and blessing to this part of 
 the country. Among, other advantages, the 
 number of medical students is greatly in- 
 creased since it was opened ; and there is 
 every reason to believe, that this institution 
 will contribute, in a great degree, to the 
 further extension and improvement of th© 
 medical school in this University. 
 
 P. 732, b : The Rev. Dr Walton's first 
 donation was anno 1767, and his second 
 anno 1788- P. 736, a, 1. 8 : After Scotland, 
 add, " to which is now added a course of 
 lectures on English law." 
 
 SbS 
 
DISSERTATIONS, 
 
 HISTORICAL. CRITICAL 
 
 jjm 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY 
 
 BT 
 
 THE EDITOR 
 
I VOTE A. § I.] 
 
 ON COMMON SENSE. 
 
 743 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY DISSERTATIONS; 
 
 OR 
 
 BXCUKSIVE NOTES, 
 
 CBITICAL AND .IISTORICAI* 
 
 NOTl A, 
 
 ON THK PHILOSOPHY OF COMMON SENSE i 
 
 mm PHiMAaf kP'-iefs 
 
 CON810KE1O i« THE ULTIMAl* €EITEEION O^ IIJTH 
 
 I I.— Tim wmmmff of the dodrim, and pwrport of ths arffu$nent, of Common Sms€, 
 i It,— The eonditions o/iA« le^timmy, and legiHmMe application, of the arffumeM. 
 S III.— That it is om strieti^ philowphiad and scimtife, 
 I IV-— TJb mmntial charaetmrs btj which our primary leUefs, or the principhe of 
 
 Common SemCf are discriminated. 
 I Y:^Themmeneiatwre, iked is, the mrious appellations by which lime have t>een 
 
 des^piated* 
 I VI The ■ummrsaiitf of the phUosophif of Common Sense; or iu general fccogni^ 
 
 U&n, in reality and in name, shown hj a chronological series of testtmonies 
 
 from the Anon oftpecuMion to the preseta day. 
 
 [References.— On Common Senm from Inq. 96 b. 209 b, I. P. 233 a, 421 b, 468 h, 
 •ee iMBam, and | V. i. l-§ VI. No. 63 ;— on Instinct from Inq. 184 b, &c., see § V. 
 E. 8;— on S^ef from In^. 95 h, Ac, see § V. ii. 3;— on Reason from Inq. 100 b,108 
 % 127 ab, see § V. ix. 7 
 
 nq 
 4 
 
 § 1.— The 'meminff of the d^HHrim, and 
 pwrport of the argument, of Common 
 
 In tbe conception and application of the 
 Joetrine of Common Sense, the most sig- 
 
 id miitjilKes ha? e been committed j and 
 nnoh nnfdiiiided prejudice has been excited 
 Hpiinst the argument which it affonls, in 
 
 consequence of the erroneous views which 
 have been held in regard to its purport 
 and conditions. What is the veritable 
 character of this doctrine, it is, therefore, 
 necessary to consider. 
 
 Our cognitions, it is evident, are not aU 
 at second hand. Consec|uents cannot, by 
 an inKnite regress, be evolved out of ante* 
 
 i! 
 
 ir 
 
 ! 
 
 cedents, which are themselves only conse- 
 quents. Demonstration, if proof be pos- 
 sible, behoves to repose at last on proposi- 
 tions, which, carrying their own evidence, 
 necessitate their own admission; and which 
 beini^, as primary, Inexplicable, as inexpli- 
 cable, incomprehensible, must consequently 
 manifest themselves less in the character 
 of cognitions than of facts, of which con- 
 s 'iousness assures us under the simple form 
 o\ fueling or belief. 
 
 Without at present attempting to de- 
 termine the character, number, and rela- 
 tions—waiving, in short, all attempt at an 
 articulate analysis and classification of the 
 primary elements of cognition, as carrying 
 us into a discussion beyond our limits, and 
 not of indispensable importance for the 
 end we have in view;* it is sufficiont to 
 have it conceded, in general, that sir eh ele- 
 ments there are; and this concession of their 
 existence being supposed, I shall proceed 
 to hazard some observations, principally 
 
 • Such an analysis and classification is how- 
 ever in itself certainly one of the most interest- 
 ing and important problems of philosophy; and 
 It is one in which much remains to be accom- 
 plished. Principles of cognition, which now 
 stand as ultimate, may, I think, be reduced to 
 simpler elements; and some which are now 
 viewed as direct and positive, may be shown to 
 be merely indirect and negative; their cogency 
 depending not on the immediate necessity of 
 thinking thQm— for if carried unconditionally 
 out they are themselves incogitable — but in 
 the impossibility of thinking something to 
 which they ai-e directly opposed, and from 
 which they are the immediate recoils. An ex- 
 position of the axiom— That positive thought 
 lies in the limitation or conditioning of one or 
 other of two opposite extremes, neither of 
 which, as unconditioned, can be realized to the 
 mind as possible, and yet of which, as con- 
 tradictories, one or other must, by the funda- 
 mental laws of thought, be recognised as nc 
 cessary; — ^the exposition of this great but un- 
 cnounced axiom would show that some of the 
 most illustrious principles are only its subordi- 
 nate modifications, as applied to certain pri- 
 niary notions, intuitions, data, forms, or cate- 
 gories of intelligence, as Existence, Quantity, 
 (protensive. Time — extensive. Space — intcn- 
 sive, Degree) Quality, Ac. Such modifications, 
 for example, are the principles of Cause and 
 Effect, Substance and Phaenomcnon, &c. 
 
 I may here also observe, that though the pri- 
 mary trutfis of fact, and the primart/ truths of in- 
 telligence (the contingent and nccessart/ truths of 
 Reid) form two very distinct classes of the 
 original beliefs or intuitions of consciousness; 
 there appears no sufficient ground to regard 
 their sources as different, and therefore to 
 bo distinguished by different names. In this 
 1 regret that I am unable to agree with Mr 
 Stewart. See hia Elements, vol. ii., ch. 1, and 
 his Account of Reid, supra, p. 27 b. 
 
 in regard to their authority as warrant ; 
 and criteria of truth. Nor can this as- 
 sumptiou of the existence of some original 
 bases of knowledge in the mind itself, be re 
 fused by any. For oven those philosophers 
 who profess to derive all our knowledge 
 from experience, and who admit no uni- 
 versal truths of intelligence but such as 
 are generalized from individual truths of 
 5 fact— even these philosophers are forced 
 virtually to acknowledge, at the root o' 
 the several acts of observation from which 
 their generalization starts, some law or 
 principle to which they can appeal as guar- 
 anteeing the procedure, should the validity 
 of these primordial acts themselves be 
 called in question. This acknowledgment 
 is, among others, made even by Locke; 
 and on such fundamental guarantee of in- 
 duction he even bestows the name of Com- 
 mon Sense. (See below, in Testimonies, 
 No. 51.) 
 
 Limiting, therefore, our consideration to 
 the question of authority; how, it is asked, 
 do these primary propositions — these cog- 
 nitions at first hand — these fundamental 
 facts, feelings, beliefs, certify us of their 
 own veracity ? To this the only possible 
 answer is — that as elements of our mental 
 constitution — as the essential conditions of 
 our knowledge — they must by us be ac- 
 cepted as true. To suppose their false- 
 hood, is to suppose that we are created 
 capable of intelligence, in order to be 
 made the victims of delusion; that God is a 
 deceiver, and the root of our nature a lie. 
 But such a supposition, if gratuitous, is 
 manifestly illegitimate. For, on the con- 
 trary, the data of our original conscious- 
 ness must, it is evident, in the first instance, 
 be presumed true. It is only if proved 
 false, that their authority can, in conse- 
 quence of that proof, be, in the second in- 
 stance, disallowed. Speaking, therefore, 
 generally, to argue from common sense, is 
 simply to show, that the denial of a given 
 proposition would involve the denial of 
 some original datum of consciousness; but 
 as every original datum of consciousness 
 is to be presumed true, that the proposi- 
 tion in question, as dependent on such a 
 principle, must be admitted. 
 
 But that such an argument is competent 
 and conclusive, must be more articulately 
 shown. 
 
 Here, however, at the outset, it is pro- 
 per to take a distinction, (to uiiich in the 
 foot-notes I have once and again adverted,) 
 the neglect of which has been productive 
 of considerable error and confusion. It is 
 the distinction between the data or deli- 
 verances of consciousness considered sim- 
 
7 J J 
 
 ON THE PIIILOSOPHY 
 
 [?iOTE A. 
 
 ply, l» tk§mmhm, «f t^^r^mnOmifa^ or 
 mtmd mtm^iMtaiomtf amd tliose ddiver- 
 tmeen coBsi«red m f«llMOitfo« «o <A< trMth 
 of jacts betfond ikah' mm pkmmmnal re- 
 
 Viewed wilder the former limitation, they 
 are abo¥e all scepticism. For as doubt is 
 Itself only a manifestation of consdoiisness, 
 \ it Is impossible to doubt tbat, what consci- 
 *^ I onsness manifests, it does manifest, without, 
 'in thus doubting, doubting that we actu- 
 iHy doubt; that is, without the doubt con- 
 tradicting and therefore annihilating itself. 
 Hence it is that the facts of consciousness, 
 as mere phasnomena, are by theunaniroous 
 confession of all Sceptics and Iditliits, 
 ancient and modern, placed high above the 
 reach of question. Thus, X<i*rttiif, in 
 Pyrrh. L. ix., seg. 103; — - Sixlii* Emptri- 
 em, Pyrrh. Hypot. I., i. cc. 4, 10, ct pas- 
 iim;— HewrtrfM, Mcd.,ii., pp. 13| and nt., 
 p. 16, ed. 1658;— i/MWr, Treatise on Hu- 
 man Nature, vol.i., pp. 123, 370, et alibi, 
 orisr. ed.;—Scfmhe, Aeriesidemus, p. 24, 
 Kritik, vol i., p. 61 ;—Platner, Aphor., 
 fol i. § 708;— JRewiioW, Theorie, p. 190; 
 — SrAcid, in Fichte's Philos. Jour., vol. x., 
 p. 270. See also St. Amtin, Contra Aca- 
 Tlem., L. iii., c. 11; De Trin. L. xv^, 
 c. 112;— ScotM, in Sent., L. i., dist. 3. 
 qu, 4, 10;-Bi#er, Prem. Verit., § 9— 
 11, 40 ;— Jlfni/fw'jf Essay on Consciousness. 
 p. 177, */.;—.»'»<*, P- 442, K et alibi}— 
 hmsin, Cours tf Hist, de k Philosophii 
 Morale, vol. ii., pp 220, 236. 
 
 On. this ground, St Austin was war- 
 ranted In affirming— JVrtii mtemffmtt tarn 
 mmm mm gmtm m Mmtire, m cogitare, m 
 mM€, m vimms and the coffiio wff^ «*»» 
 of Descartes is a valid assertion, that in 
 go far as we are eonmmiti of certain modes 
 of existence, in so far we powesi an abso- 
 lute certainty that we really exist. (^^9-* 
 De Lib. Arb. ii.,3; De TrIn., x... 3; De 
 Civ. Dei, xi., 26; i>««c., 11 cc, et passim.) 
 Viewed under the latter limitation, the 
 deliverances of consciousness do not thus 
 peremptorily repel even the possibility of 
 doubl. I am conscious, for example, m an 
 aet of sensible perception, 1°, of myself, 
 the subject knowing; and, 2*, of some 
 thing given as different from myself, the 
 Me^t known. To take the second term 
 cf this relation:— that I am conscious in 
 this act of an object given, mf nm-^^ 
 that is, mmi a modijkatim ofm^ iwifitf— 
 of this, m a pkammmwm, doubt is impos- 
 sible. For, as has been seen, we cannot 
 doubt the actuality of a fact of conscious- 
 ness without doubting, that is subverting, 
 our doubt itself. To this extent, therefore. 
 all tcepticism is precluded. But though 
 
 it cannot but be admitted tliat the object 
 of which we ai-e conscious in this cognition 
 is given, not m a mode of self, but as a 
 mode of something different from self, it 
 is however possible for us to suppose, 
 without our supposition at least being/ /o 
 de Wf, that, though given as a non-ego, thia 
 object may, tii r«aW'/« ^ only a representor 
 iim of a mn^ffo, in and by the ego. Let 
 this therefore be maintained : let the fact 
 of the testimony be admitted, but the truth 
 of the testimony, to aught beyond its own 
 ideal existence, be doubted or denied. 
 How in this case are we to proceed ? It 
 is evident that the doubt does not in this, 
 as in the former case, refute itself. It is 
 not suicidal by self contradiction. The 
 Idealist, therefore, in denying the exis- 
 tence of an external world, as more than j 
 a subjective phaeuomon of the internal, 
 does not advance a doctrine ab initio null, 
 as a scepticism would be which denied the . 
 phasnomena of the internal world itself. I 
 Yet many distinguished pWlosophers have 
 fallen into this mistake; and, among others, 
 both Dr Reid, probably, and Mr Stewart, 
 certainly. The latter in his Philosophical 
 Essays (pp. 6,7) explicitly states, "that 
 the belief which accompanies conscious- 
 ness, as to the present existence of its ap- 
 propriate phienomena, rests on no fouuda^ 
 tion more solid than our belief of the ex- 
 istence of external objects." Reid does 
 not make any declaration so explicit, but 
 the same doctrine seems involved in va- 
 rious of his criticisms of Hume and of 
 Descartes (Inq pp. 100 a., 129, 130; Int. 
 Pow., pp. 269 a., 442 b.) Thus (p. 100 a) 
 he reprehends the latter for maintammg 
 that consciousness affords a higher assur- 
 ance of the reality of the internal phreno- 
 mena, than sense affords of the reality of 
 the external. He asks— Why did Descartes 
 not attempt a proof of the existence of his 
 thought? and if consciousness be alleged 
 as avouching this, he asks again,— Who is 
 to be our voucher that consciousness may 
 not deceive us ? My observations on this 
 point, which were printed above three 
 years ago, in the foot-notes at pp. 129 and 
 442 b., I am happy to tind confirmed by 
 the authority of M. Cousin. The follow- 
 ing passage' is from his Lectures on the 
 Scottish School, constituting the second 
 volume of his " Course on the History of 
 the Moral Philosophy of the Eighteenth 
 Centurv," delivered in the years 1819, 
 1820, but only recently published by M. 
 Vachcrot. " It is not (he observe? in re- 
 ference to the preceding strictures of Reid 
 upon Descartes) as a fact attested by con- 
 sciousness, that Descartes declares hia 
 
 §1-] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 745 
 
 Is 
 
 personal existence beyond a doubt; it is 
 because the negation of this fact would in- 
 volve a contradiction." And after quot- 
 ing the relative passage from Descartes: 
 — " It is thus by a reasoning that Descartes 
 establishes the existence of the thinking 
 subject ; if he admit this existence, it is not 
 because it is guaranteed by consciousness; 
 It is for this reason, that when he thinks 
 — let him deceive himself or not — he ex- 
 ists in so far as he thinks." P. 236. See 
 also p. 219, sq. 
 
 It is therefore manifest that we may 
 throw wholly out of account the phseno- 
 mena of consciousness, considered merely 
 in themselves; seeing that scepticism in 
 regard to them, under this limitation, is 
 confessedly impossible; and that it is only 
 roquisite to consider the argument from 
 Common Sense, as it enables us to vindi- 
 
 * cate the truth of these phaenomena. viewed 
 I as attestations of more than their own 
 
 existence, seeing that they are not, in this 
 respect, placed beyond the possibility of 
 doubt. 
 
 When, for example, consciousness as- 
 sures us that, in perception, we are imme- 
 diately cognizant of an external and ex- 
 tended non-ego; or that, in remembrance, 
 through the imagination, of which we are 
 immediately cognizant, we obtain a medi- 
 ate knowledge of a real past ; how shall 
 we repel the doubt — in the former case, 
 that what is given as the extended reality 
 itself is not merely a representation of 
 matter by mind ; — in the latter, that what 
 IS given as a mediate knowledge of the 
 past, is not a mere present phantasm, con- 
 taining an illusive reference to an unreal 
 past ? We can do this only in one way. 
 
 • The legitimacy of such gratuitous doubt 
 ; necessarily supposes that the deliverance 
 
 of consciousness is not to be presumed true. 
 If therefore it can be shown, on the one 
 hand, that the deliverances of conscious- 
 ness must philosophically be accepted, until 
 their certain or probable falsehood has 
 been positively evinced; and if, on the 
 other hand, it cannot be shown that any 
 attempt to discredit the veracity of con- 
 sciousness has ever yet succeeded; it fol- 
 I lows that, as philosophy now stands, the 
 testimony of consciousness must be viewed 
 as high above suspicion, and its declara- 
 tions entitled to demand prompt and un- 
 conditional assent. 
 
 In the first pkce, as has been said, it 
 cannot but be acknowledged that the ve- 
 racity #>f consciousness must, at least in 
 the first instance, be conceded. " Neganti 
 incumbit probatio." Nature is not gra- 
 tuitouflly to be assumed to work, not only 
 
 in vain, but in counteraction of herself; 
 , our faculty of knowledge is not, without a 
 I ground, to be supposed an instrument of 
 illusion ; man, unless the melancholy fact 
 be proved, is not to be held organized for 
 the attainment, and actuated by the love, 
 of truth, only to become the dupe and 
 victim of a perfidious creator. 
 
 But, in the second place, though the 
 veracity of th« primary convictions of con- 
 sciousness must, in the outset, be admitted, 
 it still remains competent to lead a proof 
 that they are undeserving of credit But 
 how is this to be done ? As the ultimate 
 grounds of knowledge, these convictions 
 cannot be redargued from any higher 
 knowledge; and as original beliefs, they 
 are paramount in certainty to every de- 
 rivative assurance. But they are many; 
 they are, in authority, co-ordinate; and 
 their testimony is clear and precise. It is 
 therefore competent for us to view them 
 in correlation; to compare their declara- 
 tions; and to consider whether they con- 
 tradict, and, by contradicting, invalidate 
 each other. This mutual contradiction is 
 possible, in two ways. I*', It may be 
 that the primary data themsehuig are di- 
 rectly or immediately contradictory of 
 each other; 2**, it may be that they are 
 mediately or indirectly contradictory, in 
 as much as the consequences to which 
 they necessarihj lead, and for the truth or 
 falsehood of which they are therefore re- 
 sponsible, are mutually repugnant. By 
 evincing either of these, the voracity of 
 consciousness will be disproved; for in 
 either case consciousness is shown to be 
 inconsistent with itself, and consequently 
 inconsistent with the unity of truth. But 
 by no other process of demonstration is 
 this possible. For it will argue nothing i 
 against the trustworthiness of conscious- \ 
 ness, that all or any of its deliverances arc 
 inexplicable — are incomprehensible; that 
 is, that we are unable to conceive through 
 a higher notion, how that is possible, which 
 the deliverance avouches actually to be. 
 To make the comprehensibility of a datum 
 of consciousness the criterion of its truth, 
 would be indeed the climax of absurdity. 
 For the primary data of consciousness, as 
 themselves the conditions under which 
 all else is comprehended, are necessarily 
 themselves incomprehensible. We know, 
 and can know, only — That they are, not — 
 How they can be. To ask how an imme- 
 diate fact of consciousness is possible, is to 
 ask how consciousness is possible; and to k 
 ask how consciousness is possible, is to " 
 suppose that we have another conscious- 
 ness, before and above that human conaci- 
 
f4S 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 ^^fioim A 
 
 ousness, conrerning wUose mode of ope- 
 ntlioii we inquire. Could we answer tMs, 
 •'verily we should be as gods.'** 
 
 Tolake an example : — It would be unrea- 
 ■nnbfe in tbe Cosmotbetic or the Abso- 
 lute Idealist, to require of the Natural Real- 
 Igtt a reason, through which to under- 
 ■tand how a self can be conscious of a not- 
 ielf^bow an unext ended subject can be 
 cognizant of an extended object ; both of 
 which are given us as facts by consciona- 
 mem, and, as such, founded oa by the Natu- 
 ral Realist. This is unreasonable, bwsuse 
 it is incompetent to demand the exiilanatlon 
 Ufa datum of consciousness, wMch, as ori- 
 ginal and simple, Is necessarily beyond 
 analysis and explication. It is still further 
 unreasonable, in as much as all philosophy 
 being only a development of the primary 
 dAta of consciousness, any philosophy, in 
 not accepting the truth of these, pro tan- 
 to iurreiiders its own possibility — is felo 
 de se. But at the hands of the Cosmo- 
 tlMtlo Idealists— and they constitute the 
 great minority of philosophers — the ques- 
 tion is peculiarly absurd; for before pro-. 
 posing it, they 'are themselves bound to 
 afford a solution of the far more insuper- 
 able difficulties which their own hypothesis 
 Involves — diiiculties which, so far from 
 attempting to solve, no Hypothetical Re- 
 sist has ever yet even articulately stated. 
 For the illustration of this, I mast refer 
 the reader to an article " On the Philo- 
 sophy of Perception," Edinburgh Review, 
 vol. lii,, p. 175—181 ; to be found also 
 in Cross's Selections, and Peisse's Frag- 
 ments. 
 
 This being undentood, the following 
 propositions are either self-evident, or ad- 
 mit of easy proof: — 
 
 1. The end of philosophy Is truth; and 
 consciousness is the instrument and crite- 
 rion of its acquisition. In other words, 
 philosophy is the development and appli- 
 cation CI the constitutive and normal 
 truths which consciousness immtdiately 
 reveals. 
 
 2. Philosophy is thus wholly dependent 
 Bpon consciousness; the posability of the 
 former supposing the trustwortbinesa of 
 the latter, 
 
 • From what has now been stated, It will be 
 ■een how far and on what ground'* I Jiold, at 
 wmm with Dr Beid and Mr Stewart, that onr 
 Wlfi:niil. beliefs are to be cstaMished, but tlieir 
 •nthnrlly not to be eanvwsed; and with H. 
 Ibuffirof, that the question of their authority Is 
 not to be abaolntel? withdrawn, aa a forbidden 
 problem, from philosophy.— -!?« Prffme. 
 
 I On these terms, sec in tbe sixiiiol of this 
 t f, 74*IS, *q. Slid Nittf * •, J i. 
 
 3. Consciousnessistobe presumed trust- / 
 worthy, until proved mendacious. 
 
 4. The mendacity of consciousness is 
 proved, if its data, immediately in them- 
 selves, or mediately in their necessary con- 
 sequences, be shown to stand in mutual 
 contradiction. 
 
 5. The immediate i»r mediate repug- 
 nance of any two of its data being esta- 
 blished, the presumption in favour of thp 
 general veracity of consciousness is abol- 
 ished, or rather reversed. For while, on 
 the one hand, all that is not contradictory 
 Is not therefore true; on the other, a posi- 
 tive proof of falsehood, in one instance, 
 establishes a presumption of probable false- 
 hood in all ; for the maxim, "falsvs in uno, 
 
 falmti in omnibus" must determine the 
 credibility of consciousness, as the credi- 
 bility of every other witness. 
 
 6. No attempt to show that the data of 
 consciousness are (either in themselves, or 
 in their necessary consequences) mutnally 
 contradictory, has yet succeeded: and the 
 presumption in favour of the truth of con- 
 sciousness and the possibility of philosopity 
 has, therefore, never been redargued. In 
 other words, an original, universal, dog- 
 matic subversion of knowledge has hitherto 
 been found impossible. 
 
 7. No philosopher has ever formally de- 
 nied the truth or disclaimed the authority 
 of consciousness; but few or none have 
 been content implicitly to accept and con- 
 sistently to follow out its dictates. Instead 
 of humbly resorting to consciousness, to 
 draw from thence his doctrines and their 
 proof, each dogmatic speculator looked 
 only into consciousness, there to discover 
 his preadopted opinions. In philosophy, 
 men have abused the code of natural, as in 
 theology, the code of positive, revelation ; 
 and the epigraph of a great protestant 
 divine, on the book of scripture, is cer- 
 tainly not less applicable to the book of 
 consciousness : 
 
 **ilie l^er tat im fuo qmarU sua dogmcUa quisqmt 
 Invenit, ct jiariisr dogmata qui$que tua' 
 
 8. The first and most obtrusive conse- 
 quence of this procedure has been, the 
 multiplication of philosophical systems in 
 every conceivable aberration from the 
 unity of truth. 
 
 0. The second, but less obvious, conse- 
 quence has been, the virtual surrender, by 
 each several system, of the possibility of 
 
 Shilosophy in general. For, as the possi- 
 ility of philosophy supposes the absolute 
 truth of consciousness, every system which 
 proceeded on the hypothesis, that even a 
 single deliverance of consciousness is un- . 
 true, did, however it might eschew tl»© \ 
 
 flJ 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 747 
 
 overt declaration, thereby invalidate the 
 general credibility of consciousness, and 
 supply to the sceptic the premises he re- 
 quired to subvert philosophy, in so far as 
 that system represented it. 
 
 10. And yet, although the past history 
 of philosophy has, in a great measure, 
 been only a history of variation and error 
 {variasse erroris est) ; yet the cause of 
 this variation being known, we obtain a 
 valid ground of hope for the destiny of 
 philosophy in future. Because, since phi- 
 losophy has hitherto been inconsistent 
 with itself, only in being inconsistent with 
 the dictates of our natural beliefs — 
 
 " For Truth is catholic and Nature one ; " 
 it follows, that philosophy has simply to 
 return to natural consciousness, to return 
 to unity and truth. 
 
 In doing this we have only to attend to 
 the three following maxims or precau- 
 tions: — 
 
 1®, That we admit nothing, not either 
 an original datum of consciousness, or the 
 legitimate consequence of such a datum ; 
 
 2°, That we embrace all the original 
 data of consciousness, and all their legiti- 
 mate consequences ; and 
 , 3**, That we exhibit each of these in its 
 ' individual integrity, neither distorted nor 
 mutilated, and in its relative place, whether 
 of pre-eminence or subordination. 
 
 Nor can it be contended that conscious- 
 ness has spoken in so feeble or ambiguous 
 a voice, that philosophers have misappre- 
 hended or misunderstood her enounce- 
 ments. On the contrary, they have been 
 usually agreed about the fact and purport 
 of the deliverance, differing only as to the 
 mode in which they might evade or qualify 
 its acceptance. 
 
 This I shall illustrate by a memorable 
 example — by one in reference to the very 
 cardinal point of philosophy. In the act 
 of sensible perception, I am conscious of 
 two things; — of myself ss the perceiving 
 j tubject, and of an external re'diUj, in rela- 
 f tion with my sense, as the object perceived. 
 Of the existence of both these things I 
 am convinced : because I am conscious of 
 knowing each of them, not mediately, in 
 something else, as representedy but imme- 
 diately in itself, as existing. Of their mu- 
 tual independence I am no less convin- 
 ced ; because each is apprehended equally, 
 and at once, in the same indivisible energy, 
 the one not preceding or determining, the 
 other not following or determined ; and 
 because each is apprehended out of, and 
 in direct contrast to, the other. 
 
 Such is the fact of perception, as given 
 in consciousness, and as it affords to man- 
 
 kind in general the conjunct assurance 
 they possess, of their own existence, and 
 of the existence of an external world. 
 Nor are the contents of the deliverance, 
 considered as a phctnomenon, denied by 
 those who still hesitate to admit the truth 
 of its testimony. As this point, however, 
 is one of principal importance, I shall not 
 content myself with assuming the preced- 
 ing statement of the fact of perception as 
 a truth attested by the internal experience 
 of all ; but, in order to place it beyond the 
 possibility of doubt, quote in evidence, 
 more than a competent number of autho- 
 ritative, and yet reluctant, testimonies, 
 and give articulate references to others. 
 
 Descartes, the father of modern Ideal- I* 
 ism, acknowledges, that in perception we 
 suppose the qualities of the external re- 
 alities to be themselves apprehended, and 
 not merely represented, by the mind, in 
 virtue or on occasion of certain move- 
 ments of the sensuous organism which 
 they determine. " Putamus nos videra 
 ipsam tcedam, et audire ipsam campanam : 
 non vero solum sentire motus qui ab ipsis 
 proveniunt." De Passionibus art. xxiii. 
 This, be it observed, is meant for a state- 
 ment applicable to our perception of ex- 
 ternal objects in general, and not merely 
 to our perception of their secondary 
 qualities. 
 
 De Raei, a distinguished follower of 
 Descartes, frequently admits, that what is 
 commonly rejected by philosophers is uni- 
 versally believed by mankind at large — ^ 
 " Res ipsas secundum se in sensum incur- 
 rere." De Mentis Humanae Facultatibus, 
 Sectio II. § 41, 70, 89. De Cognitione 
 Humana, § 15, 39, et alibi. 
 
 In like manner, Berkeley, contrasting 
 the belief of the vulgar, and the belief of 
 philosophers on this point, says : — " The 
 former are of opinion that those things I 
 they immediately perceive are the real 
 things; and the latter, that the things 
 immediately perceived are ideas whicv 
 exist only in the mind." Three Dialogue^ 
 &c., Dial. III. prope finem. His brother 
 idealist, Arthur Collier, might be quoted 
 to the same purport ; though he does not., 
 like Berkeley, pretend that mankind al; 
 large are therefore idealists. 
 
 Hume frequently states that, in the teetfc 
 of all philosophy, " men are carried by fi 
 blind and powerful instinct of nature to 
 suppose the very images presented by thf, 
 senses to be the external objects, and never 
 entertain any suspicion that the one ar*. 
 nothing but representations of the other.' 
 Enquiry concerning Human Understand- 
 ing, Sect. XII., Essays, ed. 1788, vol. II. 
 
OM THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [botb a. 
 
 \ 
 
 p. IM. Commre also ibM. p. 1S7 ; and 
 Treatise of Unman Mature, Yol. i*, B. i., 
 P. iv.. Sect. 2., pp. 330, 388, 353, 358, 
 
 mi, MB, 
 
 SeMiinff, in many passages of Ms works, 
 iwpeats, amplifies, and lUtistrates the state 
 nenty that *' the man ef common sense 60- 
 Itmi, €md will fwi but beiiern, that the o&- 
 j«d he is consetous ofperceivina is the reed 
 mm,** This is from his Fkloiopiiiscbe 
 Schriften, I. p. 274 ; and it may m found 
 with the context, translated by Coleridge 
 —but given as his own —in the " Biogra- 
 pliia Literaria," I. p. 262. See also among 
 other passages, Fhilos. Sehr., I. pp. 217, 
 238 ; Ideen an einer Philosophie der Na- 
 tur, Einleit. pp. xix, xxvi, first edition, 
 (translated in Edinb. Rev. vol, lii., p. 
 202.) ; Philosophischcs Journal von Fichte 
 ttud Niethhammer, vol. vii., p. 244. In 
 Ibepe passages Sehelling allows that it is 
 «mkf on the believed identity of ^ object 
 kmmm emd of the object ejcisting, and m 
 ottr imaMlit^ to discriminate in perceptive 
 eomseiommM ths representation frmn the 
 iMn§, thM$ mankind at large beliem in tfw 
 rcfltl% of an extemai world. 
 
 Bat to adduce a more recent writer, and 
 of a different school. — " From the natural 
 point of view •• says Stiedenroth, ** the re- 
 presentation (Yorstellung) is not in sen- 
 sible perception distinguished from the 
 object represented; for it .ppe«» as if 
 the sense actnall j apprehended the things 
 out of itself, and in their proper space." 
 (Fsychologie, vol. i. p. 244.) ** The 
 iMngs— ^the actual realities are not in our 
 ion], nevertheless, from the psychologi- 
 cal point of view on which we are origi- 
 nally placed by nature, we do not suspect 
 fbat our representation of external things 
 and their relations is nought but repre- 
 sentation. Before this can become a 
 matter of consideration, the spatial reki- 
 lions are so far developed, that it seems 
 10 if the soul apprehended out of itself— 
 as if it did not carry the images of things 
 within itself, but perceived the things 
 themselves in their proper space," (p. 
 267.) " This belief (that our sensible 
 percepts are the things themselves,) is so 
 strong and entire, that a light seems to 
 break upon us when we first learn, or be- 
 think ourselves, that we are abmlutely 
 ■but in within the circle of our own re- 
 presentaiions. Nay, it costs so painful 
 an effort, consistently to maintain this 
 acquired view, in opposition to that per- 
 manent and unremitted illusion, that we 
 need not marvel, if, even to many philo- 
 sophers, it should have been again lost," 
 (11.270.) 
 
 But it is needless to accumulate con- 
 fessions as to a fact which has never, I 
 believe, been openly denied ; I shall only 
 therefore refer in general to the following 
 authorities, who, all in like manner, even 
 while denying the truth of the natural be- 
 lief, acknowledge the fact of its existence. 
 Malebranche, Recherche, L.iii. c. 1.; 2V- 
 tens, Yersuche, vol. i. p . 376. ; Fichte, 
 Bestimmung des Menschen, p. 56, ed. 
 1826 ; and in Fhilos. Journal, VII. p. 35.; 
 Tennemamif Geschichte der Fhilosophioi 
 vol ii. p. 294, (translated in Edinb. Rev., 
 %'ol. Hi. p. 202.); Fries, Neue Kritik, 
 Vorr. pw xxviii. sec. ed. ; fferbart, Allge- 
 mein© Mctaphysik, II Th., § 327.; Ger- 
 Imeh, Fuudainental Fhilosophie, § 33.; 
 Beneke, Bas Yerhaeltniss von Seele und 
 Leib, p. 23 ; and Kant und die Fhiloso- 
 phische Aufgabe unserer Zeit, p. 70.; 
 Moeger, Pruefung, &c., p. 504. To these 
 may be added, Jacobi, Werke, vol. !. p. 
 110; and in vol. ii., his " David Hume" 
 passim, of which see a passage quoted infra 
 in Testimonies, No. 87 c. Reid's opinion 
 will be adduced in Note C, § II. 
 
 The contents of the fact of perception, 
 as ffiptn in consciousness, being thus esta- 
 blished, what are the consequences to phi- 
 losophy, according as the truth of its tes- 
 timony (I.) t>, or (II.) is not, admitted f 
 
 I- On the former alternative, the vera- 
 cltj of consciousness, in the fact of per- 
 ception, being unconditionally acknow- 
 ledged, we have established at once, with- 
 out hypothesis or demonstration, the 
 reality of mind, and the reality of matter ; 
 while no concession is yielded to the scep- 
 tic, through which ho may subvert philo- 
 sophy in manifesting its self-contradiction. 
 The one legitimate doctrine, thus possible, 
 may be called Natural Realism or Naturai 
 Dualism. 
 
 II. On the laUer alternative, five great 
 variations from truth and nature may be 
 conceived — and all of these have actually 
 found their advocates— according as the 
 testimony of consciousness, in the fact of 
 perception, (A) is whoUy, or (B) is par* 
 tiaUu, rejected. 
 
 A. If wholly rejected, that is, it nothing 
 but the phsenomenal reality of the fact 
 itself be allowed, the result is Nihilism, 
 This may be conceived either as a dogma- 
 tical or as a sceptical opinion ; and Hume 
 and Fichte have competently shown, that 
 if the truth of consciousness be not uncon- 
 ditionally recognized. Nihilism is the 
 cimclusion in which our speculation, if \ 
 consistent with itself, must end. 
 
 B. On the other hand, if partially re- 
 jected, /otir schemes emerge, according to 
 
 § § I. n.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 749 
 
 tbe way in which the fact is tampered 
 with. 
 
 i. If the veracity of consciousness be 
 allowed to the equipoise of the subject and 
 object in the act, but disallowed to the 
 reality of their antithesis, the system of 
 Absolute Identity (whereof Pantheism is 
 the corollary) arises, which reduces mind 
 
 I and matter to phaenomenal modifications 
 of the same common substance. 
 
 ii., iii. Again, if the testimony of consci- 
 ousness be refused to the equal originality 
 and reciprocal independence of the subject 
 and object in perception, two Unitarian 
 schemes are determined, according as the 
 one or as the other of these correlatives 
 is supposed the prior and genetic. Is the 
 
 I object educed from the subject ? Idealism ; 
 
 V is the subject educed from the object ? 
 
 I Materialism, is the result. 
 
 iv. Finally, if the testimony of consci- 
 ousness to our knowledge of an external 
 world existing be rejected with the Ideal- 
 ist, but with the Realist the encistence of 
 that world be affirmed ; we have a scheme 
 which, as it by many various hypotheses, 
 endeavours, on the one hand, not to give 
 up the reality of an unknown material 
 universe, and on the other, to explain the 
 
 \ ideal illusion of its cognition, may be called 
 
 I the doctrine of Cosmothetic Idealism, Hy- 
 pothetical Bealism, or Hypothetical Dual- 
 ism. This last, though the most vacillat- 
 ing, inconsequent, and self-contradictory 
 of all systems, is the one which, as less ob- 
 noxious in its acknowledged consequences, 
 (being a kind of compromise between spe- 
 culation and common sense,) has found fa- 
 vour with the immense majority of philo- 
 sophers.* 
 
 From the rejection of the fact of con- 
 sciousness in this example of perception, 
 we have thus, in the first place, multipli- 
 city, speculative variation, error; in the 
 second, systems practically dangerous ; and 
 in the third, what concerns us exclusively 
 at present, the incompetence of an appeal 
 to the common sense of mankind by any 
 of these systems against the conclusions of 
 others. This last will, however, be more 
 appropriately shown in our special consi- 
 deration of the conditions of the argument 
 of Common Sense, to which we now go 
 on. 
 
 • See, in connexion witli this more general 
 distribution of philosophical systems from the 
 whole fact of conaciousness in perception, other 
 more special divisions, from the relation of the 
 object to the subject of perception, in Note C, 
 s ** 
 
 § //. — Conditions of the legitimacy, and 
 legitimate application, of the argument 
 from Common Sense. 
 
 From what has been stated, it is mani- 
 fest that the argument drawn from Com- 
 mon Sense, for the truth or falsehood of 
 any given thesis, proceeds on two suppo- 
 sitions — 
 
 1°. That the proposition to he proved is 
 either identical with, or necessarily evolved # 
 out of, a primary datum of consciousness; 
 and, 
 
 2°, That the primary data of conscious" 
 ness are, one and all of them, admitted, by 
 the proponent of this argument, to be true. 
 
 From this it follows, that each of these 
 suppositions will constitute a condition, 
 under which the legitimate application of 
 this reasoning is exclusively competent. 
 Whether these conditions have been ever 
 previously enounced, I know not. But 
 this I know, that while their necessity is 
 so palpable, that they could never, if ex- 
 plicitly stated, be explicitly denied; that 
 in the hands of philosophers they have 
 been always, more or less violated, impli- 
 citly and in fact, and this often not the 
 least obtrusively by those who have been 
 themselves the loudest in their appeal from 
 the conclusions of an obnoxious specula- 
 tion to the common convictions of mankind. 
 It is not therefore to be marvelled at if the 
 argument itself should have sometimes 
 shared in the contempt which its abusive 
 application so frequently and so justly 
 merited. 
 
 1. That the first condition — that of 
 originality — is indispensable, is involved 
 in the very conception of the argument. 
 I should indeed hardly have deemed that 
 it required an articulate statement, were 
 it not that, in point of fact, many philoso- 
 phers have attempted to establish, on the 
 principles of common sense, propositions 
 which are not original data of conscious- 
 ness; while the original data of conscious- 
 ness, from which their propositions were 
 derived, and to which they owed their 
 whole necessity and truth — these data the 
 same philos5phers were (strange to say!) 
 not disposed to admit. Thus, when it is 
 argued by the Cosmothetic Idealists — 
 " The external world exists, because we 
 naturally believe it to exist;" the illation 
 is incompetent, in as much as it errone-. 
 ously assumes that our belief of an exter-l V 
 nal world is a primary datum of conscious-^ 
 ness. This is not the case. That an outer 
 
 world exists is given us, not as a " miracu- 
 lous revelation,*' not as a "cast of magic," 
 not as an "instinctive feehng," not as a 
 "blind belief." These expressions, in 
 
fm 
 
 OM THE PlIILOSOFHY 
 
 [motb a. 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 wUcIi the Cosmothetic Idmlists shadow 
 fortli the difficulty they create, and attempt 
 to solve, are wholly iijapphcahlo to the 
 real fact. Our Wief of a material wii- 
 ▼erse is not ullinmte; and that universe is 
 not unknown. This helief is not a super- 
 natural inspiration ; it is not an mfmed 
 IWth. We are not compelled by a bhmt 
 impulse to believe in the eEternal world, 
 as in an unknown something; on the con- 
 trary, we believe it to exist only because 
 X we are immediately cognizant of it as ex- 
 I istlng. If asked, indeed -How we know 
 that we know it?— how we know that 
 what we apprehend in sensible perception 
 is. as consciousness assures us, an oliiwt, 
 external, extended, and numeneally diffe- 
 rent from the conscious subject?— how w© 
 know that tliis object is not a mere mode 
 lOf mind, illusively presented to ua as a 
 mode of matter ?-then indeed we must 
 fepk, that we do not in propriety ^w 
 that what we are compelled to Mrccive as 
 not-self, is mi a perception f ^ f» *«« 
 that we can only on reflection 6^/«m such 
 Ito be the ease, in reliance on the original 
 'aeoeaiity of so believing, imposed on us by 
 Mf ' naltiro, 
 
 qjamnM ill »•»!, »**o «l«<xi«« '*»"** **^ «»'»*■* 
 That this is a correct statement of the 
 fact has been alreadj shown ; and if such 
 be the undeuied and nndeniable ground of 
 the natural belief of mankind, m the ro- 
 aitf of external things, the incompetence 
 of the argument from common sense in 
 the hanito of the Cosmothetic Weahat is 
 manifest, in so far as it does not fuM the 
 fnndamental condition of that argument. 
 
 This defect of the argument may, in 
 tbe present example indeed, I'^^^^^^ly «"P- 
 plied, bj interpolating the medium which 
 L bwsn left out. But this cannot con- 
 Mcntly be done by the Cosmothetic 
 liealsl, who Is reduced to this dilemm*— 
 that if he adhere to his by pothesis, he must 
 renounce the argument ; and if no apply 
 the argument, he must renounce his hypo- 
 
 ^, *The second condition, that of aimdnU 
 truth, requires thai ho who applies the ar- 
 Btiment of common sense, by appealing to 
 the veracity of consciousness, ih««Jf n«J 
 himself, directly or indirectly, admit that 
 eonsciousness is ever false ; in «il>" IT tn 
 ho is bomid, in applying *»>« .^ Ta^lt 
 apply it thoroughly, rF«;t;«%' *7»«J 
 Mmilf no less than i^ainst others, and not 
 
 acoording to the ^^^^f^'^Zf ih^ i^ 
 
 temic, to apF«»>*J«.«»f r^n^^tat our 
 linony of our original beliefs. That our 
 
 immediate conscioumesi, if competent to 
 
 prove any thing. ««* ^ munpetont to 
 
 prove every thing it avouches, is a prin- 
 ciple which none have been found, at least 
 oiJenlj, to deny. It is proclaimed by 
 Leibnitz: " Si rexp6rience interne immfe- 
 diate pouvait nous tromper, il ne saurwt y 
 avoir pour moi aucune vinte de fait, 
 j-iyoute,iii deraison." Andby Lucretius:- 
 
 \ 
 
 Benique ut In fabrica si prava 'st Rejfula prima, 
 oSn?a mendosa fieri atquo ob«tii»a nece^sum nt ; 
 Sic Ijritiir Ratio tibl rerum prava necesse st, 
 riii8*iitte tit^fuMB quaecuBqueab Seusibus or- 
 ta 'st> 
 Compare Phtirmi, En. V. Lib. v. c. I - 
 Mnffier, Pr. Ver., § 71— ««t<l, Inq., p. 188, 
 
 h, I, P., p. 260, b. 
 
 Yet, however notorious the condition, 
 that consciousness unless held trust worthy 
 in all its revelations cannot be held trust- 
 worthy in any; marvellous to say, philo- 
 sophers have rarely scrupled, on the one 
 haiid, quietly to supersede the data of con- 
 sciousness, so often as these did not fiUl in 
 with their preadopted opinions;— and on 
 the other, clamorously to appeal to them, 
 as irrecusabletruths, so often as they could 
 allege them in corroboration of their own,\ 
 or in refutation of a hostile, doctrme. \ 
 I shall again take for an example the 
 fact of perception, and the violation of the 
 present condition by the Cosmothetic Ideal- 
 ists— I**, in the constitution of their own 
 doctrine; 2°, in their polemic against 
 more extreme opinions. ^ ^ 
 
 In the first place, in the constitution of 
 their doctrine, nothing can be imagined 
 more monstrous than the procedure of 
 these philosophers, in attempting to vin- 
 dicate the reality of a material world, on 
 the ground of an universal behef in its 
 existence; and yet rejecting the universal 
 Mief in f/w knowledge on which the uni- 
 versal belief in the existence is exclusively 
 based. Here the absurdity is twofold. 
 Firstly, in postulating a conclusion though 
 rejecting its premises; secondly, in found- 
 ing their doctrine partly on the veracity, 
 and partly on the mendacity, of conscious- 
 
 ness 
 
 In the second place, with what consis- 
 tency and effect do the Hypothetical Real- 
 ists point the argument of c-ommon sense 
 acainst the obnoxious conclusions of the 
 thorough-going Idealist the Matenahst, 
 the Absolutist, the Nihilist? 
 
 Take first their vindication of an exter- 
 nal world against the Idealist. 
 
 To prove this, do they, like Dr Thomaa 
 Brown, simply found on the natural belief 
 of mankind in its existence? But they 
 themselves, as we have seen, admitting the 
 untruth of one natural belief— the belief 
 in our immediate knowledge of external 
 things— have no right to presume upon 
 
 § § IL III.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 751 
 
 the truth of any other; and the absurdity 
 is carried to its climax, when the natural 
 belief, which they rej^ard as false, is the 
 sole ground of the natural belief which 
 they would assume and found upon as true. 
 Again, do they, like Dos< art es, allege that 
 God would be a deceiver, were we con- 
 strained by nature to believe in the reality 
 of an unreal world ? But the Deity, on 
 their hypotliesis, is a deceiver; for that 
 hypothesis assumes that our natural con 
 sciousness deludes us in the belief, that 
 external objects are immediately, and in 
 themselves, perceivod. (See 747a.) Either 
 therefore maintaining the veracity of God, 
 they must surrender their hypothesis; or, 
 maintaining their hypothesis, they must 
 surrender the veracity of God. 
 
 Against the Materialist, in proof of our 
 Personal Identity, can they maintain, that 
 consciousness is able to identify self, at 
 one period, with self, at another ; when, 
 in their theory of perception, conscious- 
 ness mistaking self for not-self, is unable, 
 they virtually assert, to identify self with 
 self, even at t he same moment of existence ? 
 How, again, can they maintain the sub- 
 stantial Individuality and consequent Im- 
 materiality of the thinking principle, on 
 the unity of consciousness, when the duality 
 given in consciousness is not allowed sub- 
 stantially to discriminate the object from 
 the subject in perception ? 
 
 But to take a broader view. It is a 
 maxim in philosophy, — That substances are 
 not to be multiplied without necessity ; in 
 Other words, — That a pluraliti/ of prin- 
 ciples are not to be assumedf when the phcB- 
 nomena can f assibbf be explain d by one. 
 This regulative principle, which may be 
 called the law or maxim of Parcimony, 
 throws it therefore on the advocates of a 
 scheme of psychological Dualism, to prove 
 the necessity of supposing more than a 
 single substance for the plwenoraena of 
 mind and matter. — Further, we know no- 
 thing whatever of mind and matter, con- 
 sidered as substances; they are only known 
 to us as a twofold series of phajnomena: 
 and we can only justify, against the law of 
 parcimony, the postulation of two sub- 
 stances, on the ground, that the two series 
 of phaenoraena are, reciprocally so con- 
 trary and incompatible, that the one can- 
 not be reduced to the other, nor both be 
 supposed to coinhere in the same common 
 substance. Is this ground shown to be 
 invalid? — the presumption against a dual- 
 Istic theory at once recurs, and a unitarian 
 scheme becomes, in the circumstances, 
 philosophically necessary. 
 
 Now thf> ^Eoctrine of Cosmothetic Ideal- 
 
 ism, in abolishing theincompatibility of the 
 two series of phsenoraena subverts the only 
 ground on w'lich a psycLological Dualism 
 can be maintained. This doctrine denies 
 to mind a knowledge of aught beyond its 
 own moditications. The qualities, which 
 we call material — Extension, Figure, &c. 
 — exist for us, only as they are known by 
 us ; and, on this hypothesis, they are known 
 by us, only as modes of mind. The two 
 series of phfenomena, therefore, so far 
 from being really, as they are apparently, 
 opposed, are, on this doctrine, in fact, ad- 
 mitted to be all only manifestations of tho 
 same substance. 
 
 So far, therefore, from the Hypotheti- 
 cal Duahst being able to resist the conclu- 
 sion of the Unitarian— whether Idealist, 
 Materialist, or Absolutist ; the fundamen- 
 tal position of his philosophy— f/mi the ob' 
 jfct immediately known is in every act of 
 coynition identical with the subject knowing 
 — in reality, establishes any and every 
 doctrine but his own. On tins principle, 
 the Idealist may educe the object from the 
 subject ; the Materialist educe the subject 
 from the object; the Absolutist carry both 
 up into indifference; nay the Nihilist sub- 
 vert the substantial reality of either : — and 
 the Hypothetical Dualist is doomed to 
 prove, that, while the only salvation against 
 these melancholy results is an appeal to 
 the natural convictions of mankind, that 
 the argument from common sense is, in his 
 hands a weapon, either impotent against 
 his opponents, or fatal equally to himself 
 and them. 
 
 § III. — The argument from Common 
 Sense is one strictly philosophical and 
 scientific. 
 
 We have thus seen, though the argu- 
 ment from common sense be an appeal to 
 the natural convictions of mankind, that it 
 is not an appeal from philosophy to blind 
 feeling. It is only an appeal, from the 
 heretical conclusions of particular philoso- 
 phies, to the catholic principles of all phi- 
 losophy. The prejudice, which, on this 
 supposition, has sometimes been excited 
 against the argument, is groundless. 
 
 Nor is it true, that the argument from 
 common sense denies the decision to the 
 judgment of philosophers, and accords it 
 to the verdict of the vulgar. Nothing can 
 be more erroneous. We admit — nay wo 
 maintain, as D'Alembert well expresses it, 
 "that the truth in metaphysic, like the 
 truth in matters of taste, is a truth of 
 which all minds have the germ within 
 themselves ; to which indeed the greater 
 number pay no attention, but which thoj 
 
ON THE FHILOSOFHY 
 
 [note a.. 
 
 S HI.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 75S 
 
 wcogciae III© moment It ii pointed out to 
 
 tbem. . . Biit if, in this sort, all are able to 
 
 understand, all are not able to instruct. 
 
 Tlio merit of confeying easilj to others 
 
 true and simple notions is much greater 
 
 llianis commonlj sopposed; for experience 
 
 proves how rarely this is to be met with. 
 
 Sound metaphysical ideas are common 
 
 truths, which every on© apprehends, but 
 
 which few have the talent to develop©. 
 
 go diiicult is it on any subject to make 
 
 our own what belongs to every one. 
 
 (Meknges, t. iv. § 6. ) Or, to employ the 
 
 words of the ingenious Lichtenberg— 
 
 « Philosophy, twist the matter as we may, 
 
 is always a sort of chemistry (Scheide- 
 
 kunst) The peasant employs all the 
 
 principles of abstract philosophy, only tn- 
 
 vdtifmd, totefil, m^faffBd, m [he ™?" o^ 
 
 physical science exprtss It; the Plaloso- 
 
 pher exhibits the |wr« principle." (Hin- 
 
 terkssene Schriften, vol. ii., p. 67.) 
 
 Th« irst problem of Philosophy— and 
 it Is one of no easy accomplishmiint— being 
 lh» to seek out, purify, and establish, by 
 Intellect'Wil analysis and criticism, the ele- 
 mentary feelings or helefs, in which are 
 given the elementary truths of which all 
 are in possession j and the argument from 
 eonmon sense being the allegation of these 
 fetHngs or Wlefs as ©iplknted and ascer- 
 tained, in proof of the relative truths and 
 their neceBsarj consequences ;— this argu- 
 ment is manifestly dependent on philo- 
 .inphjj as an, art, as an acquired dexterity, 
 and cannot, notwithstanding the errors 
 wMcli they have so frequently committed, 
 be taken out of the hands of the philoso- 
 
 Shers. Common Sense is like Common 
 MW, Each may be laid down as the ge- 
 neral rule of decision ; but in the one case 
 it must be left to the jurist, in the other 
 to the philosopher, to ascertain what are 
 the contents of the rule; and though in 
 both instances the common man may be 
 cited as a witness, for the custom or the 
 fact, in neither can he be allowed to offi- 
 ciate as, advocate or, as judge. 
 
 Tii» «f II* «f Off iivmif rixf«ti I o/*o- 
 
 PllOCl'MOTS. 
 
 It must 'he recollected, Jso, that In ap- 
 ■eallng to the conscio'usu'ess of mankind 
 'Cginefal, we only appeal to the consci- 
 fmnms of those not disquaUfied to pro- 
 nounce a decision. " In saying (to us© 
 the words of Aristotle) simply and with- 
 
 ~ fualfication, that this or that u a 
 friillk, we do not mean that It It in 
 
 fact recognized by all, but only hy such 
 as are of a sound understanding ; just as 
 in saying absolutely, that a thing is whole- 
 some, we must be held to moan, to such as 
 are of a hale constitution." (Top. L. vi., 
 c. 4, § 7.)— We may, in short, say of the 
 true Philosopher what Erasmus, in an 
 epistle to Hutten, said of Sir Thomas 
 More:— "Nemo minus ducitur vulffi ju* 
 dicioi sed rursus nemo minus abest a 
 
 When rightly understood, therefore, no 
 valid objection can be taken to the argu- 
 ment of common sense, considered in itself. 
 But it must be allowed that the way in 
 which it has been sometimes applied was 
 calcukted to bring it into not unreason- 
 able disfavour with the learned. ( See C. 
 L. Reinhold's Beytrwge zur leichtem 
 tiebersicht des Zustandes der Philosophic, 
 i. p. 61 ; and Niethhammer in his Journal, 
 i. p. 43 sq.) In this country in particular, 
 some of those who opposed it to the scep- 
 tical conclusions of Hume did not suffi- 
 ciently counteract the notion which the 
 name might naturally suggest; they did 
 not emphatically proclaim that it was no 
 appeal to the undeveloped beliefs of the 
 unreflective many; and they did not in- 
 culcate that it presupposed a critical ana- 
 lysis of these beliefs by the philosophers 
 themselves. On the contrary, their lan- 
 guage and procedure might even, some- 
 times, warrant an opposite conclusion. 
 This must be admitted without reserve 
 of the writings of Beattie, and more es- 
 pecially, of Oswald. But even Reid, in 
 his earlier work, was not so explicit as to 
 prevent his being occasionally classed m 
 the same catcgorv. That the strictures 
 on the " Scottish l»hilosophy of Common 
 Sense" by Feder. Lambert, Tetens, Eber- 
 hard, Kant, lllrich, Jacob, &c., were inapr 
 plicable to Reid, is sufficiently proved by 
 the more articulate exposition of his doc- 
 trine, afterwards given in his Essays on 
 the Intellectual and Active Powers. But 
 these criticisms having been once recorded, 
 we need not wonder at their subsequent 
 repetition, without qualification or excep- 
 tion, by philosophers and historians of 
 philosophy. 
 
 To take, as an example, the judgment 
 of the most celebrated of these critics. 
 " It is not (says Kant, in the preface to 
 his Prolegomena) without a «ertain pain- 
 ful feeling, that we behold how completely 
 Hume's opponents, Reid, Oswald, Beattie, 
 and, at bst, Priestley, missed the point of 
 his problem ; and whilst they, on the on© 
 hand, constantly assumed the very posi- 
 tions which h© did not aUow, and on the 
 
 other, demonstrated warmly, and often 
 with great intemperance, what he had 
 never dreamt of calling into question, they 
 so Uttle profited by the hint which he had 
 given towards better things, that all re- 
 mained in the same position as if the mat- 
 ter had never been agitated at all. The 
 question mooted, was not — Whether the 
 notion of Cause were righty applicable, and, 
 in relation to all natural knotvled/e, indis- 
 pensable ; for of this Hume had never insin- 
 uated a doubt; but — Whether this notion 
 were hy the mind ea^cogitated a priori, 
 whether it thus possessed an intrinsic truth, 
 independent of all escperiencPy and conse- 
 quently a more extensive applicability, one 
 not limited merely to objects of experience : 
 on this Hum© awaited a disclosure. In 
 fact, the whole dispute regarded the 
 \ origin of this notion, and not its indispen- 
 Isability in use. If the former be made 
 out, all that respects the conditions of its 
 use, and the sphere within which it can 
 be validly applied, follow as corollaries, of 
 themselves. In order satisfactorily to 
 solve the problem, it behoved the oppo- 
 nents of this illustrious man to have pene- 
 trated deeply into the nature of the mind, 
 considered as exclusively occupied in pure 
 thinking : but this did not suit them. They, 
 therefore, discovered a more convenient 
 method, in an appeal to the common un- 
 derstanding of mankind (gemeiner Men- 
 schenverstand)" — and so forth; showing 
 that Kant understood by the common 
 sense of the Scottish philosophers, only 
 good sense, sound understanding, &c. 
 (Prolegomena, p. 10.) 
 
 I will not object to the general truth of , 
 the statements in this passage; nor to 
 their bearing in so far as they are applied 
 to the British philosophers in general. For 
 Reid, however, I must claim an exemp- 
 tion; and this I shall establish with regard 
 to the very notion of Cause to which Kant 
 refers. 
 
 That fi-om the limited scope of his 
 earlier work the " Inquiry," Reid had not 
 occasion to institute a critical analysis of 
 the notion of Causality, affords no ground 
 for holding that he did not consider such 
 analysis to be necessary in the establish- 
 ment of that and the other principles of 
 common sense. This, indeed, he in that 
 very work, once and again, explicitly de- 
 clares. " We have taken notice of several 
 original principles of belief in the course 
 of this inquiry ; and when other faculties 
 of the mind are examined we shall find 
 more. * * * A clear explication and 
 enumeration of the principles of common 
 tense, ii one of the chief desiderata in Logic. 
 
 We have only considered such of them as 
 occurred in the examination of the five 
 senses." p. 209 ab. See also p. 96 a. And 
 accordingly in his subsequent and more 
 extensive work, the " Essays on the In- 
 tellectual Powers," published within two 
 years after Kant's " Prolegomena," we 
 find the notion of Causality, among others, 
 investigated by the very same critical pro- 
 cess which the philosopher of Koeuigsberg 
 so successfully employed; though there be 
 no reason whatever for surmising that 
 Reid had ever heard the name, far less 
 seen the works, of his illustrious censor 
 The criterion — the index by which Kant 
 discriminates the notions of jtwre or a priori 
 origin f^rom those elaborated from expe- 
 rience, is their quality of necessity; and its 
 quality of necessity is precisely the cha- 
 racteristic by which Reid proves that, 
 among others, the notion of causality can 
 not be an educt of experience, but must 
 form a part of the native cognitions of the 
 mind itself. It is doubtful indeed whether 
 Reid, like Kant, was even indebted to 
 Leibnitz for his knowledge of this touch- 
 stone; but the fact of its familiar employ- 
 ment by him in the discrimination and 
 establishment of the fundamental principles 
 of thought, more especially in his later 
 works, sufficiently shows, that the reproach 
 of an uncritical application of the argu- 
 ment from common sense, made against 
 the Scottish philosophers in general, was, 
 at least in reference to him, unfounded. 
 Reid however— and to his honour be it, 
 spoken — stands alone among the philoso- 
 phers of this country in liis appreciation j 
 and employment of the criterion of neces- 
 sity. See Note T. 
 
 [Since writing the above, I have met 
 with the following passage in the " Lettere 
 Philosophiche" of Baron Galluppi, one of 
 the two most distinguished of the present 
 metaphysicians of Italy. 
 
 *' The philosopher of Koenigsberg makes 
 Hume thus reason :— * Metaphysical Cau- 
 sality is not in the objects observed; it 
 is, therefore, a product of imagination 
 engendered upon custom.* — This reason- 
 ing, says Kant, is inexact. It ought to 
 have proceeded thus — ' Causality is not 
 in the things observed; it is therefore in 
 the observer.' But here Kant does not 
 apprehend Hume's meaning, whose rea- 
 soning, as I have stated in the eighth let- 
 ter, is altogether different. Metaphysical 
 causality, he argues, is not in the thiiitrs 
 observed; it cannot therefore be in the 
 observer, in whom all is derived from the 
 things observed. Reid fully understands ' 
 the purport of Hume*s argument, and 
 
 3 a 
 
ON THE PHll-OftOPHi 
 
 [styria. 
 
 76« 
 
 .i«itt It F«**^yr* 'TmI'^ Lid 
 
 tliif cmmttf -f •Moring ; -• Metapbysi«il 
 C«i8rfity !■ • fcct In our Intellect ; it is not 
 ierlvei from the thing* obsert ed, win is 
 therefore a subjective ^V^*^« ***^^51;, 
 Kant objects, tliai ReW has not attwideil 
 to tlie state of tlie qmslion. Tliere Is no 
 aisnnte, ho sajs, thmA the existence ot tne 
 
 imbt regards its origin. This is aJtoge- 
 tlier erroneous. Hume bemg nnable to 
 find the origin of the notion m «P««"*^«J. 
 denied its eadstence. Kant s criticism of 
 Bddls therefore mAuL" P. 225. 
 
 EMit, I think, is here hot hardly dealt 
 with, Hume did not, certainly, deny tne 
 tmistence of the notion of causalit j, mean- 
 , fag thereby its eEistenoe «• • »«*f^^^ 
 
 n«ii«»i ho only (on the »»IP«^^^*^^^ 
 i the then dominant doctnne of 8«mb^/ 
 / ihewed that it had no objicgfo «f ««7-- 
 ' no legitimate gemrfa. Im dlitrent points 
 of Tiew, therefore, Hnmo may »»e ""d to 
 1 deny, and not to deny, 'ts "eality. i M 
 dispute is a mere logomachy. See JNote 
 oZ-Kant also stands clear of mju^ice to- 
 wards Reid, when it is ©oniitoid that His 
 itrictnres on the 8iaott«i|*ll^^ 
 
 prior to the »P!«W«««*,J»7J* ^1' Z 
 the Intellectnal Powers," the ^o^k in 
 which Reid first expoimded his doctrine 
 of causality.] 
 
 i IF. On ihe Essmtial Choraetm h^ 
 iMek m prindpleM of C<mmt^»* imm 
 
 It now remains to consider what are 
 the eswrntial notes or charwters by which 
 we are enabled to distinguish our original, 
 from our derivative, convictions. Itoese 
 characters, I tWnk, may be rejlj^ed t^o 
 
 fonr j^l-. their ^^STCfSS 
 their ^wM^ciif — an thdr Wwmmy ana 
 ' iil«lliil« W;ii«riiilllf-4«, their compara- 
 fiiw MvMmce and Certmntp^ 
 
 1. In reference to the arst ;— A con- 
 fiction is incjmprehensible when there is 
 merely' riven ns 'm 'consciousness— T/mt 
 
 are nnable to comprehend through a higher 
 notion or belief, Wh^ m' Mom it u {Ur^ 
 I#«r4. When we are able to compreJiena 
 why or how a thing is, the beUef of the 
 exiatence of that tbing is not a pnmary 
 astnm of consciousness, but a subiuroptioii 
 under the cognition or behef which aflords 
 
 2. As to the second 'i— It is manifest 
 that if a cognition or belief be made up 
 oTand can be explicated Into, a plurahtj 
 of cognitions or behefs, that, as compound, 
 it cannot be original. 
 
 a Toiching the third ;-Necessity and 
 Universality may be regarded « coinci- 
 dent For when a belief is necessary it 
 is, €0 into, universal ; and that a beUef is 
 universal, is a certain index that it must 
 be necessary. (S«e ^i^nits, Nouveaw 
 Essais, L. i. $ 4. p. 32.) To prove the 
 necesMty, the universality must, however. 
 be absolute; for a relative universabty 
 indicates no more than custom and educa- 
 tion, howbeit the subjects themselves may 
 deei that they follow onlv the dictates of 
 nature. As 8t Jerome has it-« Una- 
 quaeque gens hoc legem naturae putat, 
 
 ouod didicit." 
 
 It is to be observed, that the necessity 
 here spokeii of, is of two kinds. Ther» i 
 18 one necessity, when we cannot construa | 
 it to our minds as possible, that the deU- 
 irerance of consciousness should not be true. 
 This logical impossibility occurs in the | 
 eime of what are called necessary truths-- 
 truths of reason or intelligence ; as in tne 
 bw of causality, the law of substance, and 
 still more in the laws of identity, contra- 
 diction, and excluded middle, rhere is I 
 another necessity, when it is not unthink- 
 able, that the deUverance of consciousness 
 may possibly be false, but at the same 
 time, when we cannot but admit, that this 
 deliverance is of such or such a purport. 
 This is seen in the case of what are called 
 contingent truths or truths of fact. 1 hus, 
 foi example, I can theoretically suppose 
 that the external object I am conscious of 
 in perception, may be, in reahty, nothing 
 but a mode of mind or self. I am unable 
 however to think that it does not appear 
 to me— that consciousness does not com- 
 pel me to regard it— a« external— a* a 
 mode of matter or not-self. And such 
 
 being the case, I cannot practically beheve I 
 the supposition I am able speculatively I 
 to maintain. For I cannot believe this 
 supposition, without believing that the l^t 
 ground of all belief is not to be believed 5 
 which is self-contradictory. « Nature,^^ 
 says Pascal, " confounds the Pyrrhomst ; 
 and. among many similar confessions, thosa 
 of Hume, of Fiehte, of Homrael niay suffico 
 for an acknowledgement of the impossibi- 
 lity which the Sceptic, the Idealist, tht 
 Fatalist finds in practically bclievmg the 
 scheme which he views as theoretically 
 demonstrated.— The argument from com- 
 mon sense, it may be observed, is of pnn- 
 dual importance in reference to the class 
 of contingent truths. The others, from 
 their converse being absolutely incogitoble, 
 sufficiently guard themselves. 
 
 As this criterion of Necessity and IJni- 
 versalitv is signalised by nearly the wholi 
 
 I § !▼• V] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 7M 
 
 aenes of authorities adduced in the sequel, 
 it would be idle to refer to any in particu. 
 lar. See however Reid, p. 233, a.; and 
 on the quality of Necessity as a criterion 
 of the originality of a cognition. Note T, 
 with the relative places. Buffier's second 
 and third essential qualities of primary 
 truths may bo reduced to this. See in 
 Testimonies n. 63. 
 
 4. The fourth and last character of our 
 original beliefs is their comparative Evi- 
 dence and Certainty. This along with 
 the third is well stated by Aristotle.— 
 ** "What appears to all that we affirm to be ; 
 and he who rejects this belief will assured- 
 ly advance nothing better deserving o/cre- 
 dmce." And again: — "If we know and 
 b<iUeve through certain original princi- 
 ples, we must know and believe these with 
 paramount certainty/, for the very reason 
 that we know and believe all else through 
 them." And such are the truths in regard 
 to which the Aphrodisian says, — "though 
 some men may verbally dissent, all men 
 are in their hearts agreed." This con- 
 stitutes the first of Buffier*s essential qua- 
 lities of primary truths, which is, as he 
 expresses it, — " to be so clear, that if we 
 attempt to prove or to disprove them, 
 this can be done only by propositions 
 which are manifestly neither more evident 
 nor more certain" Testimonies nn. 3, 
 10, 63. Compare the others, passim. 
 
 A good illustration of this character is 
 afforded by the assurance — to which we 
 have already so frequently 1 eferred — that 
 in perception mind is immediately cogni- 
 sant of matter. How self can be con- 
 scious of not self, how mind can be cog- 
 nisant of matter, we do not know; but we 
 know as little how mind can be percipient 
 of itself. In both cases we only know the 
 fact, on the authority of consciousness; 
 and when the conditions of the problem 
 are rightly understood — when it is esta 
 bhshed that it is only the jirimary qualities 
 of body which are apprehended in them- 
 selves, and this only in so far as they are 
 in immediate relation to the organ of sense, 
 the difficulty in the one case is not more 
 than in the other. This in opposition to 
 the simple Idealists. But the Cosmothe 
 tic Idealists — the Hypothetical Realists 
 are far less reasonable; who, in the teeth 
 of consciousness, on the ground of incon- 
 ceivability, deny to mind all cognisance 
 of matter, yet bestow on it the more 
 inconceivable power of representing, and 
 truly representing, to itself the external 
 world which, ex hypothesi, it doesnot know. 
 These theorists do not substitute, in 
 place of the simple fact which they repu- 
 
 diate, another more easy and intelligible. 
 On the contrary they gratuitously involve 
 themselves in a maze of unwarrantable 
 postulates, difficulties, improbabilities, and 
 self-contradictions, of such a character, 
 that we well may wonder, how the doc- 
 trine of Cosmothetic Idealism has been 
 able to enlist under its banntjrs, not a few 
 merely, but the immense majority of mo- 
 dern philosophers. The Cosmothetic 
 Idealists, in truth, violate in their hypo- 
 thesis every condition of a legitimate hy- 
 pothesis. But for the illustration of this, 
 I must again refer to the article on the 
 Philosophy of Perception, Edinburgh Re- 
 view, vol. lii. p. 178-181. 
 
 § V. — The Nomenclature t that is the vari- 
 ous appellations by which the principles 
 of Common Sense have ben designated. 
 It is evident that the foundations of our 
 knowledge cannot properly be themselves 
 the objects of our knowledge; for as by 
 them we know all else, by nought else can 
 they themselves be known. We know 
 them indeed, but only in the fact, that 
 with and through them we know. This 
 it is which has so generally induced philo- 
 sophers to bestow on them appellations 
 marking out the circumstance, that in dif- 
 ferent points of view, they may and they 
 may not, be regarded as cognitions. They 
 appear as cognitions, in so far as wo are 
 conscious that {on) they ac ually are; they 
 do not appear as cognitions, in so far as 
 in them we are not conscious how (hin) 
 they possibly can be. Philosophers ac- 
 cordingly, even when they view and desig- 
 nate them as cognitions, are wont to qua- 
 lify their appellation, under this character, 
 by some restrictive epithet. For exam- 
 ple, Cicero styling them inteUigenticB does 
 not do so simply; but i. inchoates, i. ad- 
 umbratce, i. obscuras, &c. A similar limi- 
 tation is seen in the terms ultimatu facts<, 
 primary data, &c. of consciousness ; for 
 these and the analogous expressions are in- 
 tended to show, that while their existence 
 is within our apprehension, the reason or 
 ground of their existence is beyond our 
 comprehension. 
 
 On the other hand we see the preva- 
 lence of the opposite point of view in the 
 nomenclatures which seem to regard them 
 not as cognitions wholly within conscious- 
 ness, but as the bases of cognition, and 
 therefore partly without, and partly with- 
 in, consciousness. Such is the scope of 
 the analogical designations applied to 
 them of Senses, Feelings, Instincts, Revela- 
 tions, Inspirations, Suggestions, Beliefs^ 
 Astente, Holdings, &c. It is the inexpli- 
 
#1111 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [mOTB 4 
 
 otiito anil, equivoeal charaeter which the 
 fools of our knowledge thus exhibit, to 
 which w« ought to attribute the inade- 
 quacy, th® tacillalioE and the ambigtiity of 
 the terms by which it has been attempted 
 to denote them; and it is with an indul- 
 gent recollection of this, that w« ought 
 to criticise all and each of these denomi- 
 nations, — which, after this general ob- 
 Mrvation, I proceed to consider in de- 
 tai. In doing this I shall group them ac- 
 cording to the principal points of view 
 irm which it would seem they were im- 
 
 I. The first condition, the consideration 
 of which seems to have determined a cer- 
 tain cka» of names, is that of Immediactf, 
 In our primitive cognitions we apprehend 
 existence at once, and without the inter- 
 vention of aught between the apprehend- 
 ing mind and the existence apprehended. 
 
 Under this head the first appellations 
 are those which, with some qualifying at- 
 tribute, apply to these cognitions the name 
 
 It is hardly necessary to observe that 
 the words corresponding to the term Sense 
 and its conjugates have in no knguage 
 been Intited to our perceptions of the ex- 
 ternal world, or to the feeling of our bodily 
 affections. In every language they have 
 been extended to the operationi of the 
 higher faculties;— indeed it can be shown, 
 in almost every instance, that the names 
 which ultimately came to be appropriated 
 to th© purest acts of intelligence were, m 
 their origin, signifieant of one or other of 
 the functions of our organic sensibility. 
 Sueh among others is the rationale of the 
 terms momi Mmm (sensua bmij logical 
 ienm (senmsveri) mMliMkai mnm (mmus 
 pukkri), which, even In modem philoso- 
 f hy, have been very commonly employed, 
 though mot employed to denote any thing 
 lower than the apprehensive faculty of in- 
 teligence in these different relations. On 
 this transference of the term Sense, see 
 Aristoik. (De Anima, L.iii. c. 3)— Qwrn- 
 tHiun, (Instit. L. viii. c. 5)— Biirf<i««», (in 
 Fandectas, Tit. l)—Salm€mmt (ad Soh- 
 iinnv p. 141.)— C?roliM«, (ad Acta Aposto- 
 lomm, vii. 32, and I. Petri, i. 12.)— Cfawfter- 
 mt, (Exercitationes, 83-88)— JBiirmait- 
 iiti«, (ad Phaedrum, L. ii. Ep. laV-Oro- 
 nomtty (Diatribe ad Statium, c.43.) — J>A, 
 Faimciug, (frogramma De Gustatu Pul- 
 
 Ofl, p. 6.) ^e- &c. 
 
 This being, in general,, premised we 
 
 have now to consider in particular, 1**, the 
 
 ancient term Cmmm Smm,- and, 2**, the 
 
 * modem term Inimmai Seme, as applied to 
 
 elementa,ry consciousness. 
 
 1. Semsb Common, (mmtg community 
 gemus communeMt temus puhlicuSy seng eom^ 
 mun,gen80 comune, GemeitmnnJ principUgt 
 axiomgf maxims, truthg, judgments, &c of. 
 
 The Greek tongue was for a long pe- 
 riod destitute of any word to denote Con^ 
 gcimmiem; and it was only after both tho 
 philosophy and language of Greece had 
 passed their prime, that the terms •'u»«i#- 
 iS§ptm and vmdwhtns were applied not 
 merely to denote the apperception of sense 
 but the primary condition of knowledge in 
 general. (See Note I.) The same ana- 
 logy explains how in the Latin tongue the 
 term Sengus Communis came, from a very 
 ancient period, to be employed with a si- 
 milar latitude; and as Latin, even after 
 its extinction as a living language, was 
 long the exclusive vehicle of religion and 
 philosophy throughout western Europe, 
 we need not wonder that the analysis and 
 its expression, the thing and the word, 
 passed not only into the dialects in which 
 the Romanic, but into those also in which 
 the Teutonic, element was predominant. 
 But as the expression is not unambiguous 
 it is requisite to distinguish its significa- 
 tions. 
 
 The various meanings in which the term 
 Common Sense is met with, in ancient and 
 modern times, may I think be reduced to 
 four ; and these fall into two categories, 
 according as it is, or tj not, limited to ths 
 sphere ofgense jtroper. 
 
 As restricted to sense proper, 
 
 a. — Under this head Common Sense has 
 only a single meaning ; that to wit which 
 it obtained in the Peripatetic philosophy 
 and its derivative systems. Common 
 Sense (»»*m mtthm) was employed by 
 Aristotle to denote the faculty in which 
 the various reports of the several senses 
 are reduced to the unity of a common ap- 
 perception. This signification is determi- 
 nate. The others are less precisely dis- 
 criminated from each other. 
 
 ( I may observe, however, that a second 
 meaning under this category might bo 
 found in the Cm^xtstkems, common feeling 
 or sensaiion, by which certain German 
 physiologists have denominated the seneug 
 vagug or vital sense, and which some of 
 them translate by common sense (Gemein- 
 sinn). But as the term in this significa- 
 tion has been employed recently, rarely, 
 abusively, and without imposing authority, 
 1 shall discount it.) 
 
 A* not limited to the sphere ofgemopro* 
 per, it comprises three meanings. 
 
 b. — The second signification of Com- 
 mon Sense is when it denotes the comple- 
 ment of those cognitions or convictione 
 
 I T J 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 757 
 
 which we receive from nature ; which all 
 men therefore possess in common; and by 
 which they test the truth of knowledge, 
 and the morality of actions. This is the 
 meaning in which the expression is now 
 emphatically employed in philosophy, and 
 which may be, therefore, called its philo- 
 gophical signification. As authorities for 
 its use in this relation, Reid (I. P. p. 423- 
 425) has adduced legitimate examples 
 from Bentley, Shaftesbury, Fenelon, Buf- 
 fier, and Hume. The others which he 
 quotes from Cicero and Priestley can hardly 
 be considered as more than instances of 
 the employment of the words; for the for- 
 mer, in the particular passage quoted, does 
 not seem to mean by " sensns communes '* 
 more than the faculty of apprehending 
 sensible rehUions which all possess; and the 
 latter explicitly states, that he uses the 
 words in a meaning (the third) which we 
 are hereafter to consider. Mr Stewart 
 (Elements, vol ii., c. 7, sect. 3, p. 70) to 
 the examples of Reid adds only a single, 
 and that not an unambiguous, instance — 
 from Bayle. It therefore still remains to 
 show that in this signification its employ- 
 ment is not only of authorised usage, but, 
 in fact, one long and universally estab- 
 lished. This is done in the series of tes- 
 timonies I shall adduce in a subsequent 
 part of this note, — principally indeed to 
 prove that the doctrine of Common Sense, 
 notwithstanding many schismatic aberra- 
 tions, is the one catholic and perennial 
 philosophy, but which also concur in show- 
 ing that this too is the name un.ler which 
 that doctrine has for two thousand years 
 been most familiarly known, at least, in 
 the western world. Of these Lucretius, 
 Cicero, Horace, Seneca, TertuUian, Ar- 
 nobius, and St Augustin, exhibit the ex- 
 pression as recognised in the language and 
 philosophy of ancient Rome; while some 
 fifty others prove its scientific and collo- 
 quial usage in every country of modern 
 Europe. (See Nos. 5—8, 12, 13, 15, 23, 
 25, 27—29, 31,32,34. 36, 38-44, 47,48, 
 51—53, 55, 56, 58—69, 71—75, 78—85, 
 90.) 
 
 The objections to the term Common 
 Sense in this its philosophical application 
 are obvious enough. It is not unambigu- 
 ous. To ground an objection it has some- 
 times unintentionally, more frequently wil- 
 fully, been taken in the third signification 
 (v. p. 758 b) ; and its employment has even 
 afforded a ground for supposing that Reid 
 and other Scottish philosophers proposed 
 under it a certain peculiar sense, distinct 
 from intelligence, by which truth is appre- 
 hended or reveale<? ®«o Fries, in Testi- 
 
 monies No. 70, and Franke, Leben et 
 
 Gefuehls, § 42. 
 
 On the other hand, besides that no other 
 expression, to which valid objection may 
 not be taken, has yet been proposed ; and 
 besides, that it has itself been ratified by 
 ancient and general usage ; the term Com- 
 mon Sense is not inappropriately applied 
 to denote an original source of knowledge 
 common to all mankind — a fountain of 
 truths intelligible indeed, but like those of 
 the senses revealed immediately as facts to 
 be believed, but not as possibilities to be 
 explained and understood. On this ground 
 the term Sense has found favour, in this 
 application, with the most ancient and the 
 
 most recent philosophers. For example 
 
 Aristotle (Eth. Nic. L. vi. c. 11, and Eth. 
 End. L. v. c. 11) says that voSj, Intelli- 
 ,gence proper, the faculty of first princi- 
 ples is, in certain respects, a Sense; and 
 the ancient Scholiast, Eustratius, in his 
 commentary on the former work (f. 110,b) 
 explains it by observing, "that Intelli- 
 gence and Sense have this exclusively in 
 common — they are both hmnediate cogni^ 
 lions.'" Hence it is that Aristotle (Me- 
 taph. xii. 7), Theophrastus (see Test. No. 
 4), and Plotinus (En. vi. L. vii. cc 36, 39, 
 L. ix. c. 7) assimilate intellection, the noetic 
 energy, to touching in particular.* In 
 
 • Among the Greeks the expression " Com- 
 men Intellect" was, however, rarely, if ever, 
 used for Common Sense in this its second, or 
 philosophical, meaning. The learned Mr Har- 
 ris (in a note on his Dialogue concerning Hap- 
 piness) in stating the doctrine of the Greek 
 philosophers, says — " The recognition of self 
 evident truths, or at least the ability to recog- 
 nize them is called *fl<vo{ voZs, " common sense" 
 as being a sense common to all, except lunatics 
 and idiots." This is inaccurate; for his state- 
 ment of what was usual among the Greeks is 
 founded (I presume, for he does not allege any 
 authority,) on a single, and sinjjular, example 
 of such usage. It is that of Epictetus (.Djss. 
 Arriani, L. iii. c. 6). Tliis philosopher seems 
 in that passage to give the name of conmion 
 intellect (koivU vovs which H. Wolfius and Up- 
 ton translate by scnms communis) to the faculty 
 of those common notions possessed by all who 
 are of sound mind. Now were the epithet 
 common here applied to intellect bccatise intel- 
 lect is the repository of such common notions 
 or in as much as it is common to all men — this, 
 however likely a usage, is, I am confident, the 
 only, or almost the only, example to be found 
 in antiquity of such a nomenclature; for though 
 the expression in question is frequent among 
 the Greek writers, I do not recollect to have 
 elsewhere met with it in a similai import. It 
 is employed in two significations. — 1**, with voZt 
 in its stricter meaning, for the highest faculty 
 of rnind^ Mttvot is used to mark its Imporson- 
 
7S8 
 
 OM THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 nOTS At 
 
 !▼•] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 rm 
 
 Mte«iico to Hit appreheHsion of primary 
 truths, 'the soul,* says Dr John Smith, 
 «lwt ita wvmm, in like manner aa th© 
 'iKMly* (Seloet Discourses) ; and his frieod 
 Br Henry More designates the same, by 
 the name of imtdleetual $enm, (Test. n. 
 «.) Jacohi defines Vermina, his faculty 
 of intellectual intiiitions' as Hhe sense 
 of tto sapewensihl©.* (Test. n. 87.) De 
 la Meimais could not find a more suitable 
 expression whereby to designate his theo- 
 logical system of tmiveriol commt or ^«ro«- 
 rS rmmih tlmn that of Common Smms 
 and Borger in his classical work * D© 
 Mysticismo' prefers imtms m the least ex- 
 eeptionable word by which to discriminate 
 those notions, of which, while we are con- 
 sdous of the existence, we are ignorant of 
 th© reason and origin. * Cum igitur, qui 
 baa notiones sequitur, ilium iemum sequi 
 
 ant*, lis unity, its general Identity in men , or 
 In man and Ctod. a^Witli tmt, in its Iwmm 
 ineaninf for mind io general^ it denotes a com. 
 munity of opinion or a community of social 
 ■entiment, corresponding to Sentus €ommnnia. 
 aniong the .il4miana,to be spoken of as tbe fourth 
 slfnlficatlon. The only second Instance, I be- 
 lieve, that can be brouglit, is from the Aphro- 
 dislM. (On the Soul, f. 138 ed. Aid.) But 
 there the epitliet cofitmon is given to the natu. 
 ral In opp^iUlon to tbe acquired intellect, ex- 
 clusively from the circumstance that the for- 
 mer is powesscd by all of sound mind, the latter 
 enly by »me ; nay trom a comparison of the two 
 passages it it evident, that Alexander in his eui. 
 floyment of the expression had Epict€tu$ and 
 Iklt twry insiunce immediately in his eye. Bmfc 
 it is in fact by no means improbable that Epic 
 fietus here u;ies the expression only In the ttrtt 
 of its two ordinary signiicatleni— as a Stole, to 
 denote tlie individual intellect, considered as a 
 particle of tbe universal; and this even the 
 Mnmentators are inclined to bellovo. See 
 Upton, ad locum. In illustration of this :— Plu- 
 tarch in Ms treatise * On Common Notions 
 against the Stoics,' uses (after w»(m or Mmvi) 
 9k9 mmmv twtmv or rks umks l*t#/«f at least 
 Uncnty-flHW times, and without the adjective ffti 
 lvf«t«t or wh §9V9i*tf at least liMwty.on« times; 
 «M«h last, by 'tbe bye^ Itjlander always renders 
 'by < Bensna Oommnnls.' Mow how many times 
 docs Plutarch use as a synonyme, ••-tit »•»;»? 
 Not once. He does, Indeed, once employ it 
 ■nd siifif ffi»«f tp. 1077 of tbe folio editions); 
 b«t In the seas© of an agreement in thought 
 wltbotbers^tbe sense which It obtains also in 
 ih©^ only ©tier exainple of tbe expression to be 
 'imniiii Its wittlngs. (R A29 B.) 
 
 I le©: .loreeMW (voce Sensus) has fallen into 
 the 'Same laaMiiliay ©a Harris. 
 
 I;iiiayh«ft:»iilto©thatliI«olledoes notapply 
 
 'III©: ©yltliflfe^ 'eiiiiiiii0ii''i© laiillwl' aft all; for t«C 
 atiiiS a>« An. I. a § 5) does not, as ThemistiuB 
 tm»f©l©i| 'iMaii ' of the common [Intellect]. 
 Ml •'•fill© composite,* made np of sonl and 
 
 dioimui, hoc dicimus, illaa notiones noa 
 esse ration© [ratiocinationo] quaesitas, sed 
 omni argumentatione antiquiores. Eo au- 
 t©m majori jure eos sensu3 vocabulo com- 
 plectimur, quod, adeo obscurae sunt, ut 
 eorum i*© distincte quidem nobis conscii 
 simns, sed eas ««#«, ex efficacia earum in- 
 telligamua, i. e. ex vi qua animura afficiunt' 
 (P. 250, ed. 2.) See also of Testimoniet 
 the numbers already specified. 
 
 c.~In the tliird signification. Common 
 Sense may be used with emphaids on the 
 adjective or on the substantive. 
 
 In th© former case, it denotes such ao 
 ordinary complement of intelligence, that^ 
 if a person be deficient therein, he is ac- 
 counted mad or foolish. 
 
 Smmts communis is thus used in Phae- 
 drus, L. i. 7 ;— but Horace, S©rm i. iii. 66, 
 and Juvenal Sat. viii 73, are erroneously, 
 though usually, interpreted in this signi- 
 fication. In modern Latinity (as in Milton 
 contra Salmasium, c. 8) and in most of 
 the vulgar languages, the expression in 
 this meaning is so familiar that it would 
 be idle to adduce examples. Sir James 
 Mackintosh (Dissertations, &c., p. 387 of 
 collected edition) indeed, imagines that 
 this is the only meaning of common sefwe; 
 and on this ground censures Reid for the 
 adoption of the term; and even Mr Stew- 
 art's objections to it seem to proceed on 
 the supposition, that this is its proper or 
 more accredited signification. See Ele- 
 ments il ch. 1, sec. 2 j et supra 27 b. This 
 is wrong; but Reid himself, it must be ac- 
 knowledged, does not sufficiently distin- 
 guish between the second and third accep- 
 tations; as may be seen from the tenor 
 of the second chapter of the sixth Essay 
 on the Intellectual Powers, but especially 
 from the concluding chapter of the In- 
 quiry, (p. 209 b.) 
 
 In the latter case, it expresses native, 
 practical intelligence, natural prudence, 
 mother wit, tact in behaviour, acuteness 
 in the observation of character, &c., in 
 contrast to habits of acquired learning, or 
 of speculation away from the affairs of 
 life. I recollect no unambiguous exam- 
 ple of the phrase, in this precise accepta- 
 tion, in any ancient author. In the mo- 
 dern languages, and more particularly in 
 French and English, it is of ordinary oc- 
 currence. Thus, Voltaire's saying, *Lo 
 sens commun n'est pas si commun;* — 
 which, I may noti<.e, was stolen from Huf- 
 fier. (Metaphysique, § 69.) 
 
 With either emphasis it corresponds to 
 the xMfOf Xoy/ff^Af of the Greeks, and 
 among them to the 6^66g Xoyoj of the Sto- 
 ics, to the ff^iunde Memcheiwerstand of th© 
 
 Germans, to the Bonf S.n8 of th© French, 
 and to the Good Sense of the English. 
 The two emphases enable tis to reconcile 
 the following contradictions: — 'Le bon 
 sens (says Descartei.) est la chose du 
 monde la mieux part^gee;* * Good sense 
 (says Gibbon) is a quality of mind hardly 
 less rare than genius.' 
 
 d. In the fourth and last signification. 
 
 Common Sense is no longer a natural 
 quality; it denotes an acquired perception 
 or feeling of the common duties and pro- 
 prieties expected from each member of 
 society, — a gravitation of opinion— a sense 
 of conventional decorum — communional 
 sympathy — general liensiance — public spi- 
 rit, &c. In this signification — at least as 
 absolutely used — it is limited to the lan- 
 guage of ancient Rome. This is the mean- 
 ing in which it occurs in Cicero, De Orat. 
 '. 3, ii. 16— Or. pro Domo 37— in Ho- 
 race, Serm. i. iii. 66— in Juvenal, Sat. viii. 
 73— in Quintilian, Instit. i. 2— and in Se- 
 neca, Epp. 5, 105, whose words in ano- 
 ther place (which I cannot at the moment 
 recover) are — *Sic in beneficio sensus 
 communis, locum, tempus, personam ob- 
 servet.' Shaftesbury and others, misled 
 probably by Casaubon, do not seize the 
 central notion in their interpretation of 
 several of these texts. In tliis meaning 
 the Greeks sometimes employed xo<voV vovg 
 —an ambiguous expression, for which An- 
 toninus seems to have coined as a substi- 
 tute, MivavorifAQuvinn.—To this head may be 
 referred Hutcheson's employment of Sen- 
 sus Communis for Sympathy. Synopsis 
 Metaphysicae, P. ii. c. 1. 
 
 2. — Sense inmost, interior, internal, 
 (smsus intimus, interior, intemus, sens 
 intime, interne.) This was introduced, 
 as a convertible term with Conscious- 
 ness in general, by the philosophers of the 
 Cartesian school; and thus came to be 
 frequently applied to denote the source, 
 complement, or revelation of immediate 
 truths. It is however not only in itself 
 vague, but liable to be confounded with 
 internal sense, in other very different sig 
 nifications. We need not therefore re- 
 gret, that in this relation, it has not (though 
 Hutcheson set an example) been natural- 
 ised in British Philosophy. 
 
 , The third appellation determined by the 
 condition of Immediacy is that of 
 
 3. Intuitions — Intuitive cognitions, 
 
 notions, judgments, (Intuitiones—Intuitus 
 ^^ognitio Intuitiva — Intuitions —faculty 
 Intuitive — Anschauungen. We may add, 
 
 (T/CoTieeJ yyuots KUrec T^unny i^/CoA^i/. 
 
 In this sense «vTOWT/xdf, «T6^rr/xo? are rare. 
 The term Intuition is not unambiguous. 
 
 Besides its original and proper meaning 
 (as a visual perception), it has been em- 
 ployed to denote a kind of apprehension, 
 and a kind of judgment. 
 
 Under the former head. Intuition, or in- 
 tuitive knowledge, has been used in the 
 six following significations : — 
 
 a. — To denote a perception of the ac- 
 tual and present, in opposition to the * ab- 
 stractive' knowledge which we have of 
 the possible in imagination, and of the past 
 in memory. 
 
 b. — To denote an immediate appre- 
 hension of a thing in itself, in contrast to 
 a representative, vicarious, or mediate, ap- 
 prehension of it, in or through something 
 else. (Hence by Fichte, Schelling, and 
 others. Intuition is employed to designate 
 the cognition, as opposed to the conception, 
 of the Absolute.) 
 
 c. — To denote the knowledge which 
 we can adequately represent in imagina- 
 tion, in contradistinction to the ' symbo- 
 lical' knowledge which we cannot image, 
 but only think or conceive, through and 
 under a sign or word. (Hence probably 
 Kant's application of the term to the forms 
 of the Sensibility — the imaginations of 
 Space and Time — ^in contrast to the forms 
 or categories of the Understanding). 
 
 d.— To denote perception proper (the 
 obiective), in contrast to sensation proper 
 (the subjective), in our sensitive consci- 
 ousness. 
 
 e. To denote the simple apprehension 
 
 of a notion, in contradistinction to the 
 complex apprehension of the terms of a 
 proposition. 
 
 TJnder the latter head, it has only a 
 single signification; viz. 
 
 f. To denote the immediate affirma- 
 tion by the intellect, tlat the predicate 
 does or does not pertain to the subject, in 
 what are called self-evident propositions. 
 
 All these meanings, however, with th© 
 exception of the fourth, have this in com- 
 mon, that they express the condition of 
 an immediate, in opposition to a mediate, 
 knowledge. It is therefore easy to see, 
 how the term was suggested in its appli- 
 cation to our original cognitions; and how 
 far it marks out their distinctive character. 
 It has been employed in this relation by 
 Descartes, Leibnitz, Locke, Hemsterhuis, 
 Beattie, Jacobi, Ancillon, Degerando, 
 Thurot, and many others. 
 
 II. The second condition, which, along 
 with their Immediacy, seems to have de- 
 termined a class of names, is the /ncoifli- 
 prehensihility or InexplicabUity of o«r 
 original cognitions. 
 
 Under this head there are two ap- 
 
lexi 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [notb a 
 
 'pcUailons 'wMdi §nk presiiit ilieiiiaetves | 
 — JM^ Mill Jlclfef ; and tliiM must be 
 :|Miiaidered In co.rTeMion.. 
 
 A tbing mediately known is conceived 
 under a representation or notion, and 
 llierefore onlj known as posaibly ©listing ; 
 a thing immediately known Is apprebenl- 
 ed in itself, and therefore known as ac- 
 tually existing. 
 
 Thia being understood, let m suppose 
 an aist of immediate knowledge. By ex- 
 ternal or internal perception I apprehend 
 a phsenomenon, of mind or matter, as 
 existing; I therefore affirm it to be. 
 Now if asked bow I know, or am assured, 
 Ibal what I apprehend as a mode of mind, 
 nay n*it be. In reality, a mode of matter, 
 or that what I apprehend as a mode of 
 matter, may not, in reality, be a mode of 
 mind ; I can only say, using the simplest 
 language, * I know it to be true, becaji.*© 
 I fed and cannot but fed/ or * because 1 
 k^m and cannot but 6«/«i'«, it so to be.' 
 And if farther interrogated, how I know 
 or am assured, that 1 thus fmi, or thus 
 Mmw, I can make no better answer than, 
 in the one case, ' because I beikm that I 
 ftil,* in the other, * because 1 feel that I 
 keMem/ It thus appears, tliat when push- 
 ed to our last refuge, we must retire either 
 upon Feeling, or upon Belie I', or upon both 
 indifferently. And accordingly, among 
 pUlosophers we find that a great many 
 employ one or other of these terms by 
 which to indicate the nature of the ulti- 
 mate ground to which our cognitions are 
 reducible; while some employ both, even 
 though they may accord a preference to 
 one. 
 
 1. — Fbblimo in Enj^lish (as Sentiment 
 in French, Ue/iiuW in German &c.) is am- 
 biguous : — And In its present application 
 (to say nothing of its original meaning in 
 relation to Touch) we must discharge 
 Hiat signification of the word by which we 
 denote the p hasnomena of pain and plea- 
 Hire. F^ing ii a term preferable to 
 Consciousness^ in so far as the latter does 
 not mark so well the simplicity, ullimacy, 
 and incomprehensibility of our original 
 appreheiiMous, suggesting^ as it does, al- 
 waji something of thonght and reflection. 
 In other respects. Consciousness — at least 
 with a determining epithet— may be the 
 preferable expression. In the sense now 
 in oiesti<}%. Feeing It employed by Aris- 
 t<iti% "rheopiurast^ns,^ VwmsaA, ;Malebranche, 
 Bossnet, Leibnita, Buffier, D'Aguesseau, 
 Berkeley, Hume. Kames, Hemsterhuis, 
 JaisobI, Schnlae, Bouterweck, Fries, Kop- 
 pei, Ancillon, Qerlaobi Franke, and a 
 hundred others. In this meaning it has 
 
 been said, and truly, that ' Reason is only 
 a developed Feeling.* 
 
 2. — Belief or Faith, (H/cmf, Fide*, 
 Oro^emee, Fui^ Glauhe, &c.) Simply, or 
 with one or other of the epithets natural, 
 primariff instinctive^ &c., and some other 
 expressions of a similar import as ContnC' 
 (10*1, Assen\ Trusty Adhesiony Holding for 
 trtte or real &c. (2wyx«T«^fff/?, Asftensus, 
 Fuertpahr-vnd'Unrklichhcdtenf &c.) have, 
 though not unobjectionable, found favour 
 with a great number of philosophers^ aa 
 terms whereby to designate the original 
 warrants of cognition. Among these may 
 be mentioned Aristotle, Lucretius, Alex- 
 ander, Clement of Alexandria, Proclus, 
 Algazel, Luther, Hume, Reid, Beat tie, 
 Hemsterhuis, Kant, Heidenrcich, Fichte, 
 Jacobi, Bouterweck,* Koppen, Ancillon, 
 Hermes, Biunde, Esser, Elvanich, &c. &c. 
 
 Nor can any valid objection be taken to 
 the expression. — St Austin accurately 
 says — " We know, what rests upon reason : 
 we believe, what rests n^on authority A 
 But reason itself must rest at last upon 
 authority ; for the original data of reason 
 do not rest on reason, but are necessarily 
 accepted by reason on the authority of 
 what is beyond itself. These data are, 
 therefore, in rigid propriety. Beliefs or 
 Trusts. Thus it is, that in the last resort, 
 we must, perforce, philosophically admit, 
 that belief is the primary condition of 
 reason, and not reason the ultimate ground 
 of belief. We are compelled to surrender 
 the proud Intelitge nt credos of Abelard, 
 to content ourselves with the humble 
 Crede ut inielligas of Anselm. 
 
 3. — A third denomination, under this 
 head, is that of 
 
 Instincts, rationed or intetlectval (In^ 
 Minetns, Impetus spontanei, Jnstinctus in- 
 telligentic&f rationales.) 
 
 IifSTiHCTiTE Miefs, cognitions, judg- 
 ments, 4*<?. 
 
 These terms are intended to express 
 not so much the light as the dark side 
 which the elementary facts of conscious- 
 ness exhibit. They therefore stand op- 
 posed to the conceivable, the understood, 
 the known. 
 
 Notre faiblo Ralson s« trouble et se oon. 
 
 fond; 
 Oni, la Baison se tnit, mats I'lBstinet vous 
 
 r^pond. 
 
 Priestley (Examination, &c., passim) baa 
 attempted to ridicule lleid's use of the 
 terms Instinct and Instinctive, m this 
 relation, as an innovation, not only in 
 philosophy, but in language; and Sir 
 James Miickintosh (Dissert, p. 388) con 
 
 !▼•] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 761 
 
 liders the term Instinct not less improper 
 than the term Common Sense. 
 
 As to the impropriety, though like 
 most other psychological terms these are 
 not unexceptionable, they are however less 
 so than many, nay than most, others. An 
 Instinct is an agent which performs blindly 
 and ignorantly a work of intelligence and 
 knowledge. The terms Instinctive belief 
 — judgment — cognition, are therefore ex- 
 pressions not ill adapted to characterise a 
 belief, judgment, cognition, which, as the 
 result of no anterior consciousness, is, like 
 the products of animal instinct, the intel- 
 ligent effect of (as far as w e are concern- 
 ed) an unknowing cause. In like manner, 
 we can hardly find more suitable expres- 
 sions to indicate those incomprehensible 
 spontaneities themselves, of which the pri- 
 mary facts of consciousness are the mani- 
 festations, than rational or intellectual In- 
 stincts. In fact if Reason can justly be 
 called a developed Feeling, it may with 
 no less propriety bo called an illuminated 
 Instinct : — in the words of Ovid, 
 
 Et quod nunc Ratio, Impetus ante fuit. 
 
 As to an innovation either in language or 
 philosophy, this objection only betrays the 
 ignoranceoftheobjector. Mr Stewart (Es- 
 says, p. 87 4to ed.) adduces Boscovich and 
 D*Alembert as authorities for the employ- 
 ment of the terms Instinct and Instinctive 
 in Reid's signification. But before Reid he 
 might have found them f/ii^s applied by Cice- 
 ro, Scaliger, Bacon, Herbert, Descartes, 
 Rapin< Pascal, Poiret, Barrow, Leibnitz, 
 Musaeus, Feuerlin, Hume, Bayer, Kames, 
 Beiraarus, and a host of others; while 
 subsequent to the * Inquiry into the Hu- 
 man Mind,* besides Beattie, Oswald, 
 Campbell, Fergusson, among our Scottish 
 philosophers, we have, with Hemsterhuis 
 m Holland, in Germany Tetens, Jacobi, 
 Bouterweck, Neeb, Koppen, Ancillon, 
 and many other metaphysicians who have 
 adopted and defended the expressions. 
 In fact. Instinct has been for ages fami- 
 liarised as a philosophical term in the 
 sense in question, that is, in application to 
 the higher faculties of mind, intellectual and 
 moraL In proof of this, take the article 
 from the * I^exicon Philosophicum * of 
 Micraelius, which appeared in 1653: — 
 * Instinctus est rei ad aliquid tendentis 
 Inclinatio ; estque alius materialis in cor- 
 poribus ; alius rationalis in mente ;* and 
 Chauvin is to the same purport, whose 
 ' Lexicon Philosophicum ' was first pub- 
 lished in 1691. In a moral relation, as a 
 name for the natural tendencies to virtue, 
 it was familiarly employed even by the phi- 
 
 losophers of the sixteenth century (v. F. 
 Picolominei * Decem Gradus,' &c. Gr. 
 iii. c. i. sq.)'j and in the seventeenth, it had 
 become, in fact, their usual appellation 
 (v. Velthuysen De Principiis Justi, &c. p. 
 73 sq.) 
 
 4. — Revelations — Inspirations. — 
 These expressions are intended metapho- 
 rically to characterise the incomprehen- 
 sible manner in which we are made sud- 
 denly aware of existence ; and, perhaps, 
 to indicate that our knowledge rests ulti- 
 mately on a testimony which ought to be 
 implicitly believed, however unable we 
 may be explicitly to demonstrate, on ra- 
 tional grounds, its credibility. They have 
 been thus employed, one or both, by Reid, 
 Stewart, Degerando, Cousin, and others, 
 but most emphatically by Jacobi. 
 
 6. — SuGGKSTiONS, (SuggestionfiSf Sug- 
 gestus.) — This terra with some determin- 
 ing epithet is a favourite word of Reid, 
 and in a similar signification. So also was 
 it of St Augustin and Tertullian. — By 
 the uovg of Aristotle the latter says — 
 " non aliud quid intelligimus quam sugges- 
 turn amvase ingenitum et insitum et nativi- 
 tus proprium. De Anima c. 12. See also 
 Testimonies, infra, No. 12 d j and, supra, 
 p. Ill a, note. 
 
 6. — Facts — Data {ultimate — primary 
 — original &c.) of Consciousness or Intelli' 
 gence. These expressions have found 
 favour with many philosophers, among 
 whom Fergusson, Fichte, Creuzer, Krug, 
 Ancillon, Gerlach, Cousin, Bautain, may 
 be mentioned. They are well adapted to 
 denote, that our knowledge reposes upon 
 what ought to be accepted as actually 
 true, though why, or in what manner it 
 is true, be inexplicable. 
 
 III. — The third quality, in reference to 
 which our primary cognitions have ob- 
 tained certain appellations, is their Origi- 
 nality. Under this head : 
 
 1. — First — Primary — Primitive — 
 Primordial — Ultimate, as epithets 
 applied to truths, principles of thought, 
 laws of intelligence, facts or data of consci- 
 ousness, elements of reason, &c., are ex- 
 pressions which require no comment. 
 
 2. — Principles ('A§;c*^> Principia, li- 
 terally commencements — points of depar- 
 ture) Principles of Co7nmon Sense — frst. 
 proper, authentic {Kv^taretr»t) Principle* 
 of thought^ reason, judgment, intelligence — 
 Initia natures, &c. 
 
 Without entering on the various mean- 
 ings of the term Principle, which Aris- 
 totle defines, in general, that from wh^nctt 
 any thing exists, is produced, or is knoum, 
 it is sufficient to say that it is always used 
 
 III 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [VOTB A. 
 
 §▼.: 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 res 
 
 for thai OB wMcli something elae depends ; 
 
 and thus both for an original law, and for 
 an original, dmtmi. In the former case 
 a ia a nfuliiltitfy in the latter a comHtu^ 
 CtWt principle; and in either signification 
 It may be very properly applied to our 
 original cognitions. In this relation, Mr 
 Stewart would impose certain restrictions 
 om th«' employment of the word. But 
 ■dmittiiig' 'the propriety of his distinctions, 
 in. iiiiiiiielvclif — and these ar«' not new — 
 it may be questioned whether the limita- 
 tion he proposes of the generic term be 
 expedient, or perniasiblo. See his Ele- 
 ments ii. c. 1. particularly pp. 59, 93 of 
 8ro. editions. 
 
 3. — AwilClPATlOWa— PmBSHMFTIONS— 
 
 Pbemotions, (a-^Xifi^iif, w^ovTrtkqx^^^ 
 ^»mts, mdidpaiimms, |irmmiiif^ioti««, 
 ■pmmmimmf in^lmmtimm miwieplm, mg- 
 wkiemm otilieijMlce, 4c.) with such at- 
 tributes as eommoii, watwr^, tiaftw, con- 
 Mi%tfitMi<0, &€., have been employed to 
 indicate that they are the antecedents, 
 causes, or conditions of all knowledge. 
 These are more especially the terms of 
 ancient philosophy. — To this group may 
 be added the expression LeffitimaU Pre- 
 jwMmi, borrowed from the nomenclature 
 of theology, but which have sometimes 
 ^n applied by phiksoplMn, in a paral- 
 lel signtlication.*' 
 
 4. — A PRioBi— lrti<*#, principles, c<^- 
 mti&m, n€iim$, jw^fffmemi*, 4c. 
 
 The term a priortj by the ininenco of 
 £ant and his school, is now very generally 
 amployed to characterise those elements 
 of knowledge which are not obtained a 
 |9Off0ftori,^-are not evolved out of expe- 
 rience aa iictitious generaliaationsj but 
 which, as native to, are potentially in, the 
 mini antecedent to the act of experience, 
 on occasion of which (as constituting its 
 ■abjective conditions) they are first actu- 
 ally ollcited into conaeionanias. These 
 like niiif— indioi nwit^-olliers of his. 
 tecfanioal nipreiiiins, are oU words ap- 
 plied in a new signification. Previously 
 to Kant the terms aprimi and a p<Mtriori 
 vtre, in a sense which descended from 
 .Afiitot]% properly and nsuOly employed, 
 '•»tli«":iifBier to denote a reaicmkig from 
 ■mnm to effect — ^the latter, a reasoning 
 
 • As by ItaHUer «f Oenova. It is mani. 
 iist» tlwugh I havt not his treatise at hand, 
 tbat he Imrrowed tMs, not over-fortanate, ex- 
 pression firom the Fr^ugiM Legitimes conire Us 
 Cahshmtm of Mlcsole, the work in which ori. 
 f Inated the colehrated eontroversy In which 
 Vi^on, Basmge^ *c. wire eapfed. Of this 
 IfT' Stewart does aol' soeni: to ha aware. Bm 
 f 9 iK 
 
 from effect to cause. The term a prion 
 came, however, in modern times to be 
 extended to any abstract reasoning from 
 a given notion to the conditions whicti 
 such notion involved ; hence, for example, 
 the title a priori bestowed on the ontolo- 
 gical and cosmological arguments for the 
 existence of the deity. The latter of 
 these, in fact, starts from experience — 
 from the observed contingency of the 
 world, in order to construct the supposed 
 notion on which it founds. Clarke's cos- 
 mological demonstration, called a priori, 
 is therefore, so far, properly an argument 
 a posteriori. 
 
 5. — Catboories of thought, ufider- 
 standinff, rmison, he. 
 
 The Categories of Aristotle and other 
 philosophers were the highest classes (un-j 
 der Being) to which the objects of oui 
 knowledge could be generalized. Kant 
 contorted the term Category from its 
 proper meaning of attribution; and from 
 an objective to a subjective application ; ' 
 bestowing this name on the ultimate and i 
 necessary laws by which thought is go- I 
 verned in its manifestations. The term, 
 in this relation, has however found accep- 
 tation ; and been extended to designate, 
 in general, all the a priori phaenomena of 
 mind, though Kant himself limited the 
 word to a certain order of these. 
 
 0. Tbanscenoental trutlis, principleMf 
 eoffnitions, judgment 8, ^c. 
 
 In the Schools tranccndentalis and (roii- 
 seendens were convertible expressions, em- 
 ployed to mark a term or notion which 
 transcended, that is, which rose above, and 
 thus contained under it, the categories, or 
 summa genera, of Aristotle. Such, for 
 example is Being, of which the ten cate- 
 gories are only subdivisions. Kant, ac- 
 cording to his wont, twisted these old 
 terms into a new signification. First of 
 all, he distinguished them from each other. 
 Tramcetident (transcendens) he employed 
 to denote what is wholly beyond experi- 
 ence, being given neither as an a poste- 
 riori nor a priori element of cognition — 
 what therefore transcends every category 
 of thought. TrangcendttitcU (transcen- 
 dentalis) he applied to signify the a priori 
 or necessary cognitions which, though ma- 
 nifested in, as affording the conditions of, 
 experience, transcend the sphere of that 
 contingent or adventitious knowledge 
 which we acquire by experience. Trans- 
 cendental is not therefore what transcends, 
 but what in fact constitutes, a category of 
 thought. This term, though probably 
 from another quarter, has found favour 
 with Mr Stnwart; who propose! to ez^ 
 
 change the expression principles of com- 
 mon sense for, among other names, that of 
 transcendental truths. 
 
 7. Pdbe (rein) is another Kantian ex- 
 pression (borrowed with a modification of 
 meaning from previous philosophers*) for 
 cognitions, in which there is mingled no- 
 thing foreign or adventitious, that is, no- 
 thing from experience, and which conse- 
 quently are wholly native to the mind, 
 wholly a priori. Such elements however, 
 it is evident, are obtained only by a pro- 
 cess of sundering and abstraction. In ac- 
 tual, or concrete, thinking, there is given 
 nothing pure; the native and foreign, the 
 a priori and a posteriori are there present- 
 ed in mutual fusion. 
 
 IV. The fourth determining circum- 
 stance, is that the cognitions in question 
 are natural not conventional, native not 
 acquired. Hence their most universal 
 denominations : 
 
 1. Natube (<putxi: natura); as, com- 
 mon Nature of man— light of Naturef — 
 primary hypotheses of Nature— initia Na- 
 
 turae &c 
 
 Natobal ((pvaiKOs, naturalis) as con- 
 joined with cognitions, notions, judgments, 
 anticipations, presumptions, prenotions, 
 
 beliefs, truths, criteria, &c. 
 
 2 Native, Innate, Connate, Implant- 
 ed, &e. (h^u. 'iu(pvTog, avfiq^vrog, innatus, 
 ingenitus, congenitus, insitus, &c.) as ap- 
 plied to cognitions, notions, conceptions, 
 judgments, intellections, beliefs, &c. 1 hese 
 terras may be used either to express a 
 correct or an erroneous doctrine. 
 
 V. The fifth ground of nomenclature, 
 is the Necessity of these cognitions, consti- 
 tuting as they do the indispensable foun- 
 dations and elementary ingredients of every 
 
 • pwre knowledge (cognitio pura) was a term 
 employed by the Cartesians and Lcibnitians to 
 denote that knowledge in which there was no 
 mixture of sensible images, being purely intel- 
 lectual. Using the term Intellect less precisely 
 than the Aristotelians, the Cartesians found it 
 necessary to employ, inordinary, for the sake 
 Of discrimination, the expression pure InUllect 
 (Intellcctus purus) in contrast to Sense and 
 Imagination. This term was however borrow- 
 ed from the Schools j who again borwwed it, 
 through the medium of St. Augustine, from 
 the Platonists.— See Scoti Comni. Oxon. xn 
 Sent. L. i. dist. iU. qu. 4. § 22. Op. V. P. 401. 
 
 + Light of Nature, or Lumen naturale {intei- 
 lectus sc. ngentis) a household expression with 
 the Schoolmen, was however used to denote 
 the natural reveUition of intelligence, in opposi- 
 tion to the supernatural light afforded through 
 divine inspiration. The analogy of the active 
 Intellect and light, was suggested by Aristotle. 
 — (De An. iii. § 1.) 
 
 act of knowledge and thought. Hence 
 they have been called in the one point of 
 view, 
 
 Fundamental — truths, laws of belief, 
 principles of knowledge, intelligence, rea- 
 son, &c. ; in the other, 
 
 Essential or Constituent ELEUENTa 
 of reason — Original Stamina, of reason — 
 Elemental laws of thought, &c. These 
 are Mr Stewrart's favourite denominations. 
 
 VI. The sixth circumstance is, that 
 they afl^'ord the conditions and regulative 
 principles of all knowledge. Hence they 
 obtain the name of, 
 
 Laws, or Cahoks- -fundamental, ulti- 
 mate, elemental, necessary, &c. of human 
 belvf, knowledge, thought, &c. 
 
 VII. The seventh circumstance is their 
 Universality; this being at once the con- 
 sequence of their necessity, and its index. 
 Hence to designate them the attributes 
 
 of— 
 
 Common — Universal — Catholic — 
 Public, &c. (koiuo^, communis, tcetOoKiKOs, 
 universalis, publicus) applied to sense, 
 rmson, intelligence — to cognitions, notions, 
 conceptions, judgments, intellections, pre- 
 notions, anticipations, presumptions, prin- 
 ciples, axioms, beliefs, nature of man. Sac, 
 &c. I may observe, however, that a prin- 
 ciple, &c, may be called common for one 
 or other, or for all of three reasons : — 
 1°, because common to all men (philoso- 
 phers in general) ; 2°, because common to 
 all sciences, ( Aristotle, Anal. Post. L. i. 
 c. ii. § 5) ; 3^, by relation to the multitude 
 of conclusions dependent from it, (Calo- 
 vius, Nool. c. 2.) 
 
 VIII. The eighth, is their presumed 
 
 Trustworthiness, either as veracious 
 
 enounceraents, or as accurate tests, of 
 
 truth. Hence, in the one relation, they 
 
 have been styled — 
 
 1. Truths (veritates) first, primary, 
 a priori, fundamental, &c. ; and in the 
 other, 
 
 2. Cbitebia (K^nii^iA, normal) natu- 
 ral, authentic, &c. 
 
 IX. The ninth, is that the principles of 
 our knowledge must be themselves Know* 
 
 ledges.* 
 
 If viewed as cognitions, in general, they 
 
 have been called 
 
 1. a. Cognitions or KNOWLsnoES 
 {yvuaug, cognitiones, notitiae, informa- 
 tiones, &c.) with the discriminative attri- 
 
 • Knowledges, in common use with Bacon and 
 our English phUosophers till after the time 
 of Locke, ought not to be discarded. It is 
 however unnoticed by any EngUsh Lexioo- 
 grapher. 
 
jmiiiij, JUL ji 
 
 764 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [l«OT£ A. 
 
 hakm, pmt, jprtmory, iiWiiMito, original, 
 fmidmmmiioi^ demmkd, iMifiiml, common, 
 pur§, iramcmdent(d; a priori, native, in- 
 •Milf, commie, im^dmtted, &c. 
 
 2. b. — ^CowioiODSiiBSS (comcimtia, con- 
 mimm, Bemmimpi) fi»^», data, revela- 
 fjimf, fce. ofy have been very commoulj 
 employed; while 
 
 €oNiioiou8NB88Bs (conacimitiae, con- 
 §eienceM,) with, or without, an epithet, as 
 mtmaU, immt§, has the authority of Ter- 
 tuliaii, Keolermmn, D'Aguesseau, Hu- 
 lier,. and nmy others. 
 
 If viewed as ificompfe* cognitions, they 
 have more properly obtained the names of 
 
 If 3. — NOTION'S, CONCEPTIOWS, PrBNO* 
 
 'k^^ttg, notiones, conceptiones, conceptus, 
 Ibc.) sometimes simply, bet more usually 
 limited by the same attributes; though 
 thete terms were frequently extended to 
 eomplex cognitions likewise. 
 
 If Tiewed as complea cognitions, they 
 lave been designated, either by the gene- 
 ral name of 
 
 4. — JonQMBNTS, PBOP081I10II8 (judida, 
 dw«^»0eti, icmyrmetSf eSata, pronunciuta^ 
 oniuiisiata, &c.) qualified by such adjectives 
 •8 tdf-smdmt, intuUim, na^trat, common, 
 a prion, fee.; — or by some peculiar name. 
 Of these last there are two whicb deserve 
 special notice — Axiom and Maxim. 
 
 5. — Axioms, {dimfx.m^m, d^itatm, 
 pronnndata konorana, ejfaia JUh Mgna, 
 propoMtionsM iUwtreB, xv^tm H^m, raim, 
 0rf»me sentmdiae, &c.) 
 
 The term Axiom is ambiguous; the his. 
 tory of its employment obscmpe, and unin- 
 vestigated; and the received accounts of 
 its signification, and the reasons of its sig- 
 nification, very erroneous — I am aware of 
 iJIree very different meanings in which it 
 Imb been used. Of these the first and se- 
 cond are of ancient, the third of modern, 
 usurpation. The verb didm, originally 
 and properly, means to rate a thing at a 
 mrtam ■worm or wMhm, to appreciate, io «»- 
 KiMltf. Mow It li evident, till irom this 
 'C«ii.tral signiieation it might very easily 
 It detected into two collateral meanings. 
 
 a. — To rate a thing at its value, seems 
 to pr«8uppo8e that it has some value to be 
 rstM,; heme® the verb came very naturally 
 In .ilgiiify — I dmm wortht^, Ac. From it 
 in tik dgnMcation we have d^fAm, woHh, 
 fi%ii%, amtkoritys and, applied in a logi- 
 cal relation, a worthy, an amthoritative, 
 prtmrnitim. But why worthy? — why 
 authoritative? Either because a propo- 
 sition worthy of acceptance {r^»ffis 
 iiSi©«"/imi)5 or becauia a proposition com- 
 manding and obtaining aooeptanc*' {xv^m 
 
 U^a, pronundatimi honorarium, illustre.) 
 But of what nature are the propositions 
 worthy of, or which command, universal 
 credence? Manifestly not, at least pri- 
 marily, those which, though true, and 
 even admitted to be true, shine in a re- 
 ieoted light of truth, as dependent on 
 other propositions for their evidence; but 
 those out of which the truth beams di- 
 rectly and immediately, which borrow not 
 the proof from any which they afford to all, 
 which are deserving of credit on their own 
 authority — in a word, self-evident proposi' 
 tiong {^^wroffiif »irro7riarat.) Hence the 
 application of the term to judgments true, 
 primary, immediate, common. To this 
 result converge the authorities of Aris- 
 totle, Theophrastus, Alexander, Them- 
 istius, Proclus, Ammonius Hermiae, and 
 Philoponus. 
 
 In this signification, as I can recollect, the 
 oldest example of the word is to be found 
 in Aristotle. That this philosopher li- 
 mited the expression Axiom to those judg- 
 ments which, on occasion of experience, 
 arise naturally and necessarily in the con- 
 scious mind, and wliich are therefore vir- 
 tually prior to experience, cannot, I think, 
 be reasonably doubted. * Of the imme- 
 diate principles,* he says, *of syllogism, 
 that which cannot be demonstrated, but 
 which it is not necessary to possess as the 
 prerequisite of all learning, I call Thesis; 
 and that Aasiom, which he who would 
 learn aught must himself bring, [and not 
 receive from his instructorj. For some 
 such principles there are; and it is to these 
 that we are accustomed to apply this name.* 
 ( Anal. Post,, L. i. c. 1, § 14 ) And again, 
 distinguishing the Axiom from the Hypo- 
 thesis and Postulate, of the two latter he 
 says—* Neither of these of itself necessarily 
 exists, and necessarily manifests its exis- 
 tence in thought. * ( Ibid. c. 10, § 7.) He, 
 consequently, supposes that an Axiom is 
 not only something true, but something 
 that w© cannot but think to be true. All 
 this is confirmed by sundry other passages. 
 (Of these, some will be seen in Testimonies, 
 n. 3 ; where also, in a note, is given a so- 
 lution of what may be said in opposition to 
 the attribution of this doctrine to the 
 Stagirite) The same is confirmed, also, 
 by the ancient interpreters of the Poste- 
 rior Analytics — Themistius, (f. 2. a. ed. 
 Aid.) and Philoponus, or rather Ammo- 
 nius Hermiae, (f. 9. b., ed. Aid.) These 
 harbour no doubt in regard to the pur- 
 port of the texts now quoted; — and the 
 same construction is given to Aristotle's 
 doctrine on this point, by Alexander, else- 
 where, but especially iu his Commentary 
 
 fir.] 
 
 OF COMMOIN SENSE. 
 
 765 
 
 on the Topics (p. 12, ed. Aid.), and by 
 Proclus in his Commentaries on Euclid. 
 (IJbb. ii. iii.) 
 
 The following definition by TheopKras- 
 tus is preserved by Themistius (1. c.) I 
 translate the context, cautioning the rea- 
 der that it is impossible to determine 
 whether the latter part of the passage 
 belongs to Theophrastus, or, what is more 
 probable, to Themistius himself. * Theo- 
 phrastus thus defines an Axiom: — An ax- 
 iom is a certain kind of opinion [or judg- 
 ment,] one species of which is [valid] of 
 all things of the same class, as [under the 
 category. Quantity] — If equals be taken 
 from equals, the remainders are equal; 
 while another is [valid] of all things indif- 
 ferently, as — Between afjirmation and ne- 
 gation there is no medium. For these are, 
 as it were, connate and common to alt. 
 Whence also the reason of the denomina- 
 tion Axiom, [worth, dignity, authority.] 
 For what is set over, either all things 
 absolutely, or certain classes of things 
 universally, that we judge to have prece- 
 dence, authority, by reference to them.' 
 
 In this sense the word is universally 
 supposed to have been technically employ- 
 ed bj the mathematicians, from a very an- 
 cient period. But whether it was so prior 
 to Aristotle, I should be vehemently dis- 
 posed to doubt; both from the tenor of 
 the former passage of the Posterior Ana- 
 lytics, just quoted, in which the philosopher 
 seems to attribute to himself this applica- 
 tion of the term, and from the absence of 
 all evidence to prove its earlier introduc- 
 tion. I am aware indeed of a passage in 
 the Metaphysics, (L. iii. [iv.] c. 3,) which, 
 at first sight, and as it has always been 
 understood, might appear unfavourable to 
 this surmise; for mention is there made 
 of * what in mathematics {h rolg fioc^v}- 
 f^mi) are called Axioms.* But this text 
 Ir, I suspect, misunderstood, and that it 
 ought to be translated — * what in our 
 " Mathematics" are called Axioms.' But 
 did Aristotle write on this subject ? He 
 did, one, if not two treatises; as appears 
 from the lists of Laertius (L. v. § 24) and 
 the Anonymus Menagii. In the former 
 we have Mx&n/xecrixov, «, * On Mathema- 
 tics, one book;* in the latter — Ile^i r^g h 
 To/f fjt.ei6yifiotatv avaieig, * On the existtnce 
 treated if in Mathematics.* Nay, the term 
 is not to be found in the writings we pos- 
 sess of those geometricians who ascend the 
 nearest to the age of Aristotle- Euclid, 
 what may surprise the reader, does not 
 employ it. There it stands, certainly, in 
 all the editions and translations of the Ele- 
 ments, in ordinary use. But this is ouly 
 
 one of the many tamperings with his text, 
 for which the perfidious editors and trans- 
 lators of Euclid are responsible; and in the 
 present instance the Aristotelizing com- 
 mentary of Proclus seems to have origi- 
 nally determined the conversion of * Com- 
 mon Notions' into * Axioms.' Archime- 
 des (De Sphaera et Cylindro, sub initio) 
 is, after Aristotle, the oldest authority 
 extant for the term, in a mathematical re- 
 lation; though Archimedes, who only once 
 employs it, does not apply it in the Aris- 
 totelic limitation, as equivalent to the 
 Common Notions of Euclid, and exclusive 
 of Postulates and Definitions. On the 
 contrary, with him axiom is, if not con- 
 vertible with definition, used only in the 
 second or Stoical sense, for an enunciation 
 in general. Turning indeed to the works 
 of the other Greek Mathematicians which 
 I have at hand, I cannot find the term in 
 ApoUonius of Perga, in Serenus, Dio- 
 phantus. Pappus, Eutocius, Hero, or the 
 Samian Aristarchus. Sextus Empiricus, 
 in ail his controversy with the Mathema- 
 ticians, knows it not ; nor, except in the 
 second technical meaning, is it to be found 
 in Plutarch. Its application in mathema- 
 tics was therefore, I surmise, compara- 
 tively late, and determined by the influence 
 of Aristotle. This is not the only instance 
 by which it might be shown that the Ma- 
 thematicians are indebt«'d to the Stagirite 
 for their language ; who, if he borrowed a 
 part of his Logical nomenclature from 
 Geometry, amply repaid the obligation. 
 
 This first meaning is that which Ax- 
 iom almost exclusively obtains in the 
 writings of the Aristotelian, and (though 
 Plato does not philosophically employ 
 the term) of the Platonic school. 
 
 b. — To rate a thing at its value, that is, 
 to attribute or not to attribute to it a 
 certain worth, is a meaning which would < 
 easily slide into denoting the affirmation 
 or negation of qualities in regard to a 
 subject; for its qualities determine, posi- 
 tively or negatively, the value of any thing. 
 Hence, in general, to be of opinion, to 
 think so and so, to judae. (In like man- 
 ner, among other analogical examples, the 
 Latin verb existimo (that is ex-vestimo), its 
 primary meaning falling into desuetude, 
 was at last almost exclusively employed 
 in the secondary, as — / think tha , or 1 
 opine. ) From this signification of the 
 verb flowed a second logical meaning of 
 the substantive; Axiom being ap{)Iied to 
 denote, in general, an enunciation or jfi-o- 
 position, (properly a categorical), wh ther 
 true or false. In this sense it was usedi 
 sometimes by Aristotle (v. Top. L. viii 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 £lf OTB A 
 
 ^ 1, ii^lf this work b© Ms— «t Ibi, Atex- 
 ■nimii) , and, is far as I am aware, to say 
 awtiliig of the Epicureans and Sceptics, 
 oHoavf by the Stoics— thoagh Simplictus 
 (ai. Epict- Ench. ©. 58} awierts, that they 
 CMMMaionaUy employed it, like the Aristo- 
 tuiaiis, in the first. LaeUus, Varro, Ci- 
 cero, Sergiiis, Agellius, Apuleiua, Dona- 
 tns, Martianns Capella, «tc., render it by 
 f arious Latin turms, in all of which how- 
 ever the present memlng, exclusively, is 
 vmiliodlei]; and in the same signification 
 the Greek term aarioma itself was, in mo- 
 dam times, adopted by Ramus and Ms 
 idwol, as their common logical expression 
 for * proposition.* 
 
 Thus in neither of its logical significa- 
 tions, I make bold to say,' is the word 
 Axiom to be found in any writing extant, 
 prior to Aristotle J and in its second, only 
 U ft work, the Topics, which is not with 
 abioliite certainty the production of the 
 Btaglrite.— I may observe, that there is 
 another account given of the logical ap- 
 picfttions of the word, but to this I think 
 it wholly needless to advert. 
 
 ©.—The third and last meaning is that 
 imposed upon the word by Bacon, He 
 contorted Axiom to designate any higher 
 proposition, oht«ned by generalisalion and 
 {ndnetlon from the observatloB of indivi- 
 inal instances— the enunciation of a ge- 
 Btfal. fact — an empirical law. 
 
 So much for the meanings of the term 
 Axiom Itself— now for its translation. 
 
 jmmimwm employed by Boethiusto 
 render Axioma in its first or Aristotehc 
 llianing; and from him came, in this ap- 
 f ication, into general use among the Latin 
 Khoolmen. But before Boethius, and as 
 a translatiai of the term in its second or 
 Sliiiiwl newning, I find JHgnttoM employed 
 hw 'Priscian, (Instit. Grammat, L. xvii. 
 cf i.) No lexicographer, however, no 
 philologist has noticed these authorities 
 for the word, while Latin was still a living 
 knguage. It has, indeed, till this hour, 
 been universally taken for granted by 
 philologers that dignitm in this relation is 
 a mere modern barbarism. * Inepte fa- 
 clnnt (says Muretua) qui d^Mfi»r» digni- 
 mm voomt; cujus pravae consuetudiiis 
 Hemohms Barbaras auctor fuit,* ( Variae 
 liBcliones, L. vi. c. 2.) This is wrong, 
 more especially as regards the author and 
 juraof the custom: nay H. Barbaras is 
 only reprehensible for not always, instead 
 0f rarely, transhiting the term, as it occurs 
 in Themiitlus, by JDignitai, if translated 
 into Latin it must be; for his usual version 
 bf Ptnimuimm or iVowtiiiflaliMi — expres- 
 " wUch only render the word In its 
 
 Stoical meaning— has been the cause of 
 considerable error and confusion among 
 subsequent logicians, who, unable to resort 
 to the one rare edition of the original, 
 were thus led to suppose that the nomen- 
 clature of Theophrastus and Themistius 
 were different from that of Aristotle. 
 The authority of Muretus has obtained, 
 however, for his mistake a universal accep 
 totion ; and what is curious, Nicolaus Loen- 
 sis (Misc. Epiph. L. i. c. 1.) in his criti- 
 cism of the very chapter in which it oc- 
 curs, omitting this solitary error, stupidly 
 or perfidiously inculpates Muretus for as- 
 sertions, which that illustrious scholar as- 
 suredly never dreamt of hazarding. 
 
 6. M*xiiii — (mtmina*, proposittomt 
 maximae, supremae, principalen, &c.) 
 
 In Maxim we have the example of a 
 word which all employ, but of whose 
 meaning none seem to know the origin or 
 reason.* Extant in all the languages of 
 Christendom, this term is a bequest of 
 that philosophy, once more extensive than 
 Christianity itself, through which Aris- 
 totle, for a thousand years, swayed at once 
 and with almost equal authority, the theo- 
 logy of the Bible and the Koran. But it 
 was not original to the scholastic philoso- 
 phy. The schoolmen received it from 
 Boethius, who is the earliest author to 
 whom I trace the expression. He pro- 
 pounds it in his two works—* In Topica 
 Ciceronis,* and * De Diff'erentiis Topicis.' 
 The following is one of his definitions:— 
 'Maximaa propositioues [which he also 
 styles propositioues supremae, principales, 
 indemonstrabiles, per se notae, &c.] voca- 
 mus quae et universales sunt, et ita notae 
 atque manifestae, ut probatione non ege- 
 ant, eaque potins quae in dubitatione sunt 
 
 • I have had the curiosity to see how far this 
 ignoiauce extended. Our English Lexico- 
 graphers, Johnson, Todd, Webster, are in outer 
 darkness. They only venture to hint at some 
 unknown relation between nwximand " nutrtm- 
 tnii, ike ffreaiatr llichardson is not positivelf 
 wrong. He is aware (probably from Fureiiere 
 or his copyist the Dictiona.re do Trevoux, for 
 there la a verbal coincidence in all tliree) tlial 
 maxivM was in low Latin used in a similar sig- 
 nification J but his explanation of the reason is 
 not only defective but erroneous. In other 
 dictionaries, real and verbal, if we find the 
 word noticed at all, we find nothing beyond a 
 bare staremeut of its actual meaning ; as may 
 be seen in those of Goclenius, Mici aellus, Mar- 
 tlnlus, Ducange, the Zcdlerian Lexicon, to say 
 nothing of our more modern Encyclopadits 
 Even the great Seldcn (On Fortescue, c. 8) In 
 attempting to explain the term in its legal ap- 
 plication, betrays his unacquaintanc© with it* 
 history and proper import. 
 
 !▼.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 767 
 
 probent. Nam quae indubitatae sunt, 
 ambiguorum demonstrationi solent esse 
 principia; qnalis est — Omncni numerum vel 
 paarem vel imparetn, et — Aequalia relin- 
 qui si aequcdihus aequalia dttrahuntur, 
 caeteraeque de quarum nota veritate non 
 quaeritur.* 
 
 With Boethius maarwja proposifio (max- 
 ima he never uses absolutely) is thus only 
 a synonyme for axiom or self-evident 
 judgment. He however applies the term 
 specially to denote those dialectical prin- 
 ciples, axioms, or canons, those catholic 
 judgments which constitute what in Logic 
 and Rhetoric have since Aristotle been 
 called common places; that is, the sources 
 or receptacles of arguments applicable to 
 every matter, and proper to none. Such 
 propositions, he says, are styled maximae 
 or greatest, because as universal and pri- 
 mary they implicitly contain the other 
 propositions, (minoresposterioresque,) and 
 determine the whole inference of a rea- 
 soning; (reliquas in se propositioues com- 
 plectuntur, et per eas lit consequens et 
 rata conclusio.)* But he also sometimes 
 indicates that they are entitled to this epi- 
 thet, because, as evident in themselves and 
 independent of all others, they afford to 
 the unintuitive judgments they support, 
 their primary proo^ (antiquissimam pro- 
 bationom,) and their greatest certainl:y, 
 (maximam fidem.) Compare In Top. Cic. 
 
 • Thus in arguing, that a wite, is not am ii^ 
 temperaie, man, by the syllopism — 
 
 He is wise who controls his passions; 
 
 He is intemperate who does not control his 
 passions; 
 
 Therefore a wise, is not vn intemperate, man; 
 the whole reasoning is contained under, and 
 therefore presupposes, the proposition — To 
 vhat the definition is inapplicdble, to that is inap- 
 pUeable the thing de/lned, (eui non convenit defini. 
 UOf non convenit definitum.) This proposition 
 (one of six co-ordinates which make up the 
 common place called of Definition) as contain 
 Ing under it a multitude of others (e. g. Cuinon 
 eonvenit dcfinitio sapientis, nee convenit no- 
 men ; cni non convenit definitio justi, pvlchri, 
 Umidi, &c Ac, nee nomen) is not inappro- 
 priately styled p. maxima. I may observe, 
 however, that, as thus employed, maxima can 
 only, in strict propriety, qualify a proposition 
 relatively, not absolutely, greatest. For every 
 maxim of every dialectical Place is itself con- 
 tained within the sphere of one or other of the 
 four logical laws of Identity, Contradiction, 
 Excluded Middle, and Reason and Consequent, 
 of which it is only a subordinate modification. 
 Thus the maxim adduced, is only a special ap- 
 plication of the law of Contradiction. To the 
 *ur latDs therefore the name of propositiones 
 .vtaximae should be exclusively applicable, if 
 this expression were intended to denote an un- 
 conditioned universality. 
 
 L. i. Op. p. 765— De Difi'. Top. L. I. p. 859 
 L. ii. p. 865 sq. Boethius had likewise 
 perhaps Aristotle's saying in his thought 
 — 'that principles, though what are least 
 in magnitude, are what are greatest in 
 power.* 
 
 Maxima proposition as a dialectical ex- 
 pression, was adopted from Boethius by 
 his friend and brother consul, the patrician 
 Cassiodorus; and from these * ultimi Ro- 
 manorum* it passed to the schoolmen, with 
 whom so soon as it became established as 
 a common term of art, propositio was very 
 naturally dropt, and maxima thus came to 
 be employed as a substantive— by many at 
 last, who were not aware of the origin 
 and rationale of its meaning. Finally, 
 from the Latinity and philosophical no, 
 menclature of the schools, it subsided, as a 
 household word, into all the vernacular 
 languages of Europe; with this restriction 
 however— that in them it is not usually 
 applied except in a practical relation ; de- 
 noting amoral apophthegm, a rule of con- 
 duct, an ethical, a political, a legal, canon, 
 &c., and this too, enouncing, not so much 
 what is always and necessarily, but what 
 is for the most part and probably, true. 
 It sounds strange in our ears to hear of a 
 mathematical or logical maxim, in the 
 sense of axiom, self-evident principle, or 
 law — though this is the sense in which it 
 was commonly employed, among others, 
 by Locke and Leibnitz. To this restric- 
 tion, its special employment in Dialectic 
 (the logic of contingent matter) probably 
 prepared the way ; though by the school- 
 men, as by Boethius, it continued to be 
 used as convertible with axiom. * Dignitas 
 dicitur (says Albertus Magnus) quia om- 
 nibus dignior est, eo quod omnibus influit 
 cognitionem et veritatem ; et dicitur Mas-" 
 ima^ eo quod virtute influentiae lucis et 
 veritatis omnia excedit immediata princi- 
 pia.' (Ini. Post. Anal. c. 1.) St Thomas 
 and Scotus, might be adduced to the same 
 effect; see also P. Hispanus (Summulae, 
 tr. v. c. 3, et ibi Vcrsor.) At an early 
 period, it was borrowed as a term of art, 
 into the Common Law of England; MaX' 
 ims there denoting what by the civilians 
 were technically denominated Regular 
 Juris. (Fortescue, De Laudibus legum 
 Angliae c 8. — Doctor and Student, c 8.) 
 By Kant Maxim was employed to desig- 
 nate a subjective principle, theoretical or 
 practical, i. e. one not of objective validity, 
 being exclusively relative to some interest 
 of the subject. Maxim and Regulative 
 principle are, in the Critical philosophy, 
 opposed to Law and Constitutive prin- 
 ciple. 
 
f€S 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [noil 
 
 IfliidM the preooding desigrmtions un. 
 der tMa head, names have been given to 
 the original deliveniiees of Cknicioiisness, 
 Donstdered aa the manlfeefcatlons of some 
 •iwcial faculty ; that is. Consciousness as 
 iwrforming this peculiar function has ob- 
 tained a {larticular name. In this respect 
 it has been called Reason^ and, with greater 
 propriety, Intdket or JumUtgmm* 
 
 7,. Rbasom, Cx©y0ff, mMo, mkm^ V«r* 
 wmfi,) inirtf , jpribelAff Wii/f, fidw§», 
 mMUom, &c. of. 
 
 Season is a very vague, Tacillating, and 
 and equivocal word. Throwing aside va- 
 rious .accidental significations wMch it has^ 
 uMalned in 'particular languages,, .as in 
 Greek denoting not only the rMio but the 
 ©mft'o of the Latins ; throwing aside its 
 employment, in most langnagies, for cause, 
 mMmi, m^wmmJt, pritmpk&f ,prolmtim, 
 «r mMto tmrm oj a jfOojrfait, and con- 
 sidering it only as a philosophical word 
 denoting a faculty or complement of facul- 
 ties;— in this relation it is found employed 
 in the following meanings, not only by 
 dilisrcnt individuals, but frequently, to a 
 greater or less extent, by the same philo- 
 lopher. 
 
 a, — It has both in ancient and modem 
 tiinea been very commonly employed, 
 ike ■tmShmandinff and intelkt-tf to denote 
 our intelligent nature in general (XoytMv 
 fdfof) ; and this usually as distinguished 
 from the lower cognitive faculties, as sense, 
 iuaiion, memory — but always, and 
 itically, as in contrast to the feelings 
 desires. In this signification, to fol- 
 low the Aristotelic division, it compre- 
 .Iieed8---1®, ComepiioH, or Simpi« ApprS' 
 kmmn (i)»*o<«, mwrtg vmit Mtm^mv, 
 emceptus, conceptio, apprehensio simplex, 
 das Begreifen) ;— 2®, the Compositiw mid 
 Divinm procem, Affirtrntifm amdNegaiim, 
 •liidbiii«fil, {wpifimtf xtti hmi^tSt dvu^Mif 
 Wftjndlclmn); — 8®, Msmoniuff or the Ms- 
 emrmm ftMemlt^ (hMmteh X^yo;, TioyMfAogf 
 wi vpTiT^oyi^swim, disoursns, ratiocinatio) ; 
 — 4*', Inteilect or Ifddligmm proper, 
 either as the intuition, or as the pkce, of 
 principles or self-eviitent truths {»ws, in- 
 tellectus. intelligentia, mens.) 
 
 b. — In clone connexion with the pre- 
 ceding signification, from which perhaps 
 it ought not to be separated, is that mean- 
 ing in which rmim, the rmtiotml, the rta 
 tmmbi§, is used to characterize the legiti- 
 mate employment of our faculties in gene- 
 nl, in contradistinction to the irregular 
 or insubordinate action of one or more 
 even of our rational faeiilties, which, if 
 •sercised.. out of their proper sphere, may 
 b*' 'Viewed as opposed to rmimm. Thus 
 
 the plain sense of one of Moliere's charac- 
 ters complains— 
 
 Raisonner est Femploi de toute ma maison, 
 Et le raitommmmi en bannit la raiian. 
 
 c — It has not nnfrequently been em- 
 ployed to comprehend the third and fourth 
 of the special functions above enumerated 
 — to wit, the dianoetic and noetic. In 
 this meaning it is taken by Reid in his 
 later works. Thus in the Intellectual 
 Powers (p. 425 ab.) he states, that Rea- 
 son, in its first office or degree, [the noetic,] 
 is identical with Common Sense, in its se- 
 cond, [the dianoetic,] with Reasoning. 
 
 d. — It has very generally, both in an- 
 cient and modern philosophy, been em- 
 ployed for the third of the above special 
 functions; — Tioyog and Xoy/v^o;, Ratio and 
 Ratiocinatio, Reason and Reasoning being 
 thus confounded. Reid thus applied it in 
 his earlier work, the Inquiry. See pp. 
 100, b., 108, a., 127, a. b. 
 
 e. — In the ancient systems it was very 
 rarely used exclusively for the /(yurth spe- 
 cial function, the noetic, in contrast to the 
 dianoetic. Aristotle, indeed, (Eth. Nic. 
 L. vi, c. 11 (12), Eth. Eud. L. v.c.8) ex- 
 pressly says that Reason is not the faculty 
 of principles, that faculty being Intelli*- 
 gence proper. Boethius (De Cons. Phli 
 L. V. Pr. 6) states that Reason or Discur- 
 sive Intellect belongs to man, while In- 
 telligence or Intuitive Intellect is the ex- 
 elusive attribute of Divinity. 'Ratio hu- 
 mani tantum generis est, sicuti InteUigen- 
 tia sola divini;' while Porphyry somewhere 
 says * that we have Intelligence in common 
 with the Gods, and Reason in common 
 with the brutes.' Sometimes however it 
 was apparently so employed. Thus St 
 Augustine seems to view Reason as the fa- 
 culty of intuitive truths, and as opposed to 
 Reasoning: — 'Ratio est quidam mentis 
 adspeetus, quo, per selpsam non per cor- 
 pus, verum intuetur; Ratiocinatio autem 
 est rationis inquisitio, a certis ad incert- 
 orum indagationem nitens cogitatio.' (De 
 Quant. An. § 53 — De Immort. An. § § 1, 
 10.) This, however, is almost a singular 
 exception. 
 
 In modern times, though we frequently 
 meet with Reason, as a general faculty, 
 distinguished from Reasoning, as a parti- 
 cular; yet until Kant, I am not aware that 
 Reason (Vernunft) was ever exclusively, 
 or even emphatically, used in a significa- 
 tion corresponding to the noetic faculty, 
 in its strict and special meaning, and op- 
 posed to understanding ( Verstand) viewed 
 as comprehending the other functions of 
 thought — unless Crusins ( Weg, &c. § 62 
 sq.) may be regarded as Kant's foreruir 
 
 §v.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 769 
 
 I 
 
 ner in this innovation Indeed the Ver- 
 nunft of Kant, in its special signification, 
 (for he also uses it for Reason in the first or 
 more general meaning, as indeed nothing 
 can be more vague and various than his 
 employment of the word,) cannot without 
 coisiderable qualification be considered 
 am logons to Novg, far less to Common 
 Sense; though his usurpation of the term 
 for the faculty of principles, probably de- 
 termined Jacobi (who had originally, like 
 philosophers in general, confounded Ver- 
 nunft with Verstand, Reason with Rea- 
 soning.) to appropriate the term Reason 
 to A^hathe had at first opposed to it, under 
 the name of Belief (Glaube. ) Accordingly 
 in 1 jis maturer writings, ' Vernutift, Rea- 
 son — * Vernunft- Glaube,* Belief of Reason 
 •— * Vernunft- Gefuehly Feeling of Reason 
 — * Rationale Anschauungy' Rational Intui- 
 tion — * SinHj Organ fuer das Uebersinn- 
 lic?te,* Sense or Organ of the Supersen- 
 sibl e, ice. are the terms by which we may 
 rocndly say that Jacobi denominates the 
 no( tic faculty or common sense. 
 
 Kant's abusive employment of the term 
 Reiis<m, for the faculty of the Uncondi- 
 tioned) determined also its adoption, under 
 the same signification, in the philosophy of 
 Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel; though 
 Not/f, Intel lectus, Intelligentia, which had 
 been applied by the Piatonists in a similar 
 sense, were (through Verstand, by which 
 they had been always rendered into Ger- 
 man) the only words suitable to express 
 that cognition of the Absolute, in which 
 subject and object, knowledge and exis- 
 tence, God and man, are supposed to be 
 identified. But even in this, to add to the 
 confusion, no consistency was maintained. 
 For though that absolute cognition was 
 emphatically the act of Reason, it was yet 
 by Fichte and Schelling denominated the 
 Intuition of Intellect (intellectuale An- 
 schauung.) F. Schlegel was therefore jus- 
 tified in his attempt to reverse the relative 
 superiority of Vernunft and Verstand. 
 What were his reasons I know not; but 
 as they have excited no attention, they 
 were probably of fittle weight. 
 
 Though Common Sense be not there- 
 fore opposed to Reason, except perhaps in 
 its fourth signification, still the term Rea.. 
 son is of so general and ambiguous an im- 
 port, that its employment in so determi- 
 nate a meaning as a synonyme of Common 
 Sense ought to be avoided. It is only, we 
 have seen, as an expression for the noetic 
 faculty, or Intellect proper, that Reason 
 can be substituted for Common Sense; 
 and as the former is hardly allowable, still 
 loss is tho latter. 
 
 Besides the more precise employment 
 of Reason as a synonyme for Common 
 Sense by the recent German philosophers, 
 it will be found more vaguely applied in 
 the same meaning — usually, however, with 
 some restrictive epithet, like common, uni- 
 versal, fundamental, &c.- by many older 
 authorities, of whom Heraclitus,the Stoics, 
 Turretin, Lyons, Bentley. Shaftesbury, 
 De LaMennais,are among the Testimoniei» 
 adduced in the sequel. 
 
 8. — Intellect, Intelligence, (pous,* 
 inteUectus, intelligentia, mens, entendement, 
 intelligence, intellect, Verstand,) truths, 
 principles, axioms, dicta, intuitions, &c., of. 
 Intellections, (votjasig, intellectioneg, 
 intelligentioe, intellections,intelligences,) pri- 
 mary, natural, common, &c. 
 
 By Aristotle, from whom it finally ob- 
 tained the import which it subsequently re- 
 tained, the term Not/^ is used in two prin- 
 cipal significations. In the one (like Reason 
 in its first meaning) it denotes, in general, 
 our higher faculties of thought and know, 
 ledge ; in the other it denotes, in special, 
 the faculty, habit, place, of principles, that 
 is, of self-evident and self evidencing no- 
 tions and judgments. The schoolmen, 
 following Boethius, translated it by intel- 
 lectus and intelligentia ;f and some ol thtm 
 appropriated the former of those terms to 
 its first, or general, signification, the latter 
 to its second or special. Cicero does not 
 employ the term inteUectus ; and the Cice- 
 ronian epidemic prevalent after the revival 
 of letters, probably induced the Latin trans- 
 lators of the Greek philosophers to render 
 it more usually by the terra 7nens. In one 
 and all of our modern languages the words 
 derived from, or corresponding to, Intcl- 
 lectus, Inlellectio, Intelligentia, have been 
 so loosely and variously employed, that they 
 ofier no temptation to substitute them for 
 that of Common Sense. The case is dif- 
 ferent with the adjective noetic. The cor- 
 relatives noe:ic and dianottic would afford 
 the best philosophical designations — the 
 former for an intuitive principle, or truth 
 at first hand J the latter for a demonstra- 
 
 • See above, p 757 b, note. 
 
 f Intelligentia (like Intellectio) properly de 
 notes the act or energy of InteUectus. How it 
 came that the term Intelligentioe, was lat. 
 terly applied to denote the higher order of 
 created existences, as angels, &c , is explained 
 by Aquinas (S. Th. P. i., qu. 79, art. 10,) as an 
 innovation introduced by certain translations 
 from the Arabic. I shall not commemorate the 
 distinction of InteUectus and Intelligentia given 
 in the contradictory farrago attributed to Si 
 Augustine, under the title De Spiriiu et Anima^ 
 See cc. 37, 38. 
 
 S c 2 
 
^770 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 rwOTIC A 
 
 live proposition, or truth at second hand. 
 Noohgfif and Zoological, JHanoialogt/ and 
 .JHamtlUofjficed would be also technical 
 ferns of nmch convenience in various de- 
 partments of philosophy. On the doctrine 
 ©f first principles as & department of 
 * Graortotof y,' the philosophy of know- 
 'Mg%.wefaave indeed during the seven- 
 tMDth wntiiry, by German authors alonei 
 a series of special treatises, under the titles 
 — of * JVoo%ta,' by Calovius, 1651, Meje- 
 fofi 1662, Wag nerus, 1670, and Zeidlcrus, 
 liWf— •nd of *imM^fmim,* by Guikius, 
 l'025^awl. Geilfussius, 1662. ' Archeloffia,* 
 againv was the title preferred for their 
 works upon the same subject by Alstedius, 
 16SM>, and Micraelius, 1658. Of these 
 timiises, in so far as I have seen them, the 
 iSMUtion disappoints the cariosity awak- 
 ened by tMe title and attempt. 
 
 In this sense, besides the ordinary em- 
 
 eyment of InteUectm, and InteUigentttt 
 , the amsient and modern Aristotelians ; 
 Cicero, St Austin, and others, in like man- 
 ner, use InteUigenticB, either simply, or with 
 lome diierential epithet, as imkoatte, ad-- 
 mmbrato!, compiicatae, invdutm, primae, 
 mmmuneSf &c. j as is done likewise bv 
 'Fascal and other French philosophers with 
 the terms Intelligence and inlA^^mictff . 
 
 X. 'The tenth and last circumstance is, 
 that the native contributions by the mind 
 itself to our concrete cognitions have, prior 
 to their elicitation into consciousness 
 throngh ejcperience, only a |»of«tiK(il, and 
 In actual experience' only an applied, en- 
 gaged, or impiimU, existence. Hence 
 their designation of— 
 
 Habits, (possessions,) DisposiTiotis, 
 fiKTVALiTixS' &&, 'With some disorinlnat. 
 ing epithet. Thus, by Aristotle, noetic 
 Intelligence is called the (natural) Habit 
 iffmii^plm (iit$rm 4^m)\ and prin- 
 c^ea themselves are characterised by 
 Leibnitz, as natural Habits, Mtpomttong, \ 
 VirtwaMtiei. As prior to experience, Ga- 
 len styles them things oteult or delitee^ 
 mm (ntJc^fAfAhm,) in contrast to the ma- 
 .nifestatlcms made in experience itself 
 (fmm^mm.) Cicero and others call them 
 .Jlitoiifiiiliii* obsemrae, inchoaias, eompli^ 
 drttotf, inmimtm, 4c, To the same head 
 are to be referred the metaphorical dcno- 
 nunations they have obtaiiied of— Seedg 
 (X^yii awi^etTimi, semina gcientimf mmi- 
 mm" mimimteaiSf kc.,}'^or Spark§ (adnUL 
 laSt igniculi, ^mwu^m, hoMraetrM, 9Wi§$^ 
 
 ■iftff ^.) 
 
 I VI, Th§ WmmraaUty of the pMhmpkf 
 
 of €Mmim Senm ,* or its gemral re- 
 eifiitltofiv tti Menditf and m Name, 
 
 §hewn by a ehromhogieal serieM of T€9^ 
 Hmonieiffrom th-i dawn of speculation 
 
 to the present dag,* 
 
 1. — Hesioo thus terminates his Works 
 
 and Days :— . 
 
 Amol (PTnf*i^Qmi» hog vv ng earl x«| 
 
 «WTJJ. 
 
 'The Word proclaimed by the concordant 
 
 voice 
 Of mankind fails not; for in Man speaks 
 
 God,* 
 
 Hence the adage?— Vox PopuH. vox Del. 
 
 2 — Hbbaclitos.— The doctrine held 
 bv this philosopher of a Common Reason, 
 (|t/W( Ao'yof,) the source and the criterion 
 of truth, in opposition to individual wis- 
 dom, (iliat ip^irnaiSt) the principle of opin- 
 ion and error, may be regarded as one of 
 Common Sense. Its symbol — T«i xo/vjj 
 (pec4v6fAip» TTitnti — Sextus Empiricus thus 
 briefly expounds: — * What appears to all, 
 that is to be believed ; for it is apprehended 
 by the Reason which is Common and Di- 
 vine : whereas, what is presented to indi- 
 vidual minds, is unworthy of belief, and 
 for the counter cause.* — I. Adv. Log. § 
 131. 
 
 In so far, however, as our scanty sources 
 of information enable us to judge, Hera- 
 cUtus mistook the import, and transgressed 
 the boundaries of the genuine doctrine, in 
 the same way as is done in the system of 
 • Common Sense,* * Universal Consent,* 
 or * Common Reason, ' so ingeniously 
 maintained by the eloquent Abbe De La 
 Mennais, (No. 101.) Both vilipend all 
 private judgment as opinion; and opinion 
 both denounce as a disease. Both sacri- 
 fice the intelligence of individual men at 
 the shrine of the common reason of man- 
 kind ; and both celebrate the apotheosis of 
 this Common Reason or Sense, as an im- 
 mediate ray of the divinity. Both, finally, 
 
 • In throwing toirether thete testimonies, I 
 had originally in view, merely to adduce sucli 
 as bore explicitly and directly on the doctrine 
 of Common Sense, word and thing ; subset 
 quently I found it proper to take in certain 
 otkerf), in wliich that doctrine is clearly, though 
 only implicitly or indirectly, asserted. These 
 last, I have admitted, in preference, from those 
 schools* which ascrihe tJic least to the mind it- 
 tcif, aa a fountnin of knowledge, and a criterion 
 of truth ; and have, in consequence, taken little 
 or nothing from the Platonic. I have also been 
 obliged to limit the testimonies, almost exclu. 
 •ively,to Common Sense, eonsi<hTe<t on itsspe- 
 culiitive side. On Its practical, there could have 
 been no end. 
 
 § n.| 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 7T1 
 
 In proclaiming — * that we ought to follow 
 the Common,* (Sf?v sviddou r^ ^vv^,) 
 mean, that we should resort to this, not 
 merely as a catholic criterion, or a source 
 of elementary truths, but as a magazine of 
 ready fabricated dogmas Heraclitus and 
 La Monnais are the first and last philo- 
 sophers in our series : philosophy would 
 thus seem to end as it began. — In relation 
 to the former, see Schleiermacher, in Wolf 
 nnd Buttmann's Museum, i. pp. 313, seq. ; 
 and Brandis Geschichte der Philosophic, 
 i., § 44. In relation to the latter, see bis 
 Catechisme du Sens Commun — Essais sur 
 L'lndifference, &c., passim ; with Baii- 
 tain, Psychologic, i.. Disc. Prelim., pp. 
 xliv. seq. ; and Biunde, Fund. Phil. pp. 129, 
 seq. 166. (To these is now to be added 
 the Esquisse d' une Philosophic par F. 
 Lamennais, 1840, L. i. ch. 1. Here the 
 doctrine in question is presented in a far 
 less* objectionable form; but as its previous 
 statements are not withdrawn, I have not 
 thought it necessary to cancel the pre- 
 ceding observations, which were written 
 before I had received this remarkable 
 work.) 
 
 3.— Aristotle. — He lays it down in 
 general as the condition of the possibility 
 of knowledge that it do not regress to in- 
 finity, but depart from certain primary 
 facts, beliefs, or principles —true, and 
 whose truth commands assent, through 
 themselves, and themselves alone. These, 
 as the foundations, are not objects, of Sci- 
 ence; as the elements of Demonstration, 
 they are themselves indemonstrable. The 
 fountains of certainty to all else, they are 
 themselves pre-eminently certain; and if 
 denied in words, they are still always men- 
 tally admitted. The faculty of such prin- 
 ciptei is not Reason, the discursive or dia- 
 noetic faculty, {"hoyog, hotvotx,) but Intel- 
 lect or Intelligence proper, the noetic fa- 
 culty, ( j/ot/f.) Intellect as an immediate ap- 
 prehension of what is, may be viewed as a 
 Sense (utaBYiffts.) Compare Analyt. Post. 
 L. i. cc. 2, 3, 10, 32 — L. ii. c. ult. — Top. 
 L. i. c, 1 — Metaph. L. i. c. 7— L. ii. (A 
 minor) c. 2— L. ii. (iii. Duvallio) cc. 3, 4, 
 6 — L. iii. (iv.) c. 6 — Eth. Nic. L. vi. cc. 
 0, 11 (12)— Eth. Eud. L. ▼. cc. 6, 8— L. 
 
 Tli ci 14.— Mag. Mor. L. L c. 35 See 
 
 also above, p. 764 b. 
 
 In particular, that Aristotle founds 
 knowledge on belief, and the objective 
 certainty of science on the subjective ne- 
 cessity of believing, is, while not for- 
 mally enounced, manifest from many pas- 
 sages — though he might certainly have 
 been more explicit. Compare Post. Anal. 
 L, i. c. 2, §§ 1, 2, 16, 17, 18; c. 10, § 7 j 
 
 c. 31, § 3; Top. L. i. c. 1, § 6, &c.; Eth. 
 Nic. vii. c. 3 ; Magn. Mor. L. ii. c. 6. 
 
 ' Since Aristotle,' says the profound 
 Jacobi (Werkeii p. 11) ' there has been 
 manifested a continual and increasing ten- 
 dency in the philosophical schools to sub- 
 ordinate, in general, immediate to medi- 
 ate knowledge — the powers of primary 
 apprehension, on which all is founded, to 
 the powers of refle.vion as determined by 
 abstraction — the prototype to the ectype 
 — the thing to the word — the Reason 
 [Vernunft — Aristotle's noetic faculty or 
 Intellect] to the Intellect [Verstand — Aris- 
 totle's dianoetic faculty or Reason] ; nay 
 to allow the former to be wholly subju- 
 gated and even lost.' — In this Jacobi (and 
 to Jacobi may be added Fries) does Aris- 
 totle the most signal injustice; for there 
 is no philosopher who more emphatically 
 denounces the folly of those * who require 
 a reason of those things of which there ia 
 no reason to be given, not considering 
 that the principle of demonstration is not 
 itself demonstrable.' Metaph. iii. 6. See 
 No. 4 a. In fact Jacobi 's own doctrine in 
 its most perfect form will be found to bear 
 a wonderful analogy to that of Aristotle. 
 See No. 87 d In determining indeed the 
 question whether Aristotle does or does 
 not derive all our knowledge from expe- 
 rience and induction, there is some diffi- 
 culty, from the vagueness with which the 
 problem has usually been stated. In so 
 far, however, as it concerns the doctrine 
 of Common Sense, the opinion of Aristotle 
 admits of no reasonable doubt.* 
 
 • The doctrine of those passai^es (as Post. 
 An. L. ii. c. ult. Eth. Nic. L. vi. c. S. Eth. Eud. 
 L. V. c. 3, Jbc.) in which Aristotle asserts tliat 
 our knowledge of principles is derived from 
 sense, experience, induction, may be reconciled 
 with the doctrine of those others in which he 
 makes the intellect itself their source (see 
 above, p. 764 b, and quotations a. b. c. that foi. 
 low) — in two ways. 
 
 The first is that adopted by a majority of his 
 Greek and Latin expositors. They suppose 
 that our knowledge of principles is dependent 
 on both, but in dittcrent manners, and in diffc* 
 rent degrees. Oft the intellect this knov/ledge 
 is principally dependent, as on its proximate, 
 etficicnt, essential cause (aiT»'« yivynrtfch^ 
 rro/nr/xn, causa, causa per se, origo, Ac ) On 
 sense, experience, induction, it is dependent, 
 as on its exciting, disponent, peiniissive, ma- 
 nifestive, subsidiary, instrumental, occasion;i| 
 cause (a^of|K>i,£^o^^«, ir^ofaait, alria l^ov^yot^ 
 ydr^is, uTn^tTis, &c.) Of the Greek interpre- 
 ter, see Alexander in Top pp I'J. 47, 48, ed. 
 Aid. (Test. n. 10)— Theniistius in Post. An. ff. 
 2, 14, 15, and De An. f. 90, ed. Aid.— Philopo- 
 nns, (or Ammonius) in Post. An. f. 100, ed. Aid. 
 and De Anima, Proem. — Enstratins in Post Art. 
 
771 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 I *f"4rjB tmm 
 
 Bill to adduce eome special testimonies. 
 Tiese IshalUraiJskte; and for the original 
 of the more essential parts of sundry of the 
 fbMowimgfMiages, see foot-note at p. 328. 
 
 «.— f opb L. i c. 1. § 6 — * First truths 
 are such as are believed, not through 
 suflit else, but through themselves alone. 
 For Ib regard to the principles of science 
 we ought not to require the reason 11% 
 [but only the fact That they are given] ; 
 for each sueh principle behoves to be itself 
 S Wfe/in and of itself.' 
 
 b.— Pr. Analyt, I*, i c. 3. § 4.— Main- 
 taining against one party, that demonstra- 
 tifo Mience is competent to man., and 
 
 1 (13, Ml, ed. Aid. to Btk Kic. f 89 b., cd. Aid. 
 Of the Latin expositors, amonir many, Fonacca, 
 in Metaph. h. 1. c> 1, q. 4— ConliiibHcensea, 
 Org. Post. AiMd. ii. i. «. 1. q- 1 — Soncrua to 
 IfHtaph Ii. i. c. 1, p. 67, aq. Of Testimonies 
 Jnto, me mm. 10, 20, 21, 22. On this inter- 
 pretatlon, Aristotle justly views our knowkdge 
 m clironoloiEically commencing with Sense, but 
 lineally orlgtoattoff to Intelect. As one of the 
 oldest of Ma modern antagonists has incompa. 
 .niUy enounced it — ^'Coguilio nostra omnis a 
 MiKti f rlmwm oriffimm, a SemOm mmmmm ha- 
 l«t ftfaiuni;'— a text on wMch an appropriate 
 commentaiy may be sought for in the opening 
 chapter of Kant's Critique of pure Beason, and 
 to the seventeenth Lecture of Cousin upon 
 Locke. 
 
 no second mode of reconciling the eontra- 
 dtetion, and which has not I thinli been at. 
 tempted, is—that on the supposition of the 
 mmd virtually contatoing, antecedent to all ac- 
 tual experience, certain univOTsal principles of 
 Inowlcdge, in the form of certain necessities 
 Of thinking J stfll it is only by repeated and 
 eompormtive experiment, that we compass the 
 oerlainty^ — on the one hand, that such and such 
 cognitions cannot but bo thought, and are, 
 therefore, as necessaiT, native generalities j — 
 and, on the other, that such and such cogni. 
 tions may or may not be thought, and are, 
 'therefore, m conttngent, factitious generaliza. 
 lions. To this procesS' of expertnent, analysis 
 •lii classification, through which we attain to 
 a scientific knowledge of principles, it might 
 Im shown that Ari3tc.tle, notiuip robably, applies 
 'flio term Induction. 
 
 In regard to the passage (De An. L. iii. c. 6) 
 in vMch the Intellect prior to experience is 
 •oaipared to a tablet on which nothing has ac. 
 tuaUy been written, the context shows that the 
 import of thin simile is with Aristotle very dif- 
 ferent fironi what It Is with the Stoics; to 
 whom, it may be noticed, and not, as is usually 
 supposed, to the Stsgtrlte, are we^ to refer the 
 tisl enounccmentof the brocard — In ImtdUetn 
 aHH t^^ quod non prim fiierit in Semn, 
 
 In making intellect a source of knowledge, 
 Aristotle was preceded by I'lato. But tlw 
 Itetmiic definition of * Intellect wn* is ' The pWn- 
 §^^<tfmi0mf and Aristotle's merit is not the 
 dMittlon of inteUMt^^as such, but its reduction 
 ftmu M sole to a r ortl'unct^ principle of science. 
 
 against another, that this science cannot 
 itself be founded on propositions which 
 admit of demonstration, Aristotle says — 
 
 • We assert not only that science does ex- 
 ist, but also that there is given a certain 
 beginning or principle of science, in m for 
 as [or on another interpretation of the 
 term ^ — *6y which*'} we recognize the im- 
 port of the terms,* On tlie one interpre- 
 tation the meaning of the paissage is—* Wo 
 asseit not only that [demonstrative] sci- 
 ence does exist, but also that there is given 
 a certain [indemonstrable] beginning or 
 principle of science, [that is, Intellect -which 
 comes into operation] so soon as we ap- 
 prehend the meaning of the terms.* For 
 example, when we once become aware of 
 the sense of the terms whole and part, then 
 the intellet!t of itself spontaneously enoun- 
 ces the axiom — T/i*; whole is greater tftan 
 its part — On the other interpretation j — 
 ' We assert not only that [demonstrative 
 science does exist, but also that there is 
 given a certain [indemonstrable] begin- 
 ning or principle of st-ience [viz. intellect} 
 by which we recognize the import of the 
 terms,* i. e. recognize them in their ne- 
 cessary relation, and thereupon explicitly 
 enounce tlie axiom which that relation 
 implies. 
 
 c— AnaL Post L. i. c. 2. § 16.—' But it 
 is not only necessary that we should be 
 endowed with an antecedent knowledge 
 of first principles — all or some — but that 
 this knowledge should, likewise, be of pa» 
 raniount certainty. For whatever com- 
 municates a quality to other things must 
 itself possess that quality in a still higher 
 degree ; as that on account of which we 
 love all objects that partake of it, cannot 
 but be itself, pre-eminently, an object of 
 our love. Hence if we know and believe 
 through certain first principles, we must 
 know and believe these themselves in a 
 superlative degree, for the very reason 
 that we know and believe [all] secondary 
 truths through them.* 
 
 In connexion herewith, compare the 
 passages quoted above, p. 764 b. 
 
 d.— Rhet. L. i. c. 1.- * By nature man 
 is competently organized for truth; and 
 truths in general, is not beyond hb reach.' 
 
 e. — Metaph. L. it (A minor) c. 1. — 
 
 * The theory of Truth is in one respect 
 difficult, in another easy; as shown indeed 
 by this— that while enough has been de- 
 nied to any, some has been conceded to all.' 
 
 f,— Eth. Nic, L. X. c. 2.— Arguing 
 against a paradox of certain Platoni&ts, in 
 regard to the Pleasureable, he says — * But 
 they who oppose themselves to EudoxuAi 
 as if what all nature desiderates were not 
 
 . §^'>-3 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 773 
 
 a good, talk idly. For what appears to 
 all, that we aflRmi to be; and he who would 
 subvert this belief, will himself assuredly 
 advance nothing more deserving of credit.' 
 ^Compare also L. vii. c. 13 (14 Zuing.) 
 
 In his paraphrase of the above passage 
 th*» Pseudo-Andronicus(Heliodorus Prus- 
 ensis) in one place uses the expression 
 common opinion, and in another all but 
 uses (what indeed he could hardly do in 
 this meaning as an Aristotelian, if indeed 
 in Greek at all) the expression common 
 geme, which D. Ileinsius in his Latin ver- 
 sion actually employs. * But, that what all 
 beings desire is a good, this is manifest to 
 every one endowed with sense' — {'Treurt ralg 
 h etiadviffii, * omnibus commuui sensu prae- 
 ditis.') See No. 31. ^ ^, 
 
 g— Eth. Eud. L. i. c 6.—* But of all 
 these we must endeavour to seek out ra- 
 tional grounds of belief, by adducing mani- 
 fest testimonies and examples. For it is 
 the strongest evidence of a doctrine, if all 
 men can be adduced as the manifest con- 
 fessors of its positions; because every in- 
 dividual has in him a kind of private organ 
 of the truth. . . Hence we ought not 
 always to look only to the conclusions of 
 reasoning, but frequently rather to what 
 appears [and is believed] to be.' See Nos. 
 
 10, 30. 
 
 h.— Ibid. h. vii. c. 14.—' The problem 
 is this;— What is the beginning or pnn- 
 ciple of motion in the soul ? Now it is 
 evident, that as God is in the universe, 
 and the universe in God, that [I re&d Ktu- 
 ih xut] the divinity in us is also, in a 
 certain sort, the universal mover of the 
 mind. For the principle of Reason is not 
 Reason, but something better. Now what 
 can we sav is better than even science, ex- 
 cept God?'— The import of this singular 
 passage is very obscure. It has excited, 
 I see, the attention, and exercised the in- 
 genuity, of Pomponatius, J. C. Scaliger, 
 De Raei, Leibnitz, Leidenfrost, Jacob!, 
 &c. But without viewing it as of pan- 
 theistic tendency, as Leibnitz is inclined 
 to do, it may be interpreted as a declara- 
 tion, that Intellect, which Aristotle else- 
 where allows to be pre-ejcistent and im- 
 mortal, is a spark of the Divinity ; whilst 
 its data (from which, as principles more 
 certain than their deductions, Reason, De- 
 monstration, Science must depart) are to 
 be reverenced as the revelation -of truths, 
 which would otherwise lie hid from man. 
 That, in short, 
 
 • The voice of Nature is the voice of God.' 
 
 By the bye, it is remarkable that this text 
 was not employed by any of tliose Aristo- 
 
 telians who endeavoured to identify the 
 Active Intellect with the Deity. 
 
 i.— Phys. L. viii. c. 3.— Speaking of 
 those who from the contradictions in our 
 conception of the possibility, denied the 
 fact, of motion : — * But to assert that all 
 things are at rest, and to attempt a proof 
 of this by reasoning, throwing the testi- 
 mony of sense out of account, is a sign not 
 of any strength, but of a certain imbecility 
 of reason.' And in the same chapter — 
 
 * Against all these reasonings there suftices 
 the belief [of sense | alone.' See Simplicius 
 ad locum, ed. Aid. tf. 276, 277. 
 
 k.— De Gen. Anim. L. iii. c. 10.—* We 
 ought to accord our belief to sense, in pre- 
 ference to reasoning; and of reasonings, 
 especially to those whose conclusions are 
 in conformity with the phaiuomena.' And 
 somewhere in the same work he also says, 
 
 * Sense is equivalent to, or has the force of, 
 science.' 
 
 1.— See also De Coelo L. i. c. 3, text 
 
 m. — Ibid, L. iii. c. 7, text 61. 
 
 n. — Meteor., L. i. c. 13. 
 
 4. — Theophrastus. — a. — Metaph. c.8, 
 (ed. Sylb. p. 260, Brand, p. 319.) The 
 following testimony of this philosopher (if 
 the treatise be indeed his) is important 
 both in itself, and as illustrative of the 
 original peripatetic doctrine touching the 
 cognition of first principles, which he 
 clearly refuses to Sense and inductitm, 
 and asserts to Intelligence and intuition. 
 It has however been wholly overlooked ; 
 probably in consequence of being nearly 
 unintelligible in the original from the cor- 
 ruption of the common text, and in the 
 version of Bessarion — also irom a misap- 
 prehension of his author's meaning. 
 
 Having observed that it was difficult to 
 determine up to what point and in regard 
 to what things the investigation of causes 
 or reasons is legitimate; — that this diffi- 
 culty applies to the objects both of Sense 
 and of Intelligence, in reference to either 
 of which a regress to intinity is at once a 
 negation of them as objects of understand- 
 ing and of philosophy;— that Sense and 
 Intelligence, severally furnibh a point of 
 departure, a principle, the one relative, or 
 to us, the other absolute, or in nature;— 
 and that each is the converse of the other, 
 the first in nature being the last to us; — 
 he goes on to state what these counter 
 processes severally avail in the research, 
 or, as he calls it, after Aristotle, the specu- 
 lation, of principles. ' Up to a certain 
 point, taking our departure from the 
 Senses, we are able, rising from reason to 
 reason, to carry on the speculation of prin- 
 
171 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPIII 
 
 fKOT* 
 
 UplM; but when we arrive at those wMeh. 
 it© [not merely comiwratiTely prior but] 
 •bK^lutely supreme ani primary, we can 
 110 more; because, either thai a reason is 
 no longer to be found, or of our own Im- 
 becility, unable, as it were to look from 
 mere excess of light. [Compare A.rist. 
 Metaph. A minor, c. 1; which supports 
 the readingt <pmfi»6T»rm.j But the other 
 froeedure is probably the more authentic, 
 which accords the speculation of principles 
 to the Uuekf as it may be^ called, and feel- 
 ■m0 of Intelligence (rf m diyartt m.»1 mqv 
 if^etfAtvf,) [Comp. Aristot. Metaph. xii. 
 7.] For in this case there is no room for 
 illusion in mgard to these * He then ob- 
 lerves— * That it is even in the sciences of 
 ietail, of great, but in the universal sci- 
 cmsei, of paramount, importance, to deter- 
 inine wherein, and at what point the limit 
 to a research of reasons should be fixed.* 
 And why? ^ BsmnM the^ who reqmre a 
 rmmMf&r emry thin^, mbvert, mt mwe, the 
 '^mdations of reason and of knowledge.* 
 
 h. — See above, p. 765 a, where from his 
 doctrine in regard to first principles it ap- 
 Mars that Theophrastus, like Aristotle, 
 foiwds knowledge on natural Belief. 
 
 5. — LocBETioa.— De Rerum Natura, L. 
 i T. 42S, sq. 
 
 ' Corpus enlm per se eommmmia deitwl esse 
 8emm ; quo nisi princmJUm fendata valeblt, 
 Haud erit, occultis de rebus quo referenies, 
 COnflrmare uimi quicquamratlone t^eamas.' 
 
 ^Smma Cbrnfiitttttf here means Sense, 
 ■trictly so called, as testifying not only in 
 ■II men, but in all animalf. It is a trans- 
 laliou of the expression of Epicurus — 
 4 ffffliitfc M w»wrm» (Ijaert. x. 39);. 
 and as in the Epicurean philosophy all our 
 'loMiwledge it merely an educt of Sense, 
 the truth of the derived, depends wholly 
 npn the truth of the original evidence. 
 See L. iv., vv. 480, sq. 
 
 6, — Cicero. — a.— De Fin. L. iv. c. 19. — 
 Speaking of the Stoical paradoxes, (* rect© 
 facta omnia aequalia,— omnia peccata pa- 
 ria,* he.) he nays—* Quae cum magnillce 
 primo dici ridentur, cosisUerata, minus 
 probantur. Smsm enim mju$qmt [i.e. 
 S. communis] et natura rerum, atque ipsa 
 Tferitas ckmat, quodam modo, non posse 
 ■idid, ut inter eas res quas Zeno exae- 
 qnaret, nihil interesset.* (See No. 7.) 
 
 k^Tusc. IMsp. L. i. c- 13 — * Omni au- 
 teinin re consensio omnium gentium lex 
 naturae putanda est.* Compare also c. 15. 
 
 «i— De Nat Deor., L. i c 16.— The 
 Epicurean ¥elleius there spcaUlig the 
 fllictrine of his se<Jt :— ' Intelligi neoess©' 
 est, ■nwt Deoi, quoniam insitas eoruro, vel 
 
 potius innalaa cognitiones habemus.* Be 
 quo autem, omnium natura consentit^ id 
 mrum esse nee sse est. Esse igitur Deos 
 confitendum est* Compare Pkto, De 
 Legibus, L. x. ; Aristotle. Do Ccelo, L. i. 
 C.3, ; Plutarch, Amatores; Seneca, Episto. 
 
 ise, 111* 
 
 d. For ' Sensus Communis, and * Sensua 
 
 Commumsj as the sources of moral judg- 
 ment, see the Orations Pro Cluentio 6. — 
 Pro Plancio, 13, 14.— Pro Domo, 36. 
 
 e. — For * -Sfetwrw Commums* as criterion 
 of judgment in the arts, see De Orat., L. 
 iii, c. 50; quoted by Reid, p. 424, bj com- 
 pare L. i. c. 3. 
 
 7. — Horace. — Sermones, I. iii. 96. Speak- 
 ing like Cicero (No. 6, a.) of the Stoica. 
 paradox, he says — 
 
 * Quels paria esse fere placuit peccata, labo" 
 
 rant, 
 Quum ventum ad vcrum est ; Semm moresque 
 
 repugnant.* 
 
 That Is, as Aero (to say nothing of Tor^ 
 rentius, Baxter, and other moderns,) in- 
 terprets it — * communis hominum sensus* f 
 
 8. — Seneca a, — Epist. 117. — ' Mul- 
 
 tum dare solemus praesumptioni omnium 
 hominum. Apud nos veritatis argumen- 
 tuin est, aliquid omnibus videri.* 
 
 k— Ep. 9. • Ut scias autem hos Benm» 
 communes esse, natura scilicet diotaate^ 
 apud poetam comicum invenies, 
 
 " Non est beatus, esse sc qui non putet." 
 
 • It Is not to bo supposed that tbe x«ip«m 
 ivrMtfi, fv^ixml w^tXh^'t'f, of the Stoica, far 
 less of the Epicureans (however, as in the pre- 
 sent instance, styled Innate or implanted,) were 
 morj than generalisations a potUriori. Yet 
 this is a mistake, into which, anioii|f many 
 others, even Lipsius and Leibnitz have fallon, 
 in regard to the former. See Manud. ad Stoic. 
 FMlos. L. ii. diss. 11 ; and Nouv. Ess. I'ref. 
 
 f This gloss of Aero is not to be found in any 
 of the editions of the two lloratian scholiasts. 
 But I am in possession of extracts made by the 
 celebrated WUliam Canter, from a more com- 
 plete MS. of these commentators, than any to 
 which Fabricius and their other editors had ac- 
 cess. This codex belonged to Canter him-elf ; 
 and he gives its character, and a few specimens 
 of its anecdotaf In his Sorae Lectiones. The copy 
 of iloraco (one of the first edition of Lambinre) 
 in which these extracts are found, contains also 
 the full collation of Canter's * Manuscript! Co- 
 lli es AntiquisaimI' of the poet, (two only, I 
 can prove, not three, as the Novae Lectiones, 
 fallaciouuly state,) ami which, from the many 
 remarkable readings to be found exclusively In 
 them, must, in all probability, have perished— 
 perhaps in the inundation by which Canter's 
 celebrated library was, in a great measure, de- 
 '■troyed. 
 
 1^-] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 775 
 
 C^ — Ep. 120. * Natura semina nobis sci- 
 entiae dedit, scientiam uon dedit.' 
 
 9. — PiiiNi the Younger. — Paneg. c. 64. 
 — * Melius omnibus quam singulis creditur. 
 Singuli enim decipere et decipi possunt : 
 nemo omnes, neminera omnes fefellerunt.' 
 
 9* — QuiNTiLiAN. — Inst., L. V. c. 10. § 
 12. — * Pro certis habemus ea, in quae com- 
 muni opinione consensum est.' 
 
 10 — Alexander of APHRO]>isiAR,the 
 oldest and ablest of the interpreters of 
 Aristotle whose writings have come down 
 to us, follows his master, in resting truth 
 and philosophy on the natural convictions 
 of mankind. 
 
 a. — On Fate, § 2, edd. Lond. et Orell. 
 
 rm dv6^6i'7!ruv ^vaigy x.t.A. * The common 
 nature of man is neither itself void ot truth, 
 nor is it an erring index of the true;* 
 in virtue whereof all men are on certain 
 l>oints mutually agreed, those only ex- 
 cepted, who, through preconceived opin- 
 ions, and a desire to follow these out con- 
 sistently, find themselves compelled verbal- 
 ly t to dissent' And he adds, that * An- 
 axagoras of Clazomene, however otherwise 
 distinguished as a physical philosopher, is 
 undeserving of credit, in opposing his tes- 
 timony touching fate to the common belief 
 of mankind.' This he elsewhere calls their 
 * common presumptions,^ their * common 
 and natural notions.* See §§8, 14, 26, of 
 the same work, and the chapter on Fate 
 in the second book of his treatise On the 
 Soul, f. 161, ed. Aid. 1534. 
 
 b.— On the Topics of Aristotle, (p. 48, 
 ed. Aid.) * The induction useful in the 
 employment of axioms is useful for illus- 
 trating the application to particulars of the 
 axiomatic role, [read ^rfgi Aa^Savo^ivaft,] 
 but not in demonstrating its universality ; 
 for this, as an object of intellect, is self-evi- 
 dent, nor can it, in propriety, be proved 
 by induction at all.* Compare also p. 12. 
 11. — Clement of Alexandria — Stro- 
 .nata. After stating (L. v. Op. ed. 1688, 
 p. 544,) that there is neither knowledge 
 without belief, nor belief without know- 
 ledge, and having shown (L. viii. p. 771,) 
 after Aristotle and others, that the sup- 
 position of proof or demonstration being 
 founded on propositions themselves capable 
 of being proved, involves the absurdity of 
 an infinite regress, and therefore subverts 
 the possibility of demonstration, he says — 
 * Thus the philosophers confess that the 
 
 • See Aristotle, No. 3, d. 
 
 f Verbally, not mentally, lie has Aristotle 
 (Anal. Post. L. i. c. 10. § 7,) in view. Buf- 
 
 her, No. 63. 
 
 beginnings, the principles of all knowledge, 
 are indemonstrable ; consequently if de- 
 monstration there be, it is necessary that 
 there should be something prior, believable 
 of itself, something first andindemonstrable. 
 AH demonstration is thus ultimately re- 
 solved into an indemonstrable b li'^f* 
 
 12. — Tertullian. — a. — De Testiraonio 
 
 Animae ad versus Gentes, c. 5. — ^ Haec 
 
 testimonia animae, quanto vera tanto sim- 
 
 plicia, quanto simplicia tanto vulgaria, 
 
 quanto vulgaria tanto communia, quanto 
 
 commuuia tanto naturalia, quanto natura- 
 
 lia tanto divina; non putem cuiquam fri- 
 
 volum et frigiduni videri posse, si recogi- 
 
 tet naturae majestatem, ex qua censetur 
 
 auctoritas animae. Quantum dederis ma- 
 
 gistrae, tantum adjudicabis discipulae Ma- 
 
 gistra uatura, aniraa discipula. Quicquid 
 
 aut ilia edocuit, aut ista perdidicit, a Deo 
 
 traditum est, magistro scilicet ipsius ma- 
 
 gistrae. Quid anima possit de prineipali 
 
 institutore praesumere, in te est aesti- 
 
 mare de ea quae in te est. . . , Sed 
 
 qui ejusmodi eruptiones animae non puta- 
 
 vit doctrinam esse naturae, et congenitae et 
 
 ingenitae conscientiae * tacita commissa, 
 
 dicet potius de ventilatis in vulgus opi- 
 
 nionibus, publicatarura litterarum usum 
 
 jam, et quasi vitium, corroboratum taliter 
 
 sermocinandi. Certe prior anima quam 
 
 littera, et prior sermo quam Uber, et prior 
 
 sensus quam stylus, et prior homo ipse 
 
 quam philosophus et poeta. Nunquid ergo 
 
 crcdendum est ante litteraturara et divuU 
 
 gationem ejus, mutes absque hujusmodi 
 
 pronunciationibus homines vixisse ? . . . 
 
 Et undo ordo ipsis litteris contigit, nosse, 
 
 et in usum loquelae di.sseminare, quse nulla 
 
 unquam mens conceperat, aut lingua pro- 
 
 tulerat, aut auris exceperat ? ' — lie alludes 
 
 to I. Corinthians ii. 0, &c. 
 
 b. — De Resurrectione Carnis, c. 3. — 
 * Est quidera et de communibiis sensibus 
 sapere in Dei rebus. . . . Utar et con- 
 scientia * populi, contestantis Deum Deo- 
 rum ; utar et reliquis communibus sensibus, 
 etc. . . Communes enim sensus simplicitas 
 ipsa commendat, et compassio sententia- 
 rura, et familiaritas opiniouum, eoque fide- 
 liores existimantur, quia nuda et apertaet 
 omnibus nota definiunt. Ratio enim di- 
 vina in medulla est, non in superficie, et 
 plerumque aemula manifestis.' 
 
 c. — Ibid. c. 5. — * Igitur quoniametrudes 
 quique de communibus adhuc sensibus sa- 
 piunt,* &c. 
 
 •^ Tertullian is the only ancient writer who 
 usc^i the word Consckntia in a psychological 
 sense, rtorrcsponding with our Comcioumegs. See 
 note I. 
 
'776 
 
 MJa itl.& FtUiii/O'Vlxol 
 
 [li01« A. 
 
 d.-D« Anina, 2.-Spi«kiiig of the 
 
 ■ooroes from wMeli a merely htmian pM* 
 Imophy had derived its knowledge of iho 
 nuBdj he coEcludes — * Sed et natnm plera- 
 qiie smggenmliir quasi de jtt^Meo tmm^ 
 O'Uo ftniimiii Dens dotare 'dlflrnatus est * 
 See above, p. Ill b, note. 
 
 e. — Prffiscr. 28. * Quodapud multos unum 
 invenitur, non est erratum 8e<l traditum.* 
 
 13.— Abiwobius. — AdversusGentes,L.ii. 
 p. ©2. ed. 1651 . * Quid est anobis factum con- 
 tra Afitiimjudiciumque commune f si majora 
 «t certlora delegimus, nee sumus nos passi 
 Ikiaorun religionibus attineri ? * Add., pp. 
 
 m, 127.. 
 
 14. — Lactantios. — Institut. L. lii. c, 
 B. — * Bebuit ergo Arcesilans siquid sape- 
 ret, distinguere, quae sciri possenti quaeve 
 
 noiciri. Sed si id fecisset, ipse s© in po- 
 pulnm redigisset. Nam Tulgus interdum 
 flw aapit, quia tantum, quantum opus est, 
 lapit.* 
 
 Quaere — Had Lactantius the line of 
 Martial m his eje ! 
 
 ' Qnisqnis plus Justo non sapit, ille aapitj* 
 
 nr the precept of St Paul ?— * Non plus 
 lapere qnam oportet sapere, sed sapere 
 ■d sobrietatem. 
 
 15, — St AuousTiiff. — a — De duabus. 
 Animabus, c, 10. ' Quivis enim homines, 
 quos modo a eommnni senm generis hu- 
 miiii nulla disrapisset amentia,' &c. 
 
 k — Be Triuitate. Lib. xiii. c. 1. — * No- 
 ▼imus certissima scientia, et clamante Con- 
 identia,* That is. Conscience, not Con- 
 ■eiousneea, as sometimes supposed. 
 
 e.— Bellagistro, c.ll.— * Ait Propheta, 
 [Is. vil. 9.] Nim credideritiM mm intellu 
 ^Iff/ quod non dixissc^t profecto, si nihil 
 distare judicasset. Quod ergo intelligo, 
 id etiam credo ; at non omne quod credo, 
 etiam intelligo. Omne autem quod Intel • 
 ligo scio ; non omne quod credo scio. — 
 Quare pleraque cum scire non possim, 
 qnantm tamen utilitate credantur scio.' 
 
 1§. — PaocLus(lnPlatonisTheologiani, 
 Lib. i. 0. 25.) has still more remarkable 
 declarations of the truth, that Belief h the 
 foundation of knowledge. Speaking of the 
 faith of the gods, which he describes as 
 aiterior to the act. of cognition, (w§f<rCu- 
 «#•» Tflff yifiirr/xif s»i^y$iot{j) he says that 
 it IS not only to be distinguished from our 
 belief, or rather error, in regard to things 
 sensible ; but likewise from the belief we 
 have of what are called Common Notions, 
 with which it, however, agrees, in that 
 these common notions command assent, 
 prior to all reflection or reasoning : (jciiJ 
 
 inwTivo^fF.) See below, Hermes, No. Jll>. 
 
 Among other Pktonists the same doctrine 
 is advanced by the pseudo Hermes Tris- 
 megistus, L. xvi. sub fine, p. 436, ed. Pa- 
 tricii, 1593. 
 
 17. — Ammonics Hbrmiab (as extracted 
 and interpolated by Philoponus) in his 
 Commentary on Aristotle * On the Soul,* 
 Introduction, p. 1-3, ed. Trincavelli, 1535. 
 * The function of Intellect {vovg) is by im- 
 mediate application [or intuition, k'x'Kaui 
 w^(Mr?oA«Jf,] to reach or compass reality, 
 and this end it accomplishes more certain- 
 ly than through the medium of demonstra- 
 tion. For as Sense, by applying itself at 
 once to a coloured or figured object, ob-. 
 tains a knowledge of it better than through 
 demonstration — for there needs no syllo- 
 gism to prove that this or the other thing 
 is white, such being perceived by the sim- 
 ple appliance of the sense j so also the In- 
 tellect apprehends its appropriate object 
 by a simple appliance, [a simple intuitive 
 jet, tlTTiii i«'<€oX,i,] better than could be 
 done through any process of demonstra- 
 Mon. • * I 
 
 ' I say that the rational soul has in, and 
 co>essential with, it the reasons (Xoyot/;) 
 of things ; but, in consequence of being 
 clothed in matter, they are, as it were, 
 oppressed and smothered, like the spark 
 which hes hid under the ashes. And a.^ 
 when the ashes are slightly dug into, the 
 spark forthwith gleams out, the digger not 
 however making the spark, but only re- 
 moving an impediment; in like manner. 
 Opinion, excited by the senses, elicits the 
 reasons of existences from latency into 
 manifestation. Hence they [the Plato- 
 nists] affirm that teachers do not infuse 
 into us knowledge, but only call out into 
 the light that which previously existed in 
 us, as it were, concealed. . . . It is 
 however more correct to say that these are 
 Common Notions or adumbrations of the 
 Intellect; for whatever wo know more 
 certainly than through demonstration, that 
 we know in a common notion.' .... 
 Such common notions are-* Things that 
 are equal to the same are equal to one an- 
 other,* — * If equals be taken from equals 
 the remainders are equal/ — * Every thing 
 must be either affirmed or denied.' * 
 
 18. — St Akselh professes the maxim — 
 ^ Crede ut intelligas ;* which became cele- 
 brated iu the schools, as opposed to the 
 ' Intellige ut credas* of Abelard. 
 
 19. — Aloazbl of Bagdad, 'the Imanm 
 of the world, » somewbere (in his Be- 
 htruction of the Philosopher^ if I recol- 
 lect aright) says, as the Latin version 
 gives it — * Radix cognitionis fides.* 
 20 — St Thomas Aquinas,— a.— Be ve- 
 
 § vij 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 777 
 
 ritate fidei catholicae contra Gentiles. L. i. 
 c. 7. § 1. ' Ea quae naturaliter rationi insita, 
 verissima esse constat; intantum, ut nee 
 
 ea falsa esse possibile cogitare 
 
 Principiorum naturaliter notorum cognitio 
 nobis divinitus est indita, cum ipse Deus sit 
 auctor nostrae naturae. Haec ergo prin- 
 cipia etiam divina sapientia continet. Quic- 
 quid igitur principiishujusmodicontrarium 
 est, est divinae sapientiae contrarium : 
 non igitur a Deo esse potest. Ea igitur 
 quae ex revelatione divina per fidem tenen- 
 tur, non possunt uaturali cognitioni esse 
 contraria.' 
 
 b. — Expositio in Libb. Metaph. Aristot. 
 Lect. V. — * Et quia talis cognitio princi- 
 piorum (those of Contradiction and of Ex- 
 cluded Middle) incst nobis statim a natur a, 
 concludit,' &c. 
 
 c. — Summa Theologiae, P. i. Partis ii. 
 Qu. 51, art. 1.—* Intellectus principiorum 
 dicitur esse habitus naturalis. Ex ipsa 
 enim natura animae intellectualis convenit 
 homini, quod, statim cognito quid est to- 
 tum et quid est pars, cognoscat quod omne 
 totum est majus sua parte, et simile in 
 caeteris. Sed quid sit totum et quid sit 
 pars cognoscere non potest, nisi per species 
 intJ^lligibiles a pliantasmatibus acceptas, et 
 propter hoc Piiilosophus, in fine Posterio- 
 rum, ostendit quod cognitio principiorum 
 provenit ex sensu.' 
 
 d De Veritate, Qu. xi. De Magistro, 
 
 conclusio — * Dicendum est similiter de 
 scientiae acquisitione, quod praeexistunt in 
 nobis principia quae statim lumine intellec- 
 tus agentis cognoscuutur, per species a 
 sensibilibus abstractas, sive sint complexa 
 ut dignitates, sive incoraplexa sicut eiitis 
 et unius et hujusmodi quae statim intellec- 
 tus apprehendit. Ex istis autera principiis 
 universalibus omnia principia sequuutur, 
 sicut ex quibusdam rationibus seminalitus/ 
 &c. 
 
 e. Summa Theologiae, P. i. Partis ii. 
 
 Qu. 5. art. 3. * Quod ab omnibus dicitur 
 non potest totaliter falsum esse. Videtur 
 cuim naturale quod in pluribus est ; natura 
 autem non totaliter deficit.' Compare Nos. 
 1 and 3, f. 
 
 21.— Joannes Duns Scotds holds a 
 doctrine of Common Senseywith reference, 
 more especially, to necessary truths, in 
 which the genuine doctrine of Aristotle is 
 admirably enounced, and cogently de- 
 fended. 
 
 On the one hand, he maintains (against 
 Averroes) that principles are not, in a cer- 
 tain sense, innate in the Intellect ; t. e. not 
 as actual cognitions chronologically ante- 
 rior to experience. — * Dicendum quod non 
 habet aliquam cognitionem naturalem se- 
 
 cundum naturam suam, neque simplicium, 
 nequecomplexorum, quia omnis nostra cog- 
 nitio ortum habet ex sensu. Primo enim 
 movetur sensus ab aliquo simplici non com- 
 plex©, et a sensu raoto movetur intellectus et 
 intelligitsiraplitia, quod est primus actus in- 
 tellectus; deinde post apprehensionem sim- 
 plicium, sequitur alius actus, qui est com- 
 ponere simpUcia ad invicem ; post illam 
 autem compositionem, habet intellectus ex 
 lumine naturali quod assentiat ilU vcritati 
 complexorum, si illud complexura sit prin- 
 cipium primum.' Quaestt. super libros 
 Metaph. L. ii. q. 1. § 2. 
 
 On the other hand, he maintains (against 
 Henry of Ghent) that, in a different sense, 
 principles are naturally inherent in the 
 mind. For he shews that the intellect is 
 not dependent upon sense and experience, 
 except accidentally, in so far as these are 
 requisite, in affording a knowledge of the 
 terms, to afford the occasion on which, by 
 its native and proper light, (in other words, 
 by the suggestion of common sense,) it 
 actually manifests the principles which it 
 potentially contained ; and that these prin- 
 ciples are certain, even were those phieno- 
 mena of sense illusive, in reference to 
 which they are elicited. ' Respondeo, quod 
 quantum ad istam notitiam, (principiorum 
 sc.) intellectus non habet sensus pro causa 
 [vel origin', as he elsewhere has it,] sed 
 tantum pro occasione : quia intellectus non 
 potest habere notitiam simplicium nisi ac- 
 ceptara a sensibus, ilia tamen accepta potest 
 simplicia virtute sua componere et, si ex 
 ratione talium simplicium sit complexio 
 evidenter vera, intellectus virtute propria 
 et terminorium assentiet illi complexioni, 
 non virtute sensus, a quo accipit terminos 
 exterius. Exemplum ; — si ratio lotius et 
 ratio majoritatis accipiantur a seusu, et 
 intellectus componat istara — Omne totum 
 est maius sua parte, intellectus virtute sui 
 et istorum terrainorura assentiet indubitan- 
 ter isti complexioni, et non tantum quia 
 vidit terminos conjunctos in re, sicut assen- 
 tit isti — Socrates est albiis, quia vidit ter. 
 minos in re uniri. Imrao dico, quod si 
 oranes sensus essent falsi,' &c. In libros 
 Sent. Coram. Oxon. L. i., Dist. 3, qu. 4, 
 § 8.— See also §§ 12, 23; and Quaestt. 
 super Metaph., L. i. qu. 4. §§ 3, 4, 5, 11, 
 12, 14, 16; L. ii. qu. 1. §§ 2, 3, et alibi; 
 where it is frequently repeated that sense 
 and experience are not the cause or origin, 
 but only the occasion on which the natural 
 light of Intellect reveals its principles or 
 first truths. 
 
 I may observe, that like Locke, the 5m6- 
 tle Doctor divides our acquisition of know- 
 ledge between two sources, Sense and 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [notb a 
 
 ,||0|C0Cttoft. — ^ iVtAil «ff ttt mttHmfm qw^ \ 
 pniufmrii m ieum, rem eil df* M quocl 
 .«gt primiiiii. litellgiMle, Milicet qmmi qmd 
 "tit [to jrri] rei matemiis, non aiitem de 
 omnibus per se iiitell]gibiUbu±> ; nam multa 
 per se mtelligimtur, non quia speciem fa- 
 aunt in iSgftiti,.fiecl ftff Me^eMomsm mttUec- 
 '■■■%m* ■QuaeBtt. .wpor UbIt. Parph. q. 3. 
 Bit wliiit Locke was sometimes compelled 
 Yirtually to confess, in opposition to the 
 general tenor of his doctrine, (see No. 51,) 
 Scotus professedly lays di*wn as the very 
 foundation of his — that Reioction finds in 
 the mind, or intellect ittelf, principles, or 
 iiecessiiry cognitions, which are not the 
 sinets of experience, howbeit not actually 
 manifested prior to, or except on occasion 
 nf, some empirical act of knowledge.* 
 
 22.— AvTOMius AMvmBAs, an im me- 
 diate disciple of Scotus, — the Doctor Dul- 
 :liiniis. 4ua^stt. super libros Metaph. L. 
 i, qn. 1. — * Bcfpondieo, eC dico duo. 
 
 * PmimiMj — ^immI woltlia Primorimi 
 JVInc^'iiniiis tiim egt n&tma maturm ; quia 
 omnis nostra cognitio intellectivahabet or- 
 tum a sensu, et, per consequens, non inesta 
 'ilCtiira. . , Primo enim motu niii¥«tur sen- 
 ^•ntabobjecto amplici non oomflezo ; et a 
 ■wmm 'MMitD iniiTetur intellect^niy it intelligit 
 iinipicia, qui est primus actus intellectus. 
 IMiiide post apprehensionem simplicium 
 icqnilnr alius actus, qui est componere sim- 
 ,;piciia.iailinvtcem; et post istam eompoa- 
 .1100011 liahel intellectus, m Iwmim matu- 
 ffvtlt ttt asicntiat illi veritati complexae, si 
 illud complexum sit primum principium. 
 
 * 8ecijni>om ; — Quod notiiia Prmwrum 
 Fmm^pimwm [recto] didiur noidi imtm 
 mtOwnmer, quatenus, «« hmine mUwraU 
 intellectus, sunt nobis inesse nota, habita 
 notitia simplici terminorum, quia " princi- 
 pia cognoscimus inquantum terminos cog- 
 nosclmus,*' (ex primo Posteriorum.)' 
 
 To this schoolamn we owe the first en- 
 mincement of the Principle of Identity. 
 
 Those who are curious in this matter 
 vii ind many acute obserYations on the 
 nature of principles in the other school- 
 ntn} more etpeelally in Averroes on the 
 Analytics and Metaphysics, in Albertus 
 
 • The edition I un, Is ttist^ by the Irish Fran- 
 ciiuani, Ljons, I6sil, of the Opera Omnia of 
 Scotus, IJ toIb. In folio. This is the only edi- 
 tion In which tlie Subtle Doctor can b© conve. 
 
 nlentlj studied. Ills editor and cniuuifntators^ 
 of eoune maintain Mm to hm a countr jnian ; 
 imt the patriotism of Father Maurice (t iii. p. 
 S54,) makes no scmple in holding him out as 
 
 aetoally insf Ired >— * Suiipono, cum Moyso In 
 
 nionte hoc vidit, ant cum Faulo ad tertium 
 a«Blitm. asceiidit., ant oertC' cnm. alio JoaTine su. 
 pra pectus Baj»ictitiae' recmlmit.' 
 
 Magnus on the Fredicmbles and Pr. An- 
 alytics, and in Hales, 3d and 4th books 
 of his Metaphysics. 
 
 23. — BunAxcs. — In Pandectas, Tit. i. 
 — ' Ma igitor fere quae juri naturali ascri- 
 buntur, id est, quae natura docuisse nos cre- 
 ditur, versantur in Sensu Communi,' &c. 
 
 24. — Ldtheb. — Weisheit, Th. iii. Abth. 
 2.^* All things have their root in Belief, 
 which we can neither perceive nor com- 
 prehend. He who would make this Be- 
 lief visible, manifest, and conceivable, has 
 sorrow for his pains.* 
 
 26. — Mblanchthon. — a — De Dialec- 
 tica, ed. Lugd. 1M2, p. 90. — Speaking of 
 the Dicta de Omni et de Nullo— *Nec 
 opus est procul quaerere harum regularum 
 interpretationem; si quis sensum commu- 
 nem consuluerit, statim intelliget eas. 
 Nam ut Arithmetica et aliae artes initia 
 sumunt a setmi crnnmuni, ita Dialecticae 
 principia nobiscura nascuntur.* 
 
 b. — Ibid., p. 103. — Speaking of the pro- 
 cess in the Expository Syllogism, — * Ha- 
 bet causam haeo consequentia in natura 
 positam quandam x^tp^u h»cmB, ut vocant, 
 hoc est, sententiam quam omnis natura 
 docet, de qua satis est senmm communem 
 consulere.' And again — * Est et hujus 
 consequentiae ratio sumpta a cofTttnunt 
 
 c. — Erotemata Dialectica L. iv. in Loco, 
 ab Absurdo, p. 1040, ed. 3, Strigelii, 1579 
 — * Ahturdum in Philosophia vocatur opi- 
 nio pugnans cum Sensu Commimi, id est 
 vel cum principiis naturae notis, vel cum 
 universal! experientia.* Reid (see n. 79 a) 
 says repeatedly the very same. 
 
 d. — Ibid., p. 853. — ' Quare Principia sunt 
 certa? 1. Q,uia notitia prineipiorum est 
 Immn naturmk, insitum humanis mentibus 
 divinitus. II. Quia date opposito sequi- 
 tur destructio naturae.* See also pp. 798, 
 857, and the relative commentary of 
 Strigelius. What Melanchthon states in 
 regard to the cognition of Principles and 
 Light of Nature is borrowed from the 
 schoolmen. See above, Nos. 20, 21, 22. 
 Consult also his treatise De Anima in the 
 chapters De Jntellectu; more especially 
 that entitled— .E«fn« i>«ntm dictumtnotitias 
 aliqtMS nobircum mud? 
 
 26.— Julius Cabsab Scalioer.— De 
 Subtilitate, Exerc. cccvii. § 18.— * Sunt 
 cum anima nostra quaedam cognatae notU 
 iim, quae idcirco mvs dicuntur a Philoso- 
 pho. Nemo enim tam infuns est, quern 
 cognitio lateat pluris et iiaucioris. In- 
 fanti duo poma apponito. Uno recepto, 
 altenim item poscet. Ab his principiis 
 actus Montis, a sensilibus excitatus.* — Such 
 principles, he contends, are innate in the 
 
 § VJ.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 779 
 
 liinnan Intellect, precisely as the instincts 
 of the lower animals are innate in their 
 highest power. They may therefore be 
 denominated Intellectual Instincts. Com- 
 pare §§ 21, 22. 
 
 The doctrine of this acute philosopher 
 was adopted and illustrated, among others, 
 by his two expositors Rodolphus Goclen- 
 ius of Marburg, and Joannes Sperlingius 
 of Wittemberg ; by the former in his Ad- 
 versaria ad Scaligeri Exercitationes, 1594 
 (qq. 41, 51, 60) ; by the latter, not in- 
 deed in his Meditationes ad Scaligeri Ex- 
 ercitationes, but in his Physica Anthro- 
 pologica, 1668 (L. i. c. 3, § 8.) In these 
 the arguments of Gassendi and Locke for 
 the counter opinion, are refuted by anti- 
 cipation ; though, in fact, Locke himsnlf 
 is at last, as we shall see, obliged to ap- 
 peal to Common Sensf, identical with the 
 Intellec'itis, Metis and Lumen Naturale of 
 these and other philosophers. (No. 51.) 
 Otto Casmaun. the disciple of Goclenius, 
 may also be consulted in his Psychologia 
 Anthropologica, 1594. (c. 5, § 5.) 
 
 27. — Omphalius. — Nomologia, f. 72 b. 
 *Non eget his praeceptis [dictis scilicet de 
 omni et de nullo] qui Senium Communem 
 consulit, Natura siquidem plerasque Miuoig 
 ivvoias animis nostris insevit quibus re- 
 rum naturam pervidemus." 
 
 28. — Antonius Goveanus. — Pro Aris- 
 totele Responsio adversus Petri Rami Ca- 
 lumnias. Opera Omnia, ed. Meermanniana, 
 p. 802 a. — *An non ex hominum com- 
 muni sensu desumptae enunciationum re- 
 ciprocationes haevidentur? . . . Sumpta 
 haec, Rame, sunt e communi hominum in- 
 telligentia, cujus cum mater natura sit, 
 quid est, quai so, cur negemus naturae de- 
 creta haec et praecepta esse ? * 
 
 29. — NuNNESius. — De Constitutione 
 Dialecticae, f. 56, b. ed. 1554.—' Sed cum 
 Dialectica contenta sit Stnsu Communi,' 
 Ice. 
 
 30. — MuBETDS. — In Aristotelis Ethiea 
 ad Nicoraachum Commentarius, 1583. 
 Opera Omnia, Ruhnkenii, t. iii. p. 230. 
 
 In proof of the immortality of the soul, 
 in general, and in particular, in disproof 
 of an old and ever-recurring opinion — one, 
 indeed, which agitates, at the present mo- 
 ment, the divines and philosophers of Ger- 
 many — that the intellect in man, as a 
 merely passing manifestation of the uni- 
 versal soul, the Absolute, can pretend to 
 no individual, no personal, existence be- 
 yond the grave ; he adduces the argument 
 drawn from the common sense of mankind, 
 in the following noble, though hitherto un- 
 noticed, passage : — touching the eloquence 
 of which, it should be borne in mind, that 
 
 what is now read as a commentary was 
 originally listened to by a great and min- 
 gled auditory, as improvisations from the 
 mouth of him, for whose equal as a Latin 
 orator we must ascend to Cicero himself. 
 * Neque laborandum est eliamsi haec [nisi] 
 naturali bus argument is probarenequeamus, 
 neque fortassis dissol vere rationes quasdam, 
 quas afforunt ii, qui contrarias opiniones 
 tuentur. Naturalis enim omnium gentium 
 consensus multo plus ponderis apud nos, 
 quam omnia istorum arguraenta, habere 
 debet. Neque qiucquam est aliud gigan- 
 tum more bellare cum diis, quam repug- 
 nare naturae,* et iusitas ab ea in omnium 
 animis opiniones aeutis ac fallaeibus con- 
 clusiunculis velle subvertere. Itaque ut 
 senes illi Trojani, apud Homerum, dice- 
 bant, pulchram quidem esse Uelenam, sed 
 tanien ablegandum ad suos, ne exitio esset 
 civitati; ita nos, si quando afferetur nobis 
 ab istis acutum aliquod argumentum, quo 
 colligatur .... animos interire una cum 
 corporibus, aut si quid supersit, commune 
 quiddam esse, etut unum solem,-j- ita unam 
 esse omnium mentem, , . . respondeamus : 
 — Ingeniosus quidem es, o bono, et erudi- 
 tus, et in disputando potens; sed habe tibi 
 istas praeclaras rationes tuas; ego eas, ne 
 milii exitiosae sint, admittere in animum 
 meum nolo. Accipite, enim, gravissimi 
 viri, . . . studiosissimi adolescentes, . . . 
 praeclaram, et immortali memoria dignam, 
 summi philosophi Aristotelis sententiam, 
 quam in omnibus hujus generis disputa- 
 tionibus tencatis, quam sequamini, ad quam 
 sensus cogitationesque vestras perpetuo 
 dirigatis. Ex illius enim divini hominis 
 pectore, tanquam ex augustissimo quodam 
 sapientiae sacrario, haec prodierunt, quae 
 primo Ethicorum ad Eudemum le^^untur — 
 Jl^ooi%uu ov Osi Treitn-ec rot; B/a ruu ^o- 
 yuu, fliXXflf TcoKhecKtg ftxKhov rotg (pecfuofA- 
 iuQts. Convertani haec in Latinum ser- 
 monem, utinamque posscm in omnes om- 
 nium populorum linguas convertere, atque 
 in omnium hominum animis, ita ut nun- 
 
 • Cic. De Sen. c. 2. Quid enim est aliud 
 gigantum more bellare cum diis^ nisi naturae 
 repugnare? 
 
 f Had Murctus tlie following passage of Bes- 
 garion in bis eye? — ' Intellectum de/iHts adven. 
 ire, [Aristotle's dictum,] Theophrastus, Alex- 
 ander, Theniistius, Averroes, ita accipiunt, ut 
 jam quisque ortus, illico iutcllcctus sibi appll. 
 catam excipiat portionem, ita extinctus rcliu- 
 quat in commune ; non aJitcr, ac si quis Sole, 
 nascetis, partidpare dicatur, morien^, privari; et 
 non esse animam particularem, quae deforis 
 advenit, sed ex communi acceptam applica- 
 tionem.' In Calumn. Plat L. iii. c. 27. — The 
 simile of the smi is however to be fonnd in Pl» 
 tinus, and — I think — in Theniistius. 
 
fm 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [hots a. 
 
 qama Mermtm, iii»cii!|wre:— JVim i«iii- 
 mr, mqu9 mmikmi in rtbm, mamtimdum 
 fit tttgtfM rationibm et arpmmtitpro^ 
 hmim' ; immo potim m pkrumqm tenmda, 
 qum cmnmuni kominitm umientia compro^ 
 Ibmitmr* Quid enim est trnii falsuiBi 
 tainiiie abliorreiis a vero, ut non ad id 
 
 Ctmndum ah ingeniosis et exercitatis 
 ainibas argumenta excogitari qiieant? 
 . , . Vidistisne iinqaam in tenebrosa nocte 
 aecMHUi aliquain faoem e longinquo loco 
 mleaBtem? Illam, igltnr, quamvis dlssi- 
 tam, Tidebatis; neque tamen quicquam, in 
 illo longo, interjeclo inter oculum vestrum 
 et facem, densis obsito tenebris sjiatio, vi- 
 dere p<ite»ti». I'^^™ putatote animis ac- 
 aidere. Saepe animus noster verttatem 
 alccyufl eminciationis tanquam eminus fnl- 
 gentem ao coUuoentem ndet, etiamsi 
 propter illam, qua circumfnsus e»t, calig- 
 inein, videre ea quae intermedia sunt, et 
 per quae ad earn pervenitur, non potest. 
 . . . Si iter aliquod ingressurus, duas li- 
 deres vias, quae eodem ferrent ; unam ex- 
 peditam, planam, tutam, et eo quo consti- 
 tnisses, sine uUa emtione, ducentem; al- 
 ler^am tortttosam, «peram, periculosam, et 
 tjpmm qiil seqierentur, propter vartos et 
 multiplices anfractus, saepe aberrarent ;— 
 dubitares utram potius eligeres ! Duae 
 sunt viae qnibus homines ad aliquam cog- 
 nitiomem Dei et animi sui pervenire pohse 
 m piitamt. Ant enim eo contendunt di«- 
 pntando, et cur quicquam ita sit subtiliter 
 inquirendo; autsine dubitatione nllaassen- 
 liendo iia» quae iiii||0res lummo consensu, 
 'piilm naturali Imnlne eognita, partim 
 ilflnitus inspirata, Iradiderunt. Illam qui 
 aecuti sunt, omnibus saecuMs in multiplices 
 •rrores inciderunt. At haec illorum sig- 
 nata est vestigtis, quos in coelum sublatos 
 ▼eneramur et colimus.** 
 31.— GiPHANHJS.—Commentarii in li- 
 
 • Of none of tlie great scbolars of the I6tli 
 
 eentiirj— the second golden afe of Latin letters 
 
 —have the vorfcs been so freqnentlf repnhlsh. 
 cd, so learnwlly annotated, so industriously «ol- 
 lected, as those of the pattern critic, the incom- 
 pamble Mu-etus. There however ttfH remains 
 a considerable f leaning. I have niyiielf taken 
 'note: of Mm© twenty scattered criMwdola, in prose 
 ■nd venejln Oreelc, Latin, and French, wliich, if 
 ilit'ewselteiledilion (Moeienft, oven, after that 
 of Buhnkenlsi) of the egum mnOm, by .Prwfcs. 
 ■or Frotacher of Lcipsic, now unfortunately 
 Interruptod, bo not finallf abandoned, I should 
 'llHTO great pleasure In comntnnicatin; to the 
 litmed ©diUtr.— How is it, that whilst Italy, 
 Germany, and Holland have, for ceBtariea, been 
 emulattai 'each othW' In pi^rNl iMWHff e to the 
 goaias of Mvciiifi France 'has done abiolntaly 
 wMdag tO' testily her admiration of so Ulus. 
 trioai a ion?' 
 
 bros Ethiconim ad Nicomachum, L. x. 
 c. 2. — ' Quod omnibus videtur, id (inqoit 
 Aristoteles) ease dicimus. Nam communii 
 hominum smms et judicium est tanquam 
 lex naturae,* See n. 3. f. 
 
 B2.— Mariana. De Rege et Regis in- 
 stitutione, L. i. c. 6. * Et est communis 
 mnsm quasi quaedam naturae vox [lex ?] 
 mentibus nostris indita, auribus insonans 
 lex, [vox ?] qua a turpi honestum secer- 
 nimus.' 
 
 33.— Sir Johk Davib«. Of the Im. 
 mortality of the Soul, 1 ed. 1599, pp. 63, 
 97. 
 ' If then all souls, both good and bad, do teach, 
 
 With general voice, that souls can never diej 
 
 'Tis not man's flattering gloss, but nature's 
 speech, 
 
 Which, like God's oracle, can never He.' 
 ' • • • • • 
 
 ' But how can that be false, which every tonguo 
 Of every mortal man affirms for true? 
 Which truth has in all agea stood so strong, 
 That, loadstone-like, all hearts it ever drew. 
 
 fCr not the Christian or the Jew alone, 
 The Persian or the Turk, acknowledge thisj 
 This mystery to the wild Indian known, 
 And to the Cannibal and Tartar is.' 
 
 These latter stanias were probably sug- 
 gested by a passage in the first Disserta- 
 tion of Maximus Tyrius. Tins 'learned 
 poet' requires, and eminently deserves, a 
 commentary. 
 
 34.— Kecrbrmannus, (Systeraa Logi- 
 cum, L. Hi. c. 13.) treating of Necessary 
 Testimony : — ' Testimonium necessarium 
 est vel Dei vel Sensuum.' Having spoken of 
 the former, he proceeds : ' Restat testimo- 
 ni um sensuum, quod suus cuique sensus dictat. 
 Estque vel ftrfenmtro vel tnf<rrn«m. Internum 
 est, quod leges naturae, tam theoreticae 
 quam practiem dictant ; itemque conscien- 
 tia. Externum est, quod sensus externi, 
 utvisus, auditus, &c., recte dispositi, adeo- 
 que ipsa sensualis oteervatio, et experien- 
 tia comprobat.' In illustration of the tes- 
 timony of Internal Sense, Conscientia, he 
 says: * Magna est vis testimonii Conscien- 
 tiae In utramque partem; et sicut leges 
 seu principia naturae duplicia sunt — theo- 
 retiea, ut. Mum est major sua parte — et 
 practica, ut, quod Hbifi'rt non vis, altering 
 feeeris : ita duplex est Conscientia, tfieo- 
 retica nimirum ct practica, per quam con- 
 clusiones theoreticae et practicae firmiter 
 nobis probantur.' 
 
 The employment hero of Conscientia, for 
 the noetic faculty or faculty of principles, 
 is (if we except the single precedent of 
 Tertullian) unexampled, as far as I have 
 observed, previous to the extension given 
 to the word by Descartes. The internal 
 and extermd seme of Keckermann are, 
 
 § vi-J 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 781 
 
 taken together, nearly equivalent to the 
 expression cominon sense, in the meaning- 
 under consideration ; an expression, it may 
 be added, which this author had himself, 
 in the same work, previously employed. 
 (L. i. c. 5.) 
 
 35. — Lonn Herbert of Cherbury 
 
 In 1624, at Paris and liondon, was first 
 published his work * De Veritate ;' and to 
 the third edition, London, 1645, was an- 
 nexed his correlative treatise * De Causis 
 Errorum.' These works, especially the 
 former, contain a more formal and articu- 
 late enounccment of the doctrine of com- 
 mon sense, than had ( I might almost say 
 than has) hitherto appeared. It is truly 
 marvellous, that the speculations of so able 
 and original a thinker, and otherwise of 
 so remarkable a man, should have escaped 
 the observation of those, who, subsequent- 
 ly, in Great Britain, philosophized in a 
 congenial spirit ; yet he is noticed by Locke, 
 and carefully criticised by Gassendi. The 
 following is an abstract of his doctrine — 
 strictly in reference to our present sub- 
 ject. The edition I use is the third, that 
 of 1645. 
 
 Lord Herbert makes a fourfold distribu- 
 tion of the human faculties ; — into Natu- 
 ral Instinct — Internal Sense — External 
 Sense — and the Discursive faculty, (Dis- 
 cursus) p. 37. These names he employs 
 in significations often peculiar to himself. 
 Each of these powers is the guarantee of 
 m. certain class of truths ; and there is g^ven 
 no truth, which is not made known to us 
 through one or other of these attesting 
 faculties. Let us not, therefore, be wise 
 beyond our powers. (Ne sapiamus ultra 
 facultates.) 
 
 But of these there is one whose truths 
 are of a relatively higher order, as com- 
 manding universal assent, and therefore of 
 iidubitable certainty. This faculty, which 
 he calls Natural Instinct, (Instinct us Na- 
 turalis,) might with more discriminative 
 propriety have been styled Intdlectual In- 
 stinct ; and it corresponds, as is manifest, 
 with the NoDf of Aristotle, the Intelligen- 
 lia of the schoolmen, and the Common 
 Sense of philosophers in general. Natural 
 Instinct may be considered, either as a fa- 
 culty, or as the manifestation of a faculty. 
 In the former signification. Instinct or the 
 Noetic faculty is the proximate instrument 
 of the universal intelligence of God ; in 
 lact, a certain portion thereof ingrafted 
 on the mind of man. In the latter signi- 
 fication. Natural Instincts are those Catho- 
 lic Cognitions or Common Notions, {Koivoti 
 iitvoteu, notitiae communes,) which exist in 
 every human being of sound and entire 
 
 mind ; and with which we are naturally or 
 divinely furnished, to the end that we may 
 truly decide touching the objects with 
 which we are conversant during the pre- 
 sent life, (pp. 27, 29, 44.) These Instincts 
 or Common Notions, he denominates also 
 Primary Truths — Com^non Principles — 
 Received Principles cff Demonstration — 
 Sacred Principles against ivhich it is unlaw- 
 ful to contend, &c. These are so far from 
 being mere products of experience and 
 observation, that, without some of them, 
 no experience or observation is possible, 
 (pp. 28, 48, 54.) But, unless excited by 
 an object, they remain silent ; have then 
 a virtual, not an actual, existence, (pp. 39, 
 42.) The comparison of the mind to a 
 tabula rasa or blank book, on which ob- 
 jects inscribe themselves, must be rejected; 
 but it may be resembled to a closed hook, 
 only opene.d on the presentation of objects, 
 (p. 54.) The sole criterion by which we 
 can discriminate principles, natural or di- 
 vine, is univer.al agreement; tliough, at 
 the same time, the higher aiul more neces- 
 sary the truth, the more liable is it to be 
 alloyed with error, (p. 52.) Our Natural 
 Instincts operate irrationally ; that is, they 
 operate without reasoning or discursion ; 
 and Reason, (Ratio,) which is the deduc- 
 tion of these common notions to their lower 
 and lowest applications, has no other ap- 
 peal, in the last resort, except to them, 
 (p. 42.) 
 
 The primary truths, or truths of In- 
 stinct, are discriminated from secondary 
 truths, (those, to wit, which are not ob- 
 tained without the intervention of the Dis- 
 cursive faculty,) by six characters. 
 
 10. By their Priority. For Natural In- 
 stinct is the first, Discursion the last, of our 
 faculties. 
 
 2". By their Independence. For if a 
 truth depend upon a common notion, it is 
 only secondary ; whereas a truth is pri- 
 mary, which itself hanging upon no supe- 
 rior truth, affords dependence to a chain 
 of subordinate propositions. 
 
 3<\ By their Universality. Universal 
 consent is indeed the most unequivocal cri- 
 terion of an instinctive truth. The Par- 
 ticular is always to be suspected as false, 
 or, at least, as partially erroneous ; where- 
 as Common Notions, drawn as it were 
 from the very wisdom of nature, are, in 
 themselves, universal, howbeit, in reason- 
 ing, they may be brought down and ap- 
 plied to particulars. 
 
 4o. By their Certainty. For such is 
 their authority, that he who should call 
 them into doubt, would disturb the whole 
 constitution of things, and, in a certain 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [SfOTI 4. 
 
 wrt| deirade Imnself of hia liiiiiiaiiitj. It 
 IB, therefore, unlawful to dii}|>ate against 
 lliese priiici|il«a, whicli, if clearly under- 
 .ttood, amnot |M>9ail>lj be gat:iisaid. (Com- 
 'IMure 'Mo. 25, d.) 
 
 60, By their Meemsit^. For there is 
 none which does not conduce to the cori- 
 wrvation of man. 
 
 60. By the Maiiwr 0/ tk$ir Formaltm. 
 mr Mamfesiation, For they are elicited, 
 instantaueou'sly and without hesitation, so 
 soon as we apprehend the significance of 
 the relative objects or words. The dis- 
 eaniive understanding, on the other hand, 
 it IB its operations slow and vacillating — 
 advancing only to recede — exposed to in- 
 numerable errors — in frequent confliction 
 with sense— attributing to one faculty what 
 it of the profince of n not her, and not ob- 
 wrrlng that each has its legitimate boun- 
 daries, transcending which, its deliverances 
 are incompetent or null, (pp. 60, 61.) * 
 
 86. — JoAMKEs Cambko», thc celcbratcd 
 theologian.— Be Ecclesia iv., Op. ed. 1642, 
 p. . ' Smmm. C&mmmm mu Eatio,' Stc. 
 
 37. — DtsoARTB* proelaims as the lead- 
 ing maxim of philosophy a principle which 
 it would have been well for his own doc- 
 trin© had he always faithfully applied, (v. 
 f, 740 a.) ' Certum autem eat, nihil nos 
 '-pnfiiKin falinm pro vero admissuros, si 
 Imtam is assensum praebeamus quae clare 
 •t M»iinet€ perci piemus. Certum, inquam, 
 quia am Dms nmi ntfaiiax,/aadtmper^ 
 .pjite'Kdfi,: f tidift mtidM cfeils't [am Lumeti 
 J¥«liira«], ntm po'eM tmtters mfndrnm^ 
 lit oeque etiam facultas assentiendi, com 
 taiitum ad ea, quae ckre perci piuntur, se 
 exlendit. Et quamvis hoc nulla ratione 
 ivobaretur, ita omaimii animis a natura 
 fropressum est, ut quoties a liquid dare 
 percipimus, ei sponte assentiamur, et nuUo 
 a^odo possimus dubitare quin sit verum.* 
 Prior, i. §43, with §§30. 45— De Meth. 
 f 4 — died. iii. and iv. — Eesp. ad Ohj. ii. 
 passun. What Bescartes, after the school- 
 men, calls the ' Light of Hature* is only an- 
 other term for Common Sense (see Nos. W, 
 21,22,25) : and Common Sense isthe name 
 which Bescartes* illustrio»k disciple, ¥m^ 
 
 *' I 'waf •urpri.aed. to^ iadan eloquent and very 
 last appwdstlon «r HerlMrt (for lie It Is wiis li 
 rrferred to,) by a learned and ortlindox tb«ol#. 
 ,gian of C«mM*ll«-~-Kathaaiel Cntvarwell, in 
 Iii ' Discourse of tlie Uf hi of Ifatare,' written 
 fa 1646, p. 93. Culverwell docs not deserve the 
 ohllvioii into wbich be has fallen ; for he Is a 
 ceaiiMer worthy of More, Spencer, Smith, Cud- 
 wortii, and Taylor— the IIIUBtrions and conge, 
 iikl band by which that anlversity was illuBtra. 
 tud, duiing tha .latter' half of tiM' ■afantaenth 
 camtury. 
 
 Ion, subsequently gave it. See No. 60. 
 There are some good observations on Des- 
 cartes'Xi^/*« of Nature, Sic. in Gravii Speci- 
 mina Philosophise Veteris, L. ii. c. 16; 
 and in Regis, Metaphysiquo, L. i. P. i. 
 ch. 12, who identifies it with consciousness. 
 
 That Bescartes did not hold the crude 
 and very erroneous doctrine of innate 
 ideas which Ijocke took the trouble to 
 refute, I may have another opportunity 
 of more fully showing. * Nunquam scrips! 
 vel judicavi (he says) mentem indigere 
 ideis innatis, quae sint aliquid dtversum 
 ub ejus facidtate co«7ften</i.* Notae in 
 Prograrama (Regii) § 12. — Compare § 13 
 with Respondones et Objectioncs iii. rr. 6, 
 10. By innate ideas in general, Bescartes 
 means simply the innate faculty we pos- 
 sess of forming or eliciting certain mani- 
 festations in consciousness (whether of 
 necessary or contingent truths) on occa- 
 sion of, but wholly diflPerent from, both the 
 qualities of the /eality affecting, and the 
 movements of the organism affected ; these 
 manifestations or ideas being nothing else 
 than states of the conscious substance it- 
 self. On tb» ground he occasionally call, 
 the seeomtary qualities innate ; in so far as 
 they are, actually, mere modes of mind, 
 and, potentially, subjective predispositions 
 to being thus or thus modified. 
 
 His doctrine in regard to principles, 
 when fully considered, seems identical with 
 that of Aristotle, as adopted and expound- 
 ed by the .whoolmon ; and I have no doubt 
 that had he and Locke expressed them. 
 Sf'lves with the clearness and precision of 
 Scotus. their opinions on this subject 
 would have been found coincident both 
 with each other and with the truth. 
 
 38. — Sir Thomas Beown (ReHgio 
 Medici, First Part, sect. 36.) has ' Common 
 JSenm/ word and thing. 
 
 30 — Baleac in Le Barbon, (Sallengre 
 Histoire de Pierre de Montmaur, t. ii. p. 88, 
 and CEIuvres de Balzac,) ' Sens Commun,' 
 word and thing. 
 
 40. — Chawet, (Traits de I'Espnt, p. 16) 
 notices that the term Common S^me had 
 in French a meaning different from its 
 Scholastic or Aristotelic signification, 
 • being equivalent to common or xmiversal 
 rmmn, and by some denominated naturai 
 
 41.— P. Irbhaeus a Sawcto Jacobo, a 
 Thomist philosopher, and Professor of 
 Theology at Rennes. — Integra Philosophia, 
 1655 ; Logica c. iv. sectio 4. § 2. — In re- 
 ference to the question, * Quid sit habitus 
 ille prtiraomtn principiorum ? ' he says — 
 'Probabilior apparet sententia dicentium 
 habituiB priMvum principiorum esse lu» 
 
 § VI .] 
 
 OF COMMON SKNSE. 
 
 783 
 
 men naturajUi seu naturaliter inditum (in- 
 tellectus sc.) . . . Favet communis om- 
 nium S'msus, qui diffiteri nequit aliqua esse 
 naturaliter et seipsis cognoscibilia ; ergo 
 principium talis cognitionis debet censeri 
 signatum supor nos naturae lumen.' 
 
 42. — liESCALOPiER. — Humanitas Theo- 
 logicu, &c. L. i. p. 87. — * Quid gravius in 
 sentiendo, quod sequamur, habere possu- 
 mus, quam constans naturae judicium, 
 aetatum omnium cana sapientia et per- 
 petuo suffra^io confirinatum ? Possunt 
 errare siuguli ; labi possunt viri sapientes 
 sibi suoque arbitrio permissi; at totam 
 hominis naturam tanta erroris contagio 
 invadere non potest. . . . Quod in com- 
 munibus hominum sensibus positum, id 
 quoque in ipsa natura situm atque fixura 
 esse, vel ipse Orator coram judice nou dif- 
 fitetur. [Pro Cluentio, c. 6.] Itaquo com- 
 munis lUe sensttSf naturae certissima vox 
 est ; immo, * vox Populi,* ut trito fertur 
 adagio, * vox Bei.* 
 
 43. — Pascal. — Pensees ; editions of 
 Bossut and Renouard. 
 
 a. — Partie i. art. x. § 4. (ch. 31 old edi- 
 tions,) * Tout notre raisonneraent se reduit 
 ac^der au Sentiment.* This feeling he, be- 
 fore and after, calls ' Sens Commun.* Art. 
 ▼i. § 17, (ch. 25) — art. xi. § 2, (wanting 
 in old eflitions.) 
 
 b.*-Partie ii. art. i. § 1 (ch 21.) Speak- 
 ing the doctrine of the Sceptics — * Nous n' 
 avons aucun certitude de la verite des 
 principes (hora la foi et la revelation) 
 sinon en ce que nous les senfons naturelfe- 
 ment en nous.* .... And liaving stated 
 their principal arguments why this is not 
 conclusive, he takes up the doctrine of the 
 Bograatists. 
 
 'L* unique fort des Bogmatistes, c'est 
 qn* en parlant de bonne foi et sinccrement, 
 on ne peut douter des principes naturels. 
 Nous connoissons, disent-ils, la veritu, non 
 seulement par raisonnement, mais aussipar 
 ientiment, et par une intelligence viue et lu- 
 mineuse; et c'est de cette derniere sorte 
 que nous connoissons les premiers prin- 
 cipes. C'i'st en vain que le raisonneraent, 
 qui n'y a point de part, essaie de les com- 
 battre. Les Pyrrhoniens, qui n*ont que 
 cela pour objet, y travaillent inutilement. 
 Nous Savons que nous ne r^vons point, 
 quelque impuissance ou nous soyons de le 
 prouver par raison [which he uses con- 
 vertibly vrith raisonnement.'] Cette im- 
 puissance ne conclut autre chose que la 
 foiblesse de notre raison, mais non pas 
 I'incertitude de toutes nos connoissances, 
 comme ils le pretendent : car la connois- 
 sance des premiers principes, comme, par 
 exemple, qa' il y a espace, temps, mouve- 
 
 ment, nomhre, matt ere, est aussi ferme 
 qu' aucune de celles que nos raisonnements 
 nous donnent. Et cest sur ces connois- 
 sances dHnteHigence et de sentim nt qu' il 
 faut que la raison s'appuie, et qu' elle 
 fonde tout son discours. Jo s^ats qu" il y a 
 trois dimensions dans Tespace, et que les 
 nombres sent infinis ; et la raison demon- 
 tre ensuite qu' il n'y a point deux nombres 
 carres dent I'un soit double de 1' autre. 
 Les principes se sentent; les proposi- 
 tions se coneluent ; le tout avec certitude, 
 quoique par differontes voies. Et il est aussi 
 ridicule que la raison demande au senti' 
 ment et a V intelligence des preuves de ces 
 premiers principes pour y consentir, qu' il 
 seroit ridicule que intelligence domandat 
 a la raison un sentiment de toutes les pro- 
 positions qu' elle demontre. Cette im- 
 puissance ne peut done servir qu' a humi- 
 lier la raison qui voudroit juger de tout, 
 mais non pas a combattre notre certitude, 
 comme s' il ,n' y avoit que la raison cap- 
 able de nous instruire. Flut a Bieu que 
 nous n* en eussions au contraire jamais 
 besoin, et que nous connussions toutes 
 choses par instinct et par sentiment ! Mais 
 la nature nous a refuse ce bien et elle ne 
 nous a donne que tres pen de connoissances 
 de cette sorte ; toutes les autres ne pen- 
 vent etre acquises que par le raisonne- 
 ment.' . 
 
 * Qui demelcra cet embrouillement ? 
 La nature confond les Pvrrhoniens, et la 
 raison confond les Bograatihtes. Que de- 
 viendrez vousdonc, ohonime, qui cherchez 
 votre veritable condition par votre niison 
 naturelle ? Vous ne pouvez fuir une de 
 ces sectes, ni subsist or dans aucune. 
 Voila ce qu' est rhomme a Tegard de la 
 verite.* 
 
 44. — La Chambre. — Systcraede I'Ame, 
 L. ii. c. 3. — 'Sens Commun' word and 
 thing. 
 
 45. — Henet More. — Confutatio Cab-' 
 balae ; Opera Omnia, p. 528. * Hoc Ex- 
 ternus Sensus, corporeave Imaginatio non 
 dictat, sed Sensus Intellectualis, innataque 
 ipdus mentis sagacitaSf inter cujus no- 
 tiones communes seu axiomata, noematice 
 vel immediate vera, supra numeratum 
 est.' — Compare Epistola H. Mori, ad. V. 
 C. § 17, Opera, p. 117, and Enchiridion 
 Ethicum, L. i. cc. 4, 5. 
 
 46. — Rapin. — Comparaison de Platon 
 et d' Aristote, ch. vii. § 11. — * Cecousente- 
 ment general de tons les peuples, est un 
 instinct de la nature qui ne peut estre 
 faux, estant si universel.' 
 
 47. — BuHAMEi..— Philosophia Burgun- 
 diae, t. i. Bisp. ii. in Catcg. qu. 4, art. 2. 
 * Communis Sensus,* name and thing. 
 
714 
 
 ON THE PBILOSOPEY 
 
 [K(*TE^ 
 
 48w — Ma,lib»aiichb.— E^cherclie lie la 
 Vttlt*— Entretiens sur la Metaphysique 
 — Trtite ie Blorale, &c. passim. 
 
 He lioMs, I**, that there is a supreme 
 ■iisoliile essential Reason or Intelligencei 
 an eternal liRlit illuminating all other 
 niml!, containing in itself and revealing to 
 them the necessary principles of science 
 and of duty ; and immifeitinf also to us 
 the contingent extsteice of an external, 
 extended universe. This Intelligence is 
 the Deity ; these revelations, these mani- 
 festations, are Ideas. He holds, 2*>, that 
 tliere is a natural Reason common to all 
 nien — an eye, as It were, fitted to receive 
 the light, and to attend to the ideas in the 
 supreme Intelligence ; in so fcr therefore 
 an infallible and * Commm &««.* But, 
 3®, at the same time, this Reason is ob- 
 noxious to the intrusions, deceptions, and 
 sohcitations of the senses, the imagination, 
 and the passions ; and, in so far, is per- 
 sonal, fallible, and factitious. He opposes 
 nlp'Ctiv© knowledge, *par idl;e, to sub- 
 jective linowledge, *par conscience/ or 
 ♦lentiment interieur.* To the latter be- 
 iMg all the Beliefs; which, when neces- 
 iiry, as determined by Ideas in the Su- 
 pmal Beason, are always veracious.— It 
 eould, however, easily be shown that, in so 
 far as regards the representative percep- 
 tion of the external world, his principles 
 would refute his theory.— A similar doc- 
 trine in regard to the infallibiBty and di- 
 vinity of our Intelligence or Common 
 .Sense was held by Bossnet. 
 
 49.— PoiBK-r.— The objects of our cog- 
 nitions are either things themselves — r«- 
 aliiiss; or the representations of realities, 
 their shadows, pictures,— I'Ao*. Realities 
 are divided into two classes; curpwml 
 tilings, and Mpiritual things. Each of 
 these species of object has an appropriate 
 faculty by which it is cognised. 1®, Cor- 
 poreal realities are perceived by the mi- 
 mtd or umuml Inlrlfoc*— in a word by 
 Senm; this is merely passive. 2**, Spi- 
 ritual realities — original truths — are per- 
 ceived by the passive or napUm Intellect 
 vhieh 'mav be called /ii««l%««; it is the 
 ■cBse of tbe supersensible. [This corre- 
 ■ponds not to the passive intellect of Aris- 
 totle, but to his intellect considered as the 
 place of principles and to Common Sense j 
 it edneides ahm with the Vernunft of Ja- 
 eobiand other German phil080|»her8, but is 
 more correctly named.]— These two facul- 
 ties of apprehension are veracious, as God 
 Is veracious. S*', The faculty of calling 
 up and complicating Ideas i» the ociiiw— 
 ^«ImiI— fijIflefiM JmtMmit or knmm Mmmm. 
 ■ , 'iiiilto''tlie active or efficient. 
 
 but to the discurs've or dianoetie, Intellect 
 of Aristotle and the older philosophers in 
 general, also to the Verstand of Kant, 
 Jacobi, and the recent philosophers of 
 Germany, but is more properly denomi- 
 nated.! (De Eruditione Solida, &c. ed. 2. 
 Meth.'P. i. § 43-60, and Lib. i. §4-7, 
 and Lib. ii. § 3-8, and Def. p. 468 sq.— 
 Cogitationes Rationales, &c. ed. 2. disc. pr. 
 § 45. L. ii. c. 4. § 2 — Fides et Ratio, &c, 
 p, 28 sq. p. 81. sq. p. 131 sq.— Defensio 
 Methodi. &c. Op. post. p. 113 sq.— (Eco- 
 nomia Divina, L. iv. c. 20-25.— Vera et 
 Cognita, passim.)—* Innate principles' he 
 inditferently denominates * Instincts.* (Fi- 
 des et Ratio, Pr. pp. 13, 45— Def. Meth. 
 Op. post. pp. 131. 133, 136, 172.— Vindi. 
 ciae, ibid. p. 602.) 
 
 This profound but mystical thinker has 
 not yet obtained the consideration he de- 
 serves from philosophers and historians of 
 philosophy; — why, is sufficiently apparent, 
 
 fiO.^BosscET (Euvres inedites, Lo- 
 
 gique, L. iii. c. 22— *X« Sentiment de 
 gtnre humain est considers comme la voix 
 de toute la nature, et par consequent^ en 
 quelque fa^on, comme celle de Dieu. C'est 
 pourquoi la preuve est invincible.' — Alibi. 
 51. — Locke. — Essay, B. i. c. 3. § 4. * He 
 would be thought void of common senm, 
 who asked, on the one side, or on the 
 other, went to give, a reason, why it is im- 
 possible for the same thing to be or [and] 
 not to be.' In other words — Common 
 Sense or intellect, as the source, is the 
 guarantee, of the principle of contradic- 
 tion. — There is here a confession, the im- 
 portance of which has been observed nei- 
 ther by Locke nor his antagonists. Had 
 Locke, not relying exclusively on Gas- 
 sendi, prt-parcd' himself by a study of the 
 question concerning the origin of our 
 knowledge in the writings of previous phi- 
 losiiphers, more especially of Aristotle, his 
 Gretk commentators, and the Schoolmen 
 (see Nos. 3, 10, 20, 21, 22, 25, 26, fcc.) ; 
 and had he not been led astray in the pur- 
 suit of an ignis fatuus, in his refutation, I 
 mean, of the Cartesian theory of Innate 
 Ideas, which, certainly, as impugned by 
 him, neither Descartes, nor the represen- 
 tatives of his school, ever dreamt of hold- 
 ing ; he would have seen, that in thus ap- 
 pealing to common sense or intellect, he 
 was, in fact, surrendering his thesis — that 
 all our knowledge is an educt from expe- 
 rience. For in admitting, as he here virtu- 
 ally does, that experience must ultimattly 
 ground its procedure on the laws of intel- 
 lect, he admits that intellect contains prin- 
 ciples of judgment, on which experience 
 being dependent, cannot possibly be their 
 
 §vi-] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSL. 
 
 785 
 
 precursor or their cause. Compare Locke's 
 language with that of the intellectuaiist. 
 Price, as given in No. 78. They are, in 
 substance, identical. — What Locke here 
 calls Common Sense, he elsewhere by ano- 
 ther ordinary synonyme denominates In- 
 inition (B. iv. c. 2. § 1, c. 3. § 8 et a- 
 libi) : also S''l/-evid€nc- (B.iv. c. 7. § 1. sq. ) 
 As I have already observed, had Descariis 
 and Locke expressed themselves on the 
 subject of innate ideas and principles with 
 due precision, the latter would not so have 
 misunderstood the former, and both would 
 have been i'umul in harmony with each 
 other and with the truth. 
 
 52. — BnNTi-ET. — Quoted by Reid, I. P. 
 p. 423 a. * Common Sense,' word and thing. 
 
 53- — Serjkant, Locke's earliest anta- 
 gonist. — Solid Philosophy Asserted, p. 
 206. — * These ideas of Act and Power are 
 so natural that common sense forces us lu 
 acknowledge them.' &c. So alibi. 
 
 53.* — Abercrombt. — Fur Academi- 
 cus, Secit. 2, 30. — * Communis hominum 
 S^nsvs,* — name and thing. 
 
 54. — Leibnitz. — This great philo- 
 sopher held a doctrine, on the point in 
 question, substantially corresponding to 
 that of Aristotle, the Schoolmen, and Des- 
 cartes. It is most fully evolved in his 
 posthumous work the Nouveaux Essais; 
 which I refer to in the original edi- 
 tion by Raspe— Leibnitz admitted innate 
 truths, which he explains to be cognitions 
 not actually, but only virtually, existent 
 in the mind, anterior to experience ; by 
 which they are occasioned, excited, re- 
 gistered, exemphtied, and manifested, but 
 not properly caused or contributed, or their 
 infallibility and eternal certainty demon- 
 strated, (pp. 5, 6, 37.) For, as necessary to 
 bethought, and thereforeabsolutely univer- 
 sal, they cannot be the product of sense, ex- 
 perience, induction ; these at best being 
 only competent to establish the relatively 
 general, (pp. 5, sq. 36, 116.) Seealso Opera 
 by Dutens, t. v. p. 358 and t. vi. p. 274; 
 These truths are consequently given * as 
 natural habitudes, that is, dispositions, ap- 
 titudes, preformations, active and pas- 
 sive, which render the intellect more than 
 a mere tabula rasa,' (p. 62.) Truths thus 
 innate are manifested in two forms; either 
 as Instincts, or as the Light of Nature, (p. 
 48.) But both become known to us as 
 facts of consciousness, that is, in an im- 
 mediate, internal experience ; and if this 
 experience deceive us, we can have no as- 
 surance of any truth, be it one of fact, or 
 be it one of reason, (p. 197.) — Leibnitz's 
 Natural Lght and Instinct ai'e, together, 
 equivalent to Common Senm. 
 
 55. — ToLAND. — Christianity not Mys- 
 terious, Sect. i. ch. i. p 9. ' Common 
 <Sc'»5<?, or Reason in general.' See Leibnitz 
 (Opera, t.v. p. 143.) This testimony be- 
 longs perhaps rather to the third signi- 
 lication of the term. 
 
 56. — Christian TnosiAsinsgave *Fun- 
 damenta Juris Naturae et Gentium ex Soisa 
 Communi deduila f and in liis introduc- 
 tory chapter, § 26, he says — ' Kogo ut 
 considorent, quod ubique milii posuerim 
 sequi sensiim curnuiunem, atijue non slabi- 
 lire intenderim .sentrntias, qiiuo multis 
 subtilibus abstractionibu^ opus haberit, sed 
 quarum veritatem quilibet, bi inodo paulu- 
 lum attentior esse velit, intra se sentii* 
 CoMii)i.i-e also his Philosophia Aulica. c. 
 V. §§ 26, 35. 
 
 57. — RiDiGER, in 1700 published his 
 work ^ De Sensu Veri et Falsi,' By this 
 he docs not, however, designate the Com- 
 mon Sense of mankind as a natural prin- 
 eipk^, but the dexterity, *qua quid in una- 
 quaque re sit verum, falsumve, sentire 
 quoamus. ' 
 
 58. — Feuerlin. — De gcnuina ratione 
 probandi a consensu gentium existeutiam 
 Dei. — ' Haoc est praecipui argumenti 
 facies : — Ad cujuscunquo rei existeutiam 
 agnoscendam meiites hunianae, [ab m- 
 stinctu naturali, to wit, as he frequently 
 states] peculiarem habent inclinationem, 
 ea vere existit,' &c. p. 28. 
 
 59 — A. TuKRETiNL's. — Cogitationcs et 
 Disputationes Theologiiac, Vol. i. p, 43, 
 sq. 
 
 ' De Sensu Communi. 
 
 § XV. Religio sensmn communem sup- 
 ponit ; ncc enim truncos, aut bruta, aut 
 ebrios, aut mente captos, sed homines sui 
 compotes, alloquitur. 
 
 § xvi. In artibus omnibus atque disci- 
 plinis, non modo licet, sed et neccsse est 
 adhibere senswn communem. Quis capiat 
 cam solam artem, cam solam disciplinam, 
 quae omnium praestantissiraa est, sensus 
 communis usum adimere ? 
 
 § xvii. Nisi supponatur sensus com- 
 munis, nulla fides, nulla religio, consistere 
 potest : Etenim, quo organo res sacras 
 jjercipimus, verasque a falsis, aequas ab 
 iniquis, utiles a noxiis, dignoscimus, nisi 
 ope sensus communis t 
 
 § xviii. Quomodo gentes notitiara Dei 
 habuerunt, nisi ope sensus communis ? — 
 Quid est * Lex in cordibus scripta,' de 
 qua Paulus (Rom. ii.), nisi ipseraet snsus 
 communis, quateuus de moribus pronun- 
 tiat ? 
 
 § xix. Divinitas Scripturae, quibus ar- 
 gumentis probari potest, nisi argumentis 
 e sensu communi depromptis ? 
 
 3i> 
 
7§f*' 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [koti: a. 
 
 § MX, Bmsm Scripturac, qirbua ref ulis 
 «riii potest nisi regmli* » mum cammuni 
 sabniimstratis ? 
 
 I xxi Scriptura perpetuo provocat ad 
 
 tmmm commumm: etenira qiiotiescim- 
 qtie ratiocioatiir, toties swpponit smmm 
 
 emmmnem^ «&e in nobis, et.»«wii. communi 
 otenclniii esse. 
 
 § xxii. In syllogismis theologicis pene 
 omnibus, quisneseit praemissarum alteram, 
 imo saepissme ntraroque, a » mu emmmuni 
 desumptam esse ? 
 
 § xxiii. Divinae vcracilaii non miwis 
 reptignat, semum ammimem nos fallere, 
 i]iiain Scripturam Sacram aliquid falsnm 
 docere ; etenim $msm comm'tmis n&nminm 
 opus Dei quam Scriptura Sacra, 
 
 § xxiv. Pessimum est indicinin, cum ali- 
 (jids non rult de suis placitii ex emm 
 cumiiiiiittt judirari. 
 
 § xxT, Nulliis est error magis noxiui, 
 magisqne Religioni injnritis, qnam is qui 
 gtatnit, Religioni credi non posse, qmn 
 .gmmd cmmmttni nimtius mittatur, 
 
 § XX fi. Nulla datur major absnrditas, 
 qmim ea qua© niiMia non absnrditaiibus 
 portam aperit, quaeque ad eaa revincendas 
 (miim praetludit viam : at que talis est 
 ttmm sentcniia, qui nolunt senmm com- 
 wmmm adbiberiin Religione. 
 
 § xxvii. i^uaehactenusdiximusdesaifii 
 coiimimi, a neminc, nt quidem putamus, 
 Improbabnntur : at m loco Smrns Com- 
 munis, tocem Matimk aiil^teknms, mnhi 
 ilico caiwratm fronte et torvis ocalis nt»s 
 .adspicieut. Quid ita ? fum. m:nsm com- 
 immis; lumen natnrak, et ratio, mmm 
 idemque sint.' ^ 
 
 60. — Fesbi-ok. — De V Existence d© 
 mm, Partie ii. cb, 2.—* Mais qu* est-ce 
 qm !« Sem Commim^ f N' est-ce 'past le« 
 premit-rc's notions que tons les hommes 
 ont egalement des memes cboses ? Ce 
 Sens Commun qui est toujours et p«r-tout 
 le mime, qui previent f tout examen, qm 
 rend l* examen nieme de certaines ques- 
 tions ridicule, qui reduit I* houime a ne 
 pouvoir douterf quelquc etiort qu' il lit 
 pour se nicttre dans un vrai doute; ce 
 Sens Coiimiun qui est celui de tout 
 bomme ; ce Sens, qui n" attend que d'etre 
 consult*, qui se montre an premier coup- 
 d*ceil, et qui decouvre aussitot V evidence 
 on r absurdity de la question ; n' est-ce 
 pts ce que j' appelle mcs id'6es ? I^es 
 Toilidoncces idies ou notions gemJrales 
 quejene puis ni contredire ni examiuer, 
 sidvant lesquellcs au contraire j' examine 
 ml Je decide tout ; en sort que je ris au 
 lieu de repondre, toutes les fois qu* on m© 
 propose CO' qui e^ claircment opposi I ce 
 mup oes idces immuablea me representcnt. 
 
 * Ce principe est constant, et il n*y a«» 
 roit que son application qui pourroit etr« 
 fautive: c' esta-dire qu' il faut sanshesi- 
 ter suivre toutes mes ide'es clairet ; mds 
 qu* il faut bien prendre garde de ne 
 prendre jamais pour idOe clsir celle qui 
 renferme queique chose d* obscur. Aussi 
 veux-je suivre exactement cette regie dans 
 les choses que je vais mediter.' 
 
 Ckmimon Sense is declared by Fenelon 
 to be identical with the Natural Light of 
 Descartes. See No 37. The preceding 
 passage is partly quoted by Reid from 
 a garbled and blundering translation, (p. 
 424) The obeli mark the places where 
 the principal errors have been committed. 
 Like Melanchthon, Reid, &c. (Nos. 25, 
 79,) Fenelon calls what is contrary to 
 common sense, the absurd. 
 
 61.— Shaftesbury.— Quoted by Reid, 
 I. P. p. 424 a., * Comtmn sense,* word 
 and thing. 
 
 62 — D'AouKisi A n.— Meditations Mo- 
 taphysiques, Med. iv. (Euvres, 4o t. xi. p. 
 127. — ' Je m' arrete done a ces deux prin- 
 cipes, qui sont comme la conclusion gone- 
 rale de tout ce que je viens d* etablir sur 
 r assurance ou l' homme peut etre d* 
 avoir decouvert la verite. 
 
 * L* un, que cet *tat de certitude n* est en 
 lui-meme qm* unsentifmfit ouune conscience 
 interieure. 
 
 ' L* autre, que les trois causes que j' en 
 eu distinguees se rcduissent encore i un 
 autre sentimeni. 
 
 * Sentiment simple, qui se prouve lui- 
 mSme comme dans ces verites,/ exisUjje 
 pense^ je venx, je mis libre^ et que je puis 
 appeller un sentiment de pure conscience, 
 
 * Sentiment juslifie, ou sentiment d© 
 r evidence qui est dans le cbose meme, ou 
 de cette proposition, que tout ce qui est 
 etfident est vrai, et je V appellerai un 
 stntiment d* etndef*ce. 
 
 * Enfin, sentiment que peut aussi etr© 
 appelle, un sentiment justitie par le poida 
 du temoignago qui V excite, et qui a pour 
 f ondement une evidence d* autorite. Je 
 I appellerai done i>ar cette raison, lesetdi" 
 ■msmt'd^ MM awtoriti iv,dente.* 
 
 62.*— Bekkelet— Quoted by Reid, L 
 P. pp. 283, 284; compare p. 423 a. 
 ' Common Sense,' name and reality. 
 
 63.— BurriBii's *Traitedes I remieres 
 Veritei* was first published in 1717, bis 
 •Elemensde Metaphysique' in 1724. If 
 we except Lord Herbert's treatise 'De 
 Veritate,* these works exhibit the iirst re- 
 gular and comprehensive attempt to found 
 philosophy on certain primary truths, given 
 in certain primary sentiments or feelings. 
 These feelings, and the truths of whicli 
 
 §▼!,] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSK 
 
 787 
 
 they are the sources, he distinguishes into 
 two kinds. One is Internal Feeling (sen- 
 timent intime), the self-consciousness of 
 our existence, and of what passes in our 
 minds. By this he ilfsignates our convic- 
 tion of the facts of consoiousness in them- 
 selves, as merely present and ideal phajno- 
 niena. But these pha?nomena, as we have 
 seen, (p. 743 sq.) testify also to the reality 
 of what lies beyond themselves ; and to our 
 instinctive belief in the truth of this testi- 
 mony, he gives, by perhaps an arbitrary 
 limitation of words, the nam<* of common 
 natural feding (sentiment commun de la 
 nature), or, employing a more familiar 
 expression, Common Sense (sens commun.) 
 — Buffier did not fall into the error of Mr 
 Stewart and others, in holding that wo 
 have the same evidence for tlie objective 
 reality of the external world, as we have 
 for the subjective reality of the internal. 
 
 * If,' he says, * a man deny the truths of 
 internal fueling y he is self- contradictory ; 
 if he deny the truths of common sense, he 
 is not self-contradictory — he is only mad.' 
 
 Common Sense he thus defines : — * J'en- 
 tens done ici par le Sens Commun la dis- 
 position que la nature a mise dans tous les 
 hommes ou manifestment dans la plupart 
 d* entre eux ; pour leur faire porter, quand 
 lis ont ateint 1' usage de la raison ; un 
 jugement commun et uni forme, sur des ob- 
 jets diferens du sentiment intime de leur 
 propre perception ; jugement qui n' est 
 point la consequence daucun principe in- 
 terieur.* — Prem. Ver. § 33. And in his 
 
 * Metaphy sique,' — ' Le sentiment qui est ma- 
 nifestement le plus commun aux hommes 
 de tous les temps et de tous les pays, 
 quand ils ont ateint I'usage de la raison, et 
 des choses sur quoi ils portent leur juge- 
 ment.* § 67. 
 
 He then gives in both works not a full 
 enumeration, but examples, of First Truths 
 or sentiments common to all men. These 
 are more fully expressed in the 'Metaphy- 
 sique,' from which as the later work, and 
 not noticed by Reid (p. 407 b), I quote, 
 leaving always the author's orthography 
 intact. 
 
 * 1. 11 est queique chose qui cxiste bors 
 de moi j et ce qui existe burs de moi, est 
 autre que moi. 
 
 2. 11 est queique chose que j'apelle ame, 
 espritf jmtsiej dans les auires hommes et 
 dans moi, et la pensee n'est point ce qui 
 8*apelle cor2)s ou matiere. 
 
 3. Ce qui est connu par le sentiment ou 
 par I'experience de tous les hommes, doit 
 Itre re9u pour vrai ; et on n'en peut dis- 
 convenir sansse brouiller avecle sens com- 
 nnun.*— § 78. 
 
 [These three he calls * veritez externes, 
 qui soient des sentiments communs a tous 
 les hommos.' The third is not given in 
 the ' Traite des Premieres Vcritez.'J 
 
 4. II est dans les hommes queique chose 
 qui s'apelle raison et qui est oposc a iea:- 
 travagance ; quchjue chose qui s'apelle 
 prudenc , qui est oposc a Vhnprudence ; 
 quelquc chose qui s'apelle lib<;rtc, opose a 
 la necesskc' d^ xgii'. 
 
 5. Ce qui reunit un grand nombre de 
 parties diferentes pour un etiet qui revient 
 regulierement, ne sauroit etre le pur eifet 
 du hazard ; mais c"est I'efiLt de ce que nous 
 apellons une intelligence. 
 
 6. Un fait ateste par un tros grand nom- 
 bre de gens senscz, qui assurent en avoir 
 etc les temoins, ne peut sensement ctro 
 revoque en doute.' § 82. 
 
 Tiiese examples are not beyond the reach 
 of criticism. 
 
 In the Treatise on First Truths he gives 
 a statement and exposition of their three 
 essential characters. The stattmtnt is as 
 follows : — 
 
 *1. Le premier de ces caracteres est, 
 qu'elles soient si claires, que quand on ou- 
 treprend de les prouver, ou de lesataquer, 
 on ne le puisse faire que par des proposi- 
 tions, qui, manifestement, ne sont ni plus 
 clairs ni plus certaines. 
 
 2. D'etre si universellement revues par- 
 mi les hommes en tous tems, en tous lieux, 
 et [)ar toutes sortes d'csprits; que ceux 
 qui les ataquent se trouvent dans le genre 
 humain, etre manifestement moins d'uu 
 centre cent, ou meme centre raille. 
 
 3. D'etre si fortement imprimeos dans 
 nous, que nous y conformions not re con- 
 <luite, malgre les rafinemens de eeux qui 
 imagineut des opinions contraires ; et qui 
 eux-memes agissent confonnement, non a 
 leurs opinions imaginc'es, mais aux pre- 
 mieres veritez universellement re<;ues.' — 
 § 51-52. Compare Alexander, u. 10 a.* 
 
 • We arc now only considering tlie natural 
 data of consciousness in tlieir uiost catliolic re- 
 lations, — and it would be out of place to de- 
 scend to any discussion of them in a subordinate 
 point of view. But, though alluding to matters 
 beyond our present purpose, I cannot refrain 
 from doing, by the way, an act of justice to this 
 acute philosopher, to whom, as to Gassendi, 
 his countryujcn have aiever, 1 thiuk, accorded 
 the attention he deserves. 
 
 No subject, perhaps, in modern speculation, 
 has excited an intcnser interest or more vehe- 
 ment controversy, than Kant's famous distinc- 
 tion of Anolijtic and Synthetic jnd'jwents a priori, 
 or, as I think they might with far less of ambi- 
 guity bo denominated, Explicative and Amplia. 
 tim judgments. The interest in the distincUuo 
 
7S8 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 £not£ 
 
 I slioold not liav© deemed it ii«e»8ary 
 t© make any coimnent on Buffier's doc- 
 triiie of Commoii Sense, were it not that it 
 is proper to warn my reader* against the 
 
 Itoelf 'mm mmnMy extended to its history, 
 file records of pasit philosophy were af ain ran. 
 Backed; and, form moment, .t WM^Iiought, that 
 the Praaslan sage had been foritalled, in the 
 f©ry f roundworm of his system, by the Megaik 
 aHlpe. But the origtnality (I say nothing of 
 thfl 'truth) of Eani's distinction still stands un- 
 toQohed; the originality of its author, a very 
 different question, was always above any rta- 
 Msable doabt. Kant himself is disposed, in- 
 ioed, to allow, that. Locke (B. iv. cli. 'J. | 0, sq.) 
 ImI, perhaps, a glimpse of the discrindnalion; 
 bat looking to the place referred to, this seems, 
 en the part of Eant, an almost g ratultoua con- 
 cwslon. Locke, in fact, came fmr nearer to it in 
 another passage (B.i. ch. 2, §§ 19, 20); but there 
 alUioagh the examples on which the diatinction 
 eotild iaire 'heen established are stated, and 
 even stated in contrast, the principle was net 
 apprehended, and tlm distinction, consequently, 
 permitted to escape. 
 
 But this passage and its instances seem to 
 have suggested, wliat was ewrleoked by Locke 
 himself, to Huffier; who although his name has 
 mot, as far as I am aware, ever yet been men- 
 tioned in connexion with this subject, may 
 «liiin. the heno'ur of having been the first to re- 
 'eognlio, to evolve, wd even to desif nate, this 
 celebrated distinction, almost as preciaily as 
 the plulosopher who erected on it so splendid 
 in. odiice of speculation. I cannot now do 
 "Oiere' than merely indicate the fact of the anti- 
 eipation ; mentioning only that,leavlii|g to Eaut's 
 nwalylk judgment its previons title af idintical, 
 Baffler preoccupies Kant's designation of xyn- 
 iftctie In 'that, of cmjumtim. (or logical) judgment, 
 which ho himself propotes. ThoMi interested 
 in the question will ind the exfOiltlon in the 
 •▼irifcez de Consequence,* Log. 11. Arl atxl- 
 
 I may further, however, when on this mat- 
 ter, notice, that before Kant, another philoso- 
 pher had also signalised the same distinction. 
 I reiir to 'Principal Campbell of Aberdeen, In 
 lilt: chapter en IntuiMve evidence, of Ma Phllo- 
 •ephy of Bhetorie (B. I, c.*. S. 1. P. 1.)— first 
 pnbUshed in 1776, and therefore four years 
 prior to the Critique on Pure Beaioa; for the 
 distinction in question is to be feand, at least 
 eapBcltiy, neither in the treatise *Ueber dio 
 Evidens/ nor in the Bissertation 'Be Mundl 
 Benaibllls atque Iiitelligibills forma ct prlnci- 
 flli,' wiich appeared in 176i} and 1770. But 
 Oampbell manifestly only repeats Baffler, (with 
 vboio 'worka he'Waa ;lntisiatei7aietiialnted, and 
 tfrom wlleli he freqiiently 'borrows,) and with 
 luferler precision; so that. If we may respect 
 the shrewdness, which took note, and ai>|..re. 
 eiaAed the vnlue, of the observation, we must 
 •fNMtemn the dislngenulty which pained it on 
 the world as Ma owti. €ainpMl*t doctrine, I 
 may finally ehserve, attraeted the attention of 
 Mr Stewart (Bl. II. p. 88 eq-)} bnt he was not 
 aware either of ta relation to Baffler or of Its 
 bearlni upon Sant. 
 
 misrepresentations of the anonymous Eng- 
 lish translator of liis Treatise on Primary 
 Truths ; for not only liave these never 
 been exposed, but Mr Stewart has be- 
 stowed on that individual an adventitious 
 Importance, by lauding his *acuteness and 
 intelligence,' while acquiescing in his 'se- 
 vere but just animadversions' on Dr Beat- 
 tie. (Elements vol. ii. c. 1, sect. 3, p. 87, 
 89, 2 ed.) 
 
 Buffier does not reduce Reason (which 
 be employs for the complonjent of our 
 higher faculties in general) to Reasoning ; 
 he does not coiitra-distin>!^uish Common 
 Sense from Reason, of which it is con- 
 stituent ; but wliile he views the former 
 as a natural sentiment, ho views it as a 
 sentiment of our rational nature ; and he 
 only retiuires, as the condition of the exer- 
 cise of common sense in particular, the 
 actual possession of Reason or under- 
 standing in geiioral, and of the object re- 
 quisite to call that Reason into use. Com- 
 mon Sense, on Buffier's doctrine, is thus 
 the primary, spontaneous, unreasoning, 
 and, as it were, instinctive, energy of our 
 rational constitution. Compare Pr. Ver. 
 II 41, 6(3-72, 93. Met. §§ G5, 72, 73. 
 
 The translator to his version, which ap- 
 peared in 1780, lias annexed an elaborate 
 Preface, the sole purport of which is to 
 inveigh against Reid, Beattie, and Oswald 
 — more especially the two last — for at 
 once tk aling and spoUinff the doctrine of 
 the learned Jesuit. 
 
 In regard to the spoiling, the translator 
 is the only culprit. According to him, 
 Buflier's * Common Sense is a disposition 
 of mind not natural but acquired by ago 
 and time,* (pp. iv. xxxiv.) * Those first 
 truths which are its object require expe- 
 rience and meditation to be conceived, and 
 the judgments thence derived are the re- 
 sult of exercising reason,* (p. v.) * The 
 use of Reason is Reasoning ;' and * Com- 
 mon Sense is that degree of understand- 
 ing in all things to which the generality 
 of mankind are capable of attaining by 
 the exertion of their rational faculty.' 
 (p. xvii.) In fact Buffier 's/r«; truths, on 
 his transktor's showing, are last truths ; 
 for when *by time we arrive at the know- 
 ledge of an infinitude of things, and by 
 the use of reason (i. e. by reasoning) 
 form our judgment on them, those judg- 
 ments are then jmtly to be considered om 
 j Jirst trutlis * ! ! / (p. xviii.) 
 
 But how, it will be asked, does he give 
 any colour to so unparalleled a perver- 
 sion ? By the very easy process of—l® 
 throwing out of account, or perverting, 
 what hia author does say ;— 2** of interpo- 
 
 SviJ 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 769 
 
 lating what his author not only does not 
 say, but what is in the very teeth of his as- 
 sertions; and S*' by founding on these per- 
 versions and interpolations as on the au- 
 thentic words of his aythor. 
 
 As to the plagiarismj i may take this 
 opportunity of putting down, once and 
 for ever, this imputation, although the 
 character of the man might have weil 
 exempted Reid from all suspicion of so 
 unworthy an act. It applies only to the 
 'Inquiry;' and there the internal evi- 
 dence is almost of itself sufficient to prove 
 that Reid could not, prior to that publi- 
 cation, have been acquainted with Buf- 
 fier's Treatise. The strongest, indeed 
 the sole, presumption arises from the em- 
 ployment, by both philosophers, of the 
 term Common Sense, which, strange to 
 say, sounded to many in this country as 
 singular and new; whilst it was even 
 commonly believed, that before Reid Buf- 
 fier was the first, indeed the only philo- 
 sopher, who had taken notice of this prin- 
 ciple, as one of the genuine sources of our 
 knowledge. See Beattie, n. 82 ; Canip- 
 Uell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, B. i. e. 5, 
 part 3; and Stewart's Account of Reid, 
 supra, p. 27 b. 
 
 After the testimonies now adduced, and 
 to be adduced, it would be the apex of 
 absurdity to presume that none but Buf- 
 fier could have suggested to Reid either 
 the principle or its designation. Here are 
 given fortg-ight authorities, ancient and 
 modern, for the philosophical employment 
 of the term Common Sense, previous to 
 Beidj and from any of these Reid may be 
 said to have borrowed it with equal jus- 
 tice as from ButHer ; but, taken together, 
 they concur in proving that the expi'cs- 
 rion, in the application in question, was 
 one in general use, and free as the air to 
 all and each who chose thus to employ 
 It. — But, in fact, what lias not been no- 
 ticed, we know, from an incidental state- 
 ment of Reid himself — and this, be it 
 noticed, prior to tljecliarge of plagiarism, 
 —that he only became UL-quaintecl witli the 
 treatise of Buffier, after the pubUcatiou of 
 his own Inquiry. For in his Account of 
 Aristotle's Logic, written and published 
 some ten years subsequently to that work, 
 he says — ' 1 have latdy met with a very 
 judicious treatise writttn by Father Buf- 
 fier,' hc.f p. 713, b. Coni[jarealso Intel- 
 lectual Powers, p. 468, b. In this last 
 work, however, published after the trans- 
 lation of Buffier, though indirectly de- 
 fending the less manifestly innocent part- 
 ners in the accusation, from the charge 
 advanced, bis self-respect prevents him 
 
 from saying a single word in his own via. 
 dication. 
 
 64. — Lyons About the year 1720 
 
 was published the first edition of the fol- 
 lowing curious, and now rare, work : — 
 
 * The Infallibility of Human Judgment, 
 its Dignity and Excellence. Being a New 
 Art of Reasoning, and discovering Truth, 
 by reducing all disputable cases to general 
 and self-evident propositions. Illustrated 
 by bringing several well known disputes 
 to such self-evident and universal conclu- 
 sions. With the Supplement answering 
 all objections which have been made to it 
 and tlie design thereby perfected, in prov- 
 ing this method of Reasoning to be as 
 forcibly conclusive and universal as Arith- 
 metick and as easie. Also a Dissertation 
 on Liberty and Necessity. The fourth 
 edition. To which is now added a Post- 
 script obviating the corapkunts made to it, 
 and to account for some things which oc- 
 curred to it and the author. By Mr 
 Lyons. London. 1724.' 
 
 He gives (p. 83-94) * A Reeapitula- 
 tion of the whole work, being the prin- 
 ciples of a Rationalist reduced to certain 
 stated articles containing tlie Laws of 
 Reason, the Elements of Religion, of 
 Morals, and of PoUtieks ; with the Art of 
 reducing all disputes to universal deter- 
 minations.' From these articles (twenty- 
 three in number) I extract the first three, 
 
 1. * Reason is the distinguishing ex- 
 cellency, dignity, and beauty of man 
 kind. 
 
 2. * There is no other use of Reason — 
 than to judge of Good and Bad, Justice 
 and Injustice, Wisdom and Folly, and the 
 like ; tliat a man may thereby attain 
 Knowledge to distinguish Truth from 
 Error, and to determine his Actions ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 3. * This Reason is known to us also by 
 the names of Judgment.j Light of NfiturSf 
 Conscience, and Common SV'h.^h. ; only 
 varying its name according to its different 
 uses and appearances, but is one and the 
 same thing.' 
 
 The conclusion of the whole is given in 
 the maxim — ^ Exert ivith Di'ii/i^n--:i and 
 Fortitude the Common Use of Common 
 Sense.* 
 
 It is probable that Lyons was not unac- 
 quainted with tiio treatise of Turretiui. 
 
 G5. -*- Amhi-kst. — Tenve Fiiius, No. 
 21. — ' Natural reason and common senset* 
 used as convertible terms. 
 
 GO. — WoLL.\sTON. — Religion of Nature 
 Delineated, (ed. 1721, p. 23.) ' They who 
 deduce the difference between good and 
 evil from the Common Sense of mankindf 
 
790 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [notm a. 
 
 md mrUatk prineiptm thmt tm ftorti wUk 
 m, put/ &c. 
 
 117.— VotFiOi ( Volpl).— Scboke D'uae, 
 p. 46. ' Nob certe quod putaret Aristo- 
 teles, sunimos illos viroa (Parmenidein et 
 Mctissuni) lam lotigo a coniwtiiii wiitii ab- 
 borniisse, ut opinarcntur milkni esse om- 
 nino rcrum dissimilitudinem,' &c. 
 
 68. — Vico frequently employs ill© terms 
 *ciwii:iitiiitit.J«fiwwjf ' and *«eiMO comime* for 
 orar priniiarj beliefs. See Hs Latin and 
 Italian works, passim. 
 
 i§. — Wolf IDS.— Ontologia, § 125.— 
 *Veritate« ad smmtm cmnmunem reduci- 
 mns, dnm in notiones resolvnetnr, quas 
 ad judieanduro utittir ipsum vnlgus impori- 
 tfini naliirali qwodam acnmine, quae dis- 
 tlncte enuneiata maximo abstmista sunt, in 
 rebus obviis confuse percipiens. . . . 
 Id Igitur in Pliilosopliia prima aij^imm, 
 ut notiones quae confiisae vulgo sunt, dis- 
 tinct as reddamus, et terminis generaljbiis 
 •enunciemus: ita enim demum in disci- 
 plinis caeteria, quae sublimia sunt, et a 
 cognitione vulgi remota, ad BOtione.s 
 eidem familiarcs revocare, sicqiie ad Sen- 
 gum C&mmummi reducere licebit,' . . . 
 § 245. ... * Nemo miretnr, quod 
 notiones primas, qaas fmidamentales me- 
 rlto dixeris, cum omnis tandem nostra 
 cognStio iisdem innitatur, notionibus vulgi 
 conformes probemws. Mirandum potms 
 asset, quod non dudum de reductlone pbi- 
 .osopbiae ad notiones communes cogitave- 
 rint pWlosopH, nisi constaret singulare 
 requiri acumen, ut, quid notionibus eom- 
 munibus insit, dislincte et pervidere, ct 
 ▼erbls miiiime ambiguis cnunciare vale- 
 amns, quod nonuisi peculiari et continuo 
 quodsm exercitio obtinetur in Psjcholo- 
 gia exponendo.'— See also a curious letter 
 of Wolf among the * Epistolae Fhysica© 
 of Krazenstein, regarding Common Sens©. 
 70— HuBEK.— In 1732 appeared the 
 irst edition of Le Monde Fou pref6r6 au 
 Monde Sage. This treatise is anonymous, 
 but known to be the work of Mademoiselle 
 Huber. Its intrinsic merit , independently 
 of its interest as the production of a Lady, 
 might liai© saved k from the oblivion 
 into which it seems to have fallen.— Con- 
 ■eiouiiness (conscience) is considered as 
 tlw faculty of * uncreated, primary, simple, 
 ani unif ersal truths/ in contrast to * truths 
 oreiited, particular, distinct, limited, (i. 
 pp. 180, 220.) ConsciousneM is superior 
 to Reasoning: and as primitive is above 
 all definition, (i. pp. 103, 130, 140). VLes 
 v€ritez les plus simples sont, par leur re« 
 lation avec la veritfi priiiiitif e si fort au- 
 dflgSQS. des ppeuves, qu* elles m 'paroisscnt 
 douteusci que I»ai'co qu' on entrepend de 
 
 lea prouver ; leur id^ seule, ou le sentl- 
 Bient que 1* on en a, prouf e qu* elles exis- 
 tent ; r existence de la Conscience, par 
 example, est prouve par son langage 
 mtme; ello se fait entendre, done elle 
 est; son temoignage est invariablement 
 droit, done il est inlaillible, done les veri- 
 tez particuUiires qu* il adopte sont indu- 
 bitables, par cela seul qu' elles n* ont pas 
 besoin d* autres preuves, (i. p. 189.) 
 
 71.— Genovesi Elementorum Meta- 
 
 pbysicae, Pars Prior, p. 94. In reference 
 to our moral liberty, he says—* Appello ad 
 §msum, non plebeiorum modo, ne tantaa 
 res jmlicio imperitorum judicari quis oppo- 
 nat, sed philosophorum niaxime, comniM- 
 mm; quern qui erroris reprehendere non 
 veretur, is vecors sit oportet.' See also 
 Pars Altera, p. 160, et alibi. 
 
 72.— Hum K.— Quoted by Reid, p. 424 
 b. • Common Seme,' word and thing. 
 
 73. — Cb us ins.— a. — Weg zur Gewiss- 
 heit, § 256, et alibi. * The highest prin- 
 ciple of all knowledge and reasoning is— 
 That wMck im cannot but think to be true, 
 is true ; and that which we absohitehj can- 
 not think at all, [I] or cannot but think (a 
 be false, ig false.* 
 
 b.— Entwurf nothwendigen Vernuna- 
 walirheiten, Pref. 2 ed. • The I^ibnitio- 
 Wolfian system does not quadrate with 
 the f OOTWio'ii sense of mankind (sensus com- 
 munis.)' His German expression is * ge- 
 meiner Menschensinn.* 
 
 74._>D»Alkmbrrt holds that philoso- 
 phy is an evolution from, and must, if le- 
 gitimate, be conformed to, the primary 
 truths of which all men are naturally in 
 possession. The complement of these 
 truths is 'sent commun' Compare Me- 
 knges, t. iv. §§ 4, 6, pp. 28, 46 t. v. § 76, 
 p. 269, ed. Amst. 1763. 
 
 75.— Oetingeb.— Inquisitio in Sentum 
 Communem et Ratiouem, necnon utri usque 
 regulas, pro dijudieandis philosophorum 
 theoriis, &c. Tubingae, 17B2.—* Sensus 
 Communis' IS defined (§ 11), * Viva et pe- 
 netrans perceptio objector urn, toti huma- 
 nitati obviorum, ex immedialo tactu et tn- 
 tnitu eorum, quae sunt himplieissima, uti- 
 lissima et maxime necessaria,* &c.— § 18. 
 . . *Obje€ta &njnis Co»wium« j-unt veri- 
 tates omni tempore et loco omnibus utiles, 
 appreheusu faciles, ad quas conservandas 
 Deus illos secreto impulsu indesinenter 
 urget, ut sunt raoralia,' &c. &c. — So far, 
 so well. The book however turns out but 
 a vague and mystical farrago. The au- 
 thor appears to have had no knowledge of 
 Buffier's treatise on First Truths. Solo, 
 mon and Confucius are bis staple autho- 
 rities. The former affords him all hit 
 
 S VI.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 791 
 
 rules; and even materials for a separate 
 publication on the same subject, in the 
 same year — * Die Wahrheit des Sensus 
 Communis in den erklaerten Spruechen 
 Salomonis.' This I have not seen. 
 
 76. — EscHENBAcn. — Samralung, &c. 
 1756. In the appendix to his translation 
 of the English Idealists Berkeley and 
 Collier, after showing that the previous 
 attempts of philosophers to demonstrate 
 the existence of an external world were 
 inconclusive, the learned Professor gives 
 us his own, which is one of common sense. 
 * How is the idealist to prove his exis- 
 tence as a thinking reality ? He can only 
 say ^ I know that J so exist, because Jfel 
 that I so ea-ist.' Tins feeling being thus 
 the only ground on which the Idealist can 
 justify the conviction he has of his exis- 
 tence, as a mind, our author goes on to 
 show, that the same feeling, if allowed to 
 be veracious, will likewise prove the ex- 
 istence, immediately, of our bodily organ- 
 ism, and, through that, of a material 
 world, p. 549-552. 
 
 77.— Gesner, prelecting on his *Isa- 
 goge in Eruditionem Universalera,' § 808, 
 speaking of Grotius, says :— * De jure gen- 
 tium eleganter scripsit, et auctor classicus 
 ©St. Imprimis, quod repreheiidunt impe- 
 riti, laudandura in eo libro est hoc, quod 
 omnia veterum auctorum locis ac testimo- 
 niis probat. Nam ita provocatur quasi ad 
 totum genus humanum. Nam si videmus, 
 illos viros lamlari, et afferri eorum testi- 
 •noiiia, qui dicuntur sensiim^ comnnmem 
 omnium hominum habuisse; si posted di- 
 cant, se ita sentire, ut illi olim scripserint: 
 est hoc citare genus humanum. Profer- 
 untur enim illi in medium, quos omnes 
 pro sapientibns habuerunt. Verum est, 
 potest unusquisque stultus dicere: * Ego 
 habeo sensum communem:* sed sensus 
 communis est, quod consensu humano dic- 
 tum sit per ommia saecula. Ita ctiam in 
 religione naturali videndum est, quid 
 olim homines communi consensu dixerint : 
 nee ea ad religioiiem et theologiam na- 
 turalem referenda sunt, quae aliunde ac- 
 cepimus. Sic egit Grotius in opere 
 praestantissimo. Ostendit, hoc Romano- 
 rum, hoc Gallorum, legatos dixisse ; hoc 
 ab omni tempore fuisse jus gentium, hoc 
 est, illud jus, ex quo totae gentes judicari, 
 et agi secum, voluerint. Sermo est deeo 
 jure quod toti populi et illi sapient issimi 
 script ores nomine et consensu populorum 
 totorum, pro jure gentium habuere ; de 
 eo, quo gentes inter se teneantur ; non 
 de jure putativo, quod unusquisque sibi 
 excogitavit. Haec enim est labes, hoc est 
 vitiuni saccuH nostri. quod unusquisque 
 
 ponit principium, ex quo deducit deinde 
 conclusiones. Bene est, et laudandi sunt, 
 quod in hoc cavent sibi, ut in fine con- 
 veniant in conclusionibus; quod ex diversis 
 principiis efficiunt easdem conclusiones : 
 Sod Grotius provocat simpUciter ad con- 
 sensum generis humani et sensum comunem,* 
 78. — Price, in his Review of the prin- 
 cipal Questions on Morals, 1 ed. 1768, 
 speaking of the necessity of supposing a 
 cause for every event, and having stated 
 examples, says — * I know nothing that can 
 be said or done to a person who professes 
 to deny these things, besides referring 
 him to common sense and reason,' p. 35. 
 And again ; ' Were the question — whether 
 our ideas of number, diversity causation, 
 proportion, &c., represent truth and 
 reality perceived by the understanding, or 
 particular impressions made by tlie object 
 to which we ascribe them on our minds; 
 — were this, I say, the question; would 
 it not be sufficient to appeal to common 
 sense, and to leave it to be determined by 
 every person's private consciousness ?' p. 
 65. See also 2 ed. p. 81 note ; ' Common 
 sense, the faculty of self-evident truths.* 
 
 79.— Reid.— a. — Inquiry, &c., p. 108 b. 
 — * If there be certain principles, as I 
 think there are, which the constitution of 
 our nature leads us to believe, and which 
 we are under a necessity to take for 
 granted in the common concerns of life, 
 without being able to give a reason for 
 them ; these are what we call the prin- 
 ciples of common sense ; and what is mani- 
 festly contrary to them is what we call 
 absurd:— ^GC also p. 209, b. Compare 
 Melanchthon n. 25, c, Fenelon, n. 60, 
 Buffier n. 63. 
 
 b Intellectual Powers, p. 425, a. b. — 
 
 *It is absurd to conceive that tliere can be 
 any opposition between Reason and Com- 
 mon Sense. Common Sense is indeed 
 the first-born of Reason ; and they are 
 inseparable in their nature. — We ascribe 
 to Reason two offices or two degrees. 
 The first is to judge of things self-evident ; 
 [this is Intellect, uovg.'] The second is lo 
 draw conclusions that are not s^^If -evident 
 from those that are ; [this is Reasoning, 
 or S^ayo/ot.] 'i'hc first of these is the pro- 
 vince, and the sole province of Common 
 Sense; and therefore it coincides with 
 Reason in its whole extent, and is only 
 another name ibr one branch or one de- 
 gree of Reason.' — I have already observed 
 that of these offices, the former (Common 
 Sense) might be well denominated the 
 noetic function of Reason, or rather In- 
 tellect, and the latter (Reasoning) its 
 dianoetic or discursive. See p. 769 b. 
 
7S2 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [note a. 
 
 80. — HII.I.1B. — Curriculum Philoso- 
 pMae, 1765. Pars iii. § 34.— * 5^wiif C7oiii- 
 itiuna • med. in ita pbilosophical meaning. 
 
 81.— HBMaTiE:HOi%* the Batavian Pla- 
 to,* founds Ms pWlosophy on the origi- 
 ^nal feelin«^s or beliefii of our iiitellig^eDt 
 nature, as on ultimate facts. Feeling, or 
 the facnltj of primitive intuition (senti- 
 ment, sensation, facnli6 intuitive) is prior 
 to reasoning ; on whhh it confers all its 
 "tmlidity, and which it supplies^ with the 
 necessary conditions of its activity. It is 
 raot logical inference wliich affcrda us tho 
 SMurance of any real existence j it is fc«- 
 Itif— /««li«9— '/h tnttmctm jud^mmd o/ 
 litf liifiitr«*c/acu%. ( Tills he sometimes 
 calls common sense — tern cowtmun). De- 
 monstration is the ladder to remoter 
 truths. But demonstrations can yield us 
 Information, neither as to the ground on 
 whicli the ladder rests, norastotli© points 
 on which it is supported.— Of Ms works, 
 see in particular, * Sopliyle'and 'Lettre 
 lur r Homme et scs .Eapports/' passim. 
 
 82.— Beattie.— EsMj on Truth, 1773, 
 p. 40, * The term Comm<m Seme hath, 
 in modern times, been used by philo- 
 sophers, both French and British, to sig- 
 nify that power of the mind which per- 
 ceives truth, or commands lielief, not liy 
 progressive argumentation, but by an in- 
 stantaneous, instinctive, and irresistible 
 impuke; derived neither from education 
 nor from habit, but from nature ; acting 
 Independently of our will, whenever its 
 object is presented, according to an esta- 
 lilished law, and therefore |irop€rly called 
 Semm ; and acting in a similar manner 
 upon all, or at least upon a great majoiity 
 of mankind, and therefore properly called 
 CommoH &nmS 
 
 I should hardly have thought it neces- 
 Mary to quote Beattie's definition of 
 common JL, >ny more than tho» of 
 Campbell, Oswald, Fergusson, and other 
 Scottish philosophers in the train of 
 leid, were it not to remark that Mr 
 Stewart, (Elements, vol. 11. c. 1, sect. 
 8), contrary to his usual tone of cri- 
 ticism, is greatly too unmeasured in his 
 reprehension of this and another passage 
 of the same Essay. In fact if we dis- 
 count the identification of Eeaaon with 
 leasoning— in which Beattie only follows 
 the great majority of philosorihcrs, ancient 
 and moderu-.l J coLqucnt distinction 
 of Season from Common Sense, and his 
 error in regard to the late and limited 
 emplovmcnt of this latter term, an error 
 shared with him by Mr Steirart, ther© is 
 far more in this definition to be praised 
 thut 'Ctnsurtd. -The attack on Beattie by 
 
 the English translator of Buffier is futile 
 and fabe. Mr Stewart's approbation of 
 it is to me a matter of wonder. See 
 No. 63. 
 
 83. — VoN Stobchenau. — Grundsaetze 
 der Logik, 1774. Common Settse (der 
 allgemeine Menschensinn ) defined and 
 founded on, as an infallible criterion of 
 truth, in reference to all matters not be- 
 yond its sphere. 
 
 84. — St ATTt,EB, — Dissertatio Logict 
 de valore Sensus Communis, 1780 — A 
 treatise chiefly in reference to the proof 
 of the being of a God from the general 
 agreement of mankind. — See also hh 
 Logica. 
 
 85.-H.«»F.KT.-Aphorismi philoso. 
 phici Utrecht, 1781. — * Sensm community 
 sen sensus iromediatae evidentiae, intimiis 
 est sensus,' §112. * &»iSM*commMHisestcos 
 et norma omiiis veri,* § 2. ' Natura mor- 
 talibus tribult eenntm. communem, qui 
 omnes edocet quibus in rebus consentire 
 debeant,* &c. § 1, 
 
 80. — Kant is a remarkable confessor 
 of the supreme authority of natural be- 
 lief; not only by reason of his rare pro- 
 fundity as a thinker, but because we see 
 him, by a signal yet praiseworthy incon- 
 sequence, filially re-establishing in autho- 
 rity the principle, which he had originally 
 diiparaged and renounced. His theoreti- 
 cal philosophy, which he first developed, 
 proceeds on a rejection, in certain re- 
 spects, of the necessary convictions of 
 mankind; while on these convictions his 
 practical philosophy, the result of his ma- 
 turer contemplations, is wholly established. 
 As Jaeobi well expiesses it — * The Criti* 
 cal philosophy, first out of love to science, 
 theoretically subverts metai>hysic ; then — 
 when all is about to sink into the yawning 
 abyss of an absolute subjectivity — it again, 
 out of love to metaphy sic, subverts science,' 
 (Werkeii.p. 44). Tlie rejection of the 
 common sense of mankind as a criterion 
 of truth, is the weakest point ol the spe- 
 culative philosophy of Kant. When he 
 says — * Allowing idealism to be as daiige- 
 reus as it truly is, it would still remuin a 
 scandal to philosophy and human reason 
 in general, to b© forced to accept the 
 existence of external things on the te.sti- 
 mony of mere bt lief,' (Cr. d. r. V. Vorr.) : 
 yet, that very belief alone is wliat makes 
 the supposition of an external world in- 
 cumbent; and the proof of ils reality 
 which Kant attempted, independently of 
 that belief, is now admitted by one and all 
 of his disiiples, to be so inconsequent, that 
 it may r<^asonably be doubted, wliether he 
 ever intended it for more than an ex- 
 
 I ¥1.] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 793 
 
 oteric ^sclaimer of the esoteric idealism 
 of his doctrine. But the philosopher who 
 deemed it * a scandal to philosophy and 
 human reason ' to found the proof of a 
 material world— in itself to us a matter of 
 supreme indifference— on belief; on be- 
 lief, on feeling, afterivards established the 
 proof of all the highest objects of our inte- 
 rest God— Free Will— and Immortality. 
 
 In the character he ascribes to this Feel- 
 ing and Belief, Kant indeed erred. For 
 he ought to have regarded it, not as a 
 mere spiritual craving, but as an imme- 
 diate manifestation to intelligence ; not as 
 a postulate, but as a datum ; not as an 
 interest in certain truths, but as the fact, 
 the principle, the warrant, of their cogni- 
 tion and reality. Kant's doctrine on this 
 point is too prominent and pervading, and 
 withal too w«41 known, to render any 
 quotation necessary ; and I only refer to 
 his Critique of Practical Reason and his 
 moral treatises in general. — See also on 
 Kant's variation in this respect, among 
 others, Jacobi's Introduction to his col- 
 lected philosophical writings ( Werke vol. 
 ii. p. 3-12()), with the Appendix on 
 Transcendental Idealism (ibid. p. 289- 
 309) ; and Platner's Piiilosophical Apho- 
 risms (vol. i. Pref p. vi.) ; to which may 
 be added Schoppenhauer's letter in Pre- 
 face to the first volume of Kant's collected 
 works by Roseukrantz and Schubert. 
 
 87 Jacobi. — The philosophy of Ja- 
 cob!— who from the character and profun- 
 dity of his speculations merited and ob- 
 tained the appellation of the Plato of 
 Germany— in its last and most perfect ex- 
 position establishes two faculties immedi- 
 ately apprehensive (vernehmend, wahrneh- 
 men'd) of reality ; Sense of corporeal ex- 
 istence, Eeason (Vernunft) of supersen. 
 sible truths.* Both as primary are incon- 
 ceivable, being only cognitions of thn/act. 
 Both are therefore incapable of definition, 
 ■nd are variously and vaguely character- 
 ised as revelations, intuitions, feelings, be- 
 Uefs, instincts. 
 
 The resistless belief or feeling of reality 
 which in either cognition aifords the sur- 
 rogate of its truth, is equivalent to the 
 
 • This last corresponds to the vovs proper of 
 the Greek philosophers; and the employment 
 of the term Ueason in this limitation by Jacobi 
 in his Ktcr works (to which he was manifestly 
 led by Kant), i"* not a fortunate nomenclature. 
 In his earlier writings hedoes'^not discriminate 
 Ecasou from Understanding (Verstand), view- 
 ing it OS a faculty of mediate kno\vled;,'e, and 
 as opposed to Belief, in which Jacobi always 
 held that we obtain the revelation of all reality 
 —all original cognition. See pp. 708, 769. 
 
 common sense of Reid. Reid was an es- 
 pecial favourite with Jacobi ; and through 
 Jacobi's powerful polemic we may trace 
 the influence of the Scottish philosophy on 
 the whole subsequent speculation of Ger- 
 many. See Preface. 
 
 a. — Die Lehre des Spinoza, &c. 1785, 
 p. 162. sq.— Werke, vol.iv. p. 210. ' Dear 
 Mendelsohn, we are all born in belief 
 (Glaube*), and in belief we must remain, 
 as we were all born in society, and in so- 
 ciety must remain. How can we strive 
 alter certainty, were certainty not already 
 known to us ; and known to us, how can it 
 be, unless through something which we al- 
 ready know with certainty? This leads 
 to the notion of an immediate certainty, 
 which not only stands in need of no proof, 
 but absolutely excludes all proof, being it- 
 self, and itself alone, the representation 
 (Vorstellungf) corresponding with tlie 
 represented thing, and therefore having 
 its sufficient reason within itself. The 
 conviction, through proof or demonstra- 
 tion, is a conviction at second hand ; restjj 
 upon comparison; and can never be alto- 
 gether sure and perfect, if, then, all fw- 
 senf, all holding for true, (Fuerwahrhal- 
 ten,) not depending on such grounds of 
 reasoning, be a belief; it follows, that the 
 conviction from reasoning itself, must 
 spring out of belief, and from belief re- 
 ceive all the cogency it possesses. 
 
 * Through belief we know that we have 
 a body, and that, external to us, there are 
 found other bodies, and other intelligent 
 existences. A truly miraculous [marvel- 
 lous J] revelation ! For we have only a 
 sensation (Empfinden) of our body, under 
 this or that modification ; and whilst we 
 have a sensation of our body thus modi- 
 fied, we are at the same time, aware or 
 percipient, not only of its changes, but 
 likewise of — what is wholly different from 
 
 • The Germans have only this one word 
 for philosoi>hical nelief and theological Faith. 
 Hence much scandal, confui-iou, ar.i misrepre- 
 sentation, on its first employment by Jacobi. 
 
 f Vorstellitng in this place might perhaps bo 
 rendered presentation. But I adhere to the 
 usual translation; for Jacobi never seems to 
 have risen to the pure doctrine of Natural 
 Kealism. 
 
 X The Germans have only one word, Wimdcr, 
 wunderbar, to express marvel and miracle, mar. 
 vellous and miraculous, llcuce often confusion 
 and ambiguity in their theolojry. The supcri- 
 ority we have over thcni in the two instancea 
 noticed in this and the penult note is, how. 
 ever, rare. The making perception a revelation 
 and not an apitrehension of existence belongs 
 also to a Cosmothotic Idealism, struggling into 
 Natural Rcjlism. 
 
TW 
 
 intre sensation, or a mere ttiought— we 
 are aware or pereipient of other realthiogs, 
 and this too with a certainty, the same as 
 that with which we are percipient of our 
 own existence ; for without a Thou an / is 
 impossible. [ ?— See above, p. 742 sq.] 
 
 * We have thus a ret elation of nature, 
 which does not recommend merely, hut 
 compels, all and each of m to believe, and, 
 through belief, to receive those eternal 
 truths which are vouchsafed to nmo/ 
 
 F. 223 * V. We can only demonstrate 
 
 iiniilaritles (coincidences, conditioned ne- 
 cessary truths) in a series of identical pro- 
 positions. Every proof supposes, m its 
 basi», something already estahlshed, the 
 principle of which is a revelation. 
 
 « VI. The element of all human know- 
 ledge and activity is Belief.' 
 
 P. 108. (Given as an aphorism of Spi- 
 iioia)— * An iromecliate cognition, consider- 
 ed m and for itself, is without representa- 
 tion—is a Peeling.'— The three last words 
 do not appear in the original edition; and 
 I cannot find their warrant in Spinoza. 
 
 k— From the Dialogue entitled * David 
 Hume npn Belief, or Idealism and Real- 
 ism,* whicli appeared two years kter 
 (1787), Werke, vol. ii. p. 143, s^. 
 
 * /.—That things appear m external to 
 ns, requires no arj^ument. But that these 
 things are not mere appearancet in w»— 
 are not mere modticatlous of our proper 
 aelf, and consequently null m reprc^wite- 
 tims of (tuffM exiernai to owseimsi ifut 
 tMt, m representations m m, they have 
 still reference to something really exter- 
 nal and self- existent, which they express, 
 and from which they are taken — ^in the 
 face of this, not only is doubt possible, it 
 baa been even often "satisfactorily demon- 
 strated, that such doubt cannot he solved 
 by any process of reasoning strictly so de- 
 nominated. Yonr immediate certainty of 
 external tilings would, therefore, on the 
 analogy of my Belief, be a Mind a*r- 
 
 ON THE PUILOSOFHY 
 
 [WOTB A. 
 
 ( AHer defending the propriety of the 
 term GiaubB employed by him in his i>re- 
 
 ▼ions writings (which, in consequence of 
 the word denoting in German both posi- 
 tive faith and general belief, had exposed 
 bim to the accmalion of mysticism,) by 
 examples of a similar usage of the word 
 Meiisf, m the philosophical writings of 
 Hnme, Heid, &c. ; he procet»ds to vindi- 
 cate another term he had employed — Of- 
 fa^mmff,. revektion.) 
 
 * J. — In so Jar m the universal usage of 
 language is concerned, is there required 
 uiy spw'ial examples or aiilboritii^s ? We 
 :Say commonly in German, thai <»Uje«-is 
 
 offeHbarm, reveal, I. e. manifest, themaelvei 
 through the senses. The same expression 
 h prevalent in French, English, Latin, and 
 many other languages. With the particu- 
 lar emphasis which I have laid on it, this 
 expression does not occur in Hume ;— 
 among other reasons because he leaves ii 
 undetermined, whether we perceive things 
 really ex/miaJr or only «# external. . . . 
 The decided Realist, on thecontrary, who 
 unhesitatingly accoi>ts an external exis- 
 tence, on the evidence of his senses, con- 
 siders this certainty as an original convic- 
 tion, and cannot but think, that on this 
 fundamental experience, all our specula- 
 tion touching a knowledge of the external 
 world, must rest — such a decided Real- 
 ist, how shall he denominate the mean 
 through which he obtains his certainty of 
 external objects, as of existences indepen- 
 dent of his representation of them ? He 
 has nothing on which his judgment can 
 rest, except the things themselves — no- 
 thing but the fact, that the objects »ta,.d 
 there, actually before him. In these cir- 
 cumstances, can he express himself by a 
 more appropriate word, than the word Re- 
 velation.* And should we not rather in- 
 quire, regarding the root of this word, 
 and the origin of its employment ? 
 
 * He. — So it certainly appears. 
 
 « /. — That this Revelation deserves to be 
 called truhf miraculous [marvellous] fol- 
 lows of course. For if we consider suffi- 
 ciently the reasons for the proposition — 
 " That consciousness is exchujively conver- 
 sant with the modifications of our proper 
 self,*' Idealism will appear in all its force, 
 and as the only scheme which onr specu- 
 ktive reason can admit. Suppose, how- 
 ever, that our Realist, notwithstanding, 
 still remains a Realist, and holds fast by 
 the belief tliat— for example— this object 
 here, which we call a table, is no mere 
 sensation— no mere existence found only 
 in U8, but an existence external and inde- 
 pendent of our representation, and by us 
 only perceived ; I would boldly ask him 
 for a more appropriate epithet for the Re- 
 velation of which he boasts, in as much aa 
 he maintains that something external to 
 him is presented (sich darstelle) to his 
 consciousness. For the presented exis- 
 tence (Daseyn) of such a thing external to 
 us, we have no other proof than the pre- 
 sented existence of this thing itself; and 
 we must admit it to be wholly inconceiv- 
 able, how that existence can possibly be 
 jx .( <>ivcd by us. But still, as was said, 
 we maintain that we do perceive it; main- 
 
 • Tliis Ii»«ks very like Niilural KeaUam. 
 
 § VI-1 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 795 
 
 tain with the most assured conviction, that 
 tnings there are, extant really out of us, 
 that our representations and notions arc i 
 conformed to these external things, and 
 not that the things which we only fancif 
 external are conformed to our representa- 
 tions and notions. I ask on what does 
 t his conviction rest ? In truth on nothing, 
 exce|»t on a revelation, which we can de- 
 nominate no otherwise than one trub/ mi- 
 vac tt lo us I ma rv el Ions.] ' 
 
 c. — Alhvills Briefsamralung, 1792. 
 Werke, vol. i. p. 120.—' We admit, pro 
 ceeded Allwill, freely and at once, that we 
 do not comprehend how itisthat, through 
 the mere excitation and movement of our 
 organs of oense, wc are not only sensitive 
 but sensitive ofsoniething;— become aware 
 of, perceive, something wholly different 
 from us; and that we comprehend, least of 
 all, how we distinguish and apprehend our 
 proper self, and what pertains to our in- 
 ternal states, in a manner wholly different 
 from all sensitive perception. But we 
 deem it more secure here to appeal to an 
 original Imtinct, with which every cog- 
 nition of truth hegim, than, on account of 
 that incomprehensibility, to maintain — 
 that the mind can jterctive and represent in 
 un infnitely various fashion not itself ^ and 
 not other things, but, exchisivehj and alone, 
 what is neither itself, nor any oth*r thing.'* 
 d.— From the Preface to the second 
 volume of his Works, forming the * Intro- 
 duction to the author's collected philo- 
 sophical writings;' this was published in 
 1815, and exhibits the last and most au- 
 thentic view of the Jacobian doctrine. 
 
 P. 58 sq * Like every other system of 
 
 cognitions. Philosophy receives its Form 
 exclusively from the linder>tanding ( Ver- 
 stand) as, in general, the faculty of Con- 
 cepts (Begrift'e). Without notions or 
 concepts there can be no reconsciousness, 
 no consciousness of cognitions, conse 
 quently no discrimination and comparison, 
 no separation and connexion, no weigh- 
 ing, reweighing, estimating, of these ; in a 
 word, no seizing possession (Besitzer- 
 greifung) of any truth whatever. On the 
 other hand the contents — the peculiar 
 contents, of philosophy are given exclu- 
 sively by the Reason (Vernunlt),t by the 
 faculty, to wit, of cognitions, independent 
 of sense, and beyond its reach. The 
 Reason fashions no concepts, builds no 
 systems, pronounces no judgments, but. 
 
 like the external senses, it merely reveals, 
 it merely announces the fact. 
 
 ' Above all, we must consider — that as 
 there is a sensible intuition, an intuition 
 througii the Sense, so there is likewise a 
 rational intuition through the Reason. 
 Each, as a peculiar source of knowledge, 
 stands counter to the other; and we can 
 no more educe the latter from the former, 
 than we can educe the former from the 
 latter. So likewise, both hold a similar 
 relation to the Understanding (Verstand), 
 and consequently to demonstration. Op- 
 posed to the intuition ofsens'j no demon- 
 stration is valid ; for all demonstration is 
 only a reducing, a carrying back of the 
 concept to the sensibh' intuition (empiri- 
 cal or pure), which affords its guarantee: 
 and this, in reference to physical science, 
 is the first and the last, the unconditionally 
 vaUd, the absolute. On the same prin- 
 ciple, no demonstration avails in opposi- 
 tion to the intuition of reason, which 
 afibrds us a knowledge of supersensible 
 objects, that is, affords us assurance of 
 their reality and truth.* 
 
 ' We are compelled to employ the ex- 
 pression rational intuition, or intuition of 
 reason (Vernunft-Anschauung), because 
 the language possesses no other to denote 
 the mean and the manner, in which the 
 understanding is enabled to take cogni- 
 sance of what, unattainable by the sense, 
 is given by Feeling alone, and yet, not as 
 a subjective excogitation, but as an ob- 
 jective reality. 
 
 * When a man says — / know, we have a 
 right to ask him — Whence A« knoivs ? And 
 in answering our question, he must, in the 
 end, inevitably resort to one or other of 
 these two sources — either to \\\o. Sensation 
 of Sense (Sinnes-Emjitindung), or to the 
 Feeling of the Mind (Geistes-Gefuehl). 
 Whatever we know from mental feeling, 
 that, we say, we believe. So speak we all. 
 Virtue — consequently, Moral Liberty — 
 consequently. Mind and God — these can 
 only be believed. But tl>e Sensation on 
 which knowledge in the intuition of sense 
 
 knowledge properly so called — reposes, is 
 
 as httle superior to the Feeling on which 
 the knowledge in belief h founded, as the 
 brute creation is to the human, the mate- 
 rial to the intellectual world, nature to its 
 creator, f 
 
 • And to be represented, a thing must be 
 known. But ex hypothcsi, the external reality 
 is unknown; it cannot therefore be repvc«rnt«d. 
 
 i Sec note at p. 7J>3 a, and rofereiitM's. 
 
 • Compare this with Aristotle's doctrine, No. 
 3^ especially a.b c. f., and p. 771, b, 
 
 f As will be seen from what follows, Jacobi 
 applies the terms FrtUng atid Belief to both 
 Sense and Reason. Hcnsntion, as properly the 
 mere consciousness of a subjective sensual 
 state of the aarnable or disagreeable in tmx 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [notb a. 
 
 * The power of FMBog,. I mMntiiiiy it 
 tlie power in 'man ptftiiouiit to every 
 other; it is that alone which speciically 
 distinguishes him from the brutes, that is, 
 which, affording a difference not merely 
 in degree but in Icind, raises him to an m- 
 c©iiijmimW« eminence aboTe thein: it is. 
 I maintain, one and the same with Rea- 
 son; or, as we may with propriety ex- 
 press ourselves — what we call Reason, 
 what transcends mere understanding, un- 
 derstanding solely applied to nature, 
 springs exclusively and alone out of the 
 power of Feeling. As the senses refer 
 the understanding to Sensation, so the 
 Season refers it to Feeling, The con- 
 ■eiotisness of that which Feeling mani- 
 fests^^ 1 'Call Idea.** 
 
 P. 107 * As the reality, revealed by 
 
 the external senses, requires no guarantee, 
 itself affording the best assurance of its 
 truth; so the reality, revealed by that 
 deep internal sen5<» which we call Reason, 
 needs no guarantee, being, in hke man- 
 ner, alone and of itself the most compe- 
 tent witness of its veracity. Of necesaity, 
 :man believes his senses j of necessity, he 
 believes his reason ; and there is no cer- 
 tainty superior to the certainty which this 
 belief contains, 
 
 ' When men attempted to dumnnstrate 
 scientifically the truth of our representa- 
 tions ( Vorstellungen) of a material world, 
 existing beyond, and independent of, these 
 representations, the object which they 
 wished to establish vanished from the de- 
 moattrators ; there remained nought but 
 mmm subjectivity, mere mmmIioh : they 
 found Idealism. 
 
 * When men attempted to demonstrate 
 scientificallj the truth of our repre- 
 sentations of an immaterial world, eikt- 
 ing beyond these representatiotts,— the 
 truth of the substantiality of the hu- 
 man mind,— .and the truth of a free crea- 
 tor of the nniverse, distinct from the 
 iMiivene Itself, that is, an administrator, 
 endowed with consciousness, personality, 
 mid veritable providence; in like man- 
 ner the object vanished from the demon- 
 ■tirators ; there remained for them mere lo- 
 ,gical phantasms : they found— Nihilism. 
 
 * All reality, whether corporeal, revealed 
 by the senses, or spiritual, revealed by the 
 reason, is assured to us alone by Feeling ;f 
 beyond aBdabovethisthereisno guarantee.' 
 
 corporeal organism, is a term tbat ouglit to 
 
 'lave been here avoided. 
 
 * WItlioat enteriiw on details, I may ob. 
 ■■erveHiatJaiwMjiko. Kant, limits tbo term Mca 
 to thehif best notimis of pwreintelleci, or Reanon. 
 
 f Iar^»rd to the term Feellnif, pc« p. 760 a 
 
 Among those who have adopted the 
 principles of Jacobi, and who thus phil.i- 
 sophJze in a congenial spirit with Reid, be- 
 sides Koeppen and Ancillon (Nos. 96, 97), 
 I may refer, in general, to Bouterwek, 
 Lehrb. d. philos. Wissenseh. i. § 26, 27, 
 and Lehrb. d. philos. Vorkent.§§ 12, 27. — 
 Meeb, Verm. Sehr., vol. i. p. IW sq. vot 
 ii p. 18, 70, 245 sq. 251, vol.iii. p. 141 sq. 
 
 88. — Heidenbeich, one of the most 
 distinguished of the older Kantians. Be- 
 trachtungen, fitc, P. i. p. 213, 227.— * In 
 as much as the conviction of certain cog- 
 nitions (as of our own existence, of the 
 existence of an external world, &c ,) does 
 not depend upon an apprehension of rea- 
 sons, but is exclusively an immediate in- 
 nate reliance of the subject on self and 
 nature, I call it natwrui belief (Natur- 
 glaube). Every other cognition, notion, 
 and demonstratio::, reposes upon this na- 
 tural belief, and without it cannot be 
 brought to bear/ 
 
 89. — Ii. Credieb, — Skeptische Be- 
 trachtungen, &c., p. 110.—* We accord 
 reality to the external world because our 
 consciousness impels us so to do. . . . 
 That we are unable to explain, conceive, 
 justify all this, argues nothing against its 
 truth. Our whole knowledge rests ulti- 
 mately on facts of consciousness, of which 
 we not only cannot assign the reason, but 
 cannot even think the possibility.' He 
 does not however rise above Hypothetical 
 Realism ; see p. 108. 
 
 90. — Platmer. — Philosophische Apho- 
 rismen, 2d ed. Pref. p. vi. — * There is, I 
 am persuaded, only one philosophy ; and 
 that the true ; which in the outset of its 
 Inquiries departs from the principle, that 
 the certainty of human knowledge is 
 demonstrable, only relatively to our fa- 
 culty of knowing, and which, at the end 
 of its specuhitive career, returns within 
 the thoughts — Experience, Cmnmon Senm, 
 and Morality — the best results of o'lr 
 whole earthly wisdom.* 
 
 91. — FicuTE is a more remarkable, be- 
 cause a more reluctant, confessor of the 
 paramount authority of Belief than even 
 Kant. Departing from the principle 
 common to Kant and philosophers in 
 general, that the mind cannot transcend 
 itself, Fichte developed, with the most ad- 
 mirable rigour of demonstration, a scheme 
 of idealism, the purest, simplest, and 
 most consistent which the history of phi- 
 losophy exhibits. And so confident was 
 Fichte in the necessity of his proof, that 
 on one occasion he was provoked to im- 
 precate eternal damnati<ni on his head, 
 should he ever swerve from any, even the 
 
 §▼»•] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 797 
 
 least, of the doctrines which he had so 
 victoriously established. But even Fichte 
 in the end confesses that natural belief is 
 paramount to every logical proof; and 
 that his own idealism he could not be- 
 lieve. 
 
 In the foot note at page 129 b, I have 
 given the result as stated by himself of his 
 theoretical philosophy— Nihilism. After 
 the passage there quoted, he thus pro- 
 ceeds :— ' All cognition strictly so called 
 (Wissen) is only an eflfigiation (Abbild- 
 ung), and there is always in it some- 
 thini,' wanted, that to which the image or 
 effigies (Bild) corresponds. This want 
 can be supplied through no cognition; 
 and a system of cognitions is necessarily a 
 system of mere images, destitute of rea- 
 lity, significance, or aim.' These passa^jes 
 are from the conclusion of the second 
 book of his ' Bestiramung des Menschen,' 
 entitled ' Wissen,' pp. 130, 132, ed. 1825. 
 
 But in his Practical Philosophy Fichte 
 became convinced that he had found an 
 organ by which to lay hold on the inter- 
 nal and external worlds, which had 
 escaped from him in his Theoretical. * I 
 have discovered, he says, the instrument 
 by which to seize on this Reality, and 
 therewith, in all likelihood, on every other. 
 Knowledge (das Wissen) is not this in- 
 strument : no cognition can be its own 
 basis, and its own proof; every cognition 
 supposes another still higher, as its reason, 
 and this ascent has no termination. The 
 instrument I mean, is Belief (Glaube).' 
 (lb. book third, entitled ' Glaube,' p. 148.) 
 
 ' All my conviction is only BeUef, and 
 
 it proceeds from Feeling or Sentiment 
 ( Gesinnung), not from the discursive Un- 
 derstanding (Verstaud).' (lb, p. 147). 'I 
 possess, when once I am aware of this, 
 the touchstone of all truth and of all con- 
 viction. The root of truth is in the Con- 
 science (Gewissen) alone.' (lb. p: 148). 
 Compare St Austin, supra, No. 15, b.— 
 See also to the same effect Fichte's * Sys- 
 tem der Sittenlehre,' p. 18 ;— his work 
 • Ueber den Begriff" der Wissenschatts- 
 lehre, p. 21, sq.; — and the /Philoso- 
 phische Journal, vol. x. p. 7. Still more 
 explicit is the recognition of •internal 
 sense' and •* belief ' as an irrecusable testi- 
 mony of the reality of our perception of 
 external realities, subseciuently given by 
 Fichte in his lectures at Erlangen m 1805, 
 and reported by Gley in his * Essai sur 
 les Elements de la Philosophic,' p. 141, 
 iq., and in his ' Philosophia Turonensis,' 
 ▼oL i. p. 237—1 regret that I have not yet 
 seen Fichte's ' Hinterlassene Schriften,' 
 lately published by his son. 
 
 After these admissions it need not sur. 
 prise us to find Fichte confessing, that 
 ' How evident soever may be the demon- 
 stration that every object of couscious- 
 ness (Vorstellung) is only illusion and 
 dream, I am unable to believe it ;' and. 
 in like manner maintaining, that Spinoza 
 never could have believed the system 
 which he deduced with so loj^ical a neces- 
 sity. (Philos. Journ. vii. p. 35.) 
 
 93. — Krug. — The Transcendental Syn- 
 thetism of this philosopher is a scheme of 
 dualism founded on the acceptance of the 
 original datum of consciousness, that we 
 are immediately cognisant, at once, of an 
 internal, and of an external world. It is 
 thus a scheme of philosophy,really, though 
 not professedly, founded on Common 
 Sense. Krug is a Kantian; and as origi- 
 nally promulgated in his * Entwurf eines 
 neucn Organons,' 1801, (§ 5), his system 
 was, like Kant's, a mere Cosinothetic Ideal- 
 ism ; for while ho allowed a knowledge of 
 the infernal world, he only aUowed a be- 
 lief of the external. 1 he polemic of 
 Schulze against the common theory of 
 sensitive representation, and in professed 
 conformity with lleid's doctrine of per- 
 ception, was published in the same year; 
 and it was probably the consideration of 
 this that determined Krug to a fundamen- 
 tal change in his system. For in his trea- 
 tise * Ueber die verschiedenen Methoden,' 
 &c. 1802 (p. 44), and still more explicitly 
 in his 'Fundamental Philosophic,' 1S03 
 (§ 68), the mere belief in the unkno^vn 
 existence of external things is commuted 
 into a cognition, and an immediate percep- 
 tion apparently allowed, as well of the 
 phaenomena of matter, as of the phaeno- 
 mena of mind. See also his pamphlet 
 * Ueber das Verhaeltniss der Philosophie 
 zum gesunden Menschenverstande,' 1835, 
 in reference to Hegel's paradox, — * That 
 the world of Common Sense, and the 
 world of Philosophy, are, to each other, 
 worlds upside down.' 
 
 94. — Deoerando Histoire comparee 
 
 des Systemes de Philosophie t. iii. p, 343, 
 original edition. 'Concluons: la realite 
 de nos connaissances [of the external 
 world] ne se demontre pas; elle se recon- 
 nait. Elle se reconnait, par reffet de cctte 
 meme conscience qui nous revcle notro 
 connaissance elle- meme. Tel est le pri- 
 vilege de r intelligence humaine. Elle 
 aper(;oit les objets, elle s'apergoit ensuite 
 elle-mcme, elle aper9oit (pielle a aperqu. 
 Elle est toute lumiere, mais une lumicre 
 qui reflechit indefinimeiit sur eile-mtrae. 
 On nous opposera ce principe abstrait: 
 qu'um S' nsation ne pent nous imtruire qu§ 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 OXJS 
 
 i ^i-] 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 799 
 
 lii iiofri pr<^€ exist.€n€€> • . Sans doute 
 Imnqii' on. commeBce parconfoiiiiire la i«i»- 
 mtim mm hkpwtmdm. par ifflnir celle- 
 ei nm mmiir€ <l'«w du mm, on no p<»ut 
 leur attribuer d'autre iiLHtruction qm celle 
 dont Dotr© propre eikteiice est 1' objet. 
 Mais fevitons ici les disputes deniotsj il 
 i'agit seuleiiient de constater iiii fait ; sa- 
 voir, si dans o«rlains cas, en r^ilechiasant 
 iiir nos operations, en demelaiittoutea letira 
 circonstaiices, nous n' y decoufrons pas 
 1» perception immiidiate et primitive d un© 
 eiMtence ctrangere, perception ii la quelle 
 m donnera tel now qu' on jugora conven- 
 able. Si ce fait est exact, constant, uni- 
 Tersel si ce fait est primitif, il est non 
 ieulement inutile, roais absurde, d'en de- 
 laander le pmrquid et le emtmmt. Car 
 nous n'afOBB aucune donni-e pour Fex- 
 
 luer. 
 
 &-:F«.ks, a distinguished philosopher 
 of the Kantian school, but whose opinions 
 liiive been considerably niodiied by the m- 
 iience of the Jacobian philosophy of be- 
 lief, profeaaes in bis Feeling of Truth 
 (WahrheltsgefueW) a doctrine of common 
 sense. This doctrine is in every essential 
 respect the same as Eeld's ; for Fries is 
 mltoftether wrong in the assertion which, 
 ill different works, he once and again ha- 
 lardi that, under Common Sense, Reid 
 hftd in view a special organ of truth— 
 a peculiar sense, distinct from ^reason 
 or intelligence in general. See in par- 
 ticular his Krit. vol, i. % 86. — Metaph. 
 \ 17.— Gesck d. Phil. vol. ii. § 172. 
 Anthr. vol. i. 8 62. ii. Vorr. p. xvi.— 
 
 Log. § 84. , ^ , 
 
 ll'(j. KoEPPEK— a philosopher of the 
 
 M-hool of Jacobi— Darstellung des Wes- 
 eii8derPbilosophie,§ 11— 'Human know- 
 ledge, (Wis&cn) considered in its totality, 
 exhibits a twofold eharacter. It is either 
 Apprthmmm, ( Wahrnehmung) or Cwicep- 
 tim (Begrii); llther an immediate con- 
 viction, or a mediate insight, obtained 
 through reasons. By the former we are 
 liiiid to bdim§, by the latter to emcmm 
 [or comprehend]* After an articulate ex- 
 position of this, and having shown, with 
 Jacobi and Hume, that belief as convert- 
 ible with feelmg const it utes^ the ultimate 
 ground both of action and cognition, he 
 
 proceeds : * In a philosophical sense, 6r- 
 
 bviii is tantamonnt to afprnhmi^. For 
 all .appwhension is an immediate convic- 
 tion which cannot be founded unon rcHec- 
 ticn and conception. In our human in- 
 difidnality we poaaess a double faculty of 
 apprehension— :i&«»ii [intelligenc©, mn] 
 mii Smm. What,, therefore, through 
 m and .ienKe la an object of our appre- 
 
 hension is 6«'ffew<f. . . . The belief of rea- 
 son and the belief of sense, are our guar- 
 antees for the certainty of what we appre- 
 hend. The former relies on the testi- 
 mony of reason, the latter on the testi- 
 mony of sense. Is this twofold testimony 
 false', there is absolutely no truth of ap- 
 prehension. The combinations of concep- 
 tions afford no foundation for this original 
 truth.— B«fff/ is thus the/r«« in our cog- 
 nition, because apprehension is the first; 
 conception is the second, because it regards 
 the relations of what is given through ap- 
 prehension. If, then, I exclusively appro- 
 priate to the result of conceptions the 
 name of kmowiedge (Wissen) —still all 
 knowledge presupposes belief, and on be- 
 lief does the truth of knowledge repose. 
 Belief lays hold on the originally given; 
 knowledge developes the rektions of the 
 givpn, in conformity with the lawa of 
 thought,' &c. 
 
 97, — Ahcillow (the Son) — German by 
 birth, French by lineage, writing in either 
 language with equal elegance, and repre- 
 senting in himself the highest and most 
 peculiar qualities of both his nations ; we 
 have still farther to admire in the prime 
 minister of Prussia, at once, the metaphy- 
 sician and moralist, the historian and 
 statesman, the preacher and man of the 
 world. He philosophised in the spirit of 
 Jacobi; and from his treatise Ueber 
 Glaube (On Belief), one of his later 
 writings, I tran:>kte the following pas- 
 sages: — 
 
 P. 36. * Existences, realities,are «7itwtif 
 We apprehend them by means of an inter- 
 nal mint*d intnition (geistige Anschauung) 
 which, in respect of its clearness, as in re- 
 spect of its certainty, is as evident as uni- 
 versal, and as resistless and indubitable aa 
 evident. 
 
 ' Were no such internal, immediate, 
 mental intuition given us, there would be 
 given us no existence, no reality. The 
 universe^ — the worlds of mind and matter- 
 would then resolve themselves into appa- 
 rency. All realities would be mere ap- 
 pearances, appearing to another mere ap- 
 pearance — Man ; whilst no answer could 
 be afforded to the ever-recurring questions 
 — What It it that appeurt f and To whom 
 is the appearance made ? Even knguaKe 
 resists such assertions, and reproves the 
 ie. 
 
 • Had we no such internal, immedbte, 
 mental intuition, existences would be be- 
 yond the reach of every faculty we possess. 
 For neither our abstractive nor reflective 
 powers, neither the analysis of notions, 
 nor notions themselves, neither syntbes?*. 
 
 nor reasoning, conld ever lead us to reality 
 and existence.'* 
 
 (Having shown this in regard to each 
 of these in detail, he proceeds : p. 40.) — 
 * This root of all reality, this ground of 
 existence, is the Reason (Vernunft),t out 
 of which all reasonings proceed, and on 
 which alone they repose. 
 
 * The Reason of which I here speak is 
 not an instrument which serves for this or 
 that performance, but a true productive 
 force, a creative power, which has its own 
 revelation ; which does not show what is 
 already manifested, but, as a primary con- 
 sciousness, itself contemplates existence ; 
 which is not content to collect data, and 
 from these data to draw an inference, but 
 which itself furnishes Reality as a datum. 
 This Reason is no arithmetical machine, 
 but an active principle ; it does not reach 
 the truth after toil and time, but departs 
 from the truth, because it finds the truth 
 within itself. 
 
 * This Reason, this internal eye,t which 
 immediately receives the light of existence, 
 and apprehends existences, as the bodily eye 
 the outlines and the colours of the sensu- 
 ous world, is an immediate sense which 
 contemplates the invisible. 
 
 * This Reason is the ground, the prin- 
 ciple, of all knowledge ( Wissen) ; for all 
 knowledge bears reference to reality and 
 existences. 
 
 ll^^^^^^^ * All knowledge must, first or last, rest 
 on facts (Thatsachen,) universal facts, 
 necessary facts, of the internal sense ; — on 
 facts which give us ourselves, our own ex- 
 istence, and a conviction of the existence 
 of other supersensible beings. 
 
 * These facts are for us mental iuiui- 
 tions. lu as much as they give us an in- 
 stantaneous, clear, objective perception 
 of reality, they are entitled to the name of 
 Intuition (Anschauung); in as much as 
 this intuition regards the objects of the in- 
 visible world, they deserve the attribute of 
 mental. 
 
 * Such an intuition, such a mental 
 feeling (Gefuehl), engenders Philosophical 
 Belief. This belief consists in the imme- 
 diate apprehending of existences wholly 
 concealed and excluded from the senses, 
 which reveal themselves to us in our in- 
 
 * Fichte says the same :— * From cognition to 
 pass out to an object of cognition — this is ini 
 possible; we must therefore depart IVoiu the 
 reality, otherwise we should remain forever un 
 ahle to reach it.* 
 
 f On the enjploymcnt of the word Reason >y 
 the German philosophers, Bupra, p. 768, sq. 
 
 t Plato, Aristotle, and many philosophers 
 after them, say tWs of Intelligence, vmif. 
 
 most consciousness, and firs too with a 
 necessary conviction of tlieir objectivity 
 (reality.) 
 
 * Belief, in the philosophical sense, 
 means, the apprehension without proof, 
 reasoning or deduction of any kind, of 
 those higher truths which belong to the 
 supersensible world, and not to the world 
 of appearances.' .... 
 
 P. 43. * Philosophical belief apprehends 
 existences which can neither be conceived 
 nor demonstrated. Belief is therefore a 
 knowledge conversant about existences, 
 but it does not know existences, if under 
 knowledge be understood — demonstrating, 
 comprehending, conceiving.* . . . 
 
 P. 44. — * The internal intuition which 
 affords us the apprehension of certain 
 existences, and allows us not to doubt in 
 regard to the certainty of their reality, 
 does not inform us concerning their na- 
 ture. This internal intuition is given us 
 in Feeling and through Feeling.' . . . 
 
 P. 48. — * This internal universal sense, 
 this highest power of mental vision in 
 man, seems to have much in it of the in^ 
 stinctive, and may therefore appropriately 
 be styled int llectual Instinct. For on the 
 one hand it manifests itself through sud 
 den, rapid, uniform, resistless promptings-, 
 and on the other hand, these promptings 
 relate to objects, which lie not within the 
 domain of the senses, but belong to the 
 supersensible world. 
 
 * Let no oifence be taken at the expres- 
 sion Instinct. For, &c.' . . . 
 
 P. 50. — * Had man not an intellectual 
 instinct, or a reason giving out, revealing, 
 but not demonstrating, truths rooted in 
 itself, for want of a point of attachment 
 and support, he would move himself in all 
 directions, but without progress ; and on 
 a level, too, lower than the brutes, for h© 
 could not com|)ass that kind of perfection 
 which the brute possesses, and would be 
 disqualiried from attaining any other. 
 
 * The immediate Reason elicits inter- 
 nal mental intuitions ; these intuitions 
 have an evidence, which works on us Uke 
 an intellectual instinct, and generates in us 
 a philosophical belief, which constitutes 
 the foundation of our knowledge. To 
 which soever of these expressions the pre- 
 ference be accorded, all their notions 
 have a common character, and are so in- 
 terlinked together, that they all equally 
 result in the same very simple proposi- 
 tion : — * Thsre is either no truth, or tficre 
 are fundamental truths^ which admit a§ 
 little of demonstratim as of doubJ . . . 
 
 p. 51. — ' Had we not in ourselves ana<v 
 tive principle of truth, we should havi 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [noTB 
 
 § VI.J 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 801 
 
 «^tli«r a rule, nor a touctetoBe, nor a 
 ILiciiird, of the tr«. Had ^-^^^^^^; 
 
 mItcs the consciousneas of cxi*.tencts, 
 
 there would be for us no «e*ns^«* J"7^^ 
 ing. whether what comes from without 
 1,6 iot mere illusion, and whether whM 
 
 the mind itself fashions and combines be 
 aagkt but an empty play with notions 
 lu a word— the truth must bo m us, as a 
 constitutive, and as a regvMv^^ FJT 
 cipk ; or we should never attain to truin. 
 Only with determinate points of eoin- 
 mencement and termination, and with a 
 mmtrtd point of knowledge, iroin winch 
 ^Tt^g departs, and to which eve^ 
 tE tends to return, are other cogni- 
 tions possible ; f;uU«g.this P»7"f y •^"j'- 
 tion, iothingean be given us to know, and 
 nothing certain can exist* 
 
 And in the Preface (p. xi.) ne naa 
 said:— 'The Reason invents, discovers, 
 creates, in propriety, nothing; it ^nmmt^ 
 o„ly what ii harbours it only reveidBwha^ 
 Ood himself has depodied with n it , tout , 
 m soon as it is conscious to itself o this, 
 it speaki out with a force which inspires 
 ILli a rational belief, a f«^^^^^^^^ 
 mm (Vernunftglaube).-a behet w tn 
 
 takes priority of every ^'^^^f dm^t 
 aerf es to every other as a point of depar 
 ture and of support How can we iwlieve 
 irtord of Ifod, if we do not ahready 
 believe that a God exists ? -.^^^. . . . ,^ _^ 
 Compare also Ins -Zur ^erm'tUung 
 der Extreme; vol ii. p. ^^3, sq., ana ms 
 'Moi Huinain' passim, 
 
 98 —Okklach.- Fundamental Philo- 
 lophie ^ 16.— • So soon as a man i« coii- 
 3dof any thingwbc his conviction of 
 lie Trl, of the Good, or of the Beauti- 
 fu^-he rists upon his Consciousness ; lor 
 B himBelf and in Ma Consciousness alone 
 lesTe possess the elements which const - 
 Site the^nowledge f ^^^^^IJ^J^^^ ^'^ 
 herein alone that he finds the necessity of 
 m and each of his ^dgm^f^B- J;; 
 word, that only has an existenc© for us 
 ai whieh we are conscious. 
 
 m!-H«"bb. the late i^^o^^J^Z: 
 BOBtofthe CatboHc faulty oJ Iheo- 
 Ugj In Bonn. . thinker o^ whom », 
 country may well be proud, is J^p® »"^ 
 «f a pfelosophy of cognition ^lj'-;h»^« »J^ 
 fundinen Jpnnejl^ is «"« o^^j^o^me 
 «f Sk ' In\\Xtion"to Christian CathoUc 
 Thfitiloffv.' a work which, since the au- 
 tK diath! has obtained - .-^^ 
 apart from its great intrinsic merits 
 Xough the agitation e<»'«2Tlu" i s 
 e^delnation at Eome, /«;. f^v ";;« 
 wMeh, except on some notoriously open 
 
 questions, the Hermesians-in Germany, 
 now a numerous and able school-strenu- 
 ously deny tliat it contains. 
 
 To speak only of his theoretical phiv 
 sophy.— For the terms FeeUng of TnUH, 
 Bdief. &c., Hermes s«l)stitutes the terra 
 ^oWin^-/or-(rtie (Fuerwahrhalten) wkch 
 is only inadequately expressed by tne 
 Latin mMtmm, oMetdiQ, udhasio, tne 
 Greek ouyK^rAhmf «' f "^ . r"^*'*" 
 term, tioldbig-fm^'irm involves in it a du- 
 pllcity;-vi«., a Holding- for.O'«6 ol the 
 Ui^feJ^-*, and a Holding-for-rea/ (Fue^ 
 wirkUehhalten) of the thmgknotmi. Both 
 of these parts are united in the decision— 
 that the knowledge and the tlung known 
 
 coincide. . ^„ 
 
 IMding-Jm-real is not consequent on 
 reflection ; it is not the result of a recog- 
 nition ; it is the concomitant, not the con- 
 sequent of apprehension. It is a consti- 
 tuent element of the primary consciousness 
 of a perception external or internal ; n is 
 what, in the language of the Scottish phi- 
 losophers, might be called an instinctive 
 belief. 'This holding - for - real (says 
 Hermes) is manifestly given in me /)nor 
 to all Reflection: for with the first con- 
 sciousness, with the consciousness 'that I 
 know,* from which all Reflection departs. 
 the consciousness is also there, tliat I 
 hold the thing known for real,' LinL vol. 
 i. p. 182. See Nos. 3,15* (at end), 16, &c. 
 The mmmty we find ot assenting or 
 holding is the last and hi-hest security we 
 can obtain for truth and reality. 1 he ne- 
 cessary holding of a thing for real is not 
 itself reality ; it is only the mstrument, 
 the mean, the surrogate, the guarantee, of 
 realitv. It is not an objective, it is only 
 a subjective, certainty. It constitutes, 
 however, all the assurance or certainty ot 
 which the human mind is capable. ino 
 [necessary] Holding,' says Hermes, ot 
 something known [for real,] can aftord no 
 other certainty of the objective existejice 
 of what is known but this— t/ia* / f 'Ac 
 mhmt) must hold the thing known for oh- 
 jectivehj ' ^utent i or (meaning always by 
 the word subjective what is in rue, m IM 
 mbjectj-oi the objective txhMfm of a 
 thing known there can possibly be given 
 only the highest subjective certamt>f. But 
 no one who knows what he would be at, wiU 
 ever ask after any other certainty ; not 
 merely because it is unattainable, but 
 because it is contradictory for human 
 thought : in other words, can a subject be 
 anv otherwise certain than that ids certain 
 —than that itsej.tlw mbjiCt,i» certain? 
 To be o6i«cfiw/i/ certain (taking the term 
 objectivf. in a sense corresponding to tbii 
 
 term mbjectim as here employed) the 
 subject must, in fact, no longer remain 
 the subject, it must also be the object, 
 and, as such, be able to become certain ; 
 and yet in conformity to our notion of 
 certainty ( Gewissheit ) — or whatever 
 more suitable expression may be found for 
 it — all questions concerning certainty 
 must be referred to the subject (to 
 the Ego) : the attempt to refer them 
 to the object involves a contradiction.' 
 Ibid. p. 186. 
 
 This is clearly and cogently stated; 
 and it would seem as if we had only to 
 appeal to the subjective certainty we have, 
 in our being compelled to hold that in 
 perception the ego, is immediately cog- 
 nisant, not only of itself as subject but of 
 a non-ego as object — to prove that the 
 exttmal world being actually known as 
 existing, actually exists. (See above, p. 
 745, sq.) This Hermes does not, however, 
 do. He seems not, indeed, to have con- 
 templated the possibility of the mind 
 being conscious or immecUately cognitive 
 oJ aughfc but self: and only lurnislies us 
 with -^improved edition ot the old and in- 
 conclusive reasoning, that an external 
 world must be admitted, as the necessary 
 ground or reason of our internal repre- 
 sentation of it. 
 
 100. — Cousin. — Fragmens Philoso- 
 phiques, third edition. Vol. i. 
 
 a.— P. 243 * Philosophy is already re- 
 alized, for human thought is there. 
 
 * There is not. and there cannot be, a 
 
 Ehilosophy absolutely false ; for it would 
 ehove the author of such a philosophy to 
 phice himself out of his own thought, in 
 other words, out of his humanity. This 
 power has been giveu to no man. 
 
 * How then may philosophy err ? — By 
 considering thought only on a single side, 
 and by seeing, in that single side, the to- 
 tality of thought. There are no false, but 
 many incomplete systems; — systems true 
 in themselves, but vicious in their preten- 
 sions, each to comprise that absolute truth 
 which is only found distributed through all. 
 
 * The incomplete, and by consequence, 
 the exclusive — this is the one only vice of 
 philosophy, or rather, to speak more cor- 
 rectly, of philosophers, for philosophy rises 
 above all the systems. The full portrait 
 of the real, which philosophy presents, is 
 indeed made up of features borrowed from 
 every several system; for of these each 
 reflects reality ; but unfortunately reflects 
 it under a single angle.* 
 
 * The like has been said by LeibnitE and He. 
 fol; but not so finely. 
 
 * To compass possession of reality full 
 and entire, it is requisite to sist ourselves 
 atthecen're. To reconstitute the intel- 
 lectual life, mutilated in the several sys- 
 tems, it behoves us to re-enter Consci- 
 ousness, and there, weaned from a systema- 
 tic and exclusive spirit, to analt/se thought 
 into its elem nts, and all its ehtmnt^, and 
 to seek out in it the chtracters, and all the 
 characters^ under ivhich it is at prt^sent ma- 
 nifested to the eye of consciousness.^ — Du 
 Fait de Conscience. 
 
 b. — P. 181. — * The fundamental prin- 
 ciple of knowledge and intellectual life is 
 Consciousn ss. Life begins with consci- 
 ousness, and with consciousness it ends : 
 in consciousness it is that we apprehend 
 ourselves ; and it is in and through con- 
 sciousness that we apprehend the external 
 world. Were it possible to rise above 
 consciousness, to place ourselves, so to 
 speak, behind it, to penetrate into the se- 
 cret workshop where intelligence blocks 
 out and fabricates the various phaenome- 
 na, there to officiate, as it were, at tb-j 
 birth, and to watch the evolution of coik- 
 sciousness ; — then might we hope to com- 
 prehend its nature, and tlie diff- rent st«r"ps 
 through which it rises to the form in wiiich 
 it is first actually revealed. But, as all 
 knowledge commences with consciousness, 
 it is able to remount no higher. Here a 
 prudent analysis will therefore stop, and oc- 
 cupy itself with what is given* 
 
 Other testimonies might easily be quot- 
 ed from the subsequent writings of M. 
 Cousin — were this not superfluous ; for I 
 presume that few who take an interest in 
 philosophical inquiries can now be igno- 
 rant of these celebrated works. 
 
 101. — De La Mennais See No. 2. 
 
 OMITTED. 
 
 9* *. — Aelius Aeistides. — Platonic 
 Oration, li. (Opera, ed. Canter, t. iii. p. 249 
 ed. Jebb. t. ii. p. 150)—* That the Many 
 are not to be contemned, and their opinion 
 held of no account ; but that in thein, too, 
 there is a presentiment, an unerring in- 
 stinct, which, by a kind of divine fatality, 
 seizes darkUng on the truth ; — this v. o 
 have Plato himself teacliing, and, ages ear- 
 lier than Plato, this old Hesiod, wiih poste- 
 rity in chorus, in these familiar verses sang : 
 
 The Fame, born of the many. nat ion' d t^ojcc 
 Of mankind, dies not ;for it lives ns God.' 
 
 For Hesiod, see No. 1. These verses 
 are likewise adduced bv Aristotle as pro- 
 verbial. (Eth. Nic. vii' 13 [14.J } They 
 may be also rendered thus : 
 
 * 77ie }Ford, forth sent hi/ tlie conclamant voice 
 Oj mankind, errs not ; for its truth is Ood'a.^ 
 
 3 E 
 
aoi 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY 
 
 [MOTB A 
 
 Fame (Fnblo Opinion) hail her teiiii>l« in 
 Athena; 8«e Pansanias. 
 
 Plato 18 referred to in the Ijiws, (L. xii § 
 §. ed. Bekk. t. ii. p. 960, ed Steph.) Ano- 
 ther pasflwe, in the Crito, which Canter 
 indioilei, h irrelevant. In the former, 
 Plato attributes to mankind at krgo a 
 certain divine sense or vaticination of the 
 tnit h ( im» Ti x« I twTQxo»)j *>y which, in our 
 natural Judgments, we are preaerved from 
 ©rror. I did not, however, 'iiid 'the state- 
 ment miiioiently generalized to quote the 
 context as a testimony. 
 
 15*. — Tn M ODOEET.— The Curat ivc of 
 Greek Affections, Sermon i., On Belief. 
 (Opera, ed. Sirmondi, t. iv. p. 478.)— 
 •Belief [or Faith], therefore, is a matter 
 of the greatest moment. For, according 
 to the Pythagorean Epicharmns, 
 
 Mind^ U methi Mind, U kmnlhi 
 JU bmMe U eka/md MIMt 
 
 and Heracltus, im like manner, exhorts 
 us to snbmit to the guidance of belief, in 
 
 these words;— t/»i/eM j/e hope, ye shail 
 ■rmifind tk§ tmktpedfor, wMck is imarut- 
 abis tmd m^permmble. . . . And let 
 none of you, my friends, say aught in dis- 
 
 rgement of belief. For belief is called 
 Aristotle the Criterim of A'ciViice; 
 whilst Epicurus says, that it is the Antici- 
 ptOionof Meason, and that anticipation, 
 having indued Knowledge, results in 
 Comprehennlon.— But, as we detoe it, Be- 
 lef is— « JfWilatMfotw auma or adhesion of 
 ike mindf—mttke iniuUion of the umppa- 
 tm*,— or the taking ptmesmon of the real 
 (■flTf^l ri If imrmfftf — r* Bud. in Pand. et 
 Com. L. G.), md mtwal apprehension of 
 the w^pereemMsr-^ran mimcillatinff pro- 
 pmuimn etttMi^ed tti the mind of the be- 
 luver.—BuU on the on© hand, Belief re- 
 quires knowledge, as on the other. Know- 
 ledge requires belief. For there can sub- 
 dst, neither belief without knowledge, nor 
 knowledge without belief. Belief pre^ 
 cedes knowledge, knowledge follows be- 
 lef ; while desire is attendant upon know- 
 ledge, and action coueqiwiii upon desire. 
 Fur it it BWiewary,- to bale? o irst j, Uien 
 to 'lean j knowing, to desire ; and deshfliig, 
 to acL . . . • — Belief, therefore, my 
 friends. Is a concern common to all ; . . . 
 
 for all who would learn any thing must 
 first believe, [So Aristotle] Belief is, 
 therefore, the foundation and basis of Sci- 
 ence. For your philosophers have defined 
 Belief— a loluntmy assent or adlitsion of 
 the mind; and Science — an immutable 
 hcMt, meompanied with reason.' — This is 
 a testimony which I should regret to have 
 totally forgotten. Compare Nos. 3, 11, 
 16, 16, 18, 19, 24, 81, 86, 87, 91, 96, 97, 
 
 9^, &c. 
 
 17 *. SiMFi.icius. — Commentary on 
 
 the Manual of Epictetus; and there speak- 
 ing in the language of tl»e Porch, rather 
 than ill tliat of the Lyceum or the Aca- 
 demy. 
 
 a_C. 33, Heins. 23, Schweigh.— * The 
 Common Notions of men concerning the 
 nature of things, according to which, in 
 place of varying from each other, they are 
 in opinion mutually agreed, (as, that the 
 good is useful, and the useful good, that cdl 
 things desiderate tliegod, that the equal is 
 neither surpassing nor surpassed, that twice 
 two is four) — these notions, and the like, 
 suggested in us by right reason, and tested 
 by experience and thne, are true, and in 
 accordance with the nature of things; 
 whereas the notions proper to individual 
 men are frequently fallacious.' 
 
 b.— C. 72, Heins. 48, Schweigh.— ' But 
 Reason, according to the proverb, is a 
 Mercury common to all ; for, although, as 
 in us individually, reasons are plural, or 
 numerically different, they are in species 
 one and the same ; so that, by reason all 
 men follow after the same things as good, 
 and eschew the same things as bad, and 
 think the same things to be true or to b« 
 false.* 
 
 In these passages, Reaeon, in the vaguer 
 meaning of the Stoics, is employed, where 
 Intellect, in the precise acceptation of the 
 Aristotelians and Platonists, might have 
 been expected from Simplicius. But he is 
 here speaking by accommodation to hk 
 author. 
 
 As a chronological Table was luckily 
 omitted at the head of the Series, I here 
 append, ethnographically subarranged, the 
 following — 
 
 LIST OF THE PRECEDING TESTIMONIES. 
 
 OmBi».-l, Hesiod; 2, Heracltus; 8, Aristotle; 4, Theophrastusj 9**, Aelius 
 
 ArisHdea, see at end; 10, Alenwiar Aphrodisiensis ; 11, Clemens Alexandnnus; 
 1§, Theodoret, see at end i 16, Proelus; 17, Ammouius Hermiae; 17*, SimpUcius, 
 
 tee at eo4 
 
 I n.} 
 
 OF COMMON SENSE. 
 
 SOS 
 
 Roman. — 5, Lucretius; 6, Cicero; 7, Horace; 8, Seneca; 9, Pliuy, younger; 9*, 
 Qumtilian; 12, Tertullian; 13, Arnobius; 14, Lactantius; 15, St Augustin. 
 
 Ar&hian. — 19, Algazel. 
 
 Italian. — 18. St Anselm (ambiguously French)} 20, Aquinas; 26, Julius Caesar 
 Scaliger ; 67, Vulpius ; 68, Vice ; 71, Genovesi. 
 
 Spanish.— 22, Antonius Andreas; 28, Antonius Goveanus (Portuguese) ; 29, 
 Nunnesius; 32, Mariana. 
 
 French.— 23, Budaeus; 27, Omphalius; 30, Muretus ; 37, Descartes; 39, Bal 
 zac; 40, Chanet; 41, Irenaeus a Sancto Jacobo ; 42, Lescalopier ; 43, Pascal; 44, 
 La Chambre ; 46, Le Pere Rapiu ; 47, Du Hamel ; 48, Malebranche ; 49, Poiret ; 
 60, Bossuet; 69, John Alphonso Turretini (^<?e«eves«^ ; 60, Fenelon ; 62, D'Agues- 
 seau; 63, Buffier ; 70, Huber; 74, D'Alembert ; 94, Degerando; 100, Cousin; 101. 
 De La Mennais. 
 
 British. — 21, Duns Scotus ; 33, Sir John Da vies; 35, Lord Herbert; 36, 
 Cameron; 38, Sir Thomas Brown; 45, Henry More; 51, Locke; 52, Bentley ; 53, 
 John Serjeant ; 53*, Abercromby ; 65, Toland ; 61, Shaftesbury ; 62*, Berkeley ; 64, 
 Lyons; 65, Amherst; 66, Wollaston; 72, Hume; 78, Price; 79, Reid ; 82, Beattie. 
 (Of these, 21, [?] 36. 53*, 72, 79, 82, are Scottish.) 
 
 German. — 24, Luther; 25, Mclanchthon ; 34, Keckermann ; 54, Leibnitz; 56, Chris- 
 tian Thomasius ; 57, Ridiger ; 58, Feuerlin ; 69, Christian Wolf ; 73, Crusius ; 75, Oetin- 
 ger ; 76, Eschenbach ; 77, John Matthew Gesner ; 80, Hiller ; 83, Storchenau ; 84, 
 Stattler; 86, Kant ; 87, Jacobi ; 88, Heidenreich; 89, Leonhard Creuzer ; 90, Plat- 
 ner; 91, Fichte; 93, Krug ; 95, Fries ; 96, Koeppen; 97, Aucillon, the son: 98,Ger- 
 laeh ; 99, George Hermes. 
 
 Bf.loian.— 31, Giphanius; 81, Hemsterhuis ; 85, Hennert. 
 
 In all one hundred and six Witnesses 
 
NOTE B. 
 
 OV PBESENTATITS ANB RSPEESENTATITB 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 I If^Tks tMtimeiim of Pregmtaimt ItmMm or Fmmedmte, and of Eepresentativs 
 or M€diat€ eo§nUi(m ; wtfil lli iwrlouf mgnijkations of tfie term Object, its 
 
 eomjuffota and eorrekdimt* 
 
 I IL-^Mrrorg of Meid and oiher phiiosopM'8, in reference to tl$ preceding distinctionB, 
 
 riiifepeiicei. -From Iraq. 106 a, from I. P. 226 b, 233 a, 292 a b, 298 b, 298 b, 
 ma, 839 b, 351 b, 357 % 368 b, 369 a b, 873 a, 427 a.] 
 
 1 1.:-*' Tk» diMinetiom of Frmmskiiim, In- 
 tmMm or IwmmMMe, and of Egprmenta- 
 Um or Mediate eognitionj with the vari- 
 &m dgmJkationM' of the term Object, its 
 
 eomjng€Ues and corrdeUimg, 
 
 Tbe correbtiTo terms, Ifmnediate aiid 
 Mediate, m attributes of knowledge and its 
 modifications, are employed in more than 
 a single relation. In order, therefore, to 
 obviate .miiapprehension, it iu necessary, 
 In thflfcst place, to determine in whiit«g- 
 nlieatlon it k, tlmt we are at p reient to 
 •mplo J them. 
 
 In apprehending an tndivldnal thing, 
 either itself through eense or its represen- 
 tation in the phantasy, we have, in a cer- 
 tain sort, an absolute or irresipective 
 cognition, which is justly denominated tm- 
 ■Mcitaltf, by eonlrasi to the more relative 
 msA mediate knowledge which, subsequent* 
 ijf we compass of the same object, when, 
 by a onmparaliTe act of the understand- 
 mg we fefer it to a elassi that is, think or 
 recognise It, by relation to other things, 
 under a Mrtain notion or general term. 
 With tUi distinction wehavenetliing now 
 to do. The dlicrlmiiiation of immediute 
 and wmHate knowledge, with wliich we are 
 at preient concerned, Mee within and sub- 
 
 divides what constitutes, in the foregoing 
 division, the branch of immediate cogni- 
 tion ; for wo are only here to deal with 
 the knowledge of individual objects abso- 
 lutely considered, and not viewed in rela- 
 tion to aught beyond themselves. 
 
 This distinction of immediate and me- 
 diate cognition it is of the highest impor- 
 tance to establish ; for it is one without 
 which the whole philosophy of knowledge 
 must remain involved in ambiguities. 
 What, for example, can be more various, 
 vacillating, and contradictory, tlian the 
 employment of the alUiniportant terms 
 object and objectim, in contrast to subject 
 and mi^jectimt in the writings of Kant t — 
 though the same is true of those of other 
 recent philosophers. This arose from 
 the want of a preliminary determination 
 of the various, and even opposite, mean- 
 ings of which these terms are susceptible, 
 — a selection of the one proper meaning, 
 — and a rigorous adherence to the mean- 
 ing thus preferred. But, in particular, 
 the doctrine of Natural Realism cannot, 
 without this distinction, be adequately un- 
 derstood, developed, and discriminated. 
 Betd, accordingly, in consetjuence of the 
 want of it, has not only failed in giving 
 to his philosophy its preoiae and appro- 
 
 NOTS B. § 1.J 
 
 SPECIES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 805 
 
 priate expression, he has failed even in 
 withdrawing it from equivocation and 
 confusion ; — in so much, that it even 
 remains a question, whether his doc- 
 trine be one of Natural Realism at all. 
 —The following is a more articulate deve- 
 Iqpement of this important distinction than 
 that which I gave, some ten years ago ; 
 and since, by more than one philosopher 
 adopted. See Edinburgh Review, vol. lii. 
 p. 166, sq.; Cross's Selections from Ed. 
 Rev. vol. iii. p. 200 sq. ; Peisse, Fragments 
 Philosophiques, p. 75 sq. 
 
 For the sake of distinctness, I shall 
 state the different momenta of the dis- 
 tinction in separate Propositions; and 
 these for more convenient reference I 
 shall number. 
 
 1. — A thing is known immediutely or 
 proximatehj, when we cognise it in itself; 
 mediately or remotely, when we cognise it 
 m or through something numericaUy diffe- 
 rent from itelf. Immediate cognition, 
 thus the knowledge of a thing in itself, in- 
 volves the /act of its existence; mediate 
 cognition, thus the knowledge of a thing 
 in or through something not itself, involves 
 only the possibility of its existence. 
 
 2. — An immediate cognition, inasmuch 
 as the thing known is itself p}resented to 
 observation, may be called a jjresentative ; 
 and in as much as the thing presented, is, 
 as it were, vinued by tits mind face to face, 
 may be called an intuitive,* cognition. — A 
 mediate cognition, in as much as the thing 
 known is held up or miirored to the mind 
 in a vicaHous representation, may be called 
 a repres ntatire f cognition. 
 
 3. — A thing known is called an object of 
 knowledge. 
 
 4.— In a presentative or immediate cog- 
 nition there is one sole object; the thing 
 (immediately) known and the thing exist- 
 ing being one and the same. — In a repre- 
 sentative or mediate cognition there may 
 JO discriminated two objects; the thing 
 (immediately) known, and the thing ex- 
 isting being numerically different. 
 
 • On the application of the term Intuitive, in 
 this sense, see in the sequel of this Excursus, 
 p 812 a b. 
 
 f The term Representation I employ always 
 strictly, as in contrast to PresetUationj and, 
 therefore, with exclusive reference to indivi- 
 dual objects , and not In the vague generality 
 of Rcpresentatio or Vorstellung in the Leibnitz- 
 'an and subsequent philosophies of Germany, 
 where it is used for any cognitive act, consider- 
 ed, not in relation to what knows, but to what 
 is known ; that is, as the genus including under 
 it Intuitions, Perceptions, Sensations, Concep- 
 tions, Notions, Thoughts proper, Ac. as spe- 
 cies. 
 
 6.— A thing known in itself \s the (sole) 
 presentative or intuitive object of know- 
 ledge, or the (sole) object of a present 
 tativH or intuitive knoivledge. — A thing 
 known in and through something else is 
 the 2^^i''^ary, mrdiate, remote, * real, f 
 existent, or r presented, object of (medi- 
 ate) knowledge, — ot/jectum quod; and a 
 thing through which something else is known 
 is the secondary, immediate, proximate** 
 
 • The distinction of proximate and remote ob- 
 ject is sometimes applied to perception in a 
 ditt'crent manner. Thus Colour (the White of 
 the Wall, for instance,) is said to be the proxi- 
 mate object of vision, because it is seen imme- 
 diately j the coloured thing (the Wall itself for 
 instance) is said to be the remote object of 
 vision, because it is seen only through the me- 
 diation of the colour. This however is inaccu- 
 rate. For the Wall, that in which the colour 
 inheres, however mediately knoum, is never me- 
 diately seen. It is not indeed an olyject of pcr- 
 ception at all; it is only the subject of such an 
 object, and is reached by a cognitive process, 
 different from the merely perceptive, 
 
 •f On the term Real. — The term Real (realis), 
 though always importing the existent, is used in 
 various significations and opi)Ositions. The 
 following occur to me : — 
 
 1. As denoting existence, in contrast to the 
 nomenclature of existence, — the thing, as con- 
 tradistinguished from its name. Thus we have 
 definitions and divisions real, and definitions 
 and divisions nominal or verbal. 
 
 2. As expressing the existimt opposed to the 
 non-existent, — ^something in contrast to a nothing. 
 In this sense the diminutions of existence, to 
 which reality, in the following significations, is 
 countcrposed, are all real. 
 
 3. As denoting material or external, in con- 
 trast to mental, spiritual or internal, existence. 
 This meaning is improper; so, therefore, is 
 the term Realism, as equivalent to Materialism, 
 in the nomenclature of some recent philo- 
 sophers. 
 
 4. As synonymous with actual ; and this a.) 
 as opposed to potential, b.) as opposed to jjo«- 
 silU, existence. 
 
 5. As denoting absolute or irrespective, in op- 
 position to pha'uontenal or relative, existence; 
 in other words, as denoting things in them. 
 selves and out of relation to all else, in con- 
 trast to things in relation to, and as known by, 
 intelligences, like men, who know only under 
 the conditions of plurality and difiference. In 
 this sense, which is raiely employed and may 
 be neglected, the Real is only another term for 
 the Unconditioned or Absolute, — to ovtus ov. 
 
 6. As indicating existence considered as a 
 suhsistance in nature, {ens extra animam, ens na- 
 turae,) it stands counter to an existence con- 
 sidered as a representation in thought. In this 
 sense, reale, in the language of the older phi- 
 losopby (Scholastic, Cartesian, Gassendian,) as 
 applied to esse or ens, is opposed to intentiunaU, 
 notionale, conceptibile, imaginarium, rationis, cog- 
 nitionis, in anima, in intellectu, prout cognitum, 
 ideale, 4r. / and oorr'^sponds with a foxU r»<. 
 
Nfl T 1? M 
 \J J Ali Aim 
 
 m nmiHTATlYE and REPRESEMTATIfB 
 
 KNOWLEBOE. 
 
 l%s 4ktinMm </ FmmmMtiwt Intuitim or ImmsdmU, and of Mepreamtatim 
 or MtAit§ m^n^tmj mik the mriom mgmficaM<m§ of tJie term Object, it* 
 
 mmJM0&k§ 'turn mrrdatims. 
 
 § II. — ^J&Tori of MeM mui other phiiotophere, in reference to ths preceding distinctioM. 
 
 [Icferences. -From Inq. 106 a, from L P. 226 b, 233 a, 292 a b, 293 h, 298 b^ 
 
 iOi % 339 b> 351 b, 357 % 368 b, 369 a b, 373 a, 427 a.] 
 
 § /.«-* Y.k§ dtfftlMJllMt' of JVifMltOtlMy /fl* 
 
 tetlfiw or MmmeMaie, tmd o/ Jlffinsfffita- 
 lltw or MeeHaie et^m^ion; with the vart- 
 om signi^featiom of the term Object, its 
 eonjuffcUea and emrelativeg. 
 
 Tbt correlativ© terms,. Immediate and 
 MeSaie, asattribuln of knmvledge and its 
 modifications, are employed in more tban 
 A single relation. In order, therefore, to 
 obviate misapprehension, it is necessary, 
 in the first place, to determine in what sig- 
 nification it is, tliat we are at present to 
 employ them. 
 
 In apprehending an individual thing, 
 either Itself through sense or its represen- 
 tation in the phantasyj we have, in a cer- 
 tain sort, an iibtolute or irrespective 
 cognition, which is justly denominated t»i- 
 mediatCf bj contrast to the more relative 
 ■mi wudiate knowledge wliich, subsequent - 
 If, we compass of the same object, when, 
 by a comparative act of the understand. 
 ing we refer it to a class, that is, think or 
 recognise it, by relation to other things, 
 under a curtain notion or general term. 
 With this distinction we have nothing now 
 to dO'. The dlaorimiiiMion of immediate 
 and metMate knowledge, with which we are 
 ■t fMient concerned, Mes within and sub* 
 
 divides what constitutes, in the foregoing 
 division, the branch of immediate cogni- 
 tion ; for wo are only here to deal with 
 the knowledge of individual objects abso- 
 lutely considered, and not viewed in rela- 
 tion to aught beyond themselves. 
 
 This distinction of immediate and me- 
 diate cognition it is of the highest impor- 
 tance to establish ; for it is one without 
 which the whole philosophy of knowledge 
 must remain involved in ambiguities. 
 What, for example, can be more various, 
 vacillating, and contradictory, than the 
 employment of the all-important terms 
 object and objective, in contrast to subject 
 and subjective, in the writings of Kant ? — 
 though the same is true of tliose of other 
 recent philosophers. This arose from 
 the want of a preliminary determination 
 of the various, and even opposite, mean- 
 ings of which these terms are susceptible, 
 — a selection of the one proper meaning, 
 — and a rigorous adherence to the mean- 
 ing thus preferred. But, in particular, 
 the doctrine of Natural Realism cannot, 
 without this distinction, be adequately un- 
 derstood, developed, and discriminated. 
 Keid, accordingly, in consequence of the 
 want of it, has not only failed in giving 
 to his philosophy its precise and appro- 
 
 MOTE B. § 1.J 
 
 SPECIES OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 805 
 
 priate expression, he has failed even in 
 withdrawing it from equivocation and 
 confusion ; — in so much, that it even 
 remains a question, whether his doc- 
 trine be one of Natural Realism at all. 
 — The following is a more articulate deve- 
 Iqpement of this important distinction than 
 that which I gave, some ten years ago ; 
 and since, by more than one philosopher 
 adopted. See Edinburgh Review, vol. lii. 
 p- 166, sq.; Cross's Selections from Ed. 
 Rev. vol. iii. p. 200 sq. ; Peisse, Fragments 
 Philosophiques, p. 75 sq. 
 
 For the sake of distinctness, I shall 
 state the different momenta of the dis- 
 tinction in separate Propositions; and 
 these for more convenient reference I 
 shall number. 
 
 l.~A thing is known immediately/ or 
 proximatehfj when we cognise it in itself; 
 mediately or remotely, when we cognise it 
 in or through something nunurically diffe- 
 rent from itteff. Immediate cognition, 
 thus the knowledge of a thing in itself, in- 
 volves the fact of its existence ; mediate 
 cognition, thus the knowledge of a thing 
 in or through something not itself, involves 
 only the possibility of its existence^ 
 
 2. — An immediate cognition, inasmuch 
 as the thing known is itself presented to 
 observation, may be called a presentative ; 
 and in as much as the thing j)resented, is, 
 as it were, vhived by the mind face to face, 
 may be called an intuitive,* cognition. — A 
 mediate cognition, in as much as the thing 
 known is held up or nmrored to the mind 
 in a vicarious representation, may be called 
 a repres ntaiiee f cognition. 
 
 3. — A thing knoum is called an object of 
 knowledge. 
 
 4.— In a presentative or immediate cog- 
 nition there is owe sole object; the thing 
 (immediately) known and the thing exist- 
 ing being one and the same. — In a repre- 
 sentative or mediate cognition there may 
 je discriminated two objects ; the thing 
 (immediately) known, and the thing ex- 
 isting being numerically different. 
 
 • On the application of the term Intuitive, in 
 this sense, sec in the sequel of this Excursus, 
 p 812 a b. 
 
 f The term Representation I employ always 
 strictly, as in contrast to Presaitation, and, 
 therefore, with exclusive reference to indivi- 
 dual objects , and not in the vague senerality 
 of Represfntatio or Vorstellung in the Leibnitz, 
 'an and subsequent philosophies of Germany, 
 where it is used for any cognitive act, consider- 
 ed, not in relation to what knows, but to what 
 is known; that is, as the genus including under 
 It Intuitions, Perceptions, Sensations, Concep- 
 tions, Notions, Thoughts proper, Ac. as spe- 
 cie!. 
 
 6. — A thing known in itself is the (sole) 
 
 presentative or intuitive object of know- 
 ledge, or the (sole) object of a presen- 
 tative or intuitive knowledge. — A thing 
 known in and through something else is 
 the primary, mediate, remote,* real,f 
 existent, or r presented, object of (medi- 
 ate) knowledge, — otjtctum quod ; and a 
 thing through which something else is known 
 is the secondary, immediate, proximate^* 
 
 • The distinction of proximate and remote ob- 
 ject is sometimes applied to perception in a 
 different manner. Thus Colour (the White of 
 the Wall, for instance,) is said to be the proxi- 
 mate object of vision, because it is seen imme- 
 diately J the coloured thing (the Wall itself for 
 instance) is said to be the remote object of 
 vision, because it is seen only through the me- 
 diation of the colour. This however is inaccu- 
 rate. For the Wall, tliat in which the colour 
 inheres, however mediately knoini, is never me- 
 diately seen. It is not indeed an object of per- 
 ception at all J it is only the subject of such an 
 object, and is reached by a cognitive process, 
 diflerent from the merely pcrccijtive. 
 
 f On the term Real. — The term Real frealis), 
 though always importing the existent, is used in 
 various signitications and oppositions. The 
 following occur to uie : — 
 
 1 As denoting exi.stence, in contrast to the 
 nom.enclature of existence, — the thing, as con- 
 tradistinguished from its name. Thus we have 
 definitions and divisions real, and dchnitiona 
 and divisions nominal or verbal. 
 
 2. As expressing the exiiitivt opposed to the 
 non-existent, — a.something in contrast to a nothing. 
 In this sense the diminutions of existence, to 
 which reality, in the /ullowing sigiufications, is 
 couuterposed, are all real. 
 
 3. As denoting material or external, in con- 
 trast to mental, spiritual or internal, existence. 
 This meaning is improper; so, therefore, is 
 the term Realism, as equivalent to Materialism, 
 in the nomenclature of some recent philo- 
 sophers. 
 
 4. As synonymous with actual ; and this a.) 
 as opposed to potential, b.) as opposed to i^os- 
 sible, existence. 
 
 5. As denoting absolute or irrespective, in op- 
 position to pluxnomcnal or relative, existence; 
 in other words, as denoting things in them- 
 selves and out of relation to all else, in con. 
 trastto things in relation to, and as known by, 
 intelligences, like men, who know only under 
 the conditions of plurality and difference. In 
 this sense, which is rarely employed and may 
 be neglected, the Ileal is only another term for 
 the Unconditioned or Absolute, — to ovtws on. 
 
 G. As indicating existence considered as a 
 suhsistance in nature, {ens extra anim<t.m, ens na^ 
 turae,) it stands counter to an existence con- 
 sidered as a representation in thought. In this 
 sense, reale, in the language of the older phi- 
 losophy (Scholastic, Cartesian, Gassendian,) as 
 applied to esse or ens, is opposed to intentionaU, 
 notionaU, conceptibile, imaginarium, rationis, cog- 
 nitionis, in anima, in intellectu, prout cognitum, 
 ideate, 4r. / and oorr'^sponds with o parte r»i. 
 
Of PKESENTATIVE AND 
 
 [mots b. 
 
 0md» • MmrimiM or imprmnkMmf object 
 
 per «?*MMf. The former may likewise \m 
 ityled objmtum emtittxHmmK 
 
 6.— Tti© Ego m th© subject of thong ht 
 and knowledge is now commonlj ityled 
 
 hy PhEoiOphers simply TM flWjicC'j ™ 
 JMj«etim ft m fMiiiliiir'Oxpreiiion for what 
 
 18 opposed to iifarl«tt»««JI«cfii«,'W*lh , , 
 
 as^ opposed to obi$taimamf (see p. 8w h, t% 'Wm»h 
 
 ■with proprimm, prIiidtjM'I* and jlii«li«iiiilfll«, ^ 
 opponed to vkmimmt with iiMil«rl<il«, m opposed 
 UJIrrmaU, and witlii»»r«Mili l» m^m, ^and mM^ 
 
 der thi» head, In. 'the, iracillatlng lanf uago of 
 am nioMS recent phlIOiOphjr,fiiol approxhnates 
 to, lint is hardly «omTertiMewllh|0«€cfiw, in 
 e«itraitto«i#s«ll« in the signillliatlon there 
 present, (see p. 808 ah, note.) 
 
 7. In close comnorion with the sixth mean- 
 iag ,, fml, in. the hist place, denotes an identity 
 or difference fonnded on the conditioni of the 
 existence of a thing in itself, in contrast to an 
 Mentitf or difference founded only on the rela- 
 Hon or pOtat of view in which the thing may 
 he regarded by the tWiiMng subject. In this 
 wmm it is oppoiod to faficol «r mtkmal, the 
 terms being here ewploywl U a p«««lhir mean- 
 Int. Thus a thing wliich rwMy («) or in itself 
 Isone and indivisible may To(?ieiil|y {wtiom) by 
 tlie mind be considered aa dlverio and plural, 
 and, ^ce versa, what are rc<i% dlTorse and 
 plural m.ay toffcally be Tlewedi as one .and in- 
 'dlvislUe. M an. example rf the iwinir j— the 
 rides and .angles of » triangle (or tri.lateral), as 
 nntoally correlative— as together making np 
 mm tame, limplo ignre-and aa, ■wllhiwit de- 
 stmeaoa of that ignro, actndly Inwiparable 
 from it, and from each other, are iwlly one; 
 iMit In as much as they have paonHar relations 
 which may, in thought, be constdet ed severally 
 and §» themselves, they are togteaUjf twofold. 
 In lihe manner tale apprehension and Judg- 
 iMBt. f heso are reaHf one, as each involves 
 the other, (for wo apprehend only as we Judge 
 something to be, and we Judge only, as wo ap- 
 pciliand. 'the ezlstenoe of the terms compared), 
 and m together' they constitnte a sl.ngle Indi- 
 visible act of cognition ; but they are loffkaUg 
 double, in as much as, by mental abstraction, 
 they may ho^ viewed, each ftwr Itself, and as a 
 distinguishable element of thought. Aa an 
 example of the latter ;— individual things, as 
 iohn, James, Mchard, Ac, are wMy (nume- 
 ;rleaily) different, at co-exIstlng in nature only 
 wider the condition of plurality j but, as re- 
 tembEng objects constitutiiig a •Ingle class or 
 notion (man.) they are, bffailli^eiinildirad, (go- 
 aerically or specifically) identical and one. 
 
 • I eschew, in general, th© employment of the 
 words, Idm and Ji«i^t-th:ey are so vagno and 
 varloiti to meaning. (Sec Note O.) But they 
 cannot always be avoided, as the coojngatei of 
 tha todfapensable term IdiaMm.. Mor is there, 
 aa.I WMJthem, any danger Hwm their anibl- 
 gutty; for I always manifestly employ them 
 ■Imply Inr suljiective — (what is in or of the 
 Bind), In contrast to objective— (what Is <"mt 
 M, or axtciniai to, the mind.) 
 
 pertains to the mind or thinking principle. 
 In contra&t and correlation to these, the 
 terms Object and Objective are, in like 
 manner, now in general use to denote the 
 Non-ego, its affections and properties,— 
 and in general the Really existent as op- 
 posed to the Ideally known. These ex . 
 pressions, more especially Object and OB- 
 jective, are ambiguous; for though the 
 Mon-£go may be the more frequent and 
 obiniaive object of cognition, still a irnxle 
 of mind constitutes an object of thought 
 and knowledge, no less than a mode of 
 matter. Without, therefore, disturbing 
 the preceding nomenclature, which is not 
 only ratified but convenient, I would pro- 
 pose that, when we wish to be precise, or 
 where any ambiguity is to be dreaded, we 
 should employ— on the one hand, either 
 the terms subject-object or mbjectim o^- 
 ject, (and this w© could again distinguish 
 as absolute or as relativej^on the other, 
 either object-object, or objective object.* 
 
 • Tke temu Svbjeet md Stib^tim, Object and 
 
 Ob^ive. I have already had occasion to show, 
 
 that, in the hands of recent philosophers, the 
 principal terras of philosophy have not only 
 been ftrcquently changed from their original 
 meanings and correlations, but those mean, 
 ings and correlations sometimes even simply 
 reversed. I have again to do this in refe- 
 rence to the correlatives tubjectite and ob- 
 jicfiwe, as employed to denote what Aristotle 
 vagnely expressed by the terms ri^hfu* andrik 
 ^^n the thingi in w, and the things in nature. 
 
 The terms n>lject and object were, for a long 
 time, not sulliciently discriminated from each 
 other.— Even In the writings of Aristotle to 
 vvt»tiftttM Is used ambiguously for id in guo, 
 the mO^ect proper, and id circa quod, the object 
 proper ; — and this latter meaning is unknown 
 to Plato. The Greek language never, in fact, 
 possessed any one term of equal universality, 
 and of the same definite signification, as object. 
 For the term ay7jxfi>t*«v, which comes the 
 nearest, Aristotle uses, like Plato, in the plu- 
 ral, to designate, in general, the various kinds 
 of oppotites ; and there is, 1 believe, only a 
 single passage to be found in his writings, (Do 
 An. ii. c.4,) in which this word can beadequately 
 translated by otjjecl. The reason of this, at 
 first sight, apparent deficiency may have been 
 that as no language, except the Greek, could 
 express, not by a periphrasis, but by a special 
 word, the object of every several faculty or 
 application of mind, (as mlfBrtrif, ^uvravrS*, 
 »oi»T^», yf«»'TO», iir/r-rnTOf, CwXuto*, 5^«jeTo», 
 Cwkivr^f, iri#W*, Ac. &c.,) so the Greek phi- 
 losophers alone found little want of a term 
 precisely to express tlie abstract notion of ob- 
 jectivity In its indeterminate universality, which 
 they could apply, as they required it, in any 
 determinate relation. The schoolmen distin- 
 gmlahedthe««7rj<rctt4m vccupationis, from the stib. 
 jtrjmn inkoislon is, prardica I ionis, Stc., Hraiti ng the 
 I term obj^etum (whiili in classical Latinity had 
 
 |1] 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 »07 
 
 7. — If the representative object be sup- 
 posed (according to one theory) a mode 
 of the conscious mind or self, it may be 
 distinguished as Egoistical ,- if it be sup- 
 
 never been naturalised as an absolute terra, 
 Bven by the philosophers) to the former; and 
 It would have been well had the term subjcc- 
 tum, in that sense, been, at the same time, 
 wholly renounced. This was not, however, 
 done. Even to the present day, the word sub- 
 Uct is employed, in most of the vernacular 
 languages, for the nutteria circa qtmrn, in which 
 signification the term object ought to be exclu- 
 sively applied. But a still more intolerable 
 abuse has recently crept in; object has, in 
 French and English, been for above a century 
 vulgarly employed for end, motive, final cause. 
 But to speak of these terms more in detail. 
 
 The term object (objectum, id quod objicitur 
 cognitioni, At.,) involves a twofold element 
 of meaning. 1°, It expresses something abso- 
 lute, something In itself that is ; for before a 
 thing can be pr*'sented to cognition, it must 
 be supp(»sed to exist. 2®, It expresses some- 
 thing relative ; for in so fai- as it is presented 
 to cognition, it is supposed to be only as it is 
 known to exist. Now if the equipoise be not 
 preserved, if either of these elements be al- 
 lowed to preponderate, the word will assume 
 a meaning precisely opposite to that which it 
 would obtain from the preponderance of the 
 other. If the first element prevail, object and 
 objective will denote that which exists of its 
 own nature, in contrast to that which exists 
 only under the conditions of our faculties ; — 
 the real in opposition to the ideal. If the se- 
 cond element prevaU, object and objective wiU 
 denote what exists only as it exists in thought; 
 — the ideal in contrast to tho real. 
 
 Now both of these counter raeatnngs of the 
 terms object and objective have obtained in the 
 nomenclature of different times and different 
 philosophies,— nay in the nomenclature of the 
 samo time and even the same philosophy. 
 Uence great confusion and ambiguity. 
 
 In the Scholastic philosophy in which, as al- 
 ready said, object and objective, subject and sttb- 
 jective, were first employed in their high ab- 
 straction, and as absolute terms, and, among 
 the systems inunediatcly subsequent, in the 
 Cartesian and Gassendian schools, the -latter 
 meaning was the one exclusively prevalent. 
 In these older philosophies, objectivwni, as ap^ 
 plied to ^-n* or esse, was opposed tofonmle and 
 guhjectivmn ; and corresponded with intenXiomU, 
 vieaHum, representativtm, rationale or rattonis, 
 intellcctuale or in intellcctti, prout cognitum, 
 ideate, &c., as opppscd to reale,proprium,pnnci. 
 pale, fundamentale, prout in seipso, SfC. 
 
 In these schools the esse suhjectimm, m con- 
 trast to the esse object ivum, denoted a thing con- 
 sidercd as inhering in its subject, whether 
 that sul>Ject w9re ndnd or matter, as contra, 
 distinguished from a thing considered as pre- 
 sent to the mind only as an accidental object of 
 thought. Thus the faculty of imagination, tor 
 example, and its acts, were said to have a mb- 
 iective existence in the mind ; while its several 
 images or representations had, 'j"<i imagrs or 
 
 posed (according to another) something 
 numerically different from the conscious 
 mind or self, it may be distinguished as, 
 Non- Egoistical. See Note C. The former 
 
 objects of consciousness, only an objective. 
 Again, a material thing, say a horse, qua exist- 
 ing, was said to have a subjective being out of 
 the mind j qua conceived or known, it was said 
 to have an objective being in the mind. Every 
 thought had thus a subjective and an objective 
 phasis ;— of which more paiticularly as ful 
 
 lows : — 
 
 1. Tho esse subjcctivum, formaU, or propriuni 
 of a notion, concept, species, idea, SfC, denoted it 
 as considered absolutely for itself, and as dis- 
 tinguishcd from the thing, the real object, of 
 which it is the notion, species, Ac. ; that is, 
 simply as a mode inherent in the mind as a 
 subject, or as an operation exerted by tho 
 mind as a cause. In this relation, the esse 
 r«ai« of a notion, species, &c., was opposed to 
 the following. 
 
 2. The esse objectivum, vicarium, intentionale, 
 idcale, representativum of a notion, concept, spe- 
 cies, idea, &c., denoted it, not as considered ab- 
 solutely for itself, and as distinguished from its 
 object, but simply as vicarious or representa- 
 tive of the thing thought. In this relation tho 
 esse reaie of a notion, &c., was opposed to tho 
 mere negation of existence— only distinguished 
 it from a simple nothing. 
 
 Hitherto we have seen the application of the 
 term objective determined by the preponderance 
 of the second of tho two counter elements of 
 meaning ; we have now to regard it in its sub- 
 sequent change of sense as determined by the 
 
 first. 
 
 The cause of this change I trace to the more 
 modern Schoolmen, in the distinction they 
 took of corweptus (as also of notio and intentio) 
 into /omMlis and objcctivus,—a, distinction both 
 in itself and in its nomenclature, inconsistent 
 and untenable.— A formal concept or notion 
 they defined— 'the immediate and actual re- 
 presentation of the thing thought;' an objec- 
 tive concept or notion they defined—* the thing 
 itself which is represented or thought. —Now, 
 in the first place, the second of tnese, is, either 
 not a concept or notion at all, or it is indis- 
 tinguishable from the first. (A similai- ab- 
 surdity is committed by Locke in his employ- 
 ment of Idea for its object— the reality re- 
 presented by it— the Idcatum.)— In the second 
 place, the terms /orwal and objective are hero 
 used in senses precisely opposite to what they 
 were when the same philosophers spoke of the 
 esse fonrnle and esse objectivum of a notion. 
 
 This distinction and the terms in which it 
 was expressed came however to be universally 
 admitted. Hence, though proceeding from an 
 error, I would account, in part, but in part 
 only for the general commutation latterly ct. 
 fected in tho application of the term objective. 
 This change began, I am inclined to think, 
 about the middle of the seventeenth century— 
 and in the German schools. Thus Calovius— 
 *Quicquid of>jectivc fundamontalitcr »n natura 
 existit,' &c., (Scripta Philosophica, 1651, P- 
 72.) In the same scn-?c it is used by Lcibintz; 
 
HIIB 
 
 OF raESENTATIVE AND 
 
 [kots 
 
 llieory supposes two things nitmericaUy dif- 
 flifeiit: 1'', the object represented,— 'i**, 
 the representing and cognisant mind: — 
 the latter, three; — l**, the object repre- 
 
 9, g. H. Easais, p. 187 ; and subsequently to 
 him by (he Leibnitio Wolfans and other Ger- 
 man pliiloi4»lilier9 in ge.ieral. This application 
 of the term, it Is therefore Bec% became pre- 
 
 valent among his coniitrynen lone before the 
 lime of Kant; In the ' Logic* » of whose mas- 
 ter Knutzrn, I may niiticei o^eeiive, amd «u&- 
 jivtire^ In their modern meaning are empl<>yed 
 in almost every pAge. Tliu English philo- 
 sAphera, at the commencement of tne last cun. 
 tury, aro found sometimes naing the term 
 itbjectim in the old sense, — as Berkeley in his 
 * Siris,' I 293 ;. sometimes in the new^ — as 
 Korris in his ' Eeason and Faith,* (ch. 1.) and 
 OldicM. In his * Essay towards the improve- 
 ment of Beamn/ {Pmt ii. c. 19,) wlio both like. 
 wise oppose it to im6/eei<i», taken also In Its 
 present accepiion. 
 
 But the cause, why the f eneral terms st^jWj 
 and subjective, vhjcct and ifbjective, came, in ]>hi- 
 loHnphy, to be simply applied to a certain 
 special dlatlnction; and why, In that distinc 
 iion^ they came to be opposed as contraries — 
 this is not to be traced alono to the inconsis- 
 tencies which I hiive noticed ; for that incon- 
 stBtency Itself muat be accounted for. It lies 
 deeper. It is tO' be found In the constituent 
 eli-meiits of all knowledge Itself; and tlie no- 
 inenclature in <|ue8tion is only an elliptical 
 abbrcviatiun, and restricted application of the 
 ■cholastle expressions by which these 'do- 
 uienta have for many ages been cxpressrd. 
 
 AU knowledge Is a rektion — a relation bo- 
 t'wven (hat which knows, (in scholastie htn- 
 f nage, 'the .sn^'ccf in which knowledge inheres), 
 and that' which Is known, (in schoiastio Ian- 
 f nage,the otftet about which knowledge is con* 
 versant); and (he contents of every wl #f 
 knowledge aro made np of elements, and re- 
 f ulated by laws, proceeding partly from, its 
 nbject and partly fr »m Its subject. How phi- 
 looophy proper in prteif ally and f rinarUy 
 (ha seftnes i{/'.|!iimiiM|i»/ Its in( and most Im.. 
 ]wr(ant problem- being co determine — What 
 mm- 'We hum f- — ttiat is, what are (he conditions 
 of our knowing, whetlter tlieae lie In the na- 
 tnre of the object, or in the nature of the sub- 
 jec(, of knowledge ? 
 
 But PhilMopby being the Seimmo/Kmmtet^t 
 and the science of knowleilge suppoiing, in ita 
 most fnndamental and thorough going analysis, 
 the distinction of (he m^^mt mtd t^eet of knmtf- 
 Utt09t It is evlden% (hat to pMlom)jAy the ndr- 
 jtct of knowledge would bo, by pre. eminence, 
 TM Sw/^eeit and (he ^ol^cci o/.ftwN»Mfe. by pre- 
 eminence, TA« (^^fed. I( was therefore natural 
 that the ' <A/«€t and the iifj/cetli!«, the «m&. 
 Jfci and the subjeetim shouhi be employed 
 by philosophers as simple terms, conipen. 
 (Ilously (o denote 'the grand discrimma 
 (ion, alKm( which pIiiloi*<»phj was constantly 
 iintioy«<t» md which no otheii eonid be found 
 ■o preclaely and promptly to express In fact, 
 had It no( l»een for the Kperial n.ieanlng |,'ivi-n 
 to o&jcetiw In 'the Stkwis, tlit- ir r-nti']o>iia*nt mi 
 
 seated,— 2°, the object representing,— 3*, 
 the cognisant mind. Compared merely 
 with each other, the former, as simpler, 
 may, % eoniratt to the latter, be const* 
 
 this (heir natural relation would probably have 
 been of a much earlier date; not however that 
 they are void of ambiguity, and have not been 
 often abusively employed. Ihis arises from 
 (ho following circumstance : — The subj*»ct of 
 knowledge is exclusively the Ego or con- 
 scions ndud. Sulject andsuhjcctive, considered 
 in themselves, are therefore little liable to 
 equivocation. But, on the other hand, the 
 o&;Vct of knowledge is not necessarily a phae- 
 nonicnon of the Non-Ego; for the pha^noniena 
 of the Ego itself constitute as veritable, though 
 not so various and prominent, objects of cog- 
 nition, as the phenomena of the Non-Kgo. 
 Subjective and objective do not, therefore, 
 thoroughly and adequately discriminate that 
 which bdongt to miiut, and that which belongs to 
 mtUterf they do not even competently distin- 
 guish what Is depemlent, from what is indcm 
 pendent, on the conditions of the tnental self. But 
 in these significations they are and must be 
 frequently employed. Without therefore dis- 
 carding this nomcuclature, which, as far as it 
 goes, expresses, in general, a distinction of 
 the highest importance, in the most apposite 
 terms ; these terms may by qualification easily 
 be rendered adequate to those subordinate 
 dSacrimiuations, which it is often requisite to 
 signalise, but which they cannot simply and of 
 theuiselveti denote. 
 
 Subject and subjectimy without any qualifying 
 attribute, I would therefore emi.loy, as has hi. 
 therto been done, to mark out what inheres in, 
 pertains to, or depends on, the knowing mind 
 whether of man in general, or of this or that 
 individual man in particular; and this in con. 
 trmstto object and objective, as expressing what 
 does not so inhere, pertain, and depend. Ihus, 
 for example, an art or science is said to b^e ob. 
 jeetire, when considered simply as a system of 
 speculative truths or practical rules, but with- 
 ont respect of any actual possessor; subjective 
 when considered as a habit of knowledge or a 
 dexterity, inherent in the mini!, either vaguely 
 of any, or precisely of this or that, possessor. 
 
 But, as has been stated, an object of know- 
 ledge may be a mode of mind, or it may be 
 something different from mind; and it is fre. 
 quently of importance to indicate precisely un- 
 der which of these cla-sses that object comes. 
 In this case by an internal developement of the 
 nomenclature itself, we might employ, on the 
 former alternative, the term subject-objert ; On 
 the latter, the term object. object. 
 
 But the subject, olject may be cither a mode 
 of ndnd, of which we aro conscious as absolute 
 and for Itself alone^ — as, for example, a pain or 
 pleasure; or a mode of mind, of which we ai'e 
 conscious, as relative to, and representative of, 
 MUietliing else, — as, for instance, the imsprina- 
 tion of something past or possible. Of these 
 we might distinguish, when nocessaiy, the one, 
 as iheabtuluteoT the real subject-object, the other, 
 as the relative or the tdco( or the repreaentatim 
 huhject-ci^tCk 
 
 §1*] 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 809 
 
 dered, but still inaceuratelv a^ an im«,^ i i • . « 
 diate cognition.* ThTSerTtb^e ^ ™ "'f"' t "" '■'"""'^'■' ''"' ""'^ ^ ^^- '«- 
 mited in its application to certain flLu Zn "'''"'' "' " "'Preseutative, cogni- 
 
 ties, and now in fact wholly exploded, may 
 be thrown out of account. 
 ^ 8.--Eateniai Perception or Perception 
 simply, IS the faAiuhy presentative or intui- 
 twe ol the phaenomena of the Non-Ego or 
 Matter— if there be any intuitive appre- 
 hension allowed of the Non-Ego at all 
 Internal Perception or Self- Consciousness 
 IS the facuhy presmtative or intuitive of 
 the phaenomena of the Ego or Mind. 
 
 ^'—Imagination or Phantasy, in its' most 
 extensive meaning, is the faculty represen. 
 tative of the phaenomena both of the ex- 
 ternal and internal worlds. 
 
 10.— A repreiientation considered as an 
 object is logically, not really, different from 
 a representation considered as an act. 
 Here object and act are merely the same 
 indivisible mode of mind viewed in two 
 different relations. Considered b> refer- 
 ence to a (mediate) object represented, it 
 IS a representative object; considered by 
 reference to the mind representing and 
 contemplating the representation, it is a 
 representative act. A representative ob- 
 ject being viewed as posterior in the order 
 of nature, but not of time, to the repre- 
 sentative a<?', is viewed as a. product ; and 
 the representative act being viewed as prior 
 in the order of nature, though not of time, 
 *o the representative object, is viewed as a 
 producing process, (v. I. P. 305 a.) The 
 same may be said of Image and Imagina- 
 Uoii. (Prop. 21, and p. 813, a b, and note.) 
 11.— -A thing to be known in itself mu&i 
 
 tion. 
 
 13 — A representative object, considered 
 irrespectively of what it liprkentsrand 
 simply as a mode of the conscious subject 
 IS an intuitive or presentative object. For 
 It IS known in itself, as a mental mode, ac- 
 tually existing now and here.* 
 
 • Propositions 10-13 may illustrate a pas- 
 sage in Ai-istotle's treatise on Memory and 
 Ilemmiscence (c. 1), which has been often 
 cm-iously misunderstood by his expositors; 
 and as it, in return, serves to illustrate the 
 doctrine here stated, I translate it :— 
 
 * Of what pai't of the soul memory is a func 
 tion, 13 manifest j— of that, to wit, of which 
 imagmation or phantasy is a function. [And 
 imagination had t)een already shown to be a 
 tunction of the common sense.] 
 
 'And here a doubt may be started— Whether 
 the affection [or mental modUlcatioii] beinff 
 present, the reality absent, that which is not 
 present can be remembered [or, in general 
 known.] For it is manifest that we must 
 conceive the affection, determined in the soul 
 or Its proiimate bodily organ, through sense. 
 to be, as it were, a sort of portrait, of which wo 
 say that memory is the habit [or retention] 
 ror the movement excited [to emjiloy the 
 simile of Plato] stamps, as it were, a kind of 
 impression of tlie total process of perception^ 
 [on the soul or its organ], after the manner of 
 one who applies a signet to wax. 
 
 'But if such be the circumstances of memory, 
 --Is remembrance [a cognition] of this af.' 
 fection. or of that from which it is produced? 
 For if, of the latter, we can have no remembrance 
 [or cognition] of things absent; if of the for, 
 mer. ' __ _ . . 
 
 - , o ;":'" "• •"•'•-v "iuoi. I "■", how, as percipient [or conscious of this 
 
 be }inoyinm actually existing (Pr. 1.) and [present affection], can we have a remem 
 It cannot be known as actually existing ' ***'*^i''«* ror mortiitinni ^.r ♦i..,* ^♦•,..v.:_, 
 
 unless it be known as existing in its When 
 and its Where. But the When and Where 
 of an object are immediately/ cognisable by 
 the subject, only if the When be now (i. e. 
 at the same moment with the cognitive act,) 
 and the Where be here, (i. e. within tlie 
 sphere of the cognitive faculty) ; therefore 
 A presentative or intuitive knowledge is 
 only competent of an object present to the 
 mind, both in time and in space, 
 
 12. — E converse — whatever is known, 
 but not as actually existing now and here, 
 '» known not in itself, as the presentative 
 
 Finally it may be required to mark whether 
 the object-object and the suhjcct-vlject be imme- 
 diately known as present, or only as represent- 
 ed. In this case we nmst resort, on the former 
 alternative to the epithet presentative or intui. 
 tive; on the latter, to those of represetUed, medi- 
 ate, remote, primary, principal, &c. 
 
 • This observation has reference to Reid. 
 See sequel of this note, { ii., and note C. § ii. 
 
 braiice [or coguition] of that of which we ai-o 
 not percipient [or conscious] —the absent 
 [reality] r— Again j— supposing there to be a 
 resembling something, such as an impression 
 or picture, in the mind ; the perception [or 
 consciousness] of this— Why should it be the 
 remembrance [or cognition] of another thing 
 and not of this something itself? — for in the 
 act of remembrance wo contemplate this men- 
 tal affection, and of this [alone] are we per- 
 cipicnt [or conscious]. In these circumstances 
 how is a remembrance [or cognition] possible 
 of what is not present ? For if so, it would 
 seem that what is not present might, in Uke 
 manner, be seen and heard. 
 
 *0r is this possible, and what actually 
 occms ? And thus : — As in a portrait the 
 thing painted is an animal and a represen- 
 tation (ilitdiv) [of an animal], one and the 
 
 j klfSrifAaTes :— this comprehends both the 
 objective presentation— atV^„T«, and the snb- 
 jective energy— aUhe-it. 
 
 ^ t I read tri tt n. Themistius has Ii* 
 
b 
 
 810 
 
 OF PRESENTxlTIVE AND 
 
 [motb b. 
 
 5 ^'J 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 811 
 
 14. — Comeioumtemh aknciivUge solely 
 &f wimi is mow and here prmmi to the 
 niiid. It ia therefore only inttiitiTe, and 
 its objeets exclusively presentative. Again, 
 Consciousness is a Inowledge of all that 
 MfliflW mml kmm^pmmmt to the mind : every 
 iamodiate olijeiit of oognition is thus an 
 oltject of consciousness, and every intuitive 
 cognition itself, simply a special form of 
 cdnsciousness. See Note M. 
 
 IB. — €ftmMemmmm emnprekends everp 
 emmtim aei; In other words, whatever we 
 are not conseions of, that we do not know. 
 But eonsciouiiness is an immediate cogni- 
 tion. Therefore all our mediate cogniti&m 
 ur§ comiained in onr ■immmMttU, 
 
 10. — The actual modifications — the pr€- 
 §mt ad« and affections of the JEgo, are ob- 
 jects of immediate cognition, as themselves 
 objects of consciousness. (Pr. 14.) The 
 past and pmmbk modifications of the Ego 
 are oliieets of medlat.e 'Cognition, as repre- 
 »nted to conscionness In a present or ac 
 lual modification. 
 
 17. — The Priwmry Qualiiim* of 'nmiter 
 or bodpf now and kmre, that is in proximate 
 relation to our organs, are oljecta of im- 
 mediate cognition to the Natiral Real!st8,t 
 of mediatCi. to the Cosmothetic Idealists :f 
 the former, on the testimony of conscious- 
 ness, asserting to mind the capability of 
 intuitively perceiving what is not itself; 
 
 wtmm 'being, M once, botli ; (for, though in 
 riwlliy bcih are not the same, in thought wo 
 imii view the 'paintinf , cither .[abiolutelf ]. as 
 antnial, or [relatively] as^ 'representation [of 
 an anhiija] ) : in like manner, the plumtasm in 
 us, we mast consider, both alMiiliiteiy, m a ph«. 
 nomenon ii*4^fitm) in itselly 'liii iwitiiroly, as 
 a phantaam [or representation] of something 
 diirercnt from Itself. Considered absolutely, 
 It is a [mere] phenomenon or [irrespective] 
 phantasm ; considered, relatively, it is a repre. 
 smitation or recoUective image. So that when 
 a movement [or mental modification] is in 
 present act j — if the soul perceive [or appre- 
 lend] it as absolute and for Itself, a kind of 
 [Irrespective] concept or phamtain. letiiii the 
 Ksult; whereas, if as relattve' to what Is dllfe. 
 rent fi'om itself, it views it (as in the picture) 
 itr a represent ation, and a representation of 
 derlscw^ even'iltheugh €ori(«cus tias not Mm. 
 ■elf 'been seen. Ami. here wo are differently 
 affected In this mode of viewing [the move- 
 :i«nt.»i. painted repreientMlo4]from. what 
 'we' 'arO' when 'vt^ewlnf It, as pamed animal ; 
 the menial phsenomenon, in the one ease. Is, so 
 te'Safjamere [IrreiatlveJ coaoept: whUo in the 
 ether, what'iflremeniheredls here [In the mind,] 
 aa there [In the picture,] a representation,* 
 
 • On the distinction of the Primary and Se- 
 eoadary Qnaltiea of Matter— its history and 
 eempletion,8ee»ote^». 
 
 f On these designations, see above, Note A, 
 pp. 74Di 747j and below. Mote €. S 1* 
 
 the latter denying this capability, but as- 
 serting to the mind the power'of repre- 
 senting, and truly representing, what it 
 does not know. — To the Absolute Idoal- 
 istsf matter has no existence as an object 
 of cognition, either immediate or mediate. 
 
 18. — The Secondary Qualities* of body 
 ttoto and liere, as only present affections of 
 the conscious subject, determined by an un- 
 known external cause, are, on every theory, 
 now allowed to be objects of immediate 
 cognition. (Pr. 16.) 
 
 19. — As not now present in time, an im- 
 mediate knowledge of thejtMMl is impos- 
 sible. The past is only mediately cog- 
 nisable in and through a present modifica- 
 tion relative to, and representative of, it, 
 as having been. To speak of an imme- 
 diate knowledge of the past involves a 
 contradiction tn adjeeto. For to know 
 the past immediately, it mu&t b« known in 
 itsel/j — and to be known in itself it must 
 be known as now ex^isting. But the past 
 Is just a negation of the now existent : its 
 very notion therefore excludes the possi- 
 bility of its being immediately known. — 
 So much for Memory, or RecoUective 
 Imagination. 
 
 20. — In like manner, supposing that a 
 knowledge of the future were competent, 
 this can only be conceived possible, in and 
 through a now present representation ; 
 that is, only as a mediate cognition. For 
 aa mof yet emstent the future cannot be 
 known in itself, or as actually existent. 
 As m^ here present, an immediate know- 
 ledge of an object distant in space is like- 
 virise impossible.* For, as beyond the 
 sphere of our organs and faculties, it can- 
 not be known by them in itself; it can 
 only therefore, if known at all, be known 
 through something different from itself, 
 that is mediately, in a reproductive or a 
 constructive act of imagination. 
 
 21. — A possible object — an ens rationis 
 — is a mere fabrication of the mind itself; 
 ll exists only ideally in and through an 
 act of imagination, and has only a logi- 
 cal existence, apart from that act with 
 which it is really identical. (Pr. 10, and 
 p. 813 a b, with note.) It is therefore an in- 
 tuitive object in itself: but in so far, as 
 not involving a contradiction, it is con- 
 ceived as prefiguring something which 
 may possibly exist some-where and some- 
 when, — this something, too, beinp: con- 
 structed out of elements which bad been 
 
 • On the assertions of Reld, Stewart, &c., 
 that the mind is immediatefi/ pcrciiticnt of dis- 
 tmH Objects, see § ii. of this Note, and Note G 
 
 previously given in Presentation — ^it is Re- 
 presentative. See Note C. § i. 
 
 V 
 
 I 
 
 Compared together, these two cogni- 
 tions afford the following similarities and 
 dij^erences. 
 
 A. Compared by reference to their 
 simplicity or complexity, as Acts. 
 
 22. — Though both as really considered, 
 (re, non ratione), are equally one and in- 
 divisible; still as logically considered, (ra- 
 tione, non re,) an Intuitive cognition is 
 simple, being merely intuitive; a Repre- 
 sentative, complex, as both representative 
 and intuitive of the representation. 
 
 B. Compared by reference to the num- 
 ber of their OhJ'Cts. 
 
 23^ — In a Presentative knowledge there 
 can only be a single object, and the term 
 object is here therefore uni vocal. — In a 
 Representative knowledge two different 
 things are viewed as objects, and the term 
 object, therefore, becomes equivocal ; the 
 secondary object within, being numeri- 
 cally different from the primary object 
 without, the sphere of consciousness, which 
 it represents. 
 
 C. Compared by reference to the rela- 
 tivity of tlieir Objects, known in consdous- 
 ness. 
 
 24. — In a presentative cognition, the 
 object known in consciousness, being re- 
 lative only to the conscious subject, may, 
 by contrast, be considered as absolute or 
 irresjyective. In a representative cogni- 
 tion, the object known in consciousness, 
 being, besides the necessary reference to 
 the subject, relative to, as vicarious of, an 
 object unknown to consciousness, must, in 
 every point of view, be viewed as relative 
 or resp'Ctive. Thus, it is on all hands ad- 
 mitted, that in Self- consciousness the ob- 
 ject is subjective and absolute ; and, that 
 in Imagination, under every form, it is 
 subjective and relative. In regard to ex- 
 ternal Perception, opinions differ. For, 
 on the doctrine of the Natural Realists, it 
 is objective and absolute ; on the doctrine 
 of the Absolute Idealists, subjective and 
 absolute ; on the doctrine of the Cosmo- 
 thetic Idealists, subjective and relative. 
 See Note C. § i. 
 
 D. Compared by reference to the cha- 
 racter of the existential Judgments they in- 
 volve. 
 
 25. — The judgment involved in an In- 
 tuitive apprehension is assertory ; for the 
 fact of the intuition being dependent on 
 the fact of the present existence of the ob- 
 jeci, the existence of the object is uncon- 
 ditionally enounced as actual. — The judg- 
 ipent involved in a Rfprescntativo appre- 
 
 hension is ptroblematic ; for here the fact 
 of the representation not being dependent 
 on the present existence of the object re- 
 presented, the existence of that object cant 
 be only modally affirmed as possible. 
 
 E. Compared by reference to their 
 character as Cognitions. 
 
 26. — Representative knowledge is ad- 
 mitted on all hands to be exclusively sub- 
 jective or ideal ; for its proximate object is, 
 on every theory, in or of the mind, while 
 its remote object, in itself, and, except in 
 and through the proximate object, is un- 
 known. — Presentative knowledge is, on the 
 doctrine of the Natural Realists, partly 
 subjictive and ideal, ^;a?'<Zy objective and 
 real; inasmuch as its sole object may be a 
 phaonomenon either of self or of not-self : 
 while, on the doctrine of the Idealists 
 (whether Absolute or Cosmothetic) it is 
 alwfys subjective or ideal ; consciousness, 
 on their hypothesis, being cognisant onJy 
 of mind and its contents. 
 
 F. Compared in respect of their Self- 
 sufficiency or Dependence. 
 
 27. — a. — In one respect. Representative 
 knowledge is not self-sufficient, in as much 
 as every representative cognition of an 
 object sfipposes a previous presentative ap- 
 prehension of that same object. This is 
 even true of the representation of an 
 imaginary or merely possible object; for 
 though the object, of which we are con- 
 scious in such an act, be a mere figment 
 of the phantasy, and, as a now represented 
 whole, was never previously presented to 
 our observation ; still that whole is no- 
 thing but an assemblage of parts, of which, 
 in different combinations, we have had an 
 intuitive cognition. — Presentative know- 
 ledge, on the contrary, is, in this respect, 
 self-sufficient, being wholly independent on 
 Representative for its objects. 
 
 28. — b. — Representative knowledge, in 
 another respect, is not S'lf-sufficient. For 
 in as much as all representation is only the 
 repetition, simple or modified, of what was 
 once intuitively apprehended ; Representa- 
 tive is dependent on Presentative know- 
 ledge, as (with the mind) the concause 
 and condition of its possibility Presen- 
 tative knowledge, on the contrary, is in 
 this respect indejtendent of Representative; 
 for with our intuitive cognitions, com- 
 mences all our knowledge. 
 
 29. — c. — In a f/t/rrf respect Representa- 
 tive knowledge is not self-sufficient ; for it 
 is only deserving of the name of know- 
 ledge in so far as it is conformable with 
 the intuitions which it represents. — Pre- 
 sentative knowledge, on the contrary, is, 
 in this ro.sp(ft, all -sufficient i for in the 
 
ill 
 
 
 OF PRBSEM'TATIVE AND 
 
 [kotb b. 
 
 §«.] 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 it rmmt It is tlie sol® vehicle, tlie exclu- 
 dive criterion aii<l guarantee of truth. 
 
 30. — d. — In mfmtrth respect, Represen- 
 tailre knowledge is ttol sdf'^iij^cunt, 
 htmg whoUj dependent upon Intuitive; 
 for tXe object represented is onlj known 
 tbrough an intuition of the subject repre- 
 senting. Representative knowledge al- 
 ways, therefore, involves presentative, as 
 its condition. — Intuitive knowled§;ei on 
 the contrary, is, in this respect, al^wJE- 
 dknt, being wholly independent of repre- 
 sentative, which it, consequently, excludes. 
 Thus in different points of view Repre- 
 sentative knowledge contains and is con- 
 taijed in, Presentative, (Pr. 15.) 
 
 O. — Compared in reference to their 
 tntn'Mtf Compktmiesi and Pmr/eetmm, 
 
 31. — a..— In om respect Intuitive know- 
 ledge is com]^t»' trndmr/ect, as irrespi'c- 
 tive of aught beyonci the sphere of con- 
 sciousness; while Representative know- 
 ledge is ineomplete and imp€rfe^j as re- 
 ktive to what transcends that sphere. 
 
 32.— b. — In anther respect, Intuitive 
 linowlfidge is comptoe and perfect, as 
 ttfording the 'highest certainty of the 
 bigiMst determination of existence — the 
 Actual — the Here and Now existeA ;— Re- 
 |>res«ntative, ineompl te and imperfect j as 
 sfferding nnlj an inferior .assurance of 
 ©ert,aln Inferior determinations of exist- 
 ence — the Pajst, the Future, the Possible 
 — the not Hero and not Now existent. 
 
 ,33.. — c. — In a tMrd respect, Intuitive 
 knowledge is eamjdete and petfect, its 
 object known being at once real, and 
 bown as real; — Eepreaentative know- 
 ledge, incompiets and imperfect, its known 
 object being unreal, its real object un- 
 known. 
 
 The precise distinction between Pro- 
 •entative and Representative knowledge, 
 aua ino aiixereni meanings 01 mo lerm 
 
 Object, — the want of which has involved 
 iiitr modem philosophy in great confusion, 
 
 — [had long ago evolved IVom my own 
 reiection, and before I was aware that a 
 nanllel ditttinction had been taken by thA 
 Schoolmen, under the name Jntmtive and 
 Ah^rmd knowledge (cognitio JfOmitim et 
 Jliflwicliiw, or Vimmis et Simpiidi In- 
 tol%ifili<i«.} Of these, the former they 
 dflined: — tks kmmifiedffe tjf a tMn§ premnt 
 Of ii is pre»mt, (e^^itio rei prmsetittM, 
 Iff' prmmm eai); the ktter — the humh 
 M§§ tffm tkinff not at it tf ^premnt, (eo^^ 
 fiflto rei nmi nt praemm est.) This 
 distinction remounts, among the I^atin 
 Schoolmen, to at least the middle of the 
 eleventh century ; for 1 find that both 8t 
 
 Anselm and Hugo a Sancto Victore no- 
 tice it. It was certainly not borrowed from 
 the Arabians; for Averroes, at the end 
 of the following century, seems unaware 
 of it. In fact, it bears upon its front the 
 indication of a Christian origin; for, as 
 Scotus and Ariminensis notice, the term 
 Jntuitim was probably suggested by St 
 Paul'i expression, *facteadfaciem,*as the 
 Vulj;ate has it, (1 Corinth, xiii. 12.) For 
 intuitive, in this sense, the lower Greeks 
 sometimes employed the terms lirox- 
 rtM{, and «wro«T/»wf— a sense unknown 
 to the Lexicographers;- but they do not 
 appear to have taken the counter distinc- 
 tion. The term abstract or abstractive 
 was less fortunat(4y chosen than its cor- 
 relative; for besides the signification in 
 question, u opp<«ed to intuitive, in which 
 case we look away from the existence of 
 a concrete object; it was likewise em- 
 ployed in opposition to concrete, and, 
 though improperly, as a synonyme of tmi- 
 vermd, in which case we look away from 
 each and every individual subject of inhe- 
 sion. As this last is the moaning in which 
 abstract as it %vas origiimlly, is now ex- 
 clusively, employed, and as repregtntatim 
 is, otherwise, a far preferable expres- 
 sion, it would manifestly be worse than 
 idle to attempt its resuscitation in the 
 former sense. 
 
 The propriety and importance of the dis- 
 tinction is unquestionable ; but the School- 
 men — at least the great majority who held 
 the doctrine of intentional species — wholly 
 spoiled it in application; by calling the 
 representative perception they allowed of 
 external things, by the name of an in- 
 tuitive cognition, to say nothing of the 
 idle thesis which many of them defended 
 — that by a miracle we could have an 
 intuitive apprehension of a distant, nay 
 even of a non-existent, object. This error, 
 I may notice, is the corollary of auutlKfi 
 of which I am soon to speak — the holding 
 that external things, though known only 
 through species, are immediately known 
 in themselves, (see p. . ) 
 
 § IL — The errors of Reid and other phU 
 lotiophers, in reference to the distinction 
 of Presentatim or Immediate and Me' 
 prestutaiim or Mediate knowledge, atui 
 of Object Prommat^ and Remote* 
 The preceding distinction is one which, 
 for the Natural Realist, it is necessary to 
 establish, in order to discriminate his own 
 peculiar doctrine of perception from those 
 of the Idealists. Cosmothetic and Abso- 
 lute, in their various nii»difications. This, 
 however, Reid nnfortunatel) did not do ; 
 
 SIS 
 
 and the consequence has been the follow- 
 ing imperfections, inaccuracies, and errors. 
 A. In the first place he has, at least 
 in words, abolished the distinction of pre- 
 tentative and representative cognition, 
 
 1**, He asserts, in general^ that every 
 object of thought must be an immediate 
 object, (I. P. 427 b.) 
 
 2", He afllirms, in particular, not only 
 of the faculties whose objects are, but 
 of those whose objects are not, actually 
 present to the mind, — that they are 
 all and each of them immediate know- 
 ledges. Thus he frequently defines me- 
 mory (in the sense of recollective ima- 
 gination) 'an immediate knowledge of 
 things past,' (I. P. 339 a, 351 b, 357 a) ; 
 he speaks of an immediate knowledge of 
 things future, (I. P. 340 b) ; and main- 
 tains that the immediate object in our 
 conception (imagination) of a distant 
 reality is that reality itself (I. P. 374 b.) 
 See above, Propp. 10, 11, 12, 19, 20, 21. 
 Now the cause why Reid not only did 
 not establish, but even thought to abolish, 
 the distinction of mediate cognition with 
 its objects proximate and remote was, 1*>, 
 his error, which we are elsewhere to con- 
 sider, (Note C. § ii.,) in supposing that 
 philosophers in the proximate object of 
 knowledge, had in view, always, a tertium 
 quid different both from the reality repre- 
 sented and the conscious mind (Inq. 106 a, 
 1. P. 226 b, 3C9 ab) ; and 2«', his failing to 
 observe that the rejection of this complex 
 hypothesis of non-egoistical representa- 
 tion, by no means involved either the sub- 
 version of representative knowledge in 
 general, or the establishment of presenta- 
 tive perception in particular. (See Prop. 7, 
 and Note C. § i.) 
 
 But Reid's doctrine in this respect is 
 perhaps imperfectly developed, rather than 
 deliberately wrong ; and I am confident 
 that had it been proposed to him, he would 
 at once have acquiesced in the distinction 
 of presentative and representative know- 
 ledge, above stated, not only as true in it- 
 self, but as necessary to lay a solid foun- 
 dation for a theory of intuitive perception, 
 in conformity with the common sense of 
 mankind. 
 
 B. In the second place, Reid maintains 
 that in our cognitions th re must be an ob- 
 ject (real or imaginary) distinct from the 
 operation of the mind conversant about it ; 
 for the act is one thing and the object of 
 the act another. (I. P. 292 b, 305 a, also 
 298 b, 373 a, 374 b.) 
 
 This is erroneous — at least it is errone- 
 
 ously expressed. Take an imaginary ob- 
 ject, and Reid's own instance- a centaur. 
 
 Herehe says, ' The s.de object of concep- 
 tion (imagination) is an animal which I 
 believe never existed.' It * never existed;' 
 that is never really, never in nature, never 
 externally, existed. But ft is * an object 
 of imagination.* It is not therefore a 
 mere non-existence ; for if it had no kind 
 of existence, it could not possibly be the 
 positive object of any kind of thought. 
 For were it an absolute nothing, it could 
 have no qualities (non-entis nut/a sunt at- 
 tributa) ; but the object we are conscious 
 of, as a Centaur, has qualities,— qualities 
 which constitute it a determinate some- 
 thing, and distinguish it from every other 
 entity whatsoever. We must, therefore, 
 per force, allow it some sort of imaginary, 
 ideal, representative, or (in the older 
 meaning of the term) objective, existence 
 in the mind. Now this existence can only 
 be one or other of two sorts ; for such 
 object in the mind, either is, or is not, a 
 mode of mind. Of these alternatives the 
 latter cannot be supposed; for this would 
 be an affirmation of the crudest kind of 
 non-egoistical representation — the very 
 hypothesis against which Reid so strenu- 
 ously contends. The former alternative 
 remains— that it is a mode of the imagin- 
 ing mind ;— that it is in fact the plastic 
 act of imagination considered as represent- 
 ing to itself a certain possible form a 
 
 Centaur. But then Reid's assertion— that 
 there is always an object distinct from the 
 operation of the mind conversant about it, 
 the act being one thing, the object of the 
 act another— must be surrendered. For 
 the object and the act are here only one 
 and the same thing in two severa' relations. 
 (Prop. 21.) Reid's error consists in mis- 
 taking a logical for a metaphysical diffe- 
 rence—a distinction of relation ibr a dis- 
 tinction of entity. Or is the error only 
 from the vagueness and ambiguity of ex- 
 pression ? ♦ 
 
 • In what manner many of the acutest of 
 the later Schoolmen puzzled themselves like- 
 v/ise, with this, apparently, very simple n tat- 
 ter, maybe seen in their discussions touch- 
 ing the nature of Entia Raiionis. I may men. 
 tion in general Fonseca, Suarez, Mendoza, 
 Ruvius,Murcia, Oviedo, Arriaga, Carleton, d:c., 
 on the one hand; and Biel, Miiandulanus, 
 Jandunus, Valesius, Erice. &c., on the other. 
 I may here insert, though only at present, for 
 the latter paragraph in which Keid's difllculty 
 is solved, the following passage from Biel. It 
 contains important observations to which I 
 nmst subsequently refer : — 
 
 *Ad secundum de figmcntis dicitur, quod 
 (intelligendo illam similitudinem quam anima 
 fingit, i.e. abstrahit a rebus) sic figmenta sunt 
 actus intelligendi, qui habent esse verum et 
 subjectivum ( v. p. 807 a b, note ) in anima. 
 
814 
 
 WPTl 1? Qli''M''r A T TV V A M'TI 
 
 [nots 
 
 C. .In the tMrd plaee, to tMs liead we 
 may refer Eeid% maeamiM!^ m regard to 
 ike ptveim oftjec* of perception. This ob- 
 ject it not, Hi he mmm fre<|ueiitly to assert, 
 mny cllstaiit 'retllty ; (Inq. 104 b, 158 b, 
 159 a b, 160 a, 186 b— 1. P. 299 a, 302 
 a, 303 a, 304 a, et alibi) ; for we are per- 
 cipient of nothing but what is in proxi- 
 iBiite contact, in immediate relation, with 
 one orgaiM of sense Distant realities we 
 reach, not by perception, but by a subse- 
 quent process of inference founded there- 
 on : and so far, as he somewhere says, 
 (1. P. 284 b,) from all men who look 
 upon the sun perceiving the same object, 
 in reality, every individual, in this instance, 
 perceives a different object, nay, a diffe- 
 rent object in each several eye. The 
 doctrine of Hatiiral Realism requires no 
 such untenable assumption for its basis. 
 It is sufficient to establish the simple fact, 
 that we are competent, as consciousness 
 aasiires us, immediately to apprehend 
 Ihwrngh sense the non-ego in certain 
 Imited relations ; and it is of no conse- 
 quence whatever, either to our certainty 
 of the reality of a material world, or to 
 our ultimate knowledge of its properties, 
 whether by thii primary apprehension we 
 lay hold, in the irsi instance, on a larger 
 or a lesser portion of its contents. 
 
 Mr Stewart also (Elem. vol. i. ch. i. 
 sect, 2, p. 79 sq. 6 ed.), in arguing against 
 the counter doctrine in one of its acci- 
 dental forms, maintains, in general, that 
 we may 'be perdi^ent of dirtimt objects. 
 
 Sunt enlm i|iialitat«s Hnimae Inliaerciitesj et 
 111 actof sunt naturalcs simUitudinea rernm a 
 4|uibtt8 fomiantiur, quae sunt objeeta eoruni; 
 
 ■00^ eportet. pmete tMqmd ol^mtMim medium 
 Inter cofnitiiineBi. IntellMtivam actus, et reale 
 ejus ohjectum. 
 
 ' Dleuntnr aatam. ii^usmiMtl Mtiis figmenta, 
 quia ialet' sunt In wfmiMMiiiiMfd rem, qnales 
 ■mit res repracsentatae. Hon aut«m talia tn 
 Mrffftedo, I.e. in qmltatibni reallMai qiiia 
 Mat qiialllales spirltuales, obj^ecta vero fn^ 
 q«eiii«r'rai'']iiiiarlalflt) sunt aotem natunditcr 
 •frnHes in rep9mm»tmSo, quia reprsesentant res 
 distlnete cum suli babltudinibus sicut sunt 
 'Niltflr ; ncB auten sunt timOm to cnmdo, i.e. 
 f nod aetoa [aetu] liaberent eise rrnle ejusdem 
 'Ifedel cum .nis 'Cbjectii. 
 
 '<)nodadditur teCililmaera.; patct quod all- 
 tor chinanra dicltur figmentum, et aliter cog. 
 :iiitli>' rel 'posaibllto. Termi. 'Conceptun cM*' 
 .■itarae^ id est actuS' eogiMMcendl correspon. 
 ,§mm liule voci ' Mimmm,* est vera qoalitas in 
 'mente : tamen Ulad 'fiuMl signlioat MMl est.* 
 .Bii^Seat. ]lift.liQa.a 
 
 fie aaticr of the preceding passage, it must 
 M remembered, allowed no imtmUamml igMote, 
 "that i% Ml' rtprtiaatallve entitlei. different from' 
 fha: apraiioat of ''tbe^ mi»A itael'. 
 
 But Ma observations do not o intemplate, 
 therefore do not meet, the cardinal ques- 
 tions; — Is perception a presentativo cog- 
 nition of the non-ego, or only a represen- 
 tative cognition of it, in and through tho 
 ego ? — and if the former, — Can we ap- 
 prehend a thing immediately and not 
 know it in itself? — Can we apprehend it 
 as actually existing ? — and, Can we ap- 
 prehend it as actually existing, and not 
 apprehend it in the When and Where of 
 its existence, that is, only as present ? 
 
 A misapprehension analogous to that of 
 Reid and Stewart, and of u still more ob- 
 trusive character, was made by a majority 
 of those Schoolmen who, as non-egtisticai 
 representationists, maintained the hypothe- 
 sis of intentional species, as media of sen- 
 sitive perception, imagination, &c. They, 
 in general, held, that the speciet ia not 
 itself perceived f but the recuitij through the 
 epeciee: — and on the following as the 
 principal grounds :-The present objects 
 we perceive by sense, or the absent ob- 
 jects we imagine, are extended, figured, 
 coloured, &c. ; but the species are not 
 themselves extended, figured, coloured, 
 &c., they are only representative of theso 
 qualities in external objects; the species 
 are not, therefore, themselves objects of 
 knowledge, or, as they otherwise ex- 
 pressed it, do not themselves terminate 
 the cognition.* Sec, instar omnium, De 
 Raconis, Physica, Disp. iii. de An. Sens. 
 App. sect. ii. qu 4. art 3. — Irenaeus, De 
 Auima, c. 2. sect. 3. § 3. 
 
 The error of this doctrine did not, 
 however, escape the observation of the 
 acuter even of those who supported the 
 theory of intentional species. It is ex- 
 posed by Scaliger the father ; and his ex- 
 position is advanced an a * very subtle ' 
 speculation. Addressing Cardan, whose 
 work * Be Subtilitate 'he is controverting, 
 he says : — 
 
 ' Cum tarn praeclare de visa sentires, 
 maximam omisisti subtilitatem. Doce me 
 prius sodes — Quid est idquod video ? Dices, 
 " Puerilem esse interrogationem — Rem 
 enim esse, quae videatur." At doce quaeso 
 nos pueros per salebras hasce Naturae 
 perreptantes. Si mnmo eit receptio ; nee 
 rec^itwr Met; demonstrabitur certissima 
 
 • a Thia doctrine liis reeent and very able 
 Mograpber (If. Hnet) finds maintained by the 
 great Henry of Ghent, and ho nddncca it as 
 both an original opinion of the Doctor Solen- 
 nia, and an anticipation of one of the truths 
 established by tho Scottish school. There 
 was, however, nothing new in tho opinion; and 
 if an anticipation, it was only the anticipation 
 of an error. Ilichorchesi tc, pp. IIM), 119. 
 
 §«.] 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 demonstratione sic ;— «n/o fwn sentHnr 
 i<««. Aiunt— « Rem videri per Speciem " 
 Intelhgo; etcor\c\m\oi—Sf^cies ergo sen- 
 titnr. Rem ipsam hand percipit sensus. 
 fepecies ipsa non est ea res, cujus est 
 species. Isti vero ausi sunt ita dicere •— 
 " Non videri speciem, sed Rem per Spe- 
 ciem. Speciem vero esse vidcndi ratio- 
 nem.'' Audio verba; rem baud intelli- 
 go. Non enim est species ratio videndi 
 ut Lux. Quid igitur ?_« Per speciem' 
 (inquiunt) vides rem ; non potes autem 
 videre speciem, quia necesse esset ut, per 
 speciem, videres." Quae sententia est om- 
 nium absurdissima. Dico enim jam i—Bem 
 non videHy sed Speciem. Sensus ergo 
 recipit speciem; quam rei similem judical 
 Intellectus, atque sic rem eognoscit per 
 reOexionem.' (De Subtilitate, Ex. ccxcviii. 
 § 14.) 
 
 But in correcting one inconsistoncy 
 Scaliger here falls into another. For how 
 can the reflective intellect judge the species 
 to resemble, that is, correctly to represent, 
 the external reality, when, ex hypothesi, 
 the reality itself is unknown ; unknown in 
 
 %U 
 
 an sit dirutum exustumve, sicut olim to- 
 nitruo conflagravit.'* In Sent. L. i. dist, 
 3. qu. 2. 
 
 1 have omitted however to notice, that 
 the vulgar doctrine of the Schools in re- 
 gard to the immediate cognition of real 
 objects, through their species or represen- 
 tations, was refuted, in anticipation, bv 
 1 lotmus, who observes— 'That if we re'- 
 ceive the impressed forms {rvTrovs) of ob- 
 jects perceived, it cannot be that we really 
 perceive the things which we are said to 
 perceive, but only their images or sha- 
 dows; so that the things existing are one 
 distinct order of beings, the objects per- 
 ceived by us, another.' (Ennead. v. L. vi. 
 c. 1.; His own doctrine of perception is 
 however equally subjective as that which 
 he assails; it is substantially tho same with 
 the Cartesian and Leibuitzian hypotheses. 
 Representationists (Note C* § i.) are 
 not however always so rehictant to see 
 and to confess, that their doctrine in- 
 volves a surrender of all immediate and 
 real knowledge of an external world. 
 
 ue reamy itseit is unknown ; unknown in This too is admitted bv even those wh* 
 Its quahties, unknown even nits existence'' I eouallv wifh rJ.i V i ^nose who, 
 
 This consideration n««,l,f« I,... i:'iV.u: ^?"^"^ ^>th Reid, had renounced ideas 
 
 This consideration ought to have led * the 
 Master of Subtilties' to doubt concerning 
 the doctrine of perception by species alto- 
 gether. 
 
 But long before Scaliger, the error in 
 question had boon refuted by certain of 
 those Schoolmen who rejected the whole 
 doctrine of intentional species. I was sur- 
 prised to find the distinction between an 
 immediate and a mediate object, in our 
 acts cognitive of things not actually pre- 
 sent to apprehension, advanced by Gre- 
 gory of Rimini, in a disputation maintained 
 by him against a certain * Joannes Scotus,* 
 — not the Subtle Doctor, who was already 
 
 as representative entities, difterent, either 
 from the substance of mind, or from the 
 act of cognition itself. Arnauld frankly 
 acknowledges this of his own theory of 
 perception ; which he justly contends to be 
 Identical with that of Descartes. (See 
 ^^V^^ P- 296 a, n. f) Other Cartesians, 
 and of a doctrine equally pure, have been no 
 less explicit. 'Nota vero, (says Flender, 
 whose verbosity I somewhat abridge.) mon- 
 tem nostram percipero vel cognoscere im- 
 mediate tantum seipsam suasque facultates, 
 per intimam sui conscientiam ; sed alias res 
 a se distinctasy non nisi mediate, scilicet per 
 ideas. . . Nota porro, quod percej^tio sen 
 
 r have been a fellow Recent w tt Grpo-nrv ».^«..f «o** „..j ^•. V- . ^^ *^ '/***» 
 
 have been a fellow Regent with Gregory 
 in the University of Paris. This doctrine 
 did not, however, obtain the acceptation 
 which it merited ; and when noticed at all, 
 it was in general noticed only to be re- 
 dargued — even by his brother Nominalists. 
 Biel rejects the paradox, without nammg 
 its author. But John Major, the last of 
 the regular Schoolmen, openly maintains 
 on this point, against the Authentic Doc- 
 tor, the thesis of his earlier countryman, 
 Joannes — a thesis also identical with the 
 doctrine of his later countryman, Reid. 
 *Dico (he says, writing in Paris,) quod 
 notitiam abstractivam quam habeo pinna- 
 culi Sanctae Genovefesin Scotia, in Saiic- 
 to Andrea, ad pinnaculum immediate ter~ 
 minatur ; verum, ob notitiae imperfec- 
 tioneni et naturam, nescio certitudinaiiter 
 
 prout. est modus cogitandi cujus mens est 
 conscia, — quo modo a mente ut causa effi- 
 ciente fluit; vel relata ad objectum quod 
 per earn representatur, prout est cogitatio 
 intellectus banc vel illam rem represeutans, 
 —quo modo forma sou essentia ideae con- 
 sistit in representatione rei, sive in eo quod 
 sit representamen vel imago ejus rei quam 
 concipimus.* (Phosph. Philos. § 6.) 
 
 • The existence of a Pinnacle of St Geno. 
 vieve in St Andrews is now unknown to our 
 Scottish Antiquaries; and this, I may notice, 
 is one of a thousand curious anecdotes relative 
 to his country, scattered througliout Afajor's 
 writings, and upon matters to which allusions 
 from a Doctor of the Sorbonne, in a Commen. 
 tary on the Sentences, were least to be ex. 
 pected. 
 
NOTE C. 
 
 as THB VAUOTO THBOEIKS OF KITEBHAl PERCEPTION. 
 
 i I- 
 
 »n.- 
 
 Mlotton of External Perceptton to tit Object, ana «j 
 Pkaoiophy/omuled thereon. 
 
 matieth, d,»racler. « rti. reaped, of Heid'. doctrine of PercepHon t 
 
 r W».»c» -From I»q. 106 m 128 . b. 130 b 210 ^ I. P. 226 a b, 267 b. 2(» .. 
 „^^^TC^lTm\ 299 .. 308 .. 318 b. 427 . b.] 
 
 I /.-fitaJawrtfc Scheme,, from ^r^ 
 
 ' ■ ..*-.--» n/iKe various tlieonet of 
 petnU of new, of IMvar,"^^^^ 
 
 the rdalion of External f^f^J" , 
 
 He Object, ani of the vano^ egltmi of 
 
 PhSoiophyfounaed thereon. 
 
 gcHEH. l.-Tableofdielrib«iion. Oe- 
 '^ "";::: Jol 4 1^ co-iUercd_ 
 
 SSr'Ss "bo hold the fot»«r o th«« 
 
 J^l„l, the ^t^^^/^J^^tleTabr 
 
 To^e, p. 746 % tq. AH «^^^^^'** 
 
 lute, or total, object; in other words, re- 
 duce perception to an a<^t of immediate 
 or intuitive cognition: and tins— eiuier 
 (A) by abolishing any immediate, ideal, 
 subjective object, representing ;— or, (tsj 
 by abolishing any mediate, real, objective 
 obiect, represented. . • ^ ai,* 
 
 A —The former of these, viewing the 
 one iotal object of perceptive consc»ou^ 
 Besi as tiol, as existing, and therefore, 
 in this case, aa material, extended, externa^ 
 a" e Realists, and may distinctively be caUed 
 Intuitional or Pte.^entative R^ahsts, and 
 Real I^eMntationistsorJntmttmuts swme, 
 
 as founding their doctrine on the daUm 
 of the natural consciousness, or common 
 elapof mankind, they deserve the names 
 r^irlTZJi;. or' Natural mam. 
 
 Of this ^^^^;^iXJLZ IX^ 
 
 vane lesj «««PV.'" ^^ ^^^a to-what 
 
 of opmion may arise, m rcoar" -^ «hi««fc 
 
 quahties are to be relerred to the objoot 
 
 Irceived, or non.ego,-what q^J^^ies to 
 
 the percipient subject, or ego. F^f^^^ 
 
 tive\ealism Is thus divided (O »^to . 
 
 philosophical or developed form-that, to 
 
 wit in which the Primary Qualities of 
 
 body, tbe Common Sensibles, (see Nof 
 
 D /constitute the objective object of 
 
 perception ; and (ii.) into a vnlgar or um- 
 
 developed fonn^that, to wit, in which 
 
 POTB c. § I.] THEORIES OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 817 
 
 not only the primary qualities, (as Exten- 
 •ion and Figure,) but also the secondary, 
 (as Colour, Savour, &;c.,) are, as known 
 to us, regarded equally to appertain to the 
 non-ego. 
 
 B. — The latter of these, viewing the 
 object of consciousness in perception as 
 ideal, (as a pha^nomenon in or of mind,) 
 are Idealists; and as denying that this 
 ideal objec*^^ has any external prototype, 
 they may be styled Absolute Idealists, or 
 
 Idealist Unitarians They are to be 
 
 Again divided into two subaltern classes, 
 as the Idea — (i.) is, — or (ii.) is not, con- 
 sidered a moditication of the percipient 
 mind. 
 
 i. — If the Idea be regarded as a mode 
 of the human mind itself, we have a 
 scheme of Egoistical Idealism : and this 
 again admits of a twofold distinction, ac- 
 cording as the idea is viewed — (a) as 
 having no existence out of the momcn- 
 tai'y act of present ative consciousness, 
 with which it is, in fact, identical j — or (b) 
 as having an (ynknown) existence, inde- 
 pendent of the present act of conscious- 
 ness by which it is called up, contemplated, 
 but not created. Finally, as in each of 
 these the mind may be determined to 
 present the object either — (1.) by its own 
 natural laws, — or (2.) by supernatural 
 agencies, each may be subdivided into a 
 Natural and Supernatural variety. 
 
 ii. — If, on the other hand, the Idea be 
 viewed not as a mode of the human mind, 
 there is given the scheme of Non-Egois- 
 tical Idealism, which, in all its forms, is 
 necessarily hyperphysical. It admits, in 
 the first place, of a twofold distinction, 
 according as the ideal object is supposed — 
 (a) to be, — or (b) not to be, in the per- 
 ceiving mind itself. 
 
 a. — Of these the former may again be 
 subdivided accordine: as the ideas are sup- 
 posed — (1.) to be connate with the mind 
 and existent in it out of consciousness; 
 —or (2.) infused into it at the moment 
 of consciousness, — («) immediately by 
 God, — (C) by some lower supernatural 
 agency. 
 
 b.— The latter supposes that the human 
 mind is conscious of the idea, in some 
 higher intelligence, to which it is inti- 
 mately present ; and this higher mind 
 may either be — (1.) that of the deity, or 
 •—(2) that of some inferior supernatural 
 existence. 
 
 All these modifications of Non-Egoisti- 
 cal Idealism admit, however, in common, 
 of certain subordinate divisions, according 
 •a the qualities (primary and secondary) 
 and the phsenomena of the several senses 
 
 may be variously considered dther as 
 objective and ideal or as subjective and 
 sensational.* 
 
 II. — The R'prcsentationists, as denying 
 to consciousness the cognisance of aught 
 beyond a merely subjective phsBnomeiion, 
 are likewise Idealists; yet as positing the 
 reality of an external world, they must 
 be distinguished as Cosrnothetic Idealists. 
 But, as affirming an external world, they 
 are also Realists, or Dualists. Since, 
 however, they do not, like the Natural 
 Realists, accept the existence of an exter- 
 nal world directly on the natural tes- 
 timony of consciousness, as something 
 known, but endeavour to establish its un- 
 known existence by a principal and sundry 
 subsidiary hypotheses; they must, under 
 that character, be discriminated as Hyyo^ 
 thetical Realists or Hypothetical Dualists. 
 This Hypothesis of a Representative per- 
 ception has been maintained under one or 
 other of two principal forms,— a finer and 
 a cruder, — according as the representa- 
 tion — either, (A) is, — or (B) is not, sup- 
 posed to be a mode of the percipient 
 subject itself. (And, be it observed, this 
 distinction, in reference to Reid's philo- 
 sophy, ought to be carefully borne inmind.> 
 
 A. — If the immediate, known, orrepi,^- 
 sentative, object be regarded as a modifi- 
 cation of the mind or self, we have one 
 variety of representationism, (the simpler 
 
 • The general approximation of thorough- 
 going Realism and thorongh-going Idealism 
 here given, may, at first sight, be staitling. 
 On reflection, however, their radical affinity 
 will prove well grounded. Both build upon 
 the same fundamental fact — that the extended 
 object immediately perceived is identical with 
 the extended object actually existing ;— for the 
 truth of this fact, both can appeal to the com- 
 mon senre of mankind ; — and to the common 
 sense of mankind Berkeley did appeal not less 
 confidently, and perliaps more logically, than 
 Reid. Natural Realism and Absolute Idealism 
 are the only systems worthy of a philosopher j 
 for, as they alone have any foundation in con> 
 sciousness, so they alone have any cojisistcncy 
 in themselves. The scheme of Hypothetical 
 Realism or Cosrnothetic Idealism, which sup- 
 poses that behind the non-existent world per- 
 ceived, there lurks a correspondent but un- 
 known world existing, is not only repugnant to 
 our natural beliefs, but in manisold contradic. 
 tion with itself. The scheme of Natural Real, 
 ism may be ultimately difficult — for, like all 
 other truths, it ends in the inconceivable ; but 
 Hypothetical Realism — in its origin — in its 
 development — in its result, although the fa- 
 vourite scheme of philosophers, is philosophi- 
 cally absurd. See Philosophy of Perception, 
 Ed. Rev. vol. lii. p. 176-181. 
 3 F 
 
818 
 
 ON THE VARIOUS THE0WE8 
 
 [notb o. 
 
 
 and 'iMirt' reined) which may lie' eharac- 
 terkedas the EffmsHml MepremmttOhniim, 
 This finer form is, however, itself again 
 tobdivided into a finer and a cruder ; ac- 
 cording as the suhjectiv® object— (i.) is— 
 or (ii.) is not, identified mtk th© perci- 
 pient art. 
 
 i— In the former case, the immediate 
 or ideal object is regarded, as only logi- 
 cally distinguished from the perceptive 
 act J being simply the perceptive act itself, 
 considered in one of its relations, — its re- 
 lation, to wit (not to the subject perceiv- 
 ing, in which case it is properly called a 
 pmrception, but) to the mediate object, the 
 ftality represented, and which, in and 
 through that representation alone, Is ob- 
 jectified to consciousness and perceived. 
 
 ii.— In the latter case, the immediate 
 ©bjeet. is regarded, as a mode of mind, 
 existent out of the act of perc^ptlf© con- 
 aclouaness, and, though contemplated in, 
 not really identical with, that act. This 
 cruder form of egoistical representationism 
 substantially coincides with that finer form 
 of the Bon-egolstical, which views th© vi- 
 carious object as spiritual (I I. B, i. b.) 
 I "lave therefore found it requisite to^ con- 
 sider these as identical; and accordingly 
 in speaking of the liner form of represen- 
 tation, be it observed, I exclusively have 
 in view the form of which I have kst 
 ifoken, (II. AjL) 
 
 This form, in b&tk its degrees, is divid- 
 ed Into certain subaltern genera and 
 species, according as th© mind Is supposed 
 to be determined to represent by causes — 
 either, (a) natural, physical^— or, (b) su- 
 pernatural, byperphysical. 
 
 t. Of these, the tmtural determination 
 
 to represent, is— either, (1.) one foreign 
 and external, (by the action of the mate- 
 rial reality on the paisive mind, through 
 sense) ;— or (2.) one native and internal, 
 (a self determination of the impassive 
 mind, on occasion of the presentation of 
 the material object to mnm) ;— or finally, 
 (3.) mm partly both, (the mind being at 
 once acted on, and itself reacting.) 
 
 b,— The h^peTihtfsical determination, 
 again, may be maintained— either to be, 
 (1.) immediate and special; whether this be 
 realiaed— («) by th© direct operation or 
 coieonrs© of God (as in a scheme of Occa- 
 sional Causes)— or (C) by the Influonce of 
 Inferior supernatural ag©a«»*»' — o*" (2-) 
 mediate and general, (as by the predeter- 
 mined ordination of God, in a theory of 
 Pro^establishod Harmony.) 
 
 B. — If the representative object be 
 viewisd as something in, but not a mere 
 mode of, mind;— in other words, If it b© 
 
 viewed as a tertium quid numerically dif-^ 
 ferent both from the subject knowing and 
 the object represented ; w© have a second 
 form of Representationism, (the more 
 complex and cruder,) which may b© dis- 
 tinguished as the Non-ffffoietieal. This 
 also falls Into certain inferior species : for 
 the Ideal or vicarious object has been held 
 (i.) by some to be spiritual;— (II.) by 
 others to be corporeal ;— while (iii.) others, 
 to carry hypothesis to absurdity, have re- 
 garded it, as neither spiritual nor corpo- 
 real, but of an inconceivable nature, inUr- 
 mediate between, or difierent from, both. 
 
 i. — Spiritual. Here th© vicarious ob- 
 ject may be supposed— either, (a) to b© 
 some supernatural intelligence, to which 
 the human mind Is present ; and this— 
 ©ith©r (1.) the divine,— or (2.) not the di- 
 viie: — or (b) In th© human mind; and if 
 BO— either (1.) connate and inexistent, be- 
 ing elicited into consciousness, on occasion 
 of the impression of the external object on 
 the sensual organ; — or, (2.) infused on 
 such occasions, and this— either («) by 
 God, — or (C) by other supernatural intel- 
 ligences, — and of these different theorists 
 have supposed different kinds. 
 
 li. — Corporeal f in the common sensory 
 (whether brain or heart.) This— either 
 (a) as a propagation iVom the external re- 
 ality— (1.) of a grosser ; — (2.) of a more 
 attenuated nature: — or (b) a modification 
 determined in the sensory itself— (1.) as a 
 configuration; — (2.) as a motion, (and 
 this last — either («) as a flow of spirits — 
 or (€) as a vibration of fibres— or (y) as 
 both a flow and a vibration);— or (3.) as 
 both a configuration and a motion. 
 
 iii. — Neither spiritual nor corporeal. 
 This might admit, in part, of similar mo- 
 difications with B, i. and B, ii. 
 
 All these species of Representationism 
 may be, and almost all of them have been, 
 actually held. Under certain varying re- 
 strictions, however, in as much as a repre- 
 sentative object may be postulated in per- 
 ception for all, or only for some of th© 
 senses, for all or only for some of the 
 qualities mad© known to us in the percep- 
 tive act. And this latter alternative 
 which has been most generally adopted, 
 again admits of various subdivisions, ac- 
 cording to the particular senses in which, 
 and th© particular qualities of which, a 
 vicarious object is allowed. 
 
 SciiiMB II.— TaWe of General distri. 
 btUion ; fi^A references for details to Schenm 
 
 ■a. 
 
 Th© object of Consciousness in Percep- 
 tion Is a quality, mode or phaenomenon — 
 tither (I.) of an external reality, in imm«- 
 
 §§ 1- n] 
 
 OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 819 
 
 diat© relation to our organs; — or (II.) not 
 of an external reality^ but either of the 
 mind itself, or of something in the mind, 
 which internal object, let us on either al- 
 ternative, here call Idea. 
 
 I, The former opinion is the doctrine of 
 real presentative perception. (I. A.) 
 
 II. The latter is the doctrine of ideal 
 perception ; which either — 
 
 A— supposes that the Ideals an origi- 
 nal and absolute presentment, and thus 
 constitutes the doctrine of ideal presenta- 
 tive perception (1. B) ; or 
 
 B — supposes that the Idea only repre- 
 sents the quality of a real object ; and thus 
 constitutes the doctrine of ideal represent 
 tative perception (II.) 
 
 Scheme III. — Merely General Table. 
 
 In relation to our perception of an ex- 
 ternal world, philosophers are ( f.) Realists; 
 (II.) Idealists. 
 
 I. The Realists are (A) Natural; (B) 
 Mypotheticaly (= Cosmothetic Idealists.) 
 
 II. The Idealists are (A) Absolute or 
 Presentative ; (B) Cosmothetic or Repre- 
 sentative, (= Hypothetical Realists.) See 
 above, p. 817 b, and 747 a. 
 
 Such is a conspectus in different points 
 of view of all the theories touching per- 
 ception and its object ; and of the diffe- 
 rent systems of philosophy founded there- 
 on, which, as far as they occur to me, have 
 been promulgated during the progress of 
 philosophy. But it is at present only requi- 
 site for the student of philosophy to bear 
 in mind the more general principles and 
 heads of distribution. To enumerate the 
 individual philosophers by whom these se- 
 Teral theories were originated or main- 
 tained, would require a fkr greater ampli- 
 tude of detail than can be now afforded; 
 and, though of some historical interest, 
 this is not required for the purposes which 
 I am here exclusively desirous of accom- 
 phshing. Similar tables might be also 
 given of the opinions of philosophers, 
 touching the object oUImagination and of 
 JnteUect, But the relation of these facul- 
 ties to their object does not, in like man- 
 ner, afford the fundamental principles of 
 difference, and therefore a common start 
 ing point, to the great philosophical sys- 
 tems; while a scheme of the hypotheses in 
 regard to them, would, at least in the de- 
 tails, be little more than an uninteresting 
 repetition of the foregoing distribution. 
 There is therefore little inducement to an- 
 nex such tables ; were they not, in other 
 respects, here completely out of place. I 
 harve only, at present, two ends in view. 
 Of these the primary, is to display, to dis- 
 
 criminate, and to lay down a nomenclature 
 of, the various theories of Perception, ac- 
 tual and possible. This is accomplished. 
 The secondary, is to determine under 
 which of these theories the doctrine of 
 ReJd is to be classed. And to this inquiry 
 I now address myself. 
 
 § 
 
 II. — Of what character, in the preced- 
 ing respect, is Reid's doctrine of Per- 
 ception ? 
 
 As in this part of his philosophy, in par- 
 ticular, Mr Stewart closely follows the 
 footsteps of his predecessor, and seems 
 even to have deemed all further speculation 
 on the subject superfluous ; the question 
 here propounded must be viewed as com- 
 mon to both philosophers. 
 
 Now, there are only two of the preced- 
 ing theories of perception, with one or 
 other of which Reid's doctrine can pos- 
 sibly be identified. He is a Dualist ;— 
 and the only doubt is — whether he be a 
 Natural Realist, (I. A,) or a Hypothetic 
 cal Realist, under the finer form of EffO' 
 istical Representationisyn, (II. A, i.) 
 
 The cause why Reid left the character 
 of his doctrine ambiguous on this the very 
 cardinal point of his philosophy, is to be 
 found in the following circumstances. 
 
 1°, That, in general, (although the 
 same may be said of all other philoso- 
 phers,) he never discriminated either spe- 
 culatively or historically the three theories 
 of Real Presentationism, of Egoistical, 
 and of Non- Egoistical, Representationism. 
 2°, That, in particular, he never clearlv 
 distinguished the first and second of these, 
 as not only differcDt, but contrasted, theo- 
 ries; though on one occasion (I. P. p. 
 297 a b) he does seem to have been ob- 
 scurely aware that they were not ideuticaL 
 3°, That, while right in regarding phi- 
 losophers, in general, as Cosmothetic 
 Idealists, he erroneously supposed that 
 they were all, or nearly all, Non-Egoisti- 
 cal Representationists. And — 
 
 4**, That he viewed the theory of Non- 
 Egoistical Representationism as that form 
 alone of Cosmothetic Idealism which 
 when carried to its legitimate issue ended 
 in Absolute Idealism; whereas the other 
 form of Cosmothetic Idealism, the theory 
 of Egoistical Representationism, whether 
 speculatively or historically considered, is, 
 with at least equal rigour, to be deve- 
 loped into the same result. 
 
 Dr Thomas Brown considers Reid to 
 be, like himself, a Cosmothetic Idealist, 
 under the finer form of egoistical repre- 
 sentationism ; but without assigning anv 
 
ON THE VARIOUS THEORIES 
 
 [miTB o« 
 
 fWBOB for tMs beicf, except one which, 
 ms I haT© etaifhwre shewn, is altogether 
 mogalory.* For my own part, 1 am oe- 
 eidedly of opinion, that, as the great end 
 —the governing principle of Reid's doc- 
 trine wan to reconeile philosophy with 
 the necessary convictions of mankind, 
 that he intended a doctrine of natural, 
 coBseqiiently a doctrine of preseiitative, 
 reaism; and that he wonW have at once 
 snrrendered, as erroneous, every state- 
 ment which was found at variance with 
 such a doctrine. But that the reader 
 should he enabled to form his own opi- 
 nion on the point, which I admit not to 
 he without difficulty i and that the amhi- 
 guities and incoMiilencies of Reid, on this 
 tlie most important prt of his philosophy, 
 should, by an articulate exposition, be de- 
 Zrif ed of their evil influence : I shall 
 /now eaumerate — (A) the statements, 
 which may, on the one hand, be adduced 
 to prove that his doctrine of perception is 
 one of mdiate cognition under the form 
 of iffm^mi r§preMntatimiim',—&m\ (B) 
 those which may, on the other hand, be 
 alleged to shew, that it is one of imme- 
 diaie cognltioii, raider the form of real 
 pfmmmimim. But as these counter 
 gtltenients are only of import, in as much 
 as they severally imply the conditions of 
 mediate or of immediate cognition; it is 
 neceenary that the reader should bear in 
 mind the exposition, which has been given 
 of these conditions, in Note B. § I. 
 
 A,^Sta(emmt8 emformable to the doc* 
 irim of a mediate pttfepiim, nndir Ihs 
 fwm of «»• ^oistieal repretemiation, and 
 iMnmimmi mtk that of immediate per- 
 Mf»ftoti, ifiMfor tke form of a real presen- 
 tatioHt of material objects. 
 
 1. On the testimony of consciousness, 
 and in the doctrine of an intuitive per- 
 ctftion, the mind, when a matiilial exis- 
 tance is brought into rektion with its 
 organ of sense, obtains two concomitant, 
 and immediate, cognitions. Of these, th« 
 
 • Bdiah. Bev. vol. lii. p. 17S-17Uj-also in 
 CInts and Miie. In saytog, however, on that 
 Mcasion, that I)t Brown was guilty of * a re. 
 
 Ttrsal of the real and ete&'iiiNiiiift^^MOiit import' 
 of .Btld's doctrine of ]icff<teftioii, I IM called 
 agpeii lO' aiialts. that the latter eptlhet Is too 
 itroof ;— for on grounds, totally dlirereni firom 
 tiM untraiahie one of Brown, I am now about 
 to diew, that field's doctrine, on this point. Is 
 iMMM. This admlBtlon does not, however. 
 Imply that Hfowii is mot, from first to lasty— is 
 Ml IniMM awl all of Ms strictures on Eolja 
 iiafftae ef fwception, as there shewn, wholly 
 la wror. 
 
 one is the consciousness (sensation) of cer- 
 tain subjective modifications in us, which 
 we refer, as effects, to certain unknown 
 powers, as causes, in the external reality; 
 the secondary qualities of body ; the other 
 is the consciousness (perception) of certain 
 objective attributes in tne external reality 
 itself, as, or as in relation to our sensi- 
 ble organism ;— the primary qualities of 
 body. Of these cognitions the former is 
 admitted, on all hands, to be subjective 
 and ideal : the latter, the Natural Realist 
 maintains, against the Cosmothetic Idea- 
 list, to b^ objective and real. But it is 
 only objective and real, in so far as it is 
 immediate ; and immediate it cannot be, 
 if — either, 1*' dependent on the former, as 
 its cause or its occasion — or, 2" conse- 
 quent on it, as on a necessary antecedent. 
 But both these conditions of a presenta- 
 tive perception Reid and Stewart are seen 
 to violate ; and therefore they may be 
 held, virtually, to confess, that their doe- 
 trine is one only of representative per- 
 ception. See Note D. ^ i. No. 23. 
 
 Touching the former condition: Reid 
 states, that the primary qualities of mate- 
 rial existences Extension, Figure, &c.,are 
 mggested to ua through the secondary ; 
 which, though not the sufficient causes of 
 our conception, are the signs,* on occa- 
 sion of which, we are made to * conceive * 
 the primary. (Inq. 188 a, 122 a, 123 b, 
 128 b note). The secondary qualities, ai 
 mere sensations, mere consciousness of 
 certain subjective affections, afford us no 
 immediate knowledge of aught different 
 from self. If, therefore, the primary qua- 
 lities be only ' tuggestionsi only * concept 
 Hms; (Inq. 183 a, I. P. 318 a b), which 
 are, as it were, * conjured up by a kmd ot 
 natural magic,' (Inq. 122 a), or * inspired 
 by means imknown,' (Inq. 188 a) ; these 
 conceptions are only representations, which 
 the mind is, in some inconceivable manner, 
 blindly determined to form of what it does 
 not know ; and, as perception is only a 
 consciousness of these conceptions, per- 
 ception is, like sensation, only an imme- 
 diate cognition of certain modes of self. 
 Our knowledge of the external world, on 
 this footing, is wholly subjective or ideal ; 
 
 • This application of the mtto tipn suita the 
 Cosmotbetic Idealist, as the Cartesian Bos- 
 suet (Connaissance de Bleu, &c., ch. 3, § 8), or 
 the Absolute Idealist, as Berkeley (passim), 
 but not the Natural Uealist. In thia doctrino 
 of natural signs, I see Held was, in a manner, 
 also preceded by HntchoMin, (Syn. Met. P. *ik, 
 c. 1— .Syst. of Mor B. i. ch. 1, p. 6). 
 
 § tl*] 
 
 OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 821 
 
 and if such be Reid*s doctrine, it is wholly 
 conformable to that enounced in the fol- 
 lowing statement of the Cartesian repre- 
 sentationism by Silvain Regis : — ' We 
 may thus, he says, affirm, that the cogni- 
 tion we have of any individual body which 
 strikes the sense is composed of two parts, 
 — of a sensation (sentiment), and of an 
 imagination ; an imagination, which re- 
 presents the extension of this body 'mder 
 a determinate size; and a sensation of 
 colour and light, which renders this -"^x- 
 tension visible.' (Metaph. L. ii. P. i. ch. 
 5. Cours, t. i. p. 162, ed. 1691). Thi^ 
 statement may stand equally for an enounce- 
 ment of the Kantian doctrine of percep- 
 tion ; and it is, perhaps, worth noticing:, 
 that Regis anticipated Kant, in holding the 
 imagination of space to be the a priori 
 form or subjective condition of percep- 
 tion. * L' idee de 1' Entendue (he says) 
 est nee avec l' ame,* &c., (ibid. c. 9, p. 
 171 ct alibi.) — This theory of Suggestion, 
 so explicitly maintained in the * Inquiry,' 
 is not repeated in the ' Essays on the In- 
 tellectual Powers.' Reid, therefore, as I 
 have already observed, (p. 129 a, note,) 
 may seem to have become doubtful of the 
 tendency of the doctrine advanced in his 
 earlier work; and we ought not, at all 
 events, to hold him rigorously account- 
 able for the consequences of what, if he 
 did not formally retract in his later writ- 
 ings, he did not continue to profess. 
 
 Touching the latter condition: — Reid 
 in stating, that * if sensation be produced, 
 the corresponding ^ercei^imn follows even 
 when there is no object,' (I. P. 320 b,) — i 
 and Stewart in stating, that ' sensations ] 
 are the constant antecedents of our per- 
 ceptions,' (El. i. c. 1, p. 93, e d, 6,) mani- 
 festly advance a doctrine, which if rigidly 
 interpreted, is incompatible with the re- 
 quisites of an intuitive perception. 
 
 2. it is the condition of an intuitive 
 perception, that a sensation is actually 
 felt there, where it is felt to be. To sup- 
 pose that a pain, for instance, in the toe. 
 Is felt really in the brain, is conformable 
 only to a theory of representationism. 
 For if the mind cannot be conscious of 
 the secondary qualities, except at the cen- 
 tre of the nervous organism, it cannot be 
 conscious of the primary, in their relation 
 to its periphery ; and this involves the 
 admission, that it is incompetent to more 
 than a subjective or ideal or representa- 
 tive cognition of external things. But 
 such is the doctrine which Reid mani- 
 fesUy holds. (I. P. 319 b, 320 a b.) 
 
 3. On the doctrine of Natural Realism, 
 that the ego has an intuitive perception of | 
 
 the non-ego in proximate relation to its 
 organs, a knowledge and a belief of the 
 existence of the external world, is clearly 
 given in the fact of such intuitive percep- 
 tion. In this case, therefore, we are not 
 called upon to explain such knowledge 
 and belief by the hypothesis, or, at least, 
 the analogy, of an inspired notion and 
 infused faith. On the doctrine of Cosmo- 
 thetic Idealism, on the contrary, which 
 supposes that the mind is determined to 
 represent to itself the external world, 
 which, ex hypothesi, it does not know; 
 the fact of such representation can only 
 be conceived possible, through some hy- 
 perphysical agency ; and therefore Reid s 
 rationale of perception, by an inspiration 
 or kind of magical conjuration, as given 
 in the Inquiry, (122 a, 188 a; Stewart, 
 El. i. 64, 93), may seem to favour the con- 
 stru-jtion, that his doctrine is a represen- 
 tatioiism. In the Essays on the Intellec- 
 tual Powers he is, however, more cautious; 
 and th*> note I have appended in that work 
 at p. '?,b7 a, is to be viewed in more 
 especial reference to the doctrine of the 
 Inquiry; though in the relative passage 
 * the will of God ' may, certainly, seem 
 called as a Deus ex machina, to solve a 
 knot which the doctrine of intuitive per- 
 ception doey not tie. 
 
 4. The terms notion and conception aref 
 in propriety, only applicable to our me- 
 diate and representative cognitions. — 
 When Reid, therefore, says that *the Per- 
 ception of an object consists of, or im- 
 plies, a conception or notion of it,' (Inq. 
 183 a, 188 a, I. P. 258 a b, 318 b, 319 a, 
 et alibi) ; there is here, either an impro- 
 priety of language, or perception is, in 
 his view, a mediate and representative 
 knowledge. The former alternative is, 
 liowever, at least equally probable as the 
 latter; for Consciousness, which, on all 
 hands, is admitted to be a knowledge im- 
 mediate and intuitive, he defines (I. P. 
 327 a) * an immediate conception of the 
 operation of our own minds,' &c. Con- 
 ception and Notion, Reid seems, therefore, 
 to employ, at least sometimes, for cogni- 
 tion in general. 
 
 5. In calling imagination of the past, 
 the distant, &;c., an immediate know- 
 ledge, Reid, it may be said, could only 
 mean by immediate, a knowledge effected 
 not through the supposed intermediation 
 of a vicarious object, numerically diffe- 
 rent from the object existing and the 
 mind knowing, but through a representa- 
 tion of the past, or real, object, in and by 
 the mind itself; in other words, that by 
 mediate knowlodjrP he denoted a non-ego- 
 
 \ 
 
ON Tm VABIOUS THEOBIES 
 
 [Rcyrso. 
 
 iilted, by ^mmMm knowledge an egotsH- 
 cat, reprwentation. (Note B. S I. Fr. 7. 
 p. 8tS a). Tllli hmtg mtalilished. »t may 
 'be fortber •fgaei— 1*> tbat in calling 
 FemiMm an immiimt«' knowledge, he, 
 on tbe same analogy, most be supposed to 
 deny, in reference to this faculty, only the 
 doctrine of non-egoistical ropr«i«itatioii. 
 TM»i». confirmed— 2", by his nilt^tiking 
 tb» fislinction between perception as a 
 pnia«iilsti.TO, and Memory, for instance, 
 11. e. recollective imagination) as a repre- 
 •entative, cognition; which he on^bt to 
 hare done, had be contemplated, in tbe 
 former, more than a ficiilty,. tbrongh 
 "liiieb th« ego represents to itself tbe non- 
 ego, of which it ba» no conscioiisneis--no 
 trne objectife and immediate apprehension. 
 This, however, only proves that Eeid's 
 Peweptiiinmaf fm representative, not that 
 it' actuailf 'Is so. 
 
 6. The doctrine maintained by Keia 
 (I. P. 109 % 298 b, 299 a, 302 e, 306 b) 
 and by Stmwmrt ( Elem. vol. i. c I, sect. 2) 
 Ibat perception is possible of dlitant ob- 
 Jtcts, is, when sifted, found necessarily to 
 Imply, that perception is not, in that case, 
 an apprehension of the object In Its pkce 
 in space— in its Where ; and this again ne- 
 eeisarlly Implies, that it is not an appre- 
 hen^on of the object, as existing, or in it- 
 self. Bnt If not known as existing, or in 
 itself, a thing is, either not known at all, 
 or known only in and through something 
 different from itself. Perception, there- 
 fore, is, on this doctrine, at best a mediate 
 or representative cognition ;— of tbe sim- 
 pler form of representation, the egoistical, 
 it may be, bnt still only vicarioii and sub- 
 jective. See Note B. 
 
 7. In some plac« omf' author would 
 ■eem to hold that Perception is the result 
 of an inference, and that what is said to be 
 perceived is the remote cawJi and there- 
 fore not the immeSaU o*j(fCl of Fercep- 
 tlon. If this be so, Penseption Is^ not a 
 
 rsentative knowledge. (Inq. 126 a, I. 
 310 a b, 319 a.) In other passages, 
 that perception is the result of inference 
 ©r reasoning is expressly denied. (I. P. 
 269 b, 260 a b, 309 b, 326 a, 328 b, Ac.) 
 
 8. On the supposition, that we have m 
 immediate cognition or conscioniiness of 
 the non-ego, we must have, at the same 
 time, involved as part and parcel of that 
 Ctipiition, a Mief of its oxIften'Ce. To 
 flew, therefore, our belief of the existence 
 of the external world, as any thing apart 
 from onr knowledge of that world,— to 
 refer It to Instinct^to view it as nnac- 
 «iiiiitalil»-to coiwdir it as an nltimile 
 hif' 'Of' ^MrMiiilitiiCioD, lie., as Eeid doc-t. 
 
 (Inq. 188 mb, I. P. 268 b, 309 b, 826 a, 
 327 a, et ahbi), is, to say the least of it, 
 suspicious ; appearing to imply, that oui 
 cognition of the material world, as only 
 mediate and subjective, does not, at once 
 and of itself, necessitate a belief of the ex- 
 istence of external things. 
 
 B. Counter gtatements, conformable to 
 the doctrine of a real presentation o/maU^ 
 riai objects, and inconsistent wJh thai of m 
 representatim perception. ^ 
 
 1. Knowledge and existence only infer 
 each other when a reality is known m it- 
 self or as existing; for only in that case 
 can we say of it,— on the one hand, U u 
 known, because it exists f— on the other, 11 
 exists, since it is known. In propriety of 
 language, this constitutes, exclusively, an 
 immecmte, intuitive or real, cognition. 
 This ii at once the doctrine of philoso- 
 phers in general, and of Reid in particular. 
 * It seems,* he says, * admitted as a hrst 
 principle, by the learned and the unlearn- 
 ed, that what is really perceived must ex- 
 ist, and that to perceive what does not 
 exist is impossible. So far the unleaxned 
 man and the philosopher agree. (I. P. 
 p. 274 b.) This principle will fand an ar- 
 ticulate illustration in tbe three proxi- 
 mately following statements, in all of which 
 
 It is implied. . . . , n 
 
 2. The idea or representative object, all 
 philosophers, of whatever doctrine, con- 
 cur in holding to be, in the strictest sense 
 of the expression. Itself immediately ap- 
 prehended ; and that, as thus apprehended, 
 ft necessarily exists. That Reid ful y un- 
 derstands their doctrine, is shown by his 
 introducing a Cosraothetic IdeaUst thus 
 speaking :— * I perceive an image, or form, 
 or idea, In my own mind, or in my brain. 
 I am certain of the existence of the idea ; 
 because 1 immediately perceive it. (Ibid. J 
 Now then, if Reid be found to assert- 
 that, on his doctrine, we perceive material 
 objects not less immediately, than, on the 
 common doctrine of philosophers, we per- 
 ceive ideal objects; and that therefore 
 his theory of perception affords an equal 
 certainty of the existence of the external 
 reality, as that of the Cosmothetic Ideal- 
 ist does of the existence of its internal re- 
 presentation;— if Reid, I say, do this, he 
 unambiguously enounces a doctrine of 
 presentativo, and not of representative, 
 perception. And this he does. Having 
 repeated, for the hundredth time, the deli- 
 verance of common sense, that we per- 
 ceive material things immediately, and not 
 their ideal representations, he proceeds:— - 
 • I shall only here observe that if external 
 objects be perceived immediately, we have 
 
 !"•] 
 
 OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. 
 
 823 
 
 the same reason to believe their existence 
 as philosophers liave to believe the exis- 
 tence of ideas, while they hold them to be 
 the immediate objects of perception.* (I. 
 P. 446 a b. See also 263 b. 272 b.) 
 
 3. Philosophers — even Sceptics and 
 Idealists— concur in acknowledging, that 
 mankind at large believe that the exter- 
 nal reality is itself the immediate and only 
 object in perception. (Note A. p. 745 sq.) 
 Reid is of course no exception. After stat- 
 ing the principle, previously quoted (B, 
 St 1.) 'that what is really perceived must 
 exist,' he adds; — *the unlearned man 
 says, I perceive the external object and I 
 perceive it to exist. Nothing can be more 
 absurd tlian to doubt it.' (I. P. 274 b). 
 ■^ Again : — * The vulgar undoubtedly be- 
 lieve, that it is the external object which 
 we immediately perceive, and not a re- 
 presentative image of it only. It is for 
 this reason, that they look upon it as per- 
 fect lunacy to call in question the exis- 
 tence of external objects.' (Ibid.) Again: 
 — * The vulgar are firmly persuaded, that 
 the very identical objects which they per- 
 ceive continue to exist when they do not 
 perceive them ; and are no less firmly per- 
 suaded, that when ten men look at the 
 sun or the moon they all see the same in- 
 dividual object.'* (1. P. 284 b). Again, 
 speaking of Berkeley:—* The vulgar opi- 
 nion he reduces to this, — that the very 
 things which we perceive by our senses 
 do really exist. This he grants.' (1. P. 
 284 a). Finally, speaking of IJume: — 
 * It is therefore acknowledged by this phi- 
 losopher to be a natural instinct or pre- 
 possession, an universal and primary opi- 
 nion of all men, that the objects w hich we 
 immediately perceive, by our senses, are 
 not images in our minds, but external 
 objects, and that their existence is inde- 
 pendent of us and our perception.' (I. P. 
 299 b ; see also 275 a, 298 b, 299 a b, 
 302 a b). 
 
 It is thus evinced, that Reid, like other 
 philosophers, attributes to men in general 
 the belief of an intuitive perception. If 
 then he declare that his own opinion coin- 
 cides with that of the vulgjir, he will. 
 consequently, declare himself a Presenta- 
 tive Realist. And he does this; empha- 
 tically too. Speaking of the Perception 
 of the external world : — ' We have here a 
 remarkable conflict between two contra- 
 dictory opinions, wherein all mankind are 
 engaged. On the one side stand all the 
 
 vulgar, wlio are unpractised in philosophi- 
 cal researches, and guided by the uncor- 
 rupted primary instincts of nature. On 
 the other side, stand all the philosophers, 
 ancient and modern ; every man, without 
 exception, who reflects. In this division, 
 to my great humiliation, / ftid myself 
 classed with the vulgar.' (I. P. 302 b). 
 
 4. All philosophers agree that self- 
 consciousness is an immediate knowledge, 
 and therefore affords an absolute and 
 direct certainty of the existence of its 
 objects Reid (with whom consciousness 
 is equivalent to self-consciousness,) of 
 course maintains this ; but he also main- 
 tains, not only that perception aflords a 
 sufficient proof, but as valid an assurance 
 of the reality of material phaenomena, as 
 consciousness does of the reality of men- 
 tal. (I. P. 263 b, 269 a, 373, et aUbi.) 
 In this last assertion I have shewn that 
 Reid (and Stewart along with him) is 
 wrong ; for the phienomena of self- con- 
 sciousness cannot possibly be doubted or 
 denied (p. 741 b, sq.) ; but the statement, at 
 
 ' least tends to prove, that his pcrcep.ion is 
 truly immediate, — is, under a different 
 name, a consciousness of the non-ego. 
 
 5. Arnauld's doctrine of external per- 
 ception is a purely egoistical representa- 
 tionism ; and he has stated its conditions 
 and consequences, with the utmost accu- 
 racy and precision. (I. P. 295 298). 
 Reid expresses both his content and dis- 
 content with Arnauld's tiicory of per- 
 ception, which he erroneously views as 
 inconsistent with itself, (297 a b). This 
 plainly shews that he had not realised to 
 himself a clear conception of the two doc- 
 trines of Presentationisra and Egoistical 
 Representationism, in themselves and in 
 their contrasts. But it also proves that 
 when the conditions and consequences of 
 the latter scheme, even in its purest form, 
 were explicitly enounced, that he was 
 then sufficiently aware of their incompa- 
 tibihty with the doctrine which he him- 
 self maintained — a doctrine, therefore, it 
 may be fairly contended, (though not in 
 his hands clearly understood, far less ar- 
 ticulately developed,) substantially one of 
 Natural Realism.* 
 
 To Reid's inadequate discrimination 
 — common to him with other phiioso- 
 
 • The Inaccuracy of this statement (i^ce p. [ 
 S14 a) does not affect tbe axfiument. J 
 
 * It will he observed that I do not found any 
 argument on Itticrs fiequcnt assertion, that 
 perception affords an immediate knowledge and 
 immediate belie/ of external things, (e. g. I. l». 
 
§24 
 
 EIES OF EXTERNAL PERCEPTION. [hotb c. § n. 
 
 ^ >f the different tlieorles of Per- 
 
 e«|iticili, either as possible in theory, or as 
 •etiMiIly held, is, as I have ahready noticed, 
 to be ascribed the ambiguities, and virtual 
 oonlndictions, which we have now been 
 eomiidering. 
 
 In the first place, (vrhat was of little 
 importance to the Hypothetical, but in- 
 dispensably necessary for the Natural 
 Eealist), he did not establish the fact of 
 the two cognitions, the presentative and 
 tepresentatlve; — signalise their contents; 
 —evolve their several conditions;— con- 
 sider what faculties in general were to be 
 referred to each; — and, in particular, 
 which of these was the kind of cognition 
 eonpetent, in our Perception of the ex- 
 ttmal world. 
 
 In the second place, he did not take 
 iiiite> that representation is poisible under 
 two forms— tto egoistical, and non-egois- 
 liMd; muh, If Perception be rediced to a 
 
 aWh,260ah,a67%Wi%«»h). For If he 
 
 •all mainory an liniiie«ate kiM»wle<lf e of the 
 p«il— aeaning thereby, in reference to it, only 
 a aegstlon of the doctrine of non.egoistical re- 
 'iptesiotallon— he tmg also call Peri!:eption an 
 Iniiiifl4ilate knovleiffe of the ontwaril reality, 
 and still not deny tbat it Is representative 
 •ignition, ta and by the nliMl Itidf. 
 
 representative faculty, affording premisos 
 of equal cogency to the absolute idealist 
 and sceptic. On the contrary, he seems 
 to have overlooked the egoistical form of 
 representationism altogether (compare 
 Inq. 106 a, 128 a b, 130 b, 210 a, I. P. 
 226 a b, 256 a b, 257 a b, 269 a, 274 a, 
 277 b, 278 a b, 293 b, 299 a, 318 b, 427 
 a b.); and confounded it either with the 
 non-egoistical form, or with the courter 
 doctrine of real presentationism. In con- 
 sequence of this, he has been betrayed 
 into sundry errors, of less or greater ac- 
 count. On the one hand ;— to the confu- 
 sion of Presentationism and Non-egoisti- 
 cal representationism, we must attributf 
 the inconsistencies, we have just signalis- 
 ed, in the exposition of his own doctrine. 
 These are of principal account. On the 
 other hand ; — to the confusion of Egoisti- 
 cal and Non-egoistical representafionism, 
 we must refer the less important errors ; 
 — 1®, of viewing many philosophers who 
 held the former doctrine, as holding tho 
 latter ; and 2**, of considering the refuta- 
 tion of the non-egoistical form of repre- 
 sentation, as a subversion of the only 
 ground on which the sceptic and absolute 
 idealist established, or eould establish their 
 conclusiona. 
 
 NOTE J). 
 
 DISTINCTION OF THE PBIMABY AM) gECONDABY QUALmBS 
 
 or BODY. 
 
 § L^JIistorically considered. 
 § IL—Cridcally considered. 
 
 [References.— From Inq. 123 a, 205 
 
 From I. P. 316 a, 319 ».] 
 
 The developed doctrine of Real Pre- 
 sentationism, the basis of Natural Realism, 
 asserts the consciousness or immediate 
 perception of certain essential attributes 
 of matter objectively existing; while it 
 admits that other properties of body are 
 unknown in themselves, and only inferred 
 as causes to account for certain subjective 
 affections of which we are cognisant m 
 ourselves. This discrimination, ^hich to 
 other systems is contingent, superficial, 
 extraneous, but to Natural Realism neces- 
 sary, radical, intrinsic, coincides with 
 what, since the time of Locke, has been 
 generally known as the distinction of the 
 Qualities of Matter or Body, usmg these 
 terms as convertible into Primary and 
 
 ^oTthis celebrated analysis, I shall here, 
 in the first place, attempt an hi^or^'f^^^ 
 my; and in the second, endeavour to place 
 it oi its proper footing by s, critical ana^ 
 ir,- without however in either respect 
 nropising more than a contribution to- 
 Cdsamore full and regular discussion 
 of it in both. 
 
 S L^Distinction of ths Primary and Se- 
 ^ amdary Qualities of Body considered 
 
 ffistoricaUy. 
 
 h regard toiU Hi.tory-tl^^| M*er- 
 lo rttempte'l. is 1 once extremely erro- 
 
 neous, if History may be called the m^ 
 Senta notices in regard to it of »" >" f""* 
 cal import, which are occasionally to be 
 
 met Tith' in pWl-oP^'^f J'ttr^ 
 Amone the most important of these, are 
 tt^riurnishcd by Reid himself, and by 
 
 ^^xStSnof the real ^d the ap- 
 narent of the absolute and the relative, 
 roTt'he objective and the suyecuve qua. 
 
 lities of perceived bodies is of so obtru. 
 sive a character, that it was tak®" »™"^ 
 at the origin of speculation, and can be 
 shown to tave commanded the assent even 
 rf those philosophers by "horn it .s now 
 commonly believed to have b«» a^'" 
 formally rejected. For m th«. ««>»^°y 
 other cases, it will ^e found that white 
 philosophers appear to differ, they are, in 
 
 "l -LkVc"pp»s and Demockix.. are 
 the first on record by whom the observa 
 ion was enounced, that the Sweet, the 
 Bitter the Cold, the Hot, the Coloured, 
 &c«e wholly different, i» their absolute 
 Satire, from (he character in whch^hey 
 
 re!thr^^ierha^-«-!jr;) 
 
 pendent e-^f^ <t;r p^t'eM 
 
 iltrl^XEomt^alin.^,; audtMs 
 
 „ vfrtue of alaw or relation («»>«-). |»^ 
 
 Wished between the existing body and the 
 
PEIMARY ANb SECONDARY 
 
 [motk v. 
 
 pMiflimt niad} wMle all that can be de- 
 ncniiiiuited Qiaity in the ejcternal reality, 
 is only some modification of Quantity, 
 Mime particular configuration, position, or 
 co-arrangement of Atoms, in conjunction 
 with the Inane, (ArisMdei, Mctaph. L. 
 I, e, 4 — Phys. Ausc. L. i. c. .5 — De Ani- 
 BB, L. iii. c. 1— De Sensa «t Sensill, c. 4 
 — De Gen. et Corr. L. i. cc. 2. 7. 8. j— 
 TkmpkmOm^ De Sensu, §§ 63. 65» 67. 
 6§. 73, ed. Schneid. i—Sextug En^ricm, 
 ■dv. Math. vii. § 135— Hy pot. i § 213 j— 
 OcdmMS, De Elem. L. i. c. 2. ;— ia«rttii«, 
 L, Ix. seg. 44. ; — Plutarckm, adv. Colot, 
 p. 1110, ed. Xyli^Simj^idm, in Phys. 
 Ansc. ff. 7. 10, 106, 110. ed. Aid. ;— Mt- 
 hpmm, De Gen. et Corr. f. 32. ed. Aid,) 
 
 2, 3. —This observation was not lost on 
 PaoTAaoBAi or on Pi-ato. The former 
 on this ground endeavoured to establish 
 the absolute relativity of all human know- 
 ledge ; the latter the absolute relativity of 
 our sensible perceptions. (Theaetetus, 
 passim.) 
 
 4 By the Ctkenjean philosophers the 
 
 distinction was likewise adopted and ap- 
 plied. (Cic, Qu. Acad. iv. c. 24.) 
 
 5.— With other doctrines of the older 
 Atomists it was transplanted into his sys- 
 tem by EFicuKoa. (Epist. ad Herod. 
 apiid .LmrL L. x. seg. M. Xticrel. L. ii. y. 
 720—1021.) . . 
 
 •6. In regard to^ Abistotlb, it is re- 
 
 f iti^te to be somewhat more explicit. This 
 
 Ehilosopher might seem, at first sight, to 
 ave rejected the distinction (De Auima, 
 it. iii. c. 1.) ; and among many others, 
 Itid has wserted that Aristotle again ig- 
 WUfmI the discrimination, which had been 
 thus recognised by his predecessors. (Inq. 
 123 a, I. P. 313 b.) Nothing, howftfer, 
 ean be more erroneous than the accredited 
 ^doctrlno mwm this point. Aristotle does 
 not aboisi tho distinction j— nay, I am 
 confident of showing, that to whatever 
 merit modem philosophers may pretend in 
 this aaaljBii, alland »ach of their observa- 
 tions are to bo found, clearly stated, in tha 
 writings of the Slagirite. 
 
 In the p-Mt place, no philosopher has 
 diietimiiiMed. with greater, perhaps none 
 with equal, precision, the difflerence of cor- 
 poreal, qualities considered objecMmly and 
 fii%0«fiiwfy. These relations he has not 
 only contrasted, but haa assigned to them 
 iistimctive appellations. In his Categories, 
 (c. viii. § 1(», Pacian division, by which, 
 ■sthiit laially adopted, 1 miiformly quote,) 
 apedcing-of 'Quality, he says :—• A third 
 find of Quality [ Suchness] is made up of 
 the Jjfecliw qui^itm and J# dims (»«. 
 
 are Sweetness, Bitterness, Sourness, and 
 the like, also Heat and Cold, Whiteness 
 and Blackness, Ike. That these are qua- 
 lities [suchnesses] is manifest. For the 
 subjects in which they are received, are 
 said to be such and such by relation to 
 them. Thus honey is called sweet, as re- 
 cipient of sweetness, body, white, as re- 
 cipient of whiteness, and so of the rest. 
 They are called affective [i e. causing 
 passion or aifection*] not because the 
 
 • Tlie activo-potential term, ^rafinrtKos, pri- 
 marily and properly denotes that which can in 
 itt$^s^fer or be affected; it is here employed in 
 a secondary and abusive sense (for ^mrx** 
 Is intransitivo), but which subsequently be- 
 came the more prevalent, — to signify that 
 which con came suffering or affection in tome- 
 thing else. The counter passivo-potential form, 
 wmittritf is not, I venture to assert, ever used 
 by Aristotle, though quoted from him, sad 
 from this very treatise, by all the principal 
 lexicographers for the last three centuries; 
 nay, I make further bold to say, there is no 
 authority for it, (Monander'a is naught,) until 
 long subsequently to the age of the Stagirite. 
 [The error, I suspect, originated thus :— Tu- 
 sanus, in his Lexicon (1662), says, under the 
 word, — * Vide Fabrum Stapulenscm apud Aris. 
 totelem in Fraedicamcntis ;' meaning, it is 
 probable (for I have not the book at hand), to 
 send us to Faber's Introduction to the Cate. 
 gories, for some observations on the term. 
 The Lexicon Septcmviralo (1663), copying 
 Tusanus, omits Faber, and simply refers ♦ Aris- 
 toteli, in Praedicamentis,' as to an authority 
 for the word; and this error propagated 
 through Stephauus, Constantine, Scapula, and 
 subsequent compilers, stands uncorrected to 
 the present day ] But tliis term, even were 
 it of Aristotclic usage, could not, without vio- 
 lence, have been twisted to denote, in conjunc- 
 tion with fl-oiOTflf, what the philosopher less 
 equivocally, if less symmetrically, expresses by 
 wMh, affection — Patibilis, like most Latin ver- 
 bals of Its chiss, indiscriminately renders the 
 two potentials, active and passive, which the 
 Greek tongue alone so admirably contradis- 
 tinguishes. But, in any way, the word is in- 
 competent to Aristotle's meaning in the sense 
 of affective. For it only signifies, either that 
 which am snffer^ or that which eon t« tufferedf 
 and there is not, I am confident, a single an- 
 cient authority to be found for it, in the sense 
 ef that wliich can caus« to $vffar,-^the sense to 
 which it is contorted by the modern Latin 
 Aristotelians. But they had their excuse- 
 necessity ; for the terms, j>a«;tn«, used in the 
 • Categorise Bcccm ' attributed to St Augustine, 
 and passibiiitt employed by Boethius in lii» 
 version of the present passage, are oven worse. 
 Tho words affective and affection render the 
 Greek adjective and substantiv** tolerably well. 
 
 This distinction by Aristotle is viry com. 
 monly misunderstoo«i . It is even reversed by 
 Gasaendi ; bat with biro, of cours«», only fro« 
 Iniiivertencc. Phys. Sect, i- Lib. vi. c. I. 
 
 Si.] 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 827 
 
 things to which these qualities belong, 
 have been themselves affected in any way ; 
 (for it is not because honey, or the like, 
 haft been somehow affected that it is called 
 tweet, and in like manner heat and cold 
 are not called affective qualities because 
 the bodies in which they inhere have un- 
 dergone any affection;) but they are called 
 affective, because each of the foresaid qua- 
 lities has the power of causing an affection 
 in the sense. For sweetness determines a 
 certain affection in tasting, heat in touch- 
 ing, and in like manner the others.' 
 
 Nothing can be juster than this distinc- 
 tion, and it is only to be regretted that he 
 should have detracted from the precision 
 of the language it which it is expressed 
 by not restricting the correlative terms. 
 Affective Qualities and Affections, to the 
 discrimination in question alone. In this 
 particular observation, it is proper to no- 
 tice, Aristotle had in view the secondary 
 qualities of our modern philosophy exclu- 
 sively. It suffices, however, to show that 
 uo philosopher had a clearer insight into 
 the contrast of such qualities, as they are, 
 and as they are p rceived ; and, were other 
 proof a wanting, it might also of itself ex- 
 onerate him from any share in the perver- 
 sion made by the later Peripatetics of his 
 philosophy, in their doctrine of Substantial 
 Forms; — a doctrine which, as Reid (I. P. 
 316) rightly observes, is inconsistent with 
 the distinction in question as taken by the 
 Atomic philosophers, but which in truth, 
 is not less inconsistent with that here es- 
 tablished by Aristotle himself.* It may 
 
 be here likewise observed that Androni- 
 cus, as quoted by Simplicius (Categ. f. 65 
 ed. Velsii), explicitly states, that the Affec- 
 tive Qualities are, in strict propriety, not 
 qualities but poivtrs (ov 'Trotoc ei'hhei xo/ij- 
 riK».) Aristotle himself, indeed, accords 
 to these, apart from perception, only a po- 
 tential existence ; and the Peripatetics in 
 general held them to be, in their lan- 
 guage not '7rctdY,rix,oig,formallti, subjective' 
 ly, but hi^ynriKug, virtually, eminently, in 
 the external object. Locke has thus no 
 title whatever to the honour generally ac- 
 corded to him of first promulgating the 
 observation, that the secondary qualities, 
 as in the object, are not so much qualities 
 as powers. This observation was, how- 
 ever, only borrowed by Locke from the 
 Cartesians. But of this hereaftef . 
 
 In the second place, Aristotle likewise 
 notices the ambiguity which arises from 
 languages not always affording different 
 terms by which to distinguish the potential 
 from the actual, and the objective from the 
 subjective phases, in our perception by the 
 different senses. Thus, he observes (De 
 Anima, L. iii. c. 1.) that, 'Though the ac- 
 tuality or energy of the object of sense and 
 of the seme itself be one and indivisible, 
 the nature, the essence, of the energy is, 
 however, not the same in each ; as, for ex- 
 ample, sound in energy, and hearing in 
 energy. For it may happen, that what 
 has the power of hearing does not now 
 hear, and that what has the power of 
 
 • The theory of what are called Substantial 
 F'»rm8, that is, qualities viewed as entities 
 conjoined with, and not as mere dispositions or 
 modifications of, matter, was devised by the 
 perverse ingenuity of the Arabian philosophers 
 Mid physicians. Adopted from them, it was 
 long a prevalent doctrine in the Western 
 schools, among the followers of Aristotle and 
 Galen ; to either of whom it is a gross injus- 
 tice to attribute this opinion. It was the am- 
 biguity of the word olvl*, by which the Greeks 
 express what la denoted (to say nothing of 
 Arabic) by both the Latin terms e$sentia and 
 tvhstantia, that allowed of, and principally oc- 
 casioned, the nnsinterpretation. 
 
 I may, likewise, notice, by the way, that 
 Aristotle's doctrine of the assimilation, in the 
 sensitive process, of that which perceives with 
 that which is perceived, may reasonably be ex- 
 plained to mean, that the object and subject 
 are then, so brought into mutual relation, as, 
 by their coefficient energy, to constitute an 
 ■et ef cognition one and indivisible, and m 
 which the reality is to us, as we perceive it to 
 be. This is a far easier and a far more con- 
 f|lt«nt Interpretation of his words, than the 
 
 monstrous doctrine of intentional forms or spe- 
 cies:— & doctrine founded on one or two vaguo 
 or metaphorical exjiressions, and for which 
 the general analogy of his philosophy required a 
 very different meaning. For example, when 
 Aristotle (De Anima, iii. 1.) in showing that an 
 objection was incompetent, even on its own 
 hypothesis, dialectically admits— * that what 
 sees colour is, in a cerUin sort, itself coloured/ 
 
 is this more than a qualified statement of 
 
 what modern philosophers have so often, far 
 less guardedly, asserted — ^that colour is not 
 to bo considered merely as an attribute of 
 body, since, in a certain respect, it is an affec- 
 tion of mind ?--And when he immediately sub- 
 joins the reason,— 'for each organ of sense is 
 receptive of its appropriate object,' or, as he 
 elsewhere expresses it, * receptive of the form 
 without the matter ; ' what is this but to say 
 
 that our organs of sense stand in relation to 
 
 certain qualities of body, and that each organ 
 is susceptible of an affection from its appro- 
 priate quality; such quality, however, not 
 being received by the sense in a material efflux 
 from the object, as was held by Democntus 
 and many previous philosophers? Yet this is 
 the principal text on which the common doc- 
 trine of Intentional gpeciea is attributed te 
 Aristotle. 
 
D'D't'lljr' A D 'V A M'T\ fi'1#/^#\MT 1 A 12 V 
 
 [Mora Ik 
 
 ■omciiif iMt i4»t almji wmmi. But 
 witn wim lima the fainltj of hearing, on 
 tlio one hand, operates, and wl»t has the 
 hmky of sounding, on the other, iounds, 
 thn the actual hearing and the actual 
 •mnding take place conjunctly ; and of 
 theM the one may be called Auditwn, the 
 other Ama(toii ;•— the subjectiYe term, 
 hearing, and the objective term, mmmd, as 
 he afterwards states, being twofold in 
 '■eaiiinf , each denoting ambiguonaly both 
 fhe actual and. the potential. — * The 
 ■ame analogy,* he adds, * holds good in re- 
 gard to the other senses and their respec- 
 tive objeista. For as affection and passion 
 am realiied in the patient, and not in the 
 eikient, so the energy of the object of 
 sense (mhinrev), and the energy of the 
 faetdty of sense («e/cl)iri«o») are both in 
 thehilter;~but whilst in certain of the 
 senses they have obtained distinct names, 
 (as Sonatlon and Audition), in the rest, 
 the one or the other is left anonymous. 
 For Vision denotes the energy of the visu- 
 al faculty, whereas the energy of colour, 
 itaolfiect, is without a name; and while 
 Gustation expresses the act of what is abk 
 m iaMt§, the act* of that capciMe of being 
 tmied IS nameless. But seeing that of 
 the object, and of the faculty, of sense the 
 •nergy la one and the ^me, though their 
 'nature bO' different, it is necessary, that 
 bearing and sound, as actual, (and the 
 same is the case in tlie other senses), should 
 subsist and perish together ; whereas this 
 Is not necesskry, in so far ail these are con- 
 aidered as potentially eilstlng.' 
 
 Me then goes on to rectify, in its state- 
 ment, the doctrine of the older physical 
 philosonhers; in whom Philoponos (or Am- 
 monias) contemplates Protagoras and his 
 foiowers, but Simplicius, on better 
 fronnda, the Democriteans. ' But the 
 •arlier speculators on nature were not 
 correct in saying, that there ia nothing 
 wMte or bhick, apart from sight, and no- 
 thing lapid, apart from taste. This doc- 
 trine isjin certain reapects, right, in cer- 
 
 • In Biigllah and In most other lanf uages. 
 'HmW' wm mot dlaliiMit: words to ezprefia as well 
 tlie objective, as the subjective, coefficient in 
 tlie senaea, more particularly of Tasting and 
 imeling ; and ve are therefore obliged ambi. 
 fWMsir to apply tbe terms taac and mmII 
 (wiliiii are .father subjective in siguifcation) in 
 an lAJeetiTe mnse, and tbe terms mmmr, Jta- 
 iN«r, te. (wWch have perhaps now more of an 
 •lleetive meaning) in a subjeetlve algalflca. 
 tlon. In reimmce to the sense of touch, the 
 iame word is often equivocally used to denote, 
 il||eetlveiy, aprimarj loallty, and subjectively, 
 As AmnlMfft, muffhmti, Me 
 
 tain respects, wrong. For §eni0f and tht 
 object of tense, having each a twofold sig- 
 nification, in as much as they may severally 
 mean either what is potentially, or what ia 
 ttetuailtf, existent ; in the latter case, what 
 is here asserted, takes place, but not so 
 in the former. These speculators were 
 therefore at fault, in stating absolutely 
 what is only true under conditions.* ( Do 
 Anima, iii. c. 1) 
 
 This criticism, It is evident, so far from 
 involving a rejection of the dbtinctioa 
 taken by Leucippus and Democritus, ia 
 only an accommodation of it to the form 
 of his own philosophy ; in which the dis- 
 tinction of the Potential and Actual oD- 
 tains a great, perhaps an exaggerated im- 
 portance. And it is sufficiently manifest 
 that the older philosophers exclusively 
 contemplated the latter. 
 
 But, in the third place, not only did 
 Aristotle clearly establish the difference 
 between qualities considered absolutely, 
 as in the existing object, and qualities 
 considered relatively, as in the sentient 
 subject ; and not only did he signalize the 
 ambiguity which arises from the poverty 
 of language, employing only a single word 
 to denote these indifferently; — he like- 
 wise anticipated Descartes, Locke, and 
 other modern philosophers^ in establishing^ 
 and marking out by appropriate terms, a 
 distinction precisely analogous with that 
 taken by them of the Primary and Second 
 daanf polities of Matter, The Aristo- 
 leie distinction which, in its relation to 
 tk§ other, has been wholly overlooked, ia 
 found in the discrimination of the Cowt- 
 fwon and Proper Percept*, Sensibles, 
 or objects of Sense (etiohrd tmifd xMt 
 |l».) It is given in the two principal 
 psychological treatises of the philosopher ; 
 and to the following purport. 
 
 Aristotle (De Anima L. ii. o. 2, L. iii. e. 
 1. and De Sensu et Sensili, c. 1.) eniune- 
 rates five percepts common to all or to a 
 plurality of the senses, — viz, Magnitude 
 (Extension), Figure, Motion, Rest, Num. 
 ber. To these in one place (De Anima 
 iii. 1.) he adds Unity ; and in another 
 (De Sensu et Sensili c. 4), he states, as 
 common, at least to sight and touch, be- 
 sides Magnitude and Figure, tbe Rough 
 and the Smooth, the Acute and the 0&- 
 tuse. Unity however he comprises under 
 Number ; and the Rough and Smooth, the 
 Acute and Obtuse, under Figure. Nay, 
 of the five common sensibles or percepts, 
 he gives us (De Anima iii. 1.) a further 
 reduction, resolving Figure into Magni. 
 tnde ; while both of these, he says, as well 
 I as Rost and Number, are known through 
 
 • ••J 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 829 
 
 Motion ; which last, as he frequently re- ; 
 peats, necessarily involves the notion of 
 Time ; for motion exists only as in Time. 
 (Compare Phys. Ausc. L iv. passim.) 
 His words are — * All these we perceive by 
 Motion.* Thus Magnitude (Extension) 
 is apprehended by motion ; wherefore also 
 Figure, for figure is a kind of magni- 
 tude ; what is at Rest by not being moved ; 
 Number, by a negation of the continuous,! 
 even in the sensations proper to the se- 
 veral senses, for each of these is itself per- 
 cipient of what is one.*— This attempt at 
 simplification was followed out by his dis- 
 ciples. Thus St Thomas (Summa Tlico- 
 logiae P. i. Qu. 78, art. 3), in shewin^^ 
 tlmt the common sensibles do not prinia- 
 
 • This doctrine of Aristotle is rejected by 
 Theophrastus, as we learn from the fragments 
 concerning Sense preserved in the rare and 
 neglected treatise of Priscianus Lydus, p. 28o. 
 Many modern philosophers when they attempt- 
 ed to explain the origin of our notion of ex- 
 tension from motion, and, in particular, the 
 motion of the hand, were not aware that they 
 had the Stagirite at their head. It is to be re- 
 membered, however, that Aristotle does not 
 attempt, like them, to explain by motion our 
 necessary concept of space, but merely our 
 contingent perception of the relative exten- 
 sion of this or that particular object. 
 
 This, however, takes it for granted, that by 
 motion, (»/»ij#<f,) Aristotle intends local motion. 
 But motion Is with him a generic term, com- 
 prising under it four, or six, species; and, in 
 point of fact, by motion Aristotle may here, as 
 in many, if not most, other places of his psycho- 
 logical writings, mean a subjective mutation 
 {iXXtttuvis) or modification of the percipient. 
 This, too, is the interpretation given to the 
 passage by the great majority, if not the whole, 
 of the ancient expositors — by Plutarchus of 
 Athens, Ammonius or Philoponus, Simplicius, 
 and Priscianus Lydus j—Themistius alone is 
 silent. I say nothing of the sequacious cloud 
 of modern commentators. It is therefore re- 
 markable that Dr Trendelenburg, in his late 
 valuable edition of the De Anima, should have 
 apparently contemplated the interpretation by 
 local motion, as the only one proposed or pos- 
 sible. This may, however, adduce in its fa- 
 vour the authority of Theophrastus, among the 
 ancients — among the moderns, of the subtle 
 Bcaliger.— From both interpretations, how- 
 ever, a defensible meaning can be elicited. 
 
 f This explicitiy shews that, by Number, 
 Aristotle means only the necessary attribu- 
 tion of either unity or plurality to the object of 
 sense. Divitaility (in extension, intension, 
 pretension,) is thus contained under Number. 
 Number in the abstract is, of course, a merely 
 intellectual concept, as Aristotle, once and 
 again, notices. See Philoponus on 63 text of 
 second book De Anima, Sign. i. 8 ed. Trine. 
 1586. Of this again under Locke, No. 19 ; and 
 BojMT CoUard; No. 25. 
 
 rily, and of themselves, act upon and 
 affect the sense, carries them all up into 
 modifications of Quantity (Quantitatis) ; 
 — and in another book (De Sensu et Sen- 
 sibili, Lect. ii.) by a variation of the ex- 
 pression (for in both cases he contem- 
 plates only the Extended) into species of 
 the Continuous. To quote the latter : — 
 * Sensibilia communia omnia pertinent 
 aliquo modo ad Continuvm; vel secun- 
 dum mensuram ejus, ut Magnitudo ; vel 
 secundum divisionem, ut humerus; vel 
 secundum terminationem, ut Figura ; vel 
 secundum distantiam et propinquitatem, 
 ut Motus.* 
 
 Arisitotle indeed (De Anima, L.ii. c. 6.) 
 virtually admits, that the common are abu- 
 sively termed sensiiles at all: for he says, 
 ' the proper alone are accurately, or pre- 
 eminently, objects of sense' (ra ih» xv^' 
 iu; ecn otia&/iT») ; and the bame seems 
 also to be involved in his doctrine, that 
 the common percepts (which in one place 
 he even says are only apprehended per ac- 
 cidens) are, in fact, within the domain 
 of sense, merely as being the concomitants 
 or consequents {dKOhavdovurcc, 'iTrof^hoc) of 
 the proper.* (Ibid. L. iii. cc. 1, 4.) See 
 
 • I have already noticed (p. 124) that Hut. 
 cheson, in saying that ' Extension, Figure, 
 Motion, and Kcst, seem to be more properly 
 ideas accompanying the sensations of Sight 
 and Touch than the sensations of either of 
 these senses ' only, mediately or immediately, 
 repeats Aristotle; to whom is therefore duo 
 all the praise which has been lavished on the 
 originality and importance of the observation. 
 [I might have there added, however, that Hut- 
 cheson does not claim it as UU own For in 
 his System of Moral Philosophy (which is to 
 be annexed to the other references) he speaks 
 of * what tonie call the Concomitant ideas of 
 Sensation.' (B. i. c. 1, p. 6 ) ]. Dr Price ex- 
 tols it as * a very just observation of Hutche- 
 son » (Rev. p. 66, ed. 1). Mr Stewait caUs it 
 * a remark of singular acutcness,' — ' a very in- 
 geuious and original remark,' — and * a sentence 
 which, considering the period at which the 
 author (Uutcheson) wrote, reflects the highest 
 honour on his metaphysical avuteness.' (Es- 
 says pp. 31, 46, 551, 40 ed.) M. Koyer Col- 
 laid says,— ' Uutcheson est le premier dcs 
 philosophes modemes qui ait fait cette obhcr- 
 vation aussi fine que juste que,' die. (Oeuvvea 
 de Reid, t. iii p. 431). 
 
 I may here observe that Philippson ("TXn 
 ktSptviw p. 335) is misled by an ambiguous 
 expression of Aristotle in stating that he as- 
 signed the common senaihles as objects to the 
 Common Sense. See the Conmientaries of Phi- 
 loponus and of Simplicius on the 134 com- 
 mon text of third book Ve Anima. But com- 
 pare also Alexander in his treatise on the 
 Soul, first Book, in the chapter on the Com. 
 mon Sense, f. 134 ed. Aid. 
 
PMHARY AND SECONDARY 
 
 rHOTJB m 
 
 aim Ahacmimt On the Soul. (A. ft 130 
 h, 134 »b— B. ff 152, 153, ed Aid.) 
 The more modern Schoolmen (followed 
 
 ■miiettmefl unwittingly by very recent 
 f UlofiOpbers) imTe indeed contended, that 
 OB the principles of Aristotle the several 
 
 eoimioii ienaWes are in reality appre- 
 'lundei; by other md higher energies^than 
 those of sense. Their argument is as 
 follows : — Moftoii cannot be perceired 
 withont the collation of past and present 
 time, withont acts of memory and com- 
 parison. J?M«, says Aristotle, is known 
 as a priTation, but sense is only of the po- 
 .sitive ; let it, however, be considered as a 
 ftate, and as opposed to motion, still this 
 Mppom comparison. Nm^§r in like 
 aianner m a negation, a negation of the 
 continuous, is beyond the domain of sense; 
 and while Aristotle in one treatise (Phys. 
 It. 14) attributes the faculty of numera- 
 tioD to intelligence ; in another (Probk^m. 
 WkL m § 6, if this work be his,) he 
 ▼irtually denies it to sense, in denying it 
 to the brutes. Magnitude (extension), if 
 uoiwdered as comparative, is likewise 
 manifestly beyond the province of mere 
 MDse; Aristotle, indeed, admits that its 
 apprehension, in general, presupposes Mo- 
 tion. Finally, Mgnre, m the cognition 
 of extension terminated in a certain man- 
 ner, still more manifestly involves an act 
 of comparison. (SmMger, Be Subtilitate, 
 Ex. Ixvi. and ccxcviii. § 15 — T&ktus, in 
 Ilk de Anima L. ii. c. Q.—CmimhriemceM. 
 iMd.— /r«i««iif, De An. p. 40 — Compare 
 I3iiii«ti:<lf, Phys. Sect. iii. Memb. Post. L. 
 ▼I. c. ,2.— D* Mamef, Philos. Vetus et 
 lfo¥% Pbys. P. iii. c. 4.— and Maimer Col- 
 hrd, in CEuvres de Reid, t. iii. p. 428 sq. 
 ^to be quoted in the sequel, No. 25. 
 
 The common seuiblet thns came, in 
 ImI,. to b©' considered by many of the 
 aciitest Aristotelians, as not so much per- 
 ceptions of sense (in so far as sensible per- 
 cajitjon depends on corporeal affection) as 
 concomitant cognitions to which the im- 
 'pretaiion on. the organ by the proper sen- 
 ■ibla only afforded the necaalon. 'Sen- 
 libile Commune dicitnr (says Compton 
 Carleton) quod vel percipitur pluribus 
 imibiis, vel ad quod cognoscendum, ab 
 inletlectu vel imaginatione desumitur oe- 
 COfto ex variis lensibus; ut sunt Figura, 
 lictnty llbicatio, Duratio, Magnitude, Dis- 
 tanti% Numerus,* lie. (Philosophia Uni- 
 ▼•na, De Anima Disp. xvi. Sect 2. § 1.) 
 
 Bat before leaving Aristotle, I should 
 ■tato, 'that la iimiielf clearly contemplated, 
 in his distinction of Common and Proper 
 faiiibles, a olascification correspondent 
 to tint of the Primary and Swsondary 
 
 Qualities of bodies, as established by the 
 ancient atomists. This is expressly shewn 
 in a passage wherein he notices that 
 'Democritus, among others, reduced tka 
 proper sensible* to the common^ in explain- 
 ing, for example, the differences of colour 
 by differences of roughness and smooth- 
 ness in bodie% and the varieties of savour 
 by a variety in the configuration of atoms.* 
 (be Sensu et Sensili, c. 4.) 
 
 Of a division by An.st«»tle. in a physical 
 point of view, of the Qualities of body 
 into Primary and Secondary ^ I shall 
 speak in the sequel, when considering 
 tins nomenclature, as adopted, and trans- 
 ferred to the psychological point of view, 
 by Locke, No. 19. 
 
 7. — Galen, whose works are now hardly 
 more deserving of study by the physician 
 than by the philosopher, affords me some 
 scattered observations which merit notice, 
 not merely in reference to the present 
 subject. Sensitive perception, he well ob- 
 serves, consists not in the passive affection 
 of the organ, but in the discriminative re- 
 cognition—the dijudication of that affec- 
 tion by the active mind. "Ear* 3g aia6mti 
 ovx d'Khoimt^f tiTCheL hetyvrnts a.'Kkoica^ 
 §tmS' This function of diagnostic ap-^- 
 prehension be accords to the dominant 
 principle (to ky^fA^Qvttdvj) that is, the 
 imaginative, recollective and ratiocinative 
 mind. (De Placit. Hipp, et Plat. L. vii. 
 cc. 14, 16, 17).*— Again:— -' The objects 
 in propriety called Sensible, are such as 
 require for their discriminative recogni- 
 tion no other faculty but that of sensitive 
 perception itself; whereas those objects 
 are improperly called sensible, whose re- 
 cognition, besides a plurality of the senses, 
 involves memory and what is called the 
 compositive and collective (generalising) 
 reason. [I read iwititrtKf and x£<?)atA«/«. 
 Tiitf .] Thus Colour is an object proper 
 of sense, and Savour and Odour and 
 Sound; so likewise are Hardness and 
 Softness, Heat and Cold, and, in a word, 
 all the Tactile qualities.' Then, after stat- 
 ing that no concrete object of sense — an 
 apple for instance— is fully cognisable bj 
 sense alone, but, as Plato has it, by opi- 
 nion with the aid of sense ; and having 
 well shewn how this frequently becomes a 
 source of illusion,— in all which he is close- 
 ly followed by Nemesius, — he goes on :— 
 ' But to carry sense into effect in all Its 
 
 • The annotators of Ncmcius have not ob- 
 ■erred that tUis philosopher is indebted to 
 Oalen, really and verbally, for the wholo of his 
 remarkable doctrine of sense. See his 
 Use De Nat. Horn. c. 6-11. ed. MatthJae. 
 
 §!.] 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 831 
 
 various applications, is impossible without 
 the co-operation of memory and connume- 
 ration {avuot^i^finfftg), and this, which like- 
 wise obtains the nsivaeoi summation {avy- 
 Kg^eOiecmats, conceiving, thinking under 
 a class,) is an act neither of sense nor of 
 memory, but of the discursive or dianoetic 
 faculty of thought. (Cora. i. in Hipp. 
 Lib. De Medici Officina, text. 3.)— In 
 another work we have the same doctrine 
 applied to solve the question— By what 
 faculty is Motion apprehended ? and it 
 affords the result, — 'That all motion is 
 manifestly recognised, not by a mere act 
 of sensitive perception, not even by sense 
 with the aid of memory, but principally 
 by a compositive act of thought' (fft/A- 
 Aoy/a^fij). This is a fourth synonyme for 
 the three other convertible terms which 
 occur in the previous passage. They are 
 PUitonic. (De Dignoscendis Pulsibus, L. 
 ii.e. 1.) 
 
 8. — A remarkable but neglected pas- 
 sage relative to the present subject is to 
 be found in the Saggiatore of Galileo, 
 a work first published in 1623. Mamiani 
 della Rovere is the only philosopher, as 
 far as I am aware, who has ever alluded to 
 it. Galileo there precedes Descartes in the 
 distinction, and anticipates JiOcke in its 
 nomenclature. The following is an ab- 
 stract of his doctrine, which coincides 
 with that of the ancient Atomists, in some 
 respects, and with that of Kant, in others. 
 
 In conceiving matter or corporeal sub- 
 stance we cannot but think that it is 
 somehow terminated, and therefore of 
 such and such a figure ; that in relation to 
 other bodies it is large or small ; that it 
 exists in this or that place; in this or that 
 time ; that it is in motion or at rest ; that 
 it does or does not touch another body ; 
 that it is single or composed of parts; 
 and these parts either few or many. These 
 are conditions from which the mind can- 
 not in thought emancipate the object. 
 But that it b white or red, bitter or sweet, 
 sonorous or noiseless, of a grateful or un- 
 grateful odour; — with such conditions 
 there is no necessity for conceiving it ac- 
 companied.* Hence Tastes, Odours, Col- 
 
 • But, as Aristotle has observed, we cannot 
 Imagine body without all colour, though we 
 can imagine it without any one. In like man- 
 ner where the qualities are mutual contradic- 
 tories, we cannot positively represent to our. 
 selves an object without a determination by 
 one or other of these opposites. Thus we 
 eannot conceive a body which is not either sapid 
 or tasteless, either sonorous or noiseless, and 
 so forth. This observation applies likewise to 
 fbe first class* 
 
 ours, &c., considered as qualities inherent 
 in external objects, are merely names; 
 they reside exclusively in the sentient 
 subject. Annihilate the animal perci- 
 pient of such qualities, and you annihilate 
 such qualities themselves ; and it is only 
 because we have bestowed on them parti- 
 cular names different from those by which 
 we designate the other primary and real 
 affections of maimer (prirai e reali acci- 
 denti), that we arc disposed to believe that 
 the former are in objects truly and really 
 different from the latter. 
 
 Having illustrated this doctrine at con- 
 siderable length in relation to the senses 
 of Touch, Taste, Smell, and Hearing; 
 and, in imitation of Aristotle, shewn tlie 
 analogy which these severally hold to the 
 elements of iilarth. Water, Fire, and Air, 
 he adds : — ' Ma che ne' corpi esterni per 
 eccitare in noi i sapori, gli odori, c i suoni, 
 si richiegga altro, que grandezze, figure, 
 moltitudini, e movimenti tardi o veloci, io 
 non lo credo. Io stimo, che tolti via gli 
 orecchi, le lingue, e i nasi, rest! no bene le 
 figure, i numeri, e i moti, ma non gia gli 
 odori, no i sapori, ne i suoni, li quaU fuor 
 deir animal vivente, non credo che sieno 
 altro che nomi, come appuuto altro 
 che nome non e il solletico, e la titilla- 
 zione, rimosse 1' ascelle, e la pelle intorno 
 al naso ; e come a i quattro sensi consi- 
 derati hanno relazione 1 quattro elementi, 
 cosi credo, che per la vista, sense sopra 
 tutti gli altri eminentissimo, abbia rela- 
 zione la luce, ma non quella proporzione d* 
 eccellenza, qual' 6 tra '1 finito, e V infinite, 
 tra '1 temporaneo, e 1' instantaneo, tra 1 
 quanto, e 1' indivisible, tra la luce, e le te- 
 nebre.' 
 
 He then applies this doctrine to the 
 case of Heat and says, — * Ma che oltre alia 
 figura, moltitudine, moto, penetrazione, e 
 toccamento, sia nel fuoco altra qualitii, e 
 che questa sia caldo, io non lo credo altri- 
 menti, e stimo, che questo siatalmente nos- 
 tro, che rimosso il corpo animato, e sen- 
 sitive, il calore non resti altro che un 
 semplice vocabolo.' (Opere, t. ii. p. 340 
 sq. ed. Padov. 1744.) 
 
 9 — Descartes is always adduced as 
 the philosopher by whom the distinctit 
 in question was principally developed 
 and by whom, if not first established, it 
 was, at least in modern times, first restor- 
 ed. In truth, however, Descartes origi-i 
 nated nothing. He left the distinction q/»\ 
 he found it. His only merit is that of sig-* 
 nalizing more emphatically than had pre- 
 viously been done, the different character 
 of the knowledge we are conscious of in 
 reference to the two contrasted classes; 
 
 I as I 
 Lion I 
 ed ; \ 
 
I 
 
 miiAEY AND SECONDARY 
 
 [hotbd 
 
 altliiiiish *M» dMSmmm h not, as be thinks, 
 to b« ««|ihiiwd by a ner© gradation in 
 tbe clearness of our purctptions. But 
 mekber of the one nor of tbe other is his 
 tnmneration of the conteota exhaustive ; 
 IMT' MA 'b« bestow distinctive appellations 
 on the counter classes themselves.— His 
 • Meditatl.«es' were irst pubMshed in 
 1641, bis* Principla* in 1644; and in these 
 works his doctrine npoE this matter is 
 contained. ^ ^^ , 
 
 In the ktter, he observes—* Nos longe 
 •Eo modo cognoscere quidnam sit in viso 
 oorpore Magnitudo, vel Fignra, vel Mo- 
 tni, (saltern localia, philosophi enim alos 
 
 Jnotdani motus a locali diversos affingen- 
 ©, Dittirain ejus sibi minus intelligibilem 
 wddiderunt,) vel Situs, vel Duratio, vel 
 Humerus, et similia, quae in corponbus 
 •tore percipi jam dictum est; quam quid 
 in eodem corpore sit Color, vel Dolor, vel 
 Odor, vel Sapor, vel quid aliud ex its, 
 quae ad sensus dixi esse refereuda. Quam- 
 visenim videiites aliquod corpus, non magis 
 certi simus illud existere, quatenus »p- 
 Mret figmratum, quam quatenus apparet 
 eoloratum ; longe tamen evidentiusagnos- 
 cimus, quid sit in eo esse figuratum. quam 
 quid sit esse eoloratum.* ( Princ. i. § 69.) 
 Of the/oni««r class we find enumerated 
 by » collation of different passages, Mag- 
 nitude (or Extension in length, breadth, 
 md thickness), Figure, Locomotion, Posi- 
 tion, Duration, Number, Substance, and 
 the like ;— all (with the exception of Sub- 
 mmm, wUch is erroneously and only once 
 •nniiMffsted) correspouding with the Com- 
 Bion Sennibles of the Peripatetics. Of 
 the kdUr class, he instances Colours, 
 8oiind% Odours, Savonrs,the Tactile qua. 
 ities * in general, spt ^ially enumerating, 
 M examples, Heat, Cold, Pain, Titillation, 
 md (N. B.) Hardness, Weight;— all con- 
 formable to the Proper Sensibles of Aris- 
 totle.— In the one class we have an idea 
 ©f the property, such as it exists, or 
 my exist, (* ut sunt, aut saltem esse pos- 
 •iiit,*) in the external body j in the other, 
 we have only an obscure and confused 
 
 • I am not mmm that Beacartei, sny where, 
 
 fiTCS a foil and luniial Hat of the Tactile qua- 
 miea. In his treatise Be Homine, under the 
 ■peolal ioctrtoi of Touch (§§. 29, 80) we have 
 j»iia,Tltiiali«ii,8moothneis, Roughness, Heat, 
 CeW, Hnmlillty, Dryneis. Weight, ' amd l*« 
 m».' He protjahlf acquiesced In the Arlato- 
 Mio Mil, the one in general ajceptelAon,— 
 flB., ilie But and Cold, Dry «ndMolst, Heavy 
 and light, Hard and Soft, Viscid and IVlaWe, 
 mimgh and Smooth, f Uek and TUn. De Qen. 
 
 conception of m iomething in that bodir 
 which occasionf the sensation of which 
 we are distinctly conscious in ourselves, 
 but which sensation does not represent to 
 us aught external— does not afford us a 
 real knowledge of any thing beyond the 
 etales of the percipient mind itself. (Princ. 
 P. i §§. 70, 71. P. iv. §§ 191, 197, 199. 
 — Medit. iii. p. 22. vi. pp. 43, 47, 48.— 
 R©sp. ad. Med. vi. p. 194, ed. 1658.) Of 
 these two classes, the attributes included 
 under the latter, in so far as they are con- 
 sidered as residing in the objects them- 
 selves of our sensations, Descartes, like 
 Democritus and Galileo, held to be only 
 modifications of those contained under the 
 former. * Exceptis Magnitudine, Figura 
 et Motu, quae qualia sintin unoquoque cor- 
 pore explicui, nihil extra nos positum sen- 
 titur nisi Lumen, Color, Odor, Sapor, 
 Sonus, et Tactiles qualitates ; quae nihil 
 aliud esse in objectis, quam dispositiones 
 qumdfim in Magmtudine, Figura et Motu 
 ctmsistmtes, liactenus est demonstratum. 
 (Princ. P. iv. § 199— Med. Resp. vi. p. 
 194.) This distinction, by their master, 
 of the two classes of quality, was, as wo 
 shall see, associated by the Cartesians 
 with another, taken by themselves,— be- 
 tween Idea and Sensation. 
 
 I have previously shewn, that Aristotle 
 expressly recognises the coincidence of hia 
 own distinction of the proper and com- 
 mon sensibles with the Democritean dis- 
 tinction of the apparent and real proper- 
 ties of body. I have now to state that 
 Descartes was also manifestly aware of 
 the conformity of his distinction with 
 those of Aristotle and Democritus. Suf- 
 ficient evidence, I think, will be found— of 
 the former, in the Principia P. iv. §. 200, 
 and De Homine §. 42;— of the latter, in 
 the Principia P. iv. §. 200-203. All this 
 enhances the marvel, that the identity of 
 these famous classifications should have 
 hitherto been entirely overlooked. 
 
 10.— The doctrine of Dbbooon— an 
 acute and independent thinker, who died 
 in 1604— coincides with that of Aristotle 
 I and hia genuine school ; it is very dis- 
 tinctly and correctly expressed. Sen- 
 sible qualities, he says, may be considered 
 in two aspects; as they are in the «en- 
 sible object, and as they are in the sentient 
 animal As " in the latter, they exist 
 actually and/or»Mi%, constituting certain 
 affections agreeable or disagreeable, in a 
 word, sensations of such or such a charac- 
 ter. The feeling of Heat is an example. 
 As in the former, they exist only virtue 
 aUy or potentially ; for, correctly speak- 
 ing, the fire does not contain heat, and is, 
 
 Si] 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY- 
 
 838 
 
 therefore, not hot, but only capable of 
 heating. * Ignis itaque, proprie loquendo, 
 non habere calorem, atque adeo non esse 
 calidum sed calorificum ;* nisi vocaba- 
 lum caloris sumatur pro virtute produ- 
 cendi calorem in animali. Sed philosophi 
 (he refers to the scholastic Aristotelians 
 with their substantial Forms, and Inten- 
 tional Species, though among them were 
 exceptions) — sed philosophi sunt prorsus 
 inexcusabiles, qui volunt calorem, sump- 
 tum pro virtute calefaciendi, quae est in 
 igne, aut potius identificatur cum ipso 
 igne, et calorem productura in animali, 
 esse ejusdem speciei, naturae et essentiae j 
 nam calor moderatus productus in ani- 
 mali consistit in aliqua passione et quasi 
 titillatione grata quae sentitur ab animali, 
 quae passio non potest e-^se in igne.* And 
 so forth in regard to the other senses. 
 (Philos. Contr. Phys. p. 199.) 
 
 11. — I may adduce to the same purport 
 Gl ANVIL LE, who, in his 'Vanity of Dogma- 
 tizing ' (1661 p. 88 sq.), and in his * Scepsis 
 Scientifica* (1665 p. 65 sq.), though a 
 professed, and not overscrupulous anta- 
 gonist of Aristotle, acknowledges, in re- 
 ference to the present question, that ' the 
 Peripatetic philosophy teaches us, that 
 Heat is not in the body of the sun, as 
 formally considered, but only virtually, 
 and as in its cause.* I do not know 
 whether Glanville had Aquinas specially 
 in view ; but the same general statement 
 and particular example are to be found in 
 the Suroma contra Gentes, L. i. cc. 29, 
 31, of the Angelic Doctor. 
 
 12.— It is remarkable that Mb Boyle's 
 speculations in regard to the classifica- 
 tion of corporeal Qualities should have 
 been wholly overlooked in reference to 
 the present subject ; and this not only on 
 account of their intrinsic importance, but 
 because they probably suggested to Locke 
 the nomenclature which he has adopted, 
 but, in adopting, has deformed. 
 
 In his treatise entitled * The origin of 
 Forms and Qualities,* published at Oxford 
 in 1666, Boyle denominates * Matter and 
 Motion * * the most Catholic Principles of 
 bodies.* (P. 8.) * Magnitude ( Size, 
 Bulk, or Bigness), Shape (Figure), Mo- 
 tion or Rest,* to which he afterwards 
 adds * Texture,* he styles *the Primitive 
 
 • The chemists have called Ciilorie what 
 they ought to have called CcloriJUs. The La- 
 Toiserian nomenclature, whatever it merits in 
 other respects, is a system of philological 
 monstrosities, in which it is fortunate when 
 tbe analogies of language are only violated, 
 an4 not reversed. 
 
 Moods or Primary Affections of bodies, to 
 distinguish them from those less simple 
 Qualities (as Colours, Tastes, Odours, and 
 the like) that belong to bodies upon their 
 account,' (p. 10). The former of these, 
 he likewise designates Uhe Primitive or 
 more Catholic Affections of Matter^' (pp. 
 43, 44); and in another work, (Tracts 
 1671, p. 18), ' the Primary and most 
 Simple Affections of Matter.' To the lat- 
 ter he gives the name of * Secondary Qua- 
 lities, if (he says) I may so call them,' 
 (p. 44). 
 
 In reference to the difficulty, *That 
 whereas we explicate colours, odours, and 
 the like sensible qualities, by a relation to 
 our senses, it seems evident that they have 
 an absolute being irrelative to us; for snow 
 (for instance) would be white, and a 
 glowing coal would be hot, though there 
 were no man or any other animal in the 
 world,' (p. 42). And again (p. 49) :~ 
 * So if there were no sensitive Beings, 
 those bodies that are now the objects of 
 our senses, would be so dispositiueiy, if I 
 may so speak, endowed with Colours, 
 Tastes, and the like, but actually only 
 with those more catholic affections of 
 bodies, Figure, Motion, Texture, &c.' Is 
 this intended for an Aristotolic qualifica- 
 tion of the Democritean paradox of Ga- 
 lileo ? 
 
 In his * Tracts, published at Oxford 
 1671— in that entitled * History of parti- 
 cular Qualities,' he says ; — * I shall not in- 
 quire into the several significations of the 
 word Quality, which is used in such va- 
 rious senses, as to make it ambiguous 
 enough. But thus much I think it not 
 amiss to intimate, that there are some 
 things that have been looked upon as Qua- 
 lities, which ought rather to be looked on 
 as States of Matter or complexions of 
 particular Qualities; as animal, inanimal, 
 &c.. Health, Beauty. And there are some 
 other attributes — namely. Size, Shape, 
 Motion, Rest, that are wont to be reckoned 
 among Qualities, which may more con- 
 veniently be esteemed the Primary Medea 
 of the parts of Matter , since from these 
 Simple Attributes or Primordial Affections, 
 all the Qualities are derived,' (p. 3) . This 
 is accurate ; and it is to be regretted that 
 Locke did not profit by the caution. 
 
 13. De la Forge, whose able trea- 
 tise * De r Esprit de 1' Homme ' was first 
 published in 1666, contributes little of 
 importance to the observation of Des- 
 cartes, of whose psychology he there ex- 
 hibits a systematic view. To the ideas of 
 the primary attributes, enumerated by 
 Descartes, he inconsistently adds those of 
 
 3o 
 
PRIMjyiY AND SECONDARY 
 
 [nuts d. 
 
 Mj mi Fluidity ; md annmg the se- 
 mnAurj he mention* tie sensations of 
 flM Brj and tte Hinicl, (ck lO). In 
 ■liewing tkit our sensations of tho seoon- 
 dary qimlitiei afford us no knowledge of 
 wliat theM are,, as in the extucpal object ; 
 and in explanation of the tlieorfw of Aris- 
 totb and Dwcartes, he says; — * Mais mm 
 txaalner ici leqnel a le mieux rencontrfe, 
 j« ne pense pas qtf aucun des scctateurs 
 do r un ni de 1* autre fasseut diileult^ 
 d* aToiier que le Sentiment qu' exdtent en 
 lui lea corps chands ou froids, et I' Idie 
 qii* ii en a ne lui reprSsente rien de tout 
 cela • He thus correctly places the Arts- 
 toteiana ^and Carteslaiis on a level, in ad- 
 ipiltinf' that both equally confess our 
 ignoranco of what the secondary qualities 
 are in themselves, — an ignorance which is 
 commonly regarded as a notable disco- 
 wery of Descartes alone.. 
 
 14. — Gauwiix, a Cartesian not less 
 dlitlnguiilied than De k Forge, and who 
 with Mm irst explicitly proclaimed the 
 dMtrine of Occasional Causes, died in 
 Wm ; but Ma < Annotata ' and ' Diotata ' 
 «B. Hie ' Frindpia* of Descartes were only 
 fdblshed in 1690, and 1691. In these 
 Works, like most other Cartesians, he 
 uses the term Idea, in reference to body, 
 '•xeluiiTely to denote the renreientations 
 nf Ito primary qualities ; but In ^adopta the 
 ■ehnlastic term Impedes, 'imtead'Of Smmtio 
 (sensation, sentiment) as employed by 
 then* to express our consciousness of the 
 •eonidnry.- ((%ict«/, De la Forge had 
 imdt' a better nse of, in relioTlng an am- 
 tigoity in the philosophical language of 
 Deseartes, who had sometimes abusively 
 ninrped the word idea for the organic 
 nation in the brain, to which, the idea 
 proper — the intellectual representation in 
 the mind itself was by the law of union 
 attached.) Geulinxls the Cartesian who, 
 from the occasional paradox of his ex- 
 peision, has afforded the most valid foun- 
 dation for the charge so frequently, but 
 ■o erroneously, preferred against the sect, 
 of denving all objective reiuity to the se- 
 •ondary q^ualitin/of matter. ^ 
 
 Ii.— BoMAWLT, another iUnalriiws Car- 
 iMian whose ' Physique,' wti tnt pub- 
 iahedin 1671, (and which continued until 
 •boni the middle of last century to be 
 • CbOipf ttst-book of philosophy in the 
 University of Newton) may be adduced in 
 diafnwl of thla aecnsation— an acousa- 
 tiM wiinli wiU be further related .in the 
 
 mA fyliain Regia.— Speaking of Heat 
 «iii:Cnld, 1m says,^' Cos deux mota ont 
 denziigniiicationi. Car, premidre- 
 
 ment, par la Chaleur et par ta Froidanr 
 on entend deux sentimens particuliers qui 
 sont en nous, et qui resemblent en quelque 
 fa^on k ceux qu on nomme douleur et 
 chatouillement, tels que les sentimens qu' 
 on a quand on approcbe du feu, ou quand 
 on touche de la glace. Secondement, par 
 la Chaleur et par la Froideur on entend le 
 pouvoir que certains corps ont de causer 
 en nous ces deux sentimens dont je viena 
 de parler.* He employs likewise the same 
 distinction in treating of Savours (ch. 
 24) — of Odours (ch. 26) — of Sound (ch. 
 26)— of Lijrht and Colours (ch. 27.) 
 
 16. — DiTif AHEX. — I quote the following 
 passage without the comment, which some 
 of its statements might invite, from the 
 treatise * De Corpore Animate,* 1673, of 
 this learned and ingenious philosopher. 
 It contains the most explicit (though still 
 a very inadequate) recognition of the 
 merits of Aristotle, in reference to our 
 present subject, with which I am aO« 
 quainted. — * Quocirca, ut id, quod sentio^ 
 paucis aperiam. Corpus omne senslbile 
 trim habet in se, qua sensum moveat ; sed 
 forma ipsa, qua percipimus, vel est motus, 
 vel effluvium, vel quidam substantiae mo- 
 dus, quem possumus qualitatem appellare. 
 Nee sensibile solius qualitatis praecUcamen- 
 to continetur, sed per omnia fere vagatur 
 genera. Corporum cnim Figurae, Di- 
 mensiones, Motus, et varise Positiones 
 sensum impellunt. Itaque Humor Sicci- 
 tas, Durities, Figura, atque alii modi, 
 tales sunt, quales a nobis percipiuntur. 
 Rotunditas enim circuli, vel terrae siccitas 
 a sensuum cognitione non peudet. Idem 
 fortassis erit de Colore, Luce, atque altis 
 activis qualitatibus judicium. Sonus vero 
 nihil est quam percusi>io organi ex motione 
 aeris, aut conflictu corporum orta. Sapor 
 item et Odor positi sunt in sola sensus 
 impressione. ToUe animalia, nuUus erit 
 sapor, nullus odor. Quanquam, ut mihi 
 videtur, rem totmn opthne distinguit Aris^ 
 Meka, cum Patibilem Qualitatem vocat id 
 quod in ohjecto eit aenmbili, Passionem 
 vero eandemyocat qualitatem, ut anobii 
 percipitur,* "(Lib. i. c. 3, § ll.) 
 
 17. — In the following year (1674) was 
 first published the celebrated ' Recherche 
 de la Verite* of MALEBnANCiiE. The 
 admissions already quoted of his imme- 
 diate predecessor mi^ht have guarded 
 him, at least on the point under conside- 
 ration, from the signal injustice of his at- 
 tack on Aristotle, the philosophers, and 
 mankind in general, as confounding our 
 subjective eenmtiom with the objective q%/tam 
 litiei of matter ,* and it is only by a not 
 nnmented retribution, that he likewise 
 
 I !•] 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 83d 
 
 has been made the object of a counter ac- 
 cusation, equally unfounded, by authori- 
 ties hardly inferior to himself. Buffier,* 
 Reid,f Royer Collard^ and many beside, 
 reproach Descartes, Malebranche, Locke, 
 and others, with advancing it, without 
 qualification, as a new and an important 
 truth, that the senmble or secondary quali- 
 ties have no existence in external objects, 
 their only existence being as modes of the 
 percipint mind. The charge by Male 
 branche in the following passage, has been 
 already annihilated, through what has been 
 previously adduced ; and the passage itself 
 sufficiently disproves the charge against 
 Malebranche. — * As regards the terms ex- 
 pressive of Sensible ideas, there is hardly 
 any one who recognises that they are 
 equivocal. On this Aristotle and the 
 ancient philosophers have not even be- 
 stowed a thought. [!] What I state will 
 be admitted by all who will tarn to any 
 of their works, and who are distinctly 
 cognisant of the reason why these terms 
 are equivocal. For there is nothing more 
 evident, than that philosophers have be- 
 lieved on this subject quite the contrary 
 of what they ought to have believed. [! !] 
 
 *For ex:;mple, when the philosophers 
 say that fire is hot, the grass green, the 
 sugar sweet, &c., they mean, as children 
 and the vulgar do, that the fire contains 
 what they feel when they warm themselves; 
 that the grass has on it the colours which 
 they believe to be there ; that the sugar 
 contains the sweetness which they taste in 
 eating it ; and thus of all the objects of the 
 different senses. It is impossible to doubt 
 of it in reading their writings. They 
 speak of sensible qualities as of sensations ; 
 they mistake motions for heat; and they 
 tbiu confound, by reason of the ambiguity 
 of these terms, the modes in which bodies 
 with the modes in which minds, exist. [!!!J 
 * It is only since the time of Descartes 
 that those confused and indeterminate 
 questions whether fire be hot, grass green, 
 sugar sweet, &c., have been answered by 
 distinguishing the ambiguity of the terms 
 in which they are expressed. If by heat, 
 colour, savour, you understand such or 
 such a motion of the insensible parts, then 
 fire is hot, grass green, and sugar sweet. 
 But if by heat and the other sensible qua- 
 lities, you mean what I feel when near the 
 
 • Loflque, § 222. Coura, p. 810. 
 
 f P. 131 9lj second paragraph, from which 
 there should have been a reference to the pre- 
 lent Note. 
 
 t lEuvret de Beid, t. ili. pp. 386, 447. 
 
 fire, what I see when I look at the grass, 
 &c., in that case the fire is not hot, nor 
 the grass green, &c. ; for the heat I feel 
 and the colour I see are only in the soul.' 
 (Recherche, Li v. vi. P. ii. c. 2.) 
 
 Malebranche contributed to a more pre- 
 cise discrimination between the objective 
 or primary, and the suiyeetive or secon- 
 dary qualities, by restricting the term Idm 
 to the former, and the terra Sensation to 
 the latter. For though the other Carte- 
 sians soon distinguished, more accurately 
 than Descartes himself. Idea from Sensa- 
 tion, and coincided with Malebranche, in 
 their application of the second ; yet in al- 
 lowing Ideas of the modes, both of exten- 
 sion and of thought, they did not so pre- 
 cisely oppose it to sensation as Male- 
 branche, who only allowed ideas of exten- 
 sion and its modes. (See Recherche, L. 
 iii. P. ii. cc. 6, 7, and relative Eclaircisse- 
 ment.) It has not, I believe, been ob- 
 served that Locke and Leibnitz, in their 
 counter criticisms of Malebranche's theory, 
 have both marvellously overlooked this 
 his peculiar distinction, and its bearing on 
 his scheme ; and the former has moreover, 
 in consequence of neglecting the Cartesian 
 opposition of Idea and Sensation altoge- 
 ther, been guilty of an egregious mutatio 
 elenchi in his strictures on the Cartesian 
 doctrine of Extension, as the essential 
 attribute of body. (Essay, B. ii. c. 13. 
 § 25. 
 
 18.— The ' Systeme de Philosophie' of 
 the celebrated Cartesian Svlvain Regis 
 appeared in 1690. The following, among 
 other passages of a similar import, deserve 
 quotation from the precision with which 
 the whole ambiguity of the terms expres- 
 sive of the secondary qualities in their sub- 
 jective and objective relations, is explain, 
 ed and rectified. 
 
 * It is evident that savours, taken form 
 mally, are nothing else than certain sen- 
 sations (sentimens) or certain perceptions 
 of the soul, which are in the soul itself; 
 and that savours, taken for the physical 
 cause of formal savours, consist in the par- 
 ticles themselves of the savoury bodies, 
 which according as they differ in size, in 
 figure, and in motion, diversely affect the 
 nerves of the tongue, and thereby cause 
 the sensation of different savours in the 
 soul in virtue of its union with the body/ 
 This doctrine, as the author admits, is 
 conformable to that of Aristotle, though 
 not to that of his scholastic followers, 
 * who maintain that savour in the savoury 
 body is something similar to the sensation 
 which we have of it.' (Phys. L.viii. P. ii. 
 ch. 4.) 
 
PRIMARY ANU SECONDARY 
 
 [noil m 
 
 Tim mam, mutatis miitaiidis, Is repeated 
 .b ti»«nl.ti> Oimm (ch.5), and to Sounds 
 (ok 7) ; and so far, the distinction with 
 itt exf ression of formal as opposed to tnr» 
 UmI it wholly borrowed from the Aristo. 
 
 teHiiit* 
 
 But a more minnte analysis and nomen- 
 elalnre are givett in regard to Light and 
 'till Colour* 
 
 « The word Light is not less equivocal 
 iian those of Savour, Smell, and Sound ; 
 liirit is employed sometimes to express 
 llie peculiar mntcdion which the soul re- 
 ceives from the impression made by lumi- 
 Bous bodies on the eye, and sometimes to 
 d«llot# whai there is im thorn bodies 6y 
 'iniU tJbf 'Cmm in the soul this peculiar 
 sensation. 
 
 • Moreover, as luminous bodies are not 
 a|i|iled imniediately to the eye, and as they 
 aet by the Intervention of certain interme- 
 diate bodies, as air, water, glass, &c., what- 
 ■oever that may be which they impress on 
 these mediais also called Light, but light Se- 
 mmlmy and Mhrimd, to distinguish it from 
 that which Is In the luminous body, which 
 iMt is styled FrimMve or Madical Light.* 
 
 (eh. 9.) 
 
 •We call the Sensation of Colour, For- 
 wmi colour ; the quality in bodies causing 
 Hit Sensation, Radical colour j and what 
 
 f hflse bodies impress on the medium, Hi- 
 rhative colour.' (ch. 17.) 
 
 But this acute subdivision of objective 
 light and Colour into primiiim or radi- 
 mi, and into secondart; or cfori twili'w, is not 
 driginal with Regis, nor indeed with any 
 Cartesian at alL It is evidently borrowed 
 from the following passage of Gassendi: — 
 * Lumen, ut Simplicius ait, est qtiasi bac- 
 lilns qui uno sol extremo a sole motus,^ alio 
 titremo ocnlum moveat: sicqne motio in 
 ifMO sole (non movit quippe nisi moveatur) 
 est ipsa radictdis et quasi fontana lux ; — 
 motio vero panpicui per omnia^^atia a 
 '•ole ad terram. externa, est lux dilRiia cto- 
 rJMtagM;— et motio In oculo estpercep- 
 Uo emspectiom Ipsius lucis.* (Animadv. 
 In X. lib. Diog. Laertii. p 851.) Though 
 mppaiently the whole senteneo Is here 
 given as a quotation from SlmpMus (or, 
 as I inspect, Priwaianus) in his commen- 
 tary on the De Amma of Aristotle ; the 
 oomparlion of the staff (or more correctly 
 of the lever) is alone his; and there- 
 %re the merit of the distinction in qnes- 
 ,ion would belong to Cassendl, were it 
 not thai the term radical was an ex- 
 pression common in the Schools as a syno- 
 ayiae of fmdmmmtai, and as opposed to 
 ' m_fyrmai. The dlstlmtion is thus 
 Ij Aristotelian. 
 
 10 The Essay of Lockb on the Hu- 
 man Understanding was published in tho 
 same year with the Systeme de Philoso- 
 phie of Regis,— in 1690. His doctrine in 
 regard to the attributes of bodies, in so 
 far as these have power to produce sensa-. 
 tions, or perceptions, or simple ideas inl 
 us, contains absolutely nothing new j andi 
 it is only in consequence of tlie prevalent \ 
 ignorance in regard to the relative obser- V 
 vations of previous philosophers, that so | 
 much importance has been attached to | 
 Locke's speculations on this matter. Ths I 
 distinction is, however, far more correctly <^ 
 given by him than by many of those who 
 subsequently employed it. 
 
 Neglecting what Locke calls qualities 
 mediately perceivable, but which lie alto- 
 gether beyond the sphere of sense, being 
 in reality powers, which, from the ph«B- 
 noraena manifested in certain bodies, wo 
 infer to exist in other bodies of producing 
 these phaenomena as their effects — ne- 
 glecting these, thfi following is an abstract 
 of the doctrine given, at great length, and 
 with much repetition, in the eighth chapter 
 of the second book 'of the Essay. 
 
 a. — Locke discriminates the attributes 
 of sensible objects into the same two classes 
 which had been established by all his pre- 
 decessors. 
 
 b, — To the one of these he gives tho 
 name of Primary, to the other that of Se- 
 condary, Qualities ; ♦ calling likewise the 
 former Real or Original, the ktter Jm- 
 puted, Qualities. 
 
 Remark. — In this nomenclature, of 
 which Locke is universiiUy regarded as 
 the author, there is nothing new. Pri- 
 mary or Original and Secondary or De- 
 ri veil Qualities had been terms applied by 
 Aristotle and the Peripatetics to mark a 
 distinction in the attributes of matter j— a l 
 distinction, however, not analogous to that 
 
 of Locke, for Aristotle's Primary and Se- ^ ^ 
 
 condary quahties are exclusive of Locke's 
 Primary.f But Galileo had bestowed tho 
 
 • The term Quallly ought to have been re. 
 •trieted to the attributes of the second class; 
 for these are the properties of l>ody as such or 
 such body, (corporis ut tale corpus), whereas 
 the others are the properties of body as body, 
 (corporis ut corpus) ; a propriety of language 
 which Locke was among the first to violate. 
 
 f Ck>rporeaI qualities, In a physical point of 
 view, were according to Aristotle^ (De Gen, 
 et Corr. L. ii. and Meteor. L. iv.) — and tho 
 distinction became one classical in the Schools, 
 —divided into Primary and Secxmdmyi tht 
 former l>elDf original, the latter, derived. 
 
 Tho PtUnary are four in number, and all tso* 
 tUe,— Hot and Cold, Humid (Liquid) and Dry j 
 
 §lJ 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 837 
 
 names of Primary or Real on the same 
 class of attributes with Locke, leaving, of 
 course, the correlative appellations of Se- 
 condary, Intentional, Ideal, &c. to be given 
 to the other; while Boyle had even anti- 
 cipated him in formally imposing the 
 names of Primary and Secondary on the 
 counter classes. It is indeed wholly im- 
 possible to doubt, from many remarkable 
 coincidences of thought and expression, 
 that Locke had at least the relative trea- 
 tises of his countryman, friend and cor- 
 respondent ,under his eye ; and it is far 
 more probable, that by Boyle, than by 
 either Aristotle or Galileo, were the names 
 suggested, under which Locke has had the 
 honour of baptising this classical distinc- i 
 tion. 
 
 e. — To ih^. first class belong Extension 
 (or Bulk), Solidity (or Impenetrability), 
 Figure, Motion and Rest (or Mobility), 
 Number ; * and to these five (or six) which 
 be once and again formally enumerates, he 
 afterwards, without comment, throws in 
 Situation and Texture. 
 
 and are subdivided into two classes,— the two 
 former being actlvf, the two latter, poMvee. 
 
 The Secondary are either less, or more, pro- 
 perly secondary. — The former are common to 
 elementary and to mixed bodies ; and are all 
 potentially objects of touch. Of tliese Aristotle 
 enumerates fourteen, — ^the Heavy and Light, 
 tlie Dense and Rare, the Thick and Thin. 
 (Concrescent and Fluid), the Hard and Soft. 
 the Viscid and Friable, the Bough and Smooth, 
 the Tenacious and Slippery. — The latter are 
 Coloiu*, Savour, Odour, [to which ought to be 
 added Sound], — the potential objects of the 
 tenses cf Sight, Taste, Smell, [and Hearing.] 
 
 This whole distinction of Qualities Primary 
 and Secondary, is exclusive of Locke's class 
 of Primary. To these, Aristotle would not in- 
 deed have applied the term Quality at all. 
 
 Cicero also may have given the hint. — ' Qua- 
 litatum aliae principes (vel primae,) aliae ex iis 
 ortae,' &c. 1 he former are the corporeal ele- 
 ments, the latter tho bodies constituted by 
 them. (Acad. i. 7.) 
 
 • Locke borrowed Number (i. e. Unity or 
 Plurality; from the Cartesians, — Descartes, from 
 Aristotle. It corresponds in a sort with Divi- 
 Bibility, for which it has latterly been ex- 
 changed. See Nos. 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25. 
 liocke is not therefore primarily liable to Mr 
 Stewart's censure for the introduction of Num. 
 b«r among the Primary Qualities, were that 
 censure in itself correct. But it is not j for 
 Mr Stewart (with M. Royer CoUard, No 25) 
 has misapprehended the import of the ex- 
 pression. (Essays p. 95 4«> ed.) For Number 
 is not used only for the measure of discrete 
 quantity, but likewise for the continuation 
 (unity) or discontinuation (plurality) of a per- 
 eept. The former is an abstract notion j the 
 latter is a recognition through sense. See 
 above p. 820 a, note f and Note D. • § i. 
 
 Remark.--ln all this there is nothing 
 original To take the last first: — Situa- 
 tion (relative Position or Ubication) was 
 one of the Common Sensibles current in 
 the Schools. Texture is by Boyle, in like 
 manner, incidentally enumerated, though 
 neither formally recognised as a co-ordi- 
 nate quality, nor noticed as reducible to 
 any other. Solidity or Impenetrability is, 
 to go no higher, borrowed from Gassendi; 
 De la Forge's Solidity is only the contrast 
 of Fluidity. But Solidity and Exten- 
 sion ought not thus to be contra-distin- 
 guished, being attributes of body only, as 
 constituting its one total property — that 
 of occupying space.f The other attributes 
 
 ■j- The term Solidity (to o^rtptov, solidum), as 
 denoting an attribute of body, is a word of va- 
 rious significations ; and the non-determina- 
 tion and non-distinction of these have given 
 rise to manifold error and confusion. 
 
 First Meaning. — In its most unexclusive sig- 
 nification the Solid is that wlxich/liis or occupies 
 space, (to i^ixov rd-rflv.) In this meaning it 
 is simply convertible with Body ; and is op- 
 posed, l*^, to the unextended in all or in any 
 of the three dimensions of space, and 2* to 
 mere extension or empty space itself. This 
 we may call Solidity ^ simply. 
 
 But the filling of space maybe viewed in 
 different phases. The conditions it involves, 
 though ail equally essential and inseparable, as 
 all involving each other, may, however, in 
 thought, be considered apart ; from different 
 points of view the one or the other may even 
 be regarded as the primary ; and to these parts 
 or partial aspects, the name of the unexclusive 
 whole may be conceded. The occupation of 
 space supposes two necessary conditions ; — 
 and each of these has obtained the common 
 name of Solidity, thus constituting a second 
 and a third meaning. 
 
 Second Meaning. — What is conceived, as oc 
 cupying space, is neoessaiily conceived at 
 extended in tfie three dimensions of space (to r^ix^i 
 hatrrnTov.) This is the phasis of Solidity 
 which the Geometer exclusively contemplates. 
 Trinal extension has accordingly, by mathenia- 
 ticians, been emphatically called the Solid; 
 and this first partial Solidity wc may therefore 
 distinguish as the Mathematical, or rather, the 
 Geometrical. 
 
 Third Meaning. — On the other hand, what is 
 conceived as occupying space, is necessarily 
 conceived as what cannot he eliminated from 
 space. But this supposes a power of resisting 
 such elimination. This is the phasis of solidity 
 considered exclusively from the physical point 
 of view. Accordingly, by the men of natmal 
 science the impo.ssibility of compressing a 
 body from an extended to an unextended has 
 been emphatically styled Solidity; and this so- 
 cond paitial solidity wc may therefore distin- 
 guish as the Physical. The resisting force 
 here Involved has been called the Impewitra. 
 bility of matter; but most improperly and most 
 
PRIMAEY AND 8EC0NDAEY 
 
 [mots n. 
 
 •re tliose of Aristotlt, Descartes, and tbe 
 philosophers in general j^their legitimacj 
 will be considered in the sequel. 
 ii..-.Tlie principle which eoiutitules the 
 
 ■nUfiioiialf. Itmlglitnieniiiivreprnietrbe 
 
 •ennml/its mtimue or AUoM§ #iM)<MifnatJMI%. 
 In «i:li of Iheso its Iwo parHal signtflcatlons, 
 Suldlty ienotet an ossentkl attribute of body ; 
 •nd wMoli sne^er of these attributes be sisted as 
 the prior, the other follows, as a necessary oon- 
 ■iqiiant. In regard to their priority, opinions 
 livlded. Precedence is accorded to trinal 
 rioti by Descartes, at the head of one body 
 of philosophers ; to impenetrabilHy by Leibnitz, 
 at the head of another. Both parties ara rif ht ; 
 ., .and both are wrong, lach it right m looking 
 from its peculiar point of view ; each is wrong, 
 In not considering that its peonliar, is only a 
 ptrtial, point of view, and neither the one sole, 
 nor oven the one absolutely preferable.— From 
 the p^okoto§kal point of view, Descartes is 
 triumphant; for extension is first in the 
 order of thought.— From thopAyriml point of 
 view, lioibnltx Is victorious j for impenetrabi. 
 Ity Is the more distinctive attribute of body. 
 The two properties, the two points of view, 
 ought not, in truth, to be disjoined; and the 
 d0fi:nltlons of body by the ancient! are, as least 
 exclusive, atill the most philosophical that have 
 been given ; — « Mx»* vo^rit, and r^ '''i'X^ 
 hm^wmrif fittr* 4>«wrt«i, and tyum Afrwwflf 
 Irsi i^' iaiiTof. 
 
 Locke is therefore wrong, really and ver- 
 hally.—RmU}/ he Is wrong, in dlstiilgiaishing 
 trinal extension and impenetrability (or ultl- 
 mato Incompressibility) as two primary and 
 Mpmfe attributes, Instead of regardhig them 
 only as one-sided aspects of the same primary 
 and total attribute— the occupying of space. 
 Sach supposes the other. The notion of a 
 filnf trinally extended, eo ipso, excludes the 
 Biglilonof sucheztenilon. It therefore includes 
 tbe neg atleu ef 'that' ;nogation. But this is just 
 the aasertlon of Its ultimate incompressibility. 
 JIgain, the notion of a thing as ultimately in. 
 eompressiHe, Is only possible under the notion 
 of ito trl.nal extension. For body being, ex 
 hypothest, conceived or conceivable only as 
 'that which eccnplet space; the inal compres. 
 •ton of it Into what occupies no space goes to 
 reduce It, either from an Mflly to a non-entity, 
 or from an extended to an unoirliiidM «a«fy. 
 But neither alternative can be liillied In 
 thought. Not the former ; ft» analliils^on, not 
 at a mere change in an effect, not as a mere 
 resumption of creative power In a cause, but . 
 as a taking out from the su». total. 'Of ' exislenee. 
 Is positively and lu Itself Incogitable. Hot the 
 latter |. for the coneeptlou of' .matter, ai. an 
 ■■extended entity, is 'hotii lu Itaelf Inconceiv. 
 •We, and ex hypothesi absurd. — Verbally, 
 JLeeke is wrong, In bestowing the name of so. 
 lldlty, without a qualification, exclusively on 
 the latter of these two phases; each being 
 e«aallyentltledtoit with the other, and neither 
 m weU entitled to It, without a dlilgreiice, as 
 the total attribute of which they are 'tie par. 
 tial expressions.— But these inaccuracies of 
 .Loeke are Mt so Important as 'the errors 'Of I 
 
 preceding qualities into a separate class, ii 
 that the mind finds it impossible to think 
 any particle of matter^ as divested of such 
 attributes. 
 
 subsequent philosophers, to which, "howevpr, 
 they seem to have afforded the occasion. For 
 under the term Solidity, and on the authority of 
 Locke, there have been introduced as primary, 
 certain qualities of body to which in common 
 language the epithet Solid is applied, but 
 which have no title whatever to the rank in 
 question. Against this abuse, it must be ac- 
 knowledged, Locke not only guarded himself, 
 but even, to a certain extent, cautioned others; 
 for he articulately states, that Solidity, in his 
 nense, is not to bo confounded with Hardness. 
 (B. ii. c. 4 § 4.) It must, however, also be con- 
 fessed, that in other passages he seems to iden. 
 tify Solidity and Cohesion ; while on Solidity 
 he, at the same time, makes ' the mutual un. 
 pulse, resistance and protrusion of bodies to 
 depend.' (Ibid. § 5.) But I am anticipating. 
 In a psychological point of view — and this is 
 that of Locke and metaphysicians in general- 
 no attribute of body is primary which is not 
 necessary in thought; that is, which is not 
 necessarily evolved out of, as necessarily im. 
 plied in, the very notion of body. And such is 
 Solidity, in the one total and the two partial 
 significations heretofore enumerated. But in 
 its phy$ie<U application, this term is not always 
 limited to denote the utiimato incompressi- 
 bility of matter. Besides that necessary at> 
 tribute, it is extended, in common language, to 
 express other powers of resistance in bodies, 
 of a character merely contingent in reference 
 to thought. (See § 11.) These may be re- 
 duced to the five following : — 
 
 Fourth Meaning. — The term Solid is very 
 commonly employed to denote not merely the 
 absolutely, but also the rehttively, incompres- 
 sible, the Dense, in contrast to the relatively 
 compressible, the Rare, or UoUow. — (In Latin 
 moreover, Solidus was not only employed, in 
 this sense, to denote that a thing fully oc. 
 cupied the space comprehended within Us 
 circumference ; but likewise to indicate, 1® its 
 entireneu In quantity — that it was whole or 
 complete ; and, 2**, its eniirenes$ in quality— 
 that it was pure, uniform, homogeneous. This 
 arose from the original identity of the Latin 
 Solidum with the Oscan tollum or tolum, and 
 the 0reck SXn. See Festus or Verrius Flac. 
 ens, vv. SolitauriUa and SoUo / also J. C. Sea. 
 User, De SubtiUtate, ex. 76.) 
 
 Fifth Meaning. — Under the Vit Ineriiae, a 
 t>ody Is said to be Solid, I e. Inert, Stable, Im- 
 moveable, in proportion as It. whether in mo- 
 tion or at rest, resists, in general, a removal 
 from the place it would otherwise occupy in 
 space. 
 
 Sixth Meaning. — ^tJndor Oravitp, a body Is said 
 to be Solid, ic. Heavy, in proportion as it resists, 
 in particular, a displacement by being lifted up. 
 
 The two following meanings fall under Co' 
 heaitmf the force with which matter resists the 
 distraction of its parts ; for a body Is said in a 
 
 Seventh Meaninp, to be Solid, l.e. Bard, la 
 eontrast to Soft ; and in'aii— 
 
 J»J 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 639 
 
 , 
 
 Remark.— In this criterion Locke was 
 preceded by Galileo. But it does not, 
 alone, sufBco to discriminate the primary 
 from the secondary qualities. For, as al- 
 ready noticed, of two contradictory qua- 
 lities, one or otiier must, on the logical 
 principle of excluded middle, be attributed 
 to every object. Thus, odorous or inodo. 
 rous, sapid or tasteless, &c., though not 
 primary qualities, cannot both be abstract- 
 ed in thought from any material object ; 
 and, to take a stronger cvample, colour, 
 which, psychologically speaking, contains 
 within itself such contradictions (for light 
 and darkness, white and black, are, in this 
 •relation, all equally colours) is thus a ne- 
 cessary concomitant of every perception, 
 and even every imagination, of extended 
 substance ; as has been observed by the 
 Pythagoreans, Aristotle, Themistius, and 
 many others. 
 
 e. — These attributes really exist in the 
 objects, as they are ideally represented to 
 our minds. 
 
 Remark.— In this statement Locke fol- 
 lowed Descartes ; but without the impor- 
 tant qualification, necessary to its accu- 
 racy, under which Descartes advances it. 
 \ On the doctrine of both philosophers, we 
 know nothing of material existence in it- 
 self; we know it only as represented or in 
 idea. When Locke, therefore, is asked, 
 how he became aware that the known idea 
 truly represents the unknown reality ; he 
 can make no amwer. On the first prin- 
 ciples of his philosophy, he is wholly and 
 necessarily ignorant, whether the idea 
 does, or does not, represent to his mind 
 the attributes of matter, as they exist in 
 nature. His assertion is, therefore, con- 
 fessedly without a warrant; it transcends, 
 ex hypothesi, the sphere of possible know- 
 
 Eighth Meaning, to be Solid, i.e. Concrete, in 
 opposition to Fluid. 
 
 The term Solidity thus denotes besides the 
 absolute and necessary property of occupying 
 apace, simply and in its two phases of Exten- 
 Bion and Impenetrability, also the relative and 
 contingent qualities of the Dense, the Inert, 
 the Heavy, the Hard, the Concrete ; and the 
 introduction of these latter, with their corre- 
 lative opposites, into the list of Piimary Qua- 
 lities was facilitated, if not prepared, by Locke's 
 vacillating employment of the vague expres- 
 aion Solid ; in partial designation of the for- 
 mer. By Karnes, accordingly, Gravity and 
 Inertia were elevated to this rank ; while Co- 
 besion, in Its various modifications and de- 
 grees, was. by Karnes, Reid, Fergusson, Stewart, 
 Royer CoUard, and many others, not only re- 
 cognized as Primary, but expressly so recog- 
 vised as in conformity with the doctrine of 
 Locke. See the iequel of this §, and § ii. 
 
 ledge. Descartes is more cautious. He 
 only says, that our ideas of the qualities ia 
 question represent those qualities as they J^ 
 are, or as they may exist ; — * ut sunt, vel 
 saltern esse possunt.' The Cosmothetic 
 Idealist can only assert to them a proble- 
 matical reality. 
 
 f. — To the second class belong those 
 qualities which, as in objects themselves, 
 are nothing but various occult modifica- 
 tions of the qualities of the former class ; 
 these modifications possessing, however, 
 the power of determining certain manifest 
 sensations or ideas in us. Such for exam- 
 ple are colours, sounds, tastes, smells, &c., 
 — all, m a word, commonly known by the 
 name of Sensible Qualities. These qua- 
 lities, as in the reality , are properly only 
 powers ; powers to produce certain sensa- 
 tions in us. As in us, they are only sensa- \ 
 tions, and cannot, tlierefore, be considered V 
 as attributes of external things. 
 
 Remark. — All this had, long before 
 Locke, become mere philosophical com- 
 monplace. With the exception of the 
 dogmatical assertion of the hypothetical 
 fact, that the subjective sensations of the 
 secondary, depend exclusively on the ob- 
 jective modifications of the primary, qua- 
 lities, this whole doctrine is maintained by, 
 Aristotle ; while that hypothetical asser 
 tion itself had been advanced by the an- 
 cient Atomists and their followers the 
 Epicureans, by Galileo, by Descartes and 
 his school, by Boyle, and by modern philo- 
 sophers in general. That the secondary 
 qualities, as in objects, are only powers of 
 producing sensations in us — this, as we 
 have seen, had been explicitly stated, after 
 Aristotle, by almost every theorist on the 
 subjfect. But it was probably borrowed 
 by Locke from the Cartesians. 
 
 It is not to be forgotten, that Locke did 
 not observe the propriety of language in- 
 troduced by the Cartesians, of employing 
 the term Idea, in relation to the primary, 
 the term Sensation, in relation to the se- 
 condary, qualities. Indeed Locke's whole 
 philosophical language is beyond measure 
 vague, vacillating, and ambiguous ; in this 
 respect, he has afforded the worst of pre- 
 cedents, and has found only too many 
 among us to follow his example. 
 
 20. — Purchgt's doctrine on this sub- 
 ject deserves to be noticed — which it never 
 has been. It struck me from its corres- 
 pondence, in certain respects, with that 
 which I had myself previously thought 
 out. The first edition of his Institutionea 
 Philosophicae did not appear at Paris un- 
 til a year or two after the publication of 
 Locke's Essay,— the second was in 1608} 
 
PRIMARY AND SECONDARY 
 
 [2I0TJ£ D, 
 
 'but Ik) French ourtiiAlisI 4m§ mit tfipmt 
 to 'hm9 ham a«w«^ of Ilia spoeulatlom of 
 'lie Bttfillifiiloioiiher, nor does he refer 
 'to Boylt. Hit io<strine -- which is not f ul- 
 Ij stated in any single place of Ms work 
 --is as foUowi : 
 
 a. —The one Priwmn AJfklim or Attri- 
 bute of Body is EM^mmm. 'Without this, 
 matter cannot be €ono«lYed. But in the 
 notion of Extension as an attribute is im. 
 nediately involved that of SoKcilf or Im- 
 |»CMfraMtlf , i. e. the capacilj of filling 
 '■MMM^to the exclusion of another body. 
 
 b. But extended gubsl«iMS« (m ipso, 
 
 solid or impenetrable) — 
 
 1**, M'ecessarily exists under some par- 
 tievlar node of Extension., in other words 
 
 toto 'parts ; 
 
 2**, Is necessarily thought as capable of 
 ^oiimi' and Rest ; 
 
 3*>, Necessarily supposes a certain M- 
 gmr§i and in relation to other bodies a 
 flMiain Fontion, 
 
 These five, 1, Magnitude or measure of 
 •xtension, involving Mmmfnlit^j 2, Mo- 
 tifm 5 3, lest ; 4, Figure ; 5, Pomiim or 
 mmt^&m,^ .hO' styles the simpie md^ *»«o»- 
 'liiirf aWrttwIw, ofietitMM or queditiee which 
 flow immediately from the nature of Body, 
 i. e. Extension. 
 
 c Out of these Primary Affections of 
 
 Body there are ed'uedl, and as it were 
 impounded, other affoctions to which the 
 name of Qwdiiy in a more emphatic and 
 l^ppropriate sense belongs; such among 
 nthers are L^fht, Colours, Smmds, Odours, 
 'lW»f,mdthe Taaile quamim,Heat. Cold, 
 Wid^mm, Drt^mtt, &c. These he deno- 
 minates the mmndartf and cmnpoiite qua- 
 lt<tV« or mjketimm ofBod^. ( Instit . Phi los. 
 I, ii. Phys. Sectt. I. iv. v. pp. 87, 20S, 396, 
 
 ©€■■ **^ 
 
 ai.—Li Clebo does not borrow his 
 doctrine on this head from his friend 
 
 Locke; and Ms point of view is not purely 
 pychological. The five propurtiei com- 
 Bon. to allbodles— Extension— Bividblli'ty 
 — Solidity (Imp«ni!trability) —Figure — 
 Mobility— he very properly does not de- 
 nominate QuaiiHeB, but reserves that nano 
 Ibr what, serves to dirtinguish bodies from 
 'Oaoh other. Under this restriction, he 
 dlTidet Qualities into Primitivn and DtfW- 
 miim. By Primftive he designates those 
 oeoult qualities in body which are known 
 to IS only in their effects ; as, for example, 
 tht cause of Soldity. The Derivative, he 
 ■ays, are those' 'wMch flow from the Pri- 
 nltive and affSect om senses, as colour, sa- 
 ¥o-ur, odour, Ice. His doctrine is, how- 
 •far, neither fully •¥ olred nor unambigu- 
 
 ously expressed. (Clerici Opera Philoa. 
 Phys. L. V. cc. 1, 6.) 
 
 22.— Lomo KAMBB,in the j«ri« edition of 
 his ' Essays on the principles of Morality 
 and Natural Religion,' (1751.) touches only 
 incidentally on the present subject. Ho 
 enumerates Softness, Hardnen, Smooth* 
 ness, Roughiesi, among the Primary Qua- 
 lities (p. 248) ; and he was, I am confi- 
 dent, the only philosopher before Rc-id, by 
 whom this amplification was sancti -ned, 
 although Mr Stewart has asserted that 
 herein Reid only followed the classifica- 
 tion of most of his immediate predeces- 
 sors.* (Essays, p. 91.) The second ei\u 
 tion I have not at hand. In the third and 
 last, (1779,) there is introduced a chap- 
 ter expressly on the distinction, which is 
 treated of in detail. He does not here re- 
 peat his previous enumeration ; but to 
 Size, Figure, Soliditff (which he does not 
 define) and Divisibilitif, he adds, as pri- 
 mary qualities. Gravity, the Vis Imrtim, 
 and the Ft* Indtm; the two last being the 
 Vis Insita or Vis Inertiae of Kepler and 
 Newton divided into a double power. See 
 Eeid*s Correspondence, pp. 65, 53. Karnes 
 unwittingly mixes the psychological and 
 physical points of view j and, otherwise, his 
 classification, in so far as original, is open 
 to manifold objections. See the foot-noto 
 t at p. 837 c, and § ii. 
 y 23.— Re ID.— We have seen that Des- 
 cartes and Locke, to say nothing of other 
 metaphysicians, admitted a fundamental 
 difierence between the. primary and the 
 secondary qualities: the one problema- 
 tically, the other assertorily, maintaining, 
 that the primary qualities, as known, cor- 
 respond with the primary qualities, as ex- 
 istent ; whereas that the secondary quali- 
 ties, as sensations in us, bear no analogy 
 I to these qualities as inherent in matter. 
 On the general doctrine, however, of 
 these philosophers, both classes of quali- 
 ties, as known, are confessedly only st.ates 
 of our own minds ; and, while we have no 
 right from a subjective affection to infer 
 the existence, far less the corresponding 
 character of the existence, of any objec- 
 tive reality, it is evident that their doc- 
 trine, if fairly evolved, would result in a 
 dogmatic, or in a sceptical, negation of 
 the primary, no less than of the secondary 
 
 • Mr Stewirl also says that Bcrltelcy • em- 
 ploys the word Solidity as synonymous with 
 Hardness and RcsisUnce.* This is not cor- 
 rect. Berkeley docs not consider hardness 
 and resistance as convertible; and those he 
 luentiODS as two only out of thre* significations 
 in which, he thlnki, the term Solidity Is used* 
 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 841 
 
 qualities of body, as more than appear- 
 ances in and for us. This evolution was 
 accordingly soon accomplished ; and Leib- 
 Anitz, Berkeley, Hume, Condillac, Kant, 
 II Fichte, and others, found no difficulty in 
 I demonstrating, on the principles of Des- 
 cartes, and Locke, and modern Represen- 
 tationists in general, that our notions of 
 Space or Extension, with its subordinate 
 forms of Figure, Motion, &c., has no 
 higher title to be recognized as objec- 
 .1 tively valid, than our sensations of Colour, 
 W of Savour, of Odour ; and were thus 
 
 enabled triumphantly to establish their 
 several schemes of formal or virtual ideal- 
 ism. Hence may we explain the fact 
 that this celebrated distinction is over- 
 looked or superseded in the speculation, 
 not of some merely, but of all the more 
 modern German Schools. 
 
 It is therefore manifest that the fun- 
 damental position of a consistent theory of 
 dualistic realism is— that our cognitions 
 of Extension and its modes are not wholly 
 ideal ;— that although Space be a native, 
 ncccv^sary, a priori, form of imagination, 
 and so far, therefore, a mere subjective 
 sUte, that there is, at the same time, com- 
 petent to us, in an immediate perception 
 of external things, the consciousness of a 
 really existent, of a really objective, ex- 
 tended world. To demonstrate this was 
 therefore prescribed, as its primary prob- 
 lem to a philosophy which, like that of Reid, 
 proposed to re-establish the philosophy of 
 natural realism— of common sense, on a 
 refutation of every idealism overt or im- 
 plied. Such is the problem. It remains 
 for us to see how it was dealt with. 
 
 Reid's doctrine, in regard to the Pri- 
 mary and Secondary Qualities, is to be 
 found in the Inquiry, ch. 6, sect. 4-6, p. 
 123-126, and in the Intellectual Powers 
 Essay ii. cb. 17, p. 313-318. 
 
 In his enumeration of the Primary qua- 
 lities Reid is not invariable ; for the list 
 in the Inquiry is not identical with that in 
 the Essays. In the former, without pro- 
 fessing to furnish an exhaustive catalogue, 
 he enumerates Extension, Figure, Motion, 
 Hardness and Softness, Roughness and 
 Smoothness. The four last are, as we have 
 seen, to be found, for the first time, in the 
 earliest edition of Lord Karnes's Essays 
 on Morality, which preceded Reid s In- 
 quiry by thirteen years. In the latter he 
 gives another list, which he does not state 
 to be an altered edition of his own, but 
 which he apparently proposes as an enu- 
 meration identical with Locke's. * Every 
 one ' he says, * knows that Extension, Di- 
 vinbilitu, Fiffure, Motion, Soliditfj, Hard- 
 
 ness, Softness, and Fluidity, were by Locke 
 called primary qualities of body.' In re- 
 ference to himself — this second catalogue 
 omits Roughness and Smoothness, which 
 were contained in his first: and intro- 
 duces, what were omitted in the first, Di~ 
 vidbility (which Karnes had also latterly 
 added). Solidity and Fluidity. In refe- 
 rence to Locke— this and the former list 
 are both very different from his. For, 
 allowing Divisibility to replace Number, 
 and saying nothing in regard, either to 
 the verbal inaccuracy of making Motion 
 stand for Mobility, or to the real inaccu- 
 racy of omitting Rest as the alternative 
 of Motion ; we find in both lists a series 
 of qualities unrecognized as primary by 
 Locke; or, as far as I know, by any other 
 philosopher previous to Lord Karnes and 
 himself. These are Roughness and Smooth- 
 ness, in the Inquiry ; Fhddity in the 
 Essays; and Hardness and Softness in 
 both. But these five qualities are not 
 only not to be ascribed to the list of primary 
 qualities by Locke ; they ought not to be 
 viewed as co-ordinate with Extension, So- 
 lidity (which Reid more rigorously than 
 Locke limits to the ultimate incompressi- 
 bility of matter), Figure, Mobility, and 
 Divisibility, i.e. not as primary qualities at 
 all. Of these five qualities, the last three, 
 as he himself states (p. 314 a), are only 
 different degrees of Cohesion; and the 
 first two are only modifications of Figure 
 and Cohesion combined. But Cohesion, 
 as will be shewn (§ \\.), is not a character 
 necessarily involved in our notion of body; 
 for though Cohesion, (and we may say 
 the same of Inertia,) in all its modes, ne- 
 cessarily supposes the occupation of space, 
 the occupation of space while it implies a 
 continuity does not necessarily imply a 
 cohesion of the elements (whatever they 
 may be) of that which occupies space. 
 At the same time, the various resistances 
 of cohesion and of inertia cannot be re- 
 duced to the class of Secondary qualities. 
 It behoves us therefore, neither with 
 Locke and others, to overlook them ; nor 
 to throw them in without qualification 
 or remark, either with Descartes among 
 the Secondary, or with Reid among the 
 Primary, qualities. But of this again. 
 
 Independently of these minor differen- 
 ces, and laying also out of account Reid's 
 strictures on the cruder forms of the re- 
 presentative hypothesis, as held by Des- 
 cartes and Locke, but which there is no 
 sufficient ground to suppose that Des- 
 cartes, at least, adopted; Rcid's doctrine 
 touching the present distinction corre- 
 sponds, in all essential respecti*, with tlmt 
 
ut 
 
 PEIMART AND SECONDAHl 
 
 [mOTB Dt. 
 
 amtEtAiiied by these two pliiliMiGphers. 
 Be cbes not adopt, and even omlta to no. 
 tice, the erroneous criterion of insepars- 
 Mlity in t]ioiiflit» by which Locke at- 
 
 'tvnpts to discriminate tlW' primary qiali. 
 tiei from the secondary. Like Dviseartei, 
 ,, he holds^ that our notions of the pri.niary 
 qualities are clear and distinct ; of the se- 
 condary, obscure and confused ; and, like 
 beth pMiowplwrs, he considers that the 
 i fdmtr aibrd iis a knowledge of what the 
 wwfiipinidliif qniitte are (or, as Des- 
 cartes cautiously interpoktes iway be) in 
 themselves, while the latter only point to 
 the unknown cause or occasion of sensa. 
 tions of which we are consoious ourselves. 
 MM therefore calls tho' notion we .have of 
 'the 'primary qualities, direct ; of the se- 
 condary, reiaiim. (I. P. 313 k) On this 
 wyect there is, thus, no important dif- 
 fertnee of opinion between the three phi- 
 lottophen. For i f we modify the obnoxi ous 
 language of Descartes and Locke j and, 
 instead of saying that the ideas or notions 
 of the primary qualities msmMej merely 
 I ^assert^ that they truly r«gmmni, their ob- 
 I' fects, that is, afford us iiueh a knowledge 
 of their nature as we should havo wtrt an 
 immediate intuition of the extended rea- 
 lity in itself competent to man, — and this 
 Is certainly all that one, probably all that 
 either philosopher, intended,— Reid's doc- 
 trine and their» would be found in perfect 
 unison. The whole difficulty and dispute 
 on this point is solved on the old distinc- 
 tion of mmltiritif in ejciMmm, and nimi- 
 !«% m reprmentaiiomf which Eeid and 
 our more modern philoiophera< ,h»ve over- 
 looked. Touching thi% see, as stated 
 above, the doctrine of those Schoolmen 
 who held the hypotheala of spootes, (p. 814 
 b) i and of those othen W'ho, ei|aaiy with 
 Eeid, rejected all repreientatlfe entities 
 different from the act itself of cog^tion, 
 (p. 813 b. note.) 
 
 But much more than, thia vm^ called for 
 at Eeid's hands. .Btt^ philosoiihy, If that 
 of Hatural Eealisn, founded in the com- 
 mon sense of mankind, made it incumbent 
 on him to shew, that we have not merely a 
 notion, a conception, an imagination, a 
 ■nlslectlve representation— of Extension, 
 for example, 'called up or suffgeMed^* in 
 some incomprehensible manner to the mind, 
 on occasion of un extended object being 
 juresented to the mmati but that in the 
 MTception of such an object, we really 
 have, as by nature we believe w© have, an 
 immediate knowledge or consciousness of 
 ''''that external object, m mtended. In a 
 word, that in sensitive perception the ex. 
 ttnslon, as known, and the extension, as 
 
 existing, are convertible j known, because 
 existing, and existing, since known. 
 
 Reid however, unfortunately, did not 
 accomplish— did not attempt this. Ho 
 makes no articulate statement, even, that 
 in perception we have an immediate Icnow- 
 ledge — an objective consciousness, of an 
 extended non-ego, actually existing; as 
 in imagination we have a subjective con- 
 sciousness of a mode of the ego, repre- 
 senting such an extended non-ego, and 
 thereby affording us a mediate knowledge 
 of it as possibly existing. On the con- 
 trary were we to interpret his expressions 
 rigidly, and not in liberal conformity with 
 the general aimlogy of his philosophy, we 
 might, as repeatedly notiood, found on the 
 terms in which he states his doctrine of the 
 primary qualities, and, in particular, his 
 doctrine concerning our cognition of ex- 
 tension, a plausible argument that his own 
 theory of perception is as purely subjec - 
 tive, and therefore as easily reducible to 
 an absolute Idealism, as that of any of the 
 philosophers whom he controverts. 
 
 Thus when Reid, for example, (Inq. 
 123 b.) states 'that Extension is a quality 
 m^eited to us by cerUin sensations,' i. e. 
 by certain merely subjective affections; 
 and when (324 b.) he says 'that Space 
 [Extension] whether tangible or visible, 
 is not so properly an object of sense as a 
 necessary ^oncamitant of the objects both 
 of sight and touch ;' he apparently denies 
 us all immediate perception of any extend, 
 ed reality. But if we are not percipient 
 of any extended reality, we are not per- 
 cipient of body as existing ; for body ex- 
 ists, and can only be known immediately 
 and in itself, ag extended. The materuil 
 world, on this supposition, sinks into some- 
 thing unknown and problematical; and its 
 existence, if not denied, can, at best, be 
 only precariously affirmed, as the occult 
 cause, or incomprehensible occasion, of 
 certain subjective affections we experience 
 in the form, either of a sensation of the 
 secondary quality, or of a perception of 
 the primary. Thus interpreted, what is 
 there to distinguish the doctrine of Reid 
 from the undeveloped idealism of Des- 
 cartes or of Kant t See Note C. $ ti. p. 
 820b,8q. ^ 
 
 Having noticed the manifest incongruity 
 of Reid's doctrine on this point with the 
 grand mm of his philosophy, — an incongru 
 ity which I am surprised has not been long 
 
 ago adverted to cither by friend or foe, 
 
 I may take this opportunity of modifying 
 
 a former statement, (p. 123 b, note ♦) 
 
 that, according to Reid, Space is a notion 
 a posteriori, the result of experience. On 
 
 it] 
 
 QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 849 
 
 rtconsidering more carefully his different 
 itatements on this subject, (Inq. 123 sq. I. 
 P. 324 sq.), I am now inclined to think 
 that his language implies no more than the 
 chronological posteriority of this notion ; 
 and that he really held it to be a native, 
 necessary, a priori form of thought, re- 
 quiring only certain prerequisite condi- 
 tions to call it from virtual into manifest 
 existence. I am confirmed in this view by 
 finding it is also that of M. Royer CoUard. 
 Mr Stewart is however less defensible, 
 when he says, in opposition to Kant's doc- 
 trine of Space — * I rather lean to the com- 
 mon theory which supposes our first ideas 
 of Space or Extension to he formed by 
 o{A€r qualities of matter.* (Dissertation, 
 &c. p. 281, 2d ed.) 
 
 Passing over the less important obser- 
 vations of several intermediate philoso- 
 phers in the wake of Reid, I proceed to 
 the most distinguished of his disciples. 
 
 24. — Stewart, while he agrees with his 
 master in regard to the contrast of Pri- 
 mary and Secondary Qualities, proposes 
 the following subdivision, and change of 
 nomenclature in reference to the former. 
 ' I distinguish,* he says, * Extension and 
 Figure by the title of the mathematical nf- 
 fections of matter ; restricting the phrase 
 primart/ qualities to Hardness and Soft- 
 ness, Roughness and Smoothness, and 
 other properties of the same description. 
 The line which I would draw between 
 primary and ^condary qualities is this; 
 that the former necessarily involve the 
 notion of extensiofij and consequently of 
 externality or outness ; whereas the latter 
 are only conceived as the unknown causes 
 of known sensations ; and when first ap- 
 prehended by the mind do not imply the 
 existence of any thing locally distinct from 
 the subjects of its own self-consciousness.' [ 
 (Essays, p. 94.) 
 
 The more radical defects of this inge- 
 nious reduction are, as they appear to me, 
 the following : 
 
 1**, That it does not depart from the 
 central notion of body — from Solidity 
 Absolute, the occupying of space. (See 
 p. 837 c, note f) In logical propriety Ex- 
 tension and Figure are not proximately 
 attributes of body but of space; and belong 
 to body only as filling space. Body sup- 
 poses them ; they do not suppose body ; 
 and the inquiry is wholly different in re- 
 gard to the nature of extension and figure 
 M space, and of the extended and figured 
 as body. 
 
 2**, This original defect in the order of 
 evolution, has led, however, to more im- 
 portant consequences. Had Mr Stewart 
 
 looked at Extension (Solidity Mathema- 
 cal), as a property of body, in virtue of 
 body filling space, he would not only not 
 have omitted, but not have omitted as an 
 attribute co-ordinate with extension, the 
 Ultimate Incompressibility or Impenetra- 
 bility of body, (Solidity Physical.) 
 
 3°, But while omitting this essential 
 property, the primary qualities which, 
 after Reid, he enumerates, (Hardness, 
 Softness, Roughness, Smoothness,) are, 
 as already noticed, and to be hereafter 
 shewn, not primary, not being involved 
 in the necessary notion of body. For 
 these are all degrees or modifications of 
 Cohesion ; but a Cohesion of its ultimate 
 elements it is not necessary to think as a 
 condition or attribute of matter at all. 
 See § ii. Moreover, Roughness and 
 Smoothness, as more than the causes of 
 certain sensations in us, therefore only se~ 
 condary qualities, are modifications, not 
 only of Cohesion, but of Figure, and 
 would, therefore, on Mr Stewart's distri- 
 bution, fall under the category of the Ma- 
 thematical Affections of Body. 
 
 As regards the great problem of Na- 
 tural Realism, — to prove that we have an 
 immediate perception of the primary qua- 
 lities of body, — this was left by Mr Stewart 
 where it was left by Reid. 
 
 25. — The last philosopher to be ad- 
 duced is the illustrious founder of the 
 Scoto-Gallican School, M. Royee Col- 
 lard. The sum of his doctrine touching 
 the Primary Qualities is given in the fol- 
 lowing passage, which I translate from 
 the Fragments of his Lectures, published 
 by M. Jouffroy as Appendices to his ver- 
 sion of the Works of Reid, (Vol. iii. p. 
 429 sq.) ; — Fragments which, with M. 
 Jouffroy's general Preface, I have reason 
 to hope will be soon given to the British 
 public by a translator eminently qualified 
 for the task. My observations I find it 
 most convenient to subjoin in the form of 
 notes ; and admiring as I do both the at- 
 tempt itself and the ability of its author, 
 I regret to differ here so widely, not only 
 from the doctrines which M. Royer Collard 
 holds in common with other philosophers, 
 but from those which are peculiar to him- 
 self. On the former, however, in so far 
 as, with his more immediate predecessors, 
 he confounds in one class qualities which 
 I think ought to be discriminated into 
 two, I deem it unnecessary to make any 
 special comment ; as this matter, which 
 has been already once and again adverted 
 to, is to be more fully considered in the 
 sequel. (§ ii.) As to the latter, it will 
 be seen that the more important differences 
 

 FaiMARY, SECUNDO-PHIMARY AND 
 
 [iKITE D. 
 
 .^^ from tlie exclusive point of view 
 'fhmn wWcli M:. Royer Collard hai chosen 
 to consider the Qualities in question. 
 
 ' Among tlie Primary Qualities, that of 
 Mmmlmr u mmUmr to Locke.*^ It Is evi- 
 ieat lliat litiiiilier, far from being a <|ua- 
 Ity of matter, is only an abstract notion, 
 ibc work of intellect and not of sense-f 
 
 « MmmMmy is proper to Eeid.t On 
 tMs unaity and MobiH(%f I will observe, 
 tliat neitber ought to have been placed 
 among the qualities manifested through 
 sense ; and yet this is what Reid under- I 
 itands by the Primary Qmaities, for he 
 distinguishes them from the Secondary by 
 lliiii— that we have of the former a direct 
 notion.! MmmbUity is known to us by 
 division j and a body divided is known to 
 IIS, as such, by memory. For did we not 
 recollect that it had previously been one, 
 
 • Nambor is, wltli Locke, ccmmon tO' Aris- 
 totle and the Aristotelians, Galileo, Descartes, 
 and tie CarMilaas, *e. 
 
 f number, at an abstrar.t notion, is certainly 
 not an object of sense. But it was not as an ab- 
 Btract notion intended by tbe pkilosopliers to 
 denote an Mtriliute ©f Body. This misprision 
 was eapressly guarded against by the Arlsto- 
 tetiami Sec Toletus in Aristotelcm Be Anlma, 
 Ij. ii. c. 6, qu. 15. Number may be said to 
 correspond to Divisibility ; see p. 829 a, and 
 p. 8!I7 a. If it cannot be said tliat sense is 
 fercipient of olbijects as many, it cannot be said 
 to bo ■percipient off an object as one. Percep- 
 tion, moreover, is a eonscionsness, and con- 
 ■eloasness Is only roaliaed under the condition 
 off plurality and difference. Again, if we deny 
 that throngh sense we perceive a plurality of 
 «(ionrs, we must deny that tlirough sense we 
 perceive a figure or even a line. See Note E. 
 And if three bodies are not an object of sense, 
 neither Is a triangle. Sense and intellect can- 
 not thms be distingnished. See Note D*, § I. 
 
 I Sundry phUosopIiers preceded Held in male. 
 tog Divisibility ^wMch corresponds also to 
 Mnmberl one of the Primary Qualiaei. Bee 
 Sot. 20, 21, 22. 
 
 i M. Eoyer Collard not only takes Ms point 
 of view exclusively from Sense ; but sense he 
 m limits, that, if rigorously carried out, no 
 sensiUe perception, as no consciousness, could 
 he brought to bear. See Note D •, § 1. The 
 reason he gives why Reid must be held as of 
 fht same opinion, I do not understand. Psy- 
 eloloflcally speaking, an attribute would not 
 lie pri$mry If it could be thought away ft-om 
 body; and the notion of body being supposed 
 given, every primary quality is to be evolved 
 out of that notion, as neceswirily involved in 
 'It, toiependently al'togother of any experience 
 'Of seme. In this respect, such quality is an 
 object of Inteileot.. At the SMne time, a pri- 
 mary quality would not be an attribute of bodtf, 
 Ifll could not, contingently, to some extent, at 
 least, be^ apprehended as^ ^an aotiial pbamomenon 
 tf ''Sense. In "this respect, such quality Is an 
 i of perception and experience. 
 
 we should not know that H is at present 
 two J we should bo unable to compare its 
 present with its past state ; and it is by 
 this comparison alone that we become 
 aware of the fact of division. Is it s^d 
 that the notion of Divisibility is not ac- 
 quired by the fact of division, but that it 
 presents itself immediately to the mind 
 prior to experience ? In this case it is 
 still more certain tliat it is not a cognition 
 proper to sense.lf 
 
 * As to the notion of Mobility it is evi- 
 dently posterior to that of motion ; ff that 
 of motion supposes not less evidently the 
 exercise of memory and the idea of time i 
 it is thus not derived exclusively from 
 sense.tt As Divisibility also supposes 
 motion, this again is an additional proof 
 that the notion of divisibility is not imme- 
 diate. 
 
 * Figure is a modification of Extension. 
 
 * Solidity, Impenetrability, Resistance, are 
 one and the same thing; §§ Hardness, 
 Sftflness, Fluidity, are modifications of So- 
 lidity and its different degrees ; while the 
 Roughness and Smoothness of surfaces ex- 
 press only sensations attached to certain 
 perceptions of Solidity. 
 
 *The Primary Qualities may be thui 
 generalixed. if I may so express myself, 
 into Extension and Solidity* 
 
 1 1 am afraid that this, likewise, is a misap. 
 prehension of the meaning of the philosophers. 
 Divisibility, in their view, has nothing to do 
 with the process of dividing. It denotes either 
 the alternative attribute, applicable to all body, 
 of unity or plurality; or the possibility that 
 every single body may, as extended, be sun- 
 dered into a multitude of extended parts. 
 Every material object being thus, though ac. 
 tually one, always potentially many, it is thus 
 convertible with Number ; see foot-note +. 
 
 ff MobiUty, as applied in this relation. If 
 merely a compendious expression for the al- 
 ternative attributions of motion or rest; and 
 both of those, as possible attributes, are in- 
 volved in the notion of body. See § il. of this 
 Excursus. 
 
 tt Compare above pp. 830 a, 881 a. But 
 Perception can no more be separated from all 
 memory than flrom all judenient j for con» 
 sciousness involves both. See Note D*, § i. 
 
 §§ This is only correct from M. Royer OoU 
 lard*8 exclusive point of view — from senss 
 alone. On the various meanings of the term 
 Solidity, see p. 837, note f . The confusion alse 
 resulting from the ambiguity of the word 
 Impenetrability as denoting both a resistance 
 absolute and insuperable, and a resistance re> 
 lative and superable, both what is necessary, 
 and what Is contingent to body, is here shown, 
 cither In the reduction to a single category of 
 qualities of a wholly heterogeneous characterj 
 ! or in the silent elimination of the higher. 
 
 fn.] 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 845 
 
 The distinction of these different classes 
 of material qualities has, as already no- 
 ticed, no real importance, no real foun- 
 dation, on the hypothesis of Idealism, 
 whether absolute or cosmothetic— in no 
 philosophy, indeed, but that of Natural 
 Realism ; and its recognition, in the sys- 
 tems of Descartes and Locke, is, there- 
 fore, with them a superficial observation, 
 if not a hors d'ceuvre. It was, accord- 
 ingly, with justice formally superseded, 
 because virtually null, in the philosophy 
 of Leibnitz, the com »lement of the Car 
 tesian, and in the phil osophy of Condillac, 
 the complement of the Lockian. The 
 Kantian system, again, is built on its 
 positive negation, or rather its positive 
 reversal. For Kant's transcendental 
 Idealism not only contains a general as- 
 sertion of the subjectivity of all our per- 
 ceptions ; its distinctive peculiarity is, in 
 fact, its special demonstration of the ab- 
 solute subjectivity of Space or Exten- 
 sion, and in general of the primary attri- 
 butes of matter ; these constituting what 
 he calls the Form, as the Secondary con- 
 stitute what he calls the Matttr, of our 
 Sensible intuitions. (See, in particular, 
 Proleg., § 13, Anm. 2.) This, I repeat, 
 may enable us to explain why the discri- 
 mination in question has, both in the in- 
 tellectualism of Germany and in the sen- 
 sualism of France, been so generally 
 overlooked ; and why, where in relation 
 to those philosophers by whom the dis- 
 tinction has been taken, any observations 
 on the point have been occasionally ha- 
 zarded, (as by Tetens with special refe- 
 rence to Reid,) that these are of too per- 
 functory a character to merit any special 
 commemoration. * 
 
 • To this also are we to attribute it, that 
 the most elaborate of the recent histories of 
 philosophy among the Germans, slur over, if 
 they do not positively misconceive, the dis- 
 tinction in question. In the valuable exposi. 
 tlons of the Cartesian doctrine by the two dis- 
 tinguished Hegelians, Feuerbach and Erdmann, 
 it obtains from the one no adequate consider- 
 ation, from the other no consideration at all. 
 In the Lectures on the History of Philosophy 
 toy their illustrious master, a work in which 
 the erudition is often hardly less remarkable 
 than the force of thought, almost every state- 
 ment In reference to the subject is, to say the 
 least of it, inaccurate. Hegel, as he himself 
 employs, apparently makes Aristotle and Des- 
 eartes employ, the term Solidity simply for 
 Hardness. This, however, neither one nor 
 Other ever does; while by Locke, the terms 
 are even expressly dintinguished. (VoL iii. 
 pp. 360, 431.) He confounds Descartes' dis- 
 tinction (baptized by Locke that) of the 
 Primary and Secondary qualities, with Des- 
 
 Such, then, are the forms under which 
 the distinction of the Primary and Se- 
 condary (Qualities of Body has been pre- 
 sented, from its earliest promulgation to 
 its latest development. In this histori- 
 cal survey, I have to acknowledge no 
 assistance from the re.searches of preced- 
 ing inquirers ; for what I found already 
 done in this respect was scanty and super- 
 ficial, even when not positively erroneous. 
 Every thing had thus anew to be explored 
 and excavated. The few who make a 
 study of philosophy in its sources, can ap- 
 preciate the labour of such a research ; and 
 from them, at least, I am sure of indul- 
 gence for the imperfections of what I 
 offer, not as a history, but as a hasty col- 
 lection of some historical materials. 
 
 § II. — Distinction of the Primary and 
 Secondary Qualities of Body critically 
 considered. 
 
 From what has been said in the fore- 
 going section, it will be seen that I am by 
 no means satisfied with the ])revious re- 
 duction of the Qualities of Body to two 
 classes of Primary and Secondary. With- 
 out preamble, I now go on to state what 
 I deem their true and complete classi- 
 fication ; limiting the statement, however, 
 to little more than an enouncement of 
 the distribution and its principles, not 
 allowing myself to enter on an exposition 
 of the correlative doctrine of perception, 
 and refraining, in general, from much 
 that I might be tempted to add, by way 
 of illustration and support. 
 
 The Qualities of Body I divide into 
 three classes. 
 
 Adopting and adapting, as far as pos- 
 sible, the previous nomenclature — the 
 first of these I would denominate the class 
 of Primary, or Objective, Qualities ; the 
 second, the class of Secundo- Primary, or 
 Subjectivo- Objective, Qualities ; the third, 
 the class of Secondary, or Subjective, 
 Qualities. 
 
 cartes' distinction of the Primitive and 
 Derivative attributes of body; distinctions 
 not coincident, though not opposed. Figure, 
 for example, in the one is primary, but not in 
 the other primitive. In regard to his criti- 
 cism of Locke, (p. 431,) suffice it to say, that 
 Locke, so far from opposing, in fact followi 
 Descartes in making " Figure and so forth 
 primary qualities; nor does Descartes deno- 
 miiiate any class of qualities " secondary.' — 
 (pp. 359, 430.) Finally, Aristotle's distinction 
 of "external qualities" into primary and 
 secondary, if this be referred to, corresponds 
 with that 10 styled by Locke only In the name. 
 
PRIMARY, 8ECUNDO.PRIMAEY AND 
 
 ^HOTB 
 
 Tlie f ewifil point of view from which 
 ih9 Qualities of Matter ar« Imro consi- 
 dered is not the Ph^iieal, but the Psycho- 
 hffimi. But, wilder this, the ground or 
 prinoifle on wMcli these qnalltiet are 
 iiviiM and desi:gnmted is, again, twofold. 
 There are, in fact, within the psycholo- 
 gical two special puints of view; that of 
 Smm, and that of' C/iuitfrfftttMliif . Both 
 0f these ought to b© taken, but taken 
 leparatelj. Into account in a classiication 
 like the present; and not, as has been 
 often done, either one only adopted or 
 both fortuitously combined. Differing, 
 however, as these widely do from each 
 other, they will be found harmoniously to 
 ©onspire in establishing the threefold dis- 
 tribution and nomcnchiiure of the quali- 
 iiei In question which I have ventured to 
 propose. 
 
 , The point of view chronologically prior, 
 or first to us, is that of SmM, The prin- 
 ciple of divi&ion is here the different cir- 
 «u:BStances under which the qualities' are 
 'Originally and immediately appmkended. 
 On this ground, as appreMniions or im- 
 mediate cognitions through Sense, the 
 Primary are distinguished as objectimt 
 not subjective,* as percepts |m»JMr» not 
 sensations proper ; the Secwmo-primary, 
 m ohmaim mnd subjeeiim, as percepts 
 proper and Menmiims proper ; the Seeon. 
 dfKTf, m smbjeetim, not objective, cogni- 
 tions, as mwmtiom proper, not percepts 
 prO'per* 
 
 The other point of view chronologl- 
 oallj posterior, hut first in nature, is that 
 of i/Hderstcmdm^. The principle of di- 
 vision is here the different character 
 under which the qualities^ alfCttdj appre- 
 hended, are eonceimd or eonstmed. to the 
 mind in thought. On this ground, the 
 Primartf, being thought as egmntml to 
 the notion of Body, are distinguished 
 from/the Secmndo-pri'mary and Seemidmyt 
 m amUmtied; while the Primmf anil 
 SemmdO'primuryt being thought as mmtt- 
 fest or omceivaMe in ihtir own nature, are 
 distinguished from the Seeondmj, as tm 
 
 • Jill knowledffe, in one respect, Is ml)j«e. 
 
 Hmf for tU knowieclge Is ^ao enerfy of tlie 
 %0« But when I perceive a qualily of the 
 ll4»l;-l|[0| of the otiject-object, as in Imme- 
 #■!■ 'rcikllM to my 'mtad, I am said to have of 
 It an ob§«e»h§ fcnowledfe j in contrast to the 
 fO^eeMm^ kaowledfe, I am said to have of it 
 when Mppislaf ' it only as 'the hypoCbetlcal or 
 occult cause of an affection of wMch I am con. 
 '■dans, or tUnking' it only mediately tlirough 
 • ■Uljieft.obJ'ect or representation in, and of, 
 fha mind. But see below, in footnote to 1^ 
 W, and irst footnote^ to 'Far. 18. 
 
 tkeir own nature occuU and inconceimble» 
 For the notion of Matter having been 
 once acquired, by reference to that no- 
 tion, the Primary Qualities are recognized 
 as its a priori or necessary constituents j 
 and we clearly conceive how they must 
 exist in bodies in knowing what they are 
 objectively in themselves; the Secundo- 
 primary Qualities, again, are recon^nized 
 as a posteriori or contingent modifii-ations 
 of the Primary, and we clearly conceive 
 how they do exist in bodies in knowing 
 what they are objectively in their condi- 
 tions; finally, the Secondary Qualities 
 are recognised as a posteriori or contin- 
 gent accidents of matter, but we ob- 
 scurely surmise how they may exist in 
 bodies only as knowing what they aro 
 subjectively in their effects. 
 
 It is thus apparent that the Primary 
 Qualities may be deduced a priori^ the 
 bare notion of matter being given ; they 
 being, in fact, only evolutions of the con- 
 ditions which that notion necessarily im- 
 plies : whereas the Secundo-primary and 
 Secondary must be induced a posteriori ; 
 both being attributes contingently super- 
 added to the naked notion of matter. 
 The Primary Qualities thus fall more 
 under the point of view of Understand- 
 ing, the Secundo-primary and Secondary, 
 more under the point of view of Sense. 
 
 Deduction of the P^'imary Qualities.-^ 
 Space or Extension is a necessary form 
 of thought. We cannot think it as nou- 
 existent ; we cai;not bat think it as exis* 
 tent. But we are not so necessitated to 
 imagine the reality of aught occupying 
 space ; for while unable to conceive as 
 null the space in which the material uni- 
 verse exists, the material universe itself 
 we can, without difficulty, annihilate in 
 thought. All thiit exists in, all that occu- 
 pies, space, becomes, therefore, known to 
 us by experience : we acquire, we con- 
 struct, its notion. The notion of space 
 is thus native or a priori ; the notion of 
 what space contains, adventitious or o 
 posteriori. Of thk latter class is that of 
 Body or Matter. 
 
 But on the hypothesis, always, that 
 body has been empirically apprehended, 
 that its notion has been acquired ; — What 
 are the a priori characters in and through 
 which we must conceive that notion, if 
 conceived it be at all, in contrast to the 
 a posteriori characters under which wo 
 may, and probably do, conceive it, but 
 under which, if we conceive it not, still 
 the notion itself stands unannihilated? In 
 other words, what are the necessary or 
 ojiiential, in contrast to the contingent or 
 
 I II.] 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 847 
 
 
 accidental properties of Body, as appre- 
 hended and conceived by us ? The answer 
 lo this question affords the class of Pri- 
 mary, as contradistinguished from the two 
 classes of Secundo-primary and Secondary 
 Qualities. 
 
 Whatever answer may be accorded to 
 the question — How do we come by our 
 knowledge of Space or trinal extension? 
 it will be admitted on all hands, that 
 whether given solely a priori as a native 
 possession of the mind, whether acquired 
 solely a posteriori as a generalization from 
 the experience of sense, or whether, as I 
 would maintain, we at once must think 
 Space as a necessary notion, and do per- 
 ceive the extended in space as an actual 
 fact; still, on any of these suppositions, 
 it will be admitted> that we are only able 
 to conceive Body as that which (I.) occu- 
 pies space^ and (II.) is contained in space. 
 
 But these catholic conditions of body, 
 though really simple, are logically com- 
 plex. We may view them in different 
 aspects or relations, which, though like 
 the sides and angles of a triangle, incap- 
 able of separation, even in thought, sup- 
 posing as they do each other, may still, in 
 a certain sort, be considered for them- 
 selves, and distinguished by different ap- 
 pelhaions. 
 
 I. — The property oi filling space (Soli- 
 dity in its unexclusive signification. So- 
 lidity Simple) implies two correlative 
 conditions: (A) the necessity of trinal 
 twtensionf in length, breadth, and thickness, 
 (Solidity geometrical ;) and (B) the cor- 
 responding impossibility of being reduced 
 from, what is to what is not thus extended, 
 {Solidity Physical, Impenetrability.) 
 
 A. — Out of the absolute attribute of 
 Trinal Extension may be again explicated 
 three attributes, under the form of neces- 
 sary relations: — (i.) Number or Divisi- i 
 bility ; (ii.) Size^ Bulk, or Magnitude; 
 (iii.) Shape or Figure. 
 
 i. — Body necessarily exists, and is ne- 
 cessarily known, either as one body or as 
 many bodies. Number, i. e. the alterna- 
 tive attribution of unity or plurality, is 
 thus, in a first respect, a primary attribute 
 of matter. Bnt again, every single body 
 is also, in different points of view, at the 
 same time one and many. Considered as 
 a whole, it is, and is apprehended, as actu- 
 ally one ; considered as an extended whole, 
 it is, and is conceived, potentially many. 
 Body being thus necessarily known, if not 
 as already divided, still as always capable 
 of division. Divisibility or Number is thus 
 likewise, in a second respect, a primary 
 attribute of matter. ( See pp. 820 a, 837 a.) 
 
 ii. — Body (multo raajus this or that 
 body) is not infinitely extended. Each 
 body must therefore have a certain finite 
 extension, which by comparison with that 
 of other bodies must be less, or greater, 
 or equal ; in other words, it must by rela- 
 tion have a certain Size, Bulk, or Magni- 
 tude; and this, again, as estimated both 
 
 (a) by the quantity of space occupied, and 
 
 (b) by the quantity of matter occupying, 
 affords likewise the relative attributes of 
 Dense and Rare. 
 
 iii. — Finally, bodies, as not infinitely ex- 
 tended, have, consequently, their exten- 
 sion bounded. But bounded extension is 
 necessarily of a certain Shape or Figure. 
 
 B. — The negative notion — the impossi- 
 bility of conceiving the compression of 
 body from an extended to an unextended, 
 its elimination out of space— affords the 
 positive notion of an insuperable power in 
 body of resisting such compression or 
 elimination. This force, which, as abso- 
 lute, is a conception of the understanding, 
 not an apprehension through sense, has 
 received no precise and unambiguous name; 
 for Solidity, even with the epithet Physi- 
 cal, and Impenetrability and EcrtreityaxQ 
 vague and equivocal. — (See p. 837 b, note 
 f.) We might call it, as I have said, 
 Ultimate or Absolute Inrompressibility. 
 It would be better, however, to have a 
 positive expression to denote a positive 
 notion, and we might accordingly adopt, 
 as a technical term, Autantitypy. This is 
 preferable to Antitypy (durnvmee,) a 
 word in Greek applied not only to this 
 absolute and essential resistance of matter, 
 qua matter, but also to the relative and 
 accidental resistances from cohesion, in- 
 ertia, and gravity. 
 
 II. — The other most general attribute 
 of matter — that of being contained in 
 space — in like manner afford.*, by explica- 
 tion, an absolute and a relative attribute: 
 viz., (A) the Mobility, that is the possible 
 motion, and, consequently, the possible 
 rest, of a body; and (B) the Situation, 
 Position, Ubication, that is, the local cor- 
 relation of bodies in space. For 
 
 A. — Space being conceived as infinite, 
 (or rather being inconceivable as not in- 
 finite,) and the place occupied by body as 
 finite, body in general, and, of course, 
 each body in particular, is conceived 
 capable either of remaining in the place 
 it now holds, or of being translated from 
 that to any then unoccupied part of space. 
 And 
 
 B. — As every part of space, i.e., every 
 potential place, holds a certain position 
 relative to every other, so, consequently. 
 
BW'II 
 
 fllMAEY, SECUNDO-PRIMAEY AND 
 
 [hotb d. 
 
 / 
 
 must bodlw, in so far as tliej am all con- 
 tained la iiMwe, Mid at ifteli occupies, at 
 #ii6i tiiii«» vm 'detominittA place. 
 
 To recapitulate :— The necessary con- 
 it Itiients of our notion of Matter, the 
 Primary Qualities of Body, are thus all 
 •folted from the two catholic conditions 
 #f niatter— (I.) the occupying apace, and 
 (II.) the being contained in space. Of 
 these the former affords (A) Triwd Ex^ 
 tmmm, explicated again into (i.) IHvid- 
 M»f» (ii.) Size, containing under it 
 Jliwfiljf or Jlar%, (iii.) Figure j and (B) 
 ITIltniiili Jmcompremilnlit^ : while the lat- 
 ter gives (A) Mobiiittji and (B) Situation. 
 neglecting subordination, we have thus 
 right proiimate attributes; 1, Extension; 
 2, Diflsibiily ; 3, Size ; 4, Density, or 
 Karity ; 5, Figure ; 6, Incompresaibility 
 absolute; 7, Mobility; 8, Situation. 
 
 The primary qnalities of matter thus 
 dtef elope themselves with rigid necessity 
 fwt of the simple datum of—mb»tance oe- 
 €UppiMff space. In a certain sort, and by 
 contrast to the otheri, they are, there- 
 fore, notions a prions and to be viewed, 
 jpro tiitito, as products of the understand- 
 fiif . The others, on the contrarjr, it is 
 ■Miifeatly impossible to diduce, i.e., to 
 evolve out of such a given notion. They 
 must be inducedt i e,, generaliwd from 
 tiMrience : are, therefore, in strict pro- 
 nrlety, notion* a poMm&ri, and, in the 
 fait resort, mere products of sense. The 
 following may be given as consummative 
 results of suci induction in tho esta- 
 blishment ®f the two classes of the 8«- 
 ■ndo-primary and Secondary Qualities.. 
 Mdudim o/ «*« Chm of Seeundo- 
 primurf Queditim, — This terminates in 
 the following conclusions. — These quali- 
 tiiM an modifications, but contingent mo- 
 tfieatiiins, of the Primary. They sup- 
 pose the Primary ; the Primary do not 
 suppose them. They have all relation to 
 space, and motion in space j and are all 
 QOBtained under the categorv of Resist- 
 snee or Pressure. For they .are all 
 ©nly varioif. forms of a relative or supe- 
 rable resiatance to displacement, which, 
 W« loam by experience, bodies oppose to 
 mber 'bodies, and, among these, to our 
 organism moving through space ;— a re- 
 •iitaiice similar In kind (and therefore 
 clearly conceived) to that absolute or in- 
 iuprable resistance, which we are compel- 
 led. Independently of experience, to think 
 that every part o'f matter would oppose to 
 any attempt to deprive it of its space, by 
 eompreasing it into an inextended. 
 
 In so far, therefore, as they suppose thi* 
 primary, which are maecsiiarj, wmle they 
 
 themselves are only accidental, they ex- 
 hibit, on the one side, what may be called 
 a quasi primary quality ; and, in this re- 
 spect, they are to be recognised as per- 
 cepts, not sensations, as objective affec- 
 tions of things, and not as subjective 
 affections of us. But, on the other side, 
 this objective element is always found ac- 
 companied by a secondary quality or sen- 
 sorial passion. The Secundo-primary 
 qualities have thus always two phases, 
 both immediately apprehended. On their 
 Primary or objective phasis they mani- 
 fest themselves as degrees of resistance 
 opposed to our locomotive energy; oa 
 their secondary or subjective phasis, as 
 fnodes of resistance or pressure affecting 
 our sentient organism. Thus standing be- 
 tween, and, in a certain sort, made up of 
 the two classes of Primary and Secon- 
 dary qualities, to neither of which, how- 
 ever, can they be reduced ; this their 
 parti; common, partly peculiar nature, 
 vindicates to them the dignity of a class 
 apart from both the others, and this 
 under the appropriate appellation of the 
 Secundo-primary qualities. 
 
 They admit of a classification from two 
 different points of view. They may be 
 phifsicalhjy they may be pst/cholofjically, 
 distributed.— Considered pht/sicalli/y or in 
 an objective relation, they are to be re- 
 duced to classes corresponding to the 
 different soorces in external nature from 
 which the resistance or pressure springs. 
 And these sources are, in all, three: — 
 (I.) that of Co-a«rac!ton ; (II.) that of 
 Mtpulsion; (111.) that of JucHta. 
 
 1.— Of the resistance of Co-attractim 
 there may be distinguished, on the same 
 objective principle, two subaltern general 
 to wit (A) that of Gravity, or the co-at- 
 traction of the particles of body in gena- 
 ral; and (B) that of Cofiesion, or the 
 co-attraction of the particles of this and 
 that body in particular. 
 
 A. — The resistance of Gravity or 
 Weight according to its degree, (which, 
 again, is in proportion to the Bulk aad 
 Density of ponderable matter,) affords, 
 under 'it, the relative qualities of Meamf 
 and ZigM (absolute and specific.) 
 
 B. — The resistance of Cohesion (using 
 that term in its most unex(;lusive nniver- 
 sality) contains many species and counter- 
 species. Without proposing an exhaus- 
 tive, or accurately subordinated, list;— of 
 these there may be enumerated, (i) tho 
 Hard aifd Soft; (ii.) the Firm (Fixed, 
 Stable, Concrete, Solid,) and Fluid 
 (Liquid,) the Fluid being again subdivided 
 into the TMck and Thin ; (iii.) the 
 
 \\ § "■] 
 
 SECONDARY aUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 849 
 
 V 
 
 I Pi 
 
 Viscid and Friable ; with (iv.) the Tovgh 
 and Brittle (Irruptile and Ruptile) ; (v.) 
 the Rigid and Flexible ; (vi.) the Fimle 
 and Injlssile; (vii.) the Buctili &ud In- 
 ductile ( Extensible and Inextensible) ; 
 (viii.) the Rectractile and Irretractile 
 (Elastic and Inelastic); (ix.) (combined 
 with Figure) the Rough and Smooth : 
 (x.) the Slippery and Tenacious. 
 
 II. — The resistance from Repulsion is 
 divided into the counter qualities of (A.) 
 the (relatively) Compressible and Incom- 
 pressible'^ (B.) the Resilient and Irresi- 
 lient (Elastic and Inelastic.) 
 
 III. — The resistance from Inertia 
 (combined with Bulk and Cohesion) com- 
 prises the counter qualities of the (rela- 
 tively) Moveable and Immoveable, 
 
 There are thus, at least, fifteen pairs 
 of counter attributes which we may refer 
 to tho Secundo-primary Qualities of 
 Body ;— all obtained by the division and 
 subdivision of the resisting forces of mat 
 tor, considered in an objective or physical 
 point of view. (Compare Aristotle, 
 Meteor. L. iv., c. 8.) 
 
 Considered psychologically, or in a subjee- 
 11 ve relation, they are to be discriminated, 
 under the genus of the relatively Resid- 
 mg, (I.) according to the degree in which 
 the resisting force might counteract our 
 locomotive faculty or muscular force; 
 and, (II.) according to the mode m which 
 it might affect our capacity of feeling or 
 sentient organism. Of these species, the 
 former would contain under it the grada- 
 tions of the qtiasi-primary quality, the 
 latter the varieties of the secondary qua- 
 lity — these constituting the two elements 
 of which, in combination, every Secundo- 
 primary quality is made up. As, how- 
 ever, language does not afford us terms 
 by which these divisions and subdivisions 
 can be unambiguously marked, I shall not 
 attempt to carry out the distribution, 
 which ia otherwise sufficiently obvious, in 
 derail.- -So mjch for the induction of the 
 Secundo-primary qualities. 
 
 But it has sometimes been said of the 
 Secundo-primary qualities as of the Pri- 
 mary, that they are necessary characters 
 In our notion of body ; and this has more 
 particularly been asserted of Gravity, 
 Cohesion, and Inertia. This doctrine, 
 though never brought tto proof, and never, 
 I believe, even deliberately maintained, 
 it is, however, necessary to show, is wholly 
 destitute of foundation. 
 
 That Gravity, Cohesion, Inertia, and 
 Repulsion, in their various modifications, 
 are not conceived by us as necessary pro- 
 perties of matter, and that the resistances 
 
 through which they are manifested do 
 not therefore, psychologically, constitute 
 any primary quality of body ; — this is 
 evident, I*', from the historical fact of 
 the wavering and confliction of philoso- 
 phical opinion, in regard to the nature of 
 these properties; and, 2°, from the re- 
 sponse afforded to the question by our 
 individual consciousness. These in their 
 order : — 
 
 1. — The vacillation of philosophical 
 opinion may be shown under two heads; 
 to wit, from the Psychological, and from 
 the Physical, point of view. 
 
 As to the Psychological point of view, 
 the ambiguous, and at the same time the 
 unessential, character of these qualities, 
 is shown by tlie variation of philosophers 
 in regard to which of the two classes of 
 Primary or Secondary they would refer 
 them; for the opinion, that philosophers 
 are in this at one, is an error arising from 
 tlie perfunctory manner in which this 
 whole subject has hitherto been treated. 
 Many philosophers in their schemes of 
 classification, as Galileo, Boyle, Le Clerc, 
 overlook, or at least omit to enumerate 
 these qualities. In point of fact, how- 
 ever, they undoubtedly regarded them as 
 Sensible, and therefore, as we shall see, as 
 S cojidary, qualities. The great majority 
 of philosophers avowedly consider them as 
 secondary. This is done, implicitly or 
 explicitly, by Aristotle and the Aristote- 
 lians, by Galen, by Descartes* and his 
 school, by Locke,t by Purchot, &c. ; for 
 these philosophers refer Hardness, Soft- 
 ness, Roughness, Smoothness, and the 
 like, to the Tactile qualities— the sensible 
 qualities of Touch ; while they identify 
 the sensible qualities in general, that is, 
 the sensations proper of the several senses, 
 with the class of Secondary, the percepts 
 
 • See, besides what is said under Des- 
 cartes, No. 9, Regis, Phys. L. viii. P. ii., ch. 
 2. Spinosa, Princ. Philos. Cartes. P. ii., Lem. 
 
 2,pr. 1. 
 
 4 Coinparo Essay B. ii., c 3, § 1» and c. 4, 
 § 4, and c. 8, §§ U, 23; witli Lee's Notes B. 
 ii., c. 8, § 4, p. 56. Looking supcrficiaUy at 
 certain casual ambiguities of Locke's language, 
 we may, with Kanies, Reid, and philosophers 
 in general, suppose him to have referred the 
 qualities in question to the class of IViraary. 
 Looking more closely, we may liold him to 
 have omitted them altogether, as inadvertent, 
 ly stated at p. 841 b. But, looking critically 
 to the whole analogy of the pUcea now quoted, 
 and, in particular, considering the import of 
 the term " sensible qualities," as then m or- 
 dinary use, wo can have no doubt that, like 
 the Peripatetics and Descaites, he viewed 
 them as pertaining to the class of Secondary. 
 
 3 H 
 
^ 
 
 ^l 
 
 PRIMARY, SECUMDO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [mot« b. 
 
 ifMiiiiiiiii. t0 nora than m single s«iis«^ with 
 llM^ elass of Primary, qualities. In this 
 Ariitillk, Iwieed, is found not alwajs in 
 lUiitiiQ with himself ; or rather, at differ- 
 «■! tines he views as proximate the dif- 
 ferent phases presented by the qualities 
 in qnestion. For though in general he 
 ■rejjarda the Rough and the Smooth m 
 ■Mlffiltoui proper to Touch, (De Oen. et 
 Cow. ii. 2, et alibi,) on one occasion he 
 reduces these to the class of common 
 pempts, as modifications of Figure. (De 
 Sensu et Sensili, c. 4.) Recently, how- 
 ever, without suspecting their conflict ion 
 with the older authorities, nay, even in 
 professed conformity with the doctrine of 
 Beicartes and Locke, psychologists have, 
 with singular unanimity, concurred in con- 
 sidering the qualities in question as Pri- 
 mary, For to say nothing of the ano- 
 malous and earlier statements of De La 
 Forge and Du Harael, (Nos. 13, 14,) and 
 BMsilig over, as hardly of psychological 
 Import, the opinion of Cotes, ( Praef. ad 
 Ifewtoni Princ. ed. 2,) this has been done 
 by Kames, Reid, Fergusson, Stewart, and 
 Royer Collard— philosophers who may be 
 regarded as the authors or priicipal re- 
 pfesentatives of the doctrine now pre- 
 valent among those by whom the dlstinc- 
 f ion is admitted. 
 
 Looking, therefore, under the surface 
 St the state of psychological opinion, no 
 presumption, asanredly, ■can ho drawn from 
 the harmony of philosophers against the 
 eatablishment of a ckss of qualities dif- 
 ferent from those of Primary and Secon- 
 dary. On the contrary, the discrepancy 
 of metaphysicians not only with each 
 other, but o'f the greatest even with them- 
 selves, as to which of these two classes 
 the qualities I call Secundo-priroary should 
 be referred, does, in fact, afford a strong 
 preliminary probability that these qualities 
 can with propriety be reduced to neither; 
 themselves, in fact, constituting a peculiar 
 class, distinct from each, though interme- 
 diate between both. - 
 
 As to the FAfsicol jwtnt o/w«ff, 1 shall 
 exhibit in detail the variation of opinion 
 in relation to the several classes of those 
 qualities which this point of view af ords. 
 a,— Growfty. In regard to weight, this. 
 Id far from being universally admitted, 
 iram the necessity of its conception, to be 
 an essential attribute of body, philoso- 
 phers, ancient and modern, very generally 
 disallow all matter to be heavy ; and 
 aanjr bave even dogmatically asserted to 
 eertain Hods of matter a positive levity. 
 This last was done by Aristotle, and his 
 Greek, AraMliivAnd latin followers ; i.e., 
 
 by the philosophic world in general for 
 nearly two thousand years. At a recent 
 period, the same doctrine was maintained, 
 as actually true, by Gren and other ad- 
 vocates of the hypothesis of Phlogiston, 
 among many more who allowed its truth 
 as possible; and Newton had previously 
 found it necessary to clothe his universal 
 mther with a quality of negative gravity, 
 (or positive lightness,) in order to enable 
 him hypothetically ^ijrikicount for the 
 piuenomenon of positive gravity in other 
 matter. 
 
 Of Gravity, some, indeed, have held the 
 cause to be internal and essential to mat- 
 ter. Of these we have the ancient nto- 
 mists, (Democritus, Leucippus, Epicurus, 
 &c.,) with Plato and a few individual 
 Aristotelians, as Strato and Themistius ; 
 and in modern times a section of the 
 Newtonians, as Cotes, Freind, Keill, with 
 Boscovich, Kant, Kames, Schelling, and 
 Hegel. But though holding (physically) 
 weight to be, de facto, an essential pro- 
 perty of matter, these philosophers were 
 far from holding (psychologically) the 
 character of weight to be an essential 
 constituent of the notion of matter. Kant, 
 for example, when speaking psychologi- 
 cally, asserts that weight is only a syn* 
 theti^ predicate which »perienc/ enables 
 US to add on to our prior notion of body, 
 (Cr. d. r. Vern. p. 12, ed. 2. — Proleg. 
 § 2, p. 25, ed. 1.) ; whereas, when speak- 
 ing physically, he contends that weight 
 is an universal attribute of matter, as 
 a necessary condition of its existence, 
 (Met. Anmugsgr. d. Naturwiss. p. 71, 
 
 eel. '^.y 
 
 But the latter opinion — that weight is 
 only, in reality, as in thought, an accident 
 of body — ^is that adopted by the immense 
 miijority, not only of philo5ophers but of 
 natural philosophers. Under various mo- 
 ditications, however; some, for example, 
 holding the external cause of gravity to 
 be physical, others to be hyperphysical. 
 Neglecting subordinate distinctions, to 
 this cla*** belong Anaxagoras, Democri- 
 tus, Mclissus, Diogenes of Apollonia, 
 Aristotle and his school, Algazel, Avi* 
 cembron, Copernicus. Bruno, Keppler, 
 Gilbert, Berigardus, Digby, Torricellip 
 Descartes, Gassendi. I^na, Kircher, An- 
 dala, Malebranche, Rohault, De Guericke, 
 Perrault, H. More, Cudworth, Du Hamel, 
 Huygens, Sturmius, Hooke, Is. Vossius, 
 Newton, S. Clarke, Halley, Leibnitz, 
 Sanrin, Wolf, Mueller, Biltinger, the Ber- 
 nouliis James and John, Canz, Uamber- 
 get, Varignon, Villemot, Fatio, Euler, 
 Baxter, Colden, Saussure, I^e Sage, 
 
 III.] 
 
 SECONDARY QUALlTlLb OF BOD 
 
 651 
 
 L'Huillier, Prevost. De I.uc, Monboddo, 
 Horsley, Drummond, Playfair, Blair, &c. 
 In particular, this doctrine is often and 
 
 anxiously inculcated by Newton who 
 
 seems, indeed, to have sometimes inclined 
 even to an immaterial cause; but this 
 more especially after his follower. Cotes, 
 had ventured to announce an adii ision to 
 the counter theory, in his preface to the 
 second edition of the * Principia,' which he 
 procured in 1713. See Newtons letter 
 to Boyle, 1678 — Letters, second and 
 third, to Bentley, 1693 ;— Principia, L. 
 i. c. 5. L. iii. reg. 3, alibi ; — in particu- 
 lar. Optics, ed. 1717, B. iii. Qu. 21. 
 
 b. — Cohesion J comprehending under 
 that term not only Cohesion proper, but 
 all the specific forces, (Adhesion, Capil- 
 krity. Chemical Affinity, &c.,) by which 
 the particles of individual bodies tend to 
 approach, and to maintain themselves in 
 anion — Cohesion is even less than Gra- 
 vity, than the force by which matter in 
 general attracts matter, a character essen- 
 tial to our notion of body. Upon Gravity, 
 indeed, a majority of the earlier Newton- 
 ians maintained Cohesion, in some inex- 
 plicable manner, to depend ; and the other 
 hypotheses of an external agency, all pro- 
 ceed upon the supposition that it is merely 
 an accident of matter. Cohesion, the 
 cause of which Locke wisely regarded as 
 inconceivable, Descartes attempted to ex- 
 plain by the quiescence of the adjoining 
 molecules ; Malebranche, (as an occa- 
 sional cause,) by the agitation of a per- 
 vading invisible matter; Stair, by the 
 pressure (whence, he does not state) of 
 the physical points, his supposed consti- 
 tuents of body, to a common centre ; 
 and James Bernoulli, by the pressure of a 
 circumambient fluid, — an hypothesis to 
 which Newton likewise seems to have in- 
 clined : while a host of others, following 
 Algazel and Avicembron, Biel and D'Ailly, 
 spurned all mechanical media, these being 
 themselves equally inexplicable as the 
 phjenomenon in question, and resorted to 
 the immediate agency of an immaterial 
 principle. The psychologists, therefore, 
 who (probably from confounding hard- 
 ness with solidity, solidity with impene- 
 trability) have carried up the resistance 
 of cohesion into the class of primary 
 qualities, find but little countenance for 
 their procedure, even among the crude 
 precedents of physical speculation. 
 
 c. — Vis lnerti(B. But if, on the ground 
 of philosophical agreement, Gravity and 
 Cohesion are not to be regarded as pri- 
 mary qualities of matter ; this dignity is 
 •van kss to be accorded to that force by 
 
 which bodies resist any change of state, 
 whether that be one of quiescence or of 
 motion. This, variously known under the 
 names of Vis Inertia*, Inertia, Vis Insita 
 Resistentiae, Resistentia Passiva, &c., was, 
 indeed, if not first noticed, only first gene- 
 ralized at a comparatively recent period 
 
 to wit, by Keppler ; while the subsequent 
 controversies in regard to its nature and 
 comprehension, equally concur in showing 
 that there is no necessity for thinking it 
 as an essential attribute of matter. The 
 Cartesians, among others, viewed it as a 
 quality not only derivative but contingent ; 
 and even those Newtonians who, in oppo- 
 sition to Newton, raised Gravity to the 
 rank of a primary quality, did not, how- 
 ever, venture to include inertia under the 
 same category. (See Cotes's Preface to 
 the second edition of the Principia.) 
 Leibnitz, followed, among others, by 
 Wolf, divided this force into two ; dis- 
 criminating the vis activa or tnotrix, from 
 the vis passiva or imrths. The former 
 they held not to be naturally inherent in, 
 but only supernaturally impressed on, 
 matter. Without reference to Leibnitz, 
 a similar distinction was taken by D'Alem 
 bert, in which he is followed by Destutt 
 de Tracy ; a distinction, as we have seen, 
 which also found luvour with Lord Kames, 
 who in this, however, stands alone, among, 
 metaphysicians, that he places both his 
 vis inerticB and vis intjita among the pri- 
 mary qualities of body. 
 
 Finally, Physical speculators, in gene- 
 ral, distinguish Inertia and Weight, as 
 powers, though proportional, still distinct. 
 Many, however, following Wiedeburg, 
 view the former as only a modification or 
 phasis of the latter. 
 
 d. — Repulsion, meaning by that term 
 more than the resistance of impenetrabi- 
 lity, gravity, cohesion, or inertia, has, least 
 of all, authority to plead in favour of its 
 pretension to the dignity of a primary 
 quality. The dynamical theories of mat- 
 ter, indeed, view Attraction and Repulsion 
 not merely as fundamental qualities, but 
 even as its generic forces ; but the ground 
 of this is the necessity of the hypothesis, 
 not the necessity of thought. 
 
 2. — But the voice of our individual 
 consciousness is a more direct and cogent 
 evidence than the history of foreign opi- 
 nion ; — and this is still less favourable to 
 the claim in question. The only resist- 
 ance which we think as necessary to the 
 conception of body, is a resistance to the 
 occupation of a body's space — the resist- 
 ance of ultimate incompressibility. The 
 others, with their causes, we think only 
 
PRIMARY, SECUN DO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [SOTI & 
 
 m coatliif ent, becaese, one and all of them, 
 we can eaiily annihilate in thought. 
 
 M^mimn (to take them, hwjkirards} — 
 m rtfistmnce to the approximation and 
 contact of other matter— -we come only 
 bj a late and learned experience to view 
 as an attrilrate of bodj, and of the ele- 
 laaiits of body ; nay, so far is it from being 
 a character eisential in our notion of mat- 
 ter, it remains, as apparently an actio in 
 cUflCaftf . even when forced npon us as a fact, 
 ■till inconceivable as a posnibility. Ac- 
 wwdingly, by no philosopher has the re- 
 ditanoe of Repulsion been psychologi- 
 eaiv regarded as among the primary 
 
 MIHutiiM* i 
 
 Nor has Imrtia a fwaftlj Hgher claim 
 to this diitlnotion. There la no impoaii- 
 bility, there Is little diflicnlty, in imagin- 
 ing a thing, occupying space, and there- 
 fore a body ; and yet, without attraction 
 or repulsion for any other body, and 
 wholly indifferent to this or that position. 
 In space, to motion and to rest ; opposing, 
 therefore, no resistance to any displacing 
 power. Such imagination is opposed to 
 experience, and consequently to our ac- 
 niirtd haWtndes of conceiving body ; but 
 & is not opposed to the necessary condl^ 
 tions of that concept itself. 
 
 Ik was on this psychological ground 
 fit t Bescartes reduced inertia to a mere 
 aoi^dent of extension. Physically rea- 
 wning, Bescartes may not perhaps be 
 right; but Karnes is certainly, as he ts 
 liBgnlarly, wrong, in psychologically re- 
 cognizing Inertia as a primarj attribute 
 
 of body. 
 
 Of the two attractions, OoAetioti is not 
 oonatltneil of the notion of what occu- 
 pes, or is trinally extended m, space. 
 This notion involves only the supposition 
 of parts out of parts ; and although what 
 ills an uninterrupted portion of space, is, 
 pro tanto, considered by ns as one thing ; 
 tlie unity which the parts of this obtain in 
 lionght,is not the internal unity of co- 
 hesion, but the external unity of conti- 
 miitj or juxtaposition. Under the notion 
 •f repletion of space, a rock has not in 
 ihonght a higher unity than a pile of sand. 
 Cohesion, consequently, is not, in a psy- 
 chological view, an eMential attribute of 
 body. [In saying this, I may notice 
 parenthetically, that I speak of cohesion 
 only as between the nltimate elements of 
 body, wAa(«wr them maxims an<l '**«'tu- 
 nately our present discussion does not 
 raquire us to go higher, that is to regard 
 Dohesion in reference to our coiiception of 
 those considered in themselves. In form- 
 ing' to 'Onrself es inch concept, two counter 
 
 Inconceivabilities present themselves ;— - 
 inconceivabilities from the one or other of 
 which, as speculators have recoiled, they 
 have embraced on© or other of the counter 
 theories of Atomism and Dynamism.] 
 But if cohesion be not thought as an 
 essential attribute of hotly, Kames, Reid, 
 Fergusson, Stewart, Royer CoUard, and 
 other recent philosophers, were wrong to 
 introduce the degrees of cohesive resist- 
 ance among the primary qualities ; either 
 avowedly, under the explicit titles of the 
 Hard, the Soft, &c., or covertly, under 
 the ambiguous head of Solidity. But 
 though I-ocke did not, as they believQ 
 precede them in this doctrine, his lan- 
 guage, to say the least of it, is unguarded 
 and inaccurate. For he employs cohesion 
 and eontinuitif as convertible terms ; and 
 states, without the requisite qualification, 
 that *upon the solidity [to him the im- 
 penetrability or ultimate incompressibi- 
 lity] of bodies depend their mutual im- 
 pulse, resistance and protrusion.* (ii. 4, 
 6.) 
 
 As to Weight,— we have from our ear- 
 liest experience been accustomed to find 
 all tangible bodies in a state of graviU- 
 tion ; and, by the provideuce of nature, 
 the child has, even anteriorly to expe- 
 rience, an instinctive anticipation of this 
 law in relation to his own. This has 
 given weight an a<lvantage over the 
 other qualities of the same class ; and it 
 is probably through these influences, that 
 certain philosophers have been disposed to 
 rej,'ard gravity, as, physically and psy- 
 i chologically, a primary quality of matter. 
 t But instinct and consuetude mUwith- 
 ' standing, we find no difficulty in imagin- 
 I ing the general co-attraction of matter to 
 be annihilated j nay, not only annihilated, 
 but reversed. For as attraction and re- 
 
 pulsion seem equally (tcHones in distnns, it 
 IS not more difficult to realize to our- 
 selves the notion of the one, than the 
 notion of the other. 
 
 In reference to both Cohesion and 
 Gravity, I may notice, that though it is 
 only by experience we come to attribute an 
 internal unity to ought continuously ex- 
 tended, that IS, consider it as a system or 
 constituted whole ; still, in so far as we 
 do so consider it, we think tlie parts as held 
 together by a certain force, and the whole, 
 therefore, as endowed with a power of 
 resisting their distraction. It is, indeed, 
 only by finding tliat a material continuity 
 resists distraction, that we view it as 
 more than a fortuitous aggregation of 
 many bodies, that is, as a single body. 
 The material universe, for example, 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 823 
 
 though not defactocontiiiuously extended, 
 we consider as one system, in so far, but 
 only in so far, as we find all bodies tend- 
 ing together by reciprocal attraction. 
 But here I may add, that though a love 
 of unity may bias us, there is no necessity 
 for supposing this co-attraction to be the 
 effect of any single force. It may be the 
 result of any plurality of forces, provided 
 that these co-operate in due subordina- 
 tion. Thus we are not constrained to 
 view the universe of matter as held to- 
 gether by the power of gravity alone. 
 For though gravity be recognized as the 
 prime, proximate, and most pervading 
 principle of co-attraction, still, until the 
 fact be proved, we are not required to 
 view it as the sole. We may suppose that 
 a certain complement of parts are en- 
 dowed with weight ; and that the others, 
 Immediately and in themselves indifferent 
 to gravitation, are mediately drawn with- 
 in its sphere, through some special affinity 
 or attraction subsisting between them and 
 the bodies immediately subjected to its 
 influence. Let the letters A, B, C, x, y, 
 a, represent in general the universe of 
 matter ; the capital letters representing, 
 In particular, the kinds of matter pos- 
 sessed of, the minor letters ropresenting 
 the kinds of matter destitute of, weight. 
 Of themselves, A, B, C will, therefore, 
 gravitate ; x, y, a will not. But if x have 
 a peculiar affinity for A, y for B, and z 
 for C; X, y, z, though in themselves 
 weightless, will, through their correla- 
 tion to A, B, C, come mediately under 
 the influence of gravitation, and enter 
 along with their relatives, as parts, into 
 the whole of which gravity is the proxi- 
 mate bond of unity. To prove, there- 
 fore, a priori, or on any general principle 
 whatever, that no matter is destitute of 
 weight, is manifestly impossible. All 
 matter may possibly be heavy ; but until 
 experiment can decide, by showing, in 
 detail, that what are now generally re- 
 garded as imponderable fluids, are either 
 in truth ponderable substances, or not 
 substances at all, we have no data on 
 which to infer more than a conjectural 
 affirmative of little probability. On the 
 dynamical theories of matter, the at- 
 tempts made from Boscovich to Hegel 
 to demonstrate, that weight is a catholic 
 property, as a fundamental condition, of 
 matter, are all founded on petitory pre- 
 mises. Thb is justly acknowledged by 
 Hegel himself of the Kantian deduction, 
 rWerke, Vol. vii. P. i. § 262) ; and, were 
 the proof of psychological concernment. 
 
 the same might no less justly be demon- 
 strated of his own.* 
 
 Induction of the Secondarif Qualities. 
 — Its results are the following. — The 
 Secondary as manifested to us, are not, 
 
 • Since writiuor the above, I am indebted to 
 the kindness of Mr Whewell fbr his * I>emon. 
 siration that all Matter is Heavy,' published in 
 the Transactions of the Cambridge Philoso- 
 phical Society, Vol. vii.. Part ii. ;— an author 
 whose energy and talent all must admire, 
 even while convinced the least by the cogency 
 of his reasoning. As this demonstration pro- 
 ceeds not on a mere physical ground, but on 
 the ground of a certain logical or psychologi . 
 cal law, and as it is otherwise diametrically 
 opposed to the whole tenor of the doctrine 
 previously maintained, I shall briefly consider 
 it in its general bearing ; — which Mr WheweF 
 thus states, afterwards illustrating it in de- 
 tail:— 
 
 ' The question then occurs, whether we can, 
 by any steps of reasoning, point out an incon- 
 sistency in the conception of matter without 
 weight. This I conceive we may do, and this 
 I shall attempt to show. — 1 he general mode of 
 stating the argument is this : — The quantity 
 of matter is measured by those sensible pro. 
 perties of matter [ Weight and Inertia] which 
 undergo quantitative addition, subtraction, and 
 division, as the matter is added, subtracted, 
 and divided The quantity of matter cannot 
 be known in any other way. But this mode of 
 measuring the quantity of matter, in order to 
 be true at all, must be universally true. If it 
 were only partially true, the Umits within 
 which it is to be applied would be arbitrary; 
 and, therefore, the wh le procedure would be 
 arbitrary, and, as a method of obtaining philo- 
 sophical truth, altogether futile.' [But this 
 is not to be admitted. ' We must suppose the 
 rule to be universal. If anybodies have weight 
 all bodies must have weight.'] 
 
 l'*. This reasoning assumes in chief that wo 
 cannot but have it in our power, by some 
 means or other, to ascertaiji the quantity of 
 matter as a physical truth. But gratuitously. 
 For why may not the quantity of matter be 
 one of that multitude of problems, placed be- 
 yond the reach, not of human curiosity, but of 
 human determination? 
 
 2'^. But, subordinate to the assumption that 
 some measure we must have, the reasoning fur- 
 ther supposes that a measure of the weight (and 
 inertiaj is the onli/ measure we can have of the 
 quantity of matter. But is even this cor- 
 rect? We may, certainly, attempt to esti- 
 mate the quantity of matter by the quantity of 
 tvDo, at least, of the properties of matter; to 
 wit- — a) by the quantity of space of which it la 
 found to resist the occupation ; and — b) by the 
 quantity of weight (and Inertia), which it 
 manifests. We need not enquire, whether, 
 were these measures harmonious in result, 
 they would, in combination, supply a compe- 
 tent criterion ; for they are at variance ; and, 
 if either, one must be exclusively selected. 
 Of the two, the former, indeed, at tirst sight. 
 
W4 
 
 FRIMARY. SECUNDO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [ifOTB B. 
 
 in propriety, qualitkt of Bdly nt all. As 
 ipprehended, Iht-y are only subjective 
 ■ffectioii% and b*'lon«; only to bodies in so 
 far as these are siiiiposed furnished with 
 Ihe powers capable of specifically deter- 
 mining the f arions parts of our nervous 
 ■jiparatusto the peculiar action, or rather 
 passion, of which they are susceptible; 
 which determined action or passion is the 
 quality of which alone we are immedi- 
 ately cognisant, the external concause of 
 thai internal effect remaining to percep- 
 altogether unknown. Thus, the 
 
 reeonmeDdi iteelf m the alone autliontlc. For 
 the fuantity of mutter Is, on all hands, ad- 
 Biittwt to be in proportion to the quantity 
 of ipace it fills, extension being necetsaiily 
 {bought as the essential property of body; 
 whereas It Is not universally admittetl that the 
 fwuitlty of niJitter is in proportion to it$ 
 ■nmint of weight and Inertia; these being, on 
 the contrary, conceivable, and generally con- 
 eelwd, as ndventiiious accidents, and not, 
 therefore, aa necessary concomitants of mat- 
 ter.— But, then, It may he competently ob- 
 jected,— The cahical extinslon of compressed 
 iMidlea cannot he taken aa an authentic mea- 
 sure of the quantity of space they fill, because 
 we are not assured that the def ree of com- 
 pressing force which wo can actually apply Is 
 ■uieeurate index of what their cubical cxten- 
 ■ton would be, In a state of ultimate or closest 
 Mmpresiion. But though this objection niuat 
 'lie ;wlmltted to lavalldate' the certainty of the 
 more direct and probable criterion, it docs 
 mcit, however, leave the problem to be deter- 
 mined hy the other ; agaiu«t which, indeed, it 
 falls to be no less effectually retorted. For as 
 little, at least, can we be assured that thero Is not 
 (oitlier separately, or in combination withgra- 
 ▼Itating matter) substance occupying space, 
 and, therefore, material, but which, being des- 
 titute of weight, is, on the standard of pon- 
 derability, precisely as if it did not exist. 
 This supposition, bo It observed, the experi- 
 ments of Newton and Bcssel do not exclude. 
 May, more ; there are. In fact, oMmdcd on our 
 observation a leries of apparent fluids, (aa 
 light or Its vehicle, the Calorific, Blectro-gal- 
 vanic and Magnetic agents,) which, In onr pre. 
 sent state of knowledge, we can neither, on 
 the one hand, denude of the oharauter of »ub- 
 ■tance, nor, on the other, clothe with the 
 attribute of weight. 
 
 d^. This argument findly mpiiosei, m a lo- 
 gical.. ean,on, that a pratmnftlon fk-om analogy 
 ■ffenis a criterion of truth, subjectively ueces- 
 •wry, and objectively certain. But not the 
 'fcnnff'} for however inclined, we are never 
 meC'eMttalcd, a ■postiritri, to think, that be- 
 cause mm* ««, therefore all the constituents 
 of a elMtiMWl K the suhjecti of a predicate a 
 priori coatlnffent. Not the hitter ; for tliough 
 a useful ittniidus and guide to Investigation, 
 ■mingy if» hy itself, a vsry douMlW guarantee 
 of 'tmtli. 
 
 Secondary qualities (and the same is to 
 be said, mutatis mutandis, of the Secundo- 
 priraary) are, considered subjectivelv, and 
 considered objectively, affections or quali- 
 ties of things diametrically opposed in 
 nature — of the organic and inorganic, of 
 the sentient and insentient, of mind and 
 matter: and though, aa mutually corre- 
 lative, and their several pairs rarely ob- 
 taining in common language more than a 
 single name, they cannot well be con- 
 sidered, except in conjunction, under the 
 same category or general class ; still their 
 essential contrast of character must bo 
 ever carefully borne in mind. And in 
 speaking of these qualities, as we are here 
 chiefly concerned with them on their sub- 
 jective side, I request it maybe observed, 
 that I shall employ the expres.sion Second- 
 aty qucditiei to denote those phaenomeijal 
 affections determined in our sentient or- 
 jraniam by tlie agency of external bodies, 
 and not, unless when otherwise stated, 
 the occult powers themselves from which 
 that agency proceeds. 
 
 Of the Secondary qualities, in this rela- 
 tion, there are various kinds ; the variety 
 principally depending on the differences 
 of the different parts of our nervous ap- 
 paratus. Such are the proper sensibles, 
 the idiopathic affections of our several 
 organs of sense, as Colour, Sound, Flavour, 
 Savour, and Tactual sensation ; such are 
 the feelings f^'om Heat, Electricity, Gal- 
 vanism, &c. ; nor need it be added, such 
 are the muscular and cutaneous sensations 
 which accompany the perception of the 
 Secundo-primary qualities. Such, though 
 less directly the result of foreij^n causes, 
 are Titillation, Sneezing, Horripilation, 
 Shuddering, the feeling of what is called 
 Setting-the-teeth-on-edge, &c., &c.; such, 
 in fine, are all the various sensations of 
 bodily pleasure and pain determined by 
 the action of external stimuli. — So much 
 for the induction of the Secondary Quali- 
 ties in a subjective relation. 
 
 It is here> however, requisite to add 
 some words of illustration. — What aro 
 denominated the secondary qualities of 
 body, are, 1 have said, as apprehended, 
 not qualitiei of body at all ; being only 
 idiopathic affections of the different por- 
 tions of our nervous organism — affections 
 which, however uniform and similar in us, 
 may be determined by the most dissimilar 
 and multiform causes in external things. 
 This is manifest from the physiology of 
 our senses and their appropriate nerves. 
 Without entering on details, it is sufficient 
 to observe, that we are endowed with 
 
 § "J 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 855 
 
 various assortments o<^ nerves; each of 
 these being astrieted to certain definite 
 functions; and each exclusively discliarg- 
 ing the function which specially belongs 
 to it. Thus there are nerves of feeling, 
 (comprehending under that term the 
 ■ensations of cutaneous touch and feeling 
 proper, of the muscular sense, and of the 
 
 rital 
 
 sense, or sensus vagus, in all its 
 
 modifications,) of seeing, of hearing, of 
 smelling, of tasting, &c. 
 
 The nerves of feeling afford us sensa- 
 tions to which, in opposite extremes, we 
 emphatically, if not exclusively, attribute 
 the qualities of pain and pleasure. Acute 
 pain — pain from laceration may, indeed, 
 be said to belong exclusively to these; 
 for the nerves appropriated to the other 
 and more determinate senses, are like the 
 brain in this respect altogether insensible, 
 and it is even probable that the pain we 
 experience from their over-excitement is 
 dependent m\ the nerves of feeling with 
 which they are accompanied. Now pain 
 and pleasure no one has ever attributed 
 as qualities to external things : feeling has 
 always been regarded as purely subjective, 
 and it has been universally admitted that 
 its affections, indicating only certain con- 
 scious states of the sentient animal, afforded 
 no inference even to definite causes of its 
 production in external nature. So far 
 there is no dispute. 
 
 The case may, at first sight, seem dif- 
 ferent with regard to the sensations pro- 
 per to the more determinate senses ; but 
 a sUght consideration may suffice to satisfy 
 us that these are no less subjective than 
 the others ; — as is indeed indicated in 
 the history already given of the distinction 
 of Primary and Secondary qualities. As, 
 however, of a more definite character, 
 it is generally, I believe, supposed that 
 these senses, though they may not pre- 
 cisely convey material qualities from ex- 
 ternal existence to internal knowledge, 
 still enable us at least to infer the posses- 
 lion by bodies of certain specific powers, 
 each capable exclusively of exciting a 
 certain correlative manifestation in us. 
 But even this is according greatly too 
 large a share in the total sensitive 
 effect to the objective concause. The 
 sensations proper to the several senses 
 depend, for the distinctive character of 
 their manifestation, on the peculiar cha- 
 racter of the action of their several 
 nerves; and not, as is commonly sup- 
 posed, on the exclusive susceptibility of 
 these nerves for certain specific stimuli. 
 In fact every the most different stimulus 
 (and there are many such, both extra and 
 
 intra-organic, besides the one viewed as 
 proper to the sense,) which can be brought 
 to bear on each several nerve of sense, 
 determines that nerve only to its one pe- 
 culiar sensation. Thus the stimulus by 
 the external agent exclusively denomi- 
 nated Light, though the more common, is 
 not the only, stimulus which excites in the 
 visual apparatus the subjective affection 
 of light and colours. Sensations of light 
 and colours, are determined among other 
 causes, from withitiy by a sanguineous 
 congestion in the capillary vessels of the 
 optic nerve, or by various chemical agents 
 which affect it through the medium of 
 the blood ; /ro7n without, by the applica- 
 tion to the same nerve of a mechanical 
 force, as a blow, a compression, a wound, 
 or of an imponderable influence, as elec- 
 tricity or galvanism. In fact, the whole 
 actual phscnoraena of vision might be 
 realized to us by the substitution of an 
 electro-galvanic stimulus, were this radi- 
 ated in sufficient intensity from bodies, 
 and in conformity with optical laws. The 
 blind from birth are thus rarely without 
 all experience of light, colour and visiuil 
 extension, from stimulation of the interior 
 organism. — The same is the case with the 
 other senses. Apply the aforementioned 
 or other extraordinary stimuli to their 
 several nerves ; each sense will be excited 
 to its appropriate sensation, and its ap- 
 propriate sensation alone. The passion 
 manifested (however heterogeneous its 
 external or internal cause) is always, — of 
 the auditory nerves, a sound, of the olfac- 
 tory, a smell, of the gustatory, a taste. But 
 of the various common agencies which 
 thus excite these several organs to their 
 idiopathic affection, we are manifestly no 
 more entitled to predicate the individual 
 colour, sound, odour, or savour of which, 
 in each case, we have a sensation, than we 
 are to attribute the pain we feel to the pin 
 by which we are pricked. But if this must 
 per force be admitted of the extraordinary 
 external causes of these sensations, it is 
 impossible to deny it of the ordinary. 
 
 In this respect Aristotle, (and the same 
 may also be said of Theophrastus,) was far 
 in advance of many of our modern philo- 
 sophers. In his treatise on Dreams, to 
 prove that sensation is not a purely objec- 
 tive cognition, but much more a subjective 
 modification or passion of the organ, he 
 shows, and vrith a detail very unusual 
 to him, that this sensible affection does 
 not cease with the presence, and, there- 
 fore, does not manifest the quality, of the 
 external object. ' This (he says) is ap- 
 parent so often as we have the sensation 
 
9M 
 
 PEIMAEY, SECUNBO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [note d. 
 
 §«-J 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY 
 
 857 
 
 of a tWnjj for a eertaiB eoiiiaiiiiice. ' 
 For then, divert as we may the senie from 
 wie object to another, still the affection 
 from the first accompanies the iecond j as- 
 (for example) when we pass from sim- 
 sMne into shade. In this case we at first 
 wm notMnf, hecaitse of the movement in 
 tie eyes still subsisting, which had been 
 determined by the light. In like manner 
 If we gaa© for a while upon a single colour, 
 any white or green, whatever we may now 
 tora our sighl on will appear of that tint. 
 And if, after looWng at the sim or other 
 ilaiiling object, we close our eyelids, we 
 aUl find, if we observe, that, m the line 
 of vision, there first of all appears a colour 
 Mfili as we had previously beheld, which 
 CImii changes to red, then to purple, until 
 it last the affectfon vanishes in black ; *— 
 with more to the same effect. (C. 2.) 
 Aid in, the same chapter he anticipates' 
 aodem psychologists in the observation 
 —that • Sometimes, when suddenly awoke, 
 we discover, from their not incontinently 
 vanishing, that the images which had ap- 
 peared to us when asleep are really move 
 ments in the organs of sense; and to 
 young persons it not un frequently hap- 
 pens, even when wide awake, and with- 
 drawn from the excitement of light, that 
 imoving iniii<ges pre:8cnt themselves so 
 '▼ifiily, that for fear they are wont to 
 'Mde theniwlves under the bed-cl oaths.* 
 (C. 2.) See also Oekkam, in Sent. L. ii. 
 
 qq. 17, 18 Biel, in Sent. L. ii. Dist. iii. 
 
 oL 2 'Bm^'ordm, Circuits Pisanus P. vi. 
 
 Ore. 12, ed. 2. — ffobbm. Human Nature, 
 eh. il. § 7-10. — Bmrhmm, Praelectiones 
 in propriaa Inrtitutiones, §§ 284, 579. — 
 ^engd, Semiotik § 770-773; Patho- 
 
 Se, vol, ii. § 71:9. — Grtdikmim, A nthro- 
 •gio, § 449. — Sir Vhmrlm Bell, An 
 I, &€. (in Shaw's Narrative, p. 35, sq. ;) 
 Tlie Hand, &c., p. 175, sq*-^ Plateau, 
 Bitai d*une Theorie, &;c., p. . — J. Mml- 
 lir, Physiology, Book v.. Preliminary Con- 
 dderations, p. 1059, sq., BngL Transl. 
 
 Such being the purely subjective cha- 
 laeter of the Secondary qualities, as ap- 
 preliended or immediately known by us, 
 ve must reject as untenable the doctrine 
 en thiS' point, however ingeniously sup- 
 
 Krted, of the celebrated Neapolitan phi- 
 lopher, Baron Galluppi ; who, while, 
 Juatlf 1 'thinic, 'diasatiafied with the opinion 
 of 'mM, that tlie 'perception of the pri- 
 inary qiiaities, 'Is a oonee'ptlon inallnct ively 
 ngge^ed on occasion of our sensation of 
 the secondary, errs on the opposite ex- 
 treme, in his attempt to show that this 
 'lenaatiMi llaelf affordi^ ns^ what b wanted, 
 cognW*>n, an objective 
 
 apprehension, of external things. The 
 result of his doctrine he thus himself 
 states :— ' Sensation it of its very nature 
 objeetim : in other words, objectivity ii 
 essetitial to emry sensation.' Eleraenti di 
 Filosofia, vol. i. c. 10, ed. 4. Florence, 
 1837. The matter is more amply treated 
 in his Critica dclla Conoscenza, L. ii. c 6, 
 and L. iv. — a work which I have not yet 
 seen. Compare Bonelli, Institutions 
 Logico-Metaphysicae, t. i. pp. 184, 222, 
 
 ed. 2, 1837. 
 
 Such is a general view of the grounds 
 on which the psychological distinction of 
 the Qualities of Body, into the three 
 classes of Primary, Seeundo-priraary, and 
 Secondary is established. It now remains 
 to exhibit their mutual differences and 
 similarities more in detail. In attempt- 
 ing this, the following order will be pur- 
 sued I shall state of the three relative 
 
 cksses, — (A) What they are, considered 
 in generals then, (B) Wha they are, co»- 
 sidered in paricular. And under this 
 latter head I shall view them, (1®) as in 
 Bodies : (2®) as in Cognition ; and this 
 (a) as in Sensitive Apprehension; (b) as 
 in Thottgfd i (c) as in both.— For the 
 conveniency of reference the paragraphs 
 will be numbered. 
 
 A. — What they are tn gensrai, 
 
 1. The Primary are less properly de- 
 nominated Qualities (Suchnc&ses,) and 
 deserve the name only as we conceive 
 them to distinguish body from not-body, 
 — corporeal from incorporeal substance. 
 They are thus merely the attributes of 
 body as body,— corporis ut corpus. The 
 Secundo-primary and Secondary, on the 
 contrary, are in strict propriety denomi- 
 nated Qualities, for they discriminate 
 body from body. They are the attri- 
 butes of body as this or that kind of body, 
 — corporis ut tcde corpus.* 
 
 2. The Primary arise from the universal 
 relations of body to itself; the Secundo- 
 primary from the general relations of this 
 body to that; the Secondary from the 
 special relations of this kind of body to 
 this kind of animated or sentient organiana. 
 
 3. The Primary determine the possi- 
 bility of matter absolutely ; the Secundo- 
 
 • Thus, in tho Aristotelic and other phMo- 
 flophies, the title QwUitif would not be allowed 
 to those fundamental conditions On which the 
 very possibility of matter depends, bufwhlch 
 modem philosophers have denominated Its 
 Primary Qualities. 
 
 primary, the possibility of the material 
 universe as actually constituted ; the 
 Secondary, the possibility of our relation 
 as sentient existences to that universe. 
 
 4. Under the Pi-imary we apprehend 
 modes of the Non-ego; under the Secundo- 
 primary we apprehend modes both of the 
 Ego and of the Non-ego ; under the 
 Secondary we apprehend modes of the 
 Ego, and' infer modes of the Non-ego. 
 (See par. 15.) 
 
 6. The Primary are apprehended as 
 they are in bodies; the Secondary, as 
 they are in us ; the Secundo-primary, as 
 they are in bodies, and as they are in us. 
 (See par. 15.) 
 
 6. The term quality in general, and 
 the names of the several qualities in par- 
 ticular, are — in the case of the Primary, 
 univocal, one designation unambiguously 
 marking out one quality;* — in the case 
 of the Secundo-primary and Secondary, 
 equivocal, a single term being ambigu- 
 ously applied to denote two qualities, dis- 
 tinct though correlative— that, to wit, 
 which is a mode of existence in bodies, 
 and that which is a mode of affection in 
 our organism.f (See par. 24.) 
 
 7. The Primary, and also the Secundo- 
 primary qualities, are definite in number 
 and exhaustive ; for all conceivable rela- 
 tions of body to itself, or of body to body 
 merely, are few, and all these found actu- 
 ally existent. The Secondary, on the 
 contrary, are in number indefinite; and 
 the actual hold no proportion to the pos- 
 sible. For we can suppose, in an animal 
 organism, any number of unknown capa- 
 cities of being variously affected ; and, in 
 matter, any number of unknown powers 
 of thus variously affecting it ; % and this 
 though we are necessarily unableto imagine 
 to ourselves what these actually may be. 
 
 ♦ For example, there is no subjective Sensa- 
 tion of Magnitude, Figure, Number, &c.,. but 
 only an objective Perception. (See par. 15-^9.) 
 
 f Thus, in the Secundo-primary the term 
 Hardness, for instance, denotes both a certain 
 resistance, of which we are conscious, to our 
 motive energy, and a certain feeling from 
 pressure on our nerves. The former, a Per- 
 ception, is wholly different fi'om the latter, a 
 Sensation j and we can easily imagine that we 
 might have been so constituted, as to appre- 
 hend Resistance as we do Magnitude, Figure, 
 Jte., without a corresponding organic passion. 
 (See par. 18.) — In the Secondary tho term 
 Heat, for example, denotes ambiguously both 
 the quality which we infer to bo in bodies and 
 (he quality of which we are conscious in our- 
 
 selves. 
 
 I Sextus Empirlcus, Montaigne^ Voltaire, 
 Homsterhuis, Krueger, Ac, notice this as pos- 
 
 B. — What they are in particular ; and 
 1®, Considered as in Bodies. 
 
 8. The Primary are the qualities of 
 body in relation to our organism, as a 
 body simply ; the Secundo-primary, are 
 the qualities of body in relation to our 
 organism, as a propelling, resisting, cohe- 
 sive body ; the Secondary are the quali- 
 ties of body in relation to our organism, 
 as an idiopathically excitable and sentient 
 body. (See p. 854 b— 856 a.) 
 
 9. Under this head we know the Pri- 
 mary qualities immediately as objects of 
 perception ; the Secundo-primary, both 
 immediately as objects of perception and 
 mediately as causes of sensation , the Se- 
 condary, only mediately as causes of sen- 
 sation. In other words : — The Primary 
 are known immediately in themselves ; 
 tho Secundo-primary, both immediately 
 in themselves and mediately in their 
 effects on us; the Secondary, only me- 
 diately in their effects on us. (See par. 
 15.) 
 
 10. The Primary are known under 
 the condition of sensations ; the Secundo- 
 primary, in and along with sensations ; 
 the Secondary, in consequence of sensa- 
 tions. (See par. 20.) 
 
 11. The Primary are thus apprehended 
 objects ; the Secondary, inferred powers ; 
 the Secundo-primary, both apprehended 
 objects and inferred powers. 
 
 12. The Primary are conceived as ne- 
 cessary and perceived as actual ; the Se- 
 cundo-primary are perceived and con- 
 ceived as actual; the Secondary are 
 inferred and conceived as possible. 
 
 13. The Primary are perceived as con- 
 ceived. The Secundo-primary are con- 
 ceived as perceived. The Secondary are 
 neither perceived as conceived, nor con- 
 ceived as perceived ; — for to perception 
 they are occult, and are conceived only 
 as latent causes to account for manifest 
 effects. (See par. 15, and footnote.)* 
 
 14. The Primary may be roundly cha- 
 racterized as mathematical ; the Secundo- 
 primary, as mechanical; the Secondary, 
 as physiological. 
 
 2". Considered as Cognitions ; and here 
 (a) As in Sensitive Apprehension, o** tn 
 
 relation to Sense. 
 
 16. In this relation the Primary quali- 
 ties are, as apprehended, unambiguously 
 
 sible; but do not distinguish the possibility as 
 limited to the Secondary Qualities. 
 
 It ='■' 
 
ftJCA 
 
 PRIMARY, SECUNDO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [noTBUb 
 
 tlijMtlvo (oliJMl-olilMta) ; the Seemclsry, 
 iMWiMfiwiiily iralij«Jth-o ( subject-ob- 
 Jncts); • the Secuiido - primary, both 
 ©Ijlictif* md snbjectiire (object-objects 
 and subject-objecta). In other words:— 
 W« are conscious, as objects, in the Pri- 
 mmr j '(|iial:i|ies, of the modes of a not* 
 self; in the Secondary, of the modes of. 
 •elf;* in the Seciindo-prtmary, of the 
 modes of self and of a not-self at once.f 
 
 16. Usiiig the terms strictly, the ap- 
 fwliensions of the Primary are percep- 
 tims, not sensations ; of the Secondary, 
 tions, not perceptions ; of the Se- 
 
 * II<|w nmeh this differs from the doctrine 
 of Reid, Stewart, Ac, who boM that in every 
 aemaftora there is not only a smlijeetive object 
 «r wnsatioi), but also an obJeotiYO object of 
 'fiffoefii" m, see Mote B*, § 1. 
 
 f In illuitralion of this paragraph, I muf;t 
 netlee ■ eontaion and amblgnily in the very 
 itvdinaldiattaetlon of psychology and its terms 
 —the di«tftinction I mean of mf^ectitte and o&- 
 lMli«w, which, as far as I am aware, has never 
 iMen cleared np, nay, never even brought 
 elearly IntO' view. 
 
 Oar nflrvoas oirganlsm., (the rest of our body 
 ^■ay he Mrty thrown out (»f aMOant,) in con- 
 tiaslto all exterior to itself, appertains to the 
 Mnereli hannaa 'Sgo, and in this respect is 
 ini^ieiiee, inlcraaf ; vrhereas, in contrast to the 
 abstract immaterlml Ego, the pure mind, It 
 Monies to the Non.ego, and in this respect is 
 '•MisHw, mOimai, Mere Is one sonrce of am- 
 'Ufnity anSeiently perpletlnf ; bat the dis. 
 erimination Is here comparatively manifest, 
 
 •nipleynient of 'the tenns :iiiay, with proper 
 attention, he avoided* 
 
 The followtng problem Is more dinonlt* 
 Iiodklng from the mind, and not looking be. 
 fond enr animated organism, are the phsenO' 
 IWHI of which we are conscious in that O'rgan- 
 Isili lil upon a level, i.e., equally objective or 
 equally subjanttve ; or is tliere adlscriininatlon 
 to be made, and some phsenomena to be con. 
 sidered.. as^ objective, b«:lng m^odes of oar org «i- 
 isoi 'Viewed. aS' a 'mere' portion of matter, and 
 In iUs respect a Kon-ego, while other phaeno- 
 mena ait te be: considered as sabjeettve, being 
 the nodes of onr organism as animated by or 
 in union with the mind, and therefore states 
 •f the %o? Without here attempting to enter 
 en the reasons which vindicate my opinion, 
 nllce it.te say, that I adopt the latter alter. 
 native] and hold further, that the diserimina. 
 Ilea ef the senso'ri.al;phtenomeQa into objective 
 wmA tabjectlve, cohicldes with the distinction 
 of the qualities of body into Primary and 
 Secoodary, the Secundoprimsry being sup. 
 posed to eonlrlbuto an clement to each. Our 
 nervous organism is to be viewed in two rela- 
 ttons $—1**, as a body simply, and— 3^, as an 
 ■nhnated bo<|y. As a body simply it can pos- 
 ■iUy fliitt, and can possibly be known as ex. 
 latent, only under those necessary conditions 
 et all matter, which have been denominated 
 
 cundo-primary, perceptions and sensationt 
 together. (See par. 15, footnote •.) 
 
 17. In the Pnmary there is, thus, no 
 concomitant Secondary qoality; in the 
 Secondary there is no concomitant pri* 
 mary quality ; in the Secundo-primary^ « 
 secondary and quasi- primajry quality ao- 
 company each other. 
 
 18. In the apprehension of the Primary 
 qualities the mind is primarily and prin- 
 cipally active ; it feels only as it knows. 
 In that of the Secondary, the mind is 
 primarily and principally passive ; it knows 
 only as it feels. | In that of the Secnndo* 
 
 its Primary qualities. As an animated body 
 It actually exists, and is aetually known to 
 exist, only as it is susceptible of certain affee- 
 tions, which, and tiie external causes of which, 
 have been ambiguously called the Secondaif 
 qualities of matter. Now, by a law of our 
 nature, we are not conscious of the existence 
 of oar organism, consequently not conscioui 
 of any of its primary qualities, unless when 
 we are conscious of it, as modified by a secon. 
 dary quality, or some other of its affectioni, as 
 an animated body. But the former conscious, 
 ness requires the latter only as its negative 
 condition, and is neither involved in it as a 
 part, nor properly dependent on it as a cause. 
 The object in the one consciousness is also 
 wholly different from the object in the other. 
 In that, it is a contingent passion of the organ- 
 Ism, as a constituent of the human self; in 
 this, it is some essential property of the organ. 
 Ism, as a portion of the universe of matter, 
 and though apprehended by, not an affection 
 proper to, the conscious self at all. In these 
 circumstances, the secondary qnality, say a 
 cdonr, which the mind apprehends in the 
 organism, is^ as a passion of self, recognised 
 to be a aubjective object f whereas the primary 
 qnality, extension, or figure, or number, which, 
 when conscious of such affection, the mind 
 therein at the same time apprehends, is, as 
 not a passion of self, but a common property 
 of matter, recognized to be an chj^Aim objtet. 
 (See par. 1^19, with footnote f, and par. IS^ 
 with footnote |.) 
 
 I Thus in vision the secondary quality of 
 colour is, in the strictest sense, a passive 
 affection of the sentient ego; and the only 
 activity the mind can be said to exert in the 
 sensation of colours, la in the recognitive con- 
 sciousness that it is so and so affected. It thus 
 knows as it feels, in knowing that it feels. 
 
 But the apprehension of extension, figure, 
 divisibility, Ac, which, under condition of its 
 being thus affected, simultaneously takes 
 place, is, though necessary, wholly active and 
 purely spiritu.il ; in as much as extension, 
 figure, 4c , are, directly and In their own 
 natnre, neither, subjectively considered, pas. 
 sions of the animated sensory, nor, objectively 
 considered, efficient qualities in things by 
 whii-h such passion can be caused. The per- 
 caption of parts ont of parts is not given in 
 the mere affection of colour, but Is obtained by 
 
 ^ •*•! 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 8d9 
 
 primary the mind is equally and at once 
 active and passive; in one respect,it feels as 
 It knows, in another, it knows as it feels.* 
 19. Thus Perception and Activity are 
 at the maximum in the Primary qualities ; 
 at the minimum in the Secondary; Sen- 
 sation and Passivity are at the minimum 
 
 a reaction of the mind upon such affection. It 
 ifl merely the recognition of a relation. But a 
 relation is neither a passion nor a cause of 
 passion; and, thoun^h apprehended through 
 sense, is, in truth, an intellectual not a scnsi. 
 tive cognition; — unless under the name of 
 sensitive cognition wc comprehend, as I think 
 we ought, more than the mere recognition of 
 an organic passion. (See Note D*, § 1 .) The 
 perception of Extension is not, therefore, the 
 mere consciousness of an affection — a mere 
 sensation. — This is still more manifest in re- 
 gard to Figure, or extension bounded. Visual 
 figure is an expanse of colour bounded in a 
 certain manner by a line. Here all is nothing 
 but relation. * Expanse of colour ' is only 
 coloured extension; and extension, as stated, 
 is only the relation of parts out of parts. 
 
 * Bounded in a certain manner,' is also only the 
 expression of various relations. A thing is 
 
 * bounded,'' only as it has a limited number of 
 parts; but limited, number, and parts, are, all 
 three, relations : and, further, * in a certain tnan. 
 iMrMenotes that these parts stand to each other 
 in one relation and not in another. The percop. 
 tlon of a thing as bounded, and bounded in a 
 certain manner, is tlius only the recognition of 
 a thing under relations. Finally, * 6y a line ' 
 Still merely indicates a relation ; for a line is 
 nothing but the negation of each other, by two 
 intersecting colours. Absolutely considered, 
 it is a nothing; and so far from tliere being 
 any difficulty in conceiving a brcadthless line, 
 a line is, in fact, not a lino (but a narrow sur- 
 face between two lines) if thought as pos- 
 sessed of breadth. (See Note E.) — In such per. 
 ceptioni, therefore, if the mind can be said to 
 feel, it can be said to feel only in being con- 
 scions of itself as purely active ; that is, as 
 spontaneously apprehensive of an object-ob- 
 Ject or mode of the non-cgo, and not of a sub. 
 Ject-object or affection of the ego. (See par. 
 16 — 1J>, and relative footnote f.) 
 
 The application of the preceding doctrine to 
 the other primary qualities is even more ob- 
 trusive. 
 
 To prevent misunderstanding, it may be 
 observed, that in saying the mind is active,.not 
 passive, in a cognition, I do not mean to say that 
 the mind is free to exert or not to exert the 
 cognitive act, or even not to exert it in a de- 
 terminate manner. The mind energises as it 
 lives, and it cannot choose but live; it knows 
 aa it energises, and it cannot choose but ener- 
 gise. An object being duly presented, it is 
 suable not- to apprehend it, and apprehend it, 
 both in itself, and in the relations under which 
 tt stands. We may evade the presentation, 
 not the recognition of what is presented. But 
 •f this again. 
 
 * Thia ia apparent when it is considered 
 
 in the Primary, at t%e maximum in the 
 Secondary; while, in the Secundo-pri- 
 mary, J*ercoption and Sensation, Activity 
 and Passivitj', are iu equipoise. — Thus too 
 it is, that the most purely material phaeno- 
 raena arc apprehended in the most purely 
 inorganic energy .f 
 
 that under th& cognition of a sec undo -primary 
 quality are comprehended both the apprehen- 
 sion of a secondary quality, i.e. the sensation 
 of a subjective affection, and the apprehension 
 of a quasi-primary quality, i.e. the perception 
 of an objective force. Take, for example, the 
 Secundo-primary quality of Hardness. In the 
 sensitive apprehension of this we are aware of 
 two facts. The first is the fact of a certain 
 affection, a certain fcelinfr, in onr sentient or- 
 ganism, (Muscular and Skin senses.) This is 
 the sensation, the apprehension of a feeling 
 consequent on the resistance of a body, and 
 which in one of its special modifications con- 
 stitutes Hardness, viewed as an affection in 
 us J — a sensation which we know, indeed, by 
 experience to be the effect of the pressure of 
 an unyielding body,but which we can easily con- 
 ceive might be determined in us independently 
 of all internal movement, all external resis- 
 tance ; while we can still more easily conceive 
 that such movement and resistance might be 
 apprehended, independently of such concomi- 
 tant sensation. Hero, therefore, we know 
 only as we feel, for here we only know, that is, 
 are conscious, that we feel. — The second is the 
 fact of a certain opposition to the voluntary 
 movement of a limb — ^to our locomotive energy. 
 Of this energy we might be conscious, without 
 any consciousness of the state, or even the 
 existence, of the muscles set in motion ; and 
 we might also be conscious of resistance to its 
 exertion, though no organic feeling happened 
 to be its effect But as it is, though conscious of 
 the sensations connected both with the active 
 state of our nmscular frame determined by its 
 tension, and of the passive state in our skin 
 and flesh determined by external pressure; 
 still, over and above these animal sensations, 
 we are purely conscious of the fact, that the 
 overt exertion of our locomotive volition is, in 
 a certain sort, impeded. This consciousness is 
 the perception, the objective apprehension, of 
 resistance, which in one of its special modifi- 
 cations constitutes Hardness, as an attribute 
 of body. In this cognition, if we can be said 
 with any propriety to feel, we can be said 
 only to feel as we know, because we only feel, 
 i.e., are conscious, that we know. (See par 
 18, footnote J, and par. 25, first footnote^ Part 
 
 I.J 
 
 f The doctrine of paragraphs 16-19 seems 
 to have been intended by Aristotle (see above, 
 p. 829 b) in saying that the Common Sensibles 
 (—the Primary Qualities) are percepts con- 
 comitant or consequent on the sensation of the 
 Proper (—the Secondary Qualities), and on 
 one occasion that the Common Sensibles are, 
 in a certain sort, only to be considered as ap- 
 prehensions of sense per accidens. For this 
 may be interpreted to mean, that oar appr*- 
 
a«o 
 
 PRIMAEY, SECUNDO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [hoti; b. 
 
 $ II.J 
 
 20. Ie til© Primary, a sensation of 
 0rfiiiiio affection is the condition of 
 perception, m mental apprehension } in 
 the Secundo-primary, a sensation is the 
 concomitant of the perception; in the 
 Secondary, a sensation is the all in all 
 which conaciousness apprehends. (See 
 
 par. 10 ) 
 
 21. In tho Primary, the sensation, the 
 
 mmdttion of the perception, is not itself 
 
 bflitslon of tlie common senslblea is not, like 
 
 fiiiat , of tlie p'oper, (ho mere miuiciousiioss of 
 a tntileetlve or sonmrial ;|MSfllott, bat, though 
 only exerted when snoh passion Is determined, 
 Is In Itself Ito iponlaneoiaa energy of the mind 
 In ohjeea.?* cog nttlon. 
 
 finding towards, though not reaching to, 
 the simio result, might be addnoed many pas. 
 mgrn from the works of the Oreek Interpre- 
 ten of Aristotle. In particular, I would refer 
 to the doctrino touching the Common Sen 
 ilhlea, stated hj Simpllcius in Ms CommoiiUry 
 mi lim 'Bb Anima, (L.. IL, c. C, f, 35 a, L. ill., c. 
 1, f, 01 a, ed. Aid.,) and by Prisciauus Lydus, 
 la Mb mmtHmm of the Treatise of Thco- 
 plirastns on fcnse, (p. 274, »«, 385, cd. Basil. 
 Theoph.):— but (as already noticed) these books 
 iMUcht, I .inspect, ftom. stro'Uf Inlemal evi- 
 dence, hotli to be aisipmd to Prlscianns as 
 their author ; white the doctrine itself is pro- 
 haUy only that which bmhllehns had de. 
 Hvered, In Ms lost treatise upon the Soul. It 
 |g to this effect:— The common sensibles 
 night i^pear not to be sonsibles at all, or 
 Mnslhlis only per accidens, as making no im- 
 f reaion on the organ, and as objects analo- 
 gous to, and apprelieiidud by, the understand- 
 ing or rational mind alone. This extreme 
 doetrlne Is not, howoTor, to be admitted. As 
 •enslbles, the common must be allowed to act 
 MBiehow mpon the lensoi, though in a diffe- 
 .rent manner llrom the proper. Oomparatlvely 
 ■peaking, the proper act primarily, corporeally, 
 and by causing a passion In the sense; the 
 common, secondarily, formally, and by elicit. 
 Ing tbe sense and understanding to energy. 
 Bat thoagh there he, in the proper moro of 
 faasl.titr, In the oommoamore of' activity, still 
 «he common ve, in frofffiety, obj^ects of sense 
 per s» ; being neither wvnlsed (as substances) 
 as«lasl«ely by the: umtettaadlng, nor (as is 
 'the sweet hy 'Vlshm) accidentally by sense. 
 
 A similar approximation n|ay be detected In 
 'tlia doctrine of the 'more modnni.Aristotelian8. 
 (Sea p. S30 a.) Sxpressed In samewhat dlffe- 
 rent terms, it was long a celebrated contro- 
 versy In the schools, whether a, certain chMS 
 •r objects, under which common sensibles 
 were includei, did or did not modify the or. 
 ganic sense; and If this they did, whether 
 primarily and of themselves, or only secon- 
 darlly through thalr modification of the pro- 
 per samlbles, with which they were associated. 
 Ultt^mately, It beoama the provalent doctrine, 
 that of .Magnitniio, !%««, Place, Position, 
 9p Eelatloii In general, *c., ' nullam 
 TcI actionem :' that is, these 
 
 cajsed by the objective quality perceived | 
 in the Secundo-primary, the concomitant 
 sensation is tho effect of the objective 
 iiuality perceived ; in the Secondary, the 
 sensation is the effect of an objective 
 quality supposed, but not perceived. Ill 
 other words :— In the apprehension of the 
 Primary, there is no subject- object de- 
 termined by the object-object ; in the 
 Secundo-primary, there is a subject-object 
 
 SECONDARY QUALl l iES OF BODY. 
 
 do not, like the affective qualities (qnalitatei 
 patibilcs) or proper sensibles, make any real, 
 any material impress on the sense; but if 
 they can be said to act at all, act only, 
 either, as some held, spiritually or Inten. 
 tlonally, or as others, by natural rosultancQ, 
 (vel splritualiter slve intentionalitcr, vel per 
 natnralem resuluntiam.) See Toleius, Comm. 
 De Anima, L. il., c. 6, qq. 14, 16 ',—Zabarella, 
 Coram ©e. Anima, L. II., Text. (i5 ; De Rebus 
 Naturalibus, p. 939 sq., De Scnsu Agcnte, cc. 
 4, 5 ,—Oockmus, Adversaria, q. 65;— 5Mar«5z, 
 Metaphysicao DlspuUtiones, disp. xvlli., sec. 
 ^ ;-^S€heibter, Metaphysica, L. ii., c. 5, art. 5, 
 punct. 1 ; Do Anima, P. li., disp il , § 24; Liber 
 Scntentiarum, Bx. vi., ax. 4, Ex. vU., ax. 10. 
 
 The same result seems, likewise, confirmed 
 Indirectly, by tho doctrine of those philoso- 
 phers who, as Condillac in his earlier writ- 
 ings, Stewait, Brown, Mill, J. Young, Ac, hold 
 that extension and colour are only mutually 
 concomitant in imagination, through tho infla- 
 eiice of inveterate associatioa In itself, in- 
 dee I, this doctrine 1 do not admit; for it 
 supposes that we could possibly be conscious 
 of colour without extension, of extension with- 
 out colour. Not the former ; for we arc only, 
 as in sense, so in the imagination of sense, 
 aware of a minimum visible, as of a luminous 
 or coloured point. In contrast to and out of a 
 surrounding expanse of obscure or differently 
 coloured surface ; and a visual object, larger 
 than the minimum. Is, ox hypothesi, presented, 
 or represented, as extended. (See also Note 
 E.) — Not the latter; for, as I have already ob- 
 served, psychologically speaking, the sensation 
 of colour comprehends contradictory oppo- 
 sites; to wit, both the sensation of positive 
 colour, In many modes, and the sensation of a 
 privation of all colour, in one. But of contra, 
 dictory predicates one or other mubt, by the 
 logical law of excluded middle, be attributed 
 in thought to every object of thought. We 
 cannot, therefore, call up in imagination an 
 extended object, without representing it cither 
 m somehow positively coloured, (red, or green. 
 Of Wue, Ac,) or as negatively coloured, (black.) 
 Bat though I reject this doctrine, I do not 
 reject It as absolutely destitute of truth. It is 
 erroneous I think ; but every error is a truth 
 abused ; and the abuse in this case seems to 
 lie in the extreme recoil from tho counter 
 error of the common opinion, — that the appre- 
 hension through sight of colour, and tho ap- 
 prehension through sight of extension an4 
 ftirurc, are as Inseparable, identical cognitions 
 of identical objecti.— Bee Reid, Inq. 145* 
 
 <V 
 
 determined by tbe object- object ; in the 
 Secondary, a subject-object is tbe only 
 object of immediate cognition. 
 
 22. In the Primary, the sensation of 
 the secondary quality, which affords its 
 condition to the perception of the pri- 
 mary, is various and indefinite;* in the 
 Secundo-primary, the sensation of the 
 
 86) 
 
 I secondary quality, which accompanies the 
 perception of the quasi primary, is, under 
 the same circumstances, uniform and de- 
 finite ; in the Secondary, the sensation is 
 Itself dertnite, but its exciting cause, the 
 supposed quality in bodies, various and 
 indefinite. (See p. 854 b— 856 a.) 
 
 23. The Primary and Secondary qualities 
 
 • The opinions so generally prevalent, that 
 through touch, or touch and muscular feeling, 
 or touch and sight, or touch, muscular feeling, 
 and sight, — that through these senses, exclu- 
 sively, we are percipient of extension, &c., 
 J do not admit. On the contrary, I hold that 
 all sensations, whatsoever, of which we are 
 conscious, as one out of another, eo ip o, afford 
 us the condition of immediately and neces.'»arily 
 apprehending extension ; for in the conscious- 
 ness itself of such reciprocal outness is actually 
 Involved a perception of ditference of place in 
 space, and, consequently, of the extended. 
 Philosophers liave confounded what sujiplies 
 the condition of the more prompt and precise 
 perception of extension, with what supplies tho 
 condition of a perception of extension at all. 
 
 And be it observed, that it makes no essen- 
 tial difference in this doctrine, whether tho 
 mind be supposed proximately conscious of 
 the reciprocal outness of sensations at tho 
 central extremity of the nerves, in an extended 
 sensorium commune, where each distinct ner- 
 vous filament has its separate locality, or at the 
 peripheral extremity of the nerves, in the places 
 themselves where sensations are excited, and 
 to which they are referred. From many pa- 
 thological phc-enomcna the former alternative 
 
 might appear the more probable. In this 
 view, each several nerve, or rather, each 
 several nervous filament, (for every such fila- 
 ment has its peculiar function, and runs isola- 
 ted from every other,) is to be regarded merely 
 as one sentient jjomf; which yields one indivi. 
 Bible sensation, out of and distinct from that 
 of every other, by the side of which it is 
 arr-'inged; and not as a sentient line, each point 
 of which, throughout its course, has for itself 
 a separate local sensibility. For a stimulus 
 applied to any intermediate part of a nerve, is 
 felt not as there, but as if applied to its peri- 
 pheral extremity; a feeling which continues 
 when tliat extremity itself, nay, when any por- 
 tion of the nerve, however great, has been long 
 cut off. Thus it is that a whole line of nerve 
 affords, at all its points, only the sensation of 
 one determinate point. One point, therefore, 
 physiologically speaking, it is to be considered. 
 (See Plutarch, De Plac. Philos. L. iv. c. 23;— 
 Nemetius, De Horn., c. 8;—Fabricius Ilildanus, 
 Obs. Cent, iii.obs. 15;— Descartes, Princ, P. iv. 
 % 196 i—Blancard, Coll. Med. Phys. cent. vii. 
 obs. 15;— Stiuirt, De Motu Muse. c. 6;—Kaau 
 Boerhaave, Imp. fac. § 308 sq. ;—Sir Ch, Bell, 
 Idea, Ac. p. 12; The Hand, p. 159 ;—AfagemU€, 
 Jouru. t. V. p. 38 i—MueUer, Phys. pp. 692-696, 
 Engl, tr.) 
 
 Take for instance a man whose leg has been 
 amputated. If now two nervous filaments bo 
 irritated, the one of which ran to his f rent, I 
 
 the other to his little, toe— he will experience 
 two pains, as in these two members. Nor ia 
 there, in propriety, any deception in such sen. 
 sations. For his toes, as all his members, are 
 his only as they are to him sentient ; and thej 
 ai-e only sentient und distinctively sentient, as 
 endowed with nerves and distinct nerves. 
 The nerves thus constitute alone the whole 
 sentient organism. In these circumstances, 
 the peculiar nerves of the several toes, running 
 isolated from centre to periphery, and thus 
 remaining, though curtailed in length, unmu- 
 tilated in function, will, if irritated at any 
 point, continue to manifest their original 
 sensations ; and these being now, as heretofore, 
 manifested out of each other, must afford the 
 condition of a perceived extension, not less 
 real than that which they afforded prior to 
 the amputation. 
 
 Tho hypothesis of an extended sensorium 
 commune, or complex uervous centre, the 
 mind being supposed in proximate connexion 
 with each of its constituent nervous termina- 
 tions or origins, may thus be reconciled to tho 
 doctrine of natural realism; and therefore 
 what was said at p. 821 a, No. 2, and relative 
 places, with reference to a sensorium of a dif. 
 ferent character, is to be qualified iu conform- 
 ity to the present supposition. 
 
 It is, however, I think, more philosophical, 
 to consider the nervous system as one whole, 
 with each part of which the animating prin- 
 ciple is equally and immediately connected, 
 so long as each part remains in continuity with 
 the centre. To this opinion may be reduced 
 the doctrine of Aristotle, that the soul contains 
 the body, rather than the body the soul, (De 
 An., L. i., c. 9, § 4) ; — a doctrine on which 
 was founded the common dogma of the ,Sc/joo/«, 
 that the Soul is all in the whole body, and all 
 in every of its parts, moaning thereby, that tho 
 simple, uncxtended mind, in some inconceiv- 
 able manner, present to all the organs, is per- 
 cipient of the peculiar affection M'hich each is 
 a<lapted to receive, and actuates each in the 
 peculiar function which it is qualified to dis- 
 charge. See also St Gregory of Nyssa, (De 
 Horn. Opif. cc. 12, 14, 15),\ho oldest phUoso- 
 pher I recollect, by whom this dogma is ex- 
 plicitly enounced. Compare 6?ai'^«. De Sympt. 
 Causis. L. ii. c. Of modern authorities to the 
 same result, are — PerrauU (Du Mouv. des 
 Yeux, p. 691, and Du Toucher, p. 531); Tabor 
 (Tract, iii. c. 3); Stunrt (De Motu Muse. c. 5); 
 Leidenfrost (De Mento Humana, c. iii. §§ H, 14, 
 15) ; Tiedemann (Psychologic, p. 309. sq.); Be. 
 rard, (Rapports &bc. ch. i % 2); R. O. Carus 
 (Vorles. ueb. Psychologie, passim); Umbreit 
 (P.«ychologie, c. 1, and Beilnge, passim); F. 
 Fiteher{Veb. d. Sits d. fleele, passim, and Psy 
 
so 
 
 PEIMAEY, SECUNDO-PEIMARY AND 
 
 [hOT£ I>. 
 
 'iHIMp'VHII ■ 'iBllllii' •■■■HBP" ■*: !'wiiBIIWwP''i>l^ •* f ^r^' ■■"• »' • i# ^WflmS WP^Wi*" %"i*«^F^ 
 
 oriiiitiMitoi.^ For, in the peret|iti0Q of a 
 prinarjy tii«re is involved no sensation of 
 a soooiraary with which it can be mixed 
 up; while in tlie sensation of a secondary 
 
 •hidoj^io, c. 4). The two last Sflcin to think that 
 
 tMr opluion on this niattar Is Munething new I 
 Bosmtni also maintains tho same doctrine, but 
 at I have not yet obtained bis relative workSi 
 I Mi unable to refer to them artiO'iilately. — See 
 'Bthi 'UniT. de QenSvO| Ho. 7% June 1842. p. 
 341, sq. 
 
 iui< to tho f nestiott of valeriiiiism this doc> 
 trlnaJs IndHrerent. For the oonnexion of an 
 aneatcnded wiih an extended snbstanee Is 
 iqnally ineonBpreli.eBstlile» whether we con. 
 .:r«et tbe place 'Of union to a eentral point, or 
 wliether we leave Itco.extenslve with organl- 
 saHon. 
 
 The causes why tie sensations of different 
 parts of the nenrons apparatus vary so greatly 
 >om each other in supplying the conditions of 
 a perception of extenaiony Ae.. se:em to me 
 amnprehended In two f eneni nets, the one 
 nottsiltutlnf a physiological, the other a psycho- 
 '.egkaly law of , perception .;—hiw.% neither of 
 wileli, ho^wiirer, has 'jet obtained, from phUo- 
 wphers the consideration which it merits. 
 
 The l%ilol<yieaI law is — Tkat aiMmoMf poini^ 
 jiMt a mmaMm' ftlt a* loeaXfy JlfKnef, fe prO' 
 90fff<om mUi* iaolattd im its action from ev€rp 
 Jllar. nfllolofical experiment has not yet 
 lMe% and probably never may be able, to prove 
 mateiiileally the truth of this law which I have 
 here ventured to enounce; physiologists, in. 
 deed, seem hitherto to have wholly neglected 
 the distinction. So Ihr, lowever, Is it Ik-om 
 tieinf opposed to phyiiological observation, it 
 nay appeal In Its conirmation to the analogy 
 of all the fhots to wMeh such observation 
 reaches, (see par. 2d, first note, ML ;) while the 
 psyeboiof leal, phanoni'em are such as almost 
 to neceisilaw Its admission. To say nothing 
 of the ganglonic fhsions, which are now dis. 
 I^ovcd, the softness and colliquescence of the 
 oUhetory nerves and nervons expansion, for 
 example^ correspond witli. the tepoaslhOity we 
 experience, in smeU, of distinctly apprehend. 
 inf one part of 'the excited organlsoi as out of 
 another s wMIe the marvelons power we have 
 of doing this In vision, seems, by every more 
 nSnuto investigation of the organic structure, 
 IDore clearly to depend upon the isolation, 
 faenliar arrangement, and tenuity of the pri. 
 nary flfarils of the retina and optic nerve; 
 though nilerosuoiMI. anatomy,it moat be con. 
 fessed, has no*: ai' yet/'beea ahie to exhibit any 
 nervons element so inconceivably ■mall as Is 
 flia ;nlniinun. irMbllo. Besides the older ex. 
 pwinenla off Vurterfleid, Haller, 40., see Tre. 
 eirainis, Bcytraofe, 1886. p. 8S sq. — Volknmnn, 
 SeiM Baytraage, 1886, pp. 81 sq..., 197 aq. ;— 
 .JUMier, n.yB. .1888, pp. 1'078 .sq. 1111 sq. 
 Bngl. tr.;— also Mmr, Anthwpiilliflo, 18S4, 
 { 168. — Of Tonei 'and Feeling I an to speak 
 iawidlatoly. 
 
 MA. hm» I may ny a word In relation to a 
 illlM%' wilfili liai perplexed the physloto- 
 
 there is no perception of a primary at alL 
 Thus prominent in themselves, and pro- 
 minently contrasted as mutual extremes, 
 neither class can be overlooked, neither 
 class can be confounded with the other. 
 
 gists, and to which no solution, I am aware of, 
 has been attcntpted. — ^Tho retina, as first 
 shown by Trevirauus, is a pavement of pcrpen. 
 dicular rods, terminating in papillai} a con. 
 stltution which may be roughly represented to 
 Imagination by the bristles of a tliiclt set 
 brash. The retina Is, however, only the ter. 
 minal expansion of the optic nerve ; and the 
 rods which mako up its area, after bending 
 behind to an acute angle, run baclc as the con. 
 stltuent, but isolated, fibriln of that nerve, to 
 their origin in the brain. On the smaller siso 
 of the paplllno and fibrUs of the optic nerve, 
 principally depends, as already stated, the 
 greater power we possess, in the eye, of dis> 
 criminating one sensation as out of aitother| 
 consequently of apprehending extension, figure, 
 &c. — But hcie the difficulty arises: Micro- 
 scopic observations on tlie structure of the re. 
 tins give the diameter of the papilla; as about 
 the eight or nine thousandth part of an inch. 
 Optical expcriuients, again, on the ultiiuate 
 capacity of vision, show that a longitudinal 
 object (as a hair) viewed at such a distance 
 that its breadth, as reflected to the retina. Is 
 not more than the six hundred thousandth or 
 millionth of an inch, is distinctly visible to a 
 good eye. Now there is here — 1*^ a groat dis. 
 crepancy between the superficial extent of the 
 apparent ultimate fibrils of the retina, and the 
 extent of the image impressed on the retina by 
 the Impinging rays of light, the one beinf 
 above a hundred times greater than the other ; 
 and, 2**, it is impossible to conceive the exist* 
 ence of distinct fibrils so minute as would bo 
 required to propagate the impression, if the 
 breadth of the part affected were actually no 
 greater than the breadth of light redected 
 from the object to the retina. To nie the 
 dilhculty seems soluble If we suppose, 1% 
 that the ultimate fibrils and pnpillie aie, in 
 fact, the ultimate units or niiiiinia of seni>a. 
 tion ; and, 2^, that a stimulus of light, though 
 applied only to part of a papilla, idiopathically 
 afi'ects the whole. This theory is confirmed 
 by the analogy of the nerves of feeling, to 
 which I shall soon allude. The objections to 
 which it is exposed I see; but I think that 
 they may easily be answered. On the discus- 
 slon of the point I cannot however enter. 
 
 The Ft^choloffieal law is — That though a |W. 
 ceptiom he. onlypimihJe under cvitdhhm of o ten* 
 wljoiii Kill, thut ahone a certain limit themoTB 
 iatiflss the Mentation or suhjfctive conteioumteUf 
 fft« more {ndistlnd the perceptim or olt^lai 
 eonsciomneu. 
 
 On this, which Is a special case of a stlF 
 higher law, 1 have already incidentally spoken 
 and shall again have occasion to speak. (Sea 
 Note I>*.) It is at present sufilcicnt to notice— 
 
 1*. That we are only conscious of the exist- 
 ence of our organism as a physical body, under 
 our consciousness of Its existence as an animal 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 §11.] 
 
 The Sectindo-primary qualities, on the 
 contrary, are, at once, complex and eoii- 
 fusive. For, on the one hand, as percep- 
 tions approximatino; to the primary, on 
 the other, as sensations identified with 
 
 863 
 
 the secondary, they may, if not altogether 
 OTerlooked, Ughtly be, as they have al- 
 ways hitherto been, confounded with the 
 one or with the other of these cksses. 
 (See pp. 849 b, 800 a.) 
 
 body, and are only conscious of its existence 
 as an animal body under our consciousness of 
 It as somehow or other sensitively affected. 
 
 2'>. That though the sensation of our organ 
 isni as anitnally affected, is, as it were, the 
 light by which it ia exhibited to our percep 
 tion as a physically extended body; still if the 
 affection be too strong, the pain or pleasure 
 too Intense, the light blinds by its very splen 
 dour, and the perception is lost In the sensa- 
 tion. Accordingly, if we take a survey of the 
 senses, we shall find, that exactly in propor- 
 tion as each affords an idiopathic sensation 
 more or less capable of being carried to an 
 extreme either of pleasure or of pain, does it 
 afford, but in an inverse ratio, the condition of 
 an objective perception more or less distinct 
 In the senses of Sight and Healing, as con- 
 trasted with those of Taste and Smell, the 
 counter proportions are precise and manifest- 
 and precisely as in animals these lattei senses 
 gam in their objective cliaracter as means of 
 knowledge, do they lose in their subjective 
 character as sources of pleasurable or painful 
 sensations. To a dog, for instance, in whom 
 the sense of smell is so acute, all odours seem 
 in themselves, to be indifferent. In Touch or 
 Feeling the same analogy holds good, and 
 withm iteelf; for in this case, where the sense 
 is diffused throughout the body, the subjective 
 and objective vary in their proportions at 
 different parts. The parts most subjectively 
 sensible, those chiefly susceptible of pain and 
 pleasure, furnish precisely the obtusest organs 
 or touch J and the acutest organs of touch do ' 
 not possess, if ever even that, more than an 
 average amount of subjective sensibility. I 
 am disposed, indeed, from the analogy of the 
 other senses, to surmise, that the nerves of 
 touch proper (the more objective) and of feel 
 mg proper (the more subjective) are distinct • 
 and distributed in various proportions to dif' 
 ferent parts of the body. I ..^hould also sur- 
 mise, that the ultimate fibrils of the former 
 run in isolated action from periphery to centre 
 while the ultimate fibrils of the latter may to 
 a certain extent, be confounded with each 
 other at their terminal expansion in the skin • 
 so that for this reason, likewise, they do not' 
 as the former, supply to consciousness an op- 
 portunity of so precisely discriminating the 
 reciprocal outness of their sensations. The 
 experiments of Weber have shown, how dif 
 ferently in degree different parts of the skin 
 possess the power of touch proper: this 
 power, as measured by the smallness of the 
 interval at which the blunted points of a pair 
 of compasses, brought Into contact with the 
 slin, can be discriminated as double, varyinff 
 from the twentieth of an English inch at the 
 tip of the tongue, and a tenth on the volar 
 aurface of the third finger, to two inches and 
 a-iialf over the greater part of the neck 
 
 back, arms, and thighs._(De Pulsu, &c., p 44. 
 81, in particular p. 58. An abstract, not al 
 
 p. TOO.) If these experiments be repeated 
 with a pair of compasses not very obtuse and 
 capable, therefore, by a slight pressure, of ex 
 citing a sensation in the skin, it wiU be found 
 that whilst Weber's observations, as to the re 
 markable difference of the different parts in 
 the power of tactile discrimination, are cor- 
 rectj that, at the same time, what he did 
 not observe, there is no corresponding ditfe 
 rence between the parts in their sensibilitv to 
 superficial pricking, scratohiuff, &c On 'tliR 
 
 ww'^'k-' .""", '^ '"""^ '''^'> '" tl^epVcel 
 where, objectively, touch is most alive sub 
 
 jectively feeling is, in the first instance ai 
 least, in some degree deadened; and that tho 
 parts the most obtuse in discriminating tho 
 duplicity of the touching points, are by no 
 means the least acute to the sensation excited 
 by their pressure. 
 
 For example ;-~The tip of the tongue has 
 fifty, the inferior surface of the third finirer 
 twenty five, times the tactile discrimination of 
 the arm. But it will be found, on trial, that 
 In^r^T u "'"'^ sensitive to a sharp point 
 eSw ii i "*** strongly, to the skin, than 
 either the tongue or the finger, and (depi. 
 lated of course) at least as alive to the pre- 
 sence of a very light body, as a hair, a thread, 
 a feather, drawn along the surface. In the 
 several places the phaenomena thus vary — 
 in those parts where touch proper prevails a 
 subacute point, lightly pressed upon the skin 
 determines a sensation of w hid. we can hardly 
 predicate cither pain or pleasure, and nearly 
 hmited to the place on which the pressure is 
 made. Accordingly, when two such points 
 are thus, at the %ame time, pressed upon the 
 Bkm, we are conscious of two distinct inipres- 
 sions, even when tbe pressing points approxi- 
 mate pretty closely to each other.— In those 
 l»arts, on the other hand, where feeling proper 
 prevails, a subacute point, lightly pressed 
 upon the skin, determines a sensation which 
 we can hardly call indifferent; and which ra. 
 ?-^^ 1? ^ ^^"at''e extent, from the place on 
 Which the pressure is applied. Accordingly 
 when two such points are thus, at the saiiie' 
 time, pressed upon the skin, we are not con. 
 scions of two distinct impressions, unless the 
 pressing points are at a considerable distance 
 from each other; the two impressions run- 
 mng, as it were, together, and thus consti- 
 tutmg one indivisible sensation. The discri. 
 minatcd sensations in the one case, depends 
 manifestly on the discriminated action, through 
 the isolated and unexpanded termination of 
 the nervons fibrils of touch proper ; and the 
 indistinguishable sensation in the other, will 
 I have no doubt, be ultimately found by micro ' 
 scopic anatomy to depend, in like manner, on 
 
§64 
 
 PRIMAEY, SECUNDO-PRIMARY ANB 
 
 [notb »• 
 
 f ''J 
 
 SECONDAllY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 14. Ib lb* mmm. relation a Prfmary or 
 a 'SMomdary qialty, as simple, has it# ,' 
 term unifocal. A Secundo-primary, on 
 the contrary, Wng complex, its term, as 
 one, is necessarily equivocal. For, viewed 
 on one side, it is tlie modiicalion of a 
 primary; on the other, it is, in reality, 
 ■imply a secondary quality. — (How, in a 
 more general point of view, the Second- 
 ary qualities are no less complex, and their 
 term no less amWgnoui. than the Secundo- 
 primary, see par. «.) 
 
 25.' All the senses, simply or in combi- 
 nation, afford conditions for the percep- 
 tion of the Primary qualities, (par. 22, 
 note;) and all, of course, supply the sen- 
 sations themselves of the Secondary. As 
 only various modifications of resistance, 
 the Secundo-primary qualities are all, as 
 percepts proper, as quasi-primary qualities, 
 apprehended through the locomotive 
 faculty,* and our consciousness of its 
 energy ; as sensations, as secondary quali* 
 tieSy they are apprehended as modifications 
 
 the nervoma flbrila of feeling proper being, as 
 
 It Wirt, .fated or interlaced together at their 
 
 temlnailon, or rather, perhaps, on each ulii. 
 
 mate ihrll, each primary aoniient unit being 
 
 expmded. Ihroagha Mnaidenble extent of sUn. 
 
 VhemppMilioaor suh expan^oa seems, in 
 
 ieixL to me necessitated by tliese tlirco facta: 
 
 — I* that every point of the altin Is sensible; 
 
 2*», that no poiat of the skin Is 'ienslble ex. 
 
 «ept through the illstribution to it of nervous 
 
 substance ; and, 3', that the ultimate llbrliSi 
 
 these minima, at least, into which anatomists 
 
 Inve, as yet, beea able to aualyao the nerves, 
 
 are too large, and withal too few, to carry 
 
 ■enaation to 'each cotuneona point, unleas by an 
 
 attenuation and dlfttsion of the inest kind.— 
 
 Within thia superficial sphere of cutaneous ap> 
 
 prehetwion, the objective ianil subjective, per- 
 
 eeption and sensation, touch proper and feeling 
 
 proper, are thua always found to each other in 
 
 •II inverse ratio. 
 
 But take the same places, and puncture 
 Aseply. Then, indeed, the sense of pain will 
 he found to be intenaer in the tongue and 
 •ng er ttan In the arm ; for the tongue and 
 inger are endowed with comparatively mere 
 numerous nerves, and consequently with a 
 more concentrated, sensibility, than the arm ; 
 fhongh these' may either. If diftireiit, lie 
 beneath the termination of the nerves of 
 touch, or, if the same, commence their energy 
 •ft feeling only at the pitch where their energy 
 •■ teach concludes. Be thia, however, as it 
 may, it will be always found, that in propor- 
 tion as the Internal feeling of a part becomea 
 excited, Is It Incapacitated, for the time, as an 
 organ of external touch. 
 
 I do not therefore assert, withont a quali. 
 teation, that touch aiid feeling arc every 
 where manifested in an Inverse ratio; for 
 both together may be higher, both together 
 may bo lower, in one place than another. 
 But whilst I diffidently hold that they are de. 
 pendent upon different conditions — that the 
 capacity of pain and lacmsure, and the power 
 of tactual diacriniinaticin, which a part pos- 
 iosses, are not the result of the same nervous 
 ibnis; I maintain, with confidence, that these 
 senses; never, in any part, coeilst In exercise 
 in any high degree, and that wherever the one 
 rises to eixees% there the other will be found 
 to sink to a corresponding 'deacleney. 
 
 In saying, in the present note, that touch is 
 ■orC' eldeetlve thaa 'fMtng, I am not to be 
 .■■VpsMd to' mean, that 'leach !■, in itself. 
 
 aught but a subjective aflfection—a feeling— a 
 sensation. TOnoh proper is here styled objee- 
 tive, not absolutoly, but only In contrast and 
 In comparison to feeling proper; 1**, in as 
 much as it affords in the cycle of its own phes- 
 nomena a greater amount of information ; 2% 
 as it affords more frequent occasions of per- 
 ception or objective apprehension ; and, 3*, as 
 it is feebly, if at all, characterized by tho sub- 
 jective affections of pain and plea-siure. 
 
 • L— On tfus Loromoiivt Faculty and Mmeular 
 ScnsCf in reUtlwn to Perception. — I say that tho 
 Soeundo.priinary qualities, in their quasi- prl- 
 mary phasla, arc apprehended through the 
 locomotive /acuUy, and not through the tuiactt- 
 lar icnse ; for it Is impossible that the state of 
 muscular feeling can enable us to be immedi- 
 ately cognisant of the existence and degree of 
 a resisting force. On the contrary, supposing 
 all muscular fceljng abolislied, the power of 
 moving the muscles at will remaining, how- 
 ever, entire, I hold (as will anon be shown) 
 that the consciousness of the mental motive 
 energy, and of the greater or less intensity of 
 sueh energy requisite, in different circum- 
 stancca, to accomplish our intention, would of 
 itself enable us ^ways to perceive the fact, 
 and in sonic degree to measure the amount, 
 of any resistance to our voluntary movements; 
 howbeit the concomitance of certain feelings 
 with the different states of muscular tension, 
 renders this cognition not only easier, but, In 
 fact, obtrudes it upon our attention. Scaliger, 
 therefore, in refemng the apprehension of 
 weight, Ac, to the locomotive faculty, is, in mj 
 opinion, far more correct than recent philoso 
 phers, in referring It to the muscular sense. 
 (Sec II. of this footnote,) 
 
 We have here to distinguish three things. 
 1®, Tho Btlll immanent or purely mental act 
 of will : what for distinction s sake I would 
 call the hyptrorganic volition to movej — the 
 aetio elicita of the schools. Of this volition we 
 are conscious, even though it do not go out 
 Into overt action. 
 
 2®. If this volition become transcunt, be 
 carried into effect, it passes into the mental 
 effort or nlsus to move. Thia I would call the 
 emrgcnic mlition, or, by an extension of tho 
 scholastic language, the actio impcrant. Of 
 this we are Immediately conscious. For we 
 are conscious of It, though by a narcosis or 
 stupor of the sensitive nerves we lose all 
 feeling of the movement of the limb; — thougi 
 by a panlyila of the moUve nerves, no move- 
 
 of touch proper, and of cutaneous and 
 muscular feeling.* 
 
 b)-A. in TJiougkt,. a. (n relation to 
 
 MMelhct. 
 
 26. As modes of matter, the Primary 
 qualities are thought as necessary and 
 
 ment in the limb follows the mental effort to 
 move ;— though by an abnormal stimulus of 
 the muscular fibres, a contraction in them is 
 caused even in opposition to our will. 
 
 3°. Determined by tho enorganic volition, 
 the cerebral influence is transmitted by the 
 motive nerves; the nmscles contract or endea- 
 vour to contract, so that the limb moves or 
 endeavours to move. This motion or effort to 
 move I would call the organic movement, the 
 crgantcnisu$; by a limitation of the scholastic 
 term, it might bo denominated the (Uitio im- 
 ptrata. 
 
 It might seem at first sight,— 1", that the 
 organic movement is immediately determined 
 by the enorganic volition ; and, 2«, that we are 
 immediately conscious of the organic nisus in 
 it!«elf. But neither is the case.— Not the for- 
 nier : for even if we identify the contraction 
 of the muscles and the overt movement of the 
 iiu.b, this IS only the mediate result of the 
 enorganic volition, through the action of the 
 nervous influence transmitted from the brain 
 The mind, therefore, exerts its effort to move, 
 proximately in determining this transmission: 
 hut we are unconscious not only of the mode 
 in winch this operation is performed, but even 
 of the operation itself.— Not the latter : for 
 aU muscular contraction is dependent on the 
 agency of one set of nerves, all feeling of mus- 
 cular contraction on another. Thus, from the 
 exclusive paralysis of the former, or the ex- 
 elusive stupor of the latter, the one function 
 may remain entire, wliile the other is abo- 
 lished; and it is only because certain muscu- 
 lar fcehn^rg are normaUy, though contingently, 
 associated with the different muscular states 
 that, independently of the consciousness of the' 
 enorganic volition, we are indirectly made 
 aware of the various degrees of the organic 
 nlsus exerted in our different members • But 
 
 ttrZ'^'A^' Secundo-primary, as con- 
 tingent and common ; the Secondary, as 
 contingent and peculiar. 
 
 27. Thought as necessary, and imme- 
 diately apprehended as actual, modes of 
 matter, we conceive the Primary qualities 
 m what thoy objectively aro. The Se- 
 cundo-pnmary thought in their objective 
 phasLs, as modifications of the Primary, 
 
 • I must here notice an error of inference, 
 which runs tlirough the experiments by Pro- 
 fessor Weber of Leipsic, In regard to tho shares 
 Which the sens© of touch proper and the con 
 Bclousness of muscular eftort have in the esti- 
 matlon of weight, as detailed in his valuable 
 «f T^^HTll.'** ^"l^"' Resorptions Audit.. 
 
 SJ^.V^^' PP- **^-^*"*' 1^' 159-161.- 
 weight he supposes to be tested by the Touch 
 alone when objects arc laid upon the hand 
 reposing, say, on a pillow. Here there appears 
 to me a very palpable mistalte. For witliout 
 denying that different weights, up to a certain 
 point, produce different sensations on the 
 uei-ves of touch and feeling, and that conse- 
 «nently an experience of the difference of such i 
 
 u«o?n«'°'*"''?\*^^ information thus forced 
 upon us IS not the. less valuable. By the as 
 soc.ated sensations our attention is kept alive 
 to the state of our muscular movements; by 
 them we are enabled to graduate with the re 
 quisito accuracy the amount of organic effort, 
 and to expend in each movement precisely the 
 ^rr^l W,"'';!T^ ''' accomplish its purpose. 
 &ir Charles Bell records the case of a mother 
 who, while nursing her infant, was affected 
 with paralysis or loss of muscular motion on 
 one side of her body, and by stupor or loss of 
 sensibility on the other. With the arm ca- 
 pable of movement she could hold her child to 
 her bosom; and this she continued to do so 
 Jong as her attention remained fixed upon the 
 intant But if surrounding objects withdrew 
 
 i^n«,^*^'*''"!f '*?' *^''''*' ^^'""^ "*» admonitory 
 sensation, the flexor muscles of the arm ura. 
 dually relaxed, and the child was in danger of 
 falhng. (The Hand, p. 204.) 
 
 These distinctions in the process of volun- 
 tary motion, especially the two last, (for the 
 first and second may be viewed as virtually the 
 same,) are of in.portance to illustrate the 
 double nature of the secundo-primary qaali- 
 ties, each of which is, in fact, the aggregate of 
 an objective or quasi-primary quality, appro- 
 hended in a perception, and of a secondary or 
 subjective quality caused by the other, appro- 
 hended m a sensatioi.. Each of these quali- 
 tics, each of these cognitions, appertains to a 
 different part of the motive process The 
 quasi.primary quality and its perception, de- 
 pending on the enorganic volition and the 
 nerves of mot. on ; the secondary quality and 
 Its sensation, depending on the organic iiisus 
 and the nerves of sensibility. 
 
 The quasi- primary quality is, always, simply 
 a resistance to our enorganic volition, as rea. 
 hzed In a muscular effort. But, be it remein- 
 
 sensation may help us to an inference of a 
 difference of weight; it is manifest, that If a 
 body be laid upon a muscular part, that wc 
 estmiate its weight proximately and princi. 
 pally i.y the amount of lateral pressure on the 
 muscles, and this pressure Itself, by the diffi. 
 rulty we find in lifting tho body, however im- 
 perceptibly, by a contraction or bellying out of 
 tho muscular fibres. When superincumbent 
 bodies, however different in we.ght, are all 
 still so heavy as to render this contraction 
 almost or altogether Impossible; it will be 
 found, that our power of measuring their com. 
 parative weights becomes, in the one 
 feeble and fallacious. In the other null. 
 
PRIMARY, SECUNDO-PRIMAEY AND 
 
 [Kom o 
 
 
 / 
 
 ■lid,iii both th«r obJ«5ctiT© and subjective 
 pliaseii, innnediately apprehended, we con- 
 ceive them in what they objectively, as 
 well as in what they siibjectively, are. 
 ft© Secondary being neither thought as 
 
 twred, there may lie muscular effort, even If a 
 
 iMMly weighs or Is pressed upon a part of nur 
 'iniisonlar frame apparently at rest. (See 
 Iwtiiote • of pafe 8II&.)— And how is tUe 
 roilstaace perceived I I have frequently as- 
 .icrted, Chat in. pcroeption we are conscious 
 •f the external oliject inmediately and in 
 Itsell This is the doctrine of Natural Real- 
 irai. But in saying th»t a thing' is known In 
 Itself, I do not mean that this ohject is known 
 In its absolute existence, that is, out of rela- 
 tien to lis. This is inposBlhle ; for our know. 
 leilge Is only of the relative. To know a thing 
 la Itself or immediately, is an expression I use 
 merely in contrast to the knowledge of a thing 
 la a representation, or mediately. (See Note 
 B.) On 'this doctrine an external qoalltf Is said 
 U he tnown In iteelf, when it Is known as the 
 isnnediale and necessary correlative of an 
 Internal quality of which I am conscious. 
 Thus, when I am conscious of the exertion of 
 :iii, eaorganle voUtkn to aove, and aware 
 that the nnicles «e obedient to my will, but 
 at the same time aware that my limb is arrest* 
 ■4 'In Its notion by some external Impediment ; 
 '—In this ease I cannot be eonsdoui of myself 
 as the resisted relative without at the ssme 
 time being conscious, being Immediately per- 
 cipient, of a not.9eif as the resisting correla- 
 tlve. In this cognition there Is no sensation, 
 an ml^ectlvo.organic affection. I simply fcnow' 
 myself as a force in ener'gy, the not- self as a 
 aimilter force In energy. — So much for the 
 qoasi-prlmary quality, as dependent on the 
 enorgMiie volition. 
 
 But though such pure perception may be 
 detected in the simple apprehension of re- 
 ■Iftaiiee, In reality it does not stand alone; 
 iir It Is always accompanied by sensations, of 
 which the nmscular nisus or quiescence, on 
 the one hand, and the resisting, the pressing 
 body, on the other, are the eauws. Of these 
 sensations, the former, to wit the feelings con- 
 nwlM with the states of tension and rc'laxa- 
 lion, lie wholly in the mnsele*, and belonf to 
 wb : has sometimes been distinguished as the 
 muscular sense. The latter, to wit the sensa. 
 tlons determined by the foreign pressure, He 
 partly in the skin, and bcloiijr to the sense of 
 touch proper and cutaneous feeling, partly In 
 the flesh, and belonging to the musouhir sense. 
 These affections, sometimes pleasurable, some- 
 limes painful, are, in either case, merely modi 
 •■ations of the sensitive nerves distributed to 
 Umi mnieles and to the skin ; and, a* niiuil. 
 tated to ns, constitute the secondary quality, 
 Cio .Mmatlon of which accompanies the per- 
 .aoptfoa. of' every secnndo-'prlmary. 
 
 Although the preceding doctrine coincide, 
 la ftp*, with that which M. Maine de BIran, 
 altar a hint by Locke, has so ably developed, 
 ■len especially In his * Nouvelles Considera. 
 tioiia smr tea Haffporta du Physlqua ct du 
 'Hoval. do ■iWrawio;' I Jliii It ta,posslhle to^ go 
 
 necessary, nor immediately apprehended 
 in their external reality, we conceive 
 .deqotel, what thev are^in their subjec. 
 live effects, but inadequately what they 
 are as objective causes. 
 
 along with his illustrious editor, M Cousin, 
 (p. xzv. of Preface,) in thinking that his eza. 
 mlnation of Humors reasoning against the de- 
 duction of our notion of Power from the con- 
 (icionsness of efficsicy in the voluntary move 
 ment of our muscles, 'leaves nothing to de- 
 sire, and nothing to reply,* On the contraiy, 
 though always dissenting with dilfidcnco from 
 M. Cousin, I confess it does not seem to me, 
 that in any of his seven assaults on Hume, has 
 De BIran grappled with the most formidable 
 objections of the great sceptic. The tecond, 
 tAtrd, and MWNiA, of Hume's arguments, as 
 stated and criticized by Biran, are not pro- 
 posed, as arguments, by Hume at all ; and the 
 Jburth wndjifth in Biran's array constitute only 
 a single reasoning in Hume's. Of the three 
 arguments which remain, the Jtrst and tizth in 
 Biran's enumeration are the most important, 
 — But, under the first, the examples alleged by 
 Hume, from cases of sudden palsy, Biran silently 
 passes by ; yet these present by far the most 
 perplexing difficulties for his doctrine of con- 
 scious efficacy. In another and subsequent 
 work (R6ponses, Ate, p. 386) he. Indeed, inci- 
 dentally considers this objection, referring us 
 back for its regular refbtation to the strictures 
 on Hume, where, however, as stated, no such 
 refutation Is to be found. Nor does he in this 
 latter treatise relieve the difficulty. For as 
 regards the argument from our non con. 
 sciousness of loss of power, prior to an actual 
 attempt to move, as shown in the case of pa- 
 ralysls supervening during sleep, — this, it 
 scents to me, can only be answered from the 
 fact, that we are never conscious of force, ss 
 nnexerted or in potentia, (for the ambiguous 
 term potter, unfortunately after Locke em- 
 ployed by Hume in the discussion, is there 
 equivalent to/tirc«, «i*, and not to mere potm- 
 tialitp as opposed to actwdity,) but only of 
 force, as In actu or exerted. For in this case, 
 we never can possibly be conscious of the 
 absence of a force, previously to the ciTort 
 made to put it forth.— The purport of tho 
 $mtk argument is not given, as Hume, not. 
 withstanding the usual want of precision *n 
 his language, certainly Intended itj — which 
 was to this effect :— Volition to move a Umb, 
 and tho actual moving of It, are the first and 
 last in a scries of more than two successive 
 events ; and cannot, therefore, stand to each 
 other, InTmcdiately, in the relation of cause 
 and effect. They may, however, stand to each 
 other in the relation of cause and effect, me- 
 diately. Bui, then, if th.?y can be known hi 
 consciousness as thus mediately related, it is 
 a necessary condition of such knowledge, that 
 the intervening series of causes and effects, 
 through which the final movement of the lim^ 
 is supposed to be mediately dependent on tho 
 primary volition to move, should be known to 
 consciousness immediately under that relation. 
 Bnt this iutermcdiau:, this connecting series 
 
 I "J 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 mr 
 
 28. Our conceptions of the Primary 
 are clear and distinct ; of the Secundo- 
 primary, both as secondary and quasi- 
 primary qualities, clear and distinct ; of 
 the Secondary, as subjective affections, 
 clear and distinct, as objective, obscure 
 
 is, confessedly, unknown to consciousnesi at 
 all, far less as a series of causes and effects. 
 It follows therefore, a fortiori, that the dc- 
 pendency of the last on the first of these events, 
 as of an effect upon its cause, must be to con- 
 sciousness unknown. In other words :— having 
 no consciousness that the volition to move is 
 the efficacious force (power) by which even 
 the event immediately consequent on it (say 
 tho transmission of the nervous intlucnco from 
 brain to muscle) is produced, such event being 
 In fact itself to consciousness occult; umlto 
 minus can we have a consciousness of that 
 volition being the efficacious force, by which 
 the ultimate movement of the limb is mediately 
 determined? This is certainly the argument 
 which Hume intended, and as a refutation of 
 the doctrine, that in our voluntary movements 
 at least, wo have an apprehension of the cau- 
 sal nexus between the mental volition as cause 
 and the corporeal movement as effect, it seems 
 to mo unanswerable. But as stated, and 
 easily refuted, by De Biran, it is only tanta- 
 mount to the reasoning — That as we are not 
 conscious how we move a limb, we cannot be 
 conscious of the feeling that we do exert a 
 motive force. But such a feeling of force, ac- 
 tion, energy, Hume did not deny. 
 
 II. — Historical notices touching the recognition 
 of the Locomotive Faculty/ as a medium of per- 
 ception, and of the Muscular Sense. — That the re- 
 cognition of the Locomotive Faculty, or rather, 
 the recognition of the Muscular Sense as a 
 medium of apprehension, is of a recent date, 
 and by psychologists of this countiy, is an 
 opinion In both respects erroneous. — ^As far 
 as I am iiwarc, this distinction was originally 
 taken by two Italian Aristotelians, some three 
 centuries ago; and when the observation was 
 again forgotten, both France and Germany are 
 before Scotland in the merit of its modern 
 revival. 
 
 It was first promulgated by Julius Csesar 
 Scaligcr about the middle of the sixteenth 
 century (1557.) Aristotle, followed by philo- 
 sophers in general, had referred the percep- 
 tion of weight (tho heavy and light) to the 
 sense of Touch; though, in truth, under 
 Touch, Aristotle seems to have comprehended 
 both the Skin and Muscular senses. See Hist. 
 An. i. 4. De Part. An. ii. 1, 10. De Anima, 
 11. 11. On this particular doctrine, Scaliger, 
 Inter alia, observes : ' Et sane sic videtur, 
 Namque gravitas et levitas tangcndo depre- 
 hcnditur. Ac nemo est, qui non putet, attrec- 
 tatione sese cognoscere gravitatem et levi. 
 tatem. Mihi tamun baud pcrsuadctur. Tactu 
 motum deprehendi fateor, gravitatem nego. 
 Est autcm maximum argumcntum hoc. Gra- 
 vitas est objectmu motivae potestatis : cui sane 
 competit actio. At tactus non fit, nisi patiendo. 
 Oravltas ergo jiercipitur a motiva potestate, 
 
 and confused. For the Primary, Sacan- 
 do-priraary, and Secondary, as subjective 
 affections, we can represent in imagina- 
 tion ; the Secondary, as objective powers, 
 we cannot. 
 29. Finally— The existential judgments 
 
 non a tactu. Nam duo cum sint instrumenta 
 (do nervis atque spiritibus loquor,) ad scnsum 
 ct ob motum, a so invicem distincta: male 
 confunderemus, quod est motricis objectum, 
 cum objecto motae. Movetui- enim tactus, non 
 agit. Motrix autem movet grave corpus, non 
 autem movetur ab eo. Idque manifestum est in 
 paralysi. Sentitur calor, non sentitur gravitas 
 Motrici namque instrumenta sublata sunt.— 
 An vero sentitur gravitas ? Sentitur quidem a 
 motricc, atque ab ea judicatur : quemadmo- 
 dum difficile quippiam enunciatu [enunciatur ?] 
 ab ipsa intellectus vi : qua? tamcn agit, non 
 patitur, cum enunciat. Est enim omnibus 
 commune rebus nostratibus hisce, quae pen- 
 dent a materia : ut agendo patiantur. — Poterit 
 aliquid objici de compressione. Nam etc. . . . 
 Sunt praeterea duae rationes. Quando et sine 
 tactu sentimus gravitatem, ct quia tactu non 
 sentimus. Nempe cuipiam gravi corpori nia- 
 nus imposita contingit illud : at non sentit gra- 
 vitatem. Sine tactu, vero, virtus motrix sentiet. 
 Appensum tilo plumbum grave sentitur. Manus 
 tamen filum, non plumbum tanget. Delude 
 hoc. Brachium suo pondcre cum deorsum 
 fertur, sentitur grave. At nihil tangit.' (Do 
 Subtilitate, contra Cardanum, ex. 109.) 
 
 It should, however, be noticed, that Scaliger 
 may have taken the hint for the discrimina- 
 tion of this and another sense, from Cardan. 
 This philosopher makes Touch fourfold. One 
 sense apprehending the four primary qualities, 
 tho Hot and Cold, the Dry and Humid ; a second 
 the Pleasurable and Painful ; a third the Ve- 
 nereal sensations ; a fourth tho Heavy and 
 Light. (De Subtilitate, L. xiii.) 
 
 This doctrine did not excite the attention it 
 deserved. It was even redargued by Scalig. 
 er's admiring expositor Goclcuius. (Adver- 
 saria, p. 75—89) ; nor do I know, indeed, that 
 previous to its revival in very recent times, 
 with the exception to be immediately stated, 
 that this opinion was ever countenaTNti 1 by 
 any other philosopher. Towards the end of 
 the seventeenth century it is indeed comme. 
 morated by Chauvin, no very erudite autho- 
 rity, in the first edition of his Lexicon Philo- 
 sophicum (vv. Tactile and Gravitas) as an 
 opinion that had found supporters ; but it is 
 manifest from the terms of the statement, for 
 no names arc given, that Scaliger and Scali- 
 ger only is referred to. In the subsequent 
 edition the statement itself is omitted. 
 
 By another philosopbical physician, tho 
 celebrated Caosalpinus of Arczzo, it was after- 
 wards (in 15G9) still more articulately shown, 
 that only by the exercise of the motive power 
 are we percipient of tbose qualities which I 
 denominate the Secundo- Primary ; though he 
 can hai-dly bo said, like Scaliger, to have dis- 
 criminated that power as a faculty of pcrcep. 
 tion or active apprehension, from touch as a 
 
PEIMAEY, SECUNDO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 fmmm o 
 
 I n.] 
 
 SECONDARlr QOALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 9m 
 
 wm of tli« Prima^rj' ui«rtorj; of the 
 Secundo-priiiijiry, in botli their aspects, 
 MMrtorj ; of the Secondary, as modes of 
 luim^ asierlorj, as modes of matter, pro> 
 Utinatie. (See par. 11, 12, 13*) 
 
 Bity of seaaation or mere coiiBcioiifliiesa of 
 
 pMilon. Il does Bot indeed appear thai Cae- 
 ■aloiaaiwas aware of Scalifer's flpeculatLon 
 alall. 
 
 '* Tactns Igitar tl nnii •■t iensnt, circa 
 an^iim erii eontrarietatem, rellqan aalein ad. 
 Ipani. rodneeiitfir. '[€ompar«' Aristotlo, Pe 
 .A:iil;iiia, tl. 11.} Fatal amtom CMMum et Frt. 
 fidum maxime propria ipsius tactus esso; 
 liliini eoim tangendo coiiiprebeiiduntur. Ilu. 
 laliam autem eft Siccam (Fluid and Solid), 
 Buram et Hollo, Grave et Leve, Aspcruin et 
 Leoe, Eamm et Densam, alinquo liujusmudi, 
 M 'lactm eomprehendaiitiir, moti muk tM m *tm- 
 pM, md mmtm mt wmimm fuaidain adk^tm, :aiit 
 eompriineiido, ant ImpeUendo, aut trahendo, 
 .ant alia ratione patlendl fotantiani uperlendo 
 Sic enim qnod prop rlmm termlnnni non retl. 
 net, et quod facile diTiditur, Iluniidum esse 
 cognoicimua ; quod aiitom opposito niodo so 
 lialwt, SIccnm: et quod cedSt couiprimcnti, 
 Molle, quod non cedit, Dnratn. Biiuilitcr 
 autem. et reliqua tactivae qualitates sine 
 mottt non perclplantur. Idcirco et a reliquis 
 ■eadlms eofnoict poBs.nnt, ut a visu. [But 
 not tmniediately ] Motua enim inter conimu- 
 nta seinaiMtia ponltnr.. [fliere is here tliroug h 
 ambiguity a mutatlo elencM] Nibil autem 
 refert, an motus in organo an in re fiat.' [?] 
 (^HMrtlones Peripateticae, L. Iv.qu. 1.) 
 
 Ill more recent times, the action of the to. 
 llQtary motive faculty and its relative sense 
 in the perception of Extension, Figure, Wciglit, 
 Seslstanee, Jic, was in Frimce brought vaguely 
 Into notice by Gondillac, and subsequently 
 about the commencoment of the present cen. 
 tnry more ezptlcttly developed, among others, 
 hy Ms disMngnisIied follower M. Destuit de 
 IVacy, who ei^Milisbod the distinction between 
 mttim and pamlm touch. The speculations of 
 If Maine do Biran on muscular effort (froiti 
 I8D8,) I dn not liere refer to ; as these have a 
 #fferonl and greatly higher significance. 
 (CluMiilliM, Xrai.t^des Sensations, P. ii. cc. il, 12. 
 — Ds '7>«i0f, Ideologie, t. i. co. 9-13; t. III. cc. 
 S, 9.— Compare ikgtumdOf Histoire des Sya- 
 •inaea, I. Hi. p. 345, sq. orig. ed«, and La. 
 liMlialliv, .i'r^cin, p. 32:1, sq.)— In Germany, 
 liefere the conclusion of the last century, the 
 MUM .amilyfis vaa made, and the active touch 
 tlwra int <MMdaed the distinctive appellation 
 ©f tha Mntcilar Sense (Ifiukel Sinn.) The 
 German physiologists and psychologists not 
 only-— wbiit' had. been, p revlensly done~pro> 
 feisedlf'deiniknstrated the .share It had In the 
 empirical apprehension of Space, 4c., and es 
 taibllalied its necessity as a condition even of 
 'the perceptions of Touch proper— the Skin 
 Sense ; they Itlcewise for the first time endea. 
 TOitred to show how in vision we are emhltd 
 to rwognlse not only figure, but distance, and 
 the third dlnenifon of bodies, through the con. 
 lelons aiyastment of the eye. {Titul^ Kantls- 
 •he Benkformen, f 17B7,) p. 18^, sq.— TftdeiMmn, 
 
 e) — A$ both in Smsitive Apprehennom 
 tmd ifi Thought ; m in rdiUion both to 
 Smm and iMelkct. 
 
 30. In the order of nature and of ne- 
 
 in Ilesslsche Beytraege (1780,) St. 1. p 119, 
 sq. ; Theactet (1704,) passim; Idcalislische 
 Briefe (1798,) p. 84, sq. j Psychologic (1804,) 
 p. 406, sq.—Schutz, Prucfung (1791,) i. p. 182, 
 sq. — Engcl, in M^'uioires de TAcademie de Ber- 
 lin {IS02. )—Gnnthm$€n, Anthropologic (1810,) 
 pp. ViO, sq. 301, sq. atid the subsequent work! 
 of Herbart, i/urttnaim, Lcnhossck, Tourtual^ Be- 
 n«Jr«, and a host of others. } Bnt sec Reid, 188, b. 
 
 Britain h:M not advanced the enquiry which, 
 if we discount sonio resultlcss tendencies by 
 Hartley, Wells, and Darwin, shu was the last 
 in taking up ; and it is a curious instance of 
 the imacquaintance with such matters preva- 
 lent among us, that the views touching the 
 functions of the will, and of the muscular 
 sense, whidi constitute, In this relation cer. 
 talnly, not the least valuable part of Dr 
 Brown's psychology, should to the present 
 hour be regarded as original, howbelt these 
 views, thou^rh propounded as new, are mani. 
 festly derived from sources witH which all in- 
 terested in psychological disquisitions might 
 reasonably be presumed familiar. Tliis is by 
 no means a sulitary instance of Brown's silent 
 appropriation ; nor is he the only Scottish me- 
 tapliysic ian who has borrowed,withf;ut acknow 
 ledgment, these and other psychological ana. 
 lyses from the school of Condillac. De Tracy 
 may often equally reclaim his own at the hands 
 of Dr John Young, Professor of Philosophy in 
 Belfast College, whose frequent coincidences 
 with Brown are not the marvels he would in> 
 duco us to believe, when we know tlie common 
 sources from which the resembling doctrines 
 are equally derived. It must be remembered, 
 however, that the Lectures of both Professors 
 were posthumously published ; and arc there- 
 fore not to be dealt with as works deliberately 
 submitted to general criticism by their au- 
 thors. Dr Young, it should likewise be noticed, 
 was a pupil of the late Professor M.vlne of 
 Ghfcsgow, whose views of mental philosophy 
 are well known to have closely resembled those 
 of M. Do Tracy. I see from M. Mignet's elo- 
 quent eloge that this acute philosopher was, 
 like Kant, a Scotsman by descent, and ' of tlM 
 clan 8tutt,*(Stott?) 
 
 These notices of the gradual recognition of 
 the sense of muscular feeling, as a special 
 source of knowledge, are not given on account 
 of any importance it may ho thought to pos. 
 sess as the source from which is derived our 
 notion of Space or Extension. This notion, I 
 am convinced, though first manifested in, 
 cannot be evolved out of, experience; and 
 what was observed by Reid (Inq. p. 126, a,/ 
 by Kant (€r. d.r. V. p. 38,) by Schulz (Pruet I 
 p. 114,) and by Stewart (Essays, p. 5G4,) In 
 regard to the attempts which had previously 
 been made to deduce it from the operations of 
 sense, and, in particular, from the motion of 
 the hand, is equally true of those subsequently 
 repeated. In uU these attempts, the expert 
 
 :T:t7.'}ul^t}:}^L^:''^^y ^^^ -- l F- it is only under condition of the Sen- 
 
 and Secon- sation of a Secondary, that we are per- 
 t empirical cioient of anv P..5«,«^., «.,„i:*_ ^ 
 
 prior to the Secundo- primary 
 dary; but in the order of empirical 
 apprehension, though chronologically si- 
 multaneous, they are posterior to both. 
 
 •nee itself is only realized through a substitu- 
 tion of the very notion which it professes t« 
 generate; there is always a concealed petitio 
 pnncipii. Take for example the deduction so 
 laboriously essayed by Dr Brown, and for which 
 he has received such unqualified encomium 
 (Lectt. 23 and 24.)— Extension is made up of 
 three dimensions; but Brown's exposition is 
 limited to length and breadth. These only, 
 therefore, can be criticised. 
 
 As far as I can find Ids meaning in his cloud 
 of words, he argues thus :-— The notion of Time 
 or succession being supposed, that of longltu 
 
 cipient of any Primary, quality. 
 
 31. The apprehension of a Primary 
 quality is principally an intellectual cogni- 
 
 dinaZ extension is given i'l the succe-sion of 
 feelings which accompanies the gradual con- 
 traction of a nmscle j the notion of this sue 
 cession constitutes, ipso facto, the notion of a 
 certain length; and the notion of this length 
 [he quietly t.-ikog for erranted] is the notion 
 of longitudinal extension sought, (p. 146. a.) 
 -- The paralogism here is ^transparent — 
 Length is an ambiguous term ; and it is 
 length in space, extensive length, and not 
 length m time, protensive length, whose notion 
 It is the problem to evolve. To convert, 
 therefore, the notion of a certain kind of length 
 (and that certain kind being also confessedly 
 only length in time) into the notion of a length 
 in space, is at best an idle begging of the ques. 
 tion.~Is it not ? Then I would ask, whether 
 the sencs of feelings of which we are aware in 
 tho gradual contraction of a muscle, involve 
 the consciousness of being a successifm or 
 length, (1) in time alone ? or (2) in space alone > 
 —or (3) in time and space together? These 
 three cases will be allowed to be exhaustive. 
 If the first be affirmed, if the succession appear 
 to consciousness a length in time exclusively, 
 then nothing has been accomplished ; for the 
 notion of extension or space is in no way con- 
 
 tained in the notion of duration or time. 
 
 Again, if tho second or the third be affirmed 
 If the series appear to consciousness a sue-' 
 cession or length, either in space alone, or in 
 space and time together, then is the notion it 
 behoved to gonerato employed to generate 
 ■Self. 
 
 In the deduction of the notion of superficial 
 extension he is equally illogical; for here 
 too, his process of evolution only in the end 
 openly extracts what in the commencement 
 It had secretly thrown in The elements, out 
 of which he constructs the notion of extension, 
 in the second dimension, he finds in the con- 
 sciousness we have of several contemporaneous 
 aeries of muscular feelings or lengths, stand- 
 ing in relation to each other, as proximate 
 dutant, intermediate, Ac. — Proximate ! lu 
 What ? In time ? No ; for the series are sup- 
 posed to be in time coexistent; and were it 
 otherwise, the process would be unavailing' 
 for proximity in time does not afford proxi- 
 mity in space. In space, then ? Necessarily 
 On this alternative, however, the notion 
 
 of space or extension Is already involved 
 doubly deep in the elements themselves out 
 of which it is proposed to construct it • for 
 whentwo or more things are conceived as proxi- 
 mate in space, they aie not merely conceived 
 as in different places or out of each other biti 
 over and above this elementary condition in 
 which extension simply is involved, they are 
 conceived as even holding under it a secon- 
 dary aud more complex relation. But it is 
 needless to proceed, for the petition of the 
 point in question is even more palpable if w« 
 think the series under the relations of the 
 distant, the intermediate «tc.— The notion ef 
 Space, therefore, is not shown by this expla- 
 nation of its genesis to be less a native notion 
 then that of Time, which it admits. BrownV 
 is a modilication of De Tiacy's deduction, the 
 change being probably suggested by a remark 
 ofMewart (I.e.); but though both involve a 
 paralogism, it is certainly far more shrewdly 
 cloaked in the original. ' 
 
 III.— Historical notices in regard to the dig. 
 tmctton of Nerves and nervous Filaments into 
 Motive and Sensitive ; and in regard to the pecu. 
 Uarity of /unction, and absolute isolation, of the 
 ultimate nervous Filaments. — Tho important 
 discovery of Sir Charles Bell, that the spinal 
 nerves are the organs of motion through their 
 anterior roots, of sensation through their pos- 
 terior; and the recognition by recent physio, 
 logists, that each ultimate nervous filament is 
 distinct in functior, and runs isolated from its 
 origin to its termination;— these are only the 
 last of a long series of previous observations 
 to the same effect,— observations, in regard to 
 which (as may be inferred from the recent 
 dLscussions touching tho history of these re- 
 suits) the medical world is, in a great mea- 
 sure, uninformed. At the same time, as these 
 are the physiological facts with which psy. 
 chology is principally interested ; as a contri. 
 bution towards this doctrine and its history I 
 shall throw together a few notices, which 
 have for the most part fallen in my way when 
 engaged in researches for a different purpose 
 The cases of paralysis without narcosis 
 (stupor,) and of narcosis without paralysis 
 —for the ancient propriety of these terms 
 ought to be observed— that is, the cases in 
 which either motion or sensibility, exclusively 
 IS lost, were too remarkable not to attract 
 attention even from the earliest periods ; and 
 at the same time, too peremptory not to 
 necessitate the conclusion, that the several 
 phaenomena are, either the functions of differ- 
 cnt organs, or, if of tho same, at least regu- 
 lated by different conditions. Between these 
 alternatives all opinions on the subject are 
 divided; and the former was^e first, as it 
 has been the last, to be adopted: 
 
 No sooner had the nervous system been re- 
 cognised as the ultimate organ of the animal 
 and vital functions, and the intracranial mo 
 
870 PEIMAEY, SECUNDO-PRIMARY AND f note b. 
 
 »l«t.l «^Wtl. a«d not t^e m.r. mnm^_ T/Znt^li^^^Ti^^ apprehension of * 
 
 I) 
 
 !«•] 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 871 
 
 dolla or mmeflialoi {eim^kakm la a modern 
 alinomer) awjertataod to M its centre, than 
 £ract«tr(i«tia proceeded to appropriate to dif- 
 forent parts of that org wlsm the fanctions 
 which, along with H«rophlHi9, he had diirtln. 
 nlflhed, of senslMlitj and voluntary motion. 
 Ho placed tho source— of the former In the 
 meninges or momhranos, of the latter in the 
 inbBtauce,of the encephalos In general, that is, 
 of the Brain-proper and After-brain or Cere- 
 Mliim. And whilo the nerves were, modl- 
 ■lely or immediately, the prolongations of 
 H mt be viewed the nonrons membranes as 
 me vehicle of sensation, tho nerwns substance 
 as tho vehicle of motion. (Rufns Epheaius, 
 Ij i 0. 22j L. li c«. \ 17.) This theory 
 which it remarkable, if for nothing ©hw, for 
 Mwitatinf the tendency from m early period 
 to retar the phamomena of motion ana sensa- 
 Hon to distinct parts of the norvons ©ifw- 
 lipa, inm mil oiitiiiiied the attention which It 
 •foil ImtrlMtaOIf ««»•• ^ modem times, 
 flldeed the same opinion has been hazarded, 
 •woo to my fortnitoiis toiowled«e, at left 
 mrtee. Firstly hy Femellm (IfifiO, I*hy«»»- 
 liglB, V. 10, 16 i) secondly by Rosetti (1<22, 
 BMoiilta d'OpnwoU, &c., t. v. p. 272 sq.j) 
 HiMly hj Lo Cat (1740, Tralte de» Sensations, 
 iKov. Phys. t. i. p. 124, and Diss, sur la Sensi- 
 bility des Meninges, | i.)— By each of these 
 tlie hypothesis is advanced as original. In the 
 two last this is nol to he marvelled at ; but it 
 Is surprising how tho opinion of Brasistratus 
 ii»iiM liaw mmm^ the ernditlon of the first. 
 I 'may ohiirv*, 'that Brasistratus also antici- 
 piled many tecont physiologist* In the doc- 
 trine, that the Intelligence of mail, and of ani. 
 inals In gonoral, is always In proportion to the 
 depth andnwoher of tho cerebral convolutions, 
 tint Is, In the ratio of the extent of cerebral 
 •■■fiiie^ not. of cerebral, mass. , ^ ^ ^ 
 
 fie second altoriatlve was adopted by 
 Holm, who whUe be refutes appatt»% mis 
 vfpresents the doctrine of Erasistraftos ; for 
 Imlstimtns did not, if we may credit Rufus, 
 an older authority than Oalen, derive tho 
 'Btrfit Inm tho membranes, of the encephalos, 
 'to thO' ozeluslon of Its snbstaiMa $ or If Oalen 
 ho herein correct, this Is perhaps the early 
 doctrine wMoh Bra^atratms Is by him said in 
 his 'malnier' years to have abandoned j— a doc- 
 trine, hnwever, which, under modifications, 
 hat In modern times found supporters In 
 Bondeletlus and others. (Lanrentll Mist. 
 Inai. Iv. fu. 13w)— Recognising, what *has 
 always indeed been done, the contrsst of the 
 ■%m flil(iil»i«B» of semibUity and motion, 
 'CWmi did. ■©•a|©w»T«r» regard them as neces 
 tartly tho prfccti of distinct parts of the 
 MVftw spteni, althouf h, do Ihcto, different 
 parta off thai iystem were, often snbcervlent 
 to their uMiiilltatlon. As to tho problim— 
 
 Do iho nerves perform their double function 
 by tho conveyance of a corporeal fluid, or 
 through the irradiation of an Immaterial 
 power ?->Oalen seems to vacillate j for texts 
 may be adduced in favour of each alternative. 
 Ho is not always consistent in the shares 
 which he assigns to the heart and to the 
 brain, in the elaboration of tho animal spirits} 
 nor is he even uniform in maintaining a dis- 
 crimination of origin, between the animal 
 spirits and the vital. Degrading tho mem- 
 branes to mere envelopments, he limits every 
 peculiar function of the nervous organism to 
 the enveloped substance of the brain, tho aRcr 
 brain, the spinal chord and nerves. But as 
 the animal faculty is one, and its proximate 
 vehicle the anim.-a spirits is homogeneous, so tho 
 nervous or cerebral substance which conducts 
 these spirits is in its own nature uniform and 
 indifferently competent to either function ; it 
 being dependent upon two accidental circum. 
 stances, whether this substance conduce to 
 motion, to sensation, or to motion and sensa. 
 Uon together. 
 
 The first circumstance Is the degree or 
 hardness or softness; a nervo bcinj? adapted 
 to motion, or to sensation, in proportion as it 
 possesses the former quality or the latter. 
 Nerves extremely soft are exclusively compe- 
 tent to sensation. Nerves extremely hard are 
 pre-eminently, but not exclusively, adapted to 
 motion; for no nerve is wholly destitute of 
 tho feeling of touch. The soft nerves, short 
 and straight in their course, arise from tho 
 anterior portion of the encephalos (the Brain 
 proper;) the hard, more devious in direction, 
 spring from the posterior portion of the brain 
 where it joins the spinal chord, (Medulla 
 oblongate?) tho spinal chord being a continua- 
 tion of the After-brain, from which no nerve 
 immediately arises; the hardest originate from 
 the spinal chord Itself, more especially towards 
 its Inferior extremity. A nerve soft in iti 
 origin, and, therefore, fitted only for sense, 
 may, however, harden In iu progress, and by 
 this change become suitable for motion. 
 
 The second circumstance is the part to 
 which a nerve Is sent ; the nerve being sensi- 
 tive or motive as it terminates iu an organ of 
 sense, or In an organ of motion — a muscle ; 
 every part being recipient only of the virtue 
 appropriate to its special function. 
 
 This theory of Galen is inadequate to the 
 phsenomena. For though loss of motion with- 
 out the loss of sense may thus be accounted 
 for, on tho supposition that the innervating 
 force is reduced so low as not to radiate the 
 stronger influence required for movement, and 
 yet to radiate the feebler influence required 
 for feeling ; still this leaves the counter ease 
 (of which, though less frequently occurrinf , 
 Galen has himself recorded some illnstrlona 
 
 fation of an organic passion. — The ap- 
 prehension of a Secundo-primary quality 
 is, equally and at once, an intellectual and 
 •ensible cognition ; for it involves both 
 
 examples) not only unexplained, but even 
 renders it inexplicable. In this theory Galen 
 Is, likewise, not always consistent with him- 
 solf. Tho distinction of hard and soft, as cor- 
 responding with the distinction of motory and 
 sensitive, nerves, though true in peneral, is, 
 on his own admission, not absolutely through- 
 going. (I must observe, however, that among 
 other recent anatomists this is maintained by 
 Albinus, Malacarne, and Reil.) And to say 
 nothing of other vacillations, Galen, who in 
 one sentence, in consistency with his distinc- 
 tion of cerebral and (mediately) cerebellar 
 nerves, is forced to accord exclusively to those 
 of the spine tho function of motion ; in an- 
 other finds himself compelled, in submission 
 to the notorious fact, to extend to these nerves 
 tho function of sensation likewise. But if 
 Galon's theory be inadequate to their solution, 
 it never leads him to overlook, to dissemble, 
 or to distort, the phacnomena themselves ; and 
 with these no one was ever more familiarly 
 acquainted. So marvellous, indeed, is his 
 minute knowledge of the distribution and 
 functions of the several nerves, that it is 
 hardly too much to assert, that, with the ex- 
 ception of a few minor particulars, his patho- 
 logical anatomy of the nervous system is prac- 
 tically on a level with the pathological anatomy 
 of tho present day. (De Usu Partium, I. 7, 
 V. 9, 7, 14, viii. 3, 6, 10, 12, ix. 1, xii. 10, 1 1, 15. 
 xiii. 8, xvi. 1, 3, 5, xvii. 2, 3.— De Causis 
 Sympt. 1. 6. — ^De Motu Muse. i. 13 — De Anat. 
 Adm. vil. 8.— Ars parva, 10, 11. — De Locis Aff. 
 I. 6, 7, 12. Hi. 6, 12.— De Diss. Nerv. 1.— De 
 Phic. Hipp, et put. U. 12, vli. 3, 4, 5, 8.) 
 
 The next step was not made until the middle 
 of the fourteenth century, subsequent to Galen's 
 death; when Mondeletius (c. iSo'^,) reasoning 
 from the phaenomena of paralysis and stupor, 
 enounced it as an observation never previously 
 made, that * All nerves, from their origin in the 
 brain, are, even in the spinal marrow itself, 
 isolated from each other. The cause of para- 
 lysis is therefore not so much to bo sought for 
 in the spinal marrow as in the encephalic 
 heads of the nerves ; Galen himself having, 
 indeed, remarked, that paralysis always super- 
 venes when the origin of the nerve is obstructed 
 or diseased' (Curandi Mcthodus, c. 32.) 
 
 This observation did not secure the attention 
 which it deserved; and some thirty years 
 later (1595,) another French physiologist, an. 
 Hher celebrated professor in the same univer- 
 sity with Rondelet, I mean Laurentius of Mont- 
 pellier, advanced this very doctrine of his 
 predecessor, as * a new and hitherto unheard. 
 of observation.' This anatomist has, however, 
 the merit of first attempting a sensible demon. 
 Btration of the fact, by resolving, under water, 
 the spinal cord into its constituent filaments. 
 ' This new and admirable observation,' he says, 
 * explains one of tho obscurest problems of 
 
 the perception of a quasi-primary quality, 
 and the sensation of a secondary. (See 
 par. 15, sq., and Note D*, § I.) 
 
 nature; why it is that from a lesion, say of 
 the cervical medulla, the motion of tho thigh 
 may be lost, while tlio motions of the arms and 
 thorax shall remain entire.' In the second 
 edition of his Anatomy, Dulaurens would seem, 
 however, less confident, not only of the abso 
 lute originality, but of tho absolute accuracy, 
 of the observation. Nor does he rise above 
 the Galenic doctrine, that sensibility and motion 
 may bo transmitted by the same fibre. In fact, 
 rejecting the discrimination of hard and soft 
 nerves, he abolishes even the accidental dis- 
 tinction which had been recognised by Galen. 
 (Compare Hist. Anat., later editions, iv. c. 18, 
 qq. 9, 10, 11 ; x. c. 12, with the relative places 
 in the first.) 
 
 The third step was accomplished by Vdrol. 
 lius, (1572,) who showed Galen to be mistaken 
 in holding that the spinal chord is a continua- 
 tion of the After-brain alone. He demon- 
 strated, against all previous anatomists, that 
 this chord is made up of four columns, seve- 
 rally aiising from four encephalic roots ; two 
 roots or trunks from the Brain-proper being 
 prolonged into its anterior, and two from the 
 After-brain into its posterior, columns. (Aua- 
 tomia, L. iii : De Ncrvis Opticis Epistolae.) 
 
 At the same time, the fact was signalized 
 by other contemporary anatomists, (as Colter^ 
 1572, Laurentius, 1595,) that the spinal nerves 
 arise by double roots ; one set of filaments 
 emerging from the anterior, another from the 
 posterior, portion of tlie chord. It was in 
 general noticed, too, (as by Coitery and C. 
 Bauhinus, 1590,) that these filaments, on 
 issuing from the chord, passed into a knot or 
 ganglion ; but, strange to say, it was reserved 
 for the second Mom-o, (1763,) to record the 
 special observation, that this ganglion is limited 
 to the fibres of tho posterior root alone. 
 
 Such was the state of anatomical knowledge 
 touching this point at the close of tho sixteenth 
 century; and it may now seem marvellous, 
 that aware of the independence of the motory 
 and sensitive functions, — aware that of these 
 functions tho cerebral nerves were, in general, 
 limited to one, while the spinal nerves were 
 competent to both, — aware that the spinal 
 nerves, the nerves of double function, emerged 
 by double roots and terminated in a twofold 
 distribution, — and, finally, aware that each 
 nervous filament rau distinct from its peri- 
 pheral extremity through the spinal chord to 
 its central origin ; — aware, I say, of all these 
 correlative facts, it may now seem marvellous 
 that anatomists should have stopped short, 
 should not have attempted to lay fact and fact 
 together, should not have surmised that in the 
 spinal nerves difference of root is correspon- 
 dent with difference of function, should not 
 have instituted experiuients, and anticipated 
 by two centuries the most remarkable physio- 
 logical discovery of the present day. But our 
 
872 
 
 PEIMARY. SECUNDO-PRIMAEY AND 
 
 [notk d. 
 
 wowier 'Will Im •nluuMfl, In tnilinf Ibe inoft 
 lUusirioaa of tlw nioro modern fchools of 
 
 'ftotail, sni f«t ii«wr iiropositi; to iteelf the 
 fiioslion— .Iffty not the doable roots correspond 
 with the doable function of the splDiU nerves? 
 Bat so has it been with all the most momentous 
 dfjcoveriei. 'When Harvey proclaimed, the cir- 
 enlitltta of the Mood, he only proclaimed a 
 AM^Mao newwsltated hy the discovery of the 
 v«nna4 Talvet; and the Mewtonian theory of 
 the heavens was hat a tnal generalization, 
 prepared by foregone obserfatlons, and even 
 already partially enoanced. 
 
 The school I refer to Is that of Ijeyden— the 
 Miiool of Boerhaave and his disciples. — Boer. 
 Umam held with Willis th.at the Brain, proper 
 if 'fheerf in of 'antmallty ; adlstlnet' part thereof 
 iMlttf destined to each of its two fanctions^ 
 'Mue ,aad. velsntary notion ;: — ^that the After. 
 irain !■ tlie ttrgan of vitality, or the involuntary 
 notions; — and that the two encephalic organs 
 ve prolonged, the former into the anterior, 
 the latter Into the posterior, columns of the 
 ■pinal chord. In his doctrine, all nerves are 
 eomposlte, beini^ made up of fibrils of a tenuity, 
 not only beyond onr nieani of observation, but 
 .■Imost beyond onr eapMltf ' 'Of Iniiflnatlon, 
 Seine nervesare homogeneous, their constituent 
 'ilments beinff either for m eertain kind of 
 ■Mtlon 'alone, m Ibr a eovtala Mnd of sensation 
 alone; others are heterogeneous, their consti. 
 taent tbrlls being some for motion, some for 
 sensation; — and of this latter class are the 
 nerves which issue from the spine. On Boer- 
 lMmi*s deetrlne, however, the spinal nerves, 
 la 10 iir as they arise from the anterior 
 •Otaaii, are nerves both of sensation and 
 velnatary motion— f,f animality; in so far as 
 tluqr arise from the posterior column, are 
 ■•rref of Invelnatary motion— of vitality. A 
 liBOgeneous nerve does not, as a totality, per. 
 tmn a single O'fflce; for every elementary 
 ibril of which It Is composed rant flrom first 
 to last isolated fkom every other, and has Its 
 leparate mkmc M exerolse. As, many distinct 
 ipheret of sensalien and motion, so many dis. 
 tinct nervous origins and tenntnatlous ; and as 
 'mtay different puteti^ of :loeal, 'termination In the 
 hody, so many dillttaat folntt of local origin in 
 the brain, the Saaiorlmn Ooianiune, the centre 
 ef seanition and motion, is not therefore an 
 ladiviMble peiat^ atl even aa aadi.vlded, place; 
 it la, on the eoatrary, the aggregate of as 
 naay places (and millloas of millions there 
 amgr be) aa there are encephaUe origins of 
 ■ertoai ibrils. Mo nerve, therefore, in pro. 
 prlety ef speech, gives off a branch; their 
 ■heaiha of dura mater alone are ramiied ; and 
 there it nO' iaierconrse, no sympathy between 
 the elementary fibrils, exeept through the 
 ■eaao'riau ooamnne. That the nerves are 
 imie up ef ihrlla to shown, though inade. 
 iiaately. hy vari.oas anatomical processes; and 
 that these fibrils are destined for (Ustinct 
 mA tUm #livettt parposeSj Is maaifested by 
 the pMBoiaeaa of dl^olned paralysis and 
 itnpor. (Be MorMs nervorum IVielectiottei, 
 hf Yan leini. pp. ftli, 490u497, iW, 718-717. 
 CieaiiMre Kmm Bmrimm, Imfctaai, litelens, 
 |lfI-»).) 
 
 The developed doctrine of Boerhaave on 
 this point is to be sought for, neither in liis 
 Aphorisms, nor in his Institutions and his 
 Prelections on the Institutions — the more pro- 
 minent worlcs to which his illustrious disciplea, 
 Hatter and Fan Stnieten, appended respectively 
 a commentary. — ^The lau^r adopts, but does 
 not advance, the doctrine of his master. (Ad 
 Aph. 701, 711, 774, 1057, 1000.)— The former, 
 who in his subsequent writings silently aban- 
 doned the opinion, that sensation and motion 
 are conveyed by different nervous fibrils, in 
 two unnoticed passages of his aimotations on 
 Boerhaave, (1740,) propounds it as a not im- 
 probable conjecture — that a total nerve may 
 conUin within its sheath a complement of 
 niotory and of sensitive tubules, distinct in 
 their origin, transit, and distribution, but 
 which at their peripheral extremity communi- 
 cate ; the latter, lilce veins, carrying the spirits 
 baeh to the brain, which the former had, like 
 arteries, carried out. (Ad Bocrh. Instit. I 
 238, n. 2, § 293, n. 2.) ' 
 
 Tho doctrine of the school of Leyden, on 
 this point, was however still more articnlately 
 evolved by the younger (Bernard Siegfried) 
 Albinm; not in any of his published worlts, 
 but in the prelections he delivered for many 
 years, In that university, on Physiology. From 
 a copy in my possession of his dictata in this 
 course, very fully taken, after the middle of 
 the century, by Di WiUiam Grant, (of Rothle- 
 murcus,) subsequently a distinguished medical 
 author and practical physician in London, com- 
 pared with antither very accurate copy of these 
 dictata, taken by an anonymoun writer, in the 
 year 1741; I am enabled to present tho fol. 
 lowing general abstract of the doctrine taught 
 by this celebrated anatomist, though obliged 
 to retrench both the special cases, and tho 
 reasoning in detail by which it is lUustrated 
 and confirmed. 
 
 • The nerves have a triple destination aa they 
 minister (1.) to voluntary motion, (2.) to sen. 
 sation, (3.) to the vital energies— secretion, 
 digestion, 4e. Albinns seems to acquiesce in 
 the doctrine, that the Brain proper is the ulti- 
 mate organ of the first and second function, 
 the After.braSn, of the third. 
 
 Nerves, again, are of two kinds. They are 
 either such in which the function of each ulti- 
 mate fibril remains isolated in function from 
 centre to periphery (the eerebro- spinal 
 nerves); or such in which these are mutually 
 confluent (the ganglionic nerves.) 
 
 To speak only of tho cerebro-spinal nerves, 
 and of these only in relation to the functions 
 of motion and sensation ; — they are to be dis. 
 tinguished into three classes according as do- 
 etlncd, (1.) to sense, (2.) to motion, (3) to 
 both motion and sensation. Examples— of the 
 first class are the olfactory, the optic, the au- 
 ditory, of which last he considers the portio 
 mollis and the portio dura to be, in pre. 
 prlety, distinct nerves ;— of the second class, 
 are the large portion of those passing to 
 muscles, as the fourth and sixth pairs ;— of the 
 third class, are the three lingual nerves, espe- 
 cially the ninth pair, fibrils of which he had 
 frequently traced, partly to the muiclcs, partly 
 to the ffostatory papilte of the tongue, an4 
 
 §11.] 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 873 
 
 the subcntaneous nerves, which are seen to 
 give off branches, first to the muscles, and 
 thereafter to tho tactile papillre of the skin. 
 The nervous fibres which minister to motion 
 are distinct in origin, in transit, in termina- 
 tion, from those which minister to sensation. 
 This is manifest, in tho case of those nerves 
 which run from their origin in sepaiate 
 slicaths, either to an organ of sense (as the 
 olfactory and optic), or to an organ of motion, 
 (as the fourth and sixth pairs, which go to the 
 muscles of the eye) ; but it is equally, though 
 not so obtrusively, true, in the cxse where a 
 nerve gives off branches partly to muscles, 
 partly to the cutaneous papillae. In this lat- 
 ter ease, the nervous fibrils or fistula? are 
 from their origin in the medulla oblongata to 
 their final termination in the skin, perfectly 
 distinct.— The Medulla Oblongata is a con. 
 tinuation of the encephalos; made up of two 
 columns from the Brain- proper, and of two 
 columns from tho After- brain. Immediately 
 or mediately, it is the origin, as it is the or^-an, 
 of all the nerves. And in both respects it is 
 doable; for one part, the organ of sense, 
 affords an origin to the sensitive fibrils; whilst 
 another, the organ of motion, does the same by 
 the motory. In their progress, indeed, after 
 passing out, the several fibrils, whether homo- 
 geneous or not, arc so conjoined by the invest- 
 Ing membranes as to exhibit the appearance of 
 a single nerve; but when they approach their 
 destination they separate, those for motion 
 ramifying throu^'h the muscles, those for sen- 
 sation going to the cutaneous papina; or other 
 organs of sense. Examples of this are afforded 
 —in the ninth pair, the fibres of which (against 
 more modern anatomists) he holds to arise by 
 a double origin in the raeduUa, and which 
 after running in the same sheath, separate 
 according to their different functions and des- 
 tinations; — and in the seventh pair, the hard 
 and soft portions of which are respectively 
 for motion and for sensation, though these 
 portions, he elsewhere maintains, ought rather 
 to be considered as two distinct nerves than 
 as the twofold constituents of one. 
 
 The proof of this is of various kinds. In 
 
 the /r<t place, it is a theory forced upon us by 
 the phasnomena; for only on this supposition 
 can we account for the following facts :— (1) 
 That we have distinct sensations transmitted to 
 the brain from different parts of the same sen- 
 ■itive organ (as the tongue) through which the 
 tame total bcrve is diffused. (2; That we can 
 lend out from the brain a motive influence to 
 one, nay, sometimes to a part of one, muscle 
 out of a plurality, among which the same total 
 nerve (e. g. the ischiatic) is distributed. (3) 
 That sometimes a part is either, on the one 
 hand, paralysed, without any loss of sensi- 
 bihty; or, on the other, stupifled, without a 
 diminution of its mobility. 
 
 In the second place, we can demonstrate 
 the doctrine, proceeding both from centre to 
 periphery, and from periphery to centie. 
 —Though ultimately dividing into filaments 
 beyond our means of observation, we can still 
 go far in following out a nerve both in its 
 general ramifications, and in the special dis. 
 tribution of its filamenu, for motion to the 
 
 muscles and for sensation to the skin, &c. ; and 
 how far soever we are able to carry our inves- 
 tigation, we always find the least fibrils into 
 which we succeed in analysing a nerve, equaUy 
 aistinct and continuous as the chord of which 
 they were constituent.— And again, in fol. 
 lowing back the filaments of motion from tho 
 nauscles, tho filaments of sensation from the 
 Skin we find them ever collected into larger 
 and larger bundles within the same sheath, but 
 never losing their individuality, never fised 
 together to form the substance of a larger 
 chord.— The nerves are thus not analogous to 
 arteries, which rise from a common trunk 
 convey a common fluid, divide into branches 
 aU similar in action to each other and to tho 
 primary trunk. For every larger nerve is 
 only a complement of smaller nerves, and ever? 
 smallest nerve only a fa ciculus of nervous 
 hbnls; and these notonly numerically different, 
 but often differing from each other in tho cha. 
 racter of their functions. 
 
 In the third place, that in the nerves fcr 
 both motion and sensation are enveloped dis- 
 tmct nerves or fibrils for these several func. 
 tions— this is an inference supported by the 
 analogy of those nerves which are motive or 
 sensitive, exclusively. And in regard to these 
 latter, it becomes impossible, in some cases, to 
 conceive why a plurality of nerves should have 
 been found necessary, as in the case of the 
 two portions of the seventh pair, in reality 
 dibtmct nerves, if we admit the supposition 
 that each nerve, each nervous fibril, is com- 
 petent to the double oflice. 
 
 In the fourth place, the two species of nerve 
 are distinguished by a difference of structure. 
 For he maintains the old Galenic doctrine, that 
 the nerves of motion are, as compared with 
 those of sensation, of a harder and more fibrous 
 texture;— a diversity which he does not con- 
 fine to the homogeneous nerves, but extends to 
 the counter filaments of the heterogeneous.— 
 This opinion, in modern times, by the majo. 
 rity surrendered rather than refuted, has been 
 also subsequently maintained by a small num- 
 ber of the most accurate anatomists, as Mala- 
 carne and Reil ; and to this result the recent 
 observations of Ehrenberg and others seem to 
 tend. (See Memoirs of the Berlin Academy for 
 183G, p. 605, sq. ; Mueller's Phys. p. 698.) 
 
 Finally, to the objection— Why has nature 
 not, in all cases as in some, enclosed the motive 
 and the sentient fibrils in distinct sheaths?— as 
 answer, &nd fifth argument, he shows, with 
 great ingenuity, that nature does precisely 
 what, in the circumstances, always affords the 
 greatest security to both, more especially to 
 the softer, fibrils; and he might have added, 
 as a sixth reason and second answer — with the 
 smallest expenditure of means. 
 
 The subtilty of tho nervous fibres is much 
 greater than is commonly suspected; and 
 there is probably no point of the body to which 
 they are not distributed. What is the nature 
 of their peripheral terminations it is, however, 
 difllcult to demonstrate; and the doctrines of 
 Ruysch and Malpighi in tliis respect are, as he 
 shows, unsatisfactory. 
 
 The doctrine of Albinus, indeed, of the whole 
 school of Boerhaave, in regard to the nervong 
 
___J.., 
 
 PWMAEY, SECUWDO-PRIMARY AND 
 
 [note b. 
 
 I II.] 
 
 SECONDARY QUALITIES OF BODY. 
 
 875 
 
 ,tii p«tlt«lsr, toDoUiif cho dls- 
 MMl fi«lfi»tatliiii of the ultiniate ner. 
 
 I, ^iMiiia 4iirti|f • otMiiry of intflr. 
 'fill anl' oi^jr to' hKm Imoii MflMtetl but alMO. 
 Intolf forgotten; and a counter optnloa of tho 
 ■HMl •rroneou 0lMum«tor,.'witli bere awl tlioro 
 m ImMo eeliO' <»f" tlii 'lr««| to liaTO Immiho 
 f fMraUy proTmlent In its ftaad. For, ■trang* 
 to flfi tiif very doctrine is that recently pro- 
 ' ■■I gitofl, as tliie last eonsoinination of nervous 
 f llnMufy lij tli« most iltiistriotit pbyslologlst 
 In SilHi|w. ** That the primitiTe fibres of all 
 fliv tifvlini-tpiMil Borrm are to bo regarded 
 m Itolatoi. and ilatlaot ifeom tbelr origin to 
 'liiatr tomiliiatiiMi, anil aa radii iaaning from 
 OA^'Sili nf' 'IIW"iMniMW :aptoni,'* is tbe grand 
 'fMiilt), m mm^ br M:iiif^, of the ob^Mirato 
 fftittnhes of Mmm MmUer / and to the earli- 
 'Ml'' 'diatnTwry iiff lUs ganeral fact ho earafUIy 
 
 wimmwmm, bf ■tatlng"flMt It bid been privately 
 •mniiiiiiii^tod by Mm to Tan der Eolk, of 
 
 mreeh^ m Mag ago aa^ tbe jear' 1830. (Fbys. 
 
 la ooDQiiaalon. I may obstrr o that it is greatly 
 to M fi«nttoA/tba» tbeat Prelections of Albi. 
 wm '««• MfW f riatoC They present not 
 Milyft'iill and elegant digest of all that was 
 Iwnni: 'In pbyriffilofff at the date of their do- 
 lf«ry, (aiMi jyiMmn^ wai celebrated for the 
 vneommmi: mm ^Mtk be bmtowed on the 
 composition of Ma leotares;} bat they llkewlao 
 
 flDg <»f attaiitiontandsome wUeh bavebeensub. 
 ■aqnantly re-prodneed to the no small celebrity 
 of their second amtben. 'fie apecolalion, for ■ 
 •saniiditf 'Of John Muatof tiid Dr Thomas Tonog, 
 tm. 'ffigtnl to tbe teif-«Mtfaitile property of 
 the OhffitallBe lens is here anticipated; and 
 fhait ;|itf mldltf ' ^iBcl ibrotts straeture are oom- 
 pilibi%. aliowit 'bf 'the analogy of those gela- 
 ttDons noUnsoa, the medusa or sea blabbers, 
 
 aparenof I Omh. Iv 'fhdr mutaMtile and dilative 
 powetab 
 
 ▲a I have almdlf ' Milttil, lit celebrity of 
 Hnf: iiMfden .flohool Hur IInmii mmiiiiandlng ac« 
 ••plBima,, <id let even 'Miirt adeqnato atten- 
 tion to tbe doctrine of Its lUastrions masters; 
 and the CMenie theory, to which Haller lat- 
 terly adhered, was, ander the authority of 
 Cnllen and the Monros, that which continaed 
 to BMVitl' to. tbls muiilfyi 'until after the com- 
 ef ' fie present century. Here 
 • itop In advance was then made by Mr 
 iralfesr, an Imnioiis Physiologist 
 ivf Edinburgh; vdio,in 1809, first started the 
 prolUto WHIon, that in the spinal nerves the 
 fliaoMnto of sensation issue by the one root, 
 the filamento of motion by tbe other. His at. 
 tributioa of the several fkinetlona to the several 
 roots — sensation to the anterior, motion to the 
 
 CNtotier-— 'With strong ipnanmptlon in its 
 venr iraiB general anil^, and Its confer. 
 mdtf with the tenor of all previous, and much 
 inbaeqiuint, obiarvation, is, however, opposed 
 to file streaoi ti 'lator and more precise ex- 
 pefftaenL Anatomists have been long agreed 
 thai the antorior column of the spinal marrow 
 ;ls ta: 'MBtlnmity with the brain- proper, the 
 r^witb tlte after-braln. To say nothing 
 
 of the Oalenie doctrine, Willis and the School 
 of Boerhaave had referred the automatic, 
 Iloboken and Pouteau the automacio and 
 volnntary, motions to the cerebclluui. Lat- 
 terly, the experiments of Rolando, Flourens, 
 and other physiologists, would show thM 
 to the after-brain belongs the power of re- 
 gulated or voluntary motion; whilo the pa. 
 rallolism which I have myself detected, be 
 twoen tho relative development of that part 
 of the enccphalos in young aiiiuials and tltelr 
 command over the action of their timba, goes, 
 Ukewise, to prove that such motion is one, at 
 least, of the cerebellic functions. (See Monro's 
 Anatomy of the Brain, 1831, p. 4 — 9.) In 
 contending, therefore, that the nervous nia. 
 ments of sensation ascend in the anterior 
 rachitic column to the brain-proper, and the 
 nervous filaments of motion in the posterior, 
 to tho after-brain; Mr Walker originidly pro- 
 posed, and still maintains, the altcruutivo 
 which, independently of precise experiment, 
 had the greatest weight of general {probability 
 in its favour. (Archives of Science for ltiO&; 
 The Nervous System, 1834, p. 60, sq.) 
 
 In 1811, Sir CharUs Bell, holding always tbe 
 connexion of the brain- proper w^th the ante- 
 rior, of tho after-brain with the posterior, 
 column of the spinal chord, proceeding, bow. 
 ever, not on general probabilities, but ou ex. 
 perimeuts expressly instituted on the roots 
 themselves of the spinal nerves, first advanced 
 the counter doctrine, that to the filaments 
 ascending by the posterior roots belongs ex. 
 clusivuly the function of sensation ; and there, 
 after, but still, as is now clearly proved, pre- 
 Tiously to any other physiologist, he furtber 
 established by a most ingenious combination of 
 special analogy and experiment, the correlative 
 fiict,that the filaments descending by the anto- 
 rior roots are the sole veliiclea uf voluntary 
 motion. These results, confirmed as they have 
 been by the principal physiologists throughout 
 Europe, seem now placed above the risk of re- 
 futation. It still, however, remains to reconcile 
 the seeming structural connexion, and the maul. 
 I fest functional opposition, of tho aftiT- brain and 
 posterior raciiitic column ; for the decussation 
 in the medulla oblongata, observed, among 
 others, by Rolando and BoUy, whereby the 
 cerebellum and antorior column arc connected, 
 is apparently too partial to reconcile the dii. 
 cordant phanomena. {BelVs Nervous System ; 
 Shaw'§ Nanntivo; JfitcUcr'i Physiology, Ao.) 
 
 At connected with the foregoing notices, I 
 may here call attontion to a remarkable ease 
 reported by M. Bey Regis, a medical observer, 
 in hii 'Histoire Naturelle de I'Ame.* This 
 work, which is extremely rare, I have been 
 unable to consult, and nmst therefore rely on 
 the abstract given by M. de Biran in his *Noa- 
 ▼elles Considerations,' p. U6, sq. This case, aa 
 far as I am aware, has escaped the observa. 
 tion of all subsequent physiologists. In Ito 
 phtcnomena, and in the inferences to whieh 
 they lead, it stands alone; but whether the 
 phenomena are themselves anomalous, or that 
 experiments^ with the rame Intontj do6 liaving 
 
 been made in like casies, they have not in these 
 been brought in like manner into view, 1 am 
 unable to determine. — A man lost the power 
 of movement in one half of his body, (one 
 lateral half, probably, but in De Biran's ac 
 count tho paralysis is not distinctly stated as 
 hemiplegia;) while the sensibility of the parts 
 affected remained apparently entire. Experi- 
 ments, various and repeated, were, however, 
 made to ascertain with accuracy, whether the 
 loss of the motive faculty had occasioned any 
 alteration in the capacity of feeling : and it 
 was found that the patient, though as acutely 
 alive as ever to the sense of pain, felt, when 
 this was secretly inflicted, as by compression 
 of bis hand under the bed-clothes, a sensation 
 of suffering or uneasiness, by which, when the 
 pressure became strong, he was compelled 
 Ittstily to cry out ; but a sensation merely 
 general, he being altogether unable to localize 
 tho feeling, or to say from whence tho pain 
 proceeded. It is. unfortunately not stated 
 whether he could discriminate ouo pain from 
 
 another, say the pain of pinching from the 
 pain of pricking ; but had this not been tho 
 case, tho notice of so remarkable a circum- 
 stance could hardly, I presume, have been 
 overlooked. Tho patient, as he gradually re. 
 covered the use of his limbs, gradually also 
 recovered tho power of localizing his sensa- 
 tions. — It would be important to test the 
 value of this observation by similar evperi. 
 ments, made on patients similarly affected. 
 Until this be done, it would be rash to esta- 
 blish any general inferences upon its facts. 
 
 I may notice also another problem, tho solu- 
 tion of which ought to engage the attention of 
 those who have tho means of observation in 
 their power. Is the sensation of heat depen- 
 dent upon a peculiar set of nerves? This to 
 me seems probable ; 1", because certain sen- 
 ticnt parts of the body are insensible to this 
 feeling; and, 2°, because I have met with 
 cases recorded, in which, while sensibility in 
 general was abolished, the sensibility to heat 
 remained apparently undipuaished. 
 
 !\ 
 
3f J 
 
 PERCEPTION. 
 
 877 
 
 UOTE D.* 
 
 PERCEPTION; 
 
 IPnON PEOPEE AM) SENSATION PEOPBE. 
 
 I.^ JWndfwl mommtm of the Editor** ehetrim of Ptrmption, (A) in itmlf, and (S) 
 
 M toniraii to tMat of R$idp Strnmart, Jioyor Cdlard, trnd other phihrnphtir* of ths 
 S^tttHih Sckool, 
 
 Ih-^MistoH&d miim§ in r^ffmrd to tk$ diiiinction of Perception proper and Ser\sation 
 proper. 
 
 Pl«ftrtiic«s.— Prom hm, 182 b; from t P. 729 % 313 ab; trom Supplementary 
 
 ,DiaMrtgti:oiiay puiim.] 
 
 I 1. — Prindped momenta of (/*« Editor's 
 doelrim of Perception, 
 
 A) — In iimtf: 
 
 t^PermpUm fn generoi. 
 1. SemmiiM Perception, or Perception 
 
 * A wm4. m U «ii« imimM MMiiligt of tie 
 Itnis 'li«r« 'priiiiiliwiit--BiinM|iitai, Sematiom, 
 
 1 —Pirm0m (Ptntptio ; 'Puwfftton.; Fer. 
 cttl4m«; 'Iwwpfim, WiOiriieliiiiiiiif) lias dif. 
 ferent ilpiiioatioiis ; but nwler mil and cacli 
 «f tliM«, tli« imm hm m mmmm ■umUgvitf, 
 ifliiotltif m tt iMf , titter V* tim fitrodviog 
 Faculty, or 2" fcli© perceWn* Art, or 3" the 
 OUMt' p«f ielved. Of tliese tli© only amMgmlty 
 «f liBMrttnio ta (be taut; aii«l to relieve HI 
 VOW|lt#|i«« ib«'illi|4oynient, In this relation, 
 otPmsepif leaving Pereeptim to dcsigiiato both 
 llm&ciaty and llract; for tlieie it Is rwely 
 MQtasary to^ 'dlflltiffiiiab, as what la applicable 
 to the one li wmilly applkabl© to the otbcr. 
 
 Plltii' the aigniScations of tbo temi;, as ap* 
 pitoi te difermi faculties, actt, and objMtt ; of 
 vMcli there are in all four :— 
 
 simplj, is that act of Consciousnefls 
 whereby we apprehend in our body, 
 
 a.) Certain special affections, whereof 
 us an animcUed organism it is contingently 
 suBceptiblo ; and 
 
 b.) Those general relations ofextemion 
 under which as a material organism it 
 necessarily exists. 
 
 1. F«f«ept{o— which has been naturalized In 
 all the principal languages of modern Europe, 
 with the qualified exception of the Oemian, in 
 which the Indigenous term Wahrnchmung has 
 agaiu almost superseded it — Perceptio, in its 
 primary philosophical signification, as in the 
 mouths of Cicero and Qulntilian, is vaguely 
 •quivalent to Comprehension, Notion, or Cog. 
 nition in general 
 
 2. Prom this first meaning It wm easily de. 
 footed to a second, in which it corruaponds 
 to an apprehension, a becoming awaro of, in a 
 word, a consciounnesa. In this nieanini;, though 
 long thus previously employed in the schools, 
 it was brought more prominently and dis. 
 tinetlvely forward in the writings ol Descartes. 
 From h;m it p issed, not only to his own dis- 
 ciples, but, like the term Idea, to his antago. 
 niat, Oassondl, and, thereafter, adopted oquaUy 
 
 / 
 
 Of these Perceptions, the former, which 
 k thus conversant about a subject-object , 
 Is Sensation proper ; the latter, which is 
 thus convers«'int about an object-object, is 
 Perception proper. (See 808 b, 858 a.) 
 
 2. All Perception is an act of Con- 
 sciousness ; no Perception, therefore, is 
 possible except under the conditions 
 
 by Locke and Leibnitz, it remained a household 
 word in every subsequent philosophy, until its 
 extent was further limited, and thus a third 
 signiQcation given to it. 
 
 Under this second meaning it is, however, 
 proper to say a word in regard to the special 
 employment of the term in the Cartesian and 
 Leibnitzio- Wolfian philosophies. — Perception 
 the Cartesians really identified with Idea (using 
 this term in its unexclnsive universality, 
 but discounting Descartes' own abusive appli- 
 eation of it to the organic movement in the 
 brain, of which the mind has, ex hypothesi, no 
 consciousness) and allowed them only a logical 
 distinction j — the same representativeactbeing 
 called Idea, in as much as we regard it as a 
 representation, i. e. view it in relation to what 
 through it, as represented, is mediately known, 
 and Perception, in as much as we regard it as 
 a consciousness of such representation, i. e. 
 view it in relation to the knowing mind.— The 
 Leibnitzio-Wolfians, on the other hand, dis- 
 tinguished three acts in the process of repre- 
 sentative cognition : — 1° the act of represent- 
 ing a (mediate) object to the mind; 2" the 
 representation, or, to speak more properly, 
 representamen, itself as an (immediate or vi- 
 carious) object exhibited to the mind; S^ the 
 act by which the mind is conscious, immedi- 
 ately of the representative object, and, through 
 It, mediately of the remote object represented. 
 They called the first Perception ; the last Ap. 
 perception; the second Id<:a — 8ensual,to wit, for 
 what they styled the material Idea was only an 
 organic motion propagated to the brain, which, 
 on the doctrine of the pre-established harmony, 
 is in sensitive cognition the arbitrary couco. 
 niitant of the former, and, of course, beyond 
 the sphere of consciousness or apperception. 
 
 3. In its third signification, Perception is 
 limited to the apprehensions of Sense alone. 
 This limitation was first formally imposed 
 upon the word by Reid, for no very cogent 
 reason besides convenience (222 b;) and, there- 
 after by Kant. Kant, again, was not altogether 
 consistent ; for he employs ' Perception ' in the 
 second meaning, for the consciousness of any 
 mental presentation, and thus in a sense cor- 
 responding to the Apperception of the Leibnitz, 
 ians, while its vernacular synonyme * Wahm^h. 
 mung* he defines in conformity with the third, 
 as the consciousness of an empirical intuition. 
 Imposed by such authorities, this is now the 
 accredited signification of these terms, in the 
 recent philosophies of Germany, Britain, 
 France, Italy, &c. 
 
 4. But under this third meaning it is again, 
 Mnce the time and through the authority of 
 E«id, frequently employed in a still more re- 
 •trictedacccptation« viz. as Perception (proper) 
 
 undor which Consciousness is possible. 
 (See Note H.) The eight following con- 
 ditif.ns are partly common to Perception 
 with the other acts of Consciousness; 
 partly proper to it as a special operation, 
 3. The first is a certain concentration 
 of consciousness on an object of sense ;— 
 an act of Attention, however remiss.* 
 
 in contrast to Sensation (proper.) The import 
 of these terms, as used by Reid and other phi- 
 losophers on the one hand, and by myself on 
 the other, is explained in the text. 
 
 ii. — Sensation (Sensatio ; Sensation, Senli- 
 nient ; Sensazione ; Enipfindung) has various 
 significations ; and in all of these, like Percep- 
 tion, Conception, Imagination, and other ana- 
 logous terms in the philosophy of mind, it is 
 ambiguously applied ;—!'', for a Faculty— 2®, 
 for its Act— S-*, for its Object. Here there is 
 no available term like Percept, Concept, Ac, 
 whereby to discriminate the last. 
 
 There are two principal meanings in which 
 this term has been employed. 
 
 1. Like the Greek msthesis, it was long and 
 generally used to comprehend the process of 
 sensitive apprehension both in its subjective 
 and its objective relations. 
 
 2. As opposed to Idea, Perception, <fcc. it was 
 limited, first in the Cartesian school, and there- 
 after in that of Reid, to the subjective phasia 
 of our sensitive cognitions; that is, to our 
 consciousness of the aftections of our animated 
 organism,— or on the Neo- Platonic, Cartesian, 
 and Leibnitzian hypotheses, to the affectioPiS 
 of the mind corresponding to, but not caused 
 by, the unknown mutations of tlie body. Under 
 this restriction. Sensation may, both in French 
 and English, be employed to designate our 
 corporeal or lower feelings, in opposition to 
 Sentiment, as a term for our higher, i.e., our 
 intellectual and moral, feelings. 
 
 iii. — Seme (Sensus; Sens; Scnso; Sinii) is 
 employed in a looser and in a stricter appli- 
 cation. 
 
 Under the former head it has two applica- 
 tions;— 1®, a psychological, as a popular term 
 for Intelligence : 2'=', a logical, as a synonyme 
 for Meaning. 
 
 Under the latter he<ad, Sense is employed 
 ambiguously; — 1", for the Faculty of sensitive 
 apprehension; 2**, for its Act; 3**, for its 
 Organ. 
 
 In this relation. Sense has been distinguished 
 into External and Internal; but under the 
 second term, in so many vague and various 
 meanings, that I cannot here either explain or 
 enumerate them. 
 
 On the analogical employments of the word, 
 see above, p. 756 sq. 
 
 • St Jerome — * Quod mens videat et mens 
 audiat, et quod nee audire quidpiam nee vi. 
 dere possumus, nisi sensus in ea quae cerni- 
 mus et audimns intentus, vetus sententia.' 
 (Adv. Jovin. ii., 9.) See Aristotle, (Probl. xi., 
 33,) whom Jerome manifestly had in his eye; 
 Strato Physicus as quoted by Plutarch, (Do 
 Sol. An. Opera, t. ii., p. 961 ;) and Plutaroh 
 himself, (ibid.) 
 
878 
 
 PKRCEPTION; PERCEFriON PROPER 
 
 ^MOXB Xl* 
 
 4. Thii mmmA. !• ( Ind^pinicntly of 
 tli9 nec«Httrj eoiilrait of a iiibjeot and an 
 ofcsject,) a ]»li<raH«y, tdtemdm, Mj^fmm 
 on til© part of tb© perceived object or ob- 
 jects, and of a recognition or discrimtna- 
 tion thoreof on tbo part of tbo perceiving 
 •abjfet.*— Tbis wpposea tbo following: 
 ~^qmi^ proper / QmMitff Protemiw 
 (Thm,) Extmmm (Space,) Intmtim (0e- 
 f rof ;) and Rlation. Therefore — 
 
 5. The tbird is Qutditw, quality strict- 
 ly so called. For one affection is distin- 
 gnlsbed from another as it is, or is not, 
 •ach and such ; in other words, as It has, 
 «r has not, this or that quality (suchness.) 
 
 6. The fourth is Tim; which suppo- 
 aaa Mewmj, or, to speak more correctly, 
 m certain cmimmm repremniatim of the 
 late and latest past, known with and in 
 contrast to our apprehension of the pass- 
 ing present. For without such continuity 
 iif con«aouinMi, no coosciousness is pos- 
 
 :iible. 
 
 7. Th© fifth is Spam, For we are 
 only conscious of perctlfing, as w© are 
 conscious of perceiving something as dis- 
 criminated from other co-existent things. 
 But this in perception is to be conscious 
 of one thing as out of another, that is, as 
 extended, that is, as in Space. 
 
 8. The sixth is B^rm, For all sen- 
 lations are, though possibly of any, actu- 
 ally of one definite inteninty; anddistm- 
 gnisbed not only by difflferences in Quality, 
 Time, Spaoo, but also by ilifferences in 
 
 9. The seventh is ReMion. For dis- 
 crimination, which all perception wpposes, 
 is a recognition of a relation, the relation 
 of contrast ; and differences in Quality, 
 
 Time, Space, Degree, are only so many 
 ▼arioos Muds of such relativity. 
 
 10. Finally, the eighth is an Atsert- 
 mj Judgmmi; that within the sphere of 
 lense an object (a) «xirtJ, and (b) exists 
 Jtis or tkm cmdilim§d4 All conscious- 
 
 ness is realiied in the enunciation — That 
 is ihare (or This is here.) All Percep- 
 tion consequently enounces— That is thsre / 
 but in this ease, there is especially under- 
 stood by the That—m object manifested 
 through one or more qualities, Second- 
 ary, Secundo-primary, Primary; and by 
 th© is there — apprehended in, or in im- 
 mediate relation to, our organism. | 
 
 11. Such being the jjeneral conditions 
 of Perception, it is manifestly impossible 
 to discriminate with any rigour Sense 
 from Intelligence. Sensitive apprehen- 
 sion is, in truth, only the recognition by 
 Intelligence of the phaenomena presented 
 in or through its organs.!] 
 
 • It bas tieen wuE saiil by Hobbes, In regard 
 
 'to the fonaer'^ SmMm mmfw Mm, et mm 
 smitre. ad Idem recidunt,' (Blem. PhUos. P. iv. 
 
 e 26 I 6;) ^*^ ^1 ^^**^ *'*^' 2i«»*«*i*>" i>> 
 nierence to the latter,—* BeMiitfoii to not an 
 rtteratlon, (affection, modiflcation,) but the rc- 
 eoffnWon of an alteratton.* »m f . '880 b. 
 
 f Ariilotle in virioui pMagea aroerti that 
 SemsltlTO perception ia » dtacrimiMtion or 
 mjmdgmmi. (Anal. Post. L ii., c. 19, | 5.— 
 Top. L. il., n, 4, § 2— D« An. L. in., c. 1,| Wj 
 e. 10, § 1 ; alibi ) MmA *• Aphrmlisian :— * Al- 
 fhougb s«n«tion bo only brought to bear 
 «|ireiig|i oartaln eorporeil. faisloiii, yetSensa-^ 
 Men Iti^f Is not a paiilon, 'bil a |ii#iw«i. 
 (On the Soul, f. 188 b, ed. Aid.) Bold has the 
 iii©rlt aminf modern philosophori of first ip- 
 
 proximating to the recognition of judgment as 
 an element or condition of consciousness in 
 general, in laying it at the root of I'erception, 
 Sensation, Memory, and [Self] Consciousnegs ; 
 though Ue unfortunately full short of the truth 
 In refusing an existential judgment also to the 
 acts of the representative faculty, his Concep- 
 tion, Imagination, or Simple Apprehension. 
 
 \ In this qualitative judgment there is only 
 the consciousness of the quality perceived in 
 itself as a distinct object. The judgment, 
 again, by which it is recognised of such a class 
 or such a name, is a higher energy, and ought 
 not, as Is sometimes done, to be styled Per- 
 ception; it is Judgmenty emphatically so called, 
 a simple act of, what I would call, the elabor. 
 atlve, or dlanoetlc, or discursive faculty, the 
 faculty of relations, or comparison. 
 
 I Tertnllian : — * Non enim et sentire IntclH- 
 gere est, et intelUgere, sentire. — At quid erit 
 9tmmif nisi ejut rei qitm itnlitur intclleetuxt 
 Quid erit intelloctus, nisi ejus rei qnas Intel- 
 tlgitur scnsus ? Undo Ista tormenta cruciandao 
 ■implicitatis, et suspendendae vt riutis ? Quis 
 mihi exhibebit sensnm non intelligentem quod 
 sentit; aut intellectum non sentientem quod 
 intelllgit?* — (De Anlma, c. 18; compare Do 
 Came Christi. c. 12.)— To the same effect St 
 Gregory of Nyssa (De Opif. Horn. cc. 6, 10; 
 and Do Anima et Resar., Opera, t. ii. p. 623 ed. 
 Paris, 1616. )— See also St Jerome as quoted 
 in note • 877. — But this doctrine we may 
 trace back to Aristotle and his school, and 
 even higher. 'There is extant,' says Plutarch, 
 * a discourse of Strato Physicus, demonstrating 
 
 That a SrtiflHw apprehension is wholly impos- 
 
 stble vnthout an aet of Intelleet.* (Op. Mor p. 
 981.) And as to AristoUe himself t^'To 
 divorce (he says) flensation from UndersUnd. 
 ing is to reduce Sensation to an insensible 
 process } wherefore it has been said— /«l«Hifll 
 feet, oiiil JnttlUct hears: (ProbL xi. 33.) 
 
 This saying, as recorded by Aristotle, con. 
 ■titutes In the original (a difference of dialect 
 discounted) the first hemistich of the famous 
 Terse of Bpicbarmus : — 
 
 miA U meth, MM it hearttki a» bsaUe k 4t^ 
 — ■* Mfarf I 
 
 fij 
 
 AND SENSATION PROPER. 
 
 %W 
 
 12. AH Perception is an imimdiate or 
 j^TMerdcUim cognition : and has, therefore, 
 in either form, only one univoeal object ; 
 that, to wit, which it apprehends as woti; 
 and A«r« existent. (SeeNoteB.§ i.4,8,11.) 
 
 13. All Perception is a sensitive cog- 
 nition; it, therefore, apprehends the ex- 
 istence of no object out of its organism, 
 or not in immediate correlation to its or- 
 
 or less literally — 
 
 What sees is Mind^ what hears is Mind ; 
 The ear and eye are deaf and blind. 
 
 Though overlooked as a quotation, by both 
 the commentators on tho Problems, by Eras- 
 mus, and many others, it has never been sus- 
 pected that these words, as quoted, are not a 
 quotation from the Syracusan poet. This nc- 
 gativo I, however, venture to maintain, at 
 least, as a probahle thesis ; for I am inclined 
 to think that tho line, however great its merit, 
 does not ascend to Epicharmus, but was forged 
 and fathered on him in an ago considerably 
 later than Aristotle's. My reasons are these : — 
 
 1. Epicharmus was a Pythagorean philo. 
 sopher and a Doric poet. But to fabricate 
 Pythagorean treatises in the Doric dialect 
 seems to have become in the latter ages a 
 matter of cxerciso and emulation among the 
 Greek Sophistae and Syncretists. In fact, of 
 the numerous fragments under the names of 
 Pythagoras, Thoano,Tinia;us, Ocellus, Archytas, 
 Hippodamus, Euryphanius, Hipparchus, Thca 
 ges, Metopus, Clinias, Crito, Polus, Lysis, 
 Melissa, Mya, Ac. ; there are hardly any to a 
 critical eye not manifestly spurious, and none 
 «iiatcver exempt from grave suspicion. On 
 general grounds, therefore, forgeries on Epi- 
 charnms are not only not improbable, but likely. 
 
 2. And that such were actually comniit- 
 tod we are not without special evidence. We 
 know from AthcniEus (L. xiv.) that there 
 were many Pscudoepiclutrmia in circulation. 
 Besides Apollodorus, he cites, as authorities 
 for this, Aristoxonus (who was a scholar of 
 Aristotle) in the eighth book of his Pohty, and 
 Philochorus (who lived about a century later) 
 in his treatise on Divination. Among the 
 more illustrious fabricators, the former of 
 these commemorates Chrysogonus tho flute- 
 player j the latter, Aziopistus of Locrus or 
 Bicyon, with the names of his two supposititious 
 works, the Canon and the GnonuB. Of cither 
 of these, judging from their title, the line in 
 question may have formed a partj though it is 
 not improbably of a still more recent origin. 
 
 3. The words (and none could be more direct 
 and simple) which make up the first hemistich 
 fif the verse, wo find occasionally quote<l as a 
 proverbial philosophcme, subsequently to the 
 time of Plato. To Plato's doctrine, and his 
 language, I would indeed attribute its risej 
 for it is idle to suppose, with Jacobs, that 
 Sophocles ((Ed. T. 389) and Euripides (Hcl. 
 118) had either the verse or dogma in their 
 eye. Aristotle, at least, the author of the 
 Problems, Is the oldest testimony for such a 
 
 ganism ; for thus only can an object ezistf 
 now and Iiere, to sense. 
 
 II. — Sensation proper and Perception 
 proper, in correlation. 
 
 14. In Perception proper there is a 
 higher energy of intelligence, than in 
 
 usage ; and long after Aristotle, after, indeed, 
 the line had been already fathered on Epi- 
 charmus, we have Pliny (H. N. xi. 37,) Cassius 
 Felix (Pr. 22,) St Jerome (Adv. Jovin. ii. 9,) 
 the manuscripts of Stobaeus (iv. 42,) and the 
 Scholiast of Aristophanes (PI. 43,) all adducing 
 it only as an adage. It is not, however, till 
 nearly «jVr centuries after £picluirmus, and con. 
 siderably more than /our centuries after Aristotlef 
 that we find tho saying either fully cited ag a 
 verso, or the verse ascribed to the Syracusan. 
 But from the time of Plutarch, who himself 
 thrice alleges it, its quotation in either fashion 
 becomes frequent; as by TeituUian, Clement 
 of Alexandria, Maximus Tyiius, Julian, Theo- 
 doret, Olympiodorus (twice,) and Tzetzes (four 
 times.) Porphyry (thrice) records it — but as 
 a saying of Pythagoras j and Iamblichu«, as 
 a dictum of the Pythagorean school. These 
 authors both had learning, though neither, 
 certainly, was ever critical in its application. 
 Their statements can only, therefore, bo held 
 to favour the opinion that they were unaware 
 of any decisive evidence to vindicate the verse 
 to Epicharnms. 
 
 4. But if improbable, even at first "Jight, 
 that such a verso of such an author should not, 
 if authentic, have been adduced by any writer 
 now extant, during the long period of six hun- 
 dred years, the improbability is enhanced when 
 we come to find, that during that whole period 
 it is never quoted, even under circumstances 
 when, had it been current as a lino of Epi- 
 charmus, it could not but have been eagerly 
 appealed to. Plato, as observed by Alcimus 
 and Laertius, was notoriously fond of quoting 
 Epicharmus ; and there were at least two 
 occasions — in the Thoajtetus (§ 102, sq.,) and 
 in the Pliacdo (§ 25 [11 Wytt.])— when this 
 gnome of his favourite poet would have con- 
 firmed and briefly embodied tho doctrine he 
 was anxiously inculcating. Could he fail to 
 employ it- In fact, it comes to this; — these 
 passages must cither be held to follow, or to 
 found, the philosophcme in question. — In like 
 manner Cicero, in his exposition of the first 
 passage, (Tusc. i. 20.) could hardly havo 
 avoided associating Epicharmus with Plato, 
 as TcrtuUian and Olympiodorus have done in 
 their expositions of the second — had the line 
 been recognised in the age of the former, as it 
 was in the age of the two latter. Nor could 
 such an apophthegm of such a poet have been 
 unknown to Cicero, — to Cicero, so generally 
 conversant with Hellenic literature, — and who, 
 among other sayings of Epicharmus himself, 
 adduces in Greek, as his brother Quintua 
 paraphrases in Latin, the no ipss celebrated 
 maxim — 
 
'I 
 
 PEBCEPTION; PERCEPTION PROPER 
 
 [NOTIi B.* 
 
 S«iintiom proper. For though th© ktter 
 lit tit ippreheasiott of an affection of 
 tlie Ego, and therefore, in a certain sort, 
 tlie appreliension of an immaterial quality ; 
 itil it is only tbe apprehension of the 
 frd of an organic passion; whereas the 
 former, thongh supposing Sensation as its 
 condition, and though only the appre- 
 hension of the attributes of a mtiterial 
 Mon-ego, is, however, itself without cor- 
 poretl passion, and, at the same time, t he 
 recognition not merely of a fact, but 
 of rdcUiom, (See 22, 29, and p. 858, 
 notes t and |.) 
 
 15. Sensation proper ii the conditio 
 mm qua imwi of a Perception proper of 
 the Primary qualities. For we are only 
 aware of the existence of our organism, 
 in being sentient of it, as thus or thus 
 •fiSMsted i and are only aware of it being 
 the imbject of extension, figure, division, 
 motion, Iec, in being percipient of its 
 •ffsctions, as like or as unlike, and as out 
 ®f, or locally external to, each other. 
 
 1ft. Every Perception proper has a Sen- 
 ■atton proper as its condition ; but every 
 iensation has not a Perception proper as 
 its conditionate — unless, what I think 
 ought to be done, we view the general 
 Musciousneas of the looality of a sensorial 
 aibction as a Perception proper. In this 
 ease, the two apprehensions will bo always 
 coexistent. 
 
 17. But though the fact of Sensation 
 proper and the fact of Perception pro- 
 per imply each other, this is all ; — for 
 the two cognitions, though coexistent, 
 are not proportionally coexistent. On 
 the contrary, although we can only take 
 note of, that is perceive, the special reJa- 
 tioni of aensations, on the hypothesis that 
 these wmMtions exist ; a sensation, in pro- 
 portion as it rises above a low degree 
 of intensity, interferes with the percep- 
 tion of its relations, by concentrating con- 
 sciousness on its absolute affection alone. 
 It may accordingly be stated as a general 
 rule — TkcUt above a certain point, the 
 stronger tks Senaation, the wmkmr ike Pmr^ 
 §^^on ; and the distincter the perception 
 Cm km obtrnme the semaiion; in other 
 words — Thtm§h Peree'piion proper and 
 Amaiion proper exist oni^ as they co^ 
 emstf in the degree or intensity of their 
 emstmce they are cdways found in ati t»- 
 rofto to each other, (See 862 b, aq.) 
 
 Be aober, amd to 4oiM Inel tnM t 
 Tkem am the oei^KJoiitta of mindj 
 
 or 'On,.tiie otber reading'—' 
 
 .Me mai, mid tJm io douM jwofMitit i 
 10/ food'. 
 
 18. The organism is the field of appre- 
 hension, both to Sensation proper and 
 Perception proper; but with this diffe- 
 rence: — ^that the former views it as of 
 the Ego, the latter, as of the Non-ego; 
 that the one draws it within, the other 
 shuts it out from, the sphere of self. At 
 animated, as the subject of affections of 
 which I am conscious, the organism be- 
 longs to me; and of these affection?;, 
 which I recognise as mine, Sensation pro« 
 per is the apprehension. As material, as 
 the subject of extension, figure, divisi- 
 bility, and so forth, the organism does 
 not belong to me, the conscious unit; and 
 of these properties, which 1 do not recog- 
 nise as mine, Perception proper is the 
 apprehension.* (See 38, 39, and p. 858 
 af.) 
 
 19. The affections in Sensation proper 
 are determined, (a) by certain intra- 
 organic, or (b) by certam extra-organic, 
 causes. The latter, as powers in bodies, 
 bejond the sphere of perception, and their 
 effects in us, the objects of Sensation, are 
 both (therefore ambiguously )denominated, 
 either, in the language of modern phiio- 
 sophers, the Secondary Qualities of Mat* 
 ter, or, in the language of Aristotle and 
 his school, the Proper S. nsihks. ( Note D.) 
 
 • It may appear, not a paradox merely, bat 
 a contradiction, to say, that the organism Is, 
 at once, witiiin and without the mind; is nt 
 once, subjective and objective; is, at once, 
 Bfo and Non-e^o. But so it is; and so we 
 must a<Unit it to be, unless^ on the one hand^ 
 as Materialists, wo identify mind with matter, 
 or, on the other, as Idealists, we identify mat. 
 tor with mind.. The organism, as animated, 
 as sentient, is necessarily ours ; and its aflfec- 
 tions are only felt as affections of the indivisi- 
 ble Ego. In this respect, and to this extent, 
 our organs are net external to ourselves. But 
 our organism is not merely a ■4'utient snbjcct. 
 It Is at the Hanio timo an extoaded, figuretl, 
 divisible, In a word, a material, subject ; and 
 the same sensations which are reduced io unity 
 in the indivisibility of consciousness are in the 
 divisible organiim recognised as plural aud 
 reciprocally external, and, therefore, as ex- 
 tended, figured, and divided. Such is the facti 
 but how the immaterial can bo united witli 
 matter, how the unextciidcd can apprehend ex- 
 tension, how the indiviaiible can measure the 
 divided, — ^this is the mystery of inystcriea to 
 man. *' Modus (says the Pscudo-Augustin)— 
 Modus quo corporibus adhsercnt spiritus, oni- 
 nino uiirua est, nee compreheMdi ab houiinibus 
 potest ; et hoc ipso homo est * Thus para- 
 phrased by Pascal : — ^' Man is. to himself, the 
 mightiest prodigy of nature. For lie is unable 
 to conceive what In Body, still les^ what ii 
 Mind, and, least of all, hovr there ca« be unitM 
 a body and a mind. This is the climax of hit 
 ditSculties ; yet this is his peculiar nature." 
 
 I «•] 
 
 AND 5ENSA i ION PROPER. 
 
 •I' 
 
 i( 
 
 20. Sensation proper has no object but 
 m subject^object, i.e. the organic affection 
 ?/ r*"!?^ T.^ are conscious. The cause of j 
 that affection, whether without the organ- 
 ism or within, that is, whether or not a 
 secondary quality of body, is immediately 
 or in Its own nature unknown; beinff 
 known only ,f known it ever be, medi. 
 ately, by observation, induction, infer- 
 ence, conjecture. Even in the perception 
 of the becundo-primary qualities, where 
 there is the perception proper of a quasi- 
 pnmary quality, in some degree of resist- 
 ance, and the sensation proper of a second- 
 try quahty, in some affection of the sen- 
 tient organism, its effect ; still to Sensa- 
 tion proper there is no other object but 
 the subjective affection; and even its 
 dependence, as an effect, upon the resist- 
 ance, as a cause, is only a conclusion 
 founded on the observed con.itancy of 
 their concomitance. (See 3% 37, and p. 
 867 b, sq.) ^ 
 
 21. Nay, the Perception prober, ac- 
 companying a sensation proper, is not an 
 apprehension, far less a representation, of 
 the external or internal stimulus, or con- 
 cause, which determines the affection 
 whereof the sensation is the consciousness. 
 —Not the former ; for the stimulus or 
 concause of a sensation is always, in itself 
 to consciousness unknown. Not the latl 
 tcr; for this would turn Perception into 
 Imagination — reduce it from an imme- 
 diate, and assertory, and objective, into a 
 mediate, and problematic, and subjective, 
 cognition. In this respect. Perception 
 proper is an apprehension of the relations 
 of sensations to each other, primarily in 
 Space, and secondarily in Time and De- 
 gree. (See 31.) 
 
 881 
 
 w — Perception proper. 
 
 23. In Perception proper the obiect- 
 ooject perceived is, always, either a Pri- 
 mary quality, or the g«(m-i>nmary phasis 
 of a Secundo-priraary. (See p. 857 b, sq.) 
 
 -4. The Primary qualities are perceived 
 as m our organism; the Quasi-primary 
 phasis of the Secundo-primary as meor- 
 rel'^^onto our organism.. ( See 866 a ) 
 
 !•:• r ^ perception of the Primary 
 quaht.es does not, originally and in itself, 
 reveal to us the existence, and qualitative 
 existerice of aught beyond the organism. 
 
 Sd! t.' '^ "^ ^^ ^^*^"^^^' «^-^' 
 2Q. The primary quaUties of things 
 external to our organism we do not per- 
 ceive, i.e., immediately know. For these 
 we only learn to infer, from the affections 
 which we come to find that they deter- 
 mine m our organs;- affections which, 
 yielding us a perception of organic exl 
 tension, we at length discover, by obser- 
 vation and Induction, to imply a corre- 
 sponding extension in the extra-orcranic 
 agents. *» 
 
 27. Further, in no part of the or- 
 ganism have we any apprehension, any 
 
 Mt.— iSwi*afton proper. 
 
 22. Sensation proper, viewed on one 
 Mde, is a passive affection of the organism ; 
 but viewed on the other, it is an active 
 apperception, by the mind, of that affec- 
 tion. And as the former only exists for 
 us, in as much as it is perceived by us ; 
 and as it is only perceived by us, in as 
 much as it is apprehended, in an active 
 concentration, discrimination, judgment, 
 of the mind ;— the latter, an act of intelli- 
 gence, is to be viewed as the principal 
 lactor in the percipient process, even in 
 its lower form, that of Sensation proper.* 
 (See 4, la, 11, 14, with notes.) ^ 
 
 • This is the true doctrine of AristoUe and 
 BIS iohooi, who are, however, n-Jt nnf^equently 
 
 misrepresented, by relation to the extreme 
 countcr.opinion of the Platonists, as viewine 
 in the cognitions of Sense a mere passionl 
 —a misrepresentation to which, undoubtedly 
 a few of the Latin Schoolmen have aflforded 
 grounds. It is, indeed, this twofold charac- 
 ter of the Sensitive process that enables us to 
 reconcile the apparent confliction of those 
 passages of Aristotle, where (a.s De Anima, L. 
 U.c.4.§8; C.5. §2^ c.ll.§i4j c 12 § 1- 
 De Sensu et Scnsili, c. 1. | 5; Physica, L vii! 
 c. J. § IJ. Pacian division) he calls Sensation a 
 passion or alteration of the Sentient : and those 
 others where (as De Anima, L. iii. c 8. 8 2j he 
 asserts that in Sensation the Sentient is not 
 passively affected. In the former passages the 
 sentient faculty is regarded on its organic 
 side, in the latter on its mental. Compare De 
 So.nno et Vigilia, c 1. § 6, where it is said, 
 that Sensation is a process belonging exclu- 
 sively neither to the soul nor to the body, but 
 as energy, a motion of the soul, through the 
 [medium of the] body;"_a text which, how- 
 ever, may still be variously expounded —See 
 Alexander, in note f p 878; who, with the 
 other Greek interpreters, Ammonius, Simpli. 
 cms, Philoponus, solves the difficulty by saying 
 that it is not the sentient mind that suffers! 
 but the sentient organ. To the same effect are 
 Galen and Nemesius, as quoted in note • p. 878. 
 Reid is partly at one with the Peripatetics; 
 with whose doctrine, indeed, he is more fre- 
 quently in accordance than he is alwaye bim 
 self aware. (Inq. 114 a.) 
 
 3 K 
 
im 
 
 lOfijOFidB' 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 PlEClf TIOH ; PERCEPTION PROPER [iot. h .• 
 
 29. But on the doctrine tbat space, as a 
 necessary condition, is a native element of 
 thought ; and, since the notion of any one 
 of its dimensions, as correlative to, must 
 inevitably imply the others ; it is evident 
 that every perception of sensations out of 
 sensations will afford the occasion, in ap- 
 prehending any one, of conceiving all the 
 three extensions; that is, of conceiving 
 space. On the doctrine, and in the lani 
 guage, of Reid, our original cognitions of 
 space, motion, &c.,are instinctive ; a view 
 which is confirmed by the analogy of 
 those of the lower animals which have the 
 power of locomotion at birth. It is truly 
 an idle problem to attempt imagining the 
 steps by wliich we may be supposed to 
 have acquired the notion of extension} 
 when, in fact, we are unable to imagine 
 to ourselves the possibility of that notion 
 not being always in our possession. 
 
 30. We have, therefore, a twofold cog- 
 nition of space : a) an a priori or natim 
 imagination of it, in general, as a necessary 
 condition of the possibiUty of thought; 
 and b,) under that, an a posteriori or 
 adventitious percept of it, in particular, as 
 contingently apprehended in this or that 
 actual complexus of sensations.* 
 
 immediate knowledge, of extension in its 
 true and absolute magnitude ; perception 
 motif « only the fact given in sensation, 
 mA sensation affording no standard, by 
 which to measure the dimensions given in 
 mm sentient part with those given in 
 mother. For, as perceived, extension ia 
 only the recognition of one organic affec- 
 tion in its outness from another}— as a 
 fi pttiimnm of extension is thus to percep- 
 tion the smallest extent of organism in 
 vMeli seiwrtions can b© discriminated as 
 f taral I— and as in one part of the or- 
 ganism this smallest extent is, perhaps, 
 some million, certainly some myriad, times 
 smaller than in others ; it follows that, to 
 lierception, the same real extension will 
 tlipear, in this place of the body, some 
 nilHon or myriad times greater than in 
 that.* Hor does this difference subsist 
 •only as betw^eea sens© and sense^; for in 
 the same sense, and efem in that sense 
 which has very commonly been held ex- 
 clusively to afford a knowledge of abso- 
 lute extension, I mean Touch proper, the 
 minimum, at one part of the body, is some 
 illy times greater than it is at another. 
 (See p. 863 ab, note.) 
 
 28. The existence of an extra-organic 
 world is apprehended, not in a perception 
 of the Primary qualities, but in a percep- 
 tion of the qwisl-primary phasis of the 
 Seoundo-primary ; that Is, in the con- 
 ■oionsness that our locomotive energy is 
 resisted, and not resisted by aught in our 
 organism itself. For in the conscions- 
 'liis of being thus resisted is involved, as 
 a wrrelallv^'the consciousness of a resist- 
 ing s<iliiithing external to our organism. 
 Both are, therefore, conjunctly appre- 
 hended. (See p. 866 a, note.)— -This ex- 
 perience presupposes, indeed, a posses- 
 sion of the notions of space and motion in 
 space. 
 
 §1.] 
 
 AND SENSATION PROPER. 
 
 ass 
 
 actual complej 
 
 B.) Editor^ doctrine of Perception, in «m- 
 trast to that of Reid, Stewart, Royer 
 CoUard, (md other philosopheri of th§ 
 Scottish SchooLf 
 
 81. Perception (proper) is the Notion 
 or Conception of an object, imtinetimlp 
 iuffgested, excited, inspirtdj or, as it were, 
 conjured up, on occasion or a( ths iign of 
 
 • This 'dlAirenM, In the' fowir of 'disoriml. 
 natlif affections, possessed hy iUbrmit parts 
 of the body, leems to depend partly on the 
 ii^itteness and isolation of the alUmale ner. 
 vous fltorHs, partly on the sfsnsatioa being less 
 or more corniMled with pleasure and pain. In 
 this respect the eye greatly trtnscends all tho 
 other organs. For we am disaiimlnate in tho 
 f«tina sensations, aa reoiproeally external, 
 more minntelj than we can in touch — as over 
 tlie greater part of the body, two miUions five 
 Imidred thousand fold— as at the most sensi- 
 tive place of the hand, a hundred thousand 
 Ibid— as at the tip of the tongne, where tac- 
 tile discrimination is at its maximum, fifty 
 Hieusand fold. I am, however, Inclined to think 
 tw reasons alreaiy fl,v«n, that^ wo must re- 
 4mm mllltons •• myriads. (Bee p. Sm, note,) 
 
 • This doctrine agrees with that of Kant 
 and Beid in the former : it diflfers certainly 
 from that of Kant, and probably from that of 
 Beid, in the latter. But see B. 
 
 4 Ihcre contrastmyowndoctrineof perception 
 
 with that of the philosophers in question, not 
 because their views and mine are those at far- 
 thest variance on the point, but, on the con- 
 trary, precisely because they thereon approxi- 
 mate the nearest. I have already s^oj^" that 
 the doctrine touching Perception held by R' id, 
 (and in the present relation he and his ^wo 
 iUuatrions followers are in almost aU respects 
 at one) is ambiguous. For while some of its 
 statements seem to barmonlie exclusively with 
 the conditions of natural presentationlsm, 
 Others, again, appear only compatible wltn 
 those of an egoistical represenUtiomsm. — 
 (See 820-823 ; also 81 2-815.) Maintaining, as 
 I do, the former doctrine, it is, of course, only 
 the positions conformable to the latter, which 
 it is, at present, necessary to adduce. 
 
 a Sensation (proper.*) Reid, Inq. Ill b. 
 U' .f| 121 a, 122 a, 123 b, 128 b note 130 b, 159 
 a, 183 a, 188 a. I. P. 258 ab, 259 b, 260 
 b,3l8 ab, 327 a^;— Stewart, El. vol. i. pp. 
 92, 93; — -Roycr Collard, in Jouffroy's 
 Reid, vol. iii. pp. 402, 403.— (Compare 
 820 b, 821 ab.) 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, in general, 
 tilt as Perception, in either form, is an 
 immediate or presentative, not a mediate 
 or representative, cognition, that a Per- 
 ception proper is not, and ought not to be 
 called, a Notion or Conception. And, I 
 hold, in particukr, that, on the one hand, 
 in the consciousness of sensations, out of 
 each other, contrasted, limited, and vari- 
 ously arranged, we have a Perception 
 proper, of the primary qualities, in an ex- 
 ternalty to the mind, though not to the 
 nervous organism, as an immediate cogni- 
 tion, and not merely as a notion or con- 
 cept, of something extended, figured, &c. ; 
 and, on the other, as a correlative con- 
 t^ned in the consciousness of our volun- 
 tary motive energy resisted, and not re- 
 sisted by aught within the limits of mind 
 and its subservient organs, we have a Per- 
 ception proper of the secundo- primary 
 quality of resistance, in an extraorganic 
 force, as an immediate cognition, and not 
 
 • This is not the doctrine, at least not the 
 language of the doctrine, of real presentation- 
 ism. It is the lanpuage, at best, of an egoisti- 
 cal representationism J and, as adoctrine.it 
 coincides essentially with the theory of m^aiate 
 perception held by the lower Platonvta, the 
 Cartesians, and the Leibnitzianfl— as Jroperly 
 understood. The Platonizing Cr IwJrth, ir 
 different parts of his works, g'vo$, In fact, 
 nearly in the same terms, the pinie .•>ccount of 
 the process of Sensitive Per^eptloi t.i He sig- 
 nalises, firstly, the bodily affecticyh, determined 
 by the iinprc85.ion of an cxtenml something, 
 [precisely as Reid;] s^condly^ the sympathetic 
 recognition thereof hy fhe «ouI, [Reid's Sen- 
 sation;] thirdly, r,o 'luote his expressions, 
 * whereby according i** «oitur<'« instinct , it hath 
 several SeemingB or Appearances begotten in it 
 of thoBO resisting •jbje'its, without it at a dis- 
 tance, in respect oi colour, magnitude, figure, 
 and local motion,' [Keid's Conceptions or No- 
 tions of which P6rc<!ption is made up.] (Imm. 
 Mor 1. V. ch. 2. J 3. Compare B. iii. ch. 1. § 
 5.) See also, a^0Ye, the Neoplatonic doctrine, 
 u stated, p^ 2f2 b. note * ; the Cartesian Syl- 
 itia Begisyai quoted, p. 821 a; and the Car- 
 leiiiil Andalb, as quoted, p. 257, b. note • ; and 
 to these taly be added the Aristotelian Comp. 
 ton Casl^. (who did not reject the doctrine 
 of a rel, (tentative perception of tho Common 
 SensUhes,) as quoted, p. 830 a. — ^But that Beid 
 pcMlbly employ the terms notion and 
 in a vague and improper sense, for 
 Cofniilon in general, see p. 821, b, 4. 
 
 merely as a notion or concept, of a resisting 
 something external to our body ; — though 
 certainly in either case there may be, and 
 probably is, a concomitant act of imagi- 
 nation, by which the whole complex con- 
 sciousness on the occasion is filled up. 
 (See 21, and Note B § ii.) 
 
 32. On occasion of the Sensation (pro- 
 per,) along with the notion or conception 
 which constitutes the Perception (proper,) 
 of the external object, there is blindly 
 created in us, or instinctively determined, 
 an invincible belief in its existence. (Reid, 
 Inq. 159 a, 122 ab, 183 a, LP. 258 a, 327% 
 alibi ; Stewart and Royer Collard, U. cc.) 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that we only 
 believe in the existence of what we per- 
 ceive, as extended, figured, resisting, &;c., 
 in as much as we believe that we are con- 
 scious of these qualities as existing ; con- 
 sequently, that a belief in tho existence 
 of an extended world external to the iJ»^ 
 mind, and even external to the organism, 
 is not a faith blindly created or iPotmc- 
 tively determined, in supplemo'il of a re- 
 presentative or mediate cjgnition, but 
 exists in, as an integral constituent of. 
 Perception proper, as an act of intuitive 
 or immediate knowledge. 
 
 33. The object o^ Perception (proper) 
 is a conclusio*i, or tn/<»r«nc«?, or result, 
 (instinctive, indeed, not ratiocinativo,) 
 from a Sensation proper. (Reid, Inq. 
 125 n, 18t> b, 1. P. 310 ab, 319 a;— i2oy«r 
 ^bllard, I. c.) 
 
 On the contrary, 1 hold, that the object 
 of Perception proper is given immedi- 
 ately in and along with the object of 
 Sensation proper. (See 822 a 7.) 
 
 34. Sensation (proper) precedes, Per- 
 ception (proper) follows. (Reid, Inq. 
 .186 b, 187 b. I. P. 320 b; Stetvart and 
 )Royer Collard, 11. cc.) 
 
 'On the contrary, I hold, that though 
 Sertt^tion proper be the condifiofi ot, and 
 therefore anterior to. Perception proper 
 in the order of nature, that, in the order 
 of time, both are necessarily coexistent ; 
 — the latter being only realised in and 
 through the present existence of the for- 
 mer. Thus visual extension cannot be 
 perceived, or even imagined, except under 
 the sensation of colour ; while colour, 
 again, cannot be apprehended or ima- 
 gined without, respectively, a concomi- 
 tant apprehension or phantasm of exten- 
 sion. 
 
 35. Sensation (proper) is not only an 
 antecedent, but an arbitrary antecedent, 
 of Perception (proper.) The former is 
 only a sign on occasion of which the lat- 
 ter follows; they have no necessary 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 I "' 
 
MtlA 
 
 W9V9 
 
 fBECEPTIOM i PERCEPTION PROPER [»<«■ ».* 
 
 §«.] 
 
 AND SENSATION PROPER. 
 
 885 
 
 mwn imtuml connexion; and it is only by 
 tlie will of God that we do not perceive 
 
 tit mmBilm of externia oWects indepen- 
 'itntly id Wf mmmte affection, ims 
 ivt, iiideod, seems to be actually the case 
 in tbe perception of visible extension and 
 fillreT (Jl^, I»q- HJ b, 121 a, 143 b, 
 122 a. 123 K 187 b, 188 a. L P. i}57 b. 
 2TO b, alibi; mmart and Motfm' Coilurd, 
 
 "* On\l»e contrary. I bold that Sensation 
 nroper is the universal condition of Per- 
 Lptlon proper. We %« "f ^J^/J^Jf/^ 
 fven of the existence of ow orgMism 
 •xcept as it is somehow affected j and are 
 omlf coiiscioM of extension, figure, and 
 the other objects of Perception proper, as 
 VMlixed in the relations of the affwstions 
 ©f our sentient orgwilsmi as a body ex- 
 tended, figured, «»c. As to colour and 
 ▼liable extension, neither can be appre- 
 m^ liended, neither can be ejen imagined, 
 " Jl^arl from the other. (V. 83 a^-t- 
 
 ■ote. etalibi ; but especially Note E, § 1.) 
 36. Ill n Sensation (projier) of the 
 
 'MMndary qualtties, as affections |i us, we 
 have a Peret^tim (l>ro|i#r) o/ p«f «« 
 jroj}«rfMf m ol»>elf and Miises of the 
 KStoM m •^. (i2e»'«, I. P- 310 ab,and 
 
 Inq. passim; ^3'«''^^^['';f\*J:>.. p^. 
 On the contrary, 1 hoW, that at Fer- 
 ception proper is an immediate cognition j 
 
 •nd as the secon^ry q^^^^f'j" ^^^^^^^^^ 
 •re only tofefWJd, and therefore on^y 
 mediately known to exist as occult cau»,i 
 of manifest effects; that these, at best 
 cnly objeota of . mediate k°«whHl|e, «e 
 ant ©bjffota of Perception. (See 20, 31, 
 
 and P' 858*1 • • 
 
 3-, In like manner, in the case of irarl- 
 
 ^iMt 'other bodily affections, as the tooth- 
 
 •ehe, f out, &c., we hate not only a Sen. 
 
 On th« contrary, and for the same 
 VtMOii* I hold, that there is la tMi case 
 
 sm liMh Perception. .ir«„tiofi 
 
 18. Sensation (proper) is an affection 
 
 p««|y oftM wmd^md not m »;ny way an 
 
 SSeiion of tk« t»«fy- <^tiiT ' 
 
 lit ab. 187 a, I. P. 2f ^'f » flf.) 
 
 On the contrary. I ^^^^.^L^^l^tred 
 (De An. I. &, De Som. c. 1. 1 6,} *ntleed, 
 irith pliltoupbers in general, that Seii». 
 tion Is an affection neither of the body 
 ilon0 nor of the mind a one. but of the 
 'jftH Hf^t ii. of which each is a constituent ; 
 ■bA tliil tb® subject of Sensation may be 
 Indifferently said to be our o'«J»J!»J*; 
 
 • ited) or our soul ( as united with 
 
 an organism.) Tor instance, hunger or 
 colour are, as apprehended, neither raodet 
 of mind apart from body, nor modes ol 
 body apart from mind. (See 18.) 
 
 39. Sensations (proper) as merely affeo 
 tions of tbe mind, have no locality m the 
 body, no locality at all. (Retdyh P. 319 
 ab, 320 ab.) From this the inference is 
 necessary, that, though conscious of the 
 relative place and reciprocal outness of 
 sensations, we do not in this consciousness 
 apprehend any real externality and ex- 
 tension. , _ .. 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that Sensation 
 proper being the consciousness of an affec- 
 tion, not of the mind alone, but of the 
 mind as it is united with the body, that 
 in the consciousness of sensations, rela^- 
 tively localized and reciprocally external, 
 we have a veritable apprehension, and, 
 consequently, an immediate perception of 
 the affected organism.as extended, divided, 
 figured, &c. This alone is the doctrine 
 of Natural Realism, of Common Sense. 
 
 (See 18.) . , _. 
 
 40. In the case of Sensation (proper) 
 and the Secondary qualities, there is a 
 d terminate qualiti/ in certain bodtes, ex- 
 clusively competent to cause a determinate 
 sensation in us, as colour, odour, savour, 
 &c.; consequently, that from the fact or 
 a similar internal effect we are warranted 
 to infer the existence of a similar exter- 
 nal concause. (Reid, Inq. 137-14-2. i- * • 
 816, 316, alibi.) . 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that a similar 
 aenaalWn only implies a similar idiopathic 
 affectr\ of th© nervous organism; but 
 jiieh afe. tion requires only the excitation 
 of an appi^riate stimulus; while such 
 stimulus may be supplied by manifold 
 aeents M the n-^st opposite nature, both 
 from witiii^ the bydy and from without. 
 
 (See 864, b-^-8^. »•) ^ 
 
 41 Perceptwn txclmles m«mory ; Per- 
 ception (proper) ca:inol therefore be apj. 
 prehensive of m^lio^ {Rojfer CoUard, 
 
 supra, 844, ab.) 
 
 On the contrary, 1 hold,thst as memory, 
 or a certwn continuous .epresentation, is 
 a condition of consciousness, it is a con- 
 dition of Perception ; and that »oUon, 
 therefore, cannot, on tbis gr(iund, be da- 
 nied as an object apprehended througn 
 sense. (See 6, and Note H.) v 
 
 42. An apprehension i>fret9tm9^^ 
 an act of Perception (proper.) \iMm^ 
 eo^tori,[appaj-enUy,J;Wd.)^ In .\n^ 
 
 ouara Lapp»rcin,ij,j ."■— / V_-«.i 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, in ^^^ 
 that as all consciousness is r«*^"5^5jr/, 
 in the apprehension of the relatiodV of 
 ^nralitySd contrast; and as pwceptioa 
 
 is a consciousness ; that the apprehension 
 of relation cannot, simpliciter, be denied 
 to perception : and, in particular, that 
 unless we annihilate Perception proper, 
 by denyin;!: to it the recognition of its 
 peculiar objects, Extension, Figure, and 
 the other primary qualities, we cannot 
 deny to it the recognition of relations; 
 for, to say nothing of the others, Exten- 
 sion is perceived only in apprehending 
 sensations out of sensations — a relation ; 
 and Figure is only perceived in appre- 
 fiendingone perceived extension as limited, 
 and limited in a certain manner by another 
 —a complexus of relations. (See 9, pp. 
 844 a, 859 a, and infra Note E. ) 
 
 43. Distant realities are objects of Per- 
 ception (proper.) {Reid, Inq. 104 b, 145 a, 
 168 b, 159 ab, 160 a, 186 b; LP. 299 a, 
 802 a, 303 a, 304 a, 305 b ; Stewart, El. 
 i 79 sq.) 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that the mind 
 perceives nothing external to itself, ex- 
 cept the affections of the organism as 
 animated, the reciprocal relations of these 
 affections, and the correlative involved in 
 the consciousness of its locomotive energy 
 being resisted. (See 814 a, 822 ab ) 
 
 44. Objects not in contact with the 
 organs of sense are perceived by a me- 
 dium. {Reid, Inq, 104 b, 186 ab, 187 b ; 
 ,1. P. 247 ab.) 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that the only 
 object perceived is the organ itsf^^ytfs 
 modified, or what is in contact with tho 
 organ, as resistin;;. The doctrine of a 
 medium is an error, or rathe • a confu«uon, 
 inherited from Aristotle, who penerted, 
 in this respect, the simplei and more accu- 
 rate doctrine of Democritus. 
 
 46. Extension and F^fure are first per- 
 ceived through tbe s^msations of Touch. 
 {Reid, Inq. 123Jk5. 188 a ; I. P. 331 ; 
 Stewart, £1. i. 3M 357 ; Ess. 664.) 
 
 On thecont-^^, I hold, that (unless by 
 Extension be Mtderstood only extension 
 In the three ^pnensions, as Reid in fact 
 seems to doflout not Stewart, ) this is 
 erroneous, f^an extension is apprehended 
 in the appi»ension of the reciprocal ex- 
 ternality ^F all sensations. Moreover, to 
 allow Kv^vthe statement as thus restricted 
 to pass.^7 would be necessary to suppose, 
 that under Touch it is meant to compre- 
 hend the consciousness of the Locomotive 
 •ner/y and of the Muscular feelings. 
 (8ee^864 b, sq.) 
 
 48. Eatt&raality is exclusively perceived 
 on occasion of the sensations of Touch 
 {Reid, Inq. 123, 124, 188. a ; I. P. 332 
 aad alibi ; Royer CoUard, Jouffroy's Reid, 
 Hi 412.) 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that it is, pri- 
 marily, in the consciousness of our loco- 
 motive energy being resisted, and, secon- 
 darily, through the sensations of muscular 
 feeling, that the perception of Externality 
 is realized. All this, however, might be 
 confusedly involved in the Touch of the 
 philosophers in question. (See 28.) 
 
 47. Real (or absolute) irxiu/nitude is an 
 object of perception (proper) through 
 
 Touch, but through touch only. {Reid, 
 I. P. 303.) 
 
 On the contrary, I hold, that the mag- 
 nitude perceived through touch is as 
 purely relative as that perceived through 
 vision or any other sense; for the same 
 magnitude does not appear the same to 
 touch at one part of the body and to 
 touch at another. (303 b, note i 863 ab, 
 note; and n. 27.) 
 
 48. Colour, though a secondary qualityj 
 is an object not of Sensation (proper) hiit 
 of Perception (proper) ; in other words, 
 we perceive Colour, not as aa affection of 
 our own minds, but as a <i".«lity of exter* 
 nal things. {Reid, luq. 137 ab, 138 a $ 
 L P. 319 b.) 
 
 On the contrary, T hold, that colour, 
 in itself, as a.pprehended or immediately 
 known by us, is a mere affection of the 
 sentierkt organism ; and therefore like 
 tlus other secondary qualities, an object 
 iTOt of Perception, but of Sensation, pro- 
 per. The only distinguishing peculiarity 
 in this case, lies in the three following 
 circumstances : — a) That the organic 
 affection of colour, though not altojj ether 
 indifferent, still, being accompanied by 
 comparatively little pleasure, compara- 
 tively little pain, the apprehension of this 
 affection, qua affection, i. e., its Sensation 
 . proper, is, consequently, always at a mini- 
 mum. — b) That the passion of colour first 
 rising into consciousness, not ffom the 
 amount of the intensive quantity of tho 
 affection, but from the amount of the ex- 
 tensive quantity of the organism affected, 
 is necessarily apprehended under the con- 
 dition of extension. — c) That the isola- 
 tion, tenuity, and delicacy, of the ultimate 
 filaments of the optic nerve, afford us 
 sensations minutely and precist ly distin. 
 guished, sensations realized in conscious- 
 ness only as we are conscious of them as 
 out of each other in space. — These cir- 
 cumstances show, that while in vision 
 Perception proper is at its maximum, and 
 Sensation proper at its minimum. ,(17.) 
 the sensation of colour cannot be realized 
 apart from the perception of extension : 
 but they do not warrant the assertions, 
 I that colour is not, like the other seco ^ 
 
PERCEPTION; PERCEPTION PROPER [«ote » I fl 
 
 ■ry qualitiM, tfifirehended l>y us as a 
 
 wrnm tensorial affection, and, therefore, 
 ail objeci not of Sensation proper but of 
 Pteroeptka proper. (See 85Sab, 868ab.) 
 
 AND SENSATION PROPER. 
 
 887 
 
 I n.— Jfto oricul mtim In regard to tU 
 otifiMlaim of Pere^ftiim prtmir and 
 
 ' Stmmtm proper. 
 
 TUi diatinctlon is nnirersally supposed 
 to bt of a modern date ; no one has endea- 
 wjMliWl to carry it higher than Male- 
 ■famih©; and, in general, the few indi- 
 •■tloiii of it noticed pre?ious to Reid, 
 have been commemorated as only aoci- 
 iftntal or singokr anticipations.* This is 
 •ItMjether erroneonsj the distinction h 
 ■udent ; and adopting, for the standard, 
 my own opinion of what the distinction 
 ought to be, I find it taken more simply 
 and Itis incorrectly by Aristotle, than by 
 any modern pUtotopher whatever. 
 
 Arlslotle'f fliicrliiiiiiation of the Com- 
 ■mon and Pro'pir 8«niiWisi or Percepts. 
 (which has been alna^dy explained, 828 b 
 ■q.) embodi<M» not only the modern dis- 
 tinction of the Primary a|id Secondary 
 Qualities of matter, but also the modem 
 iiitsnelion of the two Perceptions, Pcr- 
 
 * the only attempt of which I am aware aC 
 
 any Mstorlcal aceeiut of the distinotlon' in 
 iand, is by MT' Stewart, in Not© F of his 
 .■Map. II oontalAB, howtver, noCioei, and 
 «•» '■« ail. ;paplia«it, 'Only ef Hutehcson, 
 
 ...Cfomai, .Bastar, and Vllembert, mod none of 
 these hat© aaj title to an historical ccnimemo. 
 
 ration on the occasion. For Uutchecon (as 
 ^[mAj one* and a^afn mentIo«o4, IM. at», 
 
 ' M» b ) only repeats, indeed, only ttenclit of 
 
 lepiallafir Atfitiitle; while the othe«,at t*cst, 
 ily re-eeho Ifalebmnehe nd the carte- 
 
 I may here observe, that in that Mo^te. as 
 ^ lie rapeatediy in the Dissertation, Mr Stewart 
 <wio lias been frequently followed) is wronff 
 In stating, nnexclusivoly, that Eold's writings 
 were anterior to Kant's; fonnding thereon a 
 fffsamftloD against the orig Inallty of the lat- 
 tar. The priority of Reid is only true as 
 Mteiited to the < Inquiry ;• but, on the ground 
 of Ibis alone there conld be proved, between 
 the philMopbers, but little eonunnnlty of 
 thenght, on points where either could poasibly 
 mm any rigte of proiwjrty. But thouirh 
 IS«iil% irst « Cntik' and • Prolegomena' pre. 
 •eded Reid's 'Kssays* by several years, no 
 one win assuredly snsfeol any connexion 
 whatever between these several works In 
 general, I must be allowed to say, that the 
 •oao and tenor of Mr Stewart's remarks on the 
 pnlloiopher of KoenigsOerf are remarkable 
 ?*^**<»M to the usual cautious, candid and 
 mgamm. <tliara«!t«r ^of Ms crfticism. 
 
 wtion proper and Sensation proper. 
 The generalisation of these two correla. 
 tive distinctions into one, constitutes in- 
 deed, the first peculiar merit of Aristotle'i 
 analysis and nomenclature. But a second 
 is, that in his hands at least, the Common 
 Sensibles, the immediate objects of Per- 
 ception proper, are viewed as the object- 
 objects of an intuitive, and not perverted 
 into the mbjeci'Objccts of a representative 
 cognition. For in the writings of Aris- 
 totle himself I can find no ground for 
 regarding him as other than a presenta- 
 tionist or natural realist. In this re- 
 spect hb doctrine stands distinguished 
 from all the others in which the distinction 
 in question has been recognised ; for the 
 Neo- Platonic, the Neo-Aristotelic, tho 
 Scholastic (with certain exceptions) and 
 the Cartesian, all proceed on the ideality 
 or representative character of the objects 
 of which we are conscious in Perception 
 proper. Even Reid himself, as we have 
 seen, and the Scottish School in general, 
 can only with doubt and difficulty be held 
 aa quaUfied exceptions. (See § I, B of 
 this Note, and § II. of Note C; 
 
 Nay, the canon I have endeavoured to 
 establish of the universal co-existence in 
 an inverse ratio of Perception proper and 
 Sensation proper (and in general of Feel- 
 ing and Cognition) though not enounced 
 i^its abstract universality by Aristotle, 
 ma.^^till be detected as supposed and spe- 
 cially applied hj Ll-i. In hU treatise On 
 **f Jo'il ("• ®. l.>Si.eaking of the sense 
 of Sm^ll^ ana of the difficulty of deter- 
 mining the nature and quality of ita 
 objects— odours, he s-^ys:— * The cause 
 is, that we do ni| possess this sense in 
 any high degree « acc-uracy, but are, in 
 thii respect, inferior to^ny of tie brutesj 
 for man smells imperl^ly, and has no 
 perception of things ompus, unaccom. 
 pamed by either pain » pleasure; the 
 organ of this sense not «ng nicely dis- 
 criminative.' And the saiMis implied, in 
 wliat he adds touching the%sion of the 
 sclerophthalma. Does not t* manifestly 
 suppose the principle— that i^roportion 
 as a sense rises as a mean of iflLrmation 
 it sinks as a vehicle of pleasurell^ pain t 
 —Galen, I may notice, has some r,»mark- 
 able observations to the same effect In 
 considering *the causes of pleasure and 
 pain in the several senses;' an(| Jfter 
 staling, in general, the order of intensity 
 in which these are susceptible of such 
 affections, to wit, Touch or Feeling—. 
 Taste ~ Smell — Hearing — Vision ; ht 
 goes on to treat of them in detail. And^ 
 here it is evident, that ho also deems the 
 
 capacity of pain and pleasure in a sense to 
 be inversely as its power of cognitive dis- 
 crimination. For, inter alia, he says of 
 Hearing : * The pleasurable is more con- 
 spicuous in this sense [than in that of 
 Vision,] because it is of a coarser nature 
 and constitution ; but the pleasurable be- 
 comes even more manifest in the sensa- 
 tions of Smell, because the nature and 
 constitution of this sense is coarser still.' 
 (De Sympt. causis L. i. c. 6.) 
 
 The distinction of the Common and 
 Proper Sensibles, and virtually therefore, 
 the distinction in question, was continued, 
 with some minor developments, by the 
 Greek and Latin Aristotelians. (See 830 
 a, 860 ab.) As to the interesting doc- 
 trine, on this point, of those Schoolmen 
 who rejected intentional species in Per- 
 ception, I may refer, instar omnium, to 
 Biel (Collect. L. ii. dist. 3. qu. 2.) 
 
 Sensation proper and Perception proper 
 were, however, even more strongly con- 
 tradistinguished in the system of the 
 lower Platonists. They discriminated, 
 on the one hand, in the body, the organic 
 passion and its recognition — that is Sen- 
 sation proper ; and on the other, in the 
 impassive soul, the elicitation into con- 
 sciousness (through some inscrutable in- 
 stinct or inspiration) of a gnostic reason, 
 or subjective form, representative of the 
 external object aflFecting the sense— that 
 is Perception proper. (See 262 b Note *.) 
 There might also be shown, in like man- 
 ner, an analogy between the distinction in 
 question, and that by the Schoolmen of 
 the speci'^8 impressa et expressa ; but on 
 this 1 shall not insist. Nor on the Neo- 
 Platonic theory of Perception which has 
 rarely been touched upon, and when 
 touched on almost always misrepresented 
 (even Mr Harris, for instance, has wholly 
 misconceived the nature of the gnostic 
 reasons ; j— nor on this can 1 now enter, 
 though, as recently noticed, it bears a 
 striking analogy to one phasis of the 
 doctrine of Reid. In special reference 
 to the present distinction I may, however, 
 refer the reader to a passage of IHotinus. 
 (Enn. III. vL 2.) ,. ., j- 
 
 In the Cartesian philosophy, the dis- 
 tinction was virtually taken by Descartes, 
 but first discriminated in terms by his 
 followers. In general. Perception proper, 
 and the Primary qualities as perceived, 
 they denoted by Idea ; Sensation proper, 
 and the Secondary qualities as felt, by 
 Smitation (sensatio, sentiment). See Be 
 Maei, (Chivis, &c., p. 299 alibi, ed. 1677;) 
 — De la Foro", (De I'Esprit, ch. 10, p. 
 109 sq., th. iV, i». 276, ed. Amst. et supra 
 
 834 $k',)—Geulinx, (Dicu.^. m Principia, 
 pp. 45, 48, alibi, et supra 834 a;)— l?o- 
 hault, (Physique, passim;) — Malebranche 
 (Recherche, L. iii. P. ii. ch. 6 and 7, with 
 Ecclairc. on last, et supra 835 h;)-— 
 Silvain RegiSy (Cours,t.i. pp. 60, 61, 72, 
 145 . — Bossuet, (Connaissance de Dieu, ch. 
 iii. art. 8 ;) — while Busier y S" Ch-avesande, 
 CrousaZy Sinsert, Keranfiechy Genovesi, 
 with a hundred others, might be adduced 
 as showing that the same distinction had 
 been very generally recognised before 
 Reid ; who, far from arrogating to him- 
 self the credit of its introduction, remarks 
 that it had been first accurately esta- 
 blished by Malebranche. (265 b.) 
 
 As already noticed, (835 b,) it is pass- 
 ing strange that Locke, but truly mar- 
 vellous that Leibnitz, should have been 
 ignorant of the Cartesian distinction of 
 Sensation and Idea (Sentiment, Idee.) 
 Locke's unacquaintance is shown in his 
 * Essay,' besides other places, in B. ii. ch. 
 13, § 25, but, above all, in bis * Examina- 
 tion of P. Malebranche's Opinion;' and 
 that of Leibnitz, elsewhere, and in L. ii. 
 ch. 8 of bis * Nouveaux Essais,' but moro 
 particularly in the * Examen du Sentiment 
 du P. Malebranche,' both of which worka 
 he wrote in opposition to the relative 
 treatises of Locke. As for I^ocke, he 
 seems wholly unaware that any difference 
 subsisted in the Cartesian school, between 
 Idea and Sensation ; while Leibnitz actu- 
 ally thiaiks that Malebranche ' entend par 
 sentiment une perception d' imagination ' ! 
 In his own philosophy, Leibnitz virtually 
 supersedes the discrimination. I am, 
 therefore, doubly surprised at the obser- 
 vation of M. Royer CoUard, that * Male- 
 branche is the first among modern philo- 
 sophers, and, with Leibnitz, perhaps the 
 only one before Reid, who accurately 
 distinguished perception from the sensa- 
 tion which is its forerunner and sign.' 
 (Jouffroy's Reid, iii. 329.) 
 
 In the Kantian school, and generally 
 in the recent philosophy of Germany, the 
 distinction is adopted, and marked out by 
 the terms Anschauung or IntuitiOy for the 
 one apprehension, and Empfindimg or 
 Sensatio for the other. In France and 
 Italy, on the other hand, where the dis- 
 tinction has been no less universally re- 
 cognised, Reid's expressions. Perception 
 and Sensation, have become the prevalent ; 
 but their ambiguity, I think, ought to have 
 been avoided, by the addition of some 
 such epithet &a— proper. 
 
 Since generalizing the Law of the co- 
 existence, but the co-existence in an inverse 
 ratio, of Sensation and Perception, of the 
 
188 
 
 PERCEmON ; PERCEPTION PROPER, 5tc. [»otk » ♦ f ii 
 
 fiil»jweltv« mmd obfecHm, wnd, tn gmimil, 
 ofiWtMW mud mgmHtm ; I have noticed, 
 h^Mm mm aAdimed above fVom Aris- 
 'lutfo and CUen, other partial observatioiis 
 tfudliig to the same result, bj tmidry 
 Bodern pliilosopliers* — Suhmr, in m paper 
 pmblislied in 1750 (Yermiscbte Schriftou, 
 vol. I. p. 113,) makes the remark, that 
 * a representation manifests itself more 
 elearlj in proportion as it has less the 
 power of exciting in us emotion ;* and 
 eon&rnts it by the analogy observed in 
 the .glradatlon of the agreeable and dls- 
 affwable sensations. — MmM in his An- 
 thropologic (1798, § 14,) in treating of 
 Ihe determinate or organic senses (Sen- 
 sus fixi,) says : — 'Three of these are rather 
 ©yective than subjective — ^i. ©., as empiri- 
 cal intuitions, they conduce more to the 
 cognition of the external object, than they 
 excite the consciousness of th^ affected 
 organ; but two are rather subjective 
 than objective — i.e., the representation 
 they mediate is more that or enjoyment 
 [or suffering] than of the cognition of the 
 external object. .... The senses of the 
 former class are those«-l) of Touch (tac- 
 tus,) 2) of SiffU (visusi) 3) of Mearitw 
 (auditua ;) of the hitter, those—a) of 
 Tmtte (gustus,) b) of Smeli (olfactus.)' — 
 This and the Galenic arrangement will 
 appear less conflictive, if we recollect, 
 lilit nidtr Touch Galen comprehends 
 Peeing proper, whereas Feeling, proper 
 is by Kant relegated to his vital sense or 
 sensus vagus, the coensesthesis or common 
 sense of others. SeO' also Mmnen, Vn- 
 lunmehungen, i. p. 64 1 W^etzeit Psyoholo- 
 glej. §225; J!Vi«#, N. Kritik, i. § 14- 
 W; Anthropologic, i. §§ 27, 28, &o. Sic, 
 WL Eavaisson, in an article of great 
 ability and learning on the ' Fragments 
 de Philowphie* which M. Peisse did me 
 the honour to translate, when speaking of 
 the reform of philosophy in France, ori- 
 ginating in Maim de Bimn*t recoil against 
 the Sensualistic doctrine, has the follow- 
 fag fasa^ge : — ' Maine de Biran commence 
 par .tiparer profondement de la passion 
 ra€tivit4 que Condilhic avait confondue 
 avee elle sous le titre commun de Sensa- 
 tion. La sensation proprement dile est 
 nam aiSMtion. tunte passive ; TStro qui j 
 ■■fail rMuit Iraif sO' perdro, s'ahaorber^ 
 
 dans toutes ses modifications ; il deviea- 
 drait sucoeasivement chacune d'elles, il no 
 se tronverait pas, ii ne se distinguerait pas, 
 et jamais ne se connattrait lui- memo. Bieo 
 loin que la connaissanee soit la sensation 
 seule, la sensation, en se melant k elle, la 
 trouble et Tobscurcit, et elle eclipse a son 
 tour la sensation. De la, la loi que M. 
 Hamilton a signalee dans son remarquable 
 article sur la theorie de la perception : la 
 mmation «t la perception^ quoique insepa/r^ 
 ables, sont en ration inverse Vune de Vautre. 
 Cette loi fondamentale, Maine de Biran 
 Tavait dccouverte pres de trente ans 
 auparavant, et en avait suivi toutes lea 
 applications; il en avait surtout appro- 
 fondi le principe, savoir, que la sensation 
 r^sulte de k passion, et que la perception 
 resulte de Taction.' (Revue des Deux 
 Mondes, Nov. 1840.) — it is perhaps need- 
 less for me to say, that when I enounced 
 the kw in question (in 1830,) I had never 
 seen the printed memoir by De Biran, 
 which, indeed, from the circumstances of 
 its publication, was, I believe, inaccessible 
 through the ordinary channels of the 
 trade, and to be found in no library in 
 this country ; and now I regret to find 
 that, through procrastination, I must send 
 this note to press before having obtained 
 the collective edition of his earlier works 
 which has recently appeared in Paris. 
 All that I know of De Biran is comprised 
 in the volume edited in 1834 by M. 
 Cousin, from whose kindness 1 received 
 it. In this, the * Nouvelles Considerations 
 sur les Rapports du Physique et du Moral 
 de THomme,' the treatise in which, as hit 
 editor informs us, the full and final de- 
 velopment of his doctrine is contained, 
 was for the first time published. But 
 neither in that, nor in any other of the 
 accompanying pieces, can I discover any 
 passage besides the following, that may 
 be viewed as anticipating the law of co- 
 existence and inversion : — * Souvent una 
 impression perdue k tel degri cesse de 
 letre k un degr4 plus elevfe ou lorsqu'elle 
 s'avive an point d'absorber la conscience 
 ou le mot luimSme qui la devient. Ainri 
 plus la sensation aerait ^minemment attt- 
 male, moins elle anrait le charactdre vrai 
 d'une perception humaine.* 
 
 NOTE D. 
 
 • • 
 
 CONTRIBUTION TOWARDS 
 
 A HISTORY 
 
 OP THE DOCTRINE OP 
 
 MENTAL SUGGESTION OR ASSOCIATION. 
 
 [References omitted, and to be supplied from pp. 294, 386, &c.] 
 
 The doctrine of, what is most fami- 
 liarly styled, the Association of Ideas, 
 would be an interesting subject for histo- 
 rical inquiry The importance of this 
 
 principle has, in later times, been fully 
 recognised, — sometimes, perhaps, exag- 
 gerated; but to the older philosophers, 
 and to the schoolmen in particular, the 
 Exeiiaiio Specierum afforded, Hkewise, a 
 peculiar object of interest and speculation. 
 Foncius, for example, pronounces it— 
 ** ex difficilioribus naturje arcanis ;" and 
 Oviedo, — ** maximum totius philosophi* 
 sacramentum, nunquam ab aliquo satis 
 explicandum." Joseph Scaliger informs 
 us, that touching two things especially, 
 his proud and subtle father professed cu- 
 riosity and ignorance ; — the cause of 
 reminiscence and the cause of gravity. 
 Association and Gravitation, indeed, pre- 
 sent, in themselves, a striking parallel ; 
 in the history of their exposition, a strik- 
 ing contrast. 
 
 Each (as observed by Hume) is a spe- 
 cies of Attraction ; and the effects which, 
 in the mental world, are referred to the 
 one, are not less multiform, extraordinary, 
 and important, than those which, in the 
 material, are referred to the other. The 
 causes of both are equally occult; the 
 speculation of these causes equally unphi- 
 loftophical ; and each is to be reduced to 
 science only by observing its effects, and 
 earryingup its phwnomena into universal 
 
 facty or fact, laws or law. But in the 
 progress of this reduction the analogy 
 ceases ;— it is actually reversed. For whilst 
 the laws of Gravitation were only slowly 
 developed by the labours of success ve 
 generations, and their application only 
 gradually extended from the earth to the 
 universe of matter ; the not more obtru- 
 sive laws of Association, whose evolution 
 modern philosophers fondly arrogated to 
 themselves, are, after these have tried 
 and tired themselves in the attempt, found 
 already developed and applied, — I may 
 say, indeed, even generalized into unity, — 
 at a single jet, by a single philosopher of 
 antiquity, who, for this— but not alone for 
 this— stands the Copernicus and Kepler 
 and Newton of the intellectual world. 
 
 The singular circumstances of this in- 
 verted history have not, however, found a 
 competent hisloriani— nay, the circum- 
 stances themselves have yet to be signal- 
 ised and verified. Some attempts have 
 indeed been made under the name of 
 Histories of the Association of Ideas : but 
 comparing what has been, with what ought 
 to be, accomplished ; these, at best, are 
 only fragmentary contributions by writers, 
 unaware of the real authors, of even the 
 j most remarkable movements, and com- 
 I pensating their omissions, or their meagre 
 I and inaccurate notices of important mat- 
 ' ters, by tedious excursions on others of 
 no interest or difficulty. These inade- 
 
ON THE HISTORY 
 
 [notb d. 
 
 •• 
 
 Mgto atlMilptt have been also limited to 
 ggrmmy ; aid, ia German j, to the trea- 
 ties of tkrm awtliof ■ ; for the Mstorical 
 notices on this doctrine, found in the 
 works of other German psychologisti, are 
 wholly borrtired fipom them. I refer— to 
 
 of Association, (Hartley's Theory by P. 
 Intr. p. xxT.) 5 and Hume, as we have 
 seen, arrogates to Umtdf the glory of 
 f/t»i generalising its hiws.* (Ham. Und. 
 sect, iii.)— Mr Stewart, but at second 
 hand, says, that " something like an at- 
 
 th^-lmaMM^^tmmmm(im); to fsmi^Uo enumerate the laws flffr% 
 
 .. -m It ft --^ II !»«•*-*«»««'• aP tion IS to be found m Anstotle. - oir 
 
 tliA •* 'PuraHfomeiia'* and ^' Beytnege" of 
 JfiMff (1787, 1792) ; and to the « Ve*- 
 tigia" of Gmrem, (1791). In England, 
 liidMid, we hate a chapter in Mr Cole- 
 
 ffldg«*s «■ Biographia^ litffaria," entitled, 
 « 0m ihs lam of AarndttHtm^its historif 
 
 tion is to be found in Aristotle.*'- Sir 
 James Mackintosh, aj^ain, foundinK on his 
 own research, affirms that Aristotle and 
 Ms disciples, among whom Vives is speci- 
 fied, confine the application of the law of 
 association " extlunvely to the phcmO" 
 
 m€$d from Jlkmik U HaHUtj r but mena ofreeollectton, without any gl mpse 
 S^Tin-W far as it is of any value, is a of a more general openition, extending to 
 ' - ---*•''- all the connections of thought and feel 
 
 ing :" while the enouncement of a gene- 
 ral theory of Association, thus denied to 
 
 plj^arism, and a bliind«tliig plagiarism, 
 from Maass;* the whole chapter exhibit- 
 ing, in fact, more mlitahes than para- 
 gmpiis. We may judge of Mr Coleridge's 
 competence to speak of Aristotle, the 
 gr««t philosopiier of ancient times, when 
 we find Mm referring to the Jh Anima 
 for his speonlations on the associative 
 pfinciple j opposing the Jh Memoria and 
 JPtorwa MatttmUa as distinct works ; and 
 attributing to Aqniiias, what belongs ex- 
 clusively and notoriously to the Stagirite. 
 Wo may judge of his competence to speak 
 of Descartes, the great philosopher of 
 modern times, when telling us, that Idea, 
 la the Cartesian philosophy, denotes 
 merely a configuration of the brain ; the 
 lorm, he adds, being first extended by 
 Locke, to denote the immediate object of 
 the miud*8 attention or consciousness. 
 But, in truth, it might he broadly as- 
 serted, that every statement in regard to 
 the history of this doctrine hazarded by 
 British philosophers, to say nothing of' 
 others, is more or less erroneous — Priest- 
 ley, for example, asiigns to Locke the 
 honour of having ^d observed the fact 
 
 the genius of Aristotle, is, all, and more 
 than all, accorded to the sagacity of 
 ffobbii. The truth, however, is, that 
 in his whole doctrine upon this subject, 
 name and thing, Hobbes is simply a silent 
 follower of the Stagirite ; inferior to his 
 master in the comprehension and accu- 
 racy of his general views; and not supe- 
 rior, even on the special points selected, 
 either to Aristotle or to Vi ves.f ( Disser- 
 tations, 4c. Note I.) 
 
 ,• To IH) added to my Wend Professor Fer- 
 
 ritt'S «• Ptaflwisms of 8. T. Coleridge j" In 
 BlaiskwM«rS" Migailne. Marcli 1840. This 
 paper is remarkable for the ssfWsUy which 
 tVMiks, through the " Hercynlan hrakei*' of 
 iMlosophy and poetry, the footsteps of the 
 Iterirj reaver; whoio Ignorance of French 
 •tana fireoi Ffawie fc*om •ontrihution. Cole 
 fldg^i sf ■tematio plagiarism Is, perbapo. the 
 HMsl romarkahle on record,— taking all the 
 UlrmMiiftaafles into account, the foremost 
 •r which, oertatnly, is the naliiral ability of 
 tia emiprlt. But sooth to say, Coleridge had 
 In him more of the ivy than of th« oak.— 
 was hotter aUe lo clothe than to crea e. The 
 publloallon of Ms literary Table-Talk, *«., 
 ■liows that he was In the habit of speaking, 
 IS Ills BlograpMa, lie, show that he was in 
 |» Mitt of wrlttaf, the opinions of others, 
 
 • Among his other dreaming errors. Cole- 
 ridge charges Hume with plagiarising from 
 Aquinas (who, by the way, herein only repeats 
 Aristotle) his whole doctrine of Association. 
 Bat Coleridge charging plaglariBml "Quls 
 tulerit Gracchum, de seditione quorentem?" 
 
 g«e my Ingeniona friend, Mr Burton's excel. 
 
 lent Biography of David Home, lately pub. 
 
 lished. 
 
 f Let It not be supposed, that, In these 
 ohservations, I would insinuate aught like a 
 charge of plajfiarlam. against The Pliilosopher 
 of Malmesbury; or that, though disinclined 
 to many of his opinions, I am a lukewarm 
 admirer of his philosophical talent- It is an 
 egregious error to consider Hobbes as an 
 unlearned man; or, as one, who wove only 
 what he span and grew. Among English,— 
 among modern philosopher*, he towers a 
 shrewd and intrepid, an original and inde- 
 pendent thinker. But these qualities are 
 exhibited, not so much in the discovery of 
 new materials, as in the new elaboration of 
 old. He is essentially an eclectic. But he 
 chooses and rejects freely ; illustrating the 
 principles he adopts with admirable inge- 
 nuity, and carrying them out with unshrink- 
 ing consistency to their most startling results. 
 This is more especially true of his psycho, 
 logy; which is original racher for what tt 
 omits, than for what it cont^ns. It is, im 
 substance, an Aristotellc doctrine, retrenched, 
 not to say mutilated. Of the writings of the 
 Stagirite himself, Hobbes was even a zealous 
 student; of whieh his -Bri^ cfthe Art ^f 
 
 i«OTB I).**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 
 But, that Ani,.«itle's merits in regard | 
 to the theory of Association have not, as 
 yet, been fully recognised by philosophers, 
 is not to be marvelled at ; when we con- 
 sider the extra brevity and occasional, 
 corruption of the treatise in which his 
 doctrine on that subject is contained, and 
 when it is known that the editors, trans- 
 lators, and expositors of that treatise j 
 have all misapprehended its theory of j 
 Association in the most important points. 
 Without, therefore, attempting aught 
 like a history of this doctrine, for which, 
 the materials I have collected, it is, at 
 present, impossible to employ; I shall 
 confine myself to the principal object of 
 such a history — endeavour to render jus- 
 ti'-e to the great author of that theory; by. 
 translating, from his treatise on Memory 
 and Reminiscence, all that has any bear- 
 ing on the subject ; at the same time, re- 
 storing the text from its corruptions, and 
 illustrating its veritable import. — 1 shall 
 likewise translate what, (but only what,) 
 of any moment, is to be found in the rela- 
 tive commentary of Themistim ; because 
 this, both in itself and in reference to Aris- 
 totle, is, on the matter in question, a 
 valuable, though wholly neglected, monu- 
 ment of ancient philosophy ;— because, 
 from the rarity of its one edition, it is 
 
 accessible to few even of those otherwise 
 competent to read it; — but, above all, 
 because we herein discover the origin of 
 those misconceptions, which, bequeathed 
 by the first, have been nherited by the 
 last, of Aristotle's interpreters. 
 
 In other respects, 1 shall neglect no 
 suhsidia within reach; and my Aristo- 
 tellc collection is tolerably full, more com- 
 plete, indeed, than that extant in any 
 public library in this country. Though 
 statements may therefore sometimes ap- 
 pear sweeping, the reader should not be- 
 lieve that I hazard them without an ade- 
 quate foundation.* 
 
 Khetorique'* is only one of many proofs that 
 could be shown : and though he occasionally 
 abuses the schoolmen when in his way, he 
 was neither Ignorant of, nor unindebted to, 
 their writings. There is, however, another 
 philosopher whose relation to Hobbes has 
 never been observed, but whose influence, if 
 not on the general character of his specula 
 tion, at least on the adoption of several of 
 his more peculiar opinions, appears to me 
 almost demonstrable. I mean the Frenchman 
 Bcrigardm, (Beauregard;) who, when Hobbes 
 visited Pisa, in 1637, was in the meridian of 
 his academic reputation, and who, in his ^reat 
 work, the *♦ Circulus PUanm,'' first published 
 in 1643. takes, or rather makes, an occasion 
 to speak of the English philosopher, then 
 known only by his recent work " De Clve," 
 in terms manifestly the suggestion of per- 
 sonal regard. The counter alternative will 
 hardly be maintained, — that it was Hobbes 
 who privately acted upon Berigard. 
 
 I may be permitted to take this opportu- 
 nity of acknowledging for myself the obli- 
 gation which Sir WllUam Molesworth has 
 conferred upon all who take an interest in 
 philosophical pursuits, by his recent edition 
 of the collected works of this illustrious 
 thinker;— an undertaking in which he has 
 not only done honour to himself, but taken ofif 
 ft reproach which has long weighed heavily 
 npoB our country. 
 
 * lo. — Of commentators on the De Memoria 
 I have the following. — The Greek Paraphrase 
 of Themisiius which dates from the fourth cen- 
 tury. — The only edition is that of Aldus in 
 1534. — The Greek commentary of Michael 
 Ephesim, in points of dilliculty seldom more 
 than a transcript of Themistius, is of a com- 
 paratively recent, but uncertain, date. If 
 Allatius (De PselUs, § 32.) be right in his 
 plausible conjecture, and the Scholiast and 
 the Ex-Emperor Michael Ducas, who dird 
 Archbishop of Ephesus, be the same, it wiU 
 not ascend higher than the latter part of the 
 eleventh century. Of this, also, there is only 
 one edition— the Aldlne, of 1527—1 am well 
 acquainted with the scholastic commentaries 
 of Averroes, (f 1206,) Albcrtus Magnus, (tl280,) 
 and Aquirms, (f 1274.)— Subsequent to the re- 
 vival of letters, I have the expositions of — 
 Fdber Stapulemis, 1600,— ieonicus, 1520, — 
 Javellus, l5W,—Schegkiu8, I5i6,—Labittw (in 
 MS), 1563,—Oesner, c. 1560, but only printed 
 15S&,—6ifnoniu8, 15d6,—Crippa, J 567 .—the 
 Coimbra JesuitSj l&)0, —Paeius, 1600,— Haven- 
 reuter, 1600.— Of these the commentary of 
 Leonicus Is of especial moment; not for any 
 original merit of its own, but as the principal 
 medium through which the views of the Greek 
 expositors, on the Parva Naturalia, were pro- 
 pagated in the west. — To these are to be add- 
 ed illustrations of this treatise occasionally 
 met with in psychological writings of the 
 Aristotellc school; of which it is only necessary 
 to notice one— the remarkable work " De 
 Anima" of Vines, 1538. — The Paraphrase of 
 the Greek Monk, Theodorus Metochlta, 
 (f 1332,) has escaped me. 
 
 2°. Of versions, some of which have the 
 authority of MS8., I have those of Leoniem, 
 Sehegkius. VatabltiSf Perionius^ Lahitius, Sinw- 
 nitu, Crippa, and the anonymous version extant 
 in the Venice editions of the combined works 
 of Aristotle and Averroes. That of Alcyonius 
 I have not seen. Taylors English translation 
 is mere rubbish. 
 
 30. In regard to the text itself, besides 
 Btkker'B admirable recension, with the varia- 
 tions of six M8S , in the edition of the Berlin 
 Academy, I shall compare, when requisite, the 
 Camotio Aldine, Erasmian, MoreUian, Simth 
 
OH THB HISTORY 
 
 [HOT! n.* 
 
 By Mmmf (I #»^<i*% •»* fmfMHvUf,) 
 Jlriftnit, in lis trettiie on that subject, 
 ioet not limply denote tlie oonserrative 
 
 power' of niiid — tmm nimnH^m. He 
 tliefft tmplojs it, peoxlmately to desig- 
 nate the. faculty of repwdnction, in no far 
 '■• tliak 'ii^ 'direct and lainediate^— tftmp^^ 
 r0ifi«fiil>mjie0 or r«€(dketion ; while, to 
 the process of fmdiate or indirect repro- 
 iuelioii of someth-nf heretofore in 
 '■Miiory, but which we cannot now call 
 ■ft except throngh the intervention of 
 ■MWlhiiig' else, he gives the name of M§' 
 'mM»Cmci, (St mfdftf nt.) 
 
 But though the term Reminiscence be 
 
 Efoperly and principally applied to this 
 lentional process of recovery, and which 
 it is the purpose of the present treatise to 
 consider ; he extends it also to the vbtru- 
 iiM of thoughts on our remembrance, 
 through the course o( tponiaimous mffgrn- 
 floii, of which, however, he has here occa- 
 ■ion only to speak incidentally. — This is 
 ■BOUgh to prepare the reader for the 
 Ariflotelie extract which follows; and 
 'liiiy Ihimgh divided, for the sake of illus- 
 tration. Into segments, ought, in the first 
 inatanM^ to be read continuously and by 
 ilaelf. 
 
 I I. Aristotle here enounces the one 
 froxinate cause or condition of Reminis- 
 cence — the determined cmtmeuiion of 
 thought on thought (And, be it observed, 
 tiiat I ibail here employ the term thought 
 In its widest signiieation, for emry coit- 
 miom mode ofmhtd,) 
 
 AaiSTOTLB. 
 
 * M§mim»cenceM take place,* in virtue 
 
 •ten, BifBtfrffiam, Cammhomiamt Pineliw ami I>h> 
 •oltJiMi edllloni } but above all, the quouiiont 
 
 la ncniifil«f, and the ii^*tt la Miehml %A«- 
 
 Wbem not olberwise staled In Uie notes, the 
 
 'laxl if Bckker is tltas from wliieh the trmntla. 
 
 lieu will htt made. 
 • •• OblWin Iniperfeeta,*' (»ays Vlven,) " in- 
 
 ■laurstione. Indlgeti, ul vetttf atlone. et quasi 
 § redlbua. ad Id venlatur quod quajriniuB : ut 
 
 ab «iMiblo in amr^^brmmt ex hoc in rnonil* 
 rcffns: hiac in ftcllutn qmod §e$Merit vfr ejmt a 
 baltO' lit 'fllMirc*; a ducibaa ^ad curwtii pirogmUort$ 
 aal 'MflfMl hino a*! JlMf|>IAi«« fufbuf •twd*;- 
 i<Mt|—- la 4*0 uulla est ad tliitandum nieta. — 
 Qfaitti 111. .per 'Omaia org nmentorum geaera 
 :|Bla: ■eie' duramlunt ^— a mma ad r/ceiumj' ab 
 Imw ad 'laHmaMfilwa i e fmu ad loiiisn ; ab iato 
 ^■4.. locMi'; a loco ad jMfftuMnif a perMMa^ nd 
 fftoiw ejus et ]»oif«rloff«i | ad. «mll«rf«| ad *i- 
 •lillai— In quo dlscursa non eat finis— £t 
 ■iiiit-'traiisltua quidan lonKlsslmi^iiiinio sai. 
 tae.. Bt ex Js^iliM vesio in cogltationem 
 I, HMTopter victorias ^na de 
 
 of that constitution of onr mind, where- 
 by each ffltfnloZ movMiMnl* it dMt€rmin«d 
 
 Asia, in qua regnabat Anttoebns i ex nomine 
 deeronli veuit in recordationem iMctantiugf 
 qui fuit ejus imitator; et ex hoc de chalco- 
 ffraphia [eogltamus,] nam pJui liber dicitur 
 formulit anels excusas, vel primus, vel de 
 primis." (Oe Anima, L if. o. De Hem. et 
 Rem ) 
 
 • It is necessary to say a word in regard Co 
 the Ariatotellc cmploymert of the term Mo- 
 tion or miovementf (xm;rif,) in a psychological 
 relation It has been generally either mis. 
 taken or inadequately understood. — Hissmaou 
 soppoies that Aristotle means by it some local 
 motion, akin to the vibrations of certain ner. 
 vous fibres, or the flow of certain nervous 
 spirits, by which so many ancient and modern 
 physiologists liave pretended to explain the 
 pliaenoinena of thought. Haass and Goerens 
 reject, for the Stagirite, this mechanical by. 
 pothesis ; but, unacquainted with the general 
 analogy of Aristotle'a language, they have not 
 established their rejeotien on its broad and 
 proper basis. 
 
 Chanffe or MuUithn, (/ci7sCtXi^,)seeording to 
 Aristotle, U a genus containing under it four 
 (or six) species ;— each species affecting a 
 !«iibject pertaining to a different catejfory — 
 l*». If m Subntance, (xari to ri or ro3*.) it is 
 generation and destruction, (^ytwtrit. ^^«(»«0 
 — 2». If in Quantity, («««■« §4 )r«rov,) It Is 
 avgmentatiim and SminutionXi*t^*"*f f^i'tt :) 
 — 3». If in Quality, (j{«t« to vroih, or wd^tf,) 
 it Is variation, {mkXtltfit 0~**- '^ *" Place, 
 (mmrk ri arwl, or riwcr.) it Is local mOiiom, 
 ift^it.) (Metaph. xii 2.) 
 
 liow Aristotle, sometimes makes motjoii 
 convertible with change, and thus a genus 
 containing under it the same four species, — 
 (as in Fhys. IIL I ;)— sometimes be makes It 
 a subgenus to change^ containinc under it only 
 the last three species, (as in Metaph. XL 11, 
 12. Pbys V. 1. 2 —VII. 3. De Anima, I. 8. 
 —In vhich last the species of motion ar« 
 called four, inereate and dtmlnutioii being 
 counted aa two.) 
 
 Now, by the generic term motion, or moos- 
 meni, Aristotle, in its psychological applica 
 tion, almply means to denote ehitnge in gvalitit, 
 or the i*peoieB mirltftfon,— the nature of which 
 he more than once expounds, (Gen. et Corr. 
 I. 4. text 23. Phys. VII. 2.) ; and variation, 
 to accommodate a more ancient to a mora 
 modern nomenclature, may be fairly translated 
 hy the more familiar expression — mod/Acattoit. 
 In this, Aristotle only follows the example of 
 Plato ; who, in the Tima:u8 and Parmeuides, 
 constitutirg two species of simple motion, 
 lotion and variation (t» ^i^irfat and to aXXM- 
 •Zwieuy commonly employs the generic term 
 for the latter species, in designating the men- 
 tal modes. As a psychological substitute for 
 these terms, Aristotle also very commonly 
 employs affection or passion {xJJ»s). 
 
 These three terms, then^ ▲riwtotle aset hi^ 
 
 WOTOB.**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 differently to denote both the activities and 
 the passivities of mind ; and (De Anima it. 5 
 { 6) he explains " how the same [mental 
 phsenomenon, in different points of view,] is 
 variously styled affection, or moceiwent, or 
 passion, or energy" — Further, ** Sensitive 
 perception (he says) consists in a certain 
 movement and affection, for it seems to be a 
 kind of variation.'* (De An. ii. 6. § 2. See 
 also Phys. vli. 3. § 12.) — "The phantasm, 
 the object represented in imagination, is an 
 affection — a movement of the common sense." 
 (De Mem. 1. § 8 — De Ins. 2. §| 16, 17, 20.)— 
 But as *' there is no intelligence possible ex- 
 cept by relation to a phantasm," (De An. iii. 
 8. §§ 6. 8. 9 § 4. De Mem. i. § 8 ;) and aa me 
 mory is, along with phantasy, a function of I 
 the common sense, " we remember our Intel- j 
 lections only secondarily and accidentally, j 
 through our remembrance of the relative 
 phantasms." (De Mem. 1. §§ 8, 11 )— These 
 lntro.5ensitive movements thus proximately I 
 constituting onr whole suggefctivo series of 
 thought. — To these movements are to be re- 
 ferred our Feelings. «• Pleasures and Pains 
 are movements caused by a sen&ible object — 
 are variations of the sen.sitive part of the 
 soul," (Phys. vii. 4, § 10;) while, in regard to 
 the Appetencies,— (the dt^sires, imotion?, and 
 affections proper, "of which pain and pleasure 
 are the concomitants,")— there is no room for 
 question. (Etb. N'ic. ii. 4 Magn. Mor. i. Vi.) 
 
 It is thus, in Xhe first place, manifest, that 
 in employing the term movement, in this, as in 
 his other psychological treatises, Aristotle 
 never dreamt of insinuating wny mechanical 
 hypothesis, by which to explain the |>Iia?no- 
 mena of thought and sup/2:estion; anrl, in the 
 mcond, that he here and elsewhere employs it, 
 as a general word, by which to denote all the 
 various modifications of the conscious mind.— 
 Under this last, a word in reference to hir 
 James Mackintosh. 
 
 " Wliat," (says Sir James,) " Mr Coleridge 
 has not told us is, that the Stagirite confines 
 the application of this law ixdusivefy to the 
 phcenomena of recollection, withovvt anyglin.pse 
 of a more general operation extendiup to all 
 connections of thought and feeling." And he 
 adds, that the illustrations "of Lndovicus 
 VIves, as quoted by Mr Coleridge, extend no 
 farther."— (L. c.) This, I must be pardoned 
 In saying, is altogether erroneous. 
 
 In the first place— Sir James is wrong, in 
 asserting, that Aristotle attempts to reduce lo 
 law •* the phaenomena of recollection alone," 
 meaning by that, the phaenomena of inten- 
 tional reminiscence; for (see § 5. and rela 
 tive notes,) Aristotle declares that the same 
 laws govern the voluntary, and the sponta 
 aeous, course of thought. 
 
 In the second place, he is wrong, in saying, 
 that Aristotle '* had no glimpse of a more 
 general operation, extending to all connections 
 of thought and feeling;" for, we have now 
 shewn, that the term movement, as employed 
 by the philosopher, comprehends, indifferent- 
 ly, every mental mode, be it one of cognition, 
 whether • presentation, representation, or 
 thought proper, — one of feeling, whether 
 
 to arise, at th€ tequel of a certain 
 other.** * 
 
 Themistius. 
 " What, then, is Reminiscence, has been 
 shewn ; — it is the renovation of Memory. 
 How this is brought to bear is also mani> 
 fest." Having quoted the preceding 
 text, he proceeds : — " For as in a chain. 
 
 painful or pleasurable, — one of appetency, 
 whether a volition or a desire. — Hobbes's 
 " train of imaginations or conceptions or 
 thoughts," and Locke's " association of ideas," 
 are objectionable expressions, because, in 
 propriety, only applicable to the pha;nomen» 
 of cognition; to which it is certain, that 
 Locke, at least, had no thought of restricting 
 the connection. On the contrary, A ritotle's 
 •• train of mental movements" states the fact, 
 and his view of the fact, fully and unambigu- 
 ously. 
 
 In the third place, in regard to Vivos, 
 thoujih sir .'ames be rijjht, in so far as he 
 limits his assertion to '' Vivef, as quoted by 
 Mr Coleridge;" yet as Coleridge only quotes 
 the scraps which he chanced to find in Maass, 
 it is proper to btate that any negative pre- 
 sumption founded upon these would be erro. 
 neous; for in other passages, the Spanish 
 Aristotelian extends the principle of associa- 
 tion " to all the connections of thou{;ht and 
 
 feeling." Thua : — *' Ad a«pectum loci, de eo 
 
 vcnit iTi mentom quod in loco scinms eveni$se, 
 aut situm esse. Quando ctiam cum voce, aat 
 sono aliquo quippiam contiugit laetum. eodem 
 S0710 audito, delect amur ; si triste, tristamur. 
 Quoii ill brtitis quoque est annotare; quae, si 
 quo sono vocata, gratum aliquid accipiunt, 
 rursum, ad eunden» sonum facile ac libenter 
 accurrunt; sin caedantur, sonitum eundcm 
 deinceps reformidant, ex plagarum recorda- 
 tione. — Eundtni in moduui, de sapore, de 
 odore. Puer, quuni Valentiae febri laborarcm, 
 et, depravato gusiu, ctrasu edibsem, multis 
 post annif), quotles id ponium gustabam,totie8, 
 non solum de fthri memineram, sed habere 
 mihi ilium videbum.*' (L. 1 ) I am unable totind In 
 Hobbes (whom Sir James Mackintosh would 
 elevate not only above Vives, but above Aris- 
 totle) any pass^age which shews that he had 
 taken so compreliens^ive a view of the Influ- 
 ence of the associative principle as the Bpan^ 
 ish philosopher. — On the other hand, the 
 reader may compare Cartesii, Epist. i. 3G, and 
 Locke, Escay ii. 33. § 7. 
 
 • By n^i y-trk <rn»Ji, — by ^»^ Irljav l*n'v», 
 and the like, Aristotle here and in the seqnel, 
 (see n. +, p. ^94. b, &c.) denotes the follow- 
 ing of tJiis determinate mode of consciobsness 
 upon that other, and not merely the following 
 of some one upon some other, or, as Hobbes 
 expresses it, of " ant/ thing to any thing.** 
 This the commentators have straigely over- 
 looked, and in consequence thereof, as we 
 shall see, (§ 6,) sadly perverted Aristotld'i 
 doctrine. 
 
■•«* 
 
 fliii 
 
 ON THE HISTORY 
 
 [hotb ».♦• 
 
 'If mm ftaf h»' Hfled, tiM Hnk therewith 
 emaMlei wii of necessity be moved, 
 and through that the next again, and 
 ao forth J* thii likewise is the case^ im 
 'thoM 'iiii|iriiiioiis of which the soul Is the 
 sitbjeet ' for if the soul be once moved 
 by an iBpreisio% forthwith, the one 
 thereon foUowingy and then the other 
 afler that, move it likewise. For exam- 
 ple : — I have seen Corwfcw*, the musician, 
 witli lit ifn; and there has remained 
 inpMtseil in my mind an image, both of 
 the lyre and of Coriscus. Thereafler, 
 let us say, I behold S&erutm koMinq a 
 Im. Incontinently. I am reminiscent of 
 tlie lyrtf of Coriscus, and then of Coritem 
 MuMlf. — Again ; — I hatwe heard m pmrmm 
 ■iiigiiiff [the reBgiom Mug, (?) ] 
 
 * Two iotds the body leamng. 
 
 One to tke other said : — 
 Ah / wMlw mm to wend m, 
 lAnd join the happ^ dead ? *] 
 
 Alter a season* I hear (mother singing the 
 ioiiitf air, but to words of a different cha- 
 f inter, as [in the amatory ditty, (?)] 
 
 * Mf hmrt to hope uplifis ««, 
 
 Ttoi Mill:! me to despair/ f 
 
 Though now moTed by the melody alone, 
 there yet rises therewith a rt-minisc nee 
 of the former words, * Two iouls the bod^ 
 iemm^,* and of the person by whom they 
 were sung." t 
 
 § 2, Thought being only manifested as 
 eonsecutive and determined, the law of 
 consecution, absolutely considered, is thus 
 universal and necessary. But by relation 
 to the following of thiM ifyiieidual thought 
 
 * Before Themistiuo, Carneadet had com- 
 pared the eensecotion of thoughts to ** a 
 cMii, In which one link Is dependent on 
 aiMlther.** (Bexl. Braip. adv. Math L. vii. {. 
 17i.) It ia resembled by our countryntan, 
 Jeaaaea .MaloTf tO' a «o(»M€r*f hrMs omA tkrmd ; 
 
 ilnm;** (In Seal :L. i. d. & % ^ > Mobliea 
 
 wUAtriMver it It filded by the finjrer.'* 
 (Hum. Nat. eh. ^ and Lev. ch. 3.) Hume, 
 iaally, compares it to aUmetimt and repre- 
 MntS: the attraC'tioD of ansoctafcion in the 
 MMtal, m aaalofous 'tO' the attraetton of gra. 
 vltation in the material, world. (Hum Mat. 
 B. 1. R 1. 8 4)— On thwo see § 0, note let. 
 
 f fMi and the preeedlng fraicment have 
 •maped the collectors of Greek BcoHa 
 
 |:iltf|iaei. Sflpsius layi— '* We are first 
 remi'atieeat of the former wordMt then of tbe 
 former pAice, and then ef the former tinger,"' 
 
 on that, there is a distinction to be taken ; 
 for in this respect, the sequence Is either 
 imceuary or habitual, 
 
 Aristotle. 
 
 ** If the consecution be neeesmry,* it is 
 manifest that, whenever the mind is de- 
 termined to that individual movementi it 
 will, ahto, be determined to thi8."f 
 
 " If, again, the consecution be not of 
 necessity, but only the efect of habit ; 
 the [individual] n^ovement will follow, not 
 as the invariable, but only as the ordinary, 
 mle.*'| 
 
 TUBMISTIUS. 
 
 ** Some Impressions are consequent to 
 each other, necessarily. For he who is 
 reminiscent of Fire, must at the same 
 time have an imaginatiou of Heat ; and 
 he who was struck btj Socrates, in the re- 
 miniscence of Socrates, cannot but be cor^ 
 reminiscent, that by him he was struck, 
 and in meh or suck a place § 
 
 * By necessary or natural consecution Aria, 
 totle probably means the dependence subsist* 
 ing between notions, one of which cannot be 
 thought, without at the same time our think- 
 ing the other ; as all Relations, Cause and 
 Bffect, Means and End, Premises and Conclu- 
 sion, Ac. (See nn p. 894,a,b.) He did not. It 
 may be observed, fall iuto the error of many mo- 
 dern philosophers, in confounding the natural 
 and necessary, with the habitual and acquired 
 eonnectiona of thought. He makes no fruitiest 
 attempt to shew the genesis of the former; 
 far less does he attempt to evolve the laws 
 under which we think, from the tendencies 
 generated by thinking. Locke, indeed, very 
 properly limits the term ''association of ideas" 
 to their habitual or subjective connection, to 
 the exclusion of their logical or objective or 
 *' natural connection." (Es»ay, B. 11. ch. 33, 
 § 5.) Mr Stewart, again, (Elem. i, p. 29l. 
 takes a distinction, corresponding to this of 
 .tristotle, as '* important^" but one ** whicli," 
 he says, " as far as I am aware, baa not hitherto 
 attracted the attention of philoeophers.'* 
 
 f The expositors not observing that Arii* 
 totle does not here relax the condition of 
 determined eonsecntion absolutely, but only 
 tbe determined eonsecntion of this particu- 
 lor fAoa^yU on that, (see n. •, p. 893, b 4c -,) 
 have all of them been led, as will be seen, to 
 the actual reversal of bis doctrine, in sup* 
 posing him to admit the possibility of thought 
 arising without suggestion— at least without 
 suggestion according to the lawa which he 
 lays down. See § 6. 
 
 (This applies to tbe consecution of any 
 two Individual thougbta. not necessarily con- 
 nected, as well in different persons^ as in the 
 f osM perion, at different ti mes, under different 
 clreumstaneei, In different frames of mind. 
 
 i The«e examples are unfortunate. If we 
 think Fire and Hmi, in the relation o( Cause 
 
 MOTE ».•*] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 891 
 
 « Other impressions, again, are not 
 connected of necessity, but in virtue of 
 habit or cwtom ; and of these, the subse- 
 quent follow the antecedent, not always, 
 but only for the most part. An example 
 will illustrate this. It frequently hap- 
 pened, that wishing to employ lycabas, 
 [archaic word for year,] I could not re- 
 call it. To remedy this I accustomed 
 myself to connect it in thought with the fa- 
 miliar term lycos [wolf], both words com- 
 mencing with the common syllable ly{c^ 
 Obtaining thus a starting impulse from 
 lycos, I henceforward was enabled easily 
 to recollect lycabas. Another finding it 
 difficult to remember Tauromenites [in- 
 habitant of Tauromenium], used himself 
 to think of tauros [a bull] ; and a third 
 was wont, by departing from pleura [the 
 side], to call up Pleuron [the town.] 
 But in these the antecedent ia not always 
 followed by the consequent ; we often, for 
 example, think oi' pleura [the side] with- 
 out any reminiscence of Pleuron [the 
 town.]"— See § 9, Themistius. 
 
 and Effect, in that case, certainly, the notion 
 of the one necessarily suggests the notion of 
 the other. But it is only by experience of 
 their coadjacency in time and space, and by 
 habit, that we come to think them under this 
 relation. The other example is one of a strong 
 habitual, (in Aristotle's sense of the word 
 habit,) but not of a necessary connection. The 
 example by St Thomas is better- The thought 
 Of Socraies, be says, necessarily suggests the 
 thought of Man, and the thought of man 
 necessarily suggests the thought of Animal. 
 But this too is exceptionable; for it may be 
 said, that animal, being a part of roan, man of 
 Socrates, the former notion is not properly 
 suqqested by the latter, but already given in it. 
 This may indeed be applied to aU relatives. 
 For a relation being an indivisible thought, 
 made up of two or more terms, to say, that 
 one relative term suggests another, is impro- 
 per : for, in point of fact, neither exists, 
 neither oan exist, in thought apart from, or 
 prior to, the other. (See nn. p. 900, a, b.)— As 
 examples of necessary suggestion, take the 
 following :— We aie aware of a phsenomenon. 
 That it exists— only as known— only as a phae- 
 nomenon— only as an absolute relative, we 
 are unable to realise In thought; and there 
 ts necessarily suggested the notion of an 
 unimaginable something, in which the phaeno- 
 menon Inheres,— a Subject, or Substance.— 
 Again;— a thing appears, as beginning to b«. 
 Think we cannot, aught absolutely to com- 
 mence—to start of itself from nonentity into 
 being; and there is necessarily snggested the 
 notion of something (vague perhaps and undo- 
 termined) in which the complement of exis- 
 tence, appearing to begin, is thought as having 
 previously been realised in a different form, 
 and as now only relatively commencing under 
 
 § 3. The necessary consecution or con- 
 comitancy of individual thougbts, being in- 
 volved in the very fact of the several 
 thoughts themselves, (the conception of 
 each being only realised through the con- 
 ception of the other); this requires and ad- 
 mits of no farther explanation. To the habi- 
 tual consecution, therefore, Aristotle ex- 
 clusively confines himself. And here, before 
 proceeding to enounce the laws by which 
 the habitual consecution is governed, he 
 indicates, in the first place, the circum- 
 stances by which, in different minds va- 
 riously constituted, and in the same mind 
 under different affections, thoughts arc 
 more or less promptly associated, and 
 consequently the general or abstract laws 
 of association modified in their particular 
 or concrete applications. These have by 
 modern philosophers been sometimes 
 treated as secondary laws of association; 
 but from their contingent, variable, in- 
 definite, and latescent character, they can- 
 not be reduced to rule, and are, therefore, 
 undeserving of the name of Laws. In 
 doing this, he shows that by the term 
 habit he does not mean merely to express 
 the result of a frequent repetition of the 
 same action or passion, but generally the 
 s^imple fact of association, whether that 
 be the effect of such repetition, or of 
 some extraordinarily intense attention, 
 determined by peculiar circumstances 
 upon certain objects.— Text emended. 
 
 Abistotlb. 
 '* But [in regard to habit it is to 
 be observed, that] with certain things, 
 certain minds* become more habitual- 
 
 a novel aspect,— a Cause.— The impossibility 
 we find of imagining extension without colour 
 
 not to say colour without extension — is 
 
 also an example. 
 
 • All the editions and collated MS8. have 
 Ivlovs ; one Vatican codex, however, exhibiting 
 hia (and the correlative trioa) as a variation 
 or a correction. The natural and obvious m«in. 
 ing of Uovs is some persons or minds ; but, 
 among the commentators, Michael^ Ephesius 
 supposes the ellipsis may be of rv^ovt im. 
 pressions. Themistius with Ivi^.s, reads, in. 
 atead of ciXXovs, (or Iri^ovs for the MSS. vary,) 
 kriecci and Ki»oi;^6v«f.-All this manifests the 
 weU.founded discontent with the Prf "it lee- 
 tion, which affords a sense inadequate to that 
 required; while the causal dependence, by 
 Uot the folloMdng sentence, or clause, from 
 the present, is, as the text stJ^d^'J^^!^- . * 
 therefore read-l./-^ ?w«. ^^^^ fords the 
 meaning desiderated; and at the cheapest 
 rate. For in transcription nothing Is more 
 
\ 
 
 ON TBE HISTORY 
 
 [nOTB II.' 
 
 •• 
 
 iadi,* al tli« irit movement, tliaii other 
 minis, though this b« fVe^ineiitl j repeated. 
 Aeuce is it that some objects which we 
 ham seen but once, ere more perfectly 
 'rcmeiiliered. by us^ than others which we 
 have oftentimes beheld." 
 
 TBEMlifmS 
 
 MmdM :— ^ * Mm 'e«rt«lfi iiiMi become 
 wmm 'kMmMted wttA tMi mmmmnt at 
 meet than with that, tkomgh frequently ri- 
 peaied,* " No lUustraMon glfen. 
 
 likely tlaii the omisilon of' one or other of 
 mmh. Mitni IdemtlMl words. 
 
 • By ktibk (l#«f) is commonly understood a 
 ecrtaiii fiHliKy generated by cmttm f (I.e. the 
 fre^iuent Iteration of the saiiio sction or pas- 
 slora)--lhongli these words arc frequently 
 oominiited; In BngUsh. and In Greek, the 
 same term stands for l>oth. Aristotle here, 
 however, uses the term In a less limited 
 sense; and it might, perhaps, at present, be 
 more ade u%idy translated hy Ammaiion 
 Mkm by Mabii. In like manner Aristotle often 
 mses the term ffif, (which wo Inadequately 
 translate by habit or possession.) not only 
 for tlio aatiilred, but also for the natural. 
 Aristotle means simply to state the fact, — 
 that two iiientat moveiiients having once co. 
 •sisted, each tends, if reproduced, to repro- 
 duce the other ; the force of this tendency 
 heliig in proimrtion, 1®, to the frequency of 
 their co-existence, and 2\ to their mutual 
 anility;— tills aSnlty being dependent on the 
 greater power of actentlon and ret-ention na- 
 tnral Of n quired for this or that class of 
 Olifeets, and on the temp«iary states of mind, 
 In wlileli certain things and thouelits exert a 
 itrongi-r Influence than they do In others. 
 
 This ¥mm thus illustrates ; and his obser- 
 mtions comprise, In brief, nearly all of prin- 
 cii>al moment that has been tald upon this 
 •nbjeet. either before or since. ** (U Nee 
 aemoirlam habent oranes parlter ad om^nla. 
 Innt qui veirha, sunt qui res mominemnt fa. 
 elites} ut fiemlftocles rcrum, Hortenslus 
 lorlioriim reoordatlone dicuntur vaJulsse; 
 fpod. ■eaomplim posltum sit pro toto et_ho. 
 minum ei reram In genere. liam alii cnriom, 
 alii reetu et siMplicta, ail jMi^tca, alii privata, 
 alil oefera, alii mm, alll siw. alii aliena, alii 
 niljii, alll oiVfiilBf reoordantur citlus et melius ; 
 Qt est eoiJusque Ingenii pronltas. et attcndlt 
 ad hieo aut Ilia libentios. — (2.) Memoriae plu. 
 rlmani coiifert naturalis contrnpermh corporis, 
 fnail felsio priedltos lllos crediblle est quo. 
 mm mafoltodo metiiorla» monumentis liters. 
 rum Mloliratur— Tlienilstocles, Cyrus. €f neas, 
 Hortenslus.— (8.^ A<yuvatur tota rationc vie- 
 fM. . . . (4 ) Alte descendant In memoriani, 
 qua attmt§ sunt a prime aceepta et cum 
 «ora ; quo fit ut lug enio&lssimi ssepe homines 
 morla prollxo Instruct! non tam 
 malia, fnam qui illis non lunt 
 
 ioilbns, qaod neflectim multa vi- 
 
 4mi% Ief«il> awUnnt.— (Ow) il m adjkctm 
 
 § 4. In the meond place, Aristotle pro* 
 oeeds to enounce the general laws of the 
 habitual consecution, suggestion, or asso- 
 ciation, on which Reminiscence is depen- 
 dent. This he does first in relation to 
 Reminiscence tn<enftona/ or vo/tinfary, 
 and then in relation to Reminiscence uii- 
 intentiwual or tpontaneous ; — in regard to 
 both of which it is shewn, that these laws 
 are absolutely identical. 
 
 In regard to intentional Reminiscence 
 he generalises one supreme or universal 
 
 aliqnis concitatns, primse re! cujusqnememo* 
 rise admiscuit, recordatio est deinceps facilior, 
 promptior, diuturnior; ut quae maxima Isetl- 
 tia vel dolore sunt in animum ingressa, hornm 
 longlssima est memoria ) eaque de causa mos 
 est quaruDdam gentium in statuendis agrorum 
 limitibas acriter caedere pueros qui adsint, 
 ut firmius et diutlus recordentur lllorum 
 finium. [Does Yives allude to what takes, or 
 took, place in the perambulation of the English 
 parishes?] — (6.) ExtrcUatione et meditvtione 
 crthra magnum memoria sumit robur. Fit 
 enira et ad accipiendum prompta, et ad plura 
 capirnda latior, et tenacior ad continendum ; 
 nee est ulla in toto animo functio, quae pe- 
 ri nde cultum sul deslderet, . . . ~(7 ) Qu» 
 vacuo animo et tranquillo acccpimus, facilins 
 haereut in mente, si mode attente aniiuum 
 applicamus. Qua de causa, quae prima state 
 vidimus atque audivlmus ea diutius recorda* 
 mur et integrius. Est eiilm tunc soluta curls 
 et cngitationibus mens. — (8.) Tum etiam atten- 
 dlmus diligenter; quippe aetate ilia admira- 
 niur omnia tanquam nova^ at quae admiratio' 
 nem nobis movent ea soliciie spectamus, 
 altuque In animum descendunt," kc. — Aris- 
 totle, or whoever was ilie author of the Tro- 
 b'ems, makes a similar observation, and adds 
 that—** In like manner we remember best 
 what first occurs to us in the morning, our 
 memory falling off as the day advances, In 
 consequence of the multitude of objects by 
 which we are distracted.*'— (Sect. XXX. § 6 ) 
 An instance of the way in which our ha- 
 bitndes of thought and feeling regulate the 
 points of view in which we contemplate objects 
 aiidoonsequentlydetermine— often capriciously 
 the course of our reminiscence, is unwit- 
 tingly afforded,in himself, by the Lutheran com. 
 mentator, Simon gimonius of Lncca. This is 
 the general example of consecution which be 
 propose-i: — ** BydreBf ab Hereule sagittis el 
 ignu interfectae, memoria Papc^ mihi memo, 
 nam suggerit; haec RomcBi qua deinceps 
 Babylonice, reminiscor." Compare bbylock, 
 (Merchant of Venice, Act I. Scene 1.) ♦* My 
 wind, cooling my broth," Ac. The Ethology 
 and l>athology in the fiecond book of Aristotle's 
 Rhetoric, more especially the chapters on the 
 different tendencies of the different ages and 
 conditions of life, supply a rich magazine of 
 observations on the practical influence of asso- 
 ciation and hahlt. Add John Barolafs looa 
 Anlmarnm. 
 
 WOTll D.**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOC lATIGN. 
 
 897 
 
 law, divided into three special or subordi- 
 nate laws. The one univereoU lawj— 'to 
 which I would give the name of Redinte- 
 gration — ^is : Thoughts which have, at 
 an>f time, recent or remote, stood to each 
 other in tfie relation of coexistence or im- 
 mediate consecution, do when severally re- 
 produced tend to reproduce each other ; 
 in other words : The parts of any total 
 thought when subsequently called into con- 
 Mciousness are apt to suggest, immedi- 
 aiely, the parts to which they were proxi- 
 mately related, and, mediately, the whole 
 of which they were co- constituent. The 
 terms in which this great law is enounced 
 by Aristotle, have not been understood by 
 his expositors ; and the law itself has, in 
 consequence, altogether escaped their ob- 
 servation. Text, therefore, explicated. 
 
 The three laws, ofwhich the one preced- 
 ing is an absolute expression, are the law of 
 Similars, the law of Contraries, and the 
 law of Co-adjacents ; for to these three 
 heads may be reduced all the relations 
 into which a thing, having once been 
 thought as a relative, tends subsequently 
 to relapse ; and thus to recall into con- 
 sciousness all else with which it had then 
 stood in correlation. — What is the import 
 of these terms, is considered in the notes. 
 
 Abistotle. 
 ** When, therefore, we accomplish an 
 act of Reminiscence, we pass through a 
 certain series of precursive movements, 
 until we arrive at a movement, on which 
 the one we are in quest of is habitually con- 
 sequent. Hence too it is, that we hunt * 
 
 • « For as dogs," (says Longinus,) *• having 
 once found the footsteps of their game, follow 
 from trace to trace, deeming it already all 
 but caught; so he, who would recover his 
 past cognitions from oblivion, must speculate 
 the parts which remain to him of these cogni. 
 tions, and'the circumstances with which they 
 chance to be connected, to the end that be 
 may light on something which shall serve 
 him for a starting-point, from whence to follow 
 out his recollection of the others.'^ See the 
 interesting chapter on Memory, in the rheto- 
 rical treatise, restored by Kuhnkenius from 
 Apsines to Longinus; (Bhetorcs Graeci — of 
 Aldus, p. 719 ;— of Wals, t. ix. p. 674.) It is 
 not amongst the fragments in Weiske's Lou- 
 glnus. 
 
 Ylves, too, compares the process of remin- 
 iscence to the tracing by dogs, and also to the 
 ascending the steps of a ladder or stair. 
 
 '* The term in^ivut (says Sir James Mackin. 
 loeh, speaking of the passage in the text,) is 
 as glgnifleant as If it had been chosen by 
 Hohbes.** In point of fact, it teas ehosm by 
 
 through the mental train,* excogitat- 
 ing [what we seek] from [its Concomitant 
 
 tn] THE PBESENxf OB SOME OTHEe| 
 
 Hobbes, and In illustration of this very pro. 
 cess ; — but borrowed from Aristotle, along with 
 the correlative terms, seeking, beginning, Ac. 
 (See Hum. Nat. ch. iii. §§ 3, 4.— Lev. P. i. 
 ch. 3.) 
 
 • The expressions to t^i^ns and h xivnrit 
 nSs fitra. riivhy commonly rendered by Aris- 
 totle's Latin translators — matuuni animcBf Ac. 
 consequential series, sequela, insecutio, &c. were 
 among others adopted by Ilobbes ; whose 
 " consequentia vel series imaginationum" in 
 Latin, and in English, '* consequence, series, 
 train, succession of imaginations, conceptions 
 or thoughts," have been often ignorantly sup. 
 posed expressions original to himself. Even 
 Uissmann and Maass seem guilty of this. 
 Subsequently to Aristotle, Carneades employed 
 the term ervvi^ofih rJiv favvutriiv, but, with 
 him, this is not to be viewed as simply con- 
 vertible with what we understand by the 
 mental train. (Sext. Emp. adv. Math. L vii. 
 § 176-182. 
 
 f The Present (ri vvv) is not of course to bo 
 taken rigidly for the infinitesimal point of 
 transition from the past, but (as might even 
 be shewn from Aristotle's previous discussion) 
 in its common signification, — for a certain lat- 
 ter portion of the past. In fact, before we 
 are conscious of the Now, in its strict signifi- 
 cation, it is already fled. Concomitance, or 
 Simultaneitp, is also to be taken in a certain 
 latitude; — viz, not only for that which is 
 strictly coexistent, but also for that which Is 
 proximately antecedent or consequent. 
 
 I find, however, that all Aristotelians have 
 not been so blind to Aristotle's meaning, in 
 this passage, as his regular commentators. 
 Timpler seems to have fairly, if not fully, 
 understood it. "Adjuvans causa (recorda- 
 tionis) est consideratio, paitim circumstantia- 
 rum, prcssertim temporis proeteriti, quo homo 
 rem, vel per sensum, vel per intellectum, 
 cognovit ; partim similium et affinium, partim 
 contrariorum. (Empsychologia L. iii. c. 3, 
 pr. 17.) — I should observe also, that Maass, 
 who, if we are to Judge from one and all of 
 his Greek quotations, could not pretend to a 
 knowledge even of the alphabet of that lan- 
 guage, was yet too forward in philosophy, not 
 to see, at once, what, in this instance, Aris- 
 totle's meaning must necessarily be. Aris. 
 totle has been here so long misapprehended, 
 only because he was so far a head of his expo, 
 sitors. Nor is there a higher testimony to 
 his genius than that it required a progress in 
 philosophy of two thousand years, before phi. 
 losophers were prepared to apprehend his 
 meaning, when the discovery of that meaning 
 was abandoned to their own intelligence. 
 
 ^ The Conunentators and Translators of this 
 treatise have, one and all, here marvellously 
 mistaken Aristotle's meaning, and thus mis. 
 represented his doctrine in its most important 
 point. They have not perceived that h akkeu 
 
 8l 
 
8SI' 
 
 ON THE HISTORY 
 
 [motb d/ 
 
 «if«f ineaiis— "or imm othar timr," and not '* or 
 
 [ttm],* liili fr®!! Itf Sim 1^ An or Com- tfo&tmeth, by ooherenM c# aie matter movod, 
 
 In ■acta manner at water upon a plane tabte 
 is drawn whieli way any one i>art of It la 
 guided by tlie finger." (Lev. P. t. eli. 8.~- 
 compare also Ham. Nat. cb. 3, § 2, and Elem. 
 Philoe. c. 25, § 8.) 
 
 Bat while it is impossible, to bold with Sir 
 James Maclciatosh, tbat Hobbes, as opposed to 
 Aristotle, is tbe oriirlnal discoverer ** of this 
 fundamental law, of this prolific trutii whloli 
 forms tbe basis of all true psychology ;" It is 
 even impossible to allow him the priority of 
 such inadequate generali^tation of this prin. 
 eiple as Ms materialism allowed, in competl- 
 tion with many subsequent philosophers. 
 
 Passing over 8t Augustine, whose doctrine 
 of Reniniscence is too important to be here 
 spolcen of by the way, this law is, after Aris- 
 totle, explicitly enounced by Viva. — " Qum 
 mmml mmt a Phantmia compreheMa, u aiteru. 
 trttm oeeurrat, mkt §ecum aiierum rqftreaen- 
 tare" {L. c.) 
 
 Omitting others, — prior also to Hobbes, 
 whose ^' Human Kature," *' Leviathan,*' and 
 ** Elementa Philosophise," appeared in 1600, 
 1661, and I6d6, this law was enounced by 
 three of his own immediate contemporarlei 
 and /n<nd«;— philosophers from whose mecha> 
 nical hypotheses of perception and memory it 
 flowed equally as ft-om his own, and who. 
 
 I oiiiT' «■»• **' Loolclng to the preceding 
 
 w«inlS|theattlft^liit«Iligenceof a:(^*«u oriuMf «5 is 
 demanded, as a correlative, by "tS »S»j and look. 
 l!|g to the conlextf before and after, it Is 
 demanded, as that which alone satisfies the 
 natural, and even neeessary, sense. The inter- 
 pretation of the Commentators, on the other 
 'hand., f% ^al onoe, .gnunmatleally perverse, and 
 philMopiivally ^ilMttnL It does violence to 
 AriBtotle*s language. And to what end? To 
 prtvont hhn fl«nB. •ensumnuitlng the theory 
 §i' aMootetion In 'tio enonnooment of Its uni. 
 vifam. lav. May more— «et«ally 'to make him 
 'ihtuv up li« attempt at rednelng the phsBuo. 
 mmm 9i ^Hiif geition to determlaata laws at all. 
 AtilMIe* In fheir view, appends: to an. imper. 
 ieet series of four stated causes of association, 
 • Jpl,, 'Vndiff tho 'title of a ** tome otAcr,"— thus 
 lltarally, and In 'SOber earnestt making him 
 forestall Dean Aldrich in his Joke : — 
 
 ** It bene quid speoulor, causa sunt fMin^iM Bi. 
 
 bendi : 
 HOiPitis adventus ; praisens sitls; atquefhtura; 
 H fiiii probitas ; ft qmdibet attera caiMu." 
 
 • 'Iho: law, I alyln that of Bedintegrayon, 
 and wikh 'li litn «Mwnoed by Aristotle, may 
 be viewed as a eoroUary of bis doctrine of 
 ImaglBatlon and Memory. The representa. 
 ^ns of Imagination or Phantasy he views as 
 menly the movements continued in the organ 
 of 'lllemal.s«nao .aller the moving object itself 
 liai boon withdrawn, (De Insom. o. I. § 9— 
 e. II. li 11, 1&, 16, 18, 20, ed. Pao.;) and 
 though there are passages which would shew, 
 ilWI^ h» ionilderod sensible perception as 
 .amnathinf' aioro: 'than the mere reoognltlon of 
 a smliileeiivo affection; ho yet, when popularly 
 ■peaklHf I doftnes Imsglnation to be — a kind 
 of faeble or dooaylng sense, (Ehet. 1. 1 o. 11. ;) 
 — « definition which Des Oartoi and Hobbes 
 adopt without qniUfloation, and In scientific 
 rigour.— Again i— Memory Aristotle does not 
 «fiw m mmmmif mmmm from. Imagination ; 
 bnt simply as the recalling those impressions, 
 Ihoso movements Into iOttioionBnoiSt 'Of wMoh 
 .Pfeantasy Is the eontftoment. In these elr- 
 onmslances, as there la no reason, why the 
 movemonti should Md ^any other co-arrange- 
 inent when tii. than they held when cmmmg 
 Info, the mind; and as there is no reason, 
 why they should bo roealiod tO' oonselousness, 
 In any other 'Oo.ordinatiOtt,... than what they 
 Mi provlonsly to suoh. vevoeation;— the hkw 
 of BedlategraHon .is, consequently, a rule 
 wUih lioUows nainmtl^ and of itself. 
 
 li MtMm, who had, pro tanto, adopted 
 Arislotlo*s doctrine of Imagination, this law 
 would, of course, present itself; bnt It might 
 also prosont itself, as a oonseetary of the 
 :|li08lianlMii theory of cognition which he had 
 espoused. ** All fancies are motions within 
 wm, relics of thooo made in the sense ; and 
 
 howbeit their names have not hitherto been 
 adduced in connection with the doctrine of 
 Association, proclaimed it — two of them at 
 least — not less clearly than hlmselt Thtso 
 are Berigard, Dig by, and White. 
 
 In 1643, Berigard, in the course of a dis- 
 cussion, otherwise well deserving of attention, 
 states the law of Redintegration, as regulating 
 the current of our thoughts; — " quae ticut 
 neeeumio ocfulriifitMr, ita et moemittr; firus- 
 traqne flnglmus [NB.] intemam allquam 
 facultatem qusB Incnmbat in cogitationem 
 quamdiu vult, mox ad aliam sese transferat, 
 etenim illse omnes sunt simulacrorum motus, 
 qui se necessario consequuntur,** 4o. (Ctro. 
 Pis. P. vi. 0. 19.) 
 
 ** We see,** says Sir Renelm IMgby, In 1644, 
 ** that things of quite different natures, ^tihsy 
 wme ill together t aire rewtembereA together} upon 
 which principle the whole art of memory 
 dopondotb, Im.** (Treatlso of Bodies, oh. 8^ 
 
 in.) 
 
 Finally, In 1647. Thomas White (De Albiis 
 or Anglus;) — ** Simee thorn thingt te&icA enter 
 togtiher and ai omee mtut neeestarjly attain a 
 kind of connection t wft«n, by any mcaiu, they am 
 again brosipAl to the finmOaim of mmaatUm, [con 
 soiousneaa ?] thefmmt meede meet there together, 
 and In a hind of order.** (InsUt. Perlpat. Lib. 
 II. Lect. 20, § 6. English translation.) 
 
 In conclusion of this matter I may briefly 
 notice, in supplement and correction of what 
 has been stated by the German historians i— * 
 !•* That Malebranche, whom Hlssman very 
 erroneously oonalders as the original disco- 
 verer of tbe law of Redintegration, oaa bo 
 (shewn to have borrowed it from the illustrious 
 lliif ■ immediaiA tueeeecM one \ father to whom he is indebted fur many other 
 naoHsr mA€amm eontinue t^ together after : of his opinions. I mean Bt Austin; a philo. 
 w«l ii aoiiiiieA, m thM forwm' eamim e^cam sopher whoso merits, in regard to the doe- 
 ftti* |ilSe% mfd h predomhmti, ike latter ' trine of Association^ have been, marveUous to 
 
 MOfc D.**] OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. fm 
 
 Taami or CoADjaoENT.* i « Through this process Reminiscence is 
 
 say, wholly overlooked. See his Confessions, 
 L. X. cc. 8 — 19, and especially this last; De 
 Musica, L. vi. c. 8. § 22. 
 
 2®' That Wolf, whom Maass considers (for 
 the " Nouveaux Essais " of Leibnitz were then 
 unpublished) as *' the first who not only clearly 
 promulgated the universal law of Association, 
 but also recognised its importance for Psycho- 
 logy and Morals ;" was, certainly, herein anti- 
 cipated by his contemporary, and brother 
 Leibnitlan, the celebrated Bilfinger — whose 
 merits in this respect have, also, remained 
 altogether unnoticed. See of this latter the 
 *< Dilucidatlones," §§ 254, 255. and ** Oratlo de 
 Reductione Philosophica," § 2; both some 
 three years prior to the very earliest work of 
 Wolf, enouncing the law in question. 
 
 • An important, but altogether neglected 
 question, is, — In what comprehension are these 
 three terms employed by Aristotle ? 
 
 i. The SiMiLAB (to ofiotov) aflFords little diffl- 
 eulty, and may pass wilhout comment. It com- 
 prehends, of course, not merely simple, but 
 also analogicijA, resemblance. 
 
 ii. The CowTRARv (vo ivavrlov) is not an 
 nnambigucus expression : for Aristotle some- 
 times usurps it even for the opposition of 
 possession and privation (e^f , rri^rifftf); some- 
 times he does not carry it beyond the oppo- 
 sition of genus and genus, of species and 
 species ; and sometimes he restricts it to the 
 opposition of incompatible attributes. But I 
 recollect no instance, in which he uses it for 
 the oppotition of relativet proper. With this 
 exception, we may presume, that Aristotle does 
 not here mean to employ the term in any 
 exclusive rigour ; and may, therefore safely 
 apply it in Its most extensive meaning. The- 
 mlstius thrice renders It by re ivriKtifi-tvef, 
 the opposite i but what comprehension he 
 gave to that equally vague term, he does not 
 explain. 
 
 lit The COAOJACBAT (to ffvnyyvf) is of some 
 diflculty ; for I do not now think it probable, 
 that Aristotle by this intended to denote mere 
 vicinity in space. It is evident, that it must 
 comprehend all that Is not comprehended in 
 tbe other two ; but it is not easy to see how 
 tt is to do so much, and yet not comprehend 
 these also. 
 
 It is manifest, in general, that Aristotle, 
 under this head, intended to Include whatever 
 •tands, as part and part of the tame whole. Of 
 these there are various kinds : — 
 
 io. — We must admit that the inltegrant parts 
 tf 9X1 integrate whoU suggest each other, as co- 
 adj icent. The thought of any thing which we 
 had previously known as such a part, is not 
 usually, when reproduced, viewed as au irre- 
 spective object, but tends to call up the other, 
 and, in particular, the proximately adjacent 
 parts, Jointly with it constituent of a certain 
 total object. Buch parts may be either coad- 
 
 fclont In space or coadjacent (coexistent or 
 mediately consecutive) in time} and, in both 
 Mos, may possess either, a.) an o&>«c<»v« 
 unity iu theujaelves. (as the parts of a house 
 
 or poem) — a unity, however, subjectively 
 recognised by us; or b.) objectively unconnected 
 and even incongruous in themselves, (as the 
 parts of any common view,) they may obtain 
 a subjective unity for, and from, us. as form, 
 ing the partial objects of some totalising act 
 of our cognition. — To this head are to be re- 
 duced Hume's ** Contiguity in time or place/* 
 and his " Cause or Effect," in so far as the 
 latter does not fall under the category of 
 necessary suggestion. 
 
 2o — We may safely also refer to this head 
 the parts of a formal or comprehensive whole $ 
 the several qualities and the several relations 
 of the same subject, suggesting each other as 
 coadjacent. — For example: The Sagacity of 
 Socrates calls up his Justice, his Fortitude, 
 and BO forth; and thinking him as Son, we 
 are prone to think him as Father, Husband, 
 Citizen, &.c. Here the attributes and rela< 
 tions are mutually suggestive, in virtue of 
 their proximity, as parts of a system or sys- 
 tems, of which Socrates is the centre and 
 principle of union. 
 
 30. — The parts of a universal or extensive 
 whole may be likewise viewed as suggesting 
 each other, from their coadjacency. For, 
 ihough the conspecies of a genus are formed 
 by tae combined principles of Similarity and 
 Contrast;— yet, once formed, they arrange 
 themselves in scientific thought, as the co- 
 ordinate parts of a common whole, and can 
 thus mutually suggest each other as coadja- 
 cents. Accordingly, Dog may suggest Wolf 
 as its coadjacent. But this, only in one 
 point of view; for, in another, it may do this 
 as its similar, and in a third, again, as its con. 
 
 trary. 
 
 4o.__'nie parts of an essential whole, — maMer 
 and>brm, subject and occtien*,— may suggest 
 each other, as coadjaccnts; although this 
 they may do also as contraries. 
 
 5o.__The different signs of the same sigui^- 
 cate, and the different significates of the same 
 sign, are also reciprocally suggestive, as co- 
 adjaccnts ; for, in different respects they con- 
 stitute parts of a certain whole or common 
 system of thought. 
 
 (Jo. To this head, and on the same princi- 
 ple, also belong things, viewed not only as 
 different parts of the same whole, but as dif- 
 ferent whoUs of the same part — viewed not only 
 as different effects of the same cause, but as 
 different causes of the same effect — viewed uot 
 only as different accidents of the same sub- 
 ject, but as different subjects of the same aoeU 
 dent. These are all reciprocally suggestive, 
 in as much as they are cogitable as parts of 
 the same total thought. 
 
 70. The mutual suggestion of conjugates-' 
 
 the abstract and con<jr«l«— is to be referred also 
 to coadjacency. 
 
 go. —The whole suggests the pmrts, the parts 
 suggest the whole, m coadjacent; — in truth, 
 they are only the same thought, viewed In 
 different relations. 
 
 90.— The sign and the thing signified ure mn- 
 
too 
 
 ON THE HISTORY 
 
 [ifOTB D.** 
 
 •ffiKitid.* ^ For the movements [which, same wuolb;! so that (haTing, from 
 
 and by which, we recoUfctJ are, in these 
 
 cases, sometimes the samr, sometimes at 
 
 the «AHi TIM K, sometimes .farts or thi 
 
 % •nggastlve, na co*«lJ»ceiit,— If the tig. 
 ■lll««loii lie not ill Tirtue of a it»tm»l resem. 
 MaMe. In (Ms ease, tt maj 'be' reffsrred more 
 ,pi«fffflf te^ the beail of siMillorlly. 
 
 ll^'-^Aft' 'tlw mnu of a Mtaito iaggeftlve 
 ef eaoii ellier, as eoatyacent ? li is nantfett, 
 llial all relatives being cogitable, only through 
 eaei otlwr, and thai conBtltating only parts 
 or lie same thought, faU naturally under the 
 elaas of coa4|acents; and it is also manifest, 
 lllat thare are relatives which cannot, with 
 •nf preprletf, be reduced to either of the 
 Other two elasses,— the similars or the con 
 traries. Such are what have obtained the 
 '■ame ef' mMhet pwpm, iloarates, for ex- 
 ami^K aagf esting bis fktber Sophrenlseus 
 er Ms wife Xantif pe, and fmblas sug gesting 
 iia Bet, eamiol, wllhont violence, be said to 
 4l« se la virtae either of simihidtj or of con- 
 trast. But If moh 'relailves are to be brought 
 exeinalvely ander the class of ooadjacents, 
 tiM QiMSttea arises,— Why not simply reduce 
 all relatlfes, wheKber of bimilarlty or of eon. 
 trast, te coai^scents, likewise ? Nor is it easy 
 tO' flTC a satisflietary answer to this question. 
 l^ff iC on the one hand, we admit all relatives 
 to be eeacUaeenta,— the tpeeial law of Coad. 
 Jatemij then absorbs the other two, and riseS' 
 '10' a .level, wllli. the nniversal 'law of Redlnte. 
 irationi anit on 'thO' other, if we do not, there 
 then only remains an arbitrary line of demar- 
 oation between the laws of Similarity and Con. 
 •fast and the hiw of Coa^Jaccney. 
 
 But if, considered in itself. Aristotle's re- 
 daetliiB be not above criticism; compared 
 Willi that ef ethers— with. Mnme's, for in. 
 :ilaMi. wilel is at 'Onee 'redumtet, defective, 
 ^ani erroneous— it shews almost as perfect.— 
 ■eo' Bald, pp. m% b., 880, ab. I may only 
 aoliee,ihal 'hesMes a host of the older pay. 
 ehologists, who professed only to follow in 
 his steps; swMlrrof onr more recent phllo- 
 sephers, thengh incofulsaat of his higher 
 .law, 'have' had the shrewdness to borrow 
 (hut not the eawUmr to confbsS' the obllga- 
 tlou) Aristotle^s three special prlneiples of 
 assoelatlen. This, 'for Instance, has been 
 done by Dr Gerard, under the names of Re. 
 aiaMMMt, Om^mrka^, and VieMi^f and that 
 this distribution, in contrast te HumeX Is 
 alone eshanstire and complete, he has shewn 
 with eonslderabia ingenuity. Nor, In his 
 •ase,ean there be any presumption of oricrl- 
 ■dlif 08 the f round of ignorance ; for In the 
 ~ wort, hwl la reference to other matters, 
 meng Ifen'Other Ariatoielle treatises 
 mMfff ^p— (** 'Bssay on Oenlus,** pp. 
 lOi, 967.) Of the later British philosophers, 
 iMlM^ there hi hardly to be found another, 
 'lAni'MiB studied the works of Aristotle more 
 attaatlvtly and to better effect. 
 
 fhnmlstitts, as synonumes for the coadja 
 eenl, nses the terms ra 'l)^f , rk ifii, ri 
 
 one or other of these, obtained a com- 
 mencement,] the subsequent movement is 
 already more than half accomplished. "t 
 
 * Were we to adopt the distribution and 
 combination of this and the preceding sen* 
 tcnce, as given by Themistias, for the true 
 reading, the antithesis and relative supre* 
 macy of the law of Reaintegf ation would be 
 more emphatically signalized. In the text 
 he quotes, 3m rovr* commences, and yifimt 
 n miftfnwtf eoucludes a sentence, of which 
 *«' rvnyyvt constitutes the middle. 
 
 f If it be held (as may plausibly be done, 
 and 08 I was originally inclined to do, (p. 244, 
 b. n. f ) that the first— concomitaney in time 
 I —is only one of four co- ordinate laws j this 
 clause suffices, however, to shew, that Aris- 
 totle was perfectly aware of the higher prin- 
 ciple: for he here states that Concomitant, 
 Similar, Contrary, Ooadjacent modifications 
 suggest each other, because, xoholly or partially y 
 they had already coexisted in the mind. 
 
 t On the general doctrine in this §, I must 
 here make two observations — one oaufionory, 
 the other supplemetitary : — 
 
 The ^rst is, that Aristotle is not to bo un- 
 derstood as meaning, that things thought m 
 Coexistent, Similar, Contrary, Ooatljacent, 
 are hdbittuxUy suggestive of each other; for, 
 in this case, being thought as the terms of a 
 relation, they have, eo ipso, already been 
 thought together, and thus fall under the 
 category of neeeaeaty oonaecution; bur, that 
 things which may stand to each other in such 
 relations, and having, once at least, been 
 thought together as so standing, if afterwards 
 introduced Into the mind, as absolute and 
 sole, do, in virtue of custom, tend again to 
 fall back into relation, and consequently to 
 reproduce the objects with which they had 
 been formerly correlative. For example : If 
 we think Socrates us son or m husband, we 
 cannot but think of a parent or a wife, say 
 Sophronlscus or Xantippe. But while wo can 
 think Socrates, without thinking him in any 
 domestic relation, the thought of Socrates is 
 not necessarily suggestive of parent or wife, 
 of Sophronlscus or Xantippe; though. In pro. 
 portion as we have been used to think the 
 philosopher under the filial or marital rela 
 tions, will the thought of Socrates tend more 
 habitually to run into one or other of these 
 channels, and thus to sui^gest the thought of 
 the correlatives. The preceding explication 
 applies to the statements made, on this head, 
 by other philosophers as well as by Aristotle. 
 
 The second observation Is, that thoughts 
 associated and mutually suggestive do not 
 suggest each other with equal certainty and 
 force. The rule is this : — Of two thoughts^ the 
 one is rnggetUi by the other, in proportional^, 
 to its comparative importance, the thoughts Mng 
 considered in themselves; and, 2«. to its compa- 
 parative interest {be it from love or loathing) the 
 thoughts being considered in relation to %ts. Thus, 
 the Foot suggests the Head more promptly 
 than the Head sugfeits the Foot; and the 
 
 WOTKD.**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 001 
 
 Tbemistius 
 
 Quotes Aristotle from « When*'— to— 
 •* WHOLE i" and the following (see n. *, 
 p. ©00 b ) he reads thus remarkably co- 
 arranged : — " * OTiiEB [time.] Through 
 this process, and from its 8imilab or 
 CoNTBABT or CoADJACENT, Reminiscefice 
 is ejected.' " — He then proceeds:— "For 
 example, I see a painted lyre, and moved 
 by this, as the prior and leading image, 
 I have the reminiscence of a real lyre ,* 
 this suggests^ the musician; and the 
 musician, the song 1 heard him play. 
 Frequently, however, this result is deter- 
 mined * by some other ' thing. For should 
 'it have happened, that, in connection with 
 the original impression of the song, there 
 was impressed the image, say, of a cer- 
 tain Column, the view or representation 
 of the column will suggest the recollec- 
 tion of the Song, 
 
 " From the similar and the contb aby ; 
 — [In the former case,] as when from the 
 portrait of Socrates, I become reminiscent 
 of Socrates himself; [in the latter,] as 
 when the black suggests the white, the 
 hot suggests the cold. From the co- 
 
 ADJACENT : — As whon the one clause 
 
 * Ye would count, I think, no cost, O men 
 of Athens,* calls up the other: — * were it 
 shewn, that tJie measures now before you 
 are, indeed, for tJie welfare of the state.' f 
 
 ** Now, the beginning [according to the 
 proverb,] is the better part of the whole j 
 and this once discovered, what follows 
 thereon is, comparatively, a small matter. 
 Hence, [in the case of reminiscence,] hav- 
 ing obtained a principle or originating 
 movement, the other movements fbllow in 
 a concatenated train. 
 
 sight of Tobias's Dog calls up the image of 
 Tobias in the mind of his mother, with a far 
 greater vehemence, than does the sight of 
 Tobias call up In her mind the image of the 
 Dog. This, I should notice, did not escape 
 the observation of Vives ;— " Illud usu evenit, 
 ut ex re minore veniat nobis de majore In 
 mentem saepius, non e contrario.** (§ 9.) 
 
 • Let it not be supposed, that the terms 
 siuggest and suggestion (which in translating 
 from an ancient, I thus venture to employ) 
 are, in their psychological relation, of recent, 
 or even modern, application; for so applied 
 they are old — the oldest we possess. — In this 
 relative signification, Suggero, the verb, as- 
 cends to Cicero ; and suggestio, the noun, is a 
 household expression of Tertullian and St 
 Augustine. Among the earlier modern phi- 
 losophers, and in this precise application, 
 they were, of course, familiar words;— as Is 
 •hewn, among five hundred others, by the 
 writings of llernioluus B:iib:irns, tlie elder 
 
 " We ought not, however, to marvel, 
 should it happen that, though a beginning 
 be found, and the first part of the series 
 set in motion, the movement is not pro- 
 pagated farther. For when an impres- 
 siou is completely vanished, it has, of 
 course, no longer any consecution." 
 
 § 6. Having stated what were the laws 
 of habitual consecution, in reference to 
 those reminiscences, accomplished, inten- 
 tionally, or through an act of will ; Aris- 
 totle proceeds, in the tecond place, to 
 shew, that the same laws equally govern 
 
 the other class of Reminiscences those 
 
 which arise spontaneously, or without any 
 Intentional effort, any conscious volition. 
 And, in subordination hereto, he elimin- 
 ates, as superfluous, the question, as to the 
 mode in which, when seeking to recall one 
 thing, others wholly foreign to our quest, 
 obtrude themselves on our remembrance • 
 —this being manifestly only a particular 
 case of spontaneous suggestion, and one 
 exclusively governed by the general 
 rules. 
 
 It is, in consequence of his very mani- 
 fest meaning having been here not mere- 
 ly misunderstood, but actually reversed, 
 by his interpreters, that Aristotle's doc- 
 trine did not exert its merited influence ; 
 and that he himself has not, as yet, been 
 universally acknowledged, at once, the 
 founder and finisher of the theory of As- 
 sociation. — Text illustrated. 
 
 tt 
 
 Abistotle. 
 In this manner [reminiscence is 
 brought to bear] when we [intentionally] 
 seek out a remembrance. J But also, 
 
 Scaliger, Melanchthon, Simonius, Campanella 
 — to say nothing of the Schoolmen, &,o. They 
 
 were no strangers to Hobbes and Locke- 
 
 and so far is Berkeley from having first em- 
 ployed them in this relation, as Mr Stewart 
 seems to suppose, Berkeley only did not dis- 
 continue what he found established and in 
 common ase. — I may notice, that Association, 
 under the name of Suggestion, was styled in the 
 theology of the schools, " The Logic of Lucl- 
 fer" or "The Devil's Dialectic," (Luciferi 
 Loglca, Diaboll Dialectica.) Why ?— is mani. 
 fast. 
 
 f Opening of first (or third) Olyntblao. 
 
 I ZuraDc/ fiiv oZv, eura. ThemistluB, 
 though leading the subsequent expositors 
 atjtray In the following sentence, is here ex- 
 clusively correct. They all view j^nrmtt 
 as the verb, and connect with it svrm : he, 
 again, regards the former as the participle, 
 and counects the latter with ymrm « 
 avm'ivve-fs, understood. 
 
ON THE HISTOBY 
 
 [note d. 
 
 t»v 
 
 wlieii we do not eo seek, it is still, In this 
 •aae naniiftri tliftt we are [unintention. 
 mUjl reminiietiily* so often as this par- 
 ticwar movement follows upon tliat par- 
 tioiilar antecedent But It li tiie usual 
 case, [though there are exceptions in the 
 •pontaneouS' aa in the intentional reninis- 
 eoice, from special causes to be imme- 
 
 *K4M f»n ^iiTiSt4*i# If, tffrmt SM^i/»i4r»«f- 
 «••• :^-tli«s I punelnate. Thenlitlnt, and all 
 the cUmt expiMilorty conneetteg (irrov»rif V 
 •Sffwfy make .ArtsHitle say—** Bat also when 
 we io iiol so seek (!.«. from tbe ««iii«oiNJfaw<, 
 tie staJlar, As.) ifiill are we reminiscent," 
 ihiif* tMlag 'tether understood — "though 
 froni none of these osntes of saggestion."— 
 But — !•• .Iioofeinff to the conseotttion of the 
 lonuidlale^ weris, this interpretation Is con- 
 iHaineil ; for had Aristotie intended so to 
 ipeak, he would have naturally said, s«l fth 
 Snm IwrSrmt.'—^ It ^renders the remain- 
 ier of 'tho clause, **so often," 4c., an idle su* 
 perinlty; and is altogether inconsi»tcnt with 
 fhewhelciequel of the paragraph. — 3®* Look- 
 ing to the general meaning wMch it affords, 
 ■neh Is odious and Mtietimmi juris. For it 
 makes Aristotle, without reason, nay, in oppo- 
 sition to tlie whole analogy of the context, 
 not only limit, hut frustrate his redaction of 
 the phaenomena of reminiBcenoe to necessary 
 
 In looking again orer the eommentatori, 
 to he assured that my aweeplng statement in 
 regard to them is not inaeenrate, I find that 
 Mmmremier ought perhaps to t»e excepted— 
 who sayi,— ** Itaqiie recordamur, ■! vel al- 
 terum ex altera lufulrimus, vel si non inqni* 
 rimus ; oilmwn oifcrtNii poil aifavtn aioiwCicr.*' 
 Sut tMs .Is ainbiguonst 
 
 Befon' Mm, however, Vtm$ seem to have 
 had a clear perception of the trath. Be 
 
 •Ofilatlone: ultra ab allls •& alia transeunte ; 
 seuJiMwi, qunm animus in reeordationem rei 
 
 illii||ua' 'Conator pervenire." 
 
 ft has not been noticed, I think, that JM- 
 tiS'Vitlei In regard to the universality of 'the 
 law of eoonected oonsecution. In his '* Hu- 
 aun. Jiataure," 1660, he divides the ** series, 
 BiioeeiSle% or eonsequenoe ** of eooeeptlons in 
 the Bind, ** into mmial or inaohermi, and into 
 emiirlkr or mkmmi.** In the latter case, the 
 antecedent thought is the cause of the conse- 
 quent ; in the former It is not. The casual 
 saceeaslon prevaili in dreams; the orderly 
 In car waking hours. To this last exclusively, 
 he gives the name of I>{«fi«r«fon, which ho 
 ilfiiei and smlMiivides, In a confused manner. 
 See flh. Iv. f 8; ch. v. | 1. In his Leviathan, 
 puMlihed. In the-suhsequent year, when treat- 
 lag of the ''Consequence or Train of Thoughts, 
 or the Mental Discourse,'* he says nothing of 
 any casual or incoherent snocession, whether 
 awake or sleeping; on the eoutrary, he aH»ert8 
 that *' we have no tfansMon from one imagi- 
 nation tO' another, whereof we have never 
 
 diately noticed,] that the particular 
 movement does ensue, when the relative 
 movements, of the nature we have speci- 
 fied, actually precede.f [The laws stated^ 
 are therefore universal, applying both to 
 the voluntary, and to the spontaneous, 
 current of thought] 
 ** Nor ia there any necessity to condder 
 
 had the like before in our senses." This de- 
 termined sequence he divides Into the tin. 
 gaMed and the r^uloted. So also in the Ele< 
 menta Philosophise, 1655, (c. 25, § 8.) In 
 his earlier doctrine, Hobbes thus harmonises 
 with the erring expositors of Aristotle; in 
 his later, with Aristotle himself. In the Le- 
 viathan, he says : — 
 
 "This train of thoughts or mental dis. 
 conrse> is of iieo sorts. The /rtt is unguided, 
 without design and inconstant; wherein there 
 is no passionate thought, to govern and direct 
 those that follow, to itself, as the end and 
 scope of some desire, or other passion: in 
 which case, the thoughts are said to wander 
 and seem hi^pertiiunt one to another, as In a 
 dream. . . . And yet in this wild ranging of 
 the mind, a man may oft-times perceive the 
 way of it, and the dependence of one thought 
 upon another. For in a discourse of our pre- 
 sent civil tear, what conid seem more imper- 
 tinent, [see Aristotle, § 8,] than to ask, as one 
 did, what was the value of a Roman penny f 
 Tet the coherence to me was manifest enough. 
 For the thought of the waty introduced the 
 thought of the delivering up tfie king to his ene- 
 mies; the thought of that, brought in the 
 thought of the deltwHn^ up of Christ ; and that 
 again the thought of the thirty pence, which 
 was the price of that treason; and thence 
 easily followed that malicious question, and 
 all this in a moment of time; for tAoaiAl ig 
 quick. [See Aristotle, § 8. J 
 
 " The second is more constant ; as being vs. 
 ffutated by some desire and design, Ac.**— 
 (Lev. P. 1. ch. 3.) 
 
 f ** It is to be noted, that Aristotle does not 
 here, as the commentators suppose, admit 
 the non universality of the law of determined 
 consecution, contending for it merely as the 
 ordinary rule. Be admits the non univeroa> 
 lity of the consecution, only of Uoi tMdMdmdi 
 eonseqmta iimsitn xivfins) upon this individu4a 
 antecedent (?ri#«i nivn^tf) ; as, for example, of 
 the thought of Tobias, on the sight or imagi- 
 nation of his Dog, which, though it usually, 
 does not always, take place. As Aristotle 
 afterwards explains, (§ 9.) the same thought, 
 having more than a single association, may 
 atone time suggest one consequent, at another 
 time, another; and how belt the thoughts, in 
 themselves most strongly associated, will, in 
 general, call up each other, still, in particu. 
 lar circumstances, an association weaker In 
 itself may obtain, for the moment, a higher 
 relative intensity, and consequently prevail 
 over another, absolutely considered, more 
 powerful. But still there is always sugges- 
 tion, — suggestion according to law. 
 
 lOTB D.**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 003 
 
 things remote* [and irrelevant,] — ^how 
 these rise into memory; but only the 
 matters coadjacent [and pertinent to our 
 inquiry]. For it is manifest that the 
 mode is still the same, — that, to wit, of 
 consecution,! — [in which a thing recurs 
 to us, when] neither pre - intentionally 
 seeking it, nor voluntarily reminiscent. 
 For [Asre too'\, by custom, the several 
 movements are concomitant of one another 
 — this deterniinately following upon that.X 
 
 Themistius. 
 
 " ' In this manner, when we [intentional' 
 lyls^ek out a remembrance,'' is reminiscence 
 effected from the sources enumerated, — 
 the similar, the opposite, or the continu- 
 ous (r»» ifif). But when a reminis- 
 cence takes place without our thus inten- 
 tionally seeking to remember aught, it is 
 determiaed by none of these. For if re- 
 merobei^, "g a song, we haply become 
 reminiso jnt of Socrates ; in this case, the 
 reminiscence is caused neither by the 
 similar, nor the opposite, nor the adjacent, 
 (ri* lyyvf.) But this is rare. For in 
 most cases, the reminiscence follows as 
 the sequel of certain antecedent move- 
 ments. § 
 
 " * Nor is there any necessity^ for those 
 treating of Reminiscence, Uo consider 
 things remote* [in space?] and old, [in 
 time,] * how these rise into memory, but 
 only things adjacent,* || and which we have 
 recently observed or learned; for, by 
 reason of their proximity, the latter are 
 more conducive to instruction than the 
 former. The mode of reminiscence, in 
 
 both, is one and the same. For as, in 
 matters proximate and recent, starting 
 on our search from some internal prin. 
 ciple or point of departure, we evolve 
 and are reminiscent of a certain subse- 
 quent train of thought ; [so also in mat- 
 ters distant in time or space]. * For, (as 
 observed,) by custom the several move- 
 ments are concomitant of one another — this 
 dtterminately following upon that* But 
 the same takes place, when we call into 
 reminiscence those cognitions which we 
 had long previously acquired." ]f 
 
 § 6. Aristotle now returns from the t»- 
 voluntary Reminiscence, on which he has 
 only touched incidentally, in consequence 
 of its relation to the voluntary Reminis- 
 cence, — the professed and special object 
 of this treatise The transition here has 
 also been mistaken. Here, along with 
 the result, he enounces two corollaries of 
 the theory previously established; both 
 having reference to the perfection of Re- 
 I miniscences, as determined by the relation 
 I of the subjective to the objective. 
 
 The first, — that Reminiscence is per- 
 fect, in proportion as the principle and 
 consecution of the reminiscent thoughts 
 run parallel with the principle and evolu- 
 tion of the existences to be remembered. 
 
 The second, — that Reminiscence is per- 
 fect, in proportion as the objects to bo 
 recollected exhibit a definite arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 • Tk wiffot.^Bf this the Interpreters, 
 after Themistius, all suppose that Aristotle 
 means old thoughts in contrast to recent. This 
 error Is a corollary of the misprision of Aris- 
 totle's general doctrine, in regard to the in- 
 Toluntary train. And yet, the no-meaning 
 Which their interpretation, here again, af 
 fards, might have rendered them suspicious 
 itf its validity; whereas, independently of its 
 own evidence, the light which the interpre- 
 tation I propose, receives from, and reflects 
 back on, that general doctrine, is a satisfac- 
 tory confirmation of the truth of both. Veri- 
 tas, index sui et falsi. 
 
 f I read r^oires, vrm (Xiyw SI <r3 t^i^ns) 
 eliiio.; both as that which affords the best 
 sense, and that towaids which the MSS. and 
 editions, taken together, all gravitate. Most of 
 the editions, as those of Morell, Sylburgius, 
 gimonius, Casaubon^ Pacius^ Duvalle, give a 
 second frZt after ?s. Bekker (apparently 
 with half his MSS.) omits it altogether. Again, 
 if Xiyti be read with Themistius and Michael, 
 half the MSS., the Erasmian and Camotio- 
 Aldine editions, and the versions in general. 
 
 Abibtotlb. 
 ** When, therefore, we are desirous to 
 accomplish an act of Reminiscence we 
 
 a tolerable sense is obtained, to this extent : 
 " For it is manifest, that the mode is here 
 the same as that in which a man repeats 
 some rote, without forethought or active 
 reminiscence.'* 
 
 X It is to be observed that this latter para- 
 graph, likewise, exhibits a sense incompatible 
 with the interpretation, given by the com. 
 mentators of Aristotle's doctrine. Themistius 
 it will be seen, in reference to the last sen 
 tence, (to say nothing of his other misrepre 
 sentations,) exactly reverses Aristotle's appli- 
 cation. 
 
 § Themistius, (followed by Micnael, Leoni- 
 cus, and the commentators in a body,) thus 
 makes Aristotle admit the non-universality of the 
 law of connected consecution. So Hobbeit, in his 
 earlier work : — See note *, p. 902, a. 
 
 I " Adjacent," iyyvs ; vvnyyvf, eo-adjaeeni, 
 is the reading of Michael and of all the MSS. 
 and editions. 
 
 f Themistius, in these two latter sentences, 
 just inverts Aristotle's statement; applying 
 proximately to the one, what the philosophci 
 applies proximately to the other. 
 

 
 [hotb ».•* 
 
 will do tliltt— ^nJ'Oftvoiir tO'lloidtluit priii« 
 ciiile or leitifttory moTement, in the train 
 'iifwnof tiM one of which we ar«' in quest 
 "wS tuna. uf. 
 
 '"''''' i: lift ' JiliJllllll H I i|i *i I I'll i * i 1 11 ftlAfltfc m*A1111lib ftllll 
 
 perfect, are therefore those which are 
 f folred from prinoiplesi which are as their 
 objects;* for the same dependency of 
 
 prior «nd poftolor, that, obtains among 
 objects,. obtaiiii..aiiiiipg Iho relative mental 
 movements. 
 " Such things, also, as display an orderly 
 
 ■nrangMMiit mm wall and easily remem- 
 Iwred* ■ Mitin niatloii, for ojcample ; while 
 oilers [oinilliiedly disposed] lurtt imper- 
 ftetly [reliiiwd] and with dUiiiiilty [re- 
 coieoted.]"f 
 I 7. DiftiiMlliOii of Mmtdmiimnm and 
 
 ABIt'TO'TIiiB. 
 
 *And Reminiscence is hereby distin. 
 glished from learning anew; that, as 
 
 ff«iiiinisoeiit,.the']iiiiidti«rt%k..some sort, 
 ft 'power of' liif-determin^ed motion, in 
 relnlioii to • MTlain pre-originated train ; 
 
 • The term i^x^, prkm^^ has here an 
 'tmphatle and special aeanlmg . All reminii. 
 oencei, aecifiiaff to Ariitotle, proeeed from 
 a l>egiuiliif or principle of movement, that 
 Is, from a eeitalm mode of mind, which orij^. 
 nates the evolntloD of a certain subseqaent se. 
 ries of dependent modes ; the dependence bow- 
 •fer»lMl*f , perhaps, only delermtned bv some 
 peMMal «r' mbjective aiioelatlon. But here, 
 AfffSlOfl% as the foUowlnf sentence manifests, 
 inteadi not a merelj subjective principle, 
 Imt a principle, which, though subjective, 
 has an objective correiktion and validity. 
 Imt he could hardly employ the word in this 
 restricted meaning, without, at least, some 
 ptmoiiltlfNi. Perhaps the word rfsy/uaTwf 
 otlgliially stood after m^x^f I °' r«tber ^»«^. 
 •4#iii was followed b j the words &$ rk w^my 
 .|MH!«r->»wiirdSt which, fk'om their proximate 
 ftffilllMi, were very Uheiy to be omitted In 
 
 _f AflikaB (Leetlo v. id locom)^'* Sle erf o 
 
 t memoraadnm vel reminlscendnm, ex 
 flaoltior docmnenta utlUa addls. 
 
 ■IIS. f^orum pffimttni est, nt 
 
 stndeat ^pm vmll retinera" la :aU.qiiem ordl- 
 nem dedwierot mmmitp,. at prefnnde el Intente 
 aia mentem apponat : terHo, at frequenter mo- 
 
 iHalar seeaaimn etdlnem: giuirio, nt Inciplat 
 'Vemiaisai i ;plMlpio.''* 
 
 I Ms|ttifibi.-»11iemi8tittS .and lflchae| 
 seam, to have read iwmfit/atwk^mM&mt, in t|ie 
 .■MHt of wMeh, at leabt, the other must here 
 te lilcen. 
 
 i Amdfiui^Tbm Bekker after half hh 
 MM. The .common readlof Is Ivmfiuf, which 
 Tiemistlw and lUehael exhibit, but explain 
 In eonfermity 'to 'tie other 
 
 whereas, when it has not this power, but 
 receives its direction firom withont, it it 
 no longer said to remember." 
 
 § 8. Question mooted and solved :-« 
 Why essaying we do not (though abso- 
 lutely competent) always accomplish a 
 Reminiscence t One corollary ; two inci- 
 dents. Text restored. 
 
 AmiBTOTLa. 
 "It however often happens that the 
 mind attempts, and is foiled in, a Re- 
 miniscence. But it has the power of 
 seeking; and seeking it at last finds. 
 This it does when, essaying many various 
 movements, it at length excites the move- 
 ment of which the matter sought Is a 
 sequel. For to recollect I is to have 
 potentially § the moving faculty [or 
 inceptive motion] within ; and moreover, 
 as already said, to be self-moved, and to 
 movements which itself contains. Bat [in 
 this casting about] it is necessary always 
 to start from some primary movement — 
 some principle or other. || Hence we some- 
 times become reminiscent from principlesi 
 
 I ** Neeesse est (says Javellus) remlniseen- 
 tem incipere ab aliqno princlpio, quod me- 
 moria tenetnr, et ab UIo procedere ad aiiqnod 
 memorandum, et ab illo ad aliud, donee de. 
 venlamus ad principale quod desideramus ad 
 memorlam rednoi. Quod qnidem principiom 
 aliquando est re* memoria retenta, aliquando 
 trmpWf oliqnando locus. . . . Excmplum 
 temporU : — Yolo reminisci, qtto dic^ consti tutus 
 in itinere, fui BononuB^ et incipio sic ; — heri 
 fni Parmse, nudiuitortius Mutinss, et illlo 
 per diem qnievi, dcinde itineratus sum, et non 
 pernoctavi extra Bononiam ^ ergo, quarta die 
 jam elapta, fui Bononis* Exemplum loei >— 
 Yolo remlnisci, constitutus in itioere, qiio loco 
 psrdidi peemmkan, et incipio sic; — lu tali loco 
 habebam pecuniam, quoniam solvi ccenam in 
 hospitio, et in tali habebam, quoniam solvi 
 equitatnram, et in tali habebam quoniam emi 
 panes, in tali autem loco non habebam, quoniam 
 non potnl solvere in hospitio ; ergo, in tanta 
 distantla eecidit bursa, et tunc, facta reminis 
 centia, Incipio qnserere deperditam pecu 
 niam." (Eplt. Parv. Nat. tr. II. e. 8.) 
 
 From this Hobbes seems to have taken the 
 hint in the following passages ; whleta, at any 
 rate afford a good amplification of Aristotle's 
 meaning. 
 
 " There Is yet another kind of Discnrsion 
 beginning with the appetite to recover some- 
 thing lost, proceeding from the Present back- 
 ward, from the thought of the Place where 
 we miss at, to the thought of the place from 
 whence we came last; and £rom the thought 
 of that, to the thonght of a place before, till 
 we have in our mind some place, wherein we 
 had the tblng we miss: and this la called 
 Reminiscence" (Hum. Nat. ch. 4.) 
 
 " Soniatlmcs a man seeks what he liafh (tict 
 
 HOTB ».*•] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 mm 
 
 which [in relation to the result] appear 
 impertinent and absurd.* The reason of 
 this is the rapidity -mth which the mind 
 passes from thought to thought ; as from 
 milk to white, from white to the Iclear] 
 atmospfieref from that to wet weather, 
 which finally suggests autumn j — this 
 season being what we are supposed seek- 
 ing to remember, [but which, at first 
 sight, would seem to have no conceivable 
 connection with the principle from which 
 it has been evolved.] 
 
 " But it would seem in general, that 
 the exordial movement or principle, is 
 also the central movement of a series. 
 For if not before, we shall, on this being 
 suggested, either find in itself the object 
 to be recollected, or obtain from it ex- 
 clusively the media of recollection. For 
 example, let the letters 
 
 A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, 
 represent a series of thoughts. If, then, 
 I on the suggestion of] D E, we do not 
 find what we would remember, we shall 
 find it on [traversing] E - - - - H ; for 
 from the centre, we may be moved 
 either backwards by D, or forwards by E. 
 
 and from that Place and Time, wherein he 
 misses it, his mind runs hack, from place to 
 place, and time to time, to find where, and 
 when he had it ; that is to say, to find some 
 limited time and place, in which to begin a 
 method of seeking. Again, from thence his 
 thoughts run over the same places and times 
 to find what action, or other occasion might 
 make him lose it. This we call Remembrance, 
 or calling to mind; the Latins call it Raninis' 
 emtia, as it were a Re'Conntng of our former 
 actions. Sometimes a man knows a Place 
 determinate, within the compass whereof he 
 is to seek ; and then his thoughts run over 
 all the parts thereof, in the same manner as 
 one would sweep a room to find a jewel; or 
 as a spaniel ranges the field till he find a 
 scent; or as a man should run over the alpha- 
 bet to start a rhyme.** (Lov. P. i. ch. 3.) 
 
 An excellent illustration of Aristotle's doc- 
 trine, in another view, is to be found in 
 Ptautns, Trinummus, Act iv. scene 11., v. 
 
 66-7a 
 
 ♦ The reading, hitherto received, is «iro 
 riirm, " from places i** and the commentators 
 have been more anxious to enumerate all the 
 meanings whlcli this expression could possi- 
 bly bear, than to i«hew how any one of these 
 could possibly be tolerated in the present 
 passage. In this relation all are indeed 
 absurd; and the expositors needed only to 
 pronounce Aristotle's righteous judgment on 
 their attempts — eLro^-a ! — and they had re- 
 covered Aristotle's veritable words (iw' 
 iivUrm.) This emendation, I make no scruple 
 of proposing, as absolutely certain. For, by 
 the mere change of an « into an «--and be it 
 
 But, if we are seeking none of those [in 
 the forward series, in the backward,] com- 
 ing on C, [C being suggested as a centre ?] 
 we shall accomplish our recollection in 
 it ; or, if seeking B or D, [through it,] in 
 them. But if none of these be what w© 
 seek, this we shall find at all events oa 
 [reaching] A. And thus is it always." f 
 
 Themistixts. 
 
 - - - ** * Tohe reminiscent is to have 
 the moving faculty within.'' By faculty, I 
 understand the inexistent principle ; for 
 tliis excites the discursive faculty to an 
 analysis [read resumption J] of the rest. 
 
 - - - " Therefore * it is necessary 
 always to start from, some primary move- 
 m/ient — some principle or other / on which 
 account, we appear most rapidly * some- 
 times to he reminiscent from places.^ §i 
 ^Placfijt;* — meaning either [P] the prin- 
 ciples or primary movements which, we 
 said, behoved to be inexistent in the soul; |] 
 or [2°] such heads, as Conjugates, Simi- 
 lars, Opposites, treated of in Dialectic 
 [and Rhetoric] ; or [3**] external locali- 
 ties, and the positions therein, f 
 
 remembered, that words were anciently 
 written continuously — the whole passage, 
 previously unintelligible and disjointed, be- 
 comes pregnant with sense, every part of It 
 supporting and illustrating every other. No 
 better elucidation of the truth and necessity 
 of this correction can be given, than the pas- 
 sage, (in n *, p. 902, b.) from Hobbes, who in 
 this whole doctrine is an alter ego of Aristotle. 
 
 f In the preceding paragraph, Aristotle's 
 meaning in general, — in so far at least as it can 
 interest us at present, is sufficiently apparent. 
 But it is probable that something has been 
 lo><t in the details of his illustration. In the 
 readings also, more especially of the symbols, 
 the Greek expositors, the manuscripts and 
 the editions, are all at variance. The text I 
 have chosen affords, I think, as good a mean- 
 ing as can be purchased at as cheap a rate ; 
 but to assign the reasons of preference — non 
 iamti. Those curious to see in how many 
 phases the notion of Aristotle can be viewed, 
 may consult the various hypotheses of Tbe- 
 mistius, Faber, Amerbach, Crippa, Simonius, 
 Havenreuter, &c. 
 
 ^ In Themistius, we now have umXv0i9\ 
 and that this is an old reading, is shown by 
 Michael, who gives it also. Can there be a 
 doubt that avaXu^'* is the true lection? 
 
 § Themistius not only mistakes the purport 
 but reverses the order of Aristotle's thought. 
 
 g NoS?, InUllect, Is called in the Aristotelio 
 philosophy the Place of Principles. Aristotle, 
 however, never styles principles, intellec- 
 tions, native or a priori cognitions, &c., by 
 the name oi places. 
 
 % To these three alternative po!;sibilitle« 
 
ON THE HISTORY 
 
 fHOTB D •' 
 
 - 'Jut H wmM m§m. In ffrnmrti; that firet, the Xjrre and ioen tlte being ifnidbi 
 
 consequently, that it was by Soerat$tf 
 although, in the order supposed, the 
 recollection of Soeratet follows imme- 
 diately on that of the Banquet, then the 
 beinff struck, and, last of all, the Zj^e. 
 For we may suppose, that the person was 
 struck with the lyre and not with a stick. 
 In saying, that * the exordial seems also 
 the central movement,* he assigns the rea- 
 son, — * because from, the centre we may be 
 moved either forwards or backwards ; ' 
 for E is the road to the series subsequent 
 — F, G, H, and to the series preceding — 
 D, C, B, A. And it is competent for us, 
 at will, as from H, to call up either G or 
 F, so, from A, to call up any one of the 
 series consequent upon it. If E, however, 
 be not the centre, but C ; in the sugges- 
 tion of C we shall terminate our reminis- 
 cence; or, if C be not our end, we shall 
 find it in A, in like manner, as E, not 
 
 i^t0tUalS| first F,and then G.— If, then, contenting us itself, did so by helping us 
 
 tbii ihoiighl we seek lie in the progressive on to H.'* 
 
 * ' § 9. Question mooted and solved : — 
 Why the same principle does not always 
 effectuate the same result? — Collateral 
 observations. — ^Text restored. 
 
 ,or prmdpk, is also 
 fi# emmd momment of a series;' and 
 the discovery of this is of capital im- 
 liortance, leading us, as it does, to the 
 
 ■nuniMiMloii^ of what we seek. To illus- 
 trate tlib ffooess, let us typify it by let- 
 ter% cortripomding in number, and pro- 
 IwrtidiiBl to the thoughts set in movement 
 towards the retrievement of a lurking 
 remembrance* 
 
 A, B, C| II, E, F, G, U. 
 Wow as £ is here the central thought, 
 (!) if, in finding it, w© do not recover 
 wliafe we seek, we shaU certainly do so 
 when wo arrive at H. For, the centre 
 OD43II ,galiie4 w© may, flrom thcnc«, move 
 cilliar Inokwards or forwards in the series. 
 Wor if there any thing to prevent a sug- 
 gestion of the thoughts |»«r iottum, or in 
 any pmrm^e order; — ^to think, for in- 
 ice, H immediately after E, and, alter 
 
 series, we shall consequently, as already 
 
 aaid, find it [at furthest] on reaching H. 
 If, on the contrary, it lie in the regres- 
 sive series, it wUl be found [certainly] 
 on attaining A. The thoughts denot«d 
 bythe.ymbol«.werf»U«y,.r^ 
 
 A]^ — the Ltfdam Suhirb* [B] — 
 ili§ Mmm of Fktto [C]— lA« time of 
 JWnir Moon [DJ— «A« Banquei [E] — 
 Soerates [W}''-4M beina struck by So- 
 
 [6]— eA« L^e [H]." 
 
 BflOHABIi EfM'BSIOS 
 
 Thus continues :— ** Nothing prevents us, 
 on recollecting the Banquet, to recollect. 
 
 ..! 
 
 Abistotlm. 
 " The reason why, though departing 
 from thp *ame principle or inceptive 
 movement, the same thing is sometimes 
 recalled to mind, and sometimes not, is to 
 be fouled in the circumstance, that the 
 same principle, [having more than a single 
 connection,] can determine a resuscitating 
 movement upon one or other of a^plural- 
 %.t If for example, [F and D be both 
 dependent upon C,J from C the resusci- 
 
 Slmonlns, followed bj I'ada*. adds, and pre 
 fersartwrlAl the placet, w .#««,.^ *mlled, em. 
 ployed In the Art «** Memory — Mnemouio. 
 
 • AuMMB. If w« .ijppose this an error for 
 Smmm$. Ifteum, Tbemiktios li guilty of an 
 aiMWiirealtiii, (see PlttUrcb, Op. If or. Xjl. p. 
 7B0$) and, at any rata, the Lfcemm was not 
 Ihe plaee wbere Ptato't komm elllier would or 
 •eald hOb I Iberefore suppoM, that by tbla Is 
 ■Mtiit the extra mural qvafter de^iKlu«ted 
 firom the temple of ApoUo Lyciut. (See Pau. 
 
 wSKSSSMmk^SSSSSw M iMIiMliilil^Mp ^■KwlF'liPwP ^pww^^^^ 'JHp ^^ ^■'•^ w ■!■■%• Vv ^^w^Iif •■'i' 
 
 eaity of Flato's resldeace i 
 
 f The fact, — that the same one thought 
 maVi aad coauiMmty has, many connections, 
 and Miiaefiienlly nay tuff est, and le sug- 
 gested hy, many different movement!, (N t< 
 p. 900, h;) shows, that the old and fainiliar 
 simile of a Chain Is Inadequate to the pheeno- 
 nenon. (See M. •, p. 894, a.) For it implies r— 
 !•• Ooeaistanee, to the exclusion of succes 
 ifoitt In '"eontciooMieaa; 3<*- equal and reeipi-o- 
 
 «*al suf gestion. But the^e vtcei are common ; 
 the chain has others peculiaur to itself. For, 
 30. It would lead ua to suppose, that the mind 
 could run only backward* and forwards, on 
 one simple series; each consequent thought 
 having, lilie the Unk of a simple chain, only a 
 single detemunate connection, before and 
 after ; whereas, the concatenations with every 
 ring of the mental ieriei, are indefinitely nu- 
 merous. In this respect, Instead of a mere 
 chain, the simile of a hauberk, or chain web, 
 would be better; and bt'ttor still, a iphere oj 
 ehamwork. Bnt one defect there is in all of 
 these similitudes: — any ring being moved, 
 moves, and that equally, all the rings attached 
 to it ; which Is not the case in the momenta 
 of the mental dependency. 
 
 Auociation 0/ Ideas is an expression the la. 
 troduction of which is uulyersally attributed 
 to Locke; but erroneously. For some twenty 
 years previous to the publication of the Es. 
 ray, another philosophical physician, M. La 
 
 MOTE D.**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 907 
 
 fating movement may tend, either upon 
 F or upon D. Should the movement, 
 
 then, not be through a natural necessity,^ 
 [in which case, as there is no alternative, 
 
 Ohambre, in his " Systeme de TAme," (L. iv. 
 c. 2, art. 9,) speaks of "the Union and Con- 
 nection of Image$ (V Union et la Liaison des 
 Imaget,) as an integrant action in our know- 
 ledge by Imagination and Understanding,' 
 Ac. With the writings of this author, which 
 were, In that age, not undeservedly, popular, 
 Locke could hardly fail to be acquainted; 
 though we cannot presume that he was aware 
 of ** the mutually consecutive movements" of 
 Aristotle. But of these three forms, the first 
 and second are, in both their parts, objec- 
 tionable. 
 
 Like the Chain— -Asfiociation, Union, Con- 
 nection —Is faulty. — lo- It implies coexist- 
 once; a connection between coexistences ac- 
 tually known.— 20' It implies a bilateral— an 
 equal correlation. If B is associated with A. 
 A is no less associated with B. But in the 
 mental train, it is rare that any two thoughts 
 call each other up with equal force ; and this 
 inequality may vary, from perfect equilibrium, 
 to a maximum in the one co suggestive, and 
 a minimum in the other. Thus A suggests B, 
 tax more strongly than B suggests a ; thus 
 the Dog suggests Tobit, far more strongly 
 than Tobit suggests the Dog. (See n. f, p. 
 900 b. a.) For the same reasons the simile 
 of Attraction, by Themistius (§ 9,) anu Hume 
 (n. •, p. 894, a.) is at fault. Major's homely 
 
 able but neglected doctrine of the ingenious 
 philosopher, and more illustrious poet, by 
 whom it was propounded. 
 
 The words of Aristotle, and the Greek 
 Aristotelians — Movement, Train, Series, Cham, 
 Concatenation, Mutual Consecution, Subsequence, 
 Dependence, Determined Sequence, Resumption, 
 Subsumption, Seeking, Hunting, Discursion, 
 Principle, Precursive Series, Beginning, Incep- 
 tive, Prior, Leading Movements, «fcc., and their 
 correlatives — words which mediately, but ge- 
 nerally have been adopted by modern philo- 
 sophers, are the oldest, and in so far as they 
 denote nothing but the simple fact, are, to say 
 the least of them, not exposed to objection, 
 (N. •, p. 897.) 
 
 Upon the whole, as among the earliest, 
 so I think, perhaps the best terms for the 
 process of reproduction are to be found In 
 Suggest, Suggestion, Suggestive, Co- suggestive, 
 with their conjugates. These were terms, 
 in this relation familiar to the Fathers and 
 the Schoolmen,— to say nothing of modern 
 psychologists. The metaphor implied is not 
 inappropriate; but, in English at least, the 
 tropical have long subsided into proper 
 terms. (N. •, p. 901, a.) 
 
 The other scholastic, and almost equivalent, 
 expressions (which Locke and others also 
 I employ,) — Excite, Excitation, Ac, are likewise 
 
 illustration (ibid.,) by a cobblers bristle and I laudable. (P. 889, a.) 
 
 thread, is better, as more unilateral; where 
 
 as, that of Hobbes (ibid.,) by the following of 
 
 water through the guidance of tlie fvngtr, is, on 
 
 all accounts, as bad as can be. In the third, 
 
 no the contrary, Mutual Consequence, (a*«X- 
 
 sviitt iXXhXais,) states the phaeuomenon more 
 
 accurately than any of the others,— though 
 
 not yet accurately enough. 
 
 The expressions, Association, Union, Con- 
 nection, of Ideas or Images, are fas already no- 
 ticed of Hobbes' language, p. 893, b. note, 
 and p. 898, b. note,) objectionable, inasmuch 
 as these terms are apt (even though not in- 
 tended by their authors) to limit the depen- 
 dency to modes of Cognition, to the exclusion 
 of those of Appetency and of Feeling. It 
 has, indeed, been held, even by some recent 
 and acute philosophers, that the secondary or 
 suggested movement is always a cognition — 
 an Idea. That a representative cognition is 
 hero necessary, is indubitable. But that sug- 
 gestion is only of cognitions, must be denied; 
 for how, under this limitation, can the nume- 
 rous phaenomena be saved, lilte what Van 
 Swieten comemorates of himself? He never 
 
 M>i hit9-mXaiev. Thus, aU the manuscripts, 
 editions, translators, commentators ; —with the 
 exception of Themistius and two M88. which 
 with him omit the negative— and (strange to 
 say l)without either injuring or improving the 
 sense. — In regard to the import of m-a^MioS, 
 opinions are also divided. Some, as Themis- 
 tins and Michael, explain it by " old and tcom 
 out "—effeU. Leonicus, the echo of the Greek 
 expositors, seems, in copying the latter of 
 these, to have read tv^os ffvvri6ris, instead of 
 
 Tu«f mfwiiSfis, or to *>*^« »<* '**""<^ ** *° ^^ 
 MS. ; for, be it observed, neither Greek com- 
 mentary was then printed. Leonicus, accord- 
 ingly, interprets it "old and worn in'' — inve- 
 terate; in which he is followed by Simonius, 
 Crippa, and others. Nor is this latter expo- 
 sition, though founded on a blunder, a whit 
 inferior to the former; the two opposites, 
 here again, affording each just the same mi- 
 nimum of sense — maxinmm of non-senhe. 
 The expositors and translators, indeed, seem, 
 in general sensible of this; and prudently 
 pass by the difficulty altogether. It is, how- 
 ever, easily solved. Mh ha vruymev is mani- 
 
 without a recurrence of sickness See also manifest, tnai i^e wue J* „.,„,.h;. 
 
 Ylves in note p. 893, b. On the other hand, 
 Aristotle's word Movement, (n. *, p. 892, b,) 
 ■■ comprehending cognitions, feelings, and ap- 
 petencies, is praiseworthy. 
 
 The terra Subnotion, {Subnotio,) as expressive 
 of the present phaeuomenon, J^ good ; but would 
 require ^what cannot hero oe given) expla- 
 nation, along with a statement of the rem >rk- 
 
 Kcciov. This, exactly, and exclusively, supplies 
 the meaning which the context impetrates — 
 and for which the previous discussion had 
 prepared us, (§ 2 ;) while it is obtained at the 
 expense of only an interchange of two and 
 three easily commutoble letters. This con- 
 jectural lection I have accordingly adopted in 
 the translation, as indubitable. 
 

 /IM Till? OIGT/\l>V 
 
 \}£i laiit HIS} i UK I 
 
 [jtOtS II.** 
 
 'fitn It' no «]ii«ftbii,] it irUl be turned, 
 mmmg. liiSiiwit objeeti,' m tlmt which 
 lag to it tlw itrongest habitual affinity. 
 For Habit obtains in a certain lort the 
 foroe of Mature. HeDoe, thoee thiogs on 
 wMdh we flreniently think, we easily r«- 
 ■MBlMir. For, as in nature, this conse- 
 ipent followi [pronely] that antecedent, 
 10 also in the operations or energy of 
 ndnd.* Bit an iteration of the same, at 
 tength genefatet a nature. As some 
 tld^gti however, occur, even in the works 
 of oatofe [proper,] beside [the course of) 
 aaturey from the intervention of acd- 
 
 ateri]; tUt will' hwppen still more fre- 
 qnentlyin.tlieiinttationt'<if'habit, in which 
 [the acquired] nature is not of a deter- 
 minaiion equidly intense. Thus it is, that 
 the mind may be sometimes moved at 
 ooot In one direction and anotner ; and 
 tiiii aipflflially when soaMtMngf [like] 
 shall turn It aaide from the course on 
 which it was proceeding. This, [for in- 
 stance,] is the reason why, when we have 
 oecasaon to call up a name, we are apt to 
 oil. up another somewhat similar, and so 
 Munder in a sort,| with regard to that of 
 which we are in quest." 
 
 TiiBiiianiis. 
 ** If, for example^, from ptmrnt, [the 
 M»f strictly, the membrane lining the 
 c^est,! we be moved towards, both pleu- 
 wMt rkiiammation of that membrane^ 
 plenilByj ud, J%'iirofiiii, [Plenron, Pleu- 
 
 * Ww Iffifyiiiji, TheniiBtias seems to read 
 llii.~>Bal on the common reading, does 
 
 'Baergj menu ^iisl aff mind? or, (ai the inter. 
 proters tn fenersl tnppose.) met of hahlt ? If 
 the latter be preferred, the meaning will be 
 
 lliia ..<« For aS' In |[fhe works of] nature this 
 eense«tteat Mlows [pronely and invariably] 
 191m. that anleeeieDt, so in the operations of 
 'hiihlt.** I deeidedlf prefer the former : both 
 ai 'the one mMnlnf which the context re- 
 fuirei'; sad taMlise, while Aristotle eoald 
 hardly by tmrgif simply mean to denote hatU^ 
 (wileh Is a powfr, as opposed to energy,) it 
 'Was the 'aalnra]' ez'pression whereby to denote 
 ■a nil of mind—- a cognition, thought, 4o. 
 
 f For wnt whliCh is otiose, I. would read 
 f f, that is, *'* BUmethlag' [similar,} * which, at 
 any rate, must te undeistood. 
 
 I ** Qnonlam Simiiltudo'* (saysTlves,) '* ex 
 ■JiIb velut urnum reddit, fiicilis est et nsi- 
 liftnii nun memoriaB solnm, sed cogitationls 
 •t a stMMli irmmai ad n'mtfe. 
 imi OMifJiiia*' pro cnllty. 
 Pm^kmts pro Pandaro; 
 ilfltndo ttt in vsmait, ex medio, prin. 
 :|iple^ ine: Turn In aBrnri. ex. co quod In] 
 
 orolliiMi, 
 
 rone, the town] j-^hould, then, pUmriiU 
 be more familiar than PleuroniOf it will 
 attract^ towards itself the mind, in the 
 same manner as the more brilliant colours 
 draw upon themselves the sight. [§ 2. 
 Themistius.] 
 
 <' But in the case^ that one of the im« 
 pressions is (M, the other nem : the new 
 will prevail in moving its own reminis- 
 cence, by preference ; unless the old has 
 been deeply inscribed on the mind, as 
 part of a scientific acquirement, and be, 
 likewise, the more familiar. For thus, it 
 is, as it were, renovated, every time we 
 have occasion to turn our attention on it. 
 
 " But, * as in Nature, this amsequent 
 foilows that antecedent i* (for, in the na- 
 tural reminiscence, the thought of heat 
 follows, necessarily, that of Jire, and the 
 thought of iiffht, that of the sun ; §) * so 
 also m Habit*** For, through the force 
 of Habit, there are things, wWch, on their 
 own reminiscence, forthwith cause the con- 
 comitant rGminisccnce of certain others. 
 But what we are frequently accustomed 
 to, becomes, as it were, a [second] nature. 
 And as, among the products of nature 
 itself, aberrations may occur from the 
 rule of nature ; this abo is possible in the 
 operations of habit It may, therefore, 
 easily happen, that starting correctly from 
 the prior and suggestive thought, we shall 
 fall out, in consequence of a deflective 
 movement, in passing to the subsequent 
 and suggested ; as when, [departing from 
 ^etara,"} ^urUis attracts the movement 
 
 iUis attentio eonslderat : ut XenocrateSf pro 
 Aristotelef in philosophia ct disciplina Plato- 
 nls; Scipionetn pro Q. Fabio in bellis Punlcis; 
 Jrum pro Codro^ in paupertate ; Detnosthmem 
 pro Cicerone, in eloquentta; Narcissum pro 
 Adonide in polchrltudine : allium pro cepis, 
 in odore. Bodem mode, de loco, tempore, de 
 actionibus ant qoalitatibus, qnomm exempla 
 patent latisslme.— Hoc vitium vel in prima 
 attentione nasdtur, quod Intelllgentia non satis 
 anlinadvertit quae olTeruntur, ut Integra ea 
 distlnctaque f^osset memoritc commendare; 
 vel in ipsa memoriae qu% pamm sincera flde 
 oustodiitj vel in secunda attaitione, qnnm 
 perperam ea qun Integra erant in memoria 
 reposita dcpromit. Pertnrbatnr Item com. 
 sideratio vol secunda attentio^ quum JnascB 
 aliquid qusorere, ant depromere objicitur ex* 
 trtnsecus, diversum quid vel alienmn. 8a- 
 lutaTit me heri in foro Fetrus Ihletanus, 
 nee satis anSmadverti, nee satis memini. 81 
 quia ex me quaerat, — Quia ie in foro hen 
 mlutavitt si nihil addat facilius respondere 
 quam si dicat. — Joannes Manricusne an Lodo- 
 oieus AbsflenstM f ** (L. L) 
 
 f See Mnme; (n.*, p 894, a) 
 
 I 8€e n. I, p. 'SW- •• See n. *,p. u08. 
 
 NOTK D.**] 
 
 OF MENTAL ASSOCIATION. 
 
 909 
 
 from Plmtronia to itself. * Fbr this rea- 
 son, when we have occasion to call up a 
 name, we are apt to call up another some- 
 what similar, and so blunder in a sort, 
 with regard to that of which we are in 
 quest.* Wishing, for example, to recollect 
 Leophanes, we recollect Leosthenes, and 
 [substituting this,] thus blunder in rela- 
 tion to Leophanes/' 
 
 § 10. After other observations, which 
 it is not necessary to adduce, Aristotle 
 goes on to show, that Reminiscence — ^re- 
 miniscence intei^ionai or proper, — is to a 
 certain extent, a rational — discursive 
 procedure. 
 
 Abistotle. • 
 
 - - « - « That, in the same indi- 
 vidual, the power of Memory and the 
 power of Reminiscence stand in no mutual 
 proportion, has been already stated. — 
 And, independently of the diflference of 
 their manifestation, in the order of time ;* 
 Reminiscence is distinguished from Me- 
 mory in this, — that of memory, many of 
 the other animals are participant, whereas, 
 it may be safely affirmed, that, of the 
 
 * Reminiscence, chronologically considered 
 ts both prior and posterior to Memory (in Aris- 
 totle's meaning of this term.) For reminis- 
 cence starts from a Memory, which affords it 
 a principle or point of departure ; and It 
 re* ults in a Memory, as its end, this being a 
 memory of the matter sought, 
 
 f This Aristotle also states in his History 
 of Animals, (Book I. ch. 2.) The expositors 
 do not, I think, fully or correctly apprehend 
 Aristotle's view- Themistius, for example, 
 supposes that Reminiscence is a rational pro- 
 cedure, because, like syllogism, it connects a 
 lesser with a greater. But Memory, or simple 
 recollection, equally connects a lesser with a 
 greater; and this Aristotle accords to the 
 brutes, whilst he denies them intentional 
 reminiscence. At any rate, this subordination 
 is, in reminiscence, one merely accidental ; for 
 the same two thoughts, in alternately sug. 
 gestlng each other, are alternately to each 
 other as the greater and the less. Aristotle, 
 I presume, refers to the analogy subsisting 
 between the acts of Reminiscence and Rea- 
 soning, in both being processes to a certain 
 end; both being processes from the known 
 to the unknown ; — and in botli evolving their 
 eonclnslon, under certain laws, and from cer- 
 tain general sources; — Bemlniscence, contin- 
 gently educing the thing to be recollected, in 
 conformity to the laws, and out of the ccm- 
 men places, of Mnemonic, as universal princi- 
 ples or inceptive movements, by a process of 
 investigation, and subjective suggestion of the 
 connected by the connected; — Reasoning, 
 neeeisarily educing the thing to be proved, 
 in conformity to the laws, and out of the 
 
 animals known to us, man alone is en- 
 dowed with Reminiscence.f The reason 
 is, that Reminiscence is, as it were, a kind 
 of syllogism or mental discourse. For he 
 who is reminiscent, that he has formerly 
 seen or heard or otherwise perceived, any 
 thing, virtually performs an act of syl- 
 logism. Here also there is instituted, as 
 it were, a question and inquiry. But 
 inquiry is competent, only as deliberation 
 is competent ; while deliberation, in like 
 manner, is a sort of syllogism.'* 
 
 Themistius. 
 ---.«« Of the animals known 
 to us, man alone is endowed with Reminis- 
 cence ; ' because to whom reminiscence is 
 competent, to the same syllogism is com- 
 petent. For as, in the act of syllogising, 
 this [minor] proposition is connected with 
 that [major] ; so in the act of reminiscence 
 we connect lesser [movements] with 
 greater. But the power of syllogising 
 implies the power of inquiry, [for we only 
 syllogise as we inquire] ; and the power 
 of inquiry implies the power of delibera- 
 tion, [for we only inquire as we deliberate.] 
 [The power of reminiscence, therefore. 
 
 common places of Logic, as nniversal princi- 
 ples or major propositions, by a process of 
 investigation, and objective subsumption of 
 the contained under the containing. 
 
 Aristotle, though he assimilates, does not 
 identify rational or logical subsumption, with 
 voluntary, far less with spontaneous, sugges- 
 tion. At most he only shews that reminis- 
 cence, qua intentional, as it involves an appli- 
 cation of means to end, involves deliberation, 
 which agMn involves discursion. 
 
 This discursion of Reminiscence the Latin 
 commentators, in general, refer, not to the 
 inorganic Intellect, not to Aoyos, Aic«M«, 
 or Ratio proper, but to that Analugon Rationis 
 or Particular Reason, possessed, in some mea- 
 sure, by the brutes ; and which an)ong other 
 Arabian Aristotelian?, Averroes introduced, 
 as one of the internal senses, under the name 
 of Cogitativa. *' Ex quibus patet, (says Ja- 
 velins,) quod in reminlscendo, syllogizamus et 
 discurrimus, non quidem per propositiones 
 universales, id enim est proprium intellectng, 
 Bed per singnlares. Discurrimus enim ab uno 
 singularl memorato ad aliud memorando; et 
 ideo fit a cogitativa quae dicitur ratio parti- 
 calaris apud commentatorem." — Now, if we 
 discard the higher faculty of thovght, and admits 
 exclusively, the lower, we have at once the 
 scheme of Bobhes. It should be also noticed, 
 that while Aristotle and his followers limit, 
 and properly, the expression " mental dig 
 course " to the intentional process of reminia. 
 cenoe, Bobbes, borrowing the term, unwar* 
 rantably extends it te the spontaneous train 
 of thought. 
 
910 
 
 ON THE THEORY 
 
 [MOT. D .♦*• 
 
 (••C); [and Themistius had preiriaiisly 
 stated, that] dueurtian %8 only the mmgy 
 
 fuT" 'iWHiiiillott M am act of intellect, i 
 
 ianBes the power of dellberatioo]. But 
 mmn aloae deUberatee; man, therefore. 
 
 NOTE D/" 
 
 OUTLINE 
 
 OF A THIOEI Of 
 
 IIBNTAL mWlODUCTlON, 8U00ESTI0N. OB ASSOCIATION. 
 
 mm^r-Ahmrmt or Pnmary law ofRepetitum, yrr^^J^^ 
 te ofmmmtigmiim» Cmerm or Seeondmy law ofPrsfermce. 
 
 i IL^Lawi of Mental Su^mmion. om ^^^'-^J^^^^^'Z:^^^^ 
 
 [BeferencM omitted, and to be supplied from pp. 294, 886, Ac.] 
 
 I l.^O4mrailawM0f Mental Sumsdon, 
 A-^Am mt of Meproduction proper. 
 
 HniMUi Censcipuanesa being realised, 
 imm Note H,) only under the two cond - 
 iiillt of mMraM and eontinuity m twm, Is 
 necessarily astricted to a ceamlesM vana- 
 Mom of state ; and its variations (called 
 .'llbevhie more or lew adequately wmUal 
 'ZilpWficM, modm, ttatse, motmnenti, 
 moMgM§, aetimHeB, paesivitm, ^e^} wp© 
 tllllf •WJCeesive, and uninterruptedly suc- 
 eiMive. The two highest kwa of thought 
 
 tfe, therefore, 
 
 i^The I-aw of Socobssion :— TAot 
 Mi am mdjf €m»ciom, as comdout ofsm- 
 
 mmSmi and 
 
 it— The Law of VAai4TioN :— TAa* 
 we are only conMcious of succeadon, a$ 
 conscious of successive tfariatiom. 
 
 But these successive variations do not 
 follow on each other in a row, as isolated 
 ph«enoniena, related only as before and 
 after on the thread of time; nor is 
 their manifestation determined alwavs 
 by causes, external to the series itself, 
 although this be frequently the case. On 
 the contrary, the train, though ever 
 changing, is ever continuous ; each ante- 
 cedent movement running into each con- 
 sequent ; and, abstracting from the inter- 
 vention of foreign influences, each ante- 
 cedent standing to each consequent as 
 its cause. Thought is thus evolved, not 
 
 §'.: 
 
 OF MENTAL REPRODUCTION. 
 
 911 
 
 only in a chronological, but in a causal 
 equence; and another of its Laws is, 
 therefore, 
 
 iii. — The Law of Depkndence or De- 
 tSKHiNSD Consecution : — That every 
 consequent modification in the mental train 
 is the effect of that immediately antecedent. 
 
 iv. — Thoughts are dependent on each 
 other, only as they stand together as the 
 relative parts of the same common whole. 
 This may be called the Law of Relati- 
 vity or Inteobation. 
 
 But this whole is of two kinds. It is 
 either an objective (-Aiecessary and essential) 
 unity, constituted by, and intrinsic to, the 
 thoughts themselves ; or it is a subjective 
 (contingent and accidental) unity, extrin- 
 liic to themselves, and imposed on them 
 by the mind — the mind in general. In 
 the former case, a certain thought being 
 given, it necessarily, of, and along with 
 itself, evolves a certain one, exclusive, 
 other; in the ktter, a certain thought 
 being given, it only moves the mind, 
 according to definite subjective laws, to 
 pass on to this or that of a certain plu- 
 rality of others- In the one instance, 
 there is a determination to an individual 
 consequent ; in the other, only a determi- 
 nation to a class of consequents, the pre- 
 ference of this or that class, of this or 
 that individual under it, being regulated 
 by circumstances, external to the nature 
 of the antecedent thought itself. The 
 former constitutes what may be called the 
 logical or objective ; the latter, what may 
 be called the psychological or subjective 
 train of thought. 
 
 The logical consecution is shewn in 
 those thoughts, which, though denoted 
 hv a single and separate expression, im- 
 plicitly contain a second ; which second, 
 the process of thinking explicates but 
 does not determine to succeed. Such are 
 all rektives. The conception of the one 
 term of a relation necessarily implies that 
 of the other ; it being of the very nature 
 of a relative, to be thinkable, only through 
 the conjunct thought of its correlative. 
 For a relation is, in truth, a thought, one 
 and indivisible ; and while the thinking a 
 relation, necessarily involves the thought 
 of its two terms, so is it, with equal neces- 
 sity, itself involved in the thought of 
 either. It is therefore improper to say, 
 that the thought of one relative follows, 
 or is consequent on, the thought of the 
 other, — ^if thereby be denoted a succes- 
 sion in time ; since the thought of both 
 IS, in truth, already given in the thought 
 of each. Aristotle expressly says of re- 
 latives, that they are things which exist 
 
 together (Sfia) in the mind. It is conse- 
 quently also improper to say of such 
 terms, that they are associated or mutu- 
 ally sugijestive. Not the former, for this 
 supposes that they can be dissociated; 
 not the latter, for this supposes them not 
 to be given as necessary reciprocals. 
 Such are whole and parts, means and 
 end, cause and effect, reason and conse- 
 quent, substance and accident, like and 
 unlike, great and small, parent and child, 
 husband and wife, &c. &c- 
 
 To this head, I may simply notice, 
 though I cannot now explain, are to^ be 
 referred those compulsory relatives, im- 
 posed upon thought by that great, Sut as 
 yet undeveloped, law of our intellectual 
 being, which I have elsewhere denomi- 
 nated the Law of the Conditioned:— 
 That all positive thought lies between two 
 extremes, neither of which we can conceive 
 as possible, and yet, as mutual contradic- 
 tories, tfie one or the otlier we must recog- 
 nise as necessary. From this impotence 
 of intellect, we are unable to think aught 
 as absolute. Even absolute relativity is 
 unthinkable. But to this I merely allude, 
 that I may shew to what head such com- 
 pulsory connections are to be referred. 
 See, however, p. 743, n. *, p. 599n.*. Logi- 
 cal consecution is thus governed by :— 
 
 v.— -The Law of Inteinsic or Objec- 
 tive Relativity : — That one relative term 
 being thought, there is virtually thought 
 also its correlative. 
 
 General Laws of Mental Succession. 
 
 B As of Reproduction proper. 
 
 The other kind of dependence, the 
 pfyschological consecution, is that which 
 subsists between two thoughts, the one of 
 which preceding, entails the sequence of 
 the other, not necessarily, or in virtue of 
 its own intrinsic relativity, but of a cer- 
 tain extrinsic relativity, of a contingent 
 imposition and indefinite obtrusive force, 
 which inclines them, though perhaps un- 
 equally, to call each other into conscious- 
 ness, and which, when not counteracted 
 by a stronger influence, inevitably ope- 
 rates its end. The terms (chronological) 
 suggestion, association, succession, are 
 properly applied to this dependence 
 alone ;— for under it, exclusively, have 
 the thoughts a before and after, in the 
 order of time, or in themselves any sepa- 
 rate and irrespective existence. Psycho- 
 logical consecution is equivalent to JR»- 
 production. [I may parenthetically ob- 
 serve, that the power of reproduction 
 (into consciousness,) supposes a powwr of 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 911 
 
 ON THE THEORY 
 
 [notb i>. 
 
 ♦♦• 
 
 S§ I. II.] 
 
 OF MENTAL REPRODUCTION. 
 
 919 
 
 retomtioQ (©ut of consciousneis.) To this 
 conaervatiire power I confine exclusively 
 the term Mnnmryj with this, however, 
 
 we have 1 freiail nothing to' 'do.] 
 
 'ThiTi-an lJlr«i'^ mO^eiim ■wMetf whde» 
 or MmitMm, each of which affords a 
 ground of chronological succession, and 
 'ffiMi|inioal. suggestlont to the several 
 'tfmiigiitt vMiii they ooiiprehend in one. 
 In. ntlMr vonli, Reprodietion has thrm 
 
 These are : — 1«- the unity of thoughts, 
 
 iVering in tim$ and wmdijkation, in a 
 M-Ueatity of Suwioi |— 2«^ the unity of 
 thonghli,. diiMnf In time, in a co4den. 
 Ilty of Modification ; — 3"- the unity of 
 thonghts, dMeriiif in moSjimtim, in a 
 «o*identity of Timb. 
 
 Of these, the>-itaffordsacomnion prin- 
 ciple of the possibility of association, or 
 ■niliial snggestionfor all our mental move- 
 ments, however different in their character 
 OS moiifieations, however remote in the 
 times^ of' their 'Oociirrence j for all, even 
 lit most htterogenemis and most distant, 
 are wfCiidniiMe, co-tuffffeitible, or tmo- 
 eiMe, as, and only as, phaenomena of the 
 tame nnity of consciousness — affections 
 of the same indivisible Ego. There thus 
 further emerges :— 
 
 ▼i. The Law of AssociABiiiiTv or 
 
 Possible Co-siioobstioii :— ilK thoyUs 
 0/ tks mme wmntal amtieet mr§ utioeiaMe, 
 
 Bit the unity of fubject, the funda. 
 neiiial condition of the associability of 
 tiioi«ht in general, affords no reason 
 why this particular thought should, Oe 
 Jkm,. recall or suggest that. We require, 
 ihereteo, besides a law of possihH 
 a law or laws of oMml rtproductton. 
 Two such are afforiod in the two other 
 nnities— those of Modijkatim and of 
 ''llWiiiiiii 
 
 Jlnd now let ms, for the sake of subse- 
 
 Sient reference, pause a moment to state 
 e following symbolic illustration : — 
 Jk. M C 
 J&. 
 A" 
 Hero the same letter, repeated in per- 
 pendicular order, is intended to denote 
 the sane mental mode, brought into oon- 
 mioiiiifii^' represented* at different times. 
 Here the different lettcn, in horiiontal 
 order, are supposed to designate the par- 
 tial thoughts integrant of a total mental 
 state, and therefore co-enisteit, or •»•- 
 fmd'mte^ consequent, at the moment of 
 its actual realisation. 
 Thia being understood, we proceed :— 
 Of thtM two unities that of moii|^e<i- 
 
 ItOM affords the ground, why, for example, 
 an object determining a mental modifica- 
 tion of a certain complement and charac- 
 ter, to-day, this presentation tends to 
 call op the representation of the same 
 modification determined by that object, 
 yesterday. Or suppose, as in our sym- 
 bols, the three As to typify the same 
 thought, determined at three different 
 times, be the determining movement of a 
 presentation or a representation. On the 
 second occasion. A' will suggest the re- 
 presentation of A. This, it will not be 
 denied, that it can do ; for, on the possi- 
 bility hereof, depends the possibility of 
 simple remembrance. The total thought, 
 after this suggestion, will be A' + A ; 
 and on the third occasion, A" may sug- 
 gest A' and A ; both on this principle, 
 and on that other which we are imme- 
 diately to consider, of co-identity in time. 
 We have thus, as a first general kw of 
 actual Reproduction, Suggestion, or Asso- 
 ciation :— 
 
 vii. — ^The Law of Repbtition, or of 
 Direct rbmbmbranoe : — Thoughts eo- 
 tdentical in modificcUion^ but differing in 
 time, tend to suggest each other. 
 
 The law which I here call that of Re- 
 petition, seems to be the principle of 
 remembrance referred to by Aristotle, 
 in saying, that " the movements [which 
 and by which, we recollect] are, in these 
 cases, sometimes tub same,'* kc. (See 
 above, p. 900 a.) If this be correct, 
 Aristotle has here again made a step 
 a-head of subsequent philosophers ; for, 
 if I be not mistaken, we must recur to 
 Repetition as an ultimate principle of 
 reproduction, and not rest satisfied, aa 
 has been done, with that of Redintegra- 
 tion alone. But of this anon. 
 
 Tho unity of Hme affords the ground, 
 why thoughts, different in their character 
 as mental modes, but having once been 
 proximately coexistent, (including under 
 coexistence immediate consecution,) as 
 the parts of some total thought, and a 
 totality of thought is determined even by 
 a unity of time ; do, when recalled into 
 consciousness, tend immediately to sug- 
 gest each other, as co-constituents of that 
 former whole, and mediately, that whole 
 itself. Thus, let (A, B, C, D, E, F,) be 
 supposed a complement of auch concom- 
 mitant thoughts. If A be recalled into 
 consciousness, A will tend to reawaken 
 B, B to reawaken C, and so on, until 
 ; the whole formerly coexistent series has 
 I been reinstated — or the mind diverted by 
 some stronger movement, on some other 
 ' train. We have thus as a second general 
 
 H 
 
 law of actual Reproduction, Suggestion, 
 or Association, — 
 
 viii. — The Law of Redinteobation, of 
 Inoibeot remembrance, or of Reminis- 
 cence : — Thoughts once coidentical in 
 time, are,however different as mental modes, 
 again suggestive of each other j and that in 
 the mutucd order which they originally 
 held. 
 
 To this law of Redintegration can easily 
 be reduced Aristotle's second and third 
 suggestives — " the movements [which and 
 by which, we recollect,] .... as some- 
 times AT THE SAME TIME, somctlmes as 
 •parts of the same whole," &c. (See 
 p. 900, a.) 
 
 Philosophers, in generalising the phae- 
 nomena of reproduction, have, if our 
 exception of Aristotle be not admitted, 
 of these two, exclusively regarded the 
 iaw of Redintegration. That of Repeti- 
 tion was, however, equally worthy of 
 their consideration. For the excitation 
 of the same by the same, differing in time, 
 is not less marvellous, than the excitation 
 of the different by the different, identical 
 in time. It was a principle, too, equally 
 indispensable, to explain the phaenomena. 
 For the attempts to reduce these to the 
 law of Redintegration alone will not stand 
 the test of criticism j since the reproduc- 
 tion of thought by thought, as disjoined 
 in time, cannot be referred to the repro- 
 duction of thought by thought, as con- 
 joined in time. Accordingly, we shall 
 find in coming to detail, that some phae- 
 nomena are saved by the law of Repetition 
 alone, while others require a combination 
 of two laws of Repetition and Redinte- 
 gration. 
 
 Movements thus suggest and are sug- 
 gested, in proportion to the strictness of 
 the dependency between that prior and this 
 posterior. But such general relation be- 
 tween two thoughts — and on which are 
 founded the two Abstract or Primary 
 laws of Repetition and Redintegration 
 — is frequently crossed, is frequently 
 superseded, by another, and that a par- 
 ticular relation, which determines the 
 suggestion of a movement not warranted 
 by any dependttuce on its antecedent. 
 To complete the general laws of repro- 
 duction, we must therefore recognise a 
 Secondary or Concrete principle — what 
 may be styled, (under protest, for it is 
 hardly deserving of the title Law) : — 
 
 ix The Law of Preference :— 
 
 Thoughts are suggested, not merely by 
 force of tlic general subjective relation 
 subsisting between themselves, they are 
 also suggested, in proportion to the rela^ 
 
 tion of interest (from whatever source,) 
 in which these stand to the individual 
 mind. 
 
 § II. — Special Laws of Mental Su^ces* 
 sion. Those of Reproduction. 
 
 A Primary; modes of tJie laws of 
 
 Repetition and Redintegration. 
 
 The first special law under this head 
 is — 
 
 X. — The Law of Similars : — Things— ^ 
 thoughts resembling each other (be the re- 
 semblance simple or analogical) are mu- 
 tually suggestive. 
 
 From Aristotle downwards, all who 
 have written on Suggestion, whether in- 
 tentional or spontaneous, have recogniz- 
 ed the association of similar objects. But 
 whilst all have thus fairly acknowledged 
 the effect ; none, I think, (if Aristotle be 
 not a singular exception,) have specu- 
 lated aright as to the cause. 
 
 In general, Similarity has oeen lightly 
 assumed, lightly laid down, as one of the 
 ultimate principles of associations. No- 
 thing, however, can be clearer thanthat 
 resembling objects — resembling mental 
 modifications, being, to us, in their resem- 
 bling points, identical ; they must, on the 
 principle of Repetition, call up each other. 
 This, of course, refers principally to sug- 
 gestion for the first time. Subsequently, 
 Redintegration co-operates with Repeti- 
 tion; for now, the resembling objects 
 have formed, together, parts of the same 
 mental whole ; and are, moreover, associ- 
 ated both as similar and as contraited. 
 
 It is, however, more important to prove, 
 that the law of Similarity cannot be re- 
 duced to the law alone of Redintegra- 
 tion. This reduction has often been as- 
 sumed ; seldom a demonstration of it pro- 
 pounded. Discounting Wolf, who can- 
 not properly be adduced, I recollect only 
 four philosophers who have attempted 
 such probative reduction. As two of 
 these, however, are only repeaters of a 
 third, there are found, in reality, among 
 them, only two independent arguments; 
 and these, though both aiming at the 
 same end, endeavour to accomplish it on 
 different principles. — The one is by 
 Maass, (followed by Hoffbauer and Bi- 
 unde ;) the other by Mr James 3Iill. 
 
 Of these, the former is as follows : — 
 "Similar representations,]' says Maass, 
 " can only be associated, in as much as 
 they, or their constituent characters, be- 
 long to the same total representation} 
 and this, without exception, is the case 
 with them. The two representations, A 
 3 m 
 
■^ 
 
 y 
 
 •M 
 
 ON THE THEORY 
 
 [note d.*** 
 
 ■lui B resemble each otlier, in so far aa 
 liotli cwntaia the common -character ft. 
 If then, B, to which belongr ^^^ charac- 
 ters b d «, is associated»wilh A, to which 
 belong the characters d a e, in that case 
 a e are associated with 6 [B ?], and these 
 consequently, taken together, are all parts 
 of the same total representation." — There 
 seemi to be bero so egregious a mtitio 
 primirfjotl, that I am almost doubtful whe- 
 theii 1 correctly apprehend the purport 
 of the argument. — No doubt, "if Bis as- 
 mmmied with J," all will follow as stated. 
 Por mfier one representation has, in vir. 
 tue of their similarity, been associated 
 with, and has suggested another; they 
 become aaiodated miew as parts of the 
 total representation which that original 
 ■nggestion caused ; and may, of course, 
 mbgequmily re-suggest each other, sim- 
 ply on the principle of Redintegration, 
 and apart from their similarity alto- 
 fether. But the question here to be an- 
 swered is—" How do the similar repre- 
 sentations B and A become associated or 
 mutually suggestive ?— on the hypothesis, 
 always, that they have not been previ- 
 ously associated, as mentally coexistent ; 
 —and the reasoning vioktes the hypo- 
 thesis. 
 
 Mr Maais goes on : — " Further, the 
 Simihiflty of two representations could 
 not, in itself, be any reason of their asso- 
 ciation. For Similarity is an objective 
 relation, subsisting between them; but 
 from this there follows not in the least 
 tbeir subjective inter-dependence in ima- 
 gination" (Versuch, &c., § 20.)— Here 
 again, I can liardly think that 1 understand 
 aright. Is it intended to be said,— that 
 we know, or can know aught of objec- 
 tive Similarity in things, except through 
 our subjective consciousness, or feeling, 
 irfthe partial sameness of certain subjec- 
 tive movements determined by them in 
 us? — ^thai repreientatiom are in them- 
 selves aught but subjective modifications, 
 and that the consciousness or feeling of 
 them, and their identity or difference, are 
 not also purely subjective ? 
 
 On the statements of Hoffbauer, who 
 manifestly, and of Biundc, who professed- 
 ly, adopts the preceding reasoning from 
 ibass, it is unnecessary to make any ob- 
 servation. They are as follows : — ** We 
 call things," says the former, " recipro- 
 cally limilar when certain attributes are 
 eonmion to them. The [common] attri- 
 bute which is found in one of these must 
 therefore also be met with in the others. 
 Ill the representation of the object A, 
 which resembles another object, B, there 
 
 is involved the representation of the com- 
 mon attribute, found also in B, and this 
 is likewise contained in a total represen- 
 tation along with B." (Naturlehre, &c., 
 Br. 23.) — " Were there," says the latter, 
 "in similar (and analogous) representa- 
 tions no coexistence, the representations, 
 as Maass rightly observes, would be with- 
 out any internal bond of connection, and 
 no conceivable reason could be any longer 
 assigned, why a representation should 
 awaken its co-similars and not rather 
 any other representation." (Versuch, 
 4c , § 70.) 
 
 The other attempt at such a reduction 
 is by the late Mr Mill, in his ingenious 
 " Analysis of the Phenomena of the Hu- 
 man Mind ;" who thus, after Hobbes and 
 Hartley, enounces what I have called the 
 law of Redintegration as the general law 
 of association, with its causes : " Our trf«a# 
 spring up or exist, in tfie order in which 
 the sensations existed, of which they are 
 the copies." He adds : — " The causes of 
 strength in association seem all to be 
 resolvable into two ; the vividness of the 
 associated feelings and the frequency of 
 the association." (i. pp. 66, 61.) Again, 
 treating of Hume's principles of associa- 
 tion, he thus endeavours to recall that of 
 Resemblance to these causes : — " I believe 
 it will be found that we are accustomed 
 to see like things together. When we see 
 a tree, we generally see more trees than 
 one ; when we see an ox, we generally see 
 more oxen than one ; a sheep, more sheep 
 than one; a man, more men than one. 
 From this observation, I think, we may 
 refer resemblance to the law ot frequency i 
 of which it seems to form only a parti- 
 cular case." (i. p. 79.) — I confess my- 
 self unable to perceive the cogency of 
 this reasoning,— if I rightly apprehend 
 its tenor. Admitting, " that we are ac- 
 customed to see like things together," 
 ( though are we not far more accustomed 
 to things unlike together ?) ; the follow- 
 ing obiections occur to this, as a ground 
 on which to reduce the principle of simi- 
 larity exclusively to the principle of ac- 
 customed mental concomitance. 
 
 !•>• It could only enable us to explain 
 the mutual suggestion of those things 
 which have actually been seen together. 
 But there are innumerable cases of simi- 
 lars suggesting similars, in which the 
 objects kaving never previously been wit- 
 nessed in conjunction, nor even mentally 
 compared together, the fact of their asso- 
 ciation cannot be thus accounted for. 
 
 2^' Even in rektion to things usually 
 seen together, the pervading Similarity 
 
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